[x]

shot to hellWe lay together.
Sometimes on the floor, sometimes in bed, or on the couch- and I read to her. As if she were an educated child. But she is not a child, she is my lover- my love. So I read…mostly poetry I’ve written or Bukowski, which I have recently turned her on to. She says she loves my voice, but hates it when I smoke. “How do you think it got this way?” I ask. Even after puberty my voice carried a high nasal-like pitch, but the years of smoking, drinking, cocaine, pot, and constant screaming wore it down to this. Even her friends say that I have a bedroom voice all the time-people who have never even been to be

sleepMy cock hurts
its that minor irritation of the urethra
that occurs when you get soap in there
or jerk off too much
and its not that im obsessed
but
the craving crawls under the skin
like wet weather
i want to wake up to
a strong back
a good ass
something i'd like to touch, next to me
a foriegn smile
new eyes
this looking in the lonely mirror morning after morning
is getting obscene
dream after filthy cutting dream
with no end

the only time i sleep worth a damn
is next to you
whoever
that may be

shake for meYou make me so human
so valid
A rare element
Inches from your breath
And tracing my heart upon your lips
You answer me
in silent shudders
I understand

NagasakiWas that a trembling of the ground?
And did I hear the tell of guns?
If so it were a single round
Of magnitude, oh what a sound!
To break the Nagasaki air

And now the rush of summer rains?
What evil shakes my windowpanes?
What thunder, what fighting?
What battles and lightning?

Why the flash in Japan's skies?
Where the roof and how such heat?
Why a blindness in my eyes?
And why the stink of searing meat?

SleepConsciousness is tired. It has been a long day.

He is thankful for his final coffee break, even if caffeine isn't what he wants right now.

Draining a glass of milk he glances at the clock,

Yawning.

Not much more work will get done today. May as well call it a night.

Haphazardly he bundles the remaining sheaves

Of scattered thoughts into drawers and filing cabinets;

He performs the usual closing time routine.

A quick brush of the white paving stones outside,

A wipe of the facade.

He closes and lashes the shutters

He shuts down the terminals

And turns off the light.

Only then does the subconscious emerge.

Lighting a candle,

He op

RevolutionaryThe whirr of wheels
The grind of gears
The rhythmic tramp of feet
Progress often marches to a military beat.
Design, build, test, scrap,
Rebuild, aim, attack.
From sticks and stones
And flinty blades
To spears, then guns
And hand grenades
Now laser sights
Spy satellites
And engines who think back.

A primal fear
The tool unleashed
The rat escapes the lab
Life bestowed by lightning-bolts that lurches from the slab.
Awake, live, feel, crave,
Arise, rebel, enslave.
In horror tales
And sci-fi flicks
The settings change
The warning sticks
Beware the
Innovator's snare
'Tis safer in the cave.

Does it not seem a grim decree,

The Willow's StoryWalking by the waterways
I spied a weeping willow,
Green of leaf but bent in grief
A masterpiece of sorrow.
Unsure of why this tree were broke
In lowered voice I softly spoke:

“Willow, tell me why you weep
Do you despise the hum of flies?
Are you sick of water deep?
Do you look upon the glaring skies
And long for hollow sleep?”

“Human I have watched this world
Too many years in silent thought,
I've reached for stars with limb unfurled
With twigs and branches overwrought.

That lofty race was never won,
I who stretched towards the sun
Ceased to grow and now I know,
Truly I am nearly done.

For such as us live

I dance in clown shoes.

You compose your conversations.
Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold,
ending arguments with a flourish.
Make a point, now whirl, quickly.
Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation.
You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette:
One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger.
You leave me confused and two steps back,
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure.
And if I catch up, if I make a point,
you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust
as you make your escape.
And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you,
Ending your sentence with a door.
And I must follow you, my thuds down the sta

Do Not DisturbClose the door when you leave
Grasp the bolt and draw it tight
Lock me here to wildly grieve,
And scream in humid summer night.

Stop the light with wooden screen
Shutters thin before my rage,
Darkly shall I quake unseen
And scrawl upon this dirty page.

not yet earnedDoesn't seem like it should be over

So the sun peeped out in a flicker
the green landscape changes color

I wade through pictures
pictures

the timeless cast of memory netting them in

smells
tongues
irises

There is a record keeper in my brain
he is brilliant but quite lazy
no real sense for organization
he understands
I just need to dip in for a handful

new vistas of thought arrive

stay grey
stay grey

i chant a prayer
bring smoke offerings
I have lost my raven fan
not yet earned, i believe
but they still speak
when i am lost

this much i have found out
only this much

feverIt takes the clouds
greywhiteblue
covering me up
to bring me a line or two
even the cold medicine and this stale stuffy head is worth it today
worth the hangover weekend
worth the selfish sex
worth the cost of living in this space covered up with memories

sacred silences

Skin is
wetwhitecold
the pavement is barely real
bloodshot eyes straining and sandy
cars move without drivers and there is a thought
and
a feeling
that the separate sight is nearly open

in an instant this place will fade out or tear in two
revealing that long looked for something 'else'
that waits on the oth

The MirrorI stood in front of the mirror and lifted my arm,
watching my reflection do the same.

Lightly, I touched my hand to my reflection's,
anticipating the cold glass,
but feeling my reflection's hand warm against mine.

Pressing a little harder, the palm of my hand burned
like an orange fire that seared and soothed
in equal measure.

As I pushed, my hand plunged into the mirror,
my flesh tingling in arm's circumference,
smouldering blue against my reflection's
as we disappeared into each other.

And I never felt so alive.

subversiveSubversive, subjugated, slaves, silly, seriously, slavering, slaphappy, salutations, snappy
Sand piles
SANDPILES!
Snark, (which isn’t my word, but will do for a tribute, even if I’m still pissed) snippy, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, you can never have enough sex unless its lousy sex and you begin to get chafed. The main thing for boys is that you just can’t come every time and sometimes its really better better that way. Sales, swamps, singing, screams, sighs, sorting, salutes, singles, swearing, (which I do A LOT of) sweating, swaying, strumming, (which I should do more of)
SUTRA
Which means teaching or way of

Crying DiseaseThis morning –
In lucidity you grazed my skin,
And went sinking in past my sinew
Into my marrow, where you tried to stop
My leukocytes from healing me of the crying disease
That you left me with.

raptureDeath stalks us like that
sweet
sudden
always nearly there
like an orgasm upon entry

the game is the one you made up
the players are only whom you recognize (felt Re-Cognize)
the rules lie within whatever you accept as 'Moral'
and none
will be the same as your partners'
there are too few female geniuses.

Far too few

And, I tell you, the carnival is sure full up today
All the rubes running ‘round the midway like some breed of ancient thieves
That could never steal a damn thing without getting caught
Obvious glances
Obvious faces

Children in the death house
Sickness on the windowsill
104 degree heat for the fever that ju

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 427 bytes more ▶

More from ~poet77

vampiresThis city
with its wicked smiling
streets
and green souled
inhabitants,
drains me like a soft
familiar vampire.

skyscraperThere’s something about sitting 12 stories in the sky-
amongst the clouds and god,
watching the insects scurry around
in their suits and agendas-
which, by the way, cannot be compromised
by anything short of a dead body on the sidewalk-
And even then
only for a moment
All these skyscrapers will one day be mausoleums
Great towering tombs
for the hoarders and wasters
I know I will not be missed when I’m gone.
At least not in a way one would hope-
A great gathering of people using my corpse as a channel
for their shortage of attention.
But what the fuck-
It’s too late when you have a foot over the edge
and mo

death begins againThe phone rings
My mind fires- giant turbine
All seeing
Hissing third eye
Grinding through the line-
The receiver-deceiver
Split tongue stings even over miles of cable
Stable on fire –wild horses stampede
kicking holes in the wall
sending shafts and shadows at the sky
Trees dancing
Branches screaming for just one more moment in the cool night
Damp black freedom from confinement
And then you speak- that slow burn of flesh
Cool tone of the match still smoldering-
And death begins again

beggarsThe night is in full crescent tilt,
carefully depositing apprehension and beggars
Apprehensive beggars?
Wild snatch that will fuck beast or man
straight out of any misguided conviction
Full on and swallow the seed
wipe off with your favorite shirt
then walk away without even leaving
a bullet, or at least
a roach in the ashtray.

stoneThe moon conspired against me,
altering gravity,
like extended time in water
extracting,
and every limb of stone

homeThe earth and its
children gather
all creatures unite
in a lunar chorus
wolves chant and
acknowledge
common ground
in dance
spirit, earth, song…
Home.
First journey.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: December 24, 2007
File Size: 427 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 7
Favourites: 10 [who?]
Views: 546 (0 today)
Downloads: 17 (0 today)

[x]

clever

by ~poet77, Dec 24, 2007, 8:16:13 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

They say a mind is
a terrible thing to waste,
but I can’t think
of anything more delightful
then to float away
on a cool breeze of gibberish-
leave the mongoloids
and the suits with their cruel whips
and second hand mockery
one day I’ll hold the whip
and redefine clever

cleverby ~poet77

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

©2007-2013 ~poet77

C.D.

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

Mood: Adoration

~Mr-Howl Jul 27, 2009

I really, really like this. I think you captured the feeling beautifully, to the point that I actually hear this in my mind when I encounter the kind of people you speak of. I suppose I can't really give you a greater compliment: I literally can't get your poetry out of my head

Reply

~poet77 Oct 19, 2012

Thank you

Reply

~Insan-Kun Jul 28, 2008

Bravo... You are truely insaine... the good kind, not the bad. For how can you truely be clever (or even creative) if you are being held back by something, whether it be rules that define the very way you walk, to people who will ignor your idea simply because it's "new". Very few good ideas get out... and all i see is the same junk being reused. So few are new like wonderland, or as fresh as things were in the begining. whether it be of the decade, centry, or even the big bangs... things just seem reused today... So let day dreamers work and the sins of sloth and lust be overcome!

I really put to omuch in that.

Reply

~godsawait Apr 17, 2008

You changed the ending -?-

Reply

~Sir-Pumpkinhead Dec 27, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Very interesting poem. I like the critique implied and the feel you gave it.

Reply

~poet77 Dec 27, 2007

thank you, and you can thank all the assholes Ive worked for, with, and the countless superficial stuffed shirts that inspired it. C.

Reply

~Sir-Pumpkinhead Jan 2, 2008 Hobbyist General Artist

My pleasure

Hahahaha! well, we now know that they're there for a reason: to inspire others and to show everyone how NOT to be a human being

I've had my share of imbeciles and jackasses like those. Fortunately they're in the past now ^-^

Reply

Previous
Next