sometimes, when the
bus drops me off
(it has no knowledge
where I go)
...
Skyscrapers
Break the sky,
Smog chokes the air,
Endless buildings go on
...
Wolves running wild
Beast and beauty,
Howling full moon instigates
The dead to rise above
...
I can see it,
I can feel it through the mess halls
of the darkest and damndest ghettos of America,
Its truth moves me like a Greek tragedy.
...
I wake up to feel the weight,
The weight of my soul and my heavy mind
...
American youth,
Denied the truth,
Schools want money,
aint that just funny?
...
the desert night stretches
it's worn muscles over the
valley whilst the stars
cannibalize each other
...
Here I am again,
Staring out of my window
At a half lit moon
Smoking a cigarette,
...
Locks on houses,
People stay out!
Don’t bother me,
Oh not me.
...
Life should be simple,
Everything affects like a ripple,
incense are burning,
the record is turning,
...
the cemetary down the
street is full of life,
the church down the street
is full of death,
...
Darkness consumes the earth
And holds in its
Grip the deadening,
Still, cold of
...
20 years old, started writing poetry at 17, never liked to read poetry. Have only gained interests and have books of Ginsberg and Eliot. Most recently Dec '08, Bukowski, of whom I must admit appeals to me greatly. Never enjoyed poetry because the thought was there had to be rules, when one day the first poem was written of which was later become known in the mind as free verse, from that day forward the emotions have been steadily addressed by the feeble mind and justified on paper. This writing is love.)
Chips & Salsa
sometimes, when the
bus drops me off
(it has no knowledge
where I go)
I step into this
crippled restaurant
to buy a burger
and receive free
chips & peppers
(though I lie, I
come because of
her)
takes my order,
small talk,
genuine smile,
like she's the
only living being
who acknowledges.
some nights, like tonite,
it's plain,
but the burger is
pleasing, the lettuce,
tomato, meat, bread, sauce,
peppers, onions, all make
it worth something.
and the flashing lights
roll by and I leave
(I don't like to stay
in one place too long)
I never did get
my chips.
This poet openly writes fact of facts on dominant faces A picture of this and that and that and This. Eternal sunshine Of spotless mind? Spots on mind, Spots on paper, Where ideas walk away And no understanding Is found. What’s found? Who’s found? Confusion! Chaos! Illusions! Oh man and his illusions Ha! Old men On chairs Tell stories Of war. Transparent faces On the wall,