Poetry is not just a pastime but a profound passion in my life. Drawing inspiration from the intense style of poets like E.E. Cummings, I find unparalleled joy in expressing my opinions through the delicate balance of emotional and textual vagueness, in comparison to meticulously detailing emotions and contexts. Whether I choose the veiled nuances of a scene or the utmost precision of descriptive language, each poetic choice serves to convey the intricate emotions and profound meanings that reside within the meaning of my expressions. I hope you enjoy.
Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. - James Joyce
Barstool Rumination.
neon signs turn parking lots purple
a lighthouse of desperation calling onto those young and old
the VLT’s kept the room aglow
reluctant celebrations amongst friends
Hi! Yeah, I think I still need a minute to browse.
Thanks.
that was when i noticed you
three hundred moons since we last spoke
caught red handed in my game of avoidance
you told me once that people think in poetry
after all this time i still cant listen to that band
you always loved the color purple
now i am just a memory
a holiday for sentience
hopefully more christmas than divorce
if only spaceships came with back up cameras
even more so i was not old enough to be an astronaut
what a strange play of fate
the beauty to see you so free
our painting is of this moment
the artist must be in their blue period
three roses, thankfully the gambler just won
you look amazing
still no declaration in the annexation
solace only found in the words between the sounds
every skipping breath denotes new souls intertwined
admittedly with these friends too many breaths are skipped
Yep, sorry!
Got lost in my thoughts there.
I Should be all good to go.
I’m going to do the lager on special.
Thanks.
The Poetry Within A [Phone].
orange-stained bedroom walls
from the morning light.
fresh day.
cold air.
still sound.
dust floating in the
gaps between the blinds.
[ALARM.]
the eternal reach.
the everlasting swipe
is that war still going?
[Yes.]
the other one?
[Yes.]
the really dangerous one?
[Yes.] all of them
[Who?] really cares anymore
[What?] difference could i ever make
[When?] it surrounds US
[Where ?] do the ivory towers buy their locks
[Why?] be an artist?
[Everything is burning]
who wanted a house anyway
let it snowden
the fruit cant be peeled
flemming stories on the homefield
be sure the funding allocates burial
frost must have missed that night
headlines but all the kids have wrinkles
shield them from education
doctors search the [Amazon] for supplies
ties [Dictating the Legalities of the]
kids.
more than just the s[Oil] is rich
petrol slicked board room members
looking for a reservation
thank god the waters are rising
we all wanted backyard pools
where has cummings loneliness gone
[On the brighter side!]
but fire burns out
[The stock bros say crypto is back!]
it was never there
[But if you were a president!]
i could do nothing
[If only you were a Queen!]
she died
hands shake on marble floors
hands shake behind closed doors
hands reach for magazines
hands extend through the wire
hands pressed against homely remains
hands all of them
both sides of the coin
are fighting
yet worthless all the same
henley never saw those conquered souls
they never noticed that dollar has,
f
a
l
l
e
n
[NEW TEXT]
a tad bit of circumstance
a smidgen of language
[NEW NEWS]
a dash of ideology
a pinch of violence
[NEW SALE]
the recipe of peace tastes burnt
still i sit whilst the pot stirs
[NEW TREND]
character based in brands
insecurity bleeds through
[NEW SONG]
living lennon songs sing
nonetheless my voice is heavy
[NEW COUPLE]
pocket sized vacuums of connection
the individual still stands alone
[NEW.] everything
headlights make the blinds useful.
exhausted breaths in cadence.
slithering light.
coal sky.
warm air.
linen sheets folded so
the mind can find solitude.
the purgatorial swipes.
the relieving reach.
[ALARM SET.]
(5) G R i E F & (5) F A i T H.
halfway across the globe
precious time reduced to an excerpt in the monday paper machines reach their final tone
the crescendo will ring eternally
i observe the funeral on a seventeen inch screen
1. denial (CHRiSTiANiTY)
Vibrant light leaking from stained glass.
Faded oak planks arranged to invoke.
Rejected final breaths taken in crusade.
Stubborn flashes of unconquerable life.
Adolescent confusion.
Adolescent spurn.
Have peters gates rusted on my watch?
The pew mustn’t be splintering.
2. anger (iSLAM)
Ancient bricks carefully erected for pilgrimage.
In front of my eyes millions walk and cry barefoot.
A suit is placed in front of the lens.
Young men are armed and shipped.
The path of demonization has been freshly paved.
The wounds of ideology have burst again.
The bricks have turned to glass from fire.
Azrael is delivered from fifty thousand feet.
3. bargaining (HiNDUiSM)
Temples domed in perfect symmetry.
Saffron colored cloth drapes the enlightened.
Birthed by Brahma.
Yet Yama whispers.
What if everyone was right?
What if divinity was sat on every porch, sipping tea?
Can you lose someone if we are everything?
Can you love someone if we are everything?
4. depression (BUDDHiSM)
Noble truths surrounded in question.
Eternal rain flows down the tiled monastery roof.
Maybe you were the sparrow that hid from the rain.
Maybe you spoke to me in the conversation that was overheard.
Eyelids painted in faces that make the heart lament.
Just yearning for one second more.
If the human life is one of pain.
Did you get to pick how you came back?
5. acceptance (ATHEiSM)
The academics conquered their table.
Facts budge the line in front of feelings and hope.
Between the ashes and ashes and dust and dust.
My hands wipe these clothes clean.
Day by day the ball keeps spinning.
Day by day the painted faces fade.
The outstanding hope within nothing.
The joyous feeling of finality.
i forgot to cry
i know they had told me not to
i read the obituary every so often
i think it makes it real
i think thesearetears of relief
Cite this in future, unlikely, potential, essays.
Sat between the mahogany university bookshelves.
Frost breathes on the edges of the window;
the sky is blue yet dark.
I pondered.
For what would Donne say about my essay.
Surely he would give me an A for the attempt.
Perhaps Gogh just really enjoyed the view.
He just had a shitty Monday is all.
I bet Poe was just a glass half empty typa guy.
A stoically jolly soul.
So.
Just in case my work only matters in death
Let me make some things clear.
I loved saying cheers at the end of transactions.
Often I tried.
Yet I found myself,
the prick.
I think Aliens are real.
I also think that’s a reasonable opinion.
I saw a lot of hurt.
I felt a lot of hurt.
But I tried to switch the cycle.
I wanted to sprinkle a little kindness,
to the missing half
of the gene pool.
For a long time,
I maneuvered the best I could.
I was extraordinarily afraid.
However,
quality friends,
sound family,
and extremely late nights,
helped immensely.
Once in a while,
I lost my way.
But for fucks sake,
we all do.
I hated dramatics.
However,
I loved a good bit of drama,
we all do.
This list
could go on much longer,
but I loved to procrastinate.
Sorry, not sorry.
So.
Just in case my work only matters in death
Hopefully I made some things clear.
The Love Within Every Second.
A grey tube snakes across the city.
The metal carriage shakes in every turn.
Packed bodies on benches suit for a hospital.
The love of my life just walked by.
I’m silently scrolling, seeing what new music releases tonight.
I have the same artist i’ve been listening to since 16 filling my ears.
My leg bounces in anxiety.
In another life, I would stand up.
I would’ve walked over, made sure to not bother you.
I would’ve tried to say something clever.
Emphasis on tried,
as somethings are consistent across time and space.
I would’ve been absolutely honest.
You are genuinely stunning, and I would hate myself next stop for not saying something.
A story that could be shared in the orange radiance of summer night skies.
As the sky turns dark,
under the glow of faded exposed bulbs, hanging from the wooden awning.
Cider would grace my lips, as I smiled in remembrance of a city train seat.
Still my phone rests in my palm.
My legs switch in rhythm.
My stop approaches.
Hey, we need to talk about something.
when someone you love tells you they have cancer.
you know before they tell you.
something in the air between breaths feels flat.
the evangelist would say it’s god.
the scientist would say it’s the human interpretation of chemical reactions within the brain.
i say it’s pain.
eventually,
they tell you and everything stops.
the carpet floor scraps into the soles of your feet.
the sweater burns your chest.
the hat cracks your skull.
the buttons on the chair you fell into implode into your chest cavity.
nonetheless,
the first thing you notice is the faces of those who already know.
you watch them, as they watch the innocence burn within you.
you watch them, as they watch your soul turn the garage lights off.
you watch them, as they conjure a sympathetic look.
you watch them, as they grapple with the reality that life has changed.
furthermore,
you watch the tears stream down your mothers face.
knowing all the while she had this same conversation at your age.
all you want to do is reach in and take the tumor out yourself.
you will tell yourself that they look fine! there must be a mistake!
meanwhile their body burns in the pain of your face.
[D]e[ad]ends.
Outside of the home,
a [drunk] truck parks just across.
Walls will break from [fists].
As the door opens;
most would [turn to] say hello.
But [fear,] breaks floorboards.
Cycles, but no breaks.
[Holding] light, locks change again.
Helping mix [drywall.]
As the seasons change.
Teenage [realization].
A [flipped] coin, bottom.
[Paths] cross in a bar.
Temptation [of violence].
Bar doors, push cold air.
Days pass, questions [build].
Anger for the missing flows.
Peace, [the survival].
A Body of Art.
Eyes drift to the left.
Look at their grey skin!
Not to mention their sunken eyes!
indeed these eyes have sunk.
there is little doubt my skin has shifted shade.
it all occurred simultaneously
trust me i wish i had a say
we must have read different manuals
because we are not built the same
a process that occurred through vivid wake
my eyes have been sunk by visions of their pain
most forget to mention the seconds in days spent awake
the sudden fear of the chance they slip away
my skin lowered its hue from researched survival rates
for within that torment i found the soul
some days it is a price i wish i never paid
on others i would say it was my saving grace
paper to paper site to site page to page
still this grey skin rarely stopped
in the face of destroying all that i loved
these sunken eyes tried to carry on.
Eyes gaze to the right.
Look at their stubbed hands!
Not to mention their bitten nails.
the nails have surely filed my teeth.
these stubbed hands have surely been beaten and scuffed.
these fingers have brushed across rocks along the manx seashore
these fingers have rolled against parisian crafted iron
nails hedged like the streets of bootle
thick palms for a sport that flowed in deeply missed blood
the sacrifice of getting close to those you wish you met
worth every penny
they always told me I had my grandfathers hands
thick, beaten, stubbed, hands hesitate
the regret of being afraid to change tubes
a price that will remain clipped to my soul
till the day comes where life takes course
these nails remind me of the fear of sacrifice
these hands remind them of the ones that held them
in our only remaining photo
my grey matter is fresh and churning
while his is slowly fading and passing.