Playful polliwog with your legs half formed,
Your tail amuses the bigger frogs you’ll soon learn.
For their tongues are thickly sticky,
Lash out quicker than quick and then more quickly.
Poor little polliwog,
Today is not going to be your day.
gentlemen prefer bones – Sam Lucero
Wordgasms on wordgasms – found @ Sudden Denouement
…i will drip in the vaccinated womb, an embryo worm in the vapor soil…
Source: gentlemen prefer bones – Sam Lucero
mothers soaking touch
drowns the meadows
sinking in blue pastures
where the lamb is missed
& the wolf roams low
above there’s laid out
a garland of stars
for the marriage of the
moon & the husk
stillness mourns
the wind, that like a
drifting treasure had
heretofore stayed buried,
braided up in that locket
of rust & wire
bursting out into the wild
with the lantern of
the sun resting in the
grip of a paper-doll
inside these leaking vaults
velvet shadow & coffin
are to the liking of the quiet,
as the hurricane counts down
on ferny fingers
the moments until
the end of my best holiday
i will not soon shroud
my lullaby with the isolated
murmur of old, nether-bed gods,
the arctic toil
of a choleric world,
& the river I drank from
to forget
i will drip in the vaccinated womb
an embryo worm in the vapor soil
waiting for the homecoming
of water, of nectar
sleeping until
the dream wakes
[Sam Lucero is creator of sixredseeds. Please take a moment to read her wonderful bio and look at her other work. Sixredseeds.wordpress.com]
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Drugs
When your world is shattered and you’re in tatters – stand back up and keep going. NEVER give up.
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The first time I saw your face — Johnny Cash
Always a great author John Coyote. Great Johnny Cash take.
The first time I saw your face-Two short poems A Poem by Coyote Poetry Just words The first time I saw your face-Two short poems. ——— Paint me Elegant lady told me. Life is hard and the night is long my love. We must bathe in the kindness of the long midnight. Kind night […]
via The first time I saw your face — johncoyote
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Memory Spiders
Vividly vicious,
Pointedly pernicious,
Real life though through time they are sent.
Soaring sacred,
Helping hot hatred,
Occupying thoughts and blinding sight with recall bent.
Worldly window,
Boldly brittle,
Truncated life in fell cobwebs do they build.
Spindly spiders,
Truthfully totter,
Legs dancing across silk fields.
Memories mine,
Flurries recall and define.
The man that I once was,
Chaos attached to the leg of a dove.
Today I acknowledge the taste,
Confront the facts,
Carve away all the emotional waste.
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Strange Waves – Spoken Word
Plummet describes in a word the dumb shit,
The result of a life lived from one hit –
-to the next and that second of fuck it.
As intense wash the waves,
Through your secret filled caves,
Telling memories back from where you sent them away,
Until the shores are a littler cascade of broken mirrors pelting your gaze,
Each reflection a question,
Each flash a suggestion,
Of what happened and why,
Where you broke the faith and started to cry.
Each lens is a how of what could have been,
Who you are without all the sin.
No more pills and bottles and rock,
Bags of dope, sacks of coke and the inevitable cops.
Living on streets and the pity of strangers,
Acting devil may care to numb out the danger.
When each shot you took put a pin in your son,
Blocked his love just as well as you holding a gun.
You got loaded and loaded,
Raised finger and goaded,
As your legs washed out at the thighs,
From a tide on the rise.
If not for the merciful care,
From those you punish unfair,
You’d be sunk,
Drifting drunk,
Out to a personal sea in a trunk.
Boxed up tight when you ran out of fight,
Away from the world and your right,
As a man to do your best to make it alright.
And as long as it took,
For you to confess as a crook,
Thief of dreams, hopes and beliefs you forsook.
You can’t change the past,
It’s gone while the onrushing future hits fast.
So you accept the regret,
Live learn love and refuse to forget.
Keep strong in surrender,
Committed to change,
Because in the end you’re not alone,
And are any of us really so strange?
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Politics and Felons
Snow blind hegemony awash in crystalline flakes,
Glittering razors culling our commoners and drunks with the shakes.
Loyalties cleaned and washed through censoring filters,
Amidst shapeshifters shifting to mask hands covered in blisters.
From the cold of their souls and the heat of their rage,
Seared meat not so young as to be tender with age.
The gallows of yore leave fractions aghast,
That here and now they have gone and the past is all past.
Passe the romance and notions of change,
Politics is riddled with absence,
Most notably shame.
P.S. This was written while watching the debates and final results during the Hilary vs Trump 2016 election. Was sitting in jail with a host of felons who were equally disgusted.
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Overseer
Sit powerfully with your eyes cast low,
Shouldering sugared pillars of duty,
That the sun can rest amid glorious delights,
And the travelers roam free across their paths,
Searching always for the journey-
-not the end.
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Dog Paws on a Keyboard
I write because I want to be fed Milk Bones.
Sometimes I crave recognition and commentary as a reassurance that I might be better than average, even excel at something. Everyone wants to know that they have a gift, some form of prowess, a “something exceptional” that deserves an attaboy pat on the head.
I write because I need to catch a bouncing tennis ball.
At other points, the words pour with alacrity, urgent, demanding, and a quench to the heated thoughts being forged in reaction to an onslaught of emotional intensity. Good, bad, high flying optimism, crumbling shades of depression, maniacal exuberance, blaspheming anger blinding out reason, blue oceans of regret and shame – any and all as long as the fire burns hot enough to crack the walls.
I write because I like eating my chew toy.
Rare is the moment of universal quiet when thought retains an unadulterated purity unstained by dramatic flare, event or heart or mind driven twinge. When understanding is met or sought, clarity is both absent and present, and where the exercise itself serves the purpose.
I write because I’m a dog, and a keyboard feels like a warm blanket and pillow on a snow day.
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There is nothing romantic about addiction.
Introduction from another fine individual burrowing their way out of the maze of addiction. Check him out!
Well I guess this is where I say hi………This is going to be my new platform for experiences or situations that have happened(or are happening) during my life as an addict. This isn’t trying to glorify this lifestyle because there is nothing glorious about it. It involves a lot of pain, but I am one that tries to see the bright-side of many situations. I consider myself to be an opiate addict although, I cannot say that I did not or have not indulged in many other drugs during my time. But as far as dependency opiates take the cake. I’ll be back to post more very soon, possibly tonight or tomorrow during the Holiday. Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Many nod’s to you all.
Source: There is nothing romantic about addiction.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 