Peel the skin away from my bones
then toss it on the fire
so I can no longer feel
the ghosts of your fingertips
or the yearning for your touchNext
crack open my rib cage
and tear out my heart
burn it to ashes
so its rhythm will cease
and I’ll no longer hear your songFinally
saw open my skull
and remove my brain
so I can’t remember you
think of you
daydream and wish for youAll I am
is a statue of wanting
bleeding of my needing you
and I don’t want to feel anything
ever again
Occupy Wall Street has no appointed leaders, no expiration date and still-evolving goals and demands.
The beautiful part of writing is that you don’t have to get it right the first time unlike, say, brain surgery.
– Robert Cormier (via writingadvice) Via Desperate Scribblings
IN THE SKY
In these days of flying murderers
Memories are vulnerable
When houses were falling down
In trickiness
I was with them reaching
Listening to a terrified
Single mother afraid her
All- American baby boy would fall
From dreaming so high up
The birds flapping their
Curious feathers like flags
Encouraging me- I swore I could see our
Fatherless home back in Ohio
As my steel and glass
World champion brothers held my
Outstretched wings paternally
And whispered that every Icarus
Gets his chance- I just needed
to learn how to fly
Via Desperate Scribblings
NIETZSCHE IS DEAD
Ecce Homo!
The syphilitic philosophical masturbator
Proclaiming God is Dead
From his thus spake Superman chair
Leaves me whispering to his long decayed flesh
As I breathe the 21st century wind - I’ll make up
My own mind motherfucker
I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains„ deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter.
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.
For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.
– James Kavanaugh (There are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves)(Source: myquotelibrary)
Via Desperate ScribblingsWhat A Writer
what i liked about e.e. cummings
was that he cut away from
the holiness of the
word
and with charm
and gamble
gave us lines
that sliced through the
dung.
how it was needed!
how we were withering
away
in the old
tired
manner.
of course, then came all
the e.e. cummings
copyists.
they copied him then
as the others had
copied Keats, Shelly,
Swinburne, Byron, et
al.
but there was only
one
e.e. cummings.
of course.
one sun.
one moon.
back to the machine gun
I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I’m hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot
gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks
in my path
still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard.
the young housewife next door shakes a rug
out of her window and sees me:
“hello, Hank!”
god damn! it’s almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22
“hello,” I say
gathering up my Visa card bill, my Pennysaver coupons,
a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,
a letter from the mortgage people
plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department
giving me 30 days to clean up my act.
I mince back again over the small sharp rocks
thinking, maybe I’d better write something tonight,
they all seem
to be closing in.
there’s only one way to handle those motherfuckers.
the night harness races will have to wait.
About me
this is where i share my love of poetry with the world..........some of this stuff is mine and some of this stuff is the work of other poets and writers past and present.....
