This is the three minute poem
of my life:
Happiness
Hunger
Crying
Food
Happiness
Tired
Crying
Sleep
Happiness
Growing
Learning
Fighting
Crying
Consoling
Happiness
Maturing
Exploring
Shocked
Crying
Soothing
Happiness
Loving
Kissing
Leaving
Crying
Chocolate
Happiness
Expanding
Being
Understanding
Striving
Miscommunication
Judgement
Discrimination
Crying
Protesting
Hiding
Happiness?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The Attack
Isn't it strange how emotions attack?
They attack our very soul
When we least want them there
Go away!
Leave me be!
I don't want to cry any more.
They attack our very soul
When we least want them there
Go away!
Leave me be!
I don't want to cry any more.
Funny Funny Fears
Isn't it funny how we can have fears,
Irrational fears.
Like the fear of dark.
Or fear of public speaking.
But the fear of being known... is never irrational.
Irrational fears.
Like the fear of dark.
Or fear of public speaking.
But the fear of being known... is never irrational.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
13 Haiku's: A Shorter Study in Servitude
Note: Each Haiku was inspired by one of the thirteen pieces in Howard Barker's "13 Objects: Studies in Servitude." The title of the poem is bold within the poem itself.
Digging and digging
With a lonely spade dig I
Making my own grave.
Both bitter and sweet
Are the cards life has dealt me
Cruel cup, kind saucer.
No beauty in war
So why a shiny medal?
For bravery: Tin.
I watch you sitting
Making love to Navy Blue
Please! Look at me instead?
The talk of a toy
Rings much more sufficiently
Than the spoken word.
When life is empty
Take this advice from my lips
Look through a cracked lens.
Contemplation of
The investor's chronicle
Rage destroys value.
More than just a game
A ring binding me to you
Not to escape now.
Ready to travel
But unsure of where to go
South of that place near?
A door sits unlocked
Waiting to be discovered
We find poet ash.
You dare to decline
Glasses from a murderer?
It's blind prejudice!
Next to a bucket
Of clean water, The hermit's
War with God is lost?
The sound of a drum
Is impossible to kill
Listen. I'll beat you.
Digging and digging
With a lonely spade dig I
Making my own grave.
Both bitter and sweet
Are the cards life has dealt me
Cruel cup, kind saucer.
No beauty in war
So why a shiny medal?
For bravery: Tin.
I watch you sitting
Making love to Navy Blue
Please! Look at me instead?
The talk of a toy
Rings much more sufficiently
Than the spoken word.
When life is empty
Take this advice from my lips
Look through a cracked lens.
Contemplation of
The investor's chronicle
Rage destroys value.
More than just a game
A ring binding me to you
Not to escape now.
Ready to travel
But unsure of where to go
South of that place near?
A door sits unlocked
Waiting to be discovered
We find poet ash.
You dare to decline
Glasses from a murderer?
It's blind prejudice!
Next to a bucket
Of clean water, The hermit's
War with God is lost?
The sound of a drum
Is impossible to kill
Listen. I'll beat you.
The Shoes of Distraction
Note: This poem was inspired by "Navy Blue," one of the 13 pieces in Howard Barker's "13 Objects: Studies in Servitude."
Sex! For my very first time sex!
Full of innocent nervousness,
The one I love wants me!
Tension fills the air - we run, we laugh.
Must calm the butterflies somehow.
A distraction might work - look a shoe!
It worked too well. Stop! Look at me!
Don't you want me anymore?
Sex! For my very first time sex!
Full of innocent nervousness,
The one I love wants me!
Tension fills the air - we run, we laugh.
Must calm the butterflies somehow.
A distraction might work - look a shoe!
It worked too well. Stop! Look at me!
Don't you want me anymore?
Death of a Sun
I saw a world with no light.
The sun had died,
And with it, hope.
And with the death of hope,
So died innovation.
And with it, technology,
And the will to live.
The sun had died,
And with it, hope.
And with the death of hope,
So died innovation.
And with it, technology,
And the will to live.
Art?
Squiggles on a page,
Meaningless squiggles, right?
But life must have meaning.
Or so says the artist,
Critiquing the squiggles of boredom.
Meaningless squiggles, right?
But life must have meaning.
Or so says the artist,
Critiquing the squiggles of boredom.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Triplet
To explain, the three haiku's stand on their own. First, read each individually (first column, second column and third column). Then, go back and read again: Left to right so that the pattern of syllables is 5,5,5-7,7,7-5,5,5 (My apologies for the formatting not looking cleaner. But sometimes the effort is not worth the small adjustments needed)
45 Minutes
Well in truth, 55.
But who's counting?
Are you counting?
How dare you count my life!
It is a job for me.
Only me.
A job just for me.
Your resume doesn't fit.
You were not hired.
Your experience isn't great enough.
Not to count me.
I will always be employed.
In counting me, my place is assured.
Unless...
Unless they build a computer whose resume is greater than mine.
That would show true intelligence.
But then, I am afraid that counting me will be unimportant.
The computer would lose interest.
Who would count me then?
Nobody.
Lost in plain sight.
You could see me.
You would say that I am there.
But if I'm no counted, am I really there?
48 now.
Still not down to the title.
Why is Time so important?
We cherish it.
No, we worship it.
We are subjected to its rules.
Time is our king, our god.
We must break Time.
We refuse to be subjugated!
Why, when so many men have tried, should Time be the ruler of the world?
But without Time, chaos ensues.
Oh, chaotic life!
Never knowing when to meet.
Or how to pay those who make seven bucks an hour?
Without Time, there is no way.
We would all be poor, without education.
Could we even live?
Perhaps not.
Therefore, better to sustain Time.
Then, we can gain its trust.
With Time's trust, we can learn to manipulate it.
Controlling that which rules the world is the same as being that ruler.
Is it not?
27 minutes now.
45 slipped by.
How cruel life's distractions are!
Distractions can destroy a man.
But can they destroy a woman?
Not as often.
But they're destructive all the same.
Music plays somewhere.
A favorite song chimes.
I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me.
The lyrics lend to thoughts of worms.
They're a good source of protein, or so I'm told.
Men eat protein.
Women get the salads.
Why?
If for the love of taste, I approve.
If for the love of looks, of vanity, of conforming to society...
BOO!
Why conform when you can be you?
An individual, free from societies constraints.
I want to be free.
Free from everything...
Well, except Time.
The number now?
20.
That number is clever.
Like 100 it can be at times forced outside of number-dom to be a face.
Does 20 want to be a face?
Did anyone bother to ask?
20 and 100 are also alike in that they represent the goal:
Perfection.
Whether in vision or percentages there is always perfection.
But then, confusion abounds.
People push for 110 and then soon enough a trillion percent!
So then, perfection is again out of reach.
Not fair to move the finish line.
Down to 14.
Otherwise known as seven times two.
One more than a baker's dozen.
Two more than a REAL dozen.
Who decides?
Which phrases become common...
Who decides that?
That, I can't say.
Though, I do wonder which will become the common:
Flash drive?
Memory stick?
Thumb drive?
Who will decide that?
Have they already decided?
4.
Almost to zero.
Then I will stop.
When the alarm sounds, I will cease writing.
I will stand.
I will leave.
Though this writing is enjoyable, it is dictated that I must leave.
At zero, this is finished.
Complete.
Therefore, fulfilled.
One day we too will be.
Fulfillment will arrive at a different time for each.
Can one die without fulfillment?
Yes.
They are the ghosts.
They too will be fulfilled...
Someday.
Less than 1 minute.
Living in anticipation for the alarm.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It sounds and...
I
Am
Done!
But who's counting?
Are you counting?
How dare you count my life!
It is a job for me.
Only me.
A job just for me.
Your resume doesn't fit.
You were not hired.
Your experience isn't great enough.
Not to count me.
I will always be employed.
In counting me, my place is assured.
Unless...
Unless they build a computer whose resume is greater than mine.
That would show true intelligence.
But then, I am afraid that counting me will be unimportant.
The computer would lose interest.
Who would count me then?
Nobody.
Lost in plain sight.
You could see me.
You would say that I am there.
But if I'm no counted, am I really there?
48 now.
Still not down to the title.
Why is Time so important?
We cherish it.
No, we worship it.
We are subjected to its rules.
Time is our king, our god.
We must break Time.
We refuse to be subjugated!
Why, when so many men have tried, should Time be the ruler of the world?
But without Time, chaos ensues.
Oh, chaotic life!
Never knowing when to meet.
Or how to pay those who make seven bucks an hour?
Without Time, there is no way.
We would all be poor, without education.
Could we even live?
Perhaps not.
Therefore, better to sustain Time.
Then, we can gain its trust.
With Time's trust, we can learn to manipulate it.
Controlling that which rules the world is the same as being that ruler.
Is it not?
27 minutes now.
45 slipped by.
How cruel life's distractions are!
Distractions can destroy a man.
But can they destroy a woman?
Not as often.
But they're destructive all the same.
Music plays somewhere.
A favorite song chimes.
I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me.
The lyrics lend to thoughts of worms.
They're a good source of protein, or so I'm told.
Men eat protein.
Women get the salads.
Why?
If for the love of taste, I approve.
If for the love of looks, of vanity, of conforming to society...
BOO!
Why conform when you can be you?
An individual, free from societies constraints.
I want to be free.
Free from everything...
Well, except Time.
The number now?
20.
That number is clever.
Like 100 it can be at times forced outside of number-dom to be a face.
Does 20 want to be a face?
Did anyone bother to ask?
20 and 100 are also alike in that they represent the goal:
Perfection.
Whether in vision or percentages there is always perfection.
But then, confusion abounds.
People push for 110 and then soon enough a trillion percent!
So then, perfection is again out of reach.
Not fair to move the finish line.
Down to 14.
Otherwise known as seven times two.
One more than a baker's dozen.
Two more than a REAL dozen.
Who decides?
Which phrases become common...
Who decides that?
That, I can't say.
Though, I do wonder which will become the common:
Flash drive?
Memory stick?
Thumb drive?
Who will decide that?
Have they already decided?
4.
Almost to zero.
Then I will stop.
When the alarm sounds, I will cease writing.
I will stand.
I will leave.
Though this writing is enjoyable, it is dictated that I must leave.
At zero, this is finished.
Complete.
Therefore, fulfilled.
One day we too will be.
Fulfillment will arrive at a different time for each.
Can one die without fulfillment?
Yes.
They are the ghosts.
They too will be fulfilled...
Someday.
Less than 1 minute.
Living in anticipation for the alarm.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It sounds and...
I
Am
Done!
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