After all.

After all

“Who am I, who am I?”

I find myself pleading to the abyss.

 

The soldier,

the rock,

the piece that fits all.

So stand tall;

stand proud,

you are the one who will tell

The worst,

 the best,

the hated,

 the loved,

Each sentence that destroys the constructed

than reverses. 

 

Though acid slides down the surface

And leaves a trail of

Burning skin

Though fire spreads

And the combusted matter

Produces that pungent smell

Of hot metal,

 

I am, after all,

The soldier,

The rock,

The piece that fits all.

- J.

If there was no need to

 

I wish I were a kid

When things were simple and fun

There was no need to lead. 

 

Searing forests, fiery seas, there was no need to heed

But now rules are to be followed, and I can’t.

I wish I were a kid.

 

I’d wish for golden stars and flying feats

And to follow was to get it done,

There was no need to lead.

 

There was no need for lies or cheats,

So rampant in our current dump,

I wish I were a kid.

 

Days where all I wished were friends to meet,

And together in the park we’d run,

There was no need to lead.

 

Through eyes unaware, there was no need

To beware of a speeding train or raging gun.

I wish I were a kid.

For there was no need to lead.

- J.

———————————-

My first attempt at a villanelle. Villanelles are nice to read, but hard to write. Harder then pantoums. Surprise, surprise.

The Watcher

The Watcher

 

I’m the one standing behind you when you turn

But you can’t see even if your eyes burn.

I’m the one standing there laughing at your actions

Laughing at the utter stupidity of your factions.

 

I will watch and learn and seek to know

What this world’s inhabitants have sown.

Humans or not you fall to my mercy

Brains so dull, undeserving of pity.

 

I will watch the scenes like a movie going geek

Yes I hate to admit, but I’m one of you freaks.

But I will watch and learn from your folly

And correct, within my mind, this lunacy.

 

I will watch whatever you put me to

Because I’m great like that you wolf, you fool.

The torture you bring me, which I try to find

Some form of amusement to go with some wine.

 

I will watch this world cause this is my job

Which I love and hate, this whole lot.

I love the amusing actions you show me

I hate that you try to blind me, but I See.

 

I am the one that watches you from the sidelines

And comments and laughs at all your kind.

I am the one that sees all as the same

Repeated madness in this world of cocaine.

- J.

 

———————–

Written after reading Pablo Neruda’s “Walking Around”

The start of life

 

Tentative breathing breaking into action

Hot breath down soft skin

Eyes bright with vivid fascination

Seeking the maker, the kin.

Towing a mind of innocent naivety

Asking to learn much from this world

Rowing a boat in this grey sea

Telling us there’s much to transpire.

Overflowing emotions fighting in the air

Floundering to overcome each other

Living in this kind of emotive snare

Is why life has such power.

Finding such pure virginity

Ends life’s agony.

 

- J.

Insomniac – or not.

Insomniac – or not

Nights where heavy lidded eyes begs to close,

I am unable to comply.

Pain like lightning forking through the brain,

Another caffeine tablet slides.

 

I am unable to comply

A body that numbs slowly.

Another caffeine tablet slides,

Desperate to keep things from going blurry

 

This body that numbs slowly

Aches for rest plenty.

Desperate to keep things from going blurry

Nothing seems to be working.

 

Aches for rest plenty,

Courses through this body.

Nothing seems to be working.

I’d wish for more aspirin.

 

Coursing through this body,

Drugs pumped, permanently infused.

I’d wish for more aspirin

Despite the attacks it’d induce.

 

Drugs pumped permanently infused

Through nights where heavy lidded eyes begs to close

Knowing the attacks it’d induce –

Pain like lighting forking through.

- J.

———————————-

This was my first attempt at a pantoum. Pantoums are easier to write then I expected, but to write a good pantoum is another thing altogether. A friend who also tried the format had a significantly better result.

I wished

I wished

An exotic world where
Fantastical beasts roam
Alongside humans in an
Infinite, fertile land
Green with feelings unlike envy
Ripe fruits hanging on trees
Enticing the ones on the ground
Unbounded, leaping into the air
Spreading enormous wings
That beat with the
Exhilarating pump of the
Heart.

Take in deep breaths as you
Run races alongside creatures you’d never
Imagine. They take you through
Immeasurable caverns, crossing
Crystal streams, soaring through the
Blanket sky, shooting past
Silk clouds, landing feet on the
Sandy stars, reaching the
Everlasting land.

- J.

———————-

I felt a bit corny after finishing the poem, but reading it over, especially after being affected by “The Stolen Child” by W.B.Yeats, I liked it nonetheless.

BTK

A short passage written after reading about BTK, an infamous mass murderer from Kansas, USA.

—–

It’s just like… Like being bundled and dumped into the backseat while the driver steps on the accelerator. I can’t do anything but watch BTK use my body to commit such atrocities.

This is my body! My body being sullied for such… perverse bouts of violence. I, too, am a victim!

Do you think I really enjoy these shows, this carnage? Do you really think, I, as a human like you people reading this letter now, don’t feel a thing as this limb of mine wraps the cord around their necks, tightening it, watching their clawing hands in their desperate frenzy, their bulging, accusing eyes, their paling faces as they drew their last breath? Do you really believe I can take some sort of perverse pleasure out of that?

I should not be blamed. The agony I sit through every day, I can’t even bear to look at these hands that have murdered. I live every minute, every second in panic, not knowing when BTK will strike again, when he will make me endure the torture of watching someone die.

He has already chosen his next victim. Stop him.

Yours truly, guiltily.

A fairy

A fairy

 

It was a day in the city: riddled rhymes and staggering swine,

A day as normal as can be.

But an encounter to change the flow; a disruption to the agreeing tempo,

The arrival of a fairy.

 

The fairy was what I had always imagined it to be,

A portrait out of a storybook:

 

Long golden hair, like Goldilocks, and like

Rotten worms devouring decomposing brains.

Soft, white skin, like Snow White,

Skin as white as leprosy.

 

Such a charming little thing it was, sitting by the street,

I walked up, gently taking her hand, I knelt on one knee

Then I

Grabbed a fistful of her hair, slamming her head into the cement.

A crack resounded through the silent street.

 

When the fairy cried, golden pearls rolled down her cheeks,

Bowing down till the ground and my head meets,

I said I  was sorry

 

She didn’t forgive me.

So I slipped out a knife and stabbed her knee

And she let out such a melodious scream.

 

Forgive me, I repeated, shaking my head.

She, like a mimicking puppet mimed my actions.

I wondered why, but I just saw red

I pitied her as I flashed out my gun.

 

So I shot myself instead. 

- J.

——————————–

This was written as an experiment, trying to imitate the work of John Berryman.

Who is it now?

Who is it now?               

 May 27^th.

A rude awakening.

Allen High School massacre.

Who’d ever do such a thing

 

*

 

Packed

bodies. Heaving

chests. Hard

panting. Sweltering

heat.Pouring

sweat.

Unbearable.

 

Air

thick with fear.

See

the tangible waves.

Feel

its coarse touch.

That pungent

smell.

The rhythmic

pounding.

Hell,

You could taste it.

 

*

 

How can the sun be shining so gaily

The wind blowing so gently

Soft clouds drifting so merrily

While we’re in this misery

 

*

Flinching.

Struggling.

How futile.

 

Driving through skin

Tearing through muscle

I’d hardly stop at bone.

Ah. Is this it?

 

Silence.

 

*

 

Packed

bodies. Heaving

chests. Hard

panting. Sweltering

heat. Pouring

sweat.

Unbearable.

 

Air

thick with fear.

See

the tangible waves.

Feel

its coarse touch.

That pungent

smell.

The rhythmic

pounding.

Hell,

You could taste it.

 

 

*

 

Enraged crowd.

Funny really.

Red faces.

Kind of like bulls, no?

 

Well.

It was fun.

I guess.

Fun, yes, fun.

Great fun.

 

This is why.

Why?

Why they banned scissors.

Ah. Yes, this is why.

Scissors. Really.

Befitting actually.

Really.

Nope.

 

I wonder what it’s like?

Are we really going to die?

Hope not.

 

But they’re approaching.

Yes, they are.

We are going to die.

Ah.

Ah.

 

*

 

Packed

bodies. Heaving

chests. Hard

panting. Sweltering

heat.Pouring

sweat.

Unbearable.

 

Air

thick with fear.

See

the tangible waves.

Feel

its coarse touch.

That pungent

smell.

The rhythmic

pounding.

Hell,

You could taste it.

 

Funny.

Who is it now?

 

- J.

 

Who are they?

Who are they?

Who is the beggar?
    The prince in tattered clothes.
Who is the slave?
    The king stripped of his crown.
Who are the dead?
    The silent people on the streets.
Who am I?
    The author walking down busy roads.
No, who am I?
    The person. Shot, burnt, reviving again.
    To scorn.

—–

The above poem was written by me after I read “Some Last Questions” by W. S. Merwin. It was something fun to write, and a copy of Merwin’s format in “Some Last Questions”.

Just in case you want to read the Merwin’s poem,

Some Last Questions

What is the head
  A. Ash
What are the eyes
  A. The wells have fallen in and have
       Inhabitants
What are the feet
  A. Thumbs left after the auction
No what are the feet
  A. Under them the impossible road is moving
      Down which the broken necked mice push
      Balls of blood with their noses
What is the tongue
  A. The black coat that fell off the wall 
      With sleeves trying to say something
What are the hands
  A. Paid
No what are the hands
  A. Climbing back down the museum wall
      To their ancestors the extinct shrews that will 
      Have left a message
What is the silence
  A. As though it had a right to move
Who are the compatriots
  A. They make the stars of bone

- W.S.Merwin