Friday, December 31, 2010

The Prayers Speak with Sound

The Prayers Speak with Sound

You told me that I
was your temple; that
you sat at my steps
waiting for my doors
to open, so that you may
pray. They never opened.

Your footsteps run through
hollow walls,
echo dreams turned to
ash. You are no longer
there at the steps, but your
prayers linger with the smoke. 

Monday, December 6, 2010

A Morning Walk...On an Endless Afternoon [REVISION}

A Morning Walk…On an Endless Afternoon

Where shall I wander beneath
this lazy waking sky, tinting
a purplish glow? The leaves
all scattered, wearing proudly
their morning coffee, affectionately
forcing me to stir this plastered
green tea—the thing they now
envy out of naturally glowing loss.

My footsteps mark a badly paved
road, leaving their invisible,
shattered cells on the hot asphalt. The
papers, wrapped in yellow, await
their masters presence to deliver
yesterdays  news. My neighbor,
the early riser, waves to me, the insomniac.
Always a kind brutality on his face.

We all have secrets, and sometimes
it is best never to know. I trail
along to the next street over,
more leaves pile in ditches,
leaving the trees a defenseless beggar
drowning in the winter. But winter is not yet here.


Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Shimmer [REVISION]


If only I sat in a room of a dream.
Empty a year ago, the
sofa now provides new
comfort, and the table
a new place to eat.
It echoes with a shimmer, a shattering hush!

A dull roar hums at the start of a button.
A light glow flickers on
unfinished walls, and voices
linger amidst popcorn air
soon after the glow ends.
When the roar is silenced, voices faint but never leave.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Revision Poetry: Tips and Tricks

November 16th, 2010, I attended a seminar detailing tips and helpful suggestions on revising poetry.This was the main gist of what was talked about, and I thought it would be nice to share with you guys. =) 

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

The Passing

The Passing

I looked for you among softest earth
Belief, ideals, instilled at birth
Visions unreal, invested worth
A tangled mirth, a tangled mirth

Letters written in cryptic speech
Years of searching a distant leach
On inland shores, a murky beach
Never to reach, never to reach

Along the street a beggar’s lease
Stripped of mind, an outstretched crease
A final moment, then at peace
As life did cease, as life did cease

And now you lay on murky shores
Where spirits dance, as spirits roar
Leaving behind, a person sore
Never loved more, never loved more

Again, another Monotetra style work. I've been trying to get used to this style before I decide to experiment with another style of formed poetry, and I do have a few styles that I'm keeping in mind for future works. 

Sunday, September 5, 2010

A Thinning Dream

A Thinning Dream

Spreading our life, they heard our say
In the end, and all of today
A soothing wind, the fields you lay
A noise away, a noise away

A Judas kiss, a deathly ill
Earth’s Midas touch, an easy kill
A thinning hand, a portrait still
Their words of skill, their words of skill

They lift their hands, like limbs of trees
And pray to him, well known as HE
The mind is trapped, believed as free
Their eyes won’t see, their eyes won’t see

Among the fields, I wait the call
Silence broken, the grasp of fall
“A choice in love?” and down the hall
“Wrong choice is all, wrong choice is all”

Then what is love, if forced by HIM
No answer now, no answer then
A life is lost, they deemed in sin
No voice risen, no voice risen

Natural warmth, so full of light
A burning candle, burning bright
A lurking end, and still we fight
Some hope in sight, some hope in sight
Poets United Poetry Pantry:
Monday Poetry Train:

The style of this poem is called Monotetra

Monotetra style description:
Comprised of quatrains (four-line stanzas) in tetrameter (four metrical feet) for a total of 8 syllables per line

Each quatrain consists of mono-rhymed lines (so each line in the first stanza has the same type of rhyme, as does each line in the second stanza, etc.)

The final line of each stanza repeats the same four syllables

This poem can be as short as one quatrain and as long as a poet wishes

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Pulse: A New Outlook [Big Tent Poetry]

Below are 4 short poems. The prompt asked for something different than the norm, evaluating your writing habits and styles, and do something a bit more different. I think this is a bit different than my normal work (style wise), and I hope you enjoy it! 4 poems in order: New Rising Sun, Revolution, Violin, Love

Pulse: A New Outlook

New Rising Sun

The sun slowly rises over the earth

Devouring the dark and bringing a new day

The light is so warm, so comforting

That it burns the insanity away


The sky is filled with blood stained tears

People march the streets, angered by their government’s solution

Millions upon millions flood the cities in a rage

Bleeding out hate, and screaming in anger…Revolution!


Hear the music whirl around in the air

Dissonant, empty and filled with tears

The weeping sounds of a violin

Crying out in pain, and drowning in its fears


From the soft loving look in your eyes

To the beating of your heart

Life now has a new chapter: Love

A brand new start

Friday, July 30, 2010

Freedom Outside A Reserved Society [Repost for Poets United]

Freedom Outside a Reserved Society

I held you in my arms; the sun was rising in the morning sky, so quiet
            And Peaceful, completely relaxing.
We spoke of love unforgotten and showed our passion in the dead of night. So many
            Memories of words and actions, they played over and over in my head like a film
            In a theater and only one viewer.
You were asleep as I watched your body’s monotonous breathing,
Up and down, up and down…
I wonder what it was you were dreaming that kept your subconscious from relinquishing
            It’s control for an extensive period of time.
I now know what people mean when they say that their loved ones are like an angel when
            They sleep. With the light that forced its way into the room I would have seen
            Your halo, though many people have haloes. I once knew a man with a halo of
            Flies, disturbing person he was. I can see your halo, full of light and life, full of
            Warmth and love.
There goes my mind, drifting as usual, I swear it will drift to a point where I can’t catch
Unfortunately this morning will not stay this peaceful for long, for you my love shall
            Wake and become business as usual, slowly sinking into your second life.
            Our love shall have slipped your mind and I will become just another bother
            In your other persona’s life.
I often wonder (there I go again) if this is worth the time; all this work keeping
            Our feelings a complete secret, shunned from the outside world.
“I am high up in this world, and the world is old fashioned. They’ll never understand
            This life. It’s just better this way…”
Like a faithful lover I keep my silence though I’ve despised it since the beginning
            And it has soured my view on this religious-based and archaic world.
You’ll walk out the door living your second life (or am I your second life, I can never
            Tell anymore) and I will wait for your call whenever that may be, though next
            Time I might not answer.
Next time I might take a chance on freedom.
It hurts to think of it, but it hurts worse to live in secrecy, never letting the world know
            Who it is you really are, to be chained down by the restrictions of a reserved
The world will never understand, but it is not the right of the world to know
            Just exactly how I live my life.
I’m sorry my love, but chaos is calling me to its new life,
            And I must be free…

Friday, July 23, 2010

Notes from a Cardboard Sky

Notes from a Cardboard Sky

To angelic creatures.

If ever were a hurricane,
lighter than air and driven
into temples filled with oceans
of people, it would be honored
as God. They would bow, while
men and women dressed for
communion services, and they
would beg, fight and die.

While celebrations burst out
into heavens, amongst seas of
lilies and lemon trees, they would
lift up their hands, respecting new
marriages, new lives, and new souls
set free into the spiritual world.

These are our requiems,
our epic history, laid out
for blind convenience, as we
ascend beyond the clouds.
This is what it feels to die,
only infinitely more-so on
the body, for it feels what
the soul refuses to feel.


One Single Impression Prompt: Angels:

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Street City Blues Featuring Howl by Allen Ginsberg (Big Tent Poetry)

The poem I chose, was Allen Ginsberg's Howl. It's rather fun to read. About a year ago, I had a big writer's block, lasting about 5 months. Nothing was really hitting me, so I did what I always do when I get into huge slumps like that. I read. I found this massive book of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, and I read through it. His work opened a whole other world of poetry for me, and it had broken my writers block. I must say that I enjoy most of his work, and that this one stood out the most. His poem is posted at the link above, and the youtube video is a reciting of pieces of the poem. John Turturro recites Ginsberg's Howl in this video.

The poem I wrote for the prompt, is more of an attempt to mimic Ginsberg's style. I can't remember if I've taken any direct quotes, but if I have, please tell me, and I will make that noticeable. I've been working on this poem for nearly half of the year, and when I finally finished it, it was 10 parts. I then proceeded to edit, cutting it severely into 4 parts, and now, after one last editing process, it sits on this blog in 3 parts. It's a lot of hacking, but I think these three parts are the key components to my poem. I hope you all enjoy what you read here. Comments are always welcome.

Street City Blues


Spider monkeys on the railroad tracks pushed into the walls of the mind, plagued by
            Madness and hacked away by the blades of love.
Who marched through sunless deserts picking up the vague-less and the vague.
Who walked upon moonless nights in graveyards filled with angered bodies bitching and
            Moaning, cries of the dead!
Who looked upon Planet Jupiter with naked vision and found a lifeless formation filled
            With definition.
Who has seen a penniless world promoting laws against the rights of the people.
To the general public, pull the mask away from your face and behold your world!


Walking through rancid Earth watching the mindless, the mindful, and the mind-fucked
            Destroy Street City Blues of limelight and shade the shadows of a glowing
            Parasitic sky.
Who played sweet jazz-like music on his trombone on the street earning his pay from
            Day to day to day…
Who witness stabbings and murder and even God himself demolish the senses of society.
For days the soul just wanted to strip nude and run out howling towards that heavenly
            Hellish cloudy blue/grey sky.
Instead, he ate his turkey sandwich and watched the word do it for him.


To the ends of the Earth, to the Heavens, to the Hells, to the sacred abyss of the mind.
Where waters dry and leave empty oceans.
Where skies turn red and thicken atmosphere suffocating life.
Out of these horrific visions the soul desires another life to love.
Break the boundaries of the mind and enter into the reality of life.
There are whispers between the screams, distorted by Earth’s fierce winds – Nature –
            The maddening Siren’s Song – call back from beyond false realms to worlds
            Unknown to the soul.
Pull the blindfold from your eyes and look upon the brand new world laid out for your
The laws have been broken, boundaries removed, life is completely cageless.
 The journey is fading away and ending.
            The soul is free.
            This is not to be confused with organized freedom. This freedom is outside the
                        Systematic – True Freedom, Chaotic Freedom.
The chains are broken, and the new world awaits!

This week’s prompt

This week is my birthday week, and one of the things I’m hoping to do to celebrate is to host a living room salon in which some IRL poetry friends read their favorite poems. So I thought we could do something with favorite poems here, too.
What is your favorite poem? What about it makes it your favorite? Does it contain an image that rocks your poetry world? Does it provide a realization that changes you? Do you admire its poetic devices (metaphor, alliteration, repetition, form, etc.)?
Whatever it is you like about your favorite poem, try to use that in a poem of your own.
(Remember, when you post to your blog — or here — do not paste the entire text of someone else’s poem. Try to find the text online to link to, if you would like. It’s not necessary to quote the text of the poem; we’re most interested in a description of what attracts you to your favorite poem. And if you borrow something significant from the poem — like a line or an image — be sure to give credit by saying “a poem after ______” or “with a line from ________.”)

Friday, July 16, 2010

Solidity of Class

Solidity of Class

diamonds are forever
so pompous, self-centered, and foolish
diamonds never think of the lives they ruin
the blood soaked earth never crosses their minds
they live in their fantasy world
in their circles of attention, always in control
always getting what it wants

but the outer limits tell the world
a new tale of existence
a new horror, a prize winning journalism story
and it goes like this

a man presented himself in front of the gaudy gems
dirty, broken, beaten, polluting the atmosphere with his smell
his hands are behind his back, and his lifeless eyes stare at the floor
sweat drizzled from his over-worked body, and he stepped forward
the gems gave him less than five minutes to speak, but no words were spoken
he just lifted his arms, revealing no hands, only bandaged nubs, the he spoke
“this is my sacrifice for you”
the gems, never lifted an eyebrow in horror
with a stern face they spoke,
“you’re hands are not good enough for me, you are not of my class”
and the man was swept away
back into his environment of broken houses, and burning days

the world sheds no tears, for the weary, broken lives it carries


Today’s Prompt is plain and simple, Diamonds. What does that word or object make you think of? Does it remind you of romance or perseverance? Do you think of how silly it is to place a value on rock or the troubles in Africa for mining them? Maybe it gives you visions of Marilyn Monroe prancing about or your wedding day. Whatever the word may inspire you to write I’m fairly certain you will all come up with wonderful poetry gems. Pun Intended.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Kiss is Kill, Kill is Love, and Love is Horrific

Kiss is Kill, Kill is Love, and Love is Horrific

Angered bodies
of both the living
dead have invaded the
area of home demolishing
the senses and creating mind polluted child zombies.

Why must we pray screaming?
            Because the higher powers are deaf.
            Their phone service has been cut off, no signal bars
because of they have the new iPhone 4 or 5 or whatever number its on
The idea of death has been redefined.
            Obviously, if the dead can walk, then what is death?

There’s so much peace work to be done.
            And still the quota isn’t met yet.
            If the peace symbol wasn’t so coked up we might have a chance.
            Give it adrenaline! It’ll work overtime!

True love is a bullshit statement that is waiting
            on the street corner in front of a do-nut shop with a diamond ring.
            Has to be diamond and nothing less! And their better be some do-nuts too!

Kiss is kill, and kill is love, and love is horrific.

I’m not homeless, but I’m fucking broke.
            If I stand on a street corner, will I get money or is that considered taxable income.

I had a dollar in my account and the bank charged me
            twenty-five dollars for that one dollar. I called them up demanding it back.
            They laughed and I said I love you. Remember: Kiss is kill, kill is love,
                        love is horrific.

If I were a cartoon I’d anvil the world. Might be fun.

I went to a concert inside a movie theater. It was the
            only show where you could yell, “down if fucking front!”
                        and not get your ass kicked.
I am also happy to report that there were no flaming lighters to
            Create and inferno during slow songs!

I talked to a Buddhist monk the other day. I asked him
What if
            the world
                        were like
                                    a staircase
                        trembling down
            until it meets back
at the origin of life.

He responded, “The spoon is on the floor, and dawn is a napkin.”
It was the best conversation I could ever have with a person. I think I really
            understood him and his overall message. The world is the Armored Saint of
                        Bad romances, broken and confused by the religious beliefs
                                    of its own creation. If only it rained.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Summertime (Big Tent Poetry)


it is summer
the oracle of screeching heat
we stretch out below the fiery skies, while people in shorts, sandals and summer dresses stroll by
this heat is known all over the world, I say
and you smile and respond with a hint of laughter, what if all the leaders of the world, feared by many, appeared at once in the same summer dress? the pale, wrinkly, old and dry skin exposed to the public.
i let the earth’s breath sweep across my face, my only relief, and respond, the world would ball up their gossip, much like the heat is balled at the end of summer, and wait for the new controversy to appear, leaving the past to deal with itself

Saturday, June 26, 2010

As I Fly Over This Time by Thulani Davis [Poetry Foundation] [Not My Work!}

I would like to point out that this is NOT my work. The poem is written by Thulani Davis. I have found this piece on the Poetry Foundation website, which the link will be posted below. I read this, and thought it would be an interesting piece to share. Sometimes, sharing poetry in general is better than sharing nothing. I hope you enjoy this piece, as I have. as i fly over this time by Thulani Davis:

as i fly over this time

       for Dianne McIntyre
as i fly over this time
rising over only this
so much painted suffering
unseen grimaces and stares
among spruce greens
these few forests left
all of us trying to be alone
quiet and blind.
i see soldiers in bus stations
with colored names
polaroid shots
their girlfriends chew gum
smile wide
in all this silver of sky
like stars these wheels
car gears lampshades
electrical refuse
zen oiled and greased
the believers now so many
now so tired of the sad songs
the endless yearnings for war
and more and more
dumb cries i sigh
trying to get out of town
i am writing on the wall
it will be painted over
like all the songs
once outside
but as i fly over this time
dianne is dancing
touching the far reaches
leaping and teaching
she strokes and struts the air
none of us stumbles
or fears their lives
steel beams and rail tracks
strike an E-flat, B-flat, A
E-flat, B-flat, A
dianne is dancing
no one can handle the hostages
terror is abandoned
because of light
breaking in leaves
because the center is gone
we are still breathing
and the swing is our bodies

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Dissonance (4-25-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)

The world is drenched with
dissonance. Each note portraying
a distinct belief, idea, personality…
The vacant noise plays like a hit single
on the radio that is terrible, and will never
die. But the sound of silence is more haunting.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Koala (4-23-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)

I’m supposed to write a poem today
but I’m too preoccupied watching
watching a film about a killer koala,
with dance scenes. Horrid dance scenes,
terrible background story, but completely
worth my time. So many fetishes to point out
that it is too easy to tear apart, just knowing
koala is enough. Bright colors, karate fighting
actors, and over-dramatic expressions—koala VS bunny VS Frog.
I’m supposed to write a poem today, but this film has kept me away.