Nocturnal Madness
There are events occuring
Strange people emerging
When the darkness comes out
To hide them.
Inside the safe cocoons
Of sanitized civility,
Most of humanity
Are sequestered away in ignorancy.
Night after night
Out in the elements
Lurks the anomalies
Freak shows revealed accidentally.
A power line melting
At 3 am a few yards away from
Fireman wading fearfully
Into green glowing ocean waves.
A mad woman tells you the answer
To your question unspoken,
At the train station,
A man rewinds.
Hungry carnivores
Make desperate requests
Then vanish
With the morning light.
Spend some time
In the wilderness
Of the city at night,
Under the lonely
Moonlight.
There is an underground
All around you,
Shadows swallowed
Into disappearing staircases.
You would never even believe it,
If you saw it with
Your own
Eyes.
Complaint Box
This constant state to recreate
Dominates the majority
Of the human race.
But perhaps this is the way,
This constant striving, trying, reaching...
To just be,
That is the blissful way, yes,
And it holds sometimes, for a bit.
In my pangs of want,
I'll think, maybe I could do it better.
Make me better.
But I like surprises.
And I'm waiting to see
What I'll become.
Wishes (The Grown-Up Version//cliff notes remix) feat. “Us”
To know you
Get to that place
Where no one else can go.
To visit you there
Hold your feelings
Side by side
Fight for our lives.
Be a little less
Empty inside.
Can't cure our broken bits
Will still come up short
As we tally our hits
Wronged by the miss.
But in an instant
Hope finds an instance
Meet your eyes
No words
As our Souls reflect.
My wish
That solid Truth
You have me
And I have you.
Around us
The Universe swarms
Vast is the darkness
Cold and unknown.
But never again
Will we be unfound
And alone.
Sticks
The cats won't behave,
My body is betraying me with age,
I'm losing hope in evolving
Into a Sigma
The closest I can get is a Christ-less
affliction of a Stigmata.
I can't make my will move
Out of its sedentary position
My human-ness is failing me,
My fight or flight has vaporized,
My dread grows and manifests
An unwanted reality,
My luck laughs,
And taunts me so torturously.
The hours you have been gone
Will just be explained away
And when you come back
I will continue to throw
All my chances away.
This Capacity to Create
It sits there,
as it tends to do,
and she asks,
"Are you creating me,
or am I creating you?"
The pen,
of course,
does not express
its hue,
too subtle in tone,
too forgettable,
this, which is so regrettable.
She wishes
to go back
in her mind,
to the time
before
this feeling
burned her insides.
The struggles
to maintain
a sort of coherent resistance
against the same old norm.
Cascading
and
Crashing
she cannot
separate herself
from the
storm.
*author's note- response to Challenge on "Dada"art (found poetry)created by @Last. Firstly, I must say I was quite delighted to see this Challenge posting, as I had been perusing through my poetry books and alighted upon a certain poem, and then set out to find a Challenge to match it(;
Found this Challenge straightaway, and after a bit of research on the "Dada" movement, I was once again reminded of the wonderment of all that is that we do not know, because of course, this was perfect, exactly what I needed to read right now, exactly the avenue of my thoughts as of late. The words of Alan Watts had been bouncing around in my mind, just today, even, as he gently counsels in one of his lectures not to take life too seriously. Does that mean there are not serious issues? Of course not. But we must pick and choose, or we will miss out on the point; to enjoy this damning existence. The other take on this, which is more in alignment with the Dada philosophy, in my interpretation, that is, is that humans can be so damn ridiculous, with all their puffed up pride and embarrassing arrogance, with their twisted and unnecessary willful destruction of life and beauty and innocence. To the point of their own stupid hell bent self extinction. And sometimes, the only response to such an absurdity is to answer with more absurdity. I would also like to note how overjoyed I was to see a photograph of a group of Dada artists. They looked like such a playful, insightful bunch. Too bad that was circa 1920; I would've loved to make their acquaintance (; Sincerely, Beccawaits
Hamster Wheel
Every day
It's a question
of my discipline.
Every moment
I try to find intent.
Every hour
lead me into discontent.
Every year
I contemplate where I have been.
All these days
have gone by me
without incident.
All these moments
I have tried
and I have failed again.
All these hours
I waste
locked up in myself,
Stuck in the prison cell in my head.
All these years
Go helplessly by
bringing me closer to the firmament.
Walls that Break my Heart Before They Break my Hand
Why is it so hard,
like brick,
this wall of me
I keep
coming up against.
It's just myself
that I am fighting with,
Where's my white flag?
Hiding again.
All this turmoil
has been me.
And all this rage,
I have only myself
to blame.
Why does this brick
stay so resistant to crumbling?
Except for my heart, of course,
made of flesh,
is still stumbling.
Arrival
Just barely awoken
Just freshly re-alive
And already my clean slate
is sullied,
My pure hope,
walking the tightrope,
fixed with the grim concentration
of a mortal preparing to die.
I keep the song in my head,
'till it's written down.
In those words
my pulse still harmonizes
with the soul of me,
In this music I can still access
those memories
my conscious self has taken
away from me.
I am losing
I am choosing
I am churning,
I am
I am
I am.
The fear of losing
is eating me cruelly,
there goes time,
inspiration, chances,
energy and manifestation.
Hope...
et tu, my friend?
Vanishing into the imagined
horrors
I have created for them.
Burning Bright
She is becoming something
dead
The auction of her Soul
soon up for bid.
The world is slowing down
someone has said
But her Life is spinning
faster and faster
Out of her grip.
Soon she will follow
all those others
that have fled
into that yawning maw
Of mystery
Engulfing our presence,
Creating history.