Anonymous Poetry

Metaphorm · Posted: Wed Nov 09, 2005 7:46 pm Post subject: Anonymous Poetry

I want to thank the community for allowing me to post this material anonymously.

Basanos

A premo--
Is a joint
Of the finest marijuana
Sprinkled with cocaine
And tightly swadled, like the baby Jesus,
In a delicate white jacket of smoking paper,
Or sometimes,
Packed into
An excavated cigarette.
It doesn't matter
If the paper is flavored
Or not
Or if
The baby Jesus is wrapped
In second-hand swadling
Because when you light it up
It tastes
And smells
Like a burning plastic spoon
And you will hack and spit
And screw your eyes
Into your skull
But you will not care
Because it is preferable
To the demons
That live
Somewhere beneath your skin
And who
Pull and tear and rip
With such fury
That you will,
Pray to Father Abraham
To send Lazarus
For relief from the fire,
And in your agony
You will find
Only man,
Salvation in hand.

My Heroes

My heroes
Are the defiant,
The disillusioned underdogs
Who smile at the pain,
Through clenched teeth
And say
Today is the best day of my life
But mean,
It only gets worse from here
Because it will

When the Music Stops

She dances
Like a girl in a dream
Head thrown back
Laughter
Hanging from her braids,
Like gossamer ribbons
Who is this girl
Dancing
In my arms
Like the whole world is blind
Dancing for me
And for Mama Jean
Keep dancing, don't let go
Because when the music stops,
You hear the song
Ain't no sunshine, when she's gone.

How Life Is.

If someone should ask,
"How is life?"
Tell them--
You mean the thing
that buzzes--REEEREEEREEEREEEE
In your bones,
Every morning
At 6:02
And tears your
Limbs
One by one
Kicking and clawing,
Into the Day.
Tell them--
Like Foldier's Coffee--
It's the best part
Of waking up.

Work and Ethic

I work in a warehouse
From four AM--
The swollen-eyed hour of
Cracking ice scrapers, ash-tray skies, and lingering hang--
overs
Until whenever the work is done,
And I am dismissed.

The business of housing wares,
Cannot be neglected, They say.
And so for 9.25 an hour,
I comply.
With the distinct commendation
Of my superiors
That my work is essential.

I proudly count boxes,
Of boxes
And thank the great Capitalists,
To whom I will remain forever--
Indebted,
For their endless provision,
On behalf of my inadequacies.

It is good to work--
For us, they say
Without modern stock and distribution,
This great world,
We have built
Could not exist
And you, would have no job.

But I say,
Without modern stock and distribution,
Capsules, Coffee,
And Camels--
The Sacraments of the working man,
Could not be provided
At such a reasonable rate.

And so, I burn away--
The luxury of regret
That bleeds into my waking thoughts
And turn this modern world of progress
Into an ashtray
Each morning
At 4:00 AM.

The Most Fertile Fruit

Dry fountains sprinkle earthen sacrament
In dazzling sand-bursts upon weary boots
“It sifts from leaden sieves” of grim intent
And softly seeds the earth with bitter fruit

My enemy stands there, he looks like me
Brown eyes, brown hair, about my height
A hopeless boy--not more than twenty-three
Uncertain if his world will pass the night

But he must die, by edict of the state
I wonder, what separates my friend from foe
This circumstance unnatural to fate
Seems false for someone that I do not know

My state tells me that I must kill and whom--
Their traitors spare, But if obedience
Should cause them to resist, into a tomb
Convert their land, with all expedience

Born upon the wrong land, was this boy’s crime
His very birth a capitol offense
Elected empty suits I can’t decline
Lest I suffer similar consequence

Reluctantly I raise my gun to him
“And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,”
Each heavy bullet planted in disgrace

Wet fountains sprinkle that which can’t be bought
In gushing bursts of mortal sacrament
Is Justice wrought when sovereign will cannot
“Assuage the anguish of [our] bereavement?”

Such deeds will cause the body to recoil
When heart and mind, compelled by law, will not--
Authority will sanction much despoil
‘Til LAW BE PASSION, from reason un-distraught

Eggshells and Egos

Eggshells and Egos are the queerest stuff
Fragile, unyielding and recalcitrant
A feather or a puff of air will crush
And dashed to bits, are they, when words are blunt

A whisper of a crack perceived, a stance
Unpalatable to the brittle ear
And when there is a sleight or look askance
Their pain producing, in profusion, tears

Eggshells and Egos would do well to learn
The importance of elasticity
For when community is what we yearn
Eggshells need “more vinegar than honey”

I would that they might speak their peace
And abscond the fortress of passivities
Aggression knowing not its name must cease
The quest for martyrdom it vainly seeks

Mirage

Bronze skin quivers by the fire
Heart strains against the carnal frame
Breath suspended by desire
Would I never breathed again

Ebon locks adorn her shoulders
Midnight tumbling down her skin
Paralyzing all beholders
Heaven causes man to sin

Bronze skin quivers with desire
Trembling lips a kiss profanes
Forever fated to admire
I long to have but can't obtain

Delightful is the pain that life will teach
When beauty lies forever past the reach

Avatar of Flame

Kilael was a jolly chap
A friend to all was he
But azure skin and ashen locks
Bear false tranquility

For just beneath this austere frame
Lay passion's boiling blood
And just to speak his very name
Spread fires like a flood

Agnostic was his temperament
And Summoner was he
Possessing every element
He shaped his destiny

But as Herodotus of old
Though elements be four
He scorned the earth, the air, the cold
And worshipped firestorm

For cinder was his molten heart
A furnace was his mind
And every voyage thus embarked
Met with Gomorrah's kind

To live a fire must consume
Pursuing every coward
And so Kilael met his doom
His every bridge devoured

Edited by: Metaphorm at: 4/2/07 2:24 pm

Metaphorm · Posted: Wed Jan 11, 2006 11:51 pm Post subject: Re: Anonymous Poetry

(This message was left blank)

Edited by: Metaphorm at: 9/10/06 9:47 pm

Chris OConnor · Posted: Sun Sep 10, 2006 10:27 pm Post subject: Re: Anonymous Poetry

Now I remember who you are. Your identity was lost to me over time after you changed your screen name.

Metaphorm · Posted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 6:34 pm Post subject: Re: Anonymous Poetry

Yup, I'm still here. Thanks for making it possible.


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