Sirens sing the song of death
While rental cops lay cones down
Restricting traffic
They have come for me.
I am the Poet
The truth
My words are carved in the flesh of innocence
Scrawled in cheap urinals
Chiseled in the faded gray paint of shit holes
Of lonely tomorrows
I dry the tears of the hopeless
Scream with the homeless
I sing truth that humbles Gods
I am Prometheus, Sisyphus
I cut the throat of pompous laughter
And kill its first born
I eat the soul of dreadful normalcy
I walk the edge and conversed with madmen
My words reverberate in trash strewed alleys
My tread echoed in the halls of jails and mental institutions
Shared secrets with broken soulless junkies
I am truths
That freeze men’s souls
And the lies they swear by
The burning blade cutting tethered souls
Illuminating lightening
I am the Deviate fondling sacred sexuality
The serial killer covered in Blood
Sucking life from victims
With last breath cursing God
Whimpering
“Why me?”
I am the throneless king
The voiceless troubadour
The song no one will sing
I am the invisible chill
That fondles your spine
I am discomfort
The nightmare
The book no one will read
I am words no want wants to hear
I am …
Posts Tagged ‘Poet’
The Poet
Monday, February 15th, 2010Smile for the Devil
Thursday, February 4th, 2010Ringed
Inside kaleidoscopic brimstone
A Hieronymus Bosch Vegas strip
Sans tourist
Smothering vapors of sulfuric mists
Tortures gasping breath
Ya wanna scream
“Mommy”
But
Mommy ain’t here
Fish faced generic pedestrians
whose idea of a good time
Is a home carpentry project
Approved by Norm himself
They sit behind reinforced
Plexiglas
In air conditioned
Save-way stores
Pleading
For discounts
And
The real deal
The demonic choir
Sing
Johnny Cash
With guitars
Made of human skulls
Stringed with the sinews
Of dead heroes
Big D
Enters
The circle
Wit a
Impeccably coiffured
Elvis Doo
I guess everybody
Loves
The king
“You staying Poet?”
“Don’t think so D
But thanks for
Asking”
“Ya know Your time is coming”
“Decided?
“Up or down?
“Think I might start
My own afterlife D
Big D
Gives me an Elvis
My Way flourish
Swirling his black sequined cape
Getting into that phony
Elvis karate stance.
“Sounds interesting Poet
You always did know how to style
If you need a hand
You know where to find me”
“Cool D”
And I rolled.
The Last Poet #3
Saturday, December 12th, 2009My scream painted sin
Across the summer sky
The world
Wobbled on its axis
Paused
Held its breath
The trees trembled
Samson knelt before me
And prepared to die
“Scarred Man” he began
His lips quivering
“They came in the night”
“The Chorus and I drew sword”
“”She bade us hold”
“And left with them”
His hands twisted in rage and shame
Yes
He would die for her
I let him live
My breaths came in ragged gasps
Her voice
Suddenly
Came to me
As it had for three years now
And my eyes squeezed
In vain
To stem the tears
That washed my scarred face
She was alive!
I moved to my horse
Samson and other members of the Chorus
Eyes gleamed
And followed
Their blood lust
Palpable
I winced
Men who
Once coaxed
Beauty
And Life
From Dirt
Would become
What I have always been
The enemy had much
To answer for.
“Samson”
“Double the guard”
“And prepare to move”
It was as if I struck him
“But…”
I never gave orders twice
My horse wheeled
As I methodically approached the castle
My body was strewed with arrows
I couldn’t die
Until she told me
I could
The berserker was upon me
My sword screamed
And Sang
In the key of rage.
My blade glowed incandescent
Its white fire
Unquenchable
Blood hissed and splattered
My hated essence blazed
Who would dare touch her?
Those who stood before me
Died
The rest fled
Three witch word singers
Hurled arcane verse
At me
Just before there heads
Came to rest on the floor
I stormed the room that I knew held her
Five men died
Quickly
There
She was
The Last Poet and a Word Mage
Were engaged
In eldritch incantations
Her hands were bound
Impeding her
From verse flow
He was not
Nor could he ever
Be
A match for her
I almost laughed.
But decided to kill him
Instead
The Word Mage eye’s widened
Hurled
Death verse at me
His words crumbled and howled
In useless fury
“I am already dead fool”
I flung the Word Mage out the window
And watched
As his body tumbled
Cursing
That I could not hurt him
More.
I gathered her in my arms
“You know
You really have to stop doing that”
She curled up in my arms
And the world was
Once again
Tolerable
Hope
Was
Alive
A bird sang
I am a Poet
Tuesday, November 24th, 2009I rage at the incompetence of my words
Another futile attempt to
Pierce the caul
That filters my dreams
Ripped from a woman’s womb
Not of a woman born
Seeking companionship
Finding only scorn
The obfuscations of Satanic spawn
The TV’s point of singularity
Into that black hole I’m drawn
Blinding me with banality
They killed Lenny Bruce
Disguised as overdose
They though they broke him
The Pharisees did boast
They died faceless, unknown
They are forgotten corpses
Devoid of flesh and bone
His words live on
I am a Poet
I dance
Between the crushing weight
Of conformity and chaos
I move to a rhythm and beat
That speaks to my unique vision
My songs are pain
Not joy
Of questions
Not knowledge
Of a broken heart
Not love
I am the pack less wolf
The outsider
You never see me
I hover on the edge of invisibility
I am the embarrassed pause
The faux pas
And the lost cause
I am a poet
I am what the world made me
And what I was meant to be
Child of Apollo
Tuesday, November 24th, 2009I met her.
A woman with a child’s eyes
Filled with wonder and questions.
She danced through the snow
Cold could not touch her.
Her heart burning passion.
Her soul a prism
Where she shaped dreams.
Others faltered.
Her steps were ordained.
A child of Apollo.
She was her own Muse.
She spoke to the world
In a language
That caused wonder.
Armed only with quill and ink
She changed worlds
Shaped hearts
Made tears obsolete.
Her words were like songs
Indelible
Unforgettable.
They vibrated in time to a universal clock
Ticking truth and beauty.
Poetry was her art
Her passion
The altar where she shed
Her life’s pain.
All were amazed.
But no one saw the sad girl
Behind the beauty
The words…
She was a child of Apollo.
Her steps were ordained.
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