(POETRY) The catcher in the rye

 

A yearning memorial 
A foolish desire 
Yet ever so real
For her by the fire

I made it so clear
We were not to be
Yet now I look back
Stupidity- I see

She made it so hard
A girl with much vim
She did what she wanted
A hedge without trim

She wrote me at night
I danced with the words
Embraced them with passion
Sweetest I’d heard

I made her so safe
Cold embrace in this land
She reached for the stars
and I gave her my hand

We sat in the theatre
We shared in our warm
Yet later that evening
I sent her the storm

We fought about things
Material triviality 
I rose up the hammer 
She attacked with vitality

But the issue at hand
At least present for me
Does innocence play out
As innocence seems

I heard of the news
She told me that night
She’d been with a suitor
It couldn’t be right

Notions of innocence 
My childish mind 
A breach of impurity 
Immaturity defined

I handled it wrong
I threw out a fit 
The most grievous words
I ever did writ 

I tossed down my pencil
The world seemed so fucked
And now I bereave it 
An existence so mucked

An action so normal
That she was with he
But all I interpret
That he was not me

A curse of self-ness
A torture so sour
Alone in this cavern
Inhabitants dour 

All so I’d paint
A worldly imagination 
People so agreeable 
Cognant intoxication 

I sit over a field of rye
Watching the children 
Watching them play
I am their only bastion
Their only hope 
Futile as it seems
I am the catcher in the rye

(POETRY) Time is the railway

 

 

Time is the railway
Onto the next day
Pushed on the infinite
In perception it lay

A useless ambition
To wind back the clock
'Tis here for the long run
To tease and to mock

It takes back your skin
Your ears and your eyes
It looks at your journal
It sees through your lies

Single minded machine
It shovels the graves
It knows not of bias
It slaughters in waves

Jog man: volume one

 

He ran and ran, none could stop him
A jogging prodigy, a man
With with a lung span so great it's
Said that he could race from the
Sickle moon and back and still keep face

He runs because the world runs at a 
Measureless pace- It really quite stuns
Me to think about how fast he might run
If the world would collapse and the 
Universe would disperse 

I talk of the man who jogs
As if he is some sort of diety
That he lives and dies by the draw of the breath
But truly the only thing godlike is
His devotion to fleeing his past

He was a normal boy who grew to 
Be a normal man
But normal things did not
Happen to this normal man

He had a friend who I shall call
The man who collects stamps
For he was undoubtably 
A person who collected postage
And also a man

The man who collects stamps lived on 
The street that collects leaves and 
The two men would go to each other's houses
And talk and drink and dance
For without a doubt the two of them
Kissed like they did in France

Both- the two- had wives
That trampled in on their lives
They wanted to live a 
Matchbox romance
But their partners 
Cut them with knives

They would sneak out at night 
To catch the movies when
Their wives had to clean the dishes
But before they knew it 
and
Against their best wishes 
they
Knew that their partners 
must 
Sleep with the fishes

It was the wretched idea
Of the man who collects postage
That the sky was a storm and
Perfection was in sight
A world where hiding and 
Biding your time would 
Not be the norm

The man who jogs went
Along with the plan
But not without trepidation
For what was a man without his dear wife
But
A man without a maid

So he grabbed for the knife that the 
Wife was chopping with
And shoved it down 
14 inches into her windpipe

A real bloody mess the 
Whole ordeal was
All for an open relationship
An intensive cleaning job

The man who collects stamps
Continued chopping the onion
With the same bloody knife 
That skewered the cook

A wonderful dinner he 
Made for them all
Corpse and two lovers
Though his curfew was nine
For he still had a woman 
The love of his life

So he made suit
An returned home to the 
Woman of the house
She was making breakfast for dinner
He figured he'd help
He bashed her head into the pan
Making a nice nutritous breakfast
Love pancakes

(POETRY) Our fatal flaw

 

With borrowed air, the trumpets blast
Doth killed the foe, vic'tree at last
But now we sit and stand and think
With thought- our flags and arrows shrink

Our fatal flaw- I'll tell you now
We rack our brains- too shamed to bow
To think of thoughts- you'll come to see
Food for fools- futility

The wondrous world- too large to grasp
Our tiny brains- we watch and gasp
Living, breathing- 'tis all we need
Eat the food and spread your seed

You see I share- in this new fault
The end to all- a bath in salt
You think too much- it's plain to see
Kill the thought- take flight, be free-

(POETRY) The dreamer’s clause

Eyes a limelike green
Hair a golden blonde
Face so lean it
Sets the scene
Of that I'm very fond

Her heart is full of raw
Kindness- rash but pure-
This girl I saw
Lays down the law
My illness- she's the cure

A sin it is to love
And not to feed the cause
This girl- a dove
A needed shove
Yet I tote- 
The dreamer's clause 

(POETRY) Farmer Frick

 

A tune so quaint
It tame the horses
It drove the day
In all its courses

A hat so tall
It give them shade
They gathered 'round
They ain't afraid

A smile so straight
It point the way
Down the foothills-
Fields of hay

A laugh so true
It makes ya sick
All adored him
That Farmer Frick

(POETRY) Château d’mort

 

In the penthouse of screams
A soul could not hear
The sound of his thinking-
A shrieking of fear

In the office of chaos
You lose your own eyes
In searching and lurching
A blinding demise

In the bathhouse of filth
Your blood fills with dirt
Invasion of body
A skin-pealing hurt

In the closet of watching
All eyes turn to you
When naked and helpless
They laugh at you nude

In the bedroom of envy
You shrink 'til you grow
Contortions of spine
How far will you go

In the chair of refusal
You can't move an inch
A mutiny of muscles
You can't even flinch

In the lounge of regret
You sleep with your dog
Notions of sentience
A sorrowful fog

In the attic of drowning
You can't keep your lungs
To pay for your breathing
You don't have the funds

(POETRY) A queen of a king

A queen of a king
The damsel I like
Set away in a tower
Not far- just a hike...

It's tempting to do
But to do is to sin
But God could still watch
A treason- win-win

The king was my friend
Yet friends swim astray
An island of refuge
With the queen, I did lay

And now I must live
With that I have done
A crime crafted- cunning
A royal hit-and-run