Poetry

The Ghost of Midnight Past came to me one night
While sleep was far and dreams had taken flight

He sung me many stories while I looked in hallow eyes
Ringing out the secrets with subtle ghastly sighs

I learned so much of what my life had acted out
And gained the harsher knowledge of things I used to doubt

I knew at once the words were true, knew He didn’t lie
He told me stories of many souls that I had once made cry

And secrets too of worse deeds done, unforgiven wrongs
That registered so sharply, as it sang its ghostly songs

I wasn’t even sure aware that tears spilled softly down
And met down at my shaky mouth, wetting my slight frown

I asked what I could do to make up for what I’d sewn
How I could take back a sinful squall, one already blown

He said to me what I know is true, something I won’t forget
That I wasn’t Him, and I had time, for I wasn’t dead quite yet

Don’t tarry long, He said in song, leaving me one small threat:
That I’d be judged like all souls are, and like He, I’d pay my debt…

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I wish for one more poem, I wish, I truly do
I wish for more rhythm in beauty to appear in inky blue
Not all poems are about love, heartache, and its desire
Some are about monsters lurking, and dragon’s breathing fire
But not all poetry is about fantasy realms and made up fiends
Some is about the human condition and the changing it often brings
Not all poetry is about humans and their thoughts and ideas
I bet there’s been a poem about guacamole splattered tortillas
And not only random stuff like food, but also stories to boot
Ones about villains, thieves that are thick, and always looking for loot
And love and stuff too, blades of grass, the rain bending them down
The heartache, the times when we were even too sad to bend out face to a frown
Poems are about silliness, poems for children about ships and sieves and sails
Poems about other silly stuff too, from those times when the mind derails
Poems about ogies and flogies and hammers and whatchamabobits
Poems about girls and boys and stars and flars and chiteranobleebloblits
Poems that were made from life or from the imagination
Poems about love for the world, or the thought of its conflagration
Poems from history or poems from the mind’s odd forgings
Poems about people, their bellies and mind’s often excessive engorgings
So still I wish for more, more, more, more to appear on the page
I wish everybody acted them out in their mind, that magical dynamic stage
I wish people to give more ideas, to fuel this bloodline of poems
To create more ideas, more worlds, more hope, adding to all of the tomes
I wish that people sung them, drank them, spoke them, saw them
I wish they wrote more, every day, adding more facets to the gem
I wish people stood up on a box and gave the finest orations
I wish others were listening, loving the words, adding little notations
I wish people spilled them out into the universe, daily, sometimes as a secret
While locked in their room, or alone on a mountain for only the wind to interpret
I wish more existed, I truly just DO and I love the thought that they can
I love that more poems, more stories, can come from any woman or man
So now that this poem, this wish, is nearly and fully concluded
I’ll wait to see your story, anything, I’ll take it; I just want to read one that you did.

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Searching ever for all of the keys,
those ones lost and buried in seas,

to the paupers or to the crowns,
the rags to the gold threaded gowns,

cutting the breeze with hoper’s eyes,
up through the twinkling sapphire skies,

reflected from the immense blue sway,
making ghost stars in dead dandelion days,

gaining secrets from the living to graves,
they’ll dance on the crest of the waves,

to bear it all to sink down,
for the sea of my mind to endlessly drown

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Wrap your brain around this: The nearest significant galaxy to our galaxy (the Milky Way) is called Andromeda: It would take us approximately 2.5 million light years to travel there (that’s traveling as fast as a particle/wave of light, which is 186,000 miles per second). And that’s just to get to the galaxy next door. As far as we’ve estimated so far, the universe has somewhere in the billions of these galaxies. Some say even 500 billion galaxies. And to go from one to one, it would take somewhere around 2.5 million light years. That’s really, unfathomably, big.

Since this is so, the piece I’m about to write MUST have been written or spoken (or even thought) by some alien race or some sentient being SOMEWHERE out there. Or at minimum, when translated into their letters and words, it makes sense as a poem to something or someone out there. I translated it perfectly (most likely) into English letters, but I don’t know exactly (our most likely at all) what it means:

bartetup wehth romalthal hox esx ththel elel
the emimey tpotl arnemore ale hatharathafel
tobe yeap racth tgh moonerh ohrah na xem
thizzs zel ranp ranp ranp yepth et gal a bem
wahha wahnm wamp wanp wapz zapla leeee
leyp henaram namp erexenem xem fa sa salee
ti to tohe galaz pwertyrie brek nem xem tine
ghelly fol anz an onon thex xem eresta zine

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Old drunk Uncle Edward
Was one hell of a cat
With women he’d be forward
And with men he often spat

I met him at a Christmas
He came to one fond year
He’d worn some weird pajamas
And was missing his right ear

The ear was still bleeding
For he had lost it that day
His hair was then receding
And starting to turn grey

I thought him quite a wild one
For I was then quite young
He acted like a loaded gun
Or a rebel oft unsung

Only I was real impressed
With old drunk Uncle Edward
The way that he was dressed
And that he carried a real sword

It was strapped to the lower back
Of his red union suit
In a sheath that was pitch black
That went down to his brown boot

My mother she just shuttered
And went in the den
And Edward loudly muttered,
“What a wretched dying hen.”

He pulled out a flask of silver
While scratching at his ass
To see what he’d incur
Said, “Tastes like old car gas.”

Edward then grabbed at
My young aunt Sarah’s tits
And while laughing about that
He lit three cigarettes.

I watched her for a second
And then I contemplated
I doubt that Edward reckoned
That they were close related

Sarah ran outside
And Edward laughed and laughed
Then keeping right in stride
He gripped at his sword haft

He pulled out his big sword
And stuck it in the chair
My father was abhorred
Ed truly didn’t care

Old drunk Uncle Edward
Walked toward the next room
Ran into the cupboard
And snatched up out a broom

His movements kept on jerking
As I pretended to dine
He stumbled, he was lurking
Just like Frankenstein

But Ed wasn’t the Dr.
Surely he was the monster
Not conscious like young Victor
But insanity mixed with liquor

Through a crib the broom was driven
Knocked cousin Henry out cold
It could have been forgiven
If Hank wasn’t two years old

Ed staggered on the lawn
His union chute fallen off
Most of the company had gone
And they’d left him with a scoff

My mother had called the cops
Edward was drinking strong
He’d pulled out all the stops
Was naked before long

He punched my dad’s nose
So dad locked us inside
Edward got the hose
And used our Slip ‘n Slide

When the cops showed up
They were truly lost
They wondered why the hose
Was in Dad’s car exhaust

They spotted naked Ed
Wandering in the yard
They drew their guns instead
Of being off their guard

Ed began to slog
But our puppy wandered through
He gently grabbed the dog
Cops wondering what he’d do

Our pup was very pretty
At least my folks had said
So I thought it a pity
As Ed twisted off its head

He put up his hands to abate
His Uncle Edward charms
He held the dog’s small pate
As blood ran down his arms

They took him in at last
The damage had been done
After Christmas day had passed
And Ed had had his fun

I watched as he was bound
Wondering what I’d see
He turned his head around
And mouthed something me

I think he said two things
But I only heard the latter
In my head the voice still rings
“It doesn’t really matter.”

I heard when I had grown
He’d had a heart attack
But I could sense their tone
Ed would soon come back

Cause even if Ed went
Gone and turned to dust
There is a monster latent
Inside of all of us

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I found out today the date when I would die.
It made me start to think and start to cry,

But it leads around to what I’m trying to get at
I found out today while I thought and I sat.

And looked through my calendar, rifling through the months,
The tomes of years and years it possessed

And I shed them off, looked through my future
And the calendar slowly confessed

That I would die when an amount had fallen off,
That I would die when the papers fell soft.

So after I’d found out the date I’d expire
My mind wondered at all the stuff I’d retire

And how much other stuff I’d go through
How much I would don’t and then do.

How many beaches I’d put my toes in.
How much more would I get to sin?

I thought of the kids I’d begot
I thought of the people I’d fought.

I thought of the present now (it comes with the past)
It just goes in a circle, so slow and so fast

I wanted to see all the pizza I’d eaten,
I’d wonder how much of that stuff I had beaten

Piles of pizza piled up to the moon
And I’ll add to the pile pretty darn soon

I wondered how much Dew I’d drank from the Mountain
How much of that stuff I’d sucked from the fountain

How much toothpaste? how many hours dead each night?
How many birds have I watched take their flight?

How many oceans of birds chasing birds?
How many times did I call you all nerds?

How many buffalos? herds upon herds?
How many words my good lord?
How many words upon words upon words?

I typed and I’ve typed, now my keyboard’s worn out.
Trying to figure out what this life’s all about.

I’d like to see all that shit that I started typing and could and couldn’t stop.
Will I keep on running with that until the inevitable day that I drop?

Was everything as much as the words that I type?
Are my stories untold? Untaught? Or unripe?

How many other pointless sounds? Vibrations that I’ve made.
Those words don’t disappear and dissipate I’m afraid.

Those things I’ve said, those wretched voices that came from inside me
They traveled over other countries, through lips and ears and over the sea.

Words from my conscience, separate ones, a thousand or more
Piling up from my tongue, across all the world, onto an alien shore.

They still are in the universe, ‘cause energy won’t die
Attempt to kill to it all you want; I’d love to watch you try.

I want to watch all the tattoos on me wither up into space
I’d like to watch them when I’m dead, while dust takes their place

I’d like to witness all the lives that I’ll create
Grow up, and throw their hands, try to abate
Their unstable minds, and words unkind
From coming forth, (again) forbear!

Lest ill-made knights that I’ll produce, and misanthropes despair…

I’d like to see all the cut off stuff, for example, all my hair.
I want to see the jars of toenails I cut off in this existence.
I’d like to see how much skin shed off, with little if any resistance.

I want it all stacked in piles in front of a history museum
I want people to understand the volumes; I want people simply to SEE ‘em.

I’d like to see all the doors I went through, and with each one I want all the keys
(Oh I forgot, I’d also like to relive every orgasmic showering sneeze)

I want to see how much good I created by doing everything I did.
I want to see the evil I made by inadvertently being a kid.

I want to see all the good I didn’t do too, from my birth until my twilight
I’d be seeing it all for a very long while, because that good is infinite, right?

I want to see the endless lakes of water that I went through as I lived on top of this planet
I want to see all the races I ran, the ones that I lost, and how slowly I fuckin’ ran it.

It might be a joke, but I almost forgot that I’d also like all of the laughter
And I’d like to see all the faces’ dark looks, that’s surely to follow thereafter

But mostly I want to see all the pain that I’ve cause (which relatively isn’t much at all)
Or it’s a shit load, more than I can bear (I guess that’s the witnesses call).

Let me gather the tears, somehow and some way, gather it up in big buckets
And I’ll get my wish, get to see what I’ve done, if only this thing we call luck hits

Show me the buckets of salty old tears, offered up by the worlds’ poor folks
Shed out of their eyes, by my words, and my lust, by my actions, and all of my jokes

So bring on the buckets of tears, bring ‘em in: to see them would be divine
I’ll gather the worlds’, look at them all, and somehow compare them to mine…

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Winter was probably the coldest of them all.
She’d come around, though, every year, for some reason
after Fall.

She bore a frosted heart, wherever in the world,
And left a wake of snow, longing after her, unfurled.

Winter, she laughed a lot, whether aware or not of this,
They could not say. She was light acumen,
A picture-perfect beauty, bliss.

And she ran in whirls of snow and love, was soft
And came down hard from winter gods aloft

She was forbidding, in love, she dispensed barely any
She only took much in from others. And of those others
There were many.

Sun, he took it far the worse, as far as he could tell
Winter put Sun’s heart, for good, in a place, a longing hell.

“Why do you leave me every spring?” asked Sun one day to Winter
“It’s broke my heart in so many pieces, it now can only splinter.”

This made Winter laugh and so she blew
Snow into his face, and the icy gesture bit.
“I do not know,” she shrugged. “My heart is restless, wrapped by ice, and
And you will never melt it.”

Sun he turned to blue
Had no clue
How the sadness, nor the love, she could not see
He didn’t want to be Sun anymore; he didn’t want to be.

He turned dull, and gray, until the sky was clouded.
And in a pall of dimness, overcast, the world was then enshrouded.

But Sun came back, after quite a time, as Winter was leaving for spring.
She probably found some other lover,
And to them, sadness she’d well bring.

As Sun sank down across the trees
Reaching his light through the parted leaves
And space and time,
Thinking of the Winter’s rhyme,
or reason, or anything.

Then Moon manifested as a ghost against the dying day sky
And said the question the Sun had asked, simply put,
“Why?”

“Why what?” said Sun, only barely able to make a glow,
As sun waves and particles, diamond lances, chased away the snow…
As a last, last chance to make Winter understand,
To make her somehow know…

“Why does she not understand?” said Moon
“How much you love her?”
As she solidified herself, as Sun sank down and black.
“For if Winter knew, we know it’s true,
She’d come blowing back.”

“I know,” said Sun, and out he went, his love reverted, it all
Nothing more than stoic sadness, pent up inside that ball.
And so he did not hear the last of what Moon did say
She would die away later, sure he’d not love her
And fade away with the day.

Moon stayed out though awhile and watched, sadness there as well
As her thoughts stayed on the Sun, for her love for him would dwell,
For anon and evermore.
Doing all she could possible, to make the Sun know too.
As Sun wished for Winter to do.
“For that love that you hold for Winter,” whispered Moon to Sun.
“Is what I hold
for you…”

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If my mind is a fire emboldened by rain
If it is fueled like thoughts fuel the insane

I don’t disagree, I see the connection
For that’s all we are, not a thing of perfection

From the minds to the cosmos, micro and macro
exist connections, connections, synapses to Velcro

But inside a mind exists a cosmos as well
A place for ideas, for new worlds to swell

And for a place for creation, above all the rest
A place for a murderer named Tomlinson Hest

A place for wroughting, synthesizing, welding
For putting together, and amalgamating

A place for a wizard, a mindbender, a bringer of lightning
A place for Stephen King, and his novels (so frightening!)

A place for grammar and English, for Words of that passed
A place for dying sunflowers, and other poetry amassed

I saw it all too, before it was there,
In that place, my mind didn’t start only bare

It was a fire, a fire like others possess
and then I heard other people and began to guess

At what might be if other thoughts met up with others
If a baby was stolen, or if stars had had mothers

That fire was burning, ready to burst
And rain came along, increasing its thirst

It hasn’t put it out yet, and I daresay it will not
Rain expands, gives me concepts, motives, desires, problems, rhymes, ideas, notions, constructs, worlds,
and plot.

I’ve said I was atlas, man of the rain,
A spine calcified, emboldened by pain

So my mind is as well, as you’ve stated (so true!)
As clear to me as my favorite color (it’s blue!)

Then yours is a fire emboldened by Fire
Your compliment seeks to against you conspire

For I hold that notion higher than one of by Rain
It seeks to burn brighter; from itself it can gain

It burned up itself, but somehow got brighter
A little Aaron to a man; a campfire from a lighter

like the fucking sun my friend, just like that ball
burning up plasma, using itself for itself
not creating a wall

For your skull was no wall, you had infinite room
inside of that bone for your mind of to boom

From it came a thought about Easter and Jesus
How he somehow doesn’t work, doesn’t truly ever please us

He never gave us two souls and that rattles your cage
Let’s beat him with his sandals! (nah, let’s turn the page)

From the fire came a tenth anniversary poem,
(hell, from it came a whole hell of a tome)

You went Full Circle on a thing called “clichés”
And I have no idea if that’s transient, a phase J

You made a captain, a caboose, a banstickle just using instinct
your gut.
And a goopy train, goopy train, goopy train
(what?)

And the things about Lisa, all men of should envy
And logically jealous of Lisa all women should then be
We all say I love you! (how boring, clichéd right?)
But to say it unique, inimitably good
Like a fire by Fire, inevitably would

And that fired burned so far, but not out, it still burns
And I suppose like the rest of some, it seeks, it learns

The mind of yours got to a place (as far as I can tell)
The Rain kept on pouring, the Fire as well

Fire, Rain, Beauty, Pain, Truth, Lies, Apathy, Tries, Love, Lust, Humans,
Dust.

And a place of unknowing, an uncaring solution,
with no stop or no end. No revolution.

Because you’re lost in that lost if land there be,
I know it to be tRUE
and Aaron if you ever care to stay in there
that hell
You’ll find my company
as well.

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When life first began, with planting from hands
It started out with the hope of love’s blessing
With no need for sins, no need for sadness
And the plants would not need confessing
But though we started out there, this place without heeds
We finished off lying, having cried out all of our sunflower seeds

Then all the flowers grew, and nobody knew
What the sower and his gentle hands forgot
So we looked all around, and at dusk we looked down
Following the sun was ever our lot
Still our bodies stayed upright, strength for life’s deeds
Though we kept up the vying, crying nothing but sunflower seeds

Water rained in all around, stirred the cracked ground
Drooping leaves and sinking all the fields’ hope
But as some started drowning, the sun would come out
And the living were forced to continue to cope
We hung our heads once again, like the flower that bleeds
Shallow in the mud drying, crying the sunflower seeds

Weeds soon came along, with a harsh choking song
That rang out against all the planter’s dreams
Though from whence they came He knew not
But we blamed him regardless for all of his schemes
And through the torment of pain from those malevolent reeds
We were on Him still relying, crying nothing but sunflower seeds

We lashed out against friends, not treating flowers as ends
In some attempt at truth and at power
We killed baby flowers and backbit and stole dirt
Over weak flowers, the stronger would tower
Echoing in our petals were the dying ones’ pleads
Our time in hell we kept buying, while still crying the sunflower seeds

Time it passed by, though we didn’t know why
For our planter gave us nothing to know
Our hearts hardened fast, like our stalks and our leaves
Without choice, a gardener, or a person to hoe
We had no one to tend us, our hearts or our needs
So we stood barely trying, crying nothing but sunflower seeds

In the end when it came, cursing His name
We decided no longer to follow the sun
We stared at the mud, pulled down by our tears
Knowing our time in the fields were now done
We tell our story every fall, to you who now reads
Of the meager, the dying, crying nothing but sunflower seeds

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I wonder if stars love other stars too,
The way that we weird little humans so do.

I wonder if they talk about friends and nice stars,
And who is the closest with that red guy named mars.

I wonder if stars are then insecure too,
And if they get low and sometimes feel blue.

So I wonder if stars are happy and sad,
And love all the good times and hate all the bad.

And I wonder if stars speak poorly about others,
I wonder if they sometimes disappoint their own mother.

I wonder if stars put on a fake face,
To impress other stars higher up in cold space.

I wonder if stars become angry with peers,
And if they hold many grudges for many light years.

I wonder if stars break hearts and move on,
And I wonder if they sigh when they fade with the dawn.

I wonder if stars fear death like we do,
And I wonder if they also have thought it all through.

I wonder if stars miss friends and have foes,
I wonder if they wonder where shooting stars go.

And I wonder if they cry like we cry when we die.
And I wonder if they miss those that fell from on high.

For the shooting star makes us all laugh and wish,
But we never think about the ones that perish.

Because all the other stars way up in the sky,
Must think of that star, the one that has died.

But we weird little humans on small planet Earth,
Just use it for tidings, good thoughts, and some mirth.

But the shooting star’s the saddest thing around;
It’s gone from its friends to never be found.

So next time you see a star shooting, falling with grace,
Just wish it was back, back home in its place.

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Anything Anything here we do start
With anything, a match, and a silly old fart.

Or a grin and a tooth, or a man with a booth,
Just flying around for the sins for forsooth.

For the sake of all good, for the sake of true time.
For his hers and ours; for those that are mine.

For anything truly is dimensions and space.
But more than just that it’s your time and place.

But it’s candy and trains and automobiles.
And other strange things with plastic and wheels.

And anything sometimes is nothing at all,
Such as words or computers or a dark bathroom stall.

And paint and weird trees and pins and such,
And other things surely that aren’t quite as much.

It’s air and smells and it’s sense and it’s eyes.
It’s people that live out their sad little lies.

For anything starts and ends with a race.
But it’s one we all lose or all we all get first place.

It’s paper and pens and needles and docks.
It’s old people too and it’s smelly old socks.

It’s water and love and lust and some foes,
And history and books and all things untold.

And it’s tearing me and it’s poetry too.
It’s people that have nothing better to do.

Anything starts and ends with some ink.
It’s dishes and water and cloths in the sink.

It’s learning and talking and discussing old days.
It’s how people move and their culture and ways.

It’s blood in the water and sand in the air.
It’s some that never will try to not care.

It’s nuns and it’s fun and it’s dirty and clean.
And it’s sometimes a stupid old typing machine.

It’s sailing and stories and other such tales.
It’s beaches and fishes and big fat blue whales.

It’s food and it’s drink, it’s guitars and strings,
And so many other ubiquitous things.

It’s time on my hands; it’s the time slipping by.
It’s the truth that we live, and the truth that we die.

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It turned out that they left for the ships that day so soon
That we never had a chance to get there before the pull of the moon
They looked at us from afar on the water and knew they could not help
They did not turn around and were lost in the juggernaut swell
There we stood on the shore, alone in the mist and the dark with the sand
We watched them silently drift on the water, that selfish dark teeming band
Taking up speed and they set out forever with their sails long gone and unfurled
I’d rather sit here with you and wait ‘til we drown, than float with the rest of the world.

Food was brought in by servants and slaves but even soon they too ate well
We came in too late and were admonished and hated for missing the dinner bell
They stuck up their noses and looked down with contempt at us two standing by the door
We felt like small children and wept and we cried as we held up our plates for some more
People left and they snubbed us and hit our shoulders as we looked at their bellies full
We loathed those that were fat and we looked at our stomachs and heard our hunger pangs pull
They’d eaten the bread, they’d taken the meat, given us none and still their smiles had curled
I’d rather go without food and starve here with you, than dine with the rest of the world.

Wings they thought up and endless other means to fly above trees and the seas
They could all sail in air and watch us below looking, longing, offering pleas
Machines they built strong that were steel, lean, and long to fly away from this unkind place
And they might have stopped for us, or brought us along if they’d only seen the look in our face
But the golden feathers and steel whirring of engines and the happiness long left this land
So we waited on earth, just us two forever, staring up into space hand in hand
Sometimes we saw birds that reminded us so of those fliers that through air they’d left purled
I’d rather die here with you, and rot on the ground, than soar with the rest of the world.

Last and the foremost the afterlife came and we found ourselves last at the gate
We thought God would hear us and He would listen even though we would have to wait
Souls pushed passed us greedy, not waiting in line, for they feared that endless cruel burn
And even after it all, after lessons through life, we knew none would even now learn
Still we held each others hand, looked over the crowds and our eternal, damned sad lot
It was then we remembered, unlike all those other fools, of things in life we’d forgot
So we smiled, walked away, down the road to our doom, out of heaven then we were hurled
I’d rather spent eternity in hell, miserable with you, than in glory with the rest of the world.

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In castle lived the Mind Bender
An old gray man with love
A hooded sage, distraught, aloof
He bent from high above

The Mind Bender did wear a cloak
which always he held tight
He wore that cloak which hid his form
And it was black as night

His glares they were the oddest part
So thought all who met them
They were as dark as his old cloak
Through sadness they did stem

So often the old Mind Bender
Would bend his will and thought
To places far away
To places long forgot

And sometimes it would be for good
And sometimes to ill-will
And sometimes he would try to help
Those that lived beneath that hill

And often many starry nights
And starless nights alike
The Mind Bender would stare afar
And think about those lives

But to what end and purpose
Most people never knew
He would think about their troubles
Again, each day, anew

He thought about old days and times
Of war and death and theft
He wondered how to help those folk
If help was not bereft

Some said they found him odd and mad
Some said they hardly saw him
Some said he stood for nothing good
Some said he mostly awed them

Some people said he mastered minds
Which left them ill at ease
So some folks left the place they knew
To escape his prying pleas

And many said the Mind Bender
Could read their thoughts and mind
They said he took from them their will
And that they weren’t inclined

A few resisted tales and lies
And often brought him bread
But never would he accept
And bade them, “eat,” instead

And those that spoke to him did see
That though his look was rough
His eyes had love and empathy
Though it wasn’t quite enough

Because the Mind Bender was old
And his actions spoke so dim
He never thought about the truth
That people couldn’t love him

He dreamed of sailing far away
Of catching hope for a smile
He thought about rest from strife
And they loved him less all the while

On it went, the time and things
And not a day did he sleep
He never founds any nepenthe
And often would only weep

On and on those people dying
Thought him all the while insane
and on the old Mind Bender
thought of ways to end their pain

And naught of such a heart broke man
had this land ever seen
and never such a sadder tale
thus has there ever been

For loving those he did not know
was part of his down fall
he never knew those that he loved
so he could not help at all

And in the end, it must be told
That though he bent and tried
The Mind Bender did rest alone
Alone in castle, there he died.

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It’s easy as hell Chad, to want to get drunk,
If you didn’t get last night just drunk as a skunk.

For I like to forget those women and times,
And I like to erase old thoughts from my mind.

“Let me forget, let me not take these home,
These thoughts that I hate in my mind that is lone.

A sharp toothed old soul and the wish in my hand,
And the wild and the world and a small silver band,
That I threw in the lake off my dirty old hand.

I went to that beach where we met and we loved.
But those times were long past so I shoved and I shoved.”

Those unkind old memories now tattooed in ink,
Rather in skin so we weren’t forced to think.

They stayed in that arm instead of my mind,
And that really did work for a small stint of time.

“But back at the lake I sat and I stewed,
And I drank all the beer that those people had brewed.

For the crutch that folks need for the they weakness they hold,
For the truth they can’t ever be just quite that bold.

And will never know true uncertain restraint,
And will live out their lives so little and quaint,

Uncertain, afraid, and scared of all words,
While sitting and laughing at all sorts of nerds,

Making fun of those others that they never knew,
While I sit here and drink the beer that they brew.

For it keeps off my mind those bullies and lies,
And it helps with the times that I think of those wives;

All the people that hate us and love us the same,
Though we never could love them in Jesus Christ’s name.

Though now that they’re gone we love for their hate,
We long for that person and a past that was fate.

But it’s gone and life changes and the time carries on,
Just like all this clear water that ebbs and is gone.

And I’ve lost that old ring and it’s gone for the time.
But someone might find it if fate stays sublime.

They’ll sit and they’ll wonder at my sad endless plight,
And they’ll wonder if I’m gone, long dead in the night.

Til then I’ll live on and I’ll drink and I’ll think,
Drinking all that old brew, and I’ll think on and drink.”

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A circle with metal,
Jutting straight through
Wondering are all,
What the devil are you?

Digital, an ease to read,
Clinging to a wrist.
With glowing lights ahead,
You’ll see in any mist.

A large erect brown box,
Its golden pendulum sways.
A master of all clocks,
Stealing away my days.

And the surreptitious flip,
Always hidden by the hand,
Forcing time to skip
Swiftly over the land.

Figure eights, with sand gone by,
I don’t hear the tick-tock.
I know the answer why,
I so much hate the clock.

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An oak, like most others, begins with a seed.
So love in the same way can have that same need.

That need is the dirt that the seed dug down into,
And the soil, just the same, is for want what to do.

It starts out so small, some might not even see.
It hides beneath soil long before it’s a tree.

And some love is oft hidden just starting to grow,
So with keen eyes only, could the right person know.

That seed remains dormant but there all the same,
And it warms to the soil growing slow in love’s game.

But it’s not just some game, and the seed knows that truth,
For it longs for more love, even though in it’s youth.

Then the soil loves it back, but that soil is so deep.
Not deep with just size, but with depth one could keep.

The soil remains skeptic, but stays just the same,
In the way that the seed did, in loves silly name.

But that love is not silly, the soil has decided.
Forever it nurtures, and for the seed has abided.

It hugs back the seed and loves it all around.
It waits for wood tendrils that grasp in the ground.

Soon something begins and the wood stretches fingers,
The grip takes more hold; the seed no longer lingers.

The time that they grew, it meant other things too,
It meant crying at times; and sometimes both were blue.

But that crying was rain, causing dampness for both,
So it only meant nothing; nothing but growth.

It meant happiness also, the times that were bright,
So the happiness then, was the healthy sun light.

A tree that has grown strong juts out of the soil,
And the two are content now, away from turmoil.

The oak keeps on growing and loving forever.
The soil and the roots, nothing ever could sever.

Those roots stretch down deep, holding fast far below,
And the roots, like the soil, shall never let go.

Mixed with time and the air, together they sat,
They grew fonder and fonder of the love they begat.

So it was that they grew, and the time that was spent,
Described only thereafter as something magnificent.

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His name was Manfred from my childhood
He tried not to come out, but so often would.

His aspects were hidden and often so marred,
And he never was cast in the night that was starred.

Manfred was light, just as light as the light.
I never ran with him though lonely in fright.

Because Manfred did never truly live quite at all.
Manfred was never there at my beckon call.

But I needed him then, I needed a friend.
A reprieve from the torment that seemed not to end.

Real people were mean and I hated them so.
So much that no one would really all know.

I knew that sad part of the human is true,
But some folks just live and know what to do.

Manfred was scary, and a man quite apart;
A man that now lived and now tore at my heart.

He scared me so often with that psychotic touch.
And often his hints were far, far too much.

Those little weird gestures and the hinting and prying,
Inside my head and without I was crying.

He would coerce my actions if I let him exist,
And he made ill-favored with the family or bliss.

So an outcast was I, if Manfred was there,
Though sometimes I wonder if I truly did care.

I needed a companion, I needed that love.
I thought somehow Manfred was sent from above.

No one then believed me for the sins that he wrought,
And all the stories I told, nobody has bought.

So slowly and certainly Manfred had to die.
Then I was alone, so then I did cry.

Now that I’m grown, I ponder so often,
For the deeds that were done and those that should have not been.

They could not make me pay for the crime that he did;
For they thought it uncanny when a kid murdered kid.

They found her frail body lying dead by the stream,
Manfred had come forth while I watched the dream.

But they say I still killed her in some sickened way,
And they all talk about me still up to this day.

I don’t think I’m responsible for her fall down the falls,
But they still say I did it and I did it all.

But I know for certain what happened to her:
It wasn’t my hand but Manfred’s for sure.

It was Manfred that killed her and then Manfred that died.
So now I keep Manfred only on the inside.

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I’m saddened that I’ll never live
Only in the month of May
To forever feel soft showers, sunlight
But I’ll be okay today

I’m blue about the ocean
Its beauty and its sway
I wish I could show all souls her
But I’ll walk on today

I’m downhearted that I cannot be
A permanent starry day
To glitter on eternally
But I’ll be content today

I’m depressed about the humans
And that fact that we decay
I wish us all immortal
But I’ll live on today

I’m scornful of the times
In which thoughts I did betray
I wish I had been truer
But I’ll try more today

I’m hopeless at the prospect
Of answer to prays I pray
Whispered onto nothingness
But I’ll be fine today

I’m despairing at the notion
That I’ll become part of the clay
And I won’t come back to write
But I’ll be all right today

I’m dejected at the thought
That so many days are gray
While the good ones gone, forgotten
But today I’ll be okay

I’m miserable at the truth
That with me you cannot stay
But I’ll be okay to continue
And carry on today.

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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered quite insanely,
Over many a voice of obnoxious and noxious sounds,
While I quandered, nearly nodding, intruded a horror quietly prodding,
As of someone hitting on my drunken head, hitting on my drunken head.
‘Tis a friend,’ I muttered. ‘Hitting on my drunken head.’
Only this, or so I said.

Presently, my head grew clearer, hesitating to listen longer.
‘Of who is speaking, your forgiveness I would adore,
But the truth is I am drinking and my conscious coerced my thinking,
And so faintly you came speaking, speaking as to imbed,
That so sure was I that heard you speaking to imbed.’
Only this, or so I said.

When it came to persuasion, such a gift to them was not imbued.
While I cast a glance upon two kings, who clearly didn’t comprehend
The dance of verbose speaking when it is truly, wholly weighed,
Upon whether the speaker stayed or strayed from the poignant point ahead,
‘Though I fear it does appear they fail at giving quality instead.’
More or less, or so I said.

‘Friends and foes!’ cried I. ‘Oh harbinger sitting on the mind,
Or bearers, you would never love the fickle men that lead!’
Yet you listened out of kindness, so as to somehow imbue,
Thoughts that escape us, always things your mind has bred.
Always they escape, escape confines that stay in stead.
Only this, or so I said.

So are those dancing thoughts listening because you came from many?
Your tales of futures, the many years ahead
I liked that you like that we need to know but one word,
‘I’ll tell the people that I’ve heard, or so that it changed my head
I’ll tell the change wrought within my simple minded head.’
Only this, or so I said.

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Once upon a time not so long ago,
We tried and we tested and tested and tried,
Those limits and borders and things that quite died.

I tried my best with no rest and lest,
I lay my weary head down to die.

For the times I was cautious and the times I was bold,
Like the harm I inflicted and the harm I held tight,
And the times where all things broke the mold.

And the times where a story was told.

Until life meant quite little and we waited its lore,
Til we slept and we ate on the old pallid shore.

That eternal abyss, that sad endless past,
Stretching forward for days like it all would long last.

We loved which meant loss and the fires were stoked,
And often through us were the hearts that were broke.

But we blamed very few though we blamed long and hard,
And we looked for that ace, that miracle card.

For sometimes it did come and sometimes we went bust,
And sometimes hated life when it settled the dust.

We saw it all mostly and we sat that all full,
Whether we or the ocean was the slow steady pull.

So the moon and the folks and the sailors and tunes,
Made us sit all alone with the friendship of ruin.

But we didn’t take back the time nor the love,
Though we broke all those hearts and put ours way above.

We waited on high on a shelf made of trust,
And again we did not fuss over long dried up rust.

And life was a relentless assailant of pain;
All the hope that I held was certain to wane.

It wore out real fast and I hated that wait,
So in the end I went knocking on heaven’s gold gate.

Thus eternity wept ere I made it all go,
I destroyed all the future so no others would know.

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It’s not nonchalant it’s not even just that.
It’s not even the house or the cat in the hat.

It’s not tying your shoe or a nice game of ball.
It’s the saddened dead eyes, or a mute person’s call.

It’s those times in life where we catch our own breath.
It’s bottled frustration or an endless cold death.

It’s not trying your best or winning at all;
It’s that time on the step where your foot didn’t fall.

It’s not noise of loud speakers or a strong person’s strum,
Nor the hum in a crowd, that one person’s hum.

It’s not people or planets or the stars and the moon.
It’s the endless abyss of your despairing old boon.

It’s not talking about anything or at all.
It’s not a dolphin’s or wolf’s loud longing love call.

It’s that time where you went under water a while.
It’s when you were too angry to even just smile.

And it can’t come with you and it can’t go with them.
It’s not pants that you wear that need a small hem.

It’s naked, it’s lightning but with no sort of sound.
It’s lightning that never came close to the ground.

Where the thunder was gone but the shadow did show.
It’s not knowing your friends, it’s not being too slow.

It’s not knowing thyself or to that self be true.
It is when you don’t know what the hell you should do.

It’s not colors or clocks or the winding of time.
It’s not his or not hers, and it’s probably not mine.

A crater with air where the rock falls down fast;
But you don’t hear the noise after that rock is cast.

And you leave and you walk wondering where it did go.
Because certainly we should already just know.

And we carry on thus with the time and all things,
And we wonder just what this next year will bring,

Without thinking at all that it’s nothing at all,
That we never will know just when we will fall.

For it’s not this long poem or the words on this sheet.
And it’s not the next person that you’re certain to meet.

It’s that sound when a dead leaf, when falling, will make.
It’s that sound when no wind is touching the lake.

It’s that time when you die, when you feel so damn small,
For it truly is nothing, just nothing at all…

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One time I was frying some food on a ship,
At the helm I saw an odd man with a big fat blue lip.

And he punched himself twice and thrice and some more,
Then he disappeared quickly and appeared then on shore.

But he changed all his color and his texture and skin,
And at once he was fat but then again thin.

And he was black at first now and white again later,
And then Indian soon and then turned alligator.

Then a rat came about and he ate all my food.
This then put me in some sort of sick foul sad mood.

Then the ship spun around and made some weird sound,
Off it headed without me to never be found.

So I walked on the water and drowned and ate fish,
And I met some crook genie who gave me no wish.

Then the texture of life was uncooked and unstewed,
And the fabric of time was quite off and unscrewed.

So I searched through all doors with some key made of bone,
But I never then somehow had left my own home.

My peacock flew by me and gave me a kiss,
With his feathers and chains and his chainsaw just missed.

Floating again on that old pirate isle,
I knew all was gone but still gave it a smile,

When the words and the color and the trees dyed in blue,
Came wrapped around round me and in words that I knew.

Then that old high school crush was there just for fun,
And we did all the things that we never had done.

With a song and a dance and a reindeer’s last prance,
I flashed with my camera in that second last chance.

Next the skeleton came flying and dying at once,
And I died from his scepter just right before brunch.

For the brunch was made oft then of mice and some liver
With a small dude on the back seat that made his jaw quiver.

That man cried and blamed me for the things I knew not,
So my head just turned into some metal glass pot,

With which I stewed all my thoughts and I drank them all too,
Like some liquor of hate that the shoemakers knew.

Then I flew and I danced and I crashed and I dared,
And I beat up the sun and some new solar flare;

The flare made of gas and molten and tarts,
And a dying old ember showed that queen of my heart.

With that colors yelled at me and cursed and then lied,
But somehow I kept reeling alive on the inside.

And I punched at thin air where that space was so fair,
In a place with a lady whose nose was not there.

With beggars and princes and stones made of lilies,
Was there in this time filled with other hillbillies.

Then space and my thought though it wasn’t a pot,
Became quite distorted like the way things are not.

But the floating was nice and the catching of jars,
Or seeing thousands of men with huge tiny crow bars.

Last the star in my mind and the star in my eye,
Took all of existence and again I did die.

I awoke quite alive after that strange array,
And I went on and faced all things then that day.

Because I was dead just plain dead it surely did seem,
But I’ll always remember it was just some weird dream.

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Upon I have come from climbing and sweat;
Up here I wait for the man that I met.

The rocks are all dusty and broken and tipped,
And the orange that they make is like rust that is ripped.

But he said “meet me there”
On that spot that is bare,

Where the demons won’t climb and take heart.
For the demons they loathe all the places untold,
And they hate to climb up for their part.

Thus the horror overtakes my withering soul,
As I look out above me on that hellish dark hole.

I almost fall off of that cliff where I stand,
And grab a sharp rock with my dry dusty hand.

The flames all lick up and flare at my move,
And my foot gets away and falls into a groove.

With that last small mundane uncertain bad step,
I fall off of the cliff and fall into deep depth,

Of all the fires and suffering and malice and woe.
And I think to myself “What a dumb way to go.”

So back into hell I’ve fallen again
And I hear all the monsters in their revelrous din.
Soon one looks at me with a vulturous grin.

And I hang my poor head for the madness to come;
For the horror that waits and the drum of the drum.

Then the demons of hell and the monsters do come,
To tear out my lungs and my spine and my tongue.

And they give us no water and the flames carry on,
For ever eternal in this fiery pond.

For the fall will not kill me, nor the demons nor flame,
And I know I’ve got only but myself to blame.

Though it heartens me little, it does hearten me still,
For the day that I meet that man up on the hill.

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Livin’
laughin’
tokin’
killin’
stealin’
bribin’
hatin’
rapin’
cheatin’
doin’
hurtin’
laughin’
flyin’
drinkin’
thinkin’
knowin’
prayin’
dyin’
cryin’
Believe me Lord,
I’m tryin’.

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How long with the ribbon will I sit and I type?
How long will my brother put up with my life?

How long will I slant rhyme and try to be neat?
How will I will live and death will I cheat?

How long will you wonder at my subconscious mind?
How long will I shift and find nothing to find?

How long will I confuse those dumb homonyms?
How short will my mood get when the tide settles in?

How much will you love me for telling you truth?
How much will you hate for the mistakes of youth?

What time does your clock say, how long have you got,
To sit and be curious over ways that are sought?

For those that you seek and those that have died,
Are already better than those who now try.

How much will you judge you how much will you hate?
How many people are already prostrate?

What makes you so sad what makes you stay long?
What makes you wonder why you can’t recite song?

Why stay on those knees, love hard crying pleas,
And love those that you know you can’t beat.

Thank those that are better than you as such.
Know others love them, while you not as much.

But that perfect person will find you no doubt,
And your worries and cares you’ll no longer flout.

You’ll find the right person, that one that is true.
You’ll find the right person that loves you for you.

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Alone on the back porch with a time in my hand
Breathing in all the night air and seeing that man,

I stopped in that moment and with vigor did stare
And the sky looked back at me with an odd sort of glare.

I looked at the moon and it hung quite up high
I was an old man then just waiting to die.

And I’ll tell you that story of how death came to me
How I saw it take night passed my old willow tree.

For the moon that I looked at in the midst of that sky
Would be the sick means for this old man to lie.

The sky turned so vast next, some indigo shade,
And then death took its form in the sky it had made.

With his indigo cloak he wrapped up his form,
And then grabbed out the moon which caused a brief storm.

Then the clouds that were resting like hay in a field,
Were loath to leave the heavens but soon they did yield.

Then the wind whipped around me and slashed at my face.
I stood like a man; I hugged back death’s embrace.

And the moon was not full but rather a sliver,
And it shimmered with light which caused a slight shiver.

I looked at the tool now that the moon had turned into,
Which was wrapped with Death’s hands in a shade still of blue.

For the moon was His sickle taken down from its place,
And he stood now upon me and I asked for no grace.

I stood up and looked at what once was the moon,
And with opened arms welcomed my bent welcome boon.

That sky that was death with that moon as his weapon,
Stood curling dead fingers; for my soul they did beckon.

Then the moon that I’d watched, death swung it down on me,
And it sliced through my body so my soul was set free.

Death threw back the moon and it stuck where it should.
And the sky came back after, like I knew that it would.

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Where it is or it rests
I shall never know
Far beyond the seas of time
Or the oceans far below

Do you know, or do you wonder
Then you’ll have to take my word
Though even me, I’d doubt, I know
Or any little bird

The wardrobe is cunning
And clever, yes, it seems
Dodging light of any mind
And the moons vast subtle beams

But I’ll try to tell the story
While it lasts, with my pen
And the wardrobe will decree
I’ll forget, again, then

For it’s been in my thoughts
Like a dream barely remembered
A fire forgotten long
An ashen gray ember

That which flares in my mind
For a time now and then
Leaving when I speak of it
Escaping this dull den

The magician alone keeps them
All the thoughts through time and more
In that wood wardrobe of his
With what he wishes them for

I’m not for sure the making though
Whether wooden or of thought
But it crawled at his fingers beckon
Gossamer magic begot

And it housed all the universe
And all things far beyond
It was the lake and the shore
And the fish inside the pond

It made miracles too
From a tiny diamond sack
He pulled them out bent over
Stooping his magic back

He reached in, ripped and pulled
Perhaps without seeing
That sack made of itself
Made from its own being

Then it crumpled on itself
Having shown its worth
The magician acknowledged potential
From that small creator’s birth

Then he snared up that smooth sack
Formed it into a square
Made it look just like a wardrobe
And the thing just didn’t care

Millennia went by
Then billions of those
Then trillions and further
He thought, “How the time goes…”

He encompassed all space
Spread and so far
He encapsulated worlds
From dust speck to star

He was nothing at all
Compacted so whole
Like the event he created
Of a shining black hole

The wardrobe still sat
In his mind or in ours
Or in space or in time
In light years and hours

So extracting with his will
The stories and such
He created more life
That perhaps was far too much

He made spirits at first
Summoned from deep
And a loch ness as well
For some monster to keep

He made giants and heroes
Foes for each other
He made people die
At expenses of mothers

He made blood fill up water
And part with some hand
And some crowd walked through it
Over bloody wet land

He cackled at such
And he would not stop there
He made forests and such
And orange colored air

Along with vast complex planets
With all colors around them
With toadstools of blue
And heavenly rims

There were thieves of all sort
With knives and the rest
Who all squabbled for riches
And the head of the mess

So the magician put forth
From the closet within
Dragons for treasure
And a hoarders sharp grin

They watched the treasure forever
From they time they were born
‘Til they left lands and sauntered
Onto places forlorn

So some life sought to ponder
Over where it all came
And made statues of worship
And some made up some name

He made wars over worship
Made people kill in that name
And people killed for all time
Always displacing blame

The wardrobe grew weary
And started to shift
It grew stronger and brighter
Which caused a life rift

The wizard took advantage
And drew from the glory
While the worlds kept on dying
And the wars much more gory

The box and magician
They grew far apart
But the reach was connected
An intrinsic cruel heart

For they both became bigger
If one can call it that
For bigger is human
Not a magician’s lot

And with bigger came greater
Or perhaps smaller with power
They both realized that then
In that deplorable hour

The magician pulled stops
And continued the pain
And the worlds trudged on
In some holy name

New facets came along
That some wouldn’t believe
Like monsters unheard of
That gave little reprieve

Love came along next
With the seeking of truth
Both which jaded the old
And perplexed the youth

Other worlds also
Knew things we now write
Stories told to our children
Just before it turns night

Sailors with ships
Made of stars and bone
Sailing through skies
Or a seas that were lone

Necromancers too
And vampires as well
Things lived in the worlds
Not just in our own hell

Ghosts of November
Wielding guns and swords
Whispering and firing
Making food for the birds

Graveyards were endless
Tombs upon tombs
Housing the no longer
In eternal dead wombs

Some worlds he left barren
Devoid of all strife
Forgotten by the wardrobe
And given no life

Some worlds were tortured
Raped burnt and slain
And in the mind of the wizard
The closet was the bane

For such a long time
For infinite years
The wizard still decides
If to end death and tears

I for one still hold hope
Because it’s all that I’ve got
That the wizard will save us
But perhaps he shall not

Now these thoughts slip away
For he’s sensing this rhyme
Like all things from the wardrobe
We have precious small time…

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A man hustled by me
And said in his rush
That “A bird in the hand
Is worth two in the bush!”

So taking a cage
I trapped many birds
And held tight on to them
Heeding his words

In winter I’d forgotten
To put on my coat
Then a friend remarked later
“There’s a frog in your throat.”

I looked in the mirror
For the cause of the croak
But I never did find
That slimy green bloke

One time I could not
For my own life remember
The time of the day
For some man that December

“Take a shot in the dark.”
He said like a loon
So I shot off a gun
At a night with no moon

My shirt donned a hole
From the wearing of mine
And a seamstress said me
“A stitch in time will save nine.”

So I pulled down a clock
And a needle and thread
Sewing through the timepiece
Until my fingers had bled

An old enemy of mine
A vendetta had we
“Can we bury the hatchet?”
He last had asked me

So I shrugged and I dug
A small hole that same day
Then I threw in a hatchet
To his puzzled dismay

A friend of mine told me
Some words of to ponder
He said “Distance will only
Make the heart grow fonder.”

So I ran then I walked
As fast as I could
From the woman who loved me
Then she left me for good

I felt so much despair
So I seemed self-destructive
And I didn’t accomplish
What some call constructive

A supposed ‘friend’ said,
“If you could see what I’m seeing
On the brink of destruction
Is where you’re real close to being.”

It made me long much
To find the said mountain
The one called Destruction
A place to which I had not been.

Thus I sat on that edge
Of the mountain of madness
And as the sun rose above
It brought forth my sadness

Someone walking there also
Noticed tears running down
And asked the beholder
“Why the tearful long frown?”

I told him as I pointed
To the sun’s steady rise
“I’m not crying at all,
Just some beauty in my eyes.”

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The mirror’s fine line is difficult to discern
The border that switches is taxing to learn

It flops over and changes at some point in space
And one turns to the other and takes the ones place

While we all sit on that line looking up and next down
A smile we can see and switched over a frown

The objects and matter we see in a face
Can look like our world and our lot in space

Like the birds in the sky making fish in the sea
Flying and swimming for the looker to see

And reflecting their ways with the others small moves
Reflecting their moods and their life and their grooves

The fish are the birds that swim in the ocean
Creating small waves in the air with their motion

The fish of the sky are swimming through air
Flying and swimming always heading somewhere

The flying birds of the water are soaring on waves
Making slicing and ripples, the ocean it paves

The birds are the fish and the fish are the birds
Thus they tell the mirrors story without any words.

Cole Lemme
Concept: Kaitlyn Walker

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The business of being born
Remains puzzling and strange
Understanding why we all mourn
Is out of my brain’s range

We should never make a fuss
Whether created or not:
If a God made all of us
Or a big ol’ bang’s begot

Let us say I can know
(Even if it’s far from near)
When we all began the show
And from whence we all got here

Let us say it’s a years a’trillion
(And that’s a low, low ball)
Of those trillion there’s a billion
And that’s not very small

That’s when it all began
A one thousand billion
(Don’t count it on your hand)
To make a single trillion

And it’s one thousand millions,
To make this further clear
And that creates a single billion
(And this is just in years)

A thousand endfull thousands
To make a single million
I bet that’s many things unreasoned
(Now think about quadrillion)

That’s how long ago
This silly life became
I’m not saying that I surely know
I just had to make a frame

But speeding up to now
(Who cares about years past?)
Because I can tell you just how
Our Earth came about at last

Since we have no speck of clue
If another Earth is there
I’ll try to explain to each of you
What odds you can compare

It takes us several stages
To begin to be a person
I read it in some many pages
(And these odds will further worsen)

The first stage has to do
With a tiny single cell
It’s so different from me and you
(As far as I can tell)

And the odds of that occurring
Is about a ten percent
But it happened, I’m inferring,
From that ancestors ascent

But the next stage that I know
It is a very complex thing
And that is half way that we go
More odds now I must bring

For that second stage life
Happens once in ten
So the life is never, ever, rife
But that’s where we all have been

Then on to the third stage
(It’s sort of, kind of, being)
I read it on a different page
So you’re probably sort of seeing

That all the odds for this
Are as bad as all those prior
But all those I cannot dismiss
Lest I find myself liar

So all of that on our Earth
It was difficult hub
To even begin to start our birth
Now here’s another rub

Put all that stuff as a sum
And combine the odds of some
And you’ve got a .01
In a billion x 4 to come

It all has to happen in sequence
From big bang to what we are
To make this utter coincidence
From a place away so far

But after we evolved
And space around us slowed
Our lives were then revolved
Around “love” through us that flowed

To one person in a sea
Of many other groins
They saw one other folk agree
Of eagerness in their loins

This timing was contingent
Upon the cycles’ ides
Of the many hundreds women spent
Living out their short short lives

But it all worked out (of course)
‘Cause the egg was ovulating
With almost no resistant force
We humans started mating

Now for you to come along
It took a million men
And I’m almost positively sure
That meant a million women

Each person then responsible
For creating you
Each one was indispensable
With no one else in lieu

Thinking about those many
Pales in comparison
To the many times (and there were plenty)
When your line could have been done

They might have come close to dying
(For have not we all?)
And though we didn’t know we were relying
We needed them not to fall

It’s obvious that they didn’t
(or we wouldn’t be alive)
We needed them for our stint
And for our children to survive

Your parents met up next
(Against all odds, I’m sure)
And gave each other little pecks
And created that allure

And all of us born, we won
Of a million sperm or so
We were the daughter or the son
Of an acidic place to go

Every single one of us born
The up next question will beg
Of how many cycles, how many torn?
Was it, that we picked the right egg?

And so thus, you came about
(As the rest of us did)
From endless products, (there’s no doubt)
A tiny little kid

Thank the air you see above you
Thank the universe up high
For all things it actually meant to do
(And all things it didn’t try)

Thank those light years that it took
The distance of all of those
Thanks the reader and the book
And the words inside its prose

Thank the pizza on the bed
And the time that it fell off
Thank the barnyard and the shed
And those pigs up at the trough

Thank the nouns that don’t exist
(Or even just the notion)
Thank this little gist
And the nouns verbing in their motion

Thank the passing of the time
And every passing season
Thank every single rhyme
And every single reason

And with the words about way above
Don’t forget that single moment
Of conception or of love
And of kindness and of torment

Forget not the one that died
Or that one that lived a life
Thank ones that even tried
And the girl that was a wife

Thank the long forgotten truth,
And the lies that made it true
Thank the long forgotten youth
(And remember to thank you)

Thank Hitler and his kills
The small parts and the whole
Thank hurricanes and thrills
And a little hidey hole

Don’t forget your mom or your dad
Thank flings, and rings, and kings
Thank everything good and bad
Oh, and all those other things

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They began that day in tavern, as many nights prior
And neither, right away, thought the other a fool liar
“I disagree, I think,” Loveland said taking a stance.
“Please expound, I’d love,” said Etah. “If you would perchance.”
They smiled, and toasted their debate
The other lesser talks could wait

The two friends had no food, the drinks enough that mid-day
The pair smoked pipes, drank ale, good whiskey, as was their way
After explications and such and the whirring of thought
After drinking and bad timing, and different logic they wrought
They voiced many ideas, some young, some old
Likewise, philosophies, some soft, some bold

The Two started out gesturing kindly to the other
Expressing many opinions, like good brother to brother
But one of them, Etah, thought the other uncouth
While the other, Loveland, cried, “I’m not lying, forsooth!”
“Yes you are!” said Etah being brash.
“No, you’re wrong,” Loveland said in a flash.

They sat at the table, as the day turned to dark blue
Discussing, trying ever, to convince whom convinced who
Bringing up angles, and points, with the ticks of the clock
But each other’s arguments, they put in no stock
“You don’t understand,” Loveland sighed.
“You’re a fool…” Etah said right in stride.

“Now you attack my character, rather than the word.”
Said Loveland, not unkindly, but the words were kind of slurred.
“I attack untruths, and the short-sightedness of those,
Those that won’t expand, and I often attack prose.”
“You’re rhetoric and mind.
From, me are far behind.”

“Save it for another, it’s an opinion obsolete.”
Replied Etah to Loveland, as he shifted in his seat
They spoke with intensity that most folks stray away from
They let everything they had come out, and nothing was mum
Words came out, above the rabble
Words that make friendships start to unravel

“Those principles I speak of, we must not betray them!”
Screamed Loveland to Etah, trying to condemn him
“You’re an outdated fool, if you can’t live in here.”
Said Etah, calmly, not spilling his beer.
Loveland cast his eyes to the floor
Etah sipped calmly, saying no more.

As mean as it turned, it turned even worse, to wicked
Their words went for blood, their faces turned twisted
People shuffled out, the night now long gone to black
They all hoped for resolve as they last turned their back
Then the door shut for the night
Closing in the terrible fight

So the debate remained within, sealing their tale
They kept sipping the whiskey, quaffing the ale
Like no two men should, when assailing their friend
With words, with demeaning, all with no sight of end
Many things went into their heads
But neither longed for their beds

“You can’t say that I’m wrong, you don’t know truth absolute.”
Said Loveland, while finishing his whiskey to boot.
“And neither can you!” screamed Etah back at him.
While dusting off his drink, looking over its rim.
They locked eyes for a long time
Which made the tension quite climb

“I have an idea,” Loveland said leaning back in his chair.
“Since God alone knows, he’ll show us, if we dare.
So we’ll make a bet, a bet that gives us both our due.”
“I have no time for God,” said Etah. “But I’ll make a bet with you.”
So both thinking their thoughts the best
Went through the night, no sleep, no rest

Out the bar they left to the old old forest patch
“We’ll have ourselves a leaf race, to settle this match.”
Said Etah having worked out all the details in his brain
While Loveland nodded agreement, not wanting to abstain
“We’ll bet our whole lives, if you’re in.”
Said Loveland with a ponderous grin

They both felt it in their own minds, how right they really were
That neither would back down or out, no neither had demurs
“So it shall be,” said Etah, as they walked up to a tree
“I’ll bet my life with, you and you’ll bet yours with me.”
“A leaf race,” the certain Loveland said.
Etah, so sure, nodded his head

“We’ll climb this tree, as high as us two are able.”
Said Etah, “The branches are low, and they look nicely stable.”
“We’ll both pick a leaf,” said Loveland, understanding the game.
“And drop it then, and see whose leaf is fastest to the ground.”
“It’s perfect,” said Etah. “There’s no wind, no people, no sound.”
Then they both climbed the tree
To discover what would be

Up in the branches, up high above the waiting ground
Perched Etah, and Loveland, with no else close around
They both picked their leaves (the winners, they thought)
And both were so ready for the fate that they sought
“The loser chooses to die.”
Said Loveland with a sigh.

“It’s true my old friend, and I’d hate to see you leave.”
But I’ve got no time for fools, and I give no reprieve.”
“You’ll see just who’s the fool, in a moment or so.”
They both held up the leaves, and at the same time let them go
The leafs drifted down, down unto the grass
And the steady deadly fall, swift it was to pass

But here’s what happened that fine day (for daytime it had turned)
The leaves both landed at the same time, so both of them had learned
That nobody is right, nobody knows true Truth.
Men or women, rich or poor, old people or the youth
We will disagree, ever, ever long
Never, never knowing, which of us is wrong

They both looked at each other, each one hanging his big head
For God (or something else) made them humble then instead
They both looked at the other, apologies in their eyes
And both knew one truth for certain: That nobody ever lies
So both knew their sins, as they hadn’t before
And the friendship that they had, was never, never more

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The captain had said it, because he feared the worst
When the engines of the rocket gave off their first burst
That Tomlinson Hest shouldn’t have come
But when they heard he’d snuck on, all the crewmates stayed mum
Because Tomlinson Hest had a way about him
That nagged at the Captain, and made his look dim
But that far into space, no one they’d cast out
So Tomlinson Hest, mocked the captain’s queer doubt
And made up odd pranks, which sent pulses flying
Never knowing one jest would be the cause of their dying
He made one wrong move with the switches one day
The passengers died slowly, to the captain’s dismay
But Tomlinson Hest made his best of the mess
And survived through a pod, unlike all the rest
Tomlinson Hest, whose wife was on board,
Stared after the craft and the gal he’d adored
Tomlinson Hest, through his pranks he’d smiled,
Would smile no longer, for his wife was with child.

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One thousand years, so long a time,
To live unhappy days.
But I would surely wait as such,
For the choice of my true ways.

And once for every thousand years,
I’ll experience that bliss.
I’d trade long years of tears and tears,
For a day of true happiness.

For years of sorrow, death, and woe,
Those times that we abhor,
I’ll look for that one day of grace,
Which will shine out all the more.

Temperance might bless most souls;
Ups and downs most hate.
But I love no happy medium.
An extremist, I can wait.

Why endless times of the mundane,
Where the listless days renew?
A world that is already dead,
Where the sadness is gone too.

Without wanting, where’s the reward?
Without trials, what is life?
We need it for true happiness,
Even though we live in strife.

What firefly could love itself,
Whose bulb is only half bright?
In the utter dreary darkness,
Of a moonless, starless night.

Fireflies wait in that dead gloom,
Unseen by any eyes.
They experience those shadows,
Then the shadows, it defies.

For in one mere fleeting moment,
Resplendent light will flare.
In that small span of rapture,
It knew no dark despair.

We need the darkness for true light
Or the bulb will never glow.
I want them both the love and hate
So I can truly, wholly know.

So in this anguish I shall wait,
Stronger and sadder in plight.
With the hope and long time longing,
That the firefly light will light.

Cole Lemme
Concept: Kaitlyn Walker

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Often like winter
Flakes fighting mid-air, falling
Creating silence

Sometimes wars begin
Without a way of knowing
What or who to blame

And in the end-all
They blanket the world they had
With perfect cold dead

Similar was the advent of the English war: a murky beginning
With endless rants, words spelled out, diatribes, and sinning
With ink and paper, pens and pencils, vibrations in the voice
Vibrations in the outer ear, converted without much choice

Who could say for certain though?
The one voice that started this war
The one sound, the one word
Or the one thought,
And what for?

What Part began the cataclysmic event?
For surely they all blamed the other
What caused the Parts of Speech, who work together,
To dreadfully hate one another?

It was said, by the Parts, that the Verbs took every last palace
That they took the kingdoms, from the other words
And covered them all with ruby red balas’

Shiny red kingdoms, from many millennia lost
Glittering just like a bloody winter’s frost

Those times though were lost, in memories and more
The castles unowned, heritages unknown
Just the Verbs living peacefully, the other Parts envying their ruby red
None knowing who truly deserved anything. Squalls, now long dead.

But history, not truth, picks beginnings, so it started with the Nouns
They lived in a place, not so grand, and called it the Noun Downs
A place of hills and winding valleys,
With trees and bees and such
But they wanted more
and always wanted much

Ideas and places were all in the fray
They were the entit9es and the thoughts
Other Parts would listen to what they all’d say
This was the other words’ place and their lots
For some time the Noun council debated
Of to gain their kingdom with its castles
Nouns with clout were called forth, and thus slated
Other nouns, the lesser, made to vassals
When the ladder of rule stood up solid
The Nouns readied their vast armies for rule
The other Parts frowned and found them squalid
Not knowing yet, that Nouns could be so cruel
The Nouns set out, concrete, abstract, those things
To rule their world, the Parts of Speeches’ kings

Well the Verbs, they’d been there so long,
Like a long forgotten wrong
One that drifts and tickles ears
But doesn’t hold for endless years,
They knew not what provoked the Nouns
Or why they’d ever leave their Downs

They were the uncaring, unfaring sadness of life
Wondering why two entities made them so
They were dying, the dead, the fallen snow

They had been some sort of nouns of action
But found themselves without reaction
For once they’d been the brothers, all one
But those times were lost and those days were done
Every Part came from a single place of existence
But the Verbs found themselves lacking any resistance

They were the uncaring, unfaring sadness of life
Wondering why two entities made them so
They were dying, the dead, the fallen snow

Once they were action Parts, but no longer
While they grew weak, the Nouns had grown stronger
The Verbs stayed holed up in their castles of crimson
Not wanting to fight, and not wanting to run
“Let the Nouns come,” they figured and said
Holding up fingers and wrists that bled

They were the uncaring, unfaring sadness of life
Wondering why two entities made them so
They were dying, the dead, the fallen snow

And the depth of their listless survival
Was unapparent to every Noun rival
But how could it be? A Part such as these?
Could ever become a part of the freeze
But Verbs are just used, by Nouns and vibrations
Their life isn’t action, it’s merely their station

They were the dying, the dead, the fallen snow

But apart from their definition, no action.

The Pronouns, on the other side, were insidiously taking the Nouns place, still, without the Nouns ever actually knowing. Because Nouns had been in denial since before the time of the balas placement on the castles of the Verbs. Since many eons before. And the Pronouns possessed such good form, that they never felt a need to allow anyone in the world, or any of the Parts, to know that they commonly took the Nouns place and made the sentences they were part of quite better. They never possessed the need to tell the Nouns that without them they would become old and tiresome and, ultimately, unbearable.

So the Pronouns watched the Nouns rally by,
As usual, without asking, just mostly knowing why

The Pronouns watched the Verbs, from away
Watched them waste away their only days

They would have laughed at the thought of it
If it wouldn’t have meant an English rift
A tearing apart, by bit, by bit.
And they almost laughed at the thought and quit

But She stood up and said her saying
Hoping for no English fraying

He agreed and said some more
Hating war and the opened door

Then She was helpless against the Nouns run
And He thought the expressions over done
Just like the Nouns, as they all agreed
Then They gave another selfish screed
About how Nouns are always overrated
And how their time might be outdated

We cheered for They, and She was okay
And He looked away, filled with dismay

For He wondered if they could continue without Nouns
And it caused They to balk, and filled Them with frowns

It staggered in, a wretched odd beast
It was no They, but a Pronoun at least

It held certain sway for the members of Them
It held no delusions, the Nouns It wouldn’t condemn

It knew that the matter, would take an alliance
On somebody’s side, and they’d need reliance

On She He and They, on Them Those and We
On the rest of the tribe, for the Parts to be free

So using their wisdom, They would decide
That in the adjectives, they next would confide

They went to the sea, accompanied by These
Those two were picked as the emissaries

And when they found the first adjective
A very little minion,
Even he had much to say to These and They
Adjective opinion

“Insane!” he cried. “They are insane Nouns!
Starting this war, and leaving the Downs.
They call me Flustered,” said the adjective.
“For that’s what I’ll be.
I am me and my name.
Now if you’ll follow me.”

He led They and These to the kings of description
To help settle the mess, and the cause of confliction

The king, named Red, had little to add
Apart from his opinion that the case was “sad”.

“We can’t tell you why, or stop eventuality.
We add spice to the world, we don’t decide reality.

We describe them, and you, that’s the extent.”
Said Red, adjective advice lent.

The Queen, Sorrowful, looked downcast
And, Sorrowful, said nothing, at the last
Then They and These took a long repast
With the rest of the court watching, amassed
Then slowly retiring, in order of caste
The pronouns left then, the council long passed
The halls were empty, the silence vast
They’s disappointment was unsurpassed
These wanted to travel back home, and fast

On their way they ran into an Interjection,
And these Parts were coupled with two Conjunctions

“Ho!” said an Injection to the They
“Whoa!” said another (for those were their names)

“And who are these Interjections?”
Whispered These to They
“Ho and Whoa, with inflection,”
Though the others I can’t say.

“I am And,” said the other as it rode near
“And I’m But,” said the next, bringing up the rear
“But why have you sought us why meet us here?”
Said They, thinking the meeting so awfully queer
“For the peace of the Parts that we all hold so dear.”
Said And, But, Ho and Whoa, with eyes full of fear.

“It’s just us, and we’re small, there’s naught we can do
The Nouns will kill the Verbs; it’s a fact we will rue
But as far as the stopping, it’s just us, But and And
And the Nouns have the bluster and the strength and the sand.”

They all cast down their heads, cowardly Parts
Lamenting the loss of English collaborating arts

They all sauntered away, not even a pact
Knowing They would do nothing, These would not act

As they dispersed from their meetings,
As the sun went over with little care
From the shadows and darkness
The Prepositions were there

They’d watched the ordeal and agreed just as well
The Verbs were all doomed; they’d go to Parts hell

And the Prepositions went back to the shadows they lived in
Away from the Parts, their noises, their din
They lived with most people unknowing their roles
But used nonetheless, with their function unknown

So they cared quite little, if the Parts fell to their rendings
For Parts such as these, little ceases with endings
They were bitter and remained so, as they always would
Like anything neglected, like unknown things should

So they crawled back inside, back in their sad station
Making context for Parts, establishing relation
Waiting and hoping, for the smothering pall
Hoping that blackness would cover them all

While all the Parts despaired, those unwilling of the Adjectives, and those unwilling of the Pronouns, and a few random Interjections (that wouldn’t stop shouting), coupled with But and And, (the Prepositions staying holed up and unknown) and while the Verbs still gazed complacently out their ruby red castles not wanting to fight yet not wanting to live yet not wanting to too actively act on that wish to not live, the Nouns marched steadily forward into the midst of haze that was the swamps, and murky forests where the Adverbs lived. It was a place, a last neutral and natural barrier against the kingdoms of the Verbs.

The leaders of the Nouns slowed down their vast march
Of why the place had turned to quietly
They needed to know, for wary was this place
Forcing them to be.

Until out strolled a little Part, stocky was the thing
But holding a weight profound and strong
Knowing that the Verbs
For them, something had gone wrong

“What would you say?” said one leader to the Adverb
The mist rose high upon the bogs
And no sounds issued forth yet, not a word
All noises stopped, even the frogs

Then the Adverb’s eyes, they misted as well
And the Nouns weren’t sure, and they couldn’t tell
What exactly was wrong, or whence their unease
Was filling the bog, then the Adverb said “Please,
Leave the Verbs alone, you can’t understand
Their sorrow or sadness; they won’t make a stand
They’ll die at your wishes, they’ll falter and flea
They walk to the shores, and drown in the sea
If you run them out of their castles and thrones
Leave them please leave, or you’ll hear our bemoans.”

“How can you know they won’t put up a fight?”
Said the Nouns, uncertain, not sure they were right

“We know, oh we know,” said the Adverb right back
“For it’s an understanding of the Verbs that you lack

But we, we know everything good about those Parts
We describe anger, and sadness, and all else in their hearts

We know every aspect of them, every distinction
And they’ll let you kill them; you’ll be their extinction

But us, we would never, hurt a Part that was already
Depressed with their lives, their sanity unsteady.”

“For they longingly walk,” said Longingly
From behind a rock
“They quietly whisper,” said Quietly.
“When they’re able to talk.

They talk with a quiet you haven’t yet known,”
Continued Quietly, quietly, like a breeze barely blown.

“And why do you think that, the way that they speak?”
Why do you think that their words are so meek?”
Said Quietly listening for the Nouns’ reply
“It’s a question of what, not a question of why.”
Said the Noun at the front, not sure of his answer
So Quietly informed him, did the Verb enhancer.

“I’ll tell you then,” said Quietly, ever so softer.
“And I hope your compassion, you’ll begin to then foster.
For the Verbs are so sad, words won’t come about
Their sadness expands, if the words teeter out

That’s why they seldom whisper, lest that they cry
It’s why there, on the Verbs’ lips, is where the words die.”

The Adverbs stared, in their swamps, watching the Nouns leave
For they went, walked away, gave the Verbs their reprieve
But from what it came was a sadness, that of the Adverbs spoke
Was a sting in the Nouns: something left their hearts broke

The Nouns, while they walked, started crying their lives out
They all dropped their weapons and the goal of the rout

They went back to the Downs, a slow staggered march
Abandoning their goals, their assumptions, their demarche

The Parts all continued along in their ways
And still continue on, in our lives, in our days

But they’ve never forgotten, their hates and desires
And sometimes their old hatred, from us it conspires
To heat up their blood, to stoke up the fires
Using the language, us, a bunch of sad liars

They all want their credit, and they all deserve it
Even though they’re confined to the law, language writ

Thank goodness they’re there, and didn’t destroy
Even though they’re so different from
Each one and annoy
Their brother
Their sister
And help the thoughts
That we sought

To say that we might love one other,
as love,
they cannot.

Such was the English War,
Another winter that passed

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I’m a u short of “unique.”
I’m a you short of unique.
I’m a ewe short of unique.
I’m a u short of you nique.
I’m a you short of u nique.
I’m a yew short of unique.
I’m you, short of unique.
I’m you: short of unique.
I’m you sort of unique.
I’m you: sort of unique.
I’m you sort; unique.
I am short of unique.
I am sort of unique.
I am sordid unique.
I am short of unique.

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A small section for some random ass haiku:

Beyond my small mind
A figure eight laid to rest
Never forgetting.

Pulled in like a tide
Then loosed with an angry mind
The moon cares little.

Haikus are supposed
To mention seasonal things
But this one does not

A woman climbed up
Upon a high precipice
And thought about it

Snowflakes always fall
They are made of water too
But differ from ice

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