Don’t call me with
your giddy glee
this is a bridge that’s burned
Don’t call me
to tell me distress
or roll three times instead
of two
Don’t call
to tell me your favorite
book was just banned
You rang this number
once but that was many
times ago.
Have you ever tried to cry
But there’s no tears left to shed
Have you ever seen the face of misery
Or looked into the eyes of dread
Have you ever gripped the pain
‘Cause it’s all that’s left to hold
Have you ever tried so hard to love
But found your heart was just too cold
Have you ever just had to accept,
Your agony has no end
Have you ever been so desperate,
You’ve claimed the sorrow your best friend
Have you ever held hands with depression
Wept on the shoulder of fear
Have you ever reached out to emptiness
But there’s nothing to pull near.
Have you ever sobbed yourself to sleep
Anguish at the foot of your bed
Have you ever been shaken from your dream
To be thrown into a nightmare instead
Have you ever felt the cringe inside
Embraced by betrayal and hate
Have you ever then just had to dwell
In a world that terror creates
Have you ever been left empty
No courage to unfold
If you’ve ever known the hurt
Then welcome to my world
I Am A FacetLess Soul Of Assumptions,
Forgetting The Broken Fence,
By A Crippled Cold Bridge,
Rotting Soft Wormed Wood,
And That OverTurned Pitch Black Fork In The Road,
My Name Could Be An Old Scratch…
…
Heavy Killing To Lift The Air For Breeding,
Acres Of Familyar Terrain For Following Minute Irritations…
…
This Way Comes…
…
Distractions And Pretense,
Assertions In My FingerTips To ReWind,
Then To ReLight The Charcoal And Ignore Tantalus…
…
Thirsty Birds And My 13 Scars,
I Can Twist The Wrist To Settle The Difference?
Show The City What Shadow I Might Nail UpOn The Wall,
Let It Bleed Back Down To That FloorBoard’s Beat,
Wear My Shoes To Bed…
…
…
Make My Way To The Falling Of Rain,
And MayBe Carve My Initials With A Pen-Knife From This Life’s
Language
InTo A Pillar Of Thought…
…
I Be LoneSome But Never A Fool… Nor A Flood,
I Can Still Wink And Grin… I Can Wash My Hands And EveryThing…
…
…
…
Tartarus Never Sleeps.
More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca.
After the long and tedious
Summer
The dreadful, terrible
Heat
That set us on fire and brought on War
Between lovers.
The bullets exchanged
The words still
Harsher,
It came.
Yesterday…
You looked at me
Not once but twice.
When you passed me
I didn’t feel anything
But now I think,
I should have felt a strange heat
How sad it is that the rain’s too late…
If it came a month earlier
Things would have been
Much different.
Then,
May be,
When you passed me
I would have surely felt warmer.
Pirates are the scourge of the rough high seas
There are one hundred and nine seas on earth
Earth has five oceans where many ships sail
Sails catch wind to propel a boat forward
Wind stirs and swirls, hurricanes are then born
Hurricanes are destructive ocean rage
Rage is seen in the red face of anger
Criminal faces on wanted posters
Pirates are criminal thieves of the sea
Pirates are the scourge of the rough high seas
Poet’s Note:
This poem is written using a new poetic form named Veritalifasm. The poem is a conscious string of fact. The rules of the form are as follows: 10 line poems, 10 syllables per line, each line has to make a factual or truthful statement, each line must refer back to or reference something from the previous line, line nine must also reference something from line one, Line ten repeats line one (this brings the poem full circle).
These poems are meant to follow a conscious string of thought, emulating the random and sometimes confusing way in which thoughts flow through the brain. One thing links to another, to another, until the topic eventually reached in no way seems relatable to the topic began with. In the case of Veritalifasm, the poems come full circle, ending where it began with the repetition of the final line.
Taller Than Icarus On A Unicycle,
While Manifesting A Carved Beard For A Shiny Face,
Squinty Weasel-Eyed Paradigm With Morning Yolk Dripping,
Trigger-Yeti With Philosophical Dairy Maids,
With The Lords Of Baccalaureate To Cling From The Cold Dead Sleep,
Tin Cans And String On A Psychic Boob-Job For Back Support…
…
They Can Stensil Wings OnTo Loose Cloud Formations To Induce Spring
Fevers,
Aluminum Soles For Walking Gingerly UpOn ReEntry InTo The Boiling
Hypnos,
And Then To Talk The Egg From The Hen’s Snatch,
Buying Out The Architects For Zephyrs From Strawberry Blondes,
A New Blue-Print For Mouths To Saw Through The Thicket,
Stacking Appropriately With Those Branches And Twigs…
…
…
Straw Bent InTo Masks And Tied InTo Shape,
Killdeer Omens Crackleing Resinous,
The Pyre Shooting Its Milky Way Spiralling InTo Furnace Sparks,
Of Orange Burning Bright To White Then Black,
FootSteps And BootHeel-Clicks Sketching DisSolution,
It Is A Relative Realm To The OutSide Of The Glow,
With Squire’d Pegs In The Crib Board To Keep Watch…
…
…
A Foot On A Pedal,
To Push The Other Up,
Turning The Crank…
…
…
The Sound Of One Head Napping…
…
To Trick The Thumb To Snap The Finger…
…
…
It Is A Walk Through Falling Steps.
Originally published at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/03/a-walk-through-falling-steps.html.
Our secret
Is passion
Remarkable
Undefined
An open road
No boundaries
Hot
Dusty
Urban desires
Burning
That’s
what keeps me
Coming back
A prisoner
in your vice slit
Your thug
Tattooed
on your breast
Forever
Wanting
Depth of field
Vertigo
Love
The Echoing Yell Laid Low,
All Once Guilded Now Rubble,
In Scorn Of Lovers Guided By None OutSide,
Fools And Their Circles OverHead For Halos And Lost Veils,
With UnderWater Kingdoms Washed AWay,
To Where Be The Intended For Seers To Pierce,
In The Rounding Of The Desolate Crawl,
Played As Cards UpOn The Revolving Door,
InTo HallWays Where Blackened Paintings Hang,
Not Hidden By Soot… No… To Scrape One’s FingerNail Across Canvas
Will Reveal…
…
A Scratch Made InTo Memory’s Delicate Shade,
Where That Mark Might Be Further Widened,
And To Peer InTo Its Distended Window…
…
…
Never The Emptying Vessel For Wanting An Audience,
A Jar WithIn A Field WithIn A Negative Lock,
Under Spells For Killing The King With Randomness,
Lay’d As Dominoes UpOn The Painted Floor,
InTo Walls Peeling From Near Once Sainthood Sang,
Caught Forbidden By Set Pieces…
…
No Pipeings To Mete Forwards To Scruples,
Done Only With Its Singer’s Curse,
Whose Voice Not Be As Tattered As Its Vestige,
Vascular And Frozen In Claustrophobeic Implications…
…
It Stitches Nine UpOn One’s Lives,
And Leaves All SpeechLess By The Opening Scene…
…
…
Can That Only Be What The HeadLess Bishop Wishes For (?)
As DayLight Ascends And His Dreams Melt AWay?
More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca.
“In 1911, the little town of Nakhla in Egypt was the scene of one of
the most remarkable events in history: a chunk of rock (later
discovered to be a piece of the planet Mars) fell from the sky and
killed a dog,the only known canine fatality caused by a cosmic
object.”
–Paul Davies, The Fifth Miracle.
Maybe God is a Cat–
Sharpening her claws on planets,
Pouncing from star to star
Unraveling our lives like yarn.
We scatter as mice in the barn,
Our hearts pitter-patter–
But there is nowhere to hide
If God is a celestial cat like that:
A feline God of War
Brighter than Blake’s Tyger
Who knows what fangs are for
And never leaves survivors.
More at http://about.me/dklawitter.
