Official DUP NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017

28/30


Afterthoughts Of An Incomplete Soul

I'm usually lacking in profound things to say
No surprise; I'm an incomplete soul

an afterthought at the end of the day

You get what you paid for
This product you stole

[throat scream]NOTHING MORE THAN AN EMPTY BLACK HOLE[/throat scream]

Why
am I
not more "I"
than I should be?
Lost in a crowd of us, our, they, them, we

I would take it as insult
that there's something wrong with me
but that would mean
there wasn't anything
wrong with

YOU, THE ONE IN CONTROL
HEAVENLY HOLIER THAN THOU ASSHOLE
I AM SATAN, HEAR ME ROAR!
YOU SHALL KNOW ME FOREVER MORE
IN YOUR DARKEST DAYDREAMS
EARTHLY LIFE UNRAVELING AT THE SEAMS
A SUCCESSION OF SCREAMS
THAT WON"T ESCAPE YOUR THROAT

I resign to being
what you loathe and fear
everything wrong in the world
Scapegoat of the Millennium

Toss into the black hole I am
all that you wish not to be

absolved of
your sins
inability to love

Go ahead
Blame it all on me

werbepause {viii}
{28.04.17.    poem 28 of 30}

i never told you i  
was tired of it all,
a weariness far beyond
what eight hours
can cure.
you probably wouldn't
have understood even
if you'd even listened.
i felt the yawning
somewhere deep inside,
a pitch exhaustion
that clung to
my limbs & weighed
{well, you know how much}
and the irony of it.
i still carry it all,
will continue to ...
... tho i am
infinitely weightless.

The vaugeries of word travel


The vagueries of word travel:
not knowing where
the blasted jumbled jumping
inconsequential structure
will go to next.
A lack of signposts
and semblance of order
replaced with primordial chaos
more like nonsense and drivel.
A definite non-statement
raising only questions
such as
'what the hell was that'?
As a new mumbled mess
is uttered forth.

At least with such configurations
they are somewhat ashamed
and reserved in importance;
better to be a fool who can be wise
than the so-called 'wise'
who spout nothing but rubbish
in vainglorious vocabulary.
Shame and humility
tempered by wisdom
from experience with gravitas;
that just seems to be lacking
in the messed up modern world
where everyone has a damn voice
- somewhat alright in itself,
but not when they voice nothing of value
and shouts of equality and recognition
are drowned out by selfish ego indulgences,
because it is not what you know
but how you present it.

Such is the vagueries of word travel:
disjointed and forgotten
but at least self-aware of that
and thankful not of five minutes of fame,
but of existence itself;
not as a given but as a gift.

(Day and Entry 28, GMT 22:05)

NaPoWriMo 28/30 for April 28th, 2017
Villanelle/Terzanelle/Verzanelle/Tillanelle No: 26


SOUL-MATE MEETING

The glory of a moment’s lifted high
with hearts responding missing one small beat
releasing all potential with a cry

the beauty in the lonely when eyes meet
forgoes the “look at me” and lets it die
with hearts responding missing one small beat

it’s easy in our culture to deny
the chance of higher realms to run complete -
forgive the “look at me” and let it die

a softly, softly listening gifts a treat
and lets the flow of life be free whereby
the chance of higher realms can run complete

as yearning urges sacred souls to fly
a deeper join becomes a simpler feat
by letting flow of life be free whereby

the light within encompasses the heat -
a glory of a moment lifted high
combines with Nature in a simple feat
releasing all potential with a cry.

STEAL BABY STEAL

You married our men even though you lived in a trailer park
You married our men as soon as they got famous
Steal baby steal
You started and sounded like us when you put out a record
Steal baby steal
You get skin tans and hair in dreads
Steal baby steal
Your dialect and mannerisms resemble ours
Steal baby steal
Election day you vote Republican
Election night you act sympathetic, holding her with a secret grin on your  face
Election night you make love to someone whose ancestors were brought on a slave trip
Steal baby steal
Steal baby steal

Chapter IX

If my life
was a book
I would be stuck
in the chapter
with you
just keep rereading
can't help the feeling
when I'm with you
it started with fire
flame & desire
then mixed all the embers
till I surrendered
to you
you were the
only
one
I would give my life for
& you are the
only
one
that fills my endless sleepless nights
it's you
& as I look
to the heavens
the rain washes
away the day
the only thing
that still remains
is you
& now I walk
within your shadow
down crowded empty streets
chilled to the marrow
my
soul
has
no
destiny
my feet match
my hearts empty beat
without you
without you
why is it
when you grasp
for air
you
end
up
with
nothing
just
like
sunlight
you know
you
feel
it
the harder
you try
you
just
can't
keep it
you open your hand
& it's
not
there
I don't know
when this story
will be over
the ending left unwritten
book with no cover
it you read it
you will discover......

04282017

......

......

Judas

Scottish madmen had a ball
Slaughtered English, murdered Gaul
In the midst of battle and brawl
Will you heed my beckon call
Will you charge or will you crawl
Be my brother in murderous maul
A fearless warrior standing tall
Or will you not be there at all

But; if I should fall
Should my engine stall
If I loose my arms and all
would you join me in the fall
or care not what I might befall
Will you catch me
Will you save me
will you not be there at all
If I should fall

Is your sporran too full of English silver?

DaisyGrace said:
***
day 26.

Woo-hoooo! You're almost there!

April 28-- Beach Season

I shall arise
before dawn, and
bid thee, farewell; one
last sunrise among
seas
on popplestones, one
last catch of shells on
the shore.

Beach season draws
to a close with unshuttered
snack bars, and thronging
humanity
packing parking lots.

Crackle of radio static and
cackling children, will clog
the air with sound--ah,
I will miss you, my
lovely sands.

Be well, until autumn, when
our season resumes, and
we shall continue our quiet
rapport,
speaking wordless conversations
'tween flesh and waves.

XXVIII. Awareness: Parable of Vision

I.  

When one decides to walk between
lifetimes, it is not without reservation.
Nor is it considered lightly, that which
once decided cannot be reversed.  

For me it's prayerful fasting in the allotted
time I'm given; 14 days, in this instance.  
Only water, no solid food or supplements
into a wilderness of doubtful temptation.  

Exhausted and on the verge of Spiritual
defunct, I relented the eve of the final day.  
Cried in the floor and begged for relief.  
Begged Source to mold me and never stop,  

Despite how hard I cried or pleaded him to.
The Vision came hard and fast; a hologram
of out-of-body experience while rocking in
a fetal position as though a 2-year-old.

It was my pink slip out of my current Life;  
it was decades of severence pay for services
rendered. It was fandango flutter, a timbre
of pleasure, the cool side of the pillow.

II.  

The ally was filthy, dank with sewage
reeking of shadows and putrid existence;  
In a darkened recess of crumbling brick
was a litter of puppies all different sizes.  

Their color varied, as did their markings,  
but it was apparent that they were all  
brothers and sisters, whose skeletal frames
were makeshift housing for starvation.  

At my feet was a Lighted Line I instinctively
could not cross. In each of my hands was
fresh and healthy food for them. I felt Godlike,
powerful over the means to save their life.  

To my horror, they were too terrified  
to leave the corner. I watched, aghast  
as they fought each other for scraps  
ripping each other apart over dirty morsels.  

But, despite how much I begged, no matter
how softly I pleaded, they simply couldn't
Trust me enough with their lives that they
could live. Then the unthinkable happened.  

Sometimes the human psyche literally
feels like shrapnel splintering into a billion
bits of blood and bone during traumatic
atrocities beyond their intervention.  

As I stood at that Line of Light I could not
cross, I was witness to the murder of the
weakest little runt that the remaining litter
survive, fighting over his tiny intestines...

On the verge of complete emotional collapse,

I heard the Voice.

III.  

Rise, Daughter; Hear the Parable of
the Vision; you, who by Faith believed  
in something Greater, and did not cross  
the Line into your own Understanding.  

But leaned instead unto Mine.  

The puppies represent all peoples of the
world; tribes, creeds, colors, doctrines.  
They starve from fear to seek the Water
of Life, thus die broken and desolate.  

See how they fight amongst themselves
for meager sustenance tossed by cold
strangers giving no time to save them.  
How they destroy each other to survive.  

You were one as they, but have now left.  
You will go forth from this place, never
return or look back in regret. You have
been Delivered into the path of Love.  

Your Guides will be waiting at crossroads
along your route; you will walk together  
for a time, partaking in lessons, cultivating
gifts. You Will know them by their actions.  

Not by Words or Promises.  

You will also meet others whom will test
your resolve to see if you've learned, or  
must repeat the lesson. You will know
them by their contrary nature to your Faith.  

These will be your Greatest Teachers.

Do not stray from the Road, lest you be
consumed by a flytrap world in beautiful
disguise. Those who cross the Line of Trust
toward you, leave lest you be tempted as well.

Should you not heed this, I shall sever you
from their presence in a painful pruning.  

For you have asked me to mold you without
ceasing despite how hard you cry or beg  
that I would stop. Thus, because it is Your
Heart's true desire, I shall not relent.

I Love you that much. Now, go forth into
the door that I shall open unto you. Forget not
these Words; forget not the Parable of Vision;
forget not My Love for You.

IV.  

It was the 14th day, weak yet revived,  
that a co-worker asked if I knew anyone
clean and dependable that needed a  
furnished basement apartment to rent.  

Sometimes things seem too good to be  
true; like an open door in the county, city
neighborhood, and price range you could
afford. I packed and moved that weekend.  

I left everything as though a Fisher of men.  
My house. My land. Took only clothing, and
what was my mother's and grandmother's
for my son's future and inheritance.  

I would learn years later it was the worst
way to hurt a man; to want out so badly  
you refused to fight for anything. Take only
a few mere boxes representing 20 years.  

But I had learned to let go of materialism;
I had come to hate more than I needed.
We all do what we must to survive
and should never apologize for Truth.  

Sunday evening, a nice red in a jelly jar
I found in the cabinet, surrounded by old
70's shag carpet and chipped western wagon-
wheel furniture, it was the Taj Mahal.

I toasted to my Future;
It couldn't have looked more beautiful.  
...

.......

TENEMENT

In the lower ground floor
Of a tenement typical of the city
The world view from
My window is a light blue wall

When I wake from
Snoring loudly in the company
Of a dog sleeping loudly
In the indignant company of me

Or was it the wet pavement above me
Echoed clip clop that wakes me
Of a solitary police horseman
Searching for a bomber

Or maybe just staring up
At a girl dressing high above him
Who's looking high above
Half staring at the dying moon

no more bull (28)

don't
Tick her
off

final closing bell
Shit load of bull
the manure is good for us
Makes it all grow

Gordon Geico
was right

Greed is good
Cuffed
Grab it by the horns
And tickle the balls

Here comes the Wolf
Naw
I'm going
This was it
Last hurray
Just teaching the pups how to run the world
They've learned
Most of them

The ones who didn't
They'll be eaten
Fuck it
I did my due
I can still kill

Jaws strong
Claws like oak
I smell green and gold
And I piss black
Even though gray tickles my coat

Going to Chinatown
The bronze girl reminds me
I've won

Haven't I always