the daughter universeLonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little housesthe daughter universe by spoems
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion graves
will wash up on your thighs and the moon searches the dark pitch
of water like a frantic mother. Pick any wave and follow it fondly
until you forget of me,
AlchemyInside these walls, I wait past dark.Alchemy by spoems
The shadows steep and over-brew
long before I move a bone;
I’ll never return to mother’s moon.
Star and night, my bench flakes off
cicada shells and sunflower wilt.
By Venus light, it’s a driftwood throne,
an old carob bullet firing straight for the sun.
The air like ink collects and cools:
it is the black throat where braying forms,
and where shady gardens melt and pool;
absorbing the ghosts of cigarette-waft.
These onyx planets swell and bloom,
and metabolise like sheer witchspells -
I turn these crystals to my core
And try unlearn this spiderweb gloom.
Former days contort through tremulous fisheyes
relapse at the bottom of two emptied mugs.
My disfigured mass quakes in its past,
crumples like a demon husk, roadkilled in a dream.
How many molts with their veiny dead hues
do souls need traverse, an urbanex sulking
through concrete petals, ’till our sin
becomes sarcoline, an imperceptible solute?
Electromagnetic eyes to lick
workshopThe hearth in your denim pocket,workshop by spoems
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
workingI wakeworking by spoems
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
from their sleep
with a cruel child’s
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
in the early grave
immediacyimmediacy by spoems
this new little truth
this robin egg
brooding in skies'
for a mercy
damn this featherbrain
with its wilding
'till they burn
to a soft nilpotency -
i'll make a bed
here's my nirvana: the ache of the ramrod's
slow dreaming death
in the waist - oh
i hope i'll be replaced
with pure eraser white
in a comfortable beheading -
there's no telling
with one less
and the parting
TOKEN RELIGIONAngel in the jet streamTOKEN RELIGION by RJBG
Heaven in a suitcase
The promised land in a pill box pilgrimage
Additives in your words
The lords prayer
Bibles wrapt in plastic
Boom-Lag HighAlone with Bieber-boppers,Boom-Lag High by TristanCody
pop-culture fanatics, tiny dirt
holes, fandom-school classes
and L.A I-5 traffic updates.
All call out from beyond
the atomic clock fuggazis of
inspirational, speckled Gatorade.
Chronophobic aroma sons,
barracudas, Jesus, a hierarchy -
complete apnea and anarchy!
Boom-lag, generation X, a
cold suicide from the beehive,
immortal dance parties, sun-up
block parades and some meat.
Everyone, everything - all one,
all crooning in obsolete vocal ties,
whoring forward the belief system
les visiteurs de minuitshipwrecked delirious at 89 bunker streetles visiteurs de minuit by ChampMagnetique
there lives my cloudberry doll
singing the songs of the blue hour
there lives my chantress with wax wings
my dormant (tor)mentor of keyhole view
reanimér les mémoires d'automne
in cryptic silence of ramshackle silo
too late! I noticed the pallor of peonies
now here come the sleepers of far-off borders
les visiteurs de minuit,
the soldiers of melancholy
obsessed with sacred orders
and the sleepers shall not be awaken
for their spirits are in a perfect rapture
along with pain that maddens my brain
that's when the hunter becomes the capture
that's when their sight turns into sick
la gloire ignoré, les yeux fatidique
ViolinI remember the dayViolin by Scarlettletters
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
Paradigm ShiftEmerging flash of starlight papParadigm Shift by Jade-Pandora
between sunset and ocean cap
colliding spang into my eyes
for once to have me realize
not everything becomes a song,
and I shall sleep before too long.
Senryu Series 121.Senryu Series 12 by Laurence55
even the printer
he still wakes up
his grandmother dies
in the lemonade
I choose not to round
on the preacher's back,
a new boss, the age
of my son
the boss graduates
with my son
the same old bats
even his shadow
I purchase 10 acres
deep in love
she invades my side
of the bed
meeting her dad
a loose thread
in my sweater
do us part
The Man with the Gaping EyeThe dusty air of the courtyard never seemed to settle,The Man with the Gaping Eye by NightLigt
invading the lungs of those passing by.
The hot afternoon sun bakes the stone roads black,
light tinged orange.
The man with the gaping eye,
his empty socket a crinkled web of scars.
A blank face looks upon me,
His once strong jaw,
now loose and misshapen from days he wishes he could forget.
He still knows their names,
they have long forgotten his.
His leathery fingers,
gnarled and twisted,
appear like the roots of an ancient oak tree.
Knuckles many times larger than they should be,
are cracked and worn,
weathered by both sun and time.
His calloused feet,
tucked and curled beneath him,
bear the scars and broken bones of times when he forgot,
crushed under foot and hoof.
He has long lost count,
it now hurts too much for him to walk.
His only eye,
it tells the story of his past,
whispering tales about the years of joy he used to have,
days so long gone they became legends to him,
legends he no longer believes in.
The UnderstandingWhen I’m drunk orThe Understanding by oracle-of-nonsense
you’re drunk or
and uncommitted at the same bar,
we leave together,
sit and fiddle with beers
at your place
your dad’s place?
laugh at the dramatic-moment music
in movies made when I was three,
talk about my ex-
cat, how you got high and played
in the snow,
and you find the shower
eventually after a beer-chug
myself trailing, tiptoeing
into the jeans-and-boxers puddle,
placing my folded clothes on the sink,
slipping in behind
the temperature adjustment
from the fjord-freezing or lobster-boiling
you turned on yourself
and while you wash my back,
pressing the curves with longing
lazy, I rub the soap into your red-
as if I want the ink to stain
my fingers and
you slip inside me like water
and I watch your legs
bowing behind mine
and think of birds
(I am too
short for this love;
you give up, laughing,
untoweled thin body dripping
on the comforter),
and you won’t
|my favorite dA poetry|
Little GirlLittle girl,
You've been hurt.
Betrayed by those who should have been the most loyal,
hurt by those who should have loved you,
scarred by most everyone
you ever met.
I know the shadows in your heart,
how they obfuscate every minute
of your life.
Nightmare paths in forests of wakefulness.
Deep in the woods.
One day, you will learn to walk.
One day, you will learn to run.
You will be unable to move,
You're eyes flitting frenetically,
in the headlights of your sudden life.
It will be OK.
Take that step off of that ledge that seems so terribly,
Do the unthinkable,
Take his hands,
I know where you fall,
in the end,
when you resist.
Half your years gone.
Half of your life in Your Hell,
bringing him with you,
pulling on his hand,
nails so deep they draw blood and scar.
You know you don't scar the ones who matter most.
they don't matter any more.
RivalryHello there sir! If I could just show you here,
a painting by none other than myself – glorious!
I have painted for many a rich man like yourself.
Take in my colours, the way the light soars on down
and perfectly lights my subjects face – superb!
I am a perfect candidate for your choosing right here!
Hello good sir, I am but mediocre in this craft
I have little knowledge of drawing the hills, however,
my skills in anatomy and hands are showing through.
Please pick my work, I only strive to improve.
What nonsense this boy speaks! His art is worth nothing.
Compare his forehead to mine, what do you see?
I have lines which show my effort and wisdom, him?
As blank as his mind - you need a real artist
who's art you can hang proudly and not be disgraced!
Look at the canvases alongside and see who is the best!
Excuse me sir, you're not being fair! For you were me once.
My spirit would be lifted, I assure you I am worth-
Come here my good sir, leave this fraud behind.
Name That BabyI'm gonna lay it on the table
Do the tell
Get the spelling right
Got called "depressed"
Took it up to "manic"
Bipolar in the head
And they said --
"Make it longer,
On taking pills,
To flatten my hills
Knock out the frills,
I got double-damned.
'Cause a this shit --
Father dies in a pool
Mother dies too,
In love with a fool
Mother let days pass,
No food or water
How did she last?
I closed her eyes,
They felt alive,
Like little butterflies.
Hector also dies,
Left alone by
The very unwise,
Young white cats
Die like that.
Spat out with
All the cancer-dead
She too went back.
And nothing stopped.
I saw them all
Saw them all day,
Blood and flood
Not from me
Not my feed
Just these -- "things."
Small cold voices
In my ear
None could hear.
Little people sat
And they stood
And they spun,
In colorful fun
They had their run,