chops excersize

skiddle dee do,
skiddle dee,
skiddle dum,
fliddil flum

flaaaaaa .... faaaaaaaaaaaattttttttttttttnnnmmkjdl;ag


Well,
write something good.
Go on then ...
uuuuuhhhh do it,
pen scratches at temples
fingers tapping at keys ...
nothing ...
well ...

Good then, let's go write some shitty prose.

Teetering

Balanced on a pinpoint,
swatting thousands of flies,
the genius kills all,
the lesser man falls and dies.

Want to rise?
Need success or demise?
No clue,
just to live,
what to do ...

Now what,
fight hard,
fight right
toil and race into the night
are you gold or are you blight?

Doesn't matter,
just Fight!!!
Fight!!!
Fight!!!

The devil holds you with love (original)

That's when your teeth chatter,
you've traded life's consuming fire,
traded it,
for something cold.
you've found a stable hand to grab,
but it's the devil's hand you hold.

The devil tells you,
work and trust,
don't you stop or you will bust.
But each step with him is nicotine,
an addictive slave's waltz wrapped in chains.

But you've a brood,
and a toiling love,
they free your mind and tie your hands.
They keep your peasants toil upon the land.

And all the while your loves and friends,
keep with the demon till their ends,
supporting each other through thick and thin,
never guessing their love's a web,
keeping them slave to the prince of dread.

And so we stand upon the mire,
separated,
cold,
and sinking.
Too bound by our love of love
to escape the thing
we gave our freedom to flee,
the all consuming oblivion fire.

Value

Opalescence,
essence of being well.
Rays of hope in the darkness,
Oasis in the desert,
calm in chaos,
peace in war.

Life is a slow sinking,
into the dirt.
But sometimes
there are moments,
moments of rising,
moments of raidience,
moments when life is good.

Mendoza Line

Homerun!

after homerun

after homerun

after homerun

but you’re down

1000-1.

Hit as you will

and smash with all skill,

as that ball leaves the park

you are behind

still.

And what else is there

but to keep hitting it all

for goals are not more

than a well thrown base ball.  

keep playing young man

there’s not another chance

don’t hang your head defeated

advance advance advance!!!! 

Cold path forward

He was feeling strange,

a risk taken,

old friends outgrown.

Now he's alone.

He chose to be a stranger,

traveling by night,

casting aside his friends

who would not leave the light.

But stars are cold,

pitiless,

and harsh.

the warmth of old comrades,

fades beneath their light,

on the dangerous midnight trail.

And,

he wished for the ones he loved,

who’s warmth didn’t depend upon the weather,

but they were gone.

He left them behind to chase stars in the night.

Warrior's way (needs editing)

Poetry log

A messy kill

Crowing over defeated friends,

who battled gamely too the end.

The warrior bleeds triumphant free, 

casting aside his astringent allies of the past.

His progress is littered,

with the bones of brothers.

Long forgotten friends and foes,

have faded to facimile

as he sought air to freely breathe,

not just solely for his lungs to love,

but for his dependent progeny.

He knows his sweet success

sits bitter in other men’s mouths.

Sometimes it sits bitter in his own,

tasting acrid like betrayal and

loyalty lost to pride and greed.

He knows it isn’t true,

to every ally he has been true.

But fate is cruel it twists a man,

and it can twist him till he fights his clan.

so with solemn heart and loathing

of action,

he fights them, 

wins

and crows,

then sighs.

then looks into the eyes

of his wife,

his child,

and wonders what God would force

his children to compete

for the scarce resources

everyone needs to survive, thrive

and turn the seed,

into something beautiful.

Then he girds his loins,

prepares again,

to battle all those who would dare

to try and take the spoils he won

for those he loves to grow upon.

Dead men’s lament

Dead men’s lament

Slashing at the air with

razor blade bloody mind,

cursing the divine,

for impotence.

Self importance,

driving into the sun,

forsaken sons,

forward into dawn,

to the setting sun.

Trodding in the dust,

loving luster wanderlust,

facsimile of some august

roman ghost.

Can’t be blamed

for wanting washington’s face,

on the mountain side,

pitied more besides.

the immortals are dead,

and, so are the souls,

of those who would stand in their stead.

Life is all there is,

so,

spending it in pursuit of perfection,

is not the same as living it well. 

Donkey Ride

That carrot is just five inches away,

dangling by twine.

The love of the chase is fine,

if the fire is still there,

that can be devine,

to crave that shine.

What’s not is the loss of time,

what’s given up in the mean,

the things that could have been,

can be all that’s ever had,

that and the sad,

sad, slog through joyless jobs.

All in pursuit of that malevolent non-fruit,

dangling just out of reach.

Plaque

I can feel my heart hardening

more acutely these days.

Once my heart burned

and warmed with its rays.

Now it’s burned out,

as though the sadness were wet,

the ones I love have become ones I don’t.

and their hurt has become my regret. 

Poetry log

A ditty

little things are grand things,

A dusky sun,

a frolicking breeze,

people search the world

and often over look these.

The world is such a fickle place,

though its beauty is a constant.

enjoy it now if you are wise,

it will turn with out your consent.

Hot Sugar

Sweet is the embrace

of parents and of kin,

rare and transitory things they are.

Wasting them is sin,

and upon their loss will deepen the scar.

Sometimes when the wind calls,

to some far flung terra firma,

to answer can be wonderful,

can make the love of life more fervent.

But please return from time to time,

is all this one can say.

remember that the earth will always turn,

but everyone’s parents die some day.

The Devil holds you with love

Feet grounded solid,

in the thick green mire,

slowly you sink,

and dream to retire.

The world rotates,

events prattle on,

you’re not a part,

those days are gone.

But that electric sound,

the sonic resonance of scenery that matters,

you still see it,

still feel it,

in your empty bones.

That’s when teeth chatter,

you’ve traded life’s consuming fire,

traded it for something cold.

you’ve found a stable hand to grab,

but it’s the devils hand you hold.

The devil says to work and trust

don’t you stop, don’t mind the rust,

each step with him is nicotine

another step in a quiet scene,

one where you won’t notice that you dance,

a slave’s waltz with your dark master,

wrapped in chains of debt and worry.

But you’ve a brood,

and a toiling love,

and though they free your mind,

they tie your hands,

they keep your peasants toil upon the land.

All the while your loves and friends,

keep with the demon till the end,

supporting each other through thick and thin,

never guessing their love’s a web,

sucking them down with the prince of dread.

And so we are,

standing upon the mire,

separated,

cold,

and sinking,

too bound by our love of love,

to escape the thing we gave our freedom to flee,

the trap, the enslavement, and the separation from,

all the people, places and things,

we most desire.

complacency

Big dreams to small comforts,

fast living to slow death

compare and contrast

dreams to nightmares

failing to risk the later

the former never materializes

A mind crushing room

Were they castle walls,

rising through the clouds,

men would not feel minuscule,

so awfully anti-proud.

but usually,

and generally,

and subliminally,

and ignominiously.

they’re fabric cubicles,

grey painted offices,

dirty 2x4’s,

and punishment for past offenses. 

Would that men could travel,

as far as thoughts can bend,

for when they don’t they can unravel,

large minds come to tiny ends.

And so sits the common one,

the little mind in a little life,

trapped by ten foot office walls,

just giant’s hair infecting lice.

Just feeding on extracted oil,

wrung from the earth by others,

doing all the menial toil,

machine enabling brothers.

Company Party

staring up from a half filled cup,

knees just touching wine,

I see the level rising,

but think I will be fine.

The temporary joy,

of bacchus' clever ploy,

feeds my myopathy.

And though perchance I may to drown,

meekly, peacefully and without sound.

I wear a playful grin,

and indulge in foolish sin.

I’d much rather have lungs devoid of air,

floating in a cup in a giants lair,

than to suffer the worst, 

and slake the giants thirst.

PTSD

Go through hell,

then arrive in purgatory.

Replace the sulpher smell,

with the ache worry.

Watch the pieces come away,

Survive to live and tell,

left too paralyzed to hurry,

too hurried to trust.

Light can be had,

even after a decade or more,

but a part stays in Abatobad,

and relives the damned war.

repairing the dike
 

There are pros and cons,

Peaks and pitfalls,

Good and evil, 

In the lives of good people.

It's hard to know

What's true or unbelievable

When mirages and camouflages

Are common event causes

And throughout the course,

Those who love,

Those who intercourse 

They pray to some force above.

Rarely do pure answers arise,

More often is compromise.

Plugged holes, extinguished fires,

Bruised feelings and inadequate pacifiers,

These are the things,

Feelings,

Tremblings,

Of true lovers light.

The Struggle at Dawn

The sun came up this morning,

and the shadow lifted from my face,

emotions lightened slowly,

the fear and doubt displaced.

Displaced by urgency and resolve,

by granite brows and diamond eyes,

 battering and piercing new problems to solve,

standing and shining with endless competing lives.

Hamster Wheel

You tried to get off one day,

but it spun too fast,

more time bending the ray,

from straight future to crooked past.

the wheel never stops,

that’s the job of the spinner,

sometime between birth

and more fast food for dinner.

the world is wide and huge,

skies stretching beyond view

but spinning on the wheel

there’ll be no view for you.

purgatory

All life is penance,

trial for the sin of entropy,

the fuel of life is menace,

the living need the dead to feed.

living on the top soil,

means the fight to stay above,

fleeting joy and constant toil,

and constant sinking in the mud.

there is only transfer in death,

though dying holds a sting,

for living is just theft,

from every dying thing.

but stealing life is truth,

for every day there’s less.

and if stealing is the price of breath,

than it’s stealing that is best.

So while 

eat the world  (needs work)

I want to eat the world,

to swallow whole the fat,

to pound my form into the clay,

grind opposition flat.

I want to see the heights,

and lay the giants low,

to stand inside the mighty river,

and then reverse its flow.

I want to build a an obelisk,

ten million miles high,

then I want to jump,

and dominate the sky.

I want to bend the earth,

to harness magma flow,

to channel mighty power

for forming fates below.

and when I do these things

When my mass spans all divides,

I’ll laugh at all mortality,

and look Gods in the eye.

Lesser beings will quake,

as I thunder by,

all enemies I make,

ruthlessly pacified.

sitting golden with my queen,

atop an ivory throne

pondering the power,

possessed by me alone.

I do not care the damage done

nor how high are the stakes,

I’ll never rest nor feel content

my destiny awaits.

Paradise

In quiet desperation,

watching seeping life force glow,

leaking excess passion,

joining greater flows.

Weep for your apocalypse,

your unconstructed reich,

weep for all your selfishness,

weep for uncaused strife.

instead sit in incandesce,

wage slave at the heel,

you wanted domination,

but you’re broken on the wheel.

but in that tragic breaking

a baleful truth unveils

there’s misery in greatness

there’s joy among the fails.

rejoice in tiny roles,

your spark amongst the sun,

and watch the greater molecules

sacrifice their hydrogen.

while you, a tiny weakling,

show know your woman’s arms

hear your children’s laughing tinkling

and stand happy while disarmed

Sedated

There was ambition

There was altruism

There was the will to win

There was the will to survive

All of that is gone now

Subverted to the drug

The sense of comfort not dependent on the wicked.