Newest Poems: My Gross Submission, Bare Skin, To Shakespeare and SomeHow.
Modified: “Amen (Even Atheists Have Prayers)”
My Gross Submission (An official step into Slam Poetry)
I procreate my poems
Push keys on my laptop like tickling a clitoris
Words come spewing out like a nut in her esophagus
Activate my gag reflex
‘Cause I’mma choke to death if I don’t get to finish this sentence
And that’s what writing is
It’s life or death with no defense a moment’s breath that’s captured best without a rest
To document life and its eternal test of mankind
To see if we can create something that can outlast time -
And regardless of whether or not it’s a pointless task to try;
This gross submission of poetry is mine.
_______
Bare Skin
My wish is
To transfigure my pain
Into an exocytotic membrane of epidermis,
Then exfoliate.
_________
To Shakespeare (Not the literal Shakespeare, just every person who classifies themselves as a “hopeless romantic”)
Fuck your singular devotion;
Love is segmented,
Can be divided between friends,
Girlfriends, relatives and strangers.
Why waste it all on one person?
___
SomeHow
What happened to us?
We used to be proud,
Looking forward to adulthood
And now that it’s here,
We don’t know what to do.
What happened to us?
People used to tell us
We could do whatever we want
If we put our mind to it
But the truth is it feels like we were lied to.
What happened to us?
We’re jobless
Looking for entry level work
But don’t have five years of relevant work experience
And can’t get work experience if we can’t get work.
What happened to us?
We’re being forced to live in our parents’ houses,
Wondering why we feel homeless.
Or worse:
skipping between friends’ couches on a monthly basis
Or worse:
We actually are homeless.
Or worse:
We’re just pretending to be homeless just to get free meals to eat.
What happened to us?
It’s tough to point the finger
Because my instinct is to blame myself for my own failures
But when you’ve been raised like a prince
How could you not think flipping burgers is beneath you?
What happened to us
Is we were given everything we wanted as kids
Then the economy collapsed
And I’d love to pick myself up by my own bootstraps
But every unanswered job application
Is just encouragement to lie down again.
I guess what I’m trying to say
Is that what happened to us
Is just bad timing
And I want to be pissed off about it,
But I feel like things will get better eventually, somehow.
And we’re just frustrated that somehow isn’t happening right now.
_______
Amen (Even Atheists Have Prayers)
I used to skip church on Saturdays
To play in the rain
And in the last ten minutes of mass
Come back,
To take the host in, and say “amen.”
I never knew what it meant, back then.
It took years after I gave up Faith to learn
That “amen” was an affirmation,
Not some magical phrase that puts your words on a fast-track to god,
Do you know what it means?
“And so it shall be”
Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Amen. And so it shall be.
It’s a statement about how quickly the human mind can change direction
A resolve that, from this day forward, you will strive to become whatever it is you said.
And even though that word has long since lost its mysticism with me,
I see the power behind the core belief.
Amen.
Not “so it might be,” or “I really hope I can do this”, but simply “and so it shall be”
No excuses, no confusion, just absolution. Amen.
So I started writing inspirational poems for myself, tagging that word at the end,
And, looking back on it, all I did was create a bunch of prayers that said
“I’ll never do it again.
I want to strive to be a better man.
I hope to become a better friend.
My goal in life is to seek perfection.
Amen.”
I guess what I’m trying to say is: faith has many shapes to it,
And you never know what form it comes back in, when it comes around again,
But since that realization set in, it’s become part of who I am
I don’t have to be a man of God to be a man of good intention.
I just have to be a-man.
Amen.
_______
[This is an amalgamation of two poems I'd written before. I liked how they fit together]
My First Love Poem
I can’t tell you you’re beautiful
It’s become such a shallow word
That the entire phrase just falls short
I want to kiss you when I see you again,
But I’ve given up on so many lips
That any embrace I give would be meaningless.
So, with every romantic destination and dinner reservation
Already drained of every amorous sensation,
The most intimate embrace in the modern era left is this:
Our two hands
Held together in silence,
With your head on my shoulder,
And no expectations.
_________
In Drunken Brawls (an improv’d poem using different poems’ lines from several different poems)
Her “I love you” had a few parts missing
Smelled like a real funeral
It was downhill from there
One of them is going to sleep with a moist spot,
The door locked,
The dark way out.
_________
Improv’d Poem (an amalgamation of lines from other poems at Luna’s, tonight. I had to improv the end of this, as I wasn’t able to put it all together by the time I went onstage)
Your eyes are
A ballet of crows
Hot and dry,
Deterioration in forms.
I sit on the curb
Slowly opening futile conversations
Under the influence of past abuses
The mail-order enlightenment of mind-altering substances.
A mess of time and space
Circling around zero in grand dramatics
The symbols crash
We forget who we were
Nothing to do but wander
What have we got to lose but ego?
_________
This Is Emotional Masturbation
It’s just a self-important exhibition
Of key-stroking and space filling
Until these hands are too tired to move
And, energy-spent, lay to rest in my pockets
While my eyes stare at the screen.
Because watching the clock carry on without me
Will put pressure on my mind to come up with brilliant lines.
And, if I could only find the right song on Youtube to match my mood,
The entirety of my existence will be shattered by the metaphor it inspires.
Because, for some reason, at this exact moment, I need the validation that what I’m doing isn’t just a waste of time.
And so, instead, I waste my time.
_________
Silence
Take silence as an opportunity for purified thought
Undefined by language, not tainted by symbolism -
Just pure existence without perceptive distance,
To see through your own eyes without disposition.
Silence: a true fuel for mental ignition.
_________
Pyre
He hits the highway before the sun’s up,
Her framed faces scattered like ash in the back seat -
Their pre-posed smiles lying next to a fresh bottle of lighter fluid.
There’s clouds building up ahead
Making pillars in the skyline,
Building towers over rolling hills.
And as the first rainfall hits the pavement,
He pulls to the side of an empty dirt road;
The cold morning air cauterizes freedom in his soul.
And those photos burn,
Writhe and twist together,
Blackened the most where the ends meet,
And, years from now
He’ll wish he could remember her.
_________
‘Til Death Do Us Part
There’s no reward made, at the end of your life,
If you stay together until the day you die,
So, it seems to me,
The only reason we still get married
Is to see if we’ll grow apart and lose everything.
_________
Single Status
I want love
But hate love
I’ve seen how it ruins lives,
Rebuilds hearts,
Then tears them apart.
I want its pure energy and inspiration -
Without being grounded in another’s arms -
And be full of its conviction without the intention
Of impressing a woman
Who only wants me to be less than who I am -
A family man,
A husband to her wife
Who plays house with the kids instead of living his life.
I want love
For what it does, not what it is.
For its security and comfort,
Without the co-dependence,
Without the acceptance of a socio-financial contract that, in the modern age of 50 percent divorce rates, just doesn’t make sense.
If marriage is truly about trust, and not financial disposition,
Then we shouldn’t need signatures and rings to prove love’s existence.
_________
Definitions
Controlled Detonation
A series of small explosions -
Scaled-down chaos -
Designed to bring the house down
So a new home can be built.
Internal Combustion
Controlled Detonations
Made with the intent of progression.
When the engine’s turned off,
You can never move forward.
_________
Small Talk (A Stream of Consciousness)
“Does she love me?”
“Will I get this job?”
“How can anyone hate me?”
“Will I ever get what I want out of life?”
We’re talking about things that don’t matter, you and I,
Because nothing matters, if you look far ahead enough,
Because, if from dust comes dust, then all the shapes it makes in between is pointless.
Because, if existence is pointless, then what’s the point of You or I?
The conclusion of this is a commitment to nonexistence.
But if all things end, then so must nonexistence.
But if nothing can only create nothing, then this makes no sense.
But matter is never destroyed or created; merely reassembled, reuptaken and molded again.
The absence of You and I is only temporary
Like dreams, like jobs, like love, like hate, like neurotransmitters in your brain.
Like the black period of nonexistence hiding between REM cycles coming to an end,
We will awake again.
_________
“Get It Over With”
We’re staring at each other, across the table in a café,
I can tell by your face, you’re thinking what I am;
Narrow eyes, silent half-smile, glancing at the clock on your wrist,
Watching me doing the same thing, too.
We should have called it there, but it just seems odd
To end a friendship that took years to build up
Over small annoyances
And words never said.
But “small” is relative,
And this military exercise would be enough to end it,
Back when the whole back-and-forth began,
And just ignore each other instead of becoming friends.
It’s this acceptable exception to anger
That stockpiles our warheads,
Until, when the end comes,
We bring an end to civilization.
_________
(Writing challenge: To make this next poem, I flipped through an old notebook full of poetry; a short notebook about the size of my hand. Every line on this page takes one line from each page of the notebook. The first line corresponds to the first page of the notebook, the second to the second page, etc. No exceptions. The title was pulled from the first page of the notebook. Only very minor modifications were allowed – like changing the tense of words. It got difficult, in the middle, as I had used a few pages for notes from Comedysportz improv discussions.)
Ruin
Out here
High-minded ideas,
Excited by fear,
Are a poor-man’s call to action
Let them wait,
And there’ll be more like them
Howling up and down the street,
Filling in reality with counted heartbeats.
Road-blocked
With expectations lowered
By a wrench-ox
With borrowed words
Imagine what they are doing
With this piety to ignorance:
For the rest of their days,
They’ll wait for answers
And wonder why no one understands each other.
_________
Salience
You can get a kiss from anyone, if you spend enough money.
Sex, if you’re semi-charming with a decent body.
The most intimate embrace, in the modern era, is two separate hands
held in silence, a head on the shoulder
and no expectations.
_________
Writer’s Block
I must have something to say
That’s so damn important
It doesn’t have time for my brain.
_________
Untitled
Yes, old scars will never go away,
But be proud of them;
They are what gives you strength.
_________
Passed
Time gives distance to bad memories. Even if we don’t actively work on our problems, just the presence of time creates a sort of dissociation with what once was.
As our faces wrinkle, and our bodies change, and our personalities shift, the younger us becomes a vapid portrayal of our self-identity.
We say things like “I can’t believe I used to be like that,” until, as old men, we find that child we once were is now altogether unrecognizable – but held in such high esteem.
_________
Untitled
I live so much in the future and past
I’m surprised I can’t travel time.
_________
True Happiness
My father enjoys food that is salty, not sweet.
My mother enjoys food that is sweet, not salty,
And I, the combination of them both, find that I gain joy from nothing.
_________
The Cycle
If fat is caloric intake, then I could burn like a lighthouse against a dark ocean shore, once the fuse is worn down, with a fire visible for miles around; surrounded by the burnoff that’s left behind a chiseled frame – a work of art for women to swoon for.
It’s a wasted thought, and once I look away from the mirror I’ll forget it.
_________
A SELECTION OF MY FAVORITE POEMS
Just Say What You’re Thinking
He’s got dilated eyes,
Running circles in the backyard,
Spinning the world together,
With symbiotic relationships.
Just as every word has meaning,
Every step has its own memory,
The way we’re walking now
Never is the same as the step before.
We’re over-pretentious,
Under-whelming,
Dredged of soul,
Refilling ourselves with artificial personality
To kill the hangover from the night before.
Lysergic Diethylamide
I return home to find that I am
Psychosomatic;
No longer in-sane
But living comfortably outside of my mind.
And with the first drop of this morning light to touch my face,
I am reborn.
” .” (Part one)
I don’t count seconds, I count shared heartbeats -
Their momentary combination of rhythm
adjusted to one another’s flow;
The coarse pump of cephalic veins against our spines under city lights.
“…” (Part two)
I don’t count moments
I count heartbeats -
And the pulse-lilt of separation anxiety
As you turn to leave.
She would have been 21 this year (written in 2011, revised 2012)
It’s time to accept the fact
That we can’t keep putting people to death
Just to try and slake emotions.
You could murder him and still end up feeling the same:
With a fucked up mindset, driven insane,
Because disdain begets anger, begets ire, begets hate.
And they all mean the same fucking thing:
Wasted pain.
Dysthymia
Around the dinner table:
I’m sick of hearing how your day’s been
Only to have you ignore my side
When my “Nothing” means as much as your everything.
Cry harder
We’ll bring the tissues,
Put a hand on your shoulder,
Say everything will be alright
Then be silent a moment.
Then leave feeling satisfied.
In Perfection
If the soul exists,
It is the perfect version of who we are;
Unaffected by our diseases, viruses,
Disorders, emotions.
Our body and brain gives us these things
Flaws, misgivings and mistakes
As it tries to translate the soul’s intent;
A process that can be disrupted by a well-placed electrical charge or trauma.
If heaven exists,
It is a nothingness made up from the souls of everyone
Unaffected by our diseases, viruses
Disorders, emotions.
The test to get in
Is completed when, despite the body and brain,
The soul expresses its perfection through you
And your idealized self becomes reality.
Commune Soul
There’s a man who doesn’t know how to pray,
Prostrate,
He’s got more soul than all of you.
He gives into insanity, in silence;
Exhausts it, like it were an overactive child,
Then finds a clearing in the chaos to settle into.
He could close his eyes and see the world,
Open his heart and feel yours beating inside,
Pull it out and hand it to you.
There’s a man without a soul of his own,
And he’s got more soul than all of us.
Growing Down
To all the childhood moments stolen from me:
I am coming back for you, I promise.
Meet me by the swings, tonight;
The sunset can’t hold us back anymore.
Definitions
Controlled Detonation
A series of small explosions -
Scaled-down chaos -
Designed to bring the house down
So a new home can be built.
Internal Combustion
Controlled Detonations
Made with the intent of progression.
When the engine’s turned off,
You can never move forward.
‘Til Death Do Us Part (Added 4/17)
Johnny rides out on the highway,
In his ’57 convertible Chevrolet
And barrels down past motorbikes
Finding love between the interstate lanes
While back home, in the shadows,
Megan waits for his return
With an empty heart, torn apart
By the silence of her morning bed.
There’s clouds building up ahead
Making pillars in the skyline,
Building towers over rolling hills,
And as the first rainfall makes its breech.
Just as the morning traffic hits the streets,
A cold air burns between his teeth,
As he guns the engine, it overheats
And Megan gets a lonely chill beneath the sheets.
He took pictures of her from the attic,
Laid them out in piles over the backseat,
And as the fires first catch the fabric,
Those photos bend and burn like memories
Of two lovers sharing body heat.
But that summer night’s been long washed-out now,
As Fall rains breaks up the ash and debris
Of an old man looking back from the front seat.
And back in her foreclosed home, Megan’s content to wait
For the rest of her life, as long as it takes
For old souls’ bodies to reform
In the silence of dreams.
She hasn’t lost his love.
It’s trapped in framed memories,
That line the walls of their old home,
Kept safe with every insurance check she receives.
