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" I know somethin you'd never believe... "
Whisked into a red room, eyes wide
with orange sunshine, wandering around the scene:
Kabuki-boys in a 5 pointed hokum dancing a rag
amongst royal drag and rubbermen between -
Go-go cages and cabaret fashions, what a dream!
He'd had one on the rocks, just shy of absinthe green.
Modern Sporus adorned in garb so bright,
a true haberdasher's delight!
From left to right was naught but neon blight.
He looked down at the boy, illfitted pants tight
and two roses and lips the same, buds caught under deep shade;
The face aflame as he told a name, hands slithering past taut blockade
and roaming into the garden.
I'm also gonna include some commentary on my writing sometimes, deal with it nerd. This one was very loosely inspired by my grandpa talking about fucking around in florida while he was really high on LSD back in the day
Mass is at eight
and I've yet to clear what's on my plate -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I try to keep my mind straight;
I still can't finish what I've ate -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I rush out with my Sunday vest. It's hard to find
when something else is on the mind -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I've tried and tried, my thoughts grind
to a halt when its us intertwined -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I'm in the cathedral, I'm sitting in the pew
and I still think of you -
" Its been a long time comin... "
Sugary, honeyed thoughts sweet as dew
in my view -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I sat and prayed,
I prayed to be freed - born again, newly made -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I've sat, I've stayed; my old book's frayed
and worn - I'm torn til hands rest upon your braids -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I left the row. I talked to the father
and questioned why we bother -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I talked to the father
and he talked to a bother -
" Its been a long time comin... "
I went back home. I took a good look at my plate;
it looked better than today at eight -
" Its been a long time comin... "
My cup runs over, I washed the specks from eight
and now I appreciate my plate -
" Its been a long time comin... "
In flowered fields,
across the dandelion-tipped sea
is me. I am under the swaying magnolia tree,
wondering how I've feeled these years
under its shade. Daisies pushing up
and green sprawling over my legs,
greedily sucking my nature's dregs
and it's never enough.
I smile and wave and
and I talk and I throw the line
but it never goes past I'm fine
until the grave.
Will anyone be there?
Will they leave me roses,
sniff them long with their hateful noses?
Will anyone care?
The canopy does not stop the heat any longer.
The scent sickens,
an odor thickened ad nauseam
and you were there,
sitting on the side -
you saw, and you
to your course kept true -
as I cried.
I've chewed lillies of the valley,
a goat to slaughter for years -
in spite of tears, you've turned your ears
from me.
The weeds are climbing, climbing to the summit
and I can't see through,
I'll never get to it
before I plummet
What is love? A question old as time,
yet none can define what it is. No melodious rhyme,
no cord strung just right can explain
what men's hearts contain. None of the Book may ordain
the workings of the soul.
Their trying's but a droplet in the bowl;
well-intented as it may be,they mislead with their decrees.
The watched pot never boils:
the labor of love is toils upon toils, troubles every day; yet still we stay.
I may ask why until the day I die, when love's gone with me: old and grey, sighing it away.
I ask why, o why, do we love? Why love at all when doom's due to fall? When your affections are on pall,
what's the use in carrying on? No one understands,
no one truly can, they've got full hands;
what are your struggles to them but trimmings to hem?
But, when you find that flower, its sweet nectar you may devour;
we languish in its light, grabbing to its vestiges tight.
To be cherished by someone, to be valued
is to live true! What makes all others worth going through
is love. Lonesomeness is decay; fondness alone moves death out its way.
For those whose hearts bleed red and blue,
whose souls are poor and weary, living off of rags
nothing disgusts like that rebel flag.
Borne by traitors, usurpers to the true
name our people wore, they hauled their carpet bags
after trouncing that rebel flag.
They forgot this truth, crunched up through
cruel hands: Shake one side of a boat and the other snags,
especially when weighted with that rebel flag.
Freedmen's right ignored, too
long they've lived with skin charred with crags
under dominion of the so-called rebel's flag.
A deprivation of the spirit grew
and was never forced from that land, forevermore it drags
it's people towards the rebel flag.
For the tired, the needy, the men who
have been forced through the processes it lags,
they know the meaning of that rebel's flag.
Citizens, beware the few
that bare such a treasonous tag.
They hold in disrepute all that's true, all to fly the rebel's flag.
The huddled masses come to you,
the countrymen whose fingers don't wag
at those rejected by the rebel flag.
Neo-condeferates are evil monkeys pretty much lol, I'm a dixieboy by where I was raised but a proud unionist in spirit
Bathed in white, remaining light window-bound
that vague blue dried my eye, yet quenches a thrist its own.
It's dark. I stare and it is not much different outside. Never is.
My friends say hi, they get the same reply
time and time again. I wonder why?
What has been will be, my status quo hasn't a change
yet it all feels so strange. What's to try? I don't know.
My halls stay empty, panopticon with it's blinds drawn
I am lonely. That's the takeaway here
From the shores of Shawmut
to the horn of northern Maine, slithering south
to Annapolis, Baltimore, then west
to Pennsyltucky, Appalachian huts
and New York's ever-running mouth