Tuesday, April 23, 2013

"i was sought"

New poem inspired by a different version of the song below.

“ in my heart (with apologies to carey mercer)”

war, war is in my heart
but your love is all i will cherish
let wounds appear elsewhere
your love is the light i will hold up
against the chattering, darkening sky

oh, but i have basked in battle
i have taken up my sword against loss and entropy
i have stood awash in blood and sorrow
and war remains in my heart
my dissatisfaction has grown too large to just ignore

i fist my hand in anticipation of your soul gripping mine
i smile at the vision of you i hold in my head
pretending i could be cleansed
i sing radio songs that remind me of you
your love is all i remember

though through the threat of war i’m still possessed
my mind doesn’t collapse in on itself, as i would hope
it doesn’t turn to dust, cold and miserable
you’re the little bit of blasphemy i could always take with me
if i’m buried on a battlefield, you’ll keep me alive, and fed forever


Friday, April 12, 2013

"But I looked back/it was a bore/it was a fucking horror"

 The first of these is mostly insubstantial, but I like it well enough. Most of the really good stuff has stayed in a word file lately. I feel the need to hold some stuff back. 
The second poem is another mixture of true and false (especially the last verse, which is either 99% bullshit, or the vision of someone else). It's me arguing with dead poets again, I can't ever be accused of being unambitious.

“ untitled # 9”
i remembered good times
i swallowed, coughed, then spit
i adjusted my hat, continued walking home
i saw it all again

transfixed by saturation i moved the needle onto the record
a cachopany came through the speakers
i swear i heard your voice, you whistled so sweet
you never did sing for me, i always thought you would

i have only so many directions to choose from, although
i have no clue as to where any of them will lead me
i choose the path with love and loss and random chance
i’m at my best when i don’t know what’s coming next

“seeking alive (fuck william blake)”

if the doors of perception were cleansed
we would lose our identities and cease to exist
every person’s world is what they perceive
if cracks should appear
insanity will beckon

i’m the only one who feels myself exist
the only one who can see my place in the patterns
why should we do for others?
when we can’t even prove they exist?

i brush a stranger and apologize with a smile
and then go to find my seat
i want to know what others are thinking
but can only go on what they tell me

i position my words in hopes that
no one will guess what i’m thinking
i only care for my outer appearance
i write my missives mostly for myself
but if you find my words, take them, whisper them some place new