So I just got a super cool gift in the mail today. Earlier this year I submitted some poetry to my friend Quinn who has her own Ezine. Her site is http://www.museumofidiots.com/ The Ezine is called Ephemera. It’s pretty awesome, she types all her stuff on an old school typewriter and then takes poetry submissions online and bam! Ezine. Why tell you? Well, Quinn is my long time friend and she deserves the publicity. Aside from that it made me go look up some of my old poetry!
When I go back and read a lot of this stuff I think I was going through hard times, that or I was your everyday emo kid. I wasn’t the emo kid, but my art drive was immense, so pooling my emotions into words can sound a lot like a gothic kid at a Cure concert. Some are whimsical, but a lot are dreary. I don’t know, I still love poetry and I like writing it when it hits me. I think I’d rather be writing a novel about something than a book about poetry, but it might be because I’m a happy person these days. Writing about sad things typically got a weight off my shoulders that was desperately needed.
I’ve had several creative writing courses where poetry was a big subject. I’m a huge fan of the modern day writers like Otep or Rollins. I think those guys with their music can channel such energy into their poetry. It’s like a punch in the gut to the people it’s aimed at. Poetry can be inspiring, disheartening, or just amusing. I’d like to think mine was all of the above. I’m going to post poems that I’ve written and try to tell you what was going on in my head when I created them. Should be a fun journey. That or you’re going sit and hope an interesting pop up shows up so that you can infest your computer with spyware rather than read about sad stuff that some weepy kid wrote. Either way, I’ve already logged your view and I’m happy you managed to click my link.
An angel without wings,
A choir with no voice,
A marriage without rings,
It seems I have no choice,
To vent without anger,
To love without meaning,
To eat without hunger,
Inside I’m screaming,
Is there no reason in reason,
No thought in thinking,
No spirit in season?
My will is shrinking,
My heart pours out onto a cup that has already been filled,
Overflows onto empty feelings,
Onto emotions that have been killed,
Is there nothing beyond these walls and ceilings?
Break the facade of truth,
Truth is just disguised lies,
So pick the fruit that eats you,
Send the message and hope that God replies.
If I didn’t lose you yet, and you’re not off plotting your own suicide after reading that. I believe that it’s pretty simplistic here. I titled it Circular because circles have no points. It’s the same thing over and over again. Life can be this way sometimes, you get up and do the same thing every single day. I often wondered what the point to it all was. You just do it because you have to. Now this isn’t something that occurs often to me. At that point in my life it did. I had dropped out of college at this point and I was working full time instead. I wasn’t cut out for college at the time, I still had Senioritis. You know the bullshit disease kids say that they don’t care anymore. They just sit in class and goof off because they’re gonna graduate anyways? That’s sadly not how it works in college. You have to pay attention and work your ass off so that you can get a degree. I just wasn’t mentally ready for it. This poem is a good example of my mental prowess at the time. This poem was however published in the school magazine. So it had something behind it.
Voluptuous lips drowned in crimson lipstick,
Deep brown eyes dressed in clever disguise,
Burgundy long hair draping over your soft skin,
Dark tastes making her more intriguing than most ever did,
She wasn’t an average girl, with her twisted guise,
My own malicious intentions had to be realized,
So many deeply routed angers from her depressing memories,
A confused boy in a lost mans shuddering body,
She loves me, but hates me, even more anger flows,
Our gnarled vine of love twists and jerks as it grows,
Her poorly constructed facade begins to bend and bow,
Where is the final destination of this cheap roller coaster ride?
It lies within an old flame of hers that apparently didn’t die,
You can hear my heart shatter as I weep by myself at night,
Rolling tears wasted over unneeded thoughts,
Bright blue eyes and a velvet touch remove me from the world I’m in,
She smiles at me and the race to love begins again.
Ah yes! The broken heart to rekindled love poem. I had an ex that was nicknamed “Psycho Pussy” by my friends. She was named this simply because she was Psychotic and Horrible to me and I was the only one who didn’t see it. They didn’t get why I stayed with her. At this moment in my life, I just see it as a failed relationship that wasn’t meant to be. She was probably the worst mistake I ever made when it came to relationships. The relationship basically ended when she cheated on me with her ex-husband. I suspected she cheated on me with this other guy too, who tried to show up at her house. One time he did and I had to give chase to them since they drove off when I saw it. Man…it was like that awful show Cheaters. I needed a microphone to confront them on late night television just to get stabbed by the fat asshole banging her, that by the way wasn’t banging her according to him. That’s trustworthy. Anyhow. Long story short, I ended that the moment she called and told me she cheated. I never talked to her again. The last few lines was meeting a new girl and the love thing started again. In relationships you have to move on from the bad ones, you’ll never get the right one if you’re with the wrong one. Simple as that. I have the BEST one. I love my wife more than anything and if I didn’t deal with all this past nonsense I would have never ended up here. I don’t regret anything, because of the way I lived my life I ended up here with my wife and kids. I couldn’t imagine a different course worth taking
Careless moves from an experienced victim,
Seeing my thoughts strewn across the concrete,
Like a pane of olive green glass,
A system in which I lived,
Acting on what I feel,
With the pains of losing a part of myself,
A piece of me, that I’m now hoping to refine,
Why me? Why me? Why me?
This place called reality.
My path cut off, looking for another way.
What comes around, goes around,
Pressing on, proceeding with intensity,
Taking on mountains in my course.
Is this apart of your satire?
If so, I’m not laughing.
I think that in this moment I was leaving a job after deciding to go back to college. I was almost forced out because I wanted to knock my manager’s teeth out after he unfairly tried to get me to work a job that wasn’t mine. So I quit and decided at that moment to go back to school. Life is funny, sometimes the path you set for yourself just crumbles in front of you and there is no discernible path to take to get where you thought life was taking you. So you have to flip a bitch and go the other way, or jump the curb and go another way. I remember that day pretty vividly . He had stuck his finger into my chest and asked me if he thought it was time to part ways. I don’t do well with people trying to intimidate me, especially laying their hands on me. I remember restraining myself when he did this, I leaned forward in his face and explained to him that if he ever touched me again I’d knock his teeth out of the back of his neck. Needless to say I probably stepped over a line doing this, and he had too by stabbing me with his finger. So I went and talked to the Assistant Manager and explained the situation and managed to leave peacefully, like I had put in my 2 weeks. I’ve quit a lot of jobs in my life because I don’t put up with bullshit, too many people who manage companies have a power complex. They figure they’re getting a salary so they can be dicks to anyone below them. It’s confounding, managers are supposed to inspire their team, not make them feel useless. It’s frustrating.
Tale of a Car Crash
An annoying vibration from the silver phone in my pocket,
Something about many men, ripping a crimson car apart,
Mostly an absurd blur at this amount of chaotic commotion,
A short walk to the maroon two door Cadillac , it worn as much as these tattered pants,
The arrival of swelling black smoke and cinders rising in the once beautiful blue sky,
Scattering blue and red lights in an all too familiar dance throughout the concrete street,
Paramedics, oh the busy underpaid , working so diligently for what they earn,
The ambulance whining for attention from anyone willing to provide it,
Lush green grass, unscathed by the black smoke, untouched by the pandemonium,
The vulgar stench of gasoline intrudes my already flared nostrils,
Splintered wood lying by my feet, a full fence here once, taken down by surprise,
Crimson car, split in the front, from the crimson hood to the spider webbed windshield,
Beige seatbelts covered with the remnants of wet shiny red gore,
All eight cylinders still running after it’s abrupt path with an oaken tree,
Oak tree versus the full power of the crimson car that could,
An oaken victory strewn with all signs of battle,
Red blood dripping from the beige dashboard where an imprint lie of a forced meeting,
Front tires, still singing the song , failing to stop going, even if the car had,
The little car that could, but didn’t, and never will again,
A sound somewhat familiar, a clang if you will, stretcher winds toward broken friends,
Dark hair, a nasty mess in the face of the broken,
Red blood stains, darkening from time, all over the broken friends,
The ambulance gets some attention after long last, the broken friends, on a new journey,
The Cadillac whines as it takes with it the shocking news, a delivery of shock and pain,
Hours later in an insane hospital with people of all origins and pains,
The four white walls, dimly lit to keep me company and hear stories of the car that didn‘t,
The weeping family, the family of the broken, the family of mine,
I bear an open shoulder for the broken one’s kin to use as a pillow,
A clang in the dull yellow hallway, a broken opens his insides to the floor,
Like the car that could, these were the broken that could,
The man in white coat tells us the horrific tale of the broken that could,
Results slapped down hard, like a judges gavel hushing the court,
Lower back, pulled and broken apart unlike the strong oaken victor,
The list of obscenities go on for what seems an hour,
Crystal tears stream down the Broken Mother’s face as the list is read,
Then came the awaited punch line,
The broken friends were only that, broken.
The broken that could, became the broken that will.
This I can remember like it was yesterday. I got a phone call about two of my really close life long friends being in a crash. They’re brothers you see, I grew up with them in church. I’ve known them since I can remember. The older brother is one of my closest and oldest friends, I was told that his girlfriend was driving them in her Camaro around a corner at 120 mph, that she hit the curb, jumped through the fence and landed with the front of the car into an old oak tree. Flabbergasted I rushed to the scene. It was a road I traveled many times, the drive seemed to take forever. When I pulled up I saw the destruction. All of it. The fence was completely mowed down. Where there was grass, there were no marks. The car actually flew through the air into the tree. It’s amazing that no one was killed. At the time the ambulance had them on stretchers and was about to take them to the hospital down town. It was madness, here lied two of my closest friends incapacitated on stretchers. It’s something I’ll never forget. I went to the hospital and sat in the waiting room with their mother and other friends. It was after their parents had just split too. So both were there trying to awkwardly support one another. The first thing I saw of my oldest friend was him on a cart throwing up all over the floor. It was horrifying. After a few hours the doctor came out and explained they had broken their backs. The first thing I thought was paralyzation. Luckily this wasn’t the case. The doctor said that we basically needed to take care of them after surgery and they’d be ok. This was fortunate.
At the time the mother was working a full time job and was freshly divorced so no one was there to be able to take care of them. I mean could she quit her job to take care of her boys, but lose where they lived at the same time? It wouldn’t work. I worked full time at Barnes and Noble as a lead bookseller. I figured I had some time I could use to take care of them. However when I asked, they told me I couldn’t and that they needed me the whole time. Sadly for me this just didn’t work. I really needed to be there for this family in their time of need. They were my family too, I loved my friends and they needed me. So I quit my job to stay with them at their apartment and take care of them. I brought all my movies, gaming systems, and anything else fun to help them out. After a few weeks they were getting better, they were gonna take longer, but they managed to end up alright in the long run. Both are fine now. I would have quit that job a hundred times again to make sure they were taken care of.
I realize that this is getting lengthy, so I’ll leave it at that. Thanks for stopping by and giving it a read. Let me know what you think of my poetry in the comments please. Love or Hate is always accepted. Cheers.