Author: poetryfest

How did I get here
In a place so barren
Barefoot, standing in coals
Wandering, while flesh burns
And denying it hurts
Dark love molded me unrecognizable
Clinging to the very thing that ails me
This relationship that wafts of rot
Molded at the core
How can it be
Turning from self in pain
Heart’s capacity to withstand the unbearable
And stay, still, stuck
A dead tree whose roots sink deep
Down, down into the abyss
To hell took a journey
Heat rising, like time ticking
I couldn’t feel the sting
Edges crisping slowly
Until I’m engulfed in flames
Red hot with anguish
I called it by another name
Not amour, or grit, or strength
All what’s soft withered away
Until the squeals halt to silence
And the last crackle pops
The final fleeting song
So just the shell is left
Shadow of a woman
Soot of grey and black
The ashes of hopes and dreams
Fall to my feet infront of me

I was painting the flower just
as bees arrived
circling my head
buzzing

and rushing
to the flower
sucking its nectar
sucking

and sucking
until
just a sketch of a flower
would be left.

If you come down from heaven
Bet your gonna find
I once was a lost angel
Now I am on your side
Just let me on thru the doorway
My heart is keeping time
I hear the graceful trumpets
Calling me on down the line
Walk with me by the river
Let the sunshine shine
Dip me in the holy water
Never felt so alive
Clothe me in white linen
Tongues of fire on high
Got some bread in the oven
Spirit starting to climb
There is a dove in the window
Brings joy to my eyes
He’s got a little song he sings
He sings it all the time
When you’re brought to the table
We shall drink up the wine
Light for me a candle
It’s my time to fly
If you come down from heaven
Bet your gonna find
I once was a lost angel
Now I am on your side

A leaf in my coffee, a twist in the day,
How did it land there in such a strange way?
Moments so simple, but never quite right,
A sign of the chaos tucked out of sight.
I smile at the mess, though I’m tangled within,
Pretending it’s fine, where do I begin?
The rainbows look lovely, but clouds often form,
And behind every win, there’s the weight of the storm.
So I stir the leaf gently, watching it spin,
Much like the thoughts that swirl deep within.
Perhaps it’s a sign, a small metaphor-
Even in chaos, there’s more to explore.

My head hit the pillow
But my body landed in Narnia

The arctic wind blows across my face and I wonder why my fingers are turning blue
Now purple
Soon to be black from frostbite

As I go to grab my gloves I look down and see
My satin plum pajama set staring back at me

My bare feet engloved by a fluffy sheet of white
As I start to walk around

Five seconds later
I’m fighting for my life in the warm caribbean waters
Blackbeard goes too cut my hair off with a sword I always dreamt of using

I sit down at that Michelin star restaurant Gordan Ramsey owns
Steak, potatoes, a rock, cupcakes, snakes, tigers, sand

And now my pet dolphin walks next to me
Flashes keep blinding me and I realize the paparazzi are following me

My limousine is waiting for me at the top of the Empire State Building
And when I go up the emerald elevator
I see the end of the rainbow

My head spinning
Palms sweaty
I pull the tangled covers off of me and
Head to the bathroom to brush my teeth
My gloves and Blackbeard’s sword sitting right where the sink should be

’m sitting here right next to you,
in the twin sized mattress we now share
thinking about
all of the ways I can tell you
I love you.
Of course, I could say it to you,
and that would suffice,
I’m sure.
But,
when I look at you,
a million other ways to say
those three short words
start to flow from my brain.

Instead,
I could tell you
that you put the stars and the moon in my sky,
and that when we are tangled up in bed,
it feels like the Earth
orbiting the Sun.

I could tell you
that when I look into your eyes,
I see the emeralds and deep blue hues
and am transported to the river banks
of a Monet painting,
leisurely observing the lily pads
in the shade that the bridge creates.

I could tell you
that you are the
bright strikes of lightning
during my thunderstorms—
creating light
in my dark and turbulent days,
and reminding me that
You
are
my protector.

Of course,
I could tell you all of those things,
and maybe
I
should tell you all of those things
But,
when I look at you,
I also lose my breath,
my train of thought,
and I am unable to conjure up the words
to tell you just
how much
I love you.
So instead,
I write these silly little poems
that you will never get to read.
And I continue to tell you that
I love you
And hope that it will suffice

There are places beyond man’s illumination
when the campfire is embers and ashes,
when phones and flashlights rest in batteries,
when the moon has sunk or not yet risen,
when satellites and planes are delinquent.
In those rare, dark interludes one sees
the omnipresence of uncountable glows
and hears the whisperings of the stars.

My girlfriend was staying at her house,
My mom had put out another cigarette into my arm that afternoon,
and I couldn’t sleep.
So I took up the journal my girlfriend gave me and flipped through the poems.
I tried to write new ones,
I tried to rewrite old ones,
but it didn’t feel right.

You came to my door sorta late at night, holding poppies.
“Those aren’t yours,” I said.
“I know,” you said, “But they mean something to you.”
“You don’t know what,” I said.
“I know,” you said again. “But I know she gave them to you before.”
“You aren’t my girlfriend,” I said.

I tore up my poems about you.
We didn’t have a paper shredder, so I tried to do the shredding.
I felt loathing. For myself, for my sister, and for myself again.
“You aren’t real,” I said. “You never were.”

“But I am,” you said. “Look at your wrist.”
I did, there the loops were, over my scar.
The crow landed on your shoulder, the one you screamed at me wasn’t real.
But you said, “I was wrong, Bunny,
The crow was real. The nest was real. We are real.”
“You can’t be here,” I said.

I took the poems about you into the backyard,
and put them into a pile on the grass.
My mother walked up behind me, smoking,
and handed me her matchbox.
“I read them,” she said.
I began to shake.
“I’ll do it if you can’t, baby,” my mother said softly.
I shook my head, lit a match, and dropped it onto the poems.

You Hold air puffed cheeks until jaw ligaments strain
Your Body bloats on fields poisoned by innocents slain

Soldier through the soil torn
Crash upon the rocks reborn
Shore, beach, shadowded glen
Weary miles for travelling men
See through the sky above
Into a world they once did love
Stars strain the innocents slain
Fallen as rusted morning rain
Blood and tin and tractor screws
Heaven’s tireless war meant for men to loose

Sea’s static rage unending sending them on their way
Waves crash they all descend upon afterlifes quay

Travel through the soil torn
Crash upon the rocks reborn
Shore, beach, shadowy glen
Weary miles miled by travel weary men
See through the sky above
Through a world they once did love
Fields that once did bear your daily bread
Soon will collapse under the weight of the dead
Forlorn do they walk as they did love
Love like the living dead
Soon to pile upon the fields above

Sea’s static rage unending sending them on their way

’m watching myself become a casualty of the
Mass graves at the starting line of
a Second Drug War.

I along with another army of others,
Given to hedonistic desire
Brought on by a lack of restraint and control.
ponder why we lost our souls when we gave them to our
desires.

We build empires in honor of Loki.
We make sacristy an overthrown majesty.
We built gods in the names of our lusts
So we could worship our sins, in trust
That they would keep us sound
In lies that seem profound,
But are traps and snares
sprinkled with spoonfuls of sugar.

It hangs like flesh rotting off the hook
Waiting to be cooked,
Rubbed and buttered,
Eaten and consumed.

The Antichrist is the creation of man
As we are the creations of God.
We build her
So that it is the mind of man
‘ganist the mind of Christ,
We could overthrow Him
And be free from the consequence of sin,

Death:

A Mannequin suit of flesh
With Hollow eyes that walk and wander like an
Empress in transgress’.

The truth does not fulfill our lusts
So we made idols in our own image,
And being made in the likeness of God,
We defaced the trinity in simulacra, and pretended that
God was never there,
Caught in our own snare