the beauty of it all
lies in her infinity
born into a simple and unlimited existence
the diamonds in her eyes are as gods to me
so small a creature am i.
she offers the bounty of allness
and the sacredness of truth
but my arms are only capable of meager embrace
flanked on all sides by my humble humanity.
time travels fast when i need her more
and she, the infinite sadist
moves slow when i need the pain to go
the shapes of the universe linger
slightly to the west affording neither light
-nor shade-
the children offspring bastards
of antiquity cradled in a grave
and clouds of hated Gods are formed
to see
who can wave
their cloth the highest
fire
powder
soot blind
in city smog
machines west bound fast pace
in a slow sacrificial lane to an edge
where do my brothers stand and do my sisters still weep for
what?
i an old child raised on Hollywood schemes TV land and reruns
nursed on bitter milk of a fork tongued script
raised by bumper sticker testament as the spirit and the law
mingles between tithes and taxes Lord and Caesar bedfellows
of the host parking meter temples DMV vaticans bus bench
prayer ritual before dawn
re-issue of pedigree from the DSMV bible while marked on the
tender restless soul with the selective serotonin reuptake
inhibitor sigil
where do my sisters run and do my brothers still see what
for?
runway to the sunset where the wind rests
wings are made of gold
thoughts fly away
flicking grace
silent
ratios
fingers tinker on the boards
found objects on the floors
colors colors on your doors
in the pink i cant remember
chambers darker than one soul
running running out a door
pick me up and throw me down
the problem is my answer
prayers broken words of thoughts
the spider web whispers crawl
away i am so wounded
i create resistance by
demanding my compliance
in the pink i cant remember
all of my innocence
in the pink i cant remember
the shapes the songs the air
floating through in
Cadillacs
Yellow submarines and
Superman
in the pink i cant remember
voices ghosts and anamnesis
amongst the dying trees
of winters past
in the pink i cant remember
‘We are the people who are desperate beyond emotion’: Lou Reed’s lost poetry to be published: Poetry reflecting on nationhood, sex and whiskey, written in 1970 after Lou Reed left the Velvet Underground, is to be published for the first time – Ben Beaumont-Thomas – The Guardian – 3/2/18 “The poetry comes from a six-month period […]
The lost poetry of Lou Reed — Tribrach: for those who love (or would like to love) poetry
in august
the sky is violet and the fire
warm
the clouds linger a soft
cottony shadow
the moon sits upon her throne
and i wait for the silence to sound off
Thank you Luna.
i will sit here and not reason
i promise to stay put and not shift
i won’t touch any of your things
i won’t trigger all your dispositions
i won’t pierce your quiet with any of my sounds
i won’t disturb the universe you worked so hard to dispose
i will sit quietly looking down
i will patiently wait for the orange moon
the silver sun
the violet stars
to flux together
i will work very hard to absorb your symbols
i will never cross your lines
i will be good and imperceptible in your pounding darkness
i will answer when you cry
mb was born and raised in urban Los Angeles and is a Gen X’er who chronicles and scrawls about the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment. These offerings were inspired by the mental health crisis in the city. mb personally battles depression and anxiety…
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The baristas at Go Dog Go Cafe are big fans of Pay It Forward Thursdays. We think it is a great opportunity to give a shout-out to another writer who has wowed us or creatively inspired us. It a great way to share the love and pass it on to the readers. It also becomes a great pool for excellent reading stuff by your fellow readers of the WordPress community.
You are invited to post one link to one specific post of poetry, short story, or flash fiction, 300 words or less please, from someone else’s blog in the comments below.
Happy reading!
beloved
Father
all i’ve known
and You are still
and shut to me
the west claims
me through my
sickened blood and
terms so foreign
i long for You
to open wide and
take me from
this abstract place
so autumn now is
here again and those
who’ve gone i can’t
replace; they were never here
Father of the east
call to me and claim
me as i am with
sullied heart
the broken bones
of battles lost
and smiles tainted
with grief
oh Holy One
in lone direction
let the Kingdom
come at last to me
my favorite hour is at 3:07 a.m. your ramblers are spent. the streets are hot with discontent and happiness. your building walls are tired. there is hope and despair. the lights flicker off and off and sometimes on. dear Broadway i love you so. i want to drop dead on your asphalt and sink in forever. your silent strength feeding and nourishing all staggers of life. days are lived fast upon you. the letters, the pictures, the breaths, the gasps; cultivator of all that. your façade oozing with corporate swag, but your soul, your spirit profound, pure, wild and capricious, like a beautiful woman. i want to roll in your soot, trip on your cracks and see your ghosts who lived in you and of you, my beloved Broadway. speak easy of my dreams, mistress keeper of my veins in your dark little alleys. i love you so Broadway. i want you all to myself, no man, woman or creature can have you. you are my mother, when no one is willing to be. you are my father when all are too cowardly. you gave me karate movies, 8-tracks and joy. you gave me advice, caution and wisdom. you are my mistress, chancellor of my education and intuitions. you are my eyes into the past that lingers in my most penultimate remembrances as a child falling down by your fire hydrant. to you, who has always been the only one who understands my twistedness and carcinomatous fevers, i write to you fair goddess, keeper of myself. i love you so my beloved Broadway. thank you for keeping me in your implorations.
words less spoken 