The ill of living

Write something, about what do you see, streets, home, job, clubs, wars, whatever, that give you an impression this life is somehow ill. Concentrate only on them.

New or old.
No collab.
No multimedia.

Hint: I ve seen things.......

Salome

Salome of chapel Street
Is weaving her body to a chemical induced beat,
Synapses electrified, imprisoned in a psychological loop.

Barefooted With grubby toes she twirls in little circles.
Throwing her hands in the air as she tries to bridge
The divide between the land and the sky.
Busy people with busy lives take a glance and stroll on by.

She stops to smile at her reflection,a true friend,
The only one she trusts,
She starts again just herself and the cosmos,
Rotating with arms outstretched hoping to catch a star.

O salome what betrayal has fallen upon your pink dyed hair?
And the dribbles seeping from your pouting lips?
What hope have you of slaying the dragons of the mind?
Hiding behind concrete curtain eyes,
And so on she goes spinning in a stupor
Beneath the wrought iron clock of the old jeweller's shop.

dis-orientation
(a sonnet)  
 
So long have I gazed through your shattered glass,  
Outside, forgotten, left, that even leaves  
And flowers hold no aspect true that pass  
As any part of me that life receives.  
   
You ask if I still hold a want of you,  
But who would be this wanting thing you want?  
For in this home, I’m what you never knew,    
But wanted only your own sycophant.  
   
No sex, no drugs, no craving left remains.  
The nails that desperate hold can leave no scars.  
A stranger not, for “stranger” still contains  
A part that is in life which mine now bars.  
   
Stripped naked raw of all your bleeding fear,  
I hope you know that I was never here.

Katie

Katie was my best friend
Except she wasn't

She saved my life
Until she nearly killed me

She is so beautiful in some ways
Yet uglier than I can grasp in others

I met her a year ago
I wish I never had

She comforted me when I was low
A ploy to ensnare me

We shared a passion for music
Another trick she pulled

She took me to outer space
A charm of hers to fool you

She showed me the other side of reality
Knowing I'd never let go of it

I quickly grew tolerant of her charms
I needed more of her to get to her world

I was addicted to the experience of Katie
Despite the troubles and pains she brought me

My bladder gave out
My body caved in

The surgeon's knife beckoned
Scared, alone and facing the extraction

Bladderless, I had been without Katie for a day
I hated her for the damage she'd done

Bladderless, I was discharged
Bladderless, I went back to her

Powerless, I'll never escape her evil
She owns me and she'll never let me go

Conquistador

Even downpouring water can’t wash the sad away.
Whorls suck in souls with leaves and rush out to sea,
drown bitter tears, dilute them without trace.

No winding road: the polished stone
worn down with time, the lowest common denominator
a multiplier of pain, scrapes rock upon rock, bone on raw bone.

She’s not telling tales: bent over double, screaming sorrow.
Bellows of loneliness turn all away
to stave off contagion. The tourniquet’s her rage.

Loss begets loss, wounds ooze blood,
Flesh eats itself, no limits, no sand lines drawn.
No fault, of course, of yours - it’s in her head.

How could you help? You’re only human,
with shield and sword and courage sufficient
to save princesses and maids in castle towers,

bred with hair down to there,
so you can scale the walls of their desire.

And once you conquer, well - what then?

Obsidian Noise

She paints her face
black
to blend in
with the streets,
but covers the mirrors
with sheets
at home.

Hiding
her broken pieces
while dodging
memories,
she staggers
through a blurry world
watching
strangers whispering.

Shadows shout. Buildings creak.

Minor chords
plastered
along dirty walls
tiptoe into her ears
to hum old
lullabies
and blind her
with starlight;
she never sleeps.

Illuminated.

She lashes out.

Her body is her slave,
and her mind
is ugly.

A ROOM IN MEMPHIS



you aint nothin but a tan bitch
honey open the door
go away tan bitch
baby its cold i got our daughter
fuck you you just a tan bitch

i lay still in the brief silence

open the door our baby is cold
tan bitch
where we supposed to go
tan bitch tan bitch tan bitch
at least let our baby in woman

i packed in silence

a car starts
a man cries
not black enough
where does white stop
and black begin

hand him my key and drive into the darkness..

"Sleep to the Sound..."
Here I am again sleeping
Underground
While still alive
Wondering how long I have
Before they find
Where I come to hide
Because they're laws and views
I have
DEFIED!!!

Now I live
Confined
To this damp, dark, clusterphobic
Hideaway
Because of
'Freedom of speech'
I am deemed a
TERRORIST
Of the so called  
COUNTERFEIT ECONOMY!!!

No I ain't in Seattle
But I am sleepless tonight
TIME TO FIGHT!!!
So sleep to the
Sound of
Bombs going off
While I raise hell
And scream my voice
Across this land and the seven seas

With me or against me
It's your choice
There is nowhere
My bullets can't reach
And my accuracy has
Never before been seen
I'm practicing what you teach
THIS IS POETRY BITCH!!!

By The People

This is it
round nine
the end of days
who governs your mentis
who controls your life
feels like ole yellas got to go

Not saying we rabid
although we pretty fucking depraved
society teetering
on the brink
as if you can't see
the sickness run rife

All's well in the west

Just keep telling yourself
this cant happen to me
as the very fabric
fades false
flags
and national pride
give way
to a pseudo security state

Remember when the streets where ours
no gun toting soldiers
parading each corner
who's protection was that for anyway
seems like guards to a rich castle
or is that wardens
for this prison planet


So bow down
if you enjoy the view
from your knees
the whore of Babylon has arrived
and this time the Clintons
gonna take more than the silverware

Viewed from a far
or under a microscope
pretty sure
no plane debris was found
on the pentagon ground
or how three towers
magically fell
all like a house of cards

Sounds like a Saudi conspiracy

Knowing the truth
about who's running the show
that the government
shares the bed
with some dirty folk
should evoke something
within you

Its time to stand up
question the narrative
enough is enough
this far
no further

What would you do
if today
was your last
On your feet
or face down
Only you can decide

Please don't consider the following for the competition. I just want to contribute not compete.  It's an old write that I've posted before.  This comp. already has some profound poems from newer members.  Good scribbling kids!

Bob Chasing Dragons in the Park

In every city in the world
You’ll find them there
Chasing dragons in the park
Faces gaunt’ jaws open ‘never shut'
Dim emotionless eyes take turns to blink
Among these Zombies of the poppies
You might find a friend of mine
Or a faded copy of the original
Blowing across the grimy concrete
Like a dry leaf before the first snow
Living out his life in the twilight
His mind slowly detaches from his body
Desires for love and sex dry up
Till he can no longer fuck
Lethargic bowels become arthritic
Till he can no longer shit

‘The Living Dead’
Yes, there is such a thing!

My old friend walks among them
Someplace, somewhere
You may catch a glimpse
Of his ragged form
Camouflaged against the city grey  
A shadow of a human
Disappearing slowly into oblivion
In chemical emaciation he slowly dissolves  
Till he disappears
As though he was never there
At all

i used to walk past a guy in vegas alot that would mutter to himself and stop, turn around and scream at the dragons to stop following him.. i feel you....

Training children

What's wrong son
why did Mum say
I can't  play
with my best friends
anymore
because son
she's your mother
she knows better
but dad
I'm nearly ten
I'm not a baby
why can't I play
with my best friends
anymore
because my son
they are different from us
they are coloured
and they smell
but so are we dad
no we're not son
we are white
but mummy said
when I was a baby
I was pink
and grandad
looks grey
and he smells funny
and when you were ill
you looked yellow
and you smell
so dad
who's the coloured ones
Wack
do what I say
I'm your father

twisted

why do you need
to see
whats behind the door
are the words
i love you
not enough
any more
why do you insist
on looking
behind the scenes
when you know
what you will find
will not be me
yet you hope and pray
that i will change
while wishfull thinking
becomes your cage
as you lay
on your barron bed
of dispair
believeing
one day i will care

the state seal on the wall had grown a horn

Through this year that's fading out,
of world-wide strife and war,
with the plight of fleeing souls,
homeless and fearful refugees,

a reminder of how we can't imagine
what it's like, but do we remember
to feel blessed, and what we can do,
that it matters, even being only one.

As the problem visited me earlier
when I had to go to court numerous
times to witness for a corporation I
used to work for; a hardship case:

A woman of color, tall and wide,
stood before the bench in civil court
trying to explain, beseeching,
imploring, to take pity on her

to please "don't take away my home,
and my little ones..."; this mother of
six in a dejected posture, shredded
as if by sewing shears, and

fractured by the system, its salvos
making their mark on the target of
her tragic situation, of no money,
no food, and waiting till it was too late

for salvation, about to be ripped
from what little was left for her to
live for. Ashes in the brain, the body
appeared otherwise strong as a bull

but now was sinking into a bowed roof,
unable to support the rain of her sobs
that continued, unabated; a once proud
woman reduced to her knees,

the tear-stained midnight face cradled
in two hands, while I openly wept
when His Honor apologized
as the gavel came solidly down.

The fear that struck everyone there while
the case unfolded before the court  
showed how, but for the grace of God,  
go you and go I, who vowed to help  

through charity, in the new year,  
determined however I may,  
to offer, and to tithe for those  
I can uplift in my own humble way.


When I worked in real estate..., talk about seeing things.

frequent flyer mile restrictions

I shudder beneath my blankets

And there she is again

that girl
in that little village
that has no clean water

I laugh

a minute ago
it was the great wandering dog
without a home

it melts away
and she and her cub will drown

or starve

or both

too much
too little

but what am I to give

a fuck

sorry I don't

just $1.25 a day
he says
the price of a cup of coffee
saves the girl

and her family

$2.00 for the bear

my Glivec is $298 a day

$79 in Mexico

I guess we all live in the wrong place