Poetry Drafts and Thoughts

Said the Man to the Machine: A Grim Portraiture of Yesterday

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Social Media and the Enlightened Revolutionary

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Lonely Neon, Friendly Night

“They call it the crumbling American dream
because it’s inevitable that one day you’ll lose them
or they’ll lose you.
Despite this carnage
cigarettes still burn to nothings in overflowing ashtrays
deep down in a junkie’s hollow opium den
and life continues on as before somewhere.

It must right?!

How could it not.

And I don’t know if this means anything
but I have discovered affection
on the moon washed rocks of those that endorse
an unfortunate servitude
and also in the smile of nonsense
that is oh so beautiful.

I see swastika nightmares in the lonely neon.

I blow smoke in God’s face in the friendly night.

The wall is a briliant color of everything
and I’ll never forget her eyes
as the dogs rushed in only to be greeted
by the sound of laughter at a funeral,
but that’s just as well.

So I say WOE! to the depravity that is humanity because
all I ever did was what my mother told me to
and now I’m not sure whether I am crazy or enlightened
or if there is even a distinction between the two anymore.

Let it be known then,
that the random musings of a sage
are nothing but that.”

Thus cries the river,
so mourns the sky.

Gunsmoke, Cigarettes and the Ascent Into Oneness

There is a man with
a dog on the submarine’s porch
watching the palm fronds
wave against the blue sky and
I suppose it’s irrelevant but he
makes me think about death and
lawnmowers and the color orange.

There is a girl in a dress
on a ship sinking
from the weight of morals
but it doesn’t really matter.
Besides, the fruit was harvested
too early this year.

The man is still there
but the dog has run away
and I don’t think the thought
of dying scares me anymore
or at least I’ll keep telling
myself that until
it turns into truth
or simply no longer matters.

I hope people seek meaning
in this poem because let
me tell you dear reader there is
none which turns out
to be the case the majority
of the time
and maybe that’s a commentary on
life.

This poem has been published in the Underground Times
Nov. 2011, Issue 2

Oh, youth

I.

He’s nothing but
a failed revolutionary now.
‘What happened?’ they ask
‘what happened to the man we
once knew?’
He’s but a shell now
there is something missing and
no doubt there always will be
so they say, so they say.

II.

There was once something
so brilliant,
something so incredible
but that is long gone now.
Each night he dies
and each morning he is reborn
perhaps, perhaps.

III.

Maybe he just got bored
and then
became self-destructive
‘Maybe that’s what happened’
they say and they
say a lot but it’s still so
empty, so very empty.

IV.

He still craves that youthful
exuberance but he’s lost
this innocence only
to replace it with
empty passion
how hollow, how hollow.

V.

So where are you now?

The Phone

won’t stop ringing
it sounds so desperate but
I can’t bring myself to
answer it.
There is probably an
obscure from the woodwork
friend
on the other end but
it’s okay because really
that’s all that’s left.

Tonight was great
I saw her again and
it seemed genuine.
Her phone kept
ringing and it didn’t sound
so desperate, not like mine
anyway.
There was probably a
new friend on the other end
someone I had yet to hear about
and maybe I never will.
Some things are just
better left alone I think.

I know this wasn’t what
I sat down to write about but
for whatever reason
it keeps tugging on the string
until the blinds are drawn
completely shut and
all thats left is me and a shitty
poetic metaphor.

The phone is ringing again
it’s her
and it doesn’t sound so desperate
anymore.

La Luna y El Sol

In the starlit Parisian
grass too far from home
it was discovered
that the touch is purely
just that
as are most things
yet is it not probable
that irrationality’s
iron grip on the mind
will forever entrance those
that simply cannot
conceive that which is
tangent?

The surface is calm, yes,
but we are all
sure that the turmoil below
is simply
waiting
as the sun waits for the moon
la luna y el sol
so we patiently scrawl
messages across the
heavens
knowing that time will
erase them
as with all things.

She whispers to me
that she has known me
before
in a past life
what does that mean
perhaps nothing
nothing at all
or perhaps everything
everything that is
(or isn’t)
much like the moon’s
nonexistance
should the sun fade out
la luna y el sol

The Colour Red

And so we march forward
to a glorious
new dawn where the
arts and nature reign
supreme and we
answer only to
the highest plateau of being
that is
complete consciousness
and the acceptance
of a universal
nothingness
only then can we see
the true beauty
in that which surrounds in
an attempt to make sense of
…this
but like ripples in the pond
of being
we tremble before the unknown
restrained from the
love that is
enlightenment and oneness
with the great nothing
the hate crumbles
as borders
while the armies fall to
their knees before
the omnipresent
that is above all
WE

yet still the masses
cry in yearning
“is it all for naught?”

All the King’s Horses

couldn’t
though they tried
couldn’t
though they wanted
and the pale rider
looked down
from his
high
high
horse
only to say
child don’t trust!

this world is LIES and
DECEIT

but don’t take my
word for it

An Exercise in Semantic Satiation

Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaning/
less/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaningless/
Meaning/
less.