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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Dyeing Scarlet

Historical reference: “dyeing scarlet” was a term used by Shakespeare in Henry IV to mean “inebriated or drunk.”

 

Dyeing Scarlet

His mind in orbit of hallowed halls

Cases of glass germ made to scare

Anxiety pulsating her tender walls

Where Scarlet alone, his lady fair

A crevasse her castle, he surely won’t find

In the deep, dark depths of his heart

The bubbles of celebration: fates intertwined

Scarlet should have known from the start

But she was naïve, too blind to see

That sociality had become an obsession

Now it’s too late, she’ll never be free

From the bubbles that trigger his aggression

Nothing to do for the crimson is seeping

Nearby, her children are silently weeping

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B wif Mi fo Eva

B wif Mi fo Eva

She loved her daddy’s lemonade

Pounds of sugar he put in one pitcher

It made him a hero in her eyes.

They walked together under shady trees

She on his shoulders, bouncing with each big step

He pushed her in the tire swing

She threw her head back and felt the warm summer breeze caress her

Like her daddy’s hands brushing her young, rosy red cheeks

Sipping the sweet lemonade, she said, “B wif mi fo eva”

And he promised her he would be

How could he resist her lively charm and youthful glow?

But his time came sooner than expected

Surgeons did all they could to save him

She loved the way he looked into her eyes

That gentle glow, taking her hand in his

He called her back after she hung up during an argument

He turned to his friends and said, “That’s her”

Hopefully gazing after her

He kissed her forehead and listened to her heartbeat

While in the grass under a moonlit sky

He called her beautiful day in and day out

And with him, she, for the first time, began to believe it

He kissed her in the blackness of movie theatres

With a mouthful of popcorn, she said, “B wif mi fo eva”

And he promised her he would be

How could he resist her beautiful face and strikingly audacious personality?

But betrayal bit bone and they grew apart

Arguing led to fighting led to leaving

She loved the way he’d hang on her every word

He was such a good little boy

Intent on seeing his mother proud

And she was, she was proud of him

He was her in the flesh, she saw every bit of herself in him

He grew up quickly, much faster than she would have liked

She sacrificed all she had to make him happy

She worked hard and he was grateful

Through melodramatic sobs as he left for college on the other side of the country,

She said, “B wif mi fo eva”

And he promised her he would be.

How could he resist their maternal bond and her helpful hand?

But he moved to Asia for Archeological digs

Met his new wife and had two beautiful daughters

She loved how he had been there always

Throughout her entire life

He was her savior in the sky

Giving his life to set the world on fire

He listened to her grievances and answered her prayers

She worshipped his questioned existence

Praised the Day of Atonement

In her bed of last breaths, she softly said, “B wif mi fo eva”

And he was.

 

Log of the Disgruntled Worker

I wrote this during my eleven month employment at greasy, gritty, grimy McDonalds:

Log of the Disgruntled Worker

Upon entering its golden arches,

The smell of grease swiftly rises on the air

Walking passed the rows of empty tables

To the manager’s red eyed stare

Back behind the counter

Where the disgruntled workers relay

Wanting to get out of the filth

Money bounding them to stay

Passed the loud cling clang

Of the employees in the grill

To the all mighty time clock

Under a board, saying not to eat their fill

My number punched in

Its time to whine

Back to the counter

Where others leisurely dine

I enter my work of damnation

The gluttony that burns them all in hell

Looking at the space left behind

Where many a drink had fell

Coffee, Sprite, Coke

The stains of fat sublime

Taking a rag to the spills

To clean the dirt and grime

The conveyor belt sounds

Signaling another car

‘Hurry! Under 90 seconds!’

‘He isn’t too far!’

Readying the napkins, ketchup, and salt

The condiments that lead to their demise

But the real joke is on them

They are in for a big surprise

The lettuce was on the floor

The mustard’s two months old

Just rack ‘em up, stack the meat

It’s out the window and sold

Cars run through, passed me

More grease out the window

From inside the prison

Where tension and anxiety soon grow

Working our tails off

For pennies on the hour

‘Please sir, with the nuggets

I need Sweet and Sour’

I’ll give you your sauces

But give me the money

It’s 15 cents extra

For that little drop of honey

Old people, young people

all of ‘em come through

The jocks, the Goths, the workaholics

Doesn’t matter who

All of ‘em love the arches

A mystery to me

Handing them their heart attacks

They smile full of glee

‘Go on you break’ the manager commands

‘Start your half hour of freedom now’

What do I get, the same grease that I give out?

I sure don’t want to look like those cows

Back on the clock

No more than ten minutes late

If I were to be back late

A write up and I would surely have a date

Write up! Write up!

Can everyone say it with me

Be punctual and mind your manners

That’s truly the key

Back to the booth from hell

The day slowly turns to night

Handing out the bloodstained carcasses

Of which all the customers want a bite

The clock strikes one hour

That’s all that has passed?

Let us have some fun

So this shift can fly by fast

Serving the orders

One by one

Making the stock lists

Now that is fun

Oh what a demeaning job

My months here have been the worst yet

My low pay at McDonalds

The worst fate I have ever met

The Devil You Don’t Know

The Devil You Don’t Know

Don’t you realize the error of your ways

when giving into him?

His head of evil thoughts

with all of his lecherous sin?

Oh sure, his face might be smooth,

his hair not course, but fine.

His pale complexion soft as silk,

his figure truly divine.

But deep behind this masquerade

there lies a man you do not know.

His angelically glowing, blue eyes

is but only a show.

When his strong hands reach out

to caress your virgin skin,

can you feel the pernicious prickles

poisoning you within?

Do you see where his scalp turns red

and his horns protrude through?

Once you see his evil, forked tongue

there’s no escape for you.

When his eyes sneer to a blood red

and his sharp fangs then protrude,

It is then you’ll realize, there’s no escape!

No way to end the feud.

So stay away, far away

from the whirlpool of their sin.

From the claws upon their hands,

from the evil upon their grin.

When you see a devil walking down the street

You’ll know to turn and run.

But how are you to know it’s him

when the fangs are none.

How will you know that it is he who will  leave you soulless,

trapped in a pitiful despair?

When the horns that once protruded

aren’t really there?

Can you keep on the look out

For this atrocious beast?

Keep at a safe distance

Where his minions aren’t released?

So stay away, far away

from the curse of the unknown.

Because the all apparent evil

beats the horns that aren’t shown.

 

Into the Sea

Into the Sea

A man casts his dreams into the sea

The vision sent floating toward the rising sun

Captured in the tranquility of the tide

On a journey of many miles toward the morning sky

A man puts a boat into the sea

Following his dreams toward the shards of eternity

Conquering the overhead sun

Closer and closer to the afternoon sky

A man dives into the sea

Helping push his dreams against the rough tide

Kicking away from the sturdy dock

Swimming toward the setting sun

A man walks from the bank into the sea

The fierce tide producing rock crashing waves

Walking upon the rocky sea bottom

Watery visions soon covering his head

Because he must conclude his melody

Beyond the forgotten circles of hope

Watching the current drown his dreams

He, himself dissolving into the fall of night

 

Old People

Old People


Oh, no! They looked me in the eyes!

What am I to do?

Their evil eyes from their porch,

Where the vultures silently cue.

So we walked upon your property.

We stepped upon your lawn.

‘Was it you? Was it?

That broke my plastic swan?

Oh please give us a break!

Go back inside and drink your tea!

So my dog may trot on your grass

And finally be able to pee

So I may do things that aren’t quite right.

Is it your business to spread?

No! I wasn’t the one!

I didn’t shoot paintballs at your God Damn shed!

Old People, Old People,

What have you done?

Sour milk is on the table

And your cat is on the run.

Will you ever be able to forgive yourselves

In your long hours of the day?

Sitting upon your porch,

Watching the children joyously play.

‘I saw bicycle marks

upon my garage door

Was it you?’

No it wasn’t you old bore!

People watchers, People Watchers,

Can’t you find something to do that’s good?

Than to tell my personal acts

To the entire neighborhood?

I just want to move away,

Far away from the old people

But where ever I go, they’re always there to judge

Especially under God’s steeple

Oh no! A new Lincoln

I’ll be sure to stay away from that!

For if I come within four feet of that car,

I’m sure to get spat at!

Why must your yard be so perfect?

Your driveway newly paved?

Hoping God will see your hard work,

and you will surely be saved?

I’m sure it may be hard

From your porch because of the sun’s glint,

But can’t you find an actual productive activity

In your days of retirement?

In the Still Silence

In the Still Silence


There — in the still Silence

beyond the Dull grave gate,

behind the Tombstones

I stood, Sweating–sweating at the Alter

preparing to State my Vow

Interrupted, I was —

by nothing more than a Mere cough

A cough Erupted from the pews —

I was glue — eyes upon me, Shaking

I Dropped the band and took off

In a sprint — I reached the door,

Exiting to a New Dawn  —

Inside, I heard

more than a cough Exclaimed

Yet I was plain and headed toward

Infinite Possibilities

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