human musing

I’ve decided I cannot measure time,
it is a waste to try.
As long as flowers wilt to grow again,
this process, I will imitate.
When night meets morning, in this cycle, forever reforming.
Knowledge is a pedestal which my viscera cannot compete with.
I meet a certain understanding of the world,
but completion will never be seized.

Senses and learning go hand in hand,
with sight, with sound, with nerves to comprehend.

In the fold of a warm winter,
few leaves survive swift temperatures.
Sea’s current rises, man’s mind devises
resolution or destitution,
unclear which is which.

The greatest energy is air,
pollution produces despair.
Be one with the woods,
be one with the world.

Don’t need no purpose

Tired of going to the bars,
going to the mall, going very far.
Give me a new mind and an old computer,
the biggest microchip that the world can order.
Don’t need this, don’t need that,
just need to give in to die on purpose.
Don’t need no purpose.
Manic posturing only gets you so far,
gonna get drunk and bum around the bar.
write nothing on paper, type every word in order.
Think of something clever, empty endeavors.
Nineteen eighty started thirty years ago,
nihilism, coke and gin, all the good times I missed.
I’m a new mind in a new millennium, and I lack potential.
Just typing down my jitters, with moist eyes.
In 2020, my brain will be fried.
Find a new job before I die, social security–
such a fucking lie.  Give in to die on purpose.
Don’t need no purpose.
Don’t need no purpose. 

 

 

 

writing bullshit for the sake of writing is fun, try it sometime.

 

 

 

WHAT AM I

How do we access the vernacular
that might reverberate with a larger mass?
Not by writing what I am writing
right now.  Feigning poetry,
feigning what’s actually going through my head.
    Remote            Attachment 
with what is happening in the physical world.
    Information       Unraveling
Big words in a marginalized art-form.
   Resignation       Pending
No sustenence, emotionally or physically.
   WHAT    AM      I
trying to get across to someone
who would never sit down to read this script.
Am I simply dumping the plethora
of intangible things out of my head.
from this hand onto this paper.
Where is the spiritual where-with-all?
Where is the unwavering confidence?
         Not here.

New Rain in Old Town

New rain in old town.
Tired love on muddy ground,
Avoid the stones, look toward the light.
Split apart and resume our lives. 

Redefine who we are without a home,without a car. 
Step outside corporate limits. Stack firewood
within a cave, wait around to witness the blaze.
Bring a book, write your message down.
In time clarity will be found. 
What is more important now-a-days,
to start a career or throw one away? 

New rain in old town
Tired love on muddy ground.
Avoid the stones, look toward the light.
Split apart and resume our lives. 

Half a Holiday

According to a new census report, 1 out of 2 Americans are living in poverty.
This is only a supplement to a poverty stricken world.

Fake wreaths surround me…
I’m not worth as much as your TV.
Artificial darkness surrounds me,
all I see is poverty.
No dream to cling to,
false promises for families.
Ten cents in a tin can won’t take you
where you need to be.
Just grovel in waste here,
no hope in destiny.
Flee now, to nowhere,
follow a trail of greed.
Substance betrays us, 
wait around but don’t expect to breathe.

accepting donations

With regard to this blog, and the lack of funds to actually publish a book, I am accepting donations via paypal. Thank you, and I am grateful for your support. edit: no donations lol, it’s all good.

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=MSUMJD7RJKQU6

I asked for an antidote,

I asked for an antidote,
not a tumor or a heartfelt talk.
I need some medicine
before this bleeding starts.
Don’t improvise another denial,
you’ll only receive a demure smile.
Watch the lies drool off this face.
Not sure what I’m asking for,
just know that eventually we’ll terminate.

So where do we go now, where is the cure-all?
Do we have to sell out?  Life is confusion,
sometimes comfort sneaks its way in.
Just remember, sensation is fleeting.
And after this conversation with myself,
I’ll still be left with many a question.

Cancer, I’ve got to write it out.
Ego runs wild in the mind,
really with nowhere to go.
I asked for an antidote,
left with a sea of discomfort
where confusion floats,
where the brain is racked
with all that’s abstract.
Senses unnerved,
hung by a thousand needles.
So where do we go now,
where is the cure-all?
Do we have to sell out?
No need for an antidote,
soon enough we’ll terminate 

 

 

 * i don’t see this poem as being good stylistically, traditionally, or whatever.  

but it’s honest to myself, to my thoughts, and it’s just pure in the sense that it’s something that i didn’t think twice about writing.  it went from the mind to the paper.  i have to capacity to revise and edit and criticise my writing, but i’m happy with this poem because it’s automatic & automatic is a good thing, sometimes.

pay off our minds

In time we will pay off our minds
thirty five years to get into gear, retire
after we’ve thrown ourselves into the fire.
come out scolded with days before we expire.
and we’re still breathing with nowhere to go.
when we get there, what love will we behold?

jesus’ son

I’m jesus’ son, jesus’ son, jesus’ son
What have I done, Oh what have I done?
Got a scratch on my cheek, blood on my knees.
Got tears in my eyes, dust in my lungs,
I’m jesus’ son, jesus’ son, jesus’ son.
What have I done, oh, what have I done?
Got a white cloth sheet, a lack of belief.
Got rain on my tongue, feet in the mud.
I’m jesus’ son, jesus’ son, jesus’ son.
What have I done, oh, what have I done?

Clock is ticking, no one’s listening.
Time is limited, lips are kissing.
No redemption, no redemption.

I’m jesus’ son, jesus’ son, jesus’ son
What have I done, oh, what have I done?