as the verse burns within

there’s this guy 

with a hole in his heart 

and every time he wakes up 

no matter the time

it gets dark 

 

I wish I could help this guy

but there’s nothing-

truly nothing 

that money can buy 

that will fill his dark 

cold- cold- putrid heart 

 

and I feel bad for him 

I was like him

once

 

then I met a girl and

no I didn’t make it 

And-

I didn’t date it 

we hardly kissed-

 

but she showed me what love is 

and she gave my soul a lift 

and after I met her 

I went from writing dark fiction 

to endless poetry 

and I still write dark fiction 

 

but now I do other things.  

 

too bad for this guy

he looks at a poem like-

its a rotten shrimp

he lifts it with a napkin 

deposits it in a bin 

and lights the whole thing up 

and laughs-

as the verse burns 

within.

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As darkness chokes the trees

sleep takes me slow

I live to dream

to draw the world of day

worthless as clay

the world of night

strong, backwards

strange and stringent

subject to perception

perception to deception

as darkness chokes the trees

So

I needed to get my head open
Before I fall to sleep
And dream something

I don’t want to dream
And dream something loathsome
I don’t want to fall asleep

Only to wake up
Still wanting to dream
Because I spent the night

in a psychic
airport
nightmare hotel

I don’t wanna do that
So I wrote something.

Was the cutest thing

There was this one girl
When I first met her
She looked sort of deep
Like a well with-
Well- secrets to keep
But as time went by
I found myself distanced from her
You see
She weren’t so sweet
And that was really too bad
Because she masqueraded as a bubblegum queen
But in reality-
Well some words aren’t worth saying.
I ended up living with her
You know, like roommates and junk
And one day
Me and the boys were all getting stoned
Watching futurama
Eating fried chicken
And feeling fine
And she
She barged in
Stole my buzz
And started to scream
God knows what she was on about
Maybe it was the weed
But I never did that to her
And I never would
Break into a peaceful moment
And blow it to pieces
Like choppers over Vietnam
She was worse than Blackhawks in Somalia
She was like cobras in Afghanistan
She was like tanks in Madrid
She was terrible
Terrifying
Loud
Incessant
Short
And the worst part was-
I used to think the way she made a mocha-
Was the cutest thing.

Lucky old Babylon

Lucky old Babylon

Something forgotten

Avarice of the sand

Two timing Ptolemaic-

Totem pole

Advice of the unending:

Immortality is not enough

But lucky old Babylon

Permeates history

From one gate of Ishtar

To the next

She’s beautiful and true

I looked up to see her-
All Bright eyes
And fingertips
Vivid green eyes
Smooth red lips
All the more beautiful
For that plain-
unassuming
Look

A smile on her face
As sweet as-
A midnight kiss
Eyes like green
Like blue- grey
And gold between

I looked at her and knew
Anyone could love her
We probably all do
She’s beautiful and true

Edo- Through Wandering Merchant’s Eyes

the land is young and bright

flowers grow in the country 

spring comes and goes

 

feet stomp through streets 

sandaled and manicured 

geishas float 

 

the pleasure houses 

shine at night 

until nothing is real

 

boys with swords

challenge the streets

the nights remain empty

 

Home is an illusion

my palace is everywhere 

from the houses to the streams

 

ill find no love between

save the love I seek

save the love I carry 

 

and my friends walk with me 

when my family is gone 

and I have no shop

But it is Not Yet

I rise in the morning and put some japanese trans on

suddenly I’m running through fields 

outside Nagasaki 

in the edo period 

 

times are good 

the americans haven’t come in yet

the emperor locks them out

later my country will fight russians

later my country will invade China- 

Korea- but it is not yet

later my country will modernize

embrace industry

become a part of history-

later the samurai will die

later the shogunnate will end

but it is not yet.

 

 

It was nice to know you

another old one, just feeding it to some of my other online sites

seekingstories

“Best is she
That see’s
The world from the tree’s

To obtain a Bird’s eye
is to turn a blizzard
Into a breeze.”

I haven’t felt that way
Since I was a boy
Tree tops were kingdoms
And we played amongst scuttling rocks
The ground could move
The air could talk
There was life and magic to all things
Girls were like pixies
I dreamed they could fly
We chased them through the gardens
They bought us with beads
We didn’t know it then
But there was love in everything.

I haven’t seen the light
It used to play across the fields
Like hands of gold
Warm and welcoming
“I haven’t felt the way
I feel today,
In so long”
But it used to warm the berries
Smiling as they grew fat on the vines
Soaking in rain
Soaking in sun
Drenched in spring.

I haven’t seen horses run on…

View original post 48 more words

older poem, just testing something out

seekingstories

The facility opens 

Blood pours down the walls.
You wonder-
To see such trauma
 
I thought the subtitles
Would match the spoken
Words.  But in life
The opposite is often 
 
Truer.  
 
Art imitates life and
Life imitates art 
Until… 
Until you don’t know
What’s going on anymore
And you just smash it all down and
Start again 
From the ashes
From whatever seems most basic
To you.

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