creative writing, love, poetry, Romance

Social Norm

She sees pictures on dark walls, of times that she can’t dissolve,

Reflections of an echoed past, that evening that happened so fast.

The fault was not you nor I, yet you chose your grave to hide,

A death to the nights we shared, from the tears we bared,

Because we were scared, of the choice we declared.

Sometimes I still see her face you know, in the moon lights glow,

Reflections of your soul, shining on the tear drops of my pillow.

On that sunny day in May, or when the autumn leaves turn gray,

Shouting with such Boisterous gay, our families were dismayed.

I’ve filled this poem with words, that look bright tonight,

I’m older with youth, giving them the love we had those nights,

When I stepped in to the future, and you rose to a new height.

I keep in silence as a lamb, as cursed I am, another broken dam,

Force to drift through uncharted seas, and through forest filled lands

Yet in my heart lies this quest, birth from our turmoil and stress,

To prove this sexuality is a vest, honed from our loves laments.

So let loose this bitch for war, let the courage of women soar,

In this time of scorn, lives hate for what isn’t a social norm.

animals, creative writing, Fantasy, nature, poetry

Quick Sand

Beautiful day cross-country, mind open to the sky,

Birds warble songs for nature, woodland creatures forage to survive.

Earlier watery freshly shed droplets, course down one’s fur a new,

Pastures held to one’s hooves, as we saunter aimlessly through.

Eyes engrossed forward at family grazing, it’s a captivating vision of tranquility,

My little fawn tracks toward me, tranquil purity for her safety.

Curiosity of my being here, happy to run up and play,

Never seeing a two leg deer, ignoring the dangers of pray.

Sound rings out in the warmth, and the baby deer stops,

Sinking to her knees, red rain from her starts to drop.

My Eyes tear up, one can see she’s in pain,

She starts moving forward, pleading looks after her, bang!

I’m running now frantic, must see, must see what is wrong,

My tiny one is hurt, she is just a petite innocent fawn.

That white being on two legs, will surely help her out,

That black being holding the stick behind it, is dancing all about.

My fawn is raining red, what is the happiness for,

I must get to her and help, as my beater sinks to the meadow floor.

My back hooves launch me onward, no in truth they stay still,

Because what I see next, is truly unreal.

My darling fawn kicks out, knocking the white being down,

My thinker is racing, as she jumps to the ground.

She scampers right for me, and my beater gets faster,

Baby fawn runs back to our flock, avoiding disaster.

Yet white being comes towards me, seemly aggrieved?

And it starts to get smaller, first her hooves then his knees?

That’s his waste, and now her chest,

Truly what is happening should I save it, or what’s left?

Black being is not dancing, it has dropped its loud stick,

He is running for white being, why does it look like she’s sick.

Launching forward from dirt, I grab white being with my teeth,

My hooves can’t find purchase, and they start to sink?

Feelings of pulling, clutching me from the back,

My hooves stop sinking, as my strength starts to task.

I’m making progress with white being,

There’s the waste, knees, and hooves?

It has emerged from the dirt, and it is grabbing its hooves?

Running to the black being, they embrace, and I hear laughter.

The loud stick sinks in the ground, guess no more here after.

Silly fawn, strange white and black being,

I run back to the flock, and start my own feeding.

Why did they choose to play near the ground Predator?

It never stops its eating…

creative writing, entertainment, Music, poetry

I’m Afraid of Music

I’m afraid of music, or what hellish parody it’s become,

The image of stars has darkened, darken one’s imaginings of fun.

Musicians have become scandalized, from abuse, violence, and disgrace,

Money and power takes presents, of those once Platonic days.

The string guitar is a noose, the drum and base are non-medicated drugs,

Voices are hyperventilation, I’m being raped by the thought of what was.

Demonic life illustrations, over obnoxious acoustic and electronic trilogies,

Take the place of Thought provoking lyricism, above expressive hypnotic melodies.

I once found security as a child, in their words and their seductive songs,

Musical illustrations helped me battle, through cancer and sickness, when the nights were long.

Is it wrong to choose disease, over these once spell bounded tympani’s?

Or wait for a day of relief, where the love will come back to me?

Intoxicated hallucinations, bring and hold a semblance of harmony,

Then I tolerate those once peaceful enjoyments that are now violating non-realities.

Whether if it is Molly or Drake, or if it is Blink or Green,

Alliteration’s of M.J., now scare me with the dearest limericks of Kelly.

Can true wisdom tell the difference, over a painful foolish resemblance?

Is my pretentious phobia curable, if I embrace this toxic ignorance?

While they recite phenomena, out of their satirical lyric tunes,

Acidic verbal nonsense, gets heard from our rational views.

I’m afraid of music, or what concepts it’s inspired,

Thoughts of giving up my talent, light my ambitions on fire.

Call me a coward, say I’m terrified of nothing,

Yet has times ever become dark, and music made that depression cutting?

Am I alone in belief that the world’s music, had better for us and our loved ones?

Than hearing drummer boys rock from their flocks on the streets of their trap funds.

They Talk gun clapping over auto tune beats, but real culture takes it and puts it in to reality,

The first reason I’m afraid of music, what it is doing to the community.

They preach inspiration from intoxication, melodious narcotic creativity,

The second reason I’m afraid of music, endorsing tranquillized abnormalities.

I wish this phobia was void, and there was not any reason to fret,

The third reason I’m afraid of music, I can do nothing to change it.

Arts, creative writing, equality, government, politics, social problems, sociology

SPLIT!!!

Split at the seams there’s a line between, the justified and wrong, the capitalists and the fiend.

Citizens can be perceive, as Americans in the dream, but one is an addict, while the other’s star beams.

What makes the serration, in this divided States nation?

A democrat or republican, independent or an unknown corrugation.

Is it wealth against shortage, golden platters versus porridge?

Should one care about the problem, or does one choose to ignore it?

It used to be black and white, now we serrate by the class,

While the lower and middle class struggle, those in the upper classes laugh.

Millionaires and billionaires ride yachts, prostitutes sell hots,

Gangsters bang on the block, farmers crops rot.

There are not homeless people in Chicago, about to freeze to the death,

We peasants should not complain, SSI and welfare are cutting checks.

For we all eat like the Hannity’s, there is no sorrow, no poor,

This country is truly equal, none of us see eviction letters on doors.

There’s an economic segregation, we can’t just turn our eyes away,

While the government shuts down, politics tell citizens eat cake.

Watch the waitress on shift, make a mistake and get dismissed,

While reps and senators sit in a room, make mistakes and get cuffed on the wrist.

Is it equal to tax, those who eat scraps, and sell clothes off their back?

While other’s benefits wax, and they grow more affluent by the max.

Well we present the expression of grief birthed in the weak, with stanzas written in bloody ink,

Samaritans weep for a bite to eat, watch these native’s gamble defeat for a rise in prosperity.

Hear tales of those sheep hunted wolves of the streets, counseling success over ghetto beats,

For a one in a million family to not weep, risen too high from low class scarcities.

Arts, creative writing, love, memorial, poetry, psychology, recovery

I Seen My Body Today

I see my body today,

Crisp in tux laid down in grave,

People praying lost in a haze, lamenting in deep dismay,

Preacher praying for better days.

I felt my body today,

Smooth and cold, no breath to breathe

Eyes wide shut, no longer bereaved

On my way, the lord let me leave.

I felt my heart today,

Love once felt when you were near,

When you went I cried my tears,

To be in your place, was my deepest cheer.

I heard my voice today,

Recordings of us singing, birthday wishes and holiday joy,

Memories of you lost, used to fill the void.

Mistletoe kissing, unwrapping gifts with the girls and boys.

I saw my soul today,

Angels held my hands, as I drifted away,

My last breath was back, with tears on my face,

I do want to see you, yet just not to day.

I felt my body today,

A miracle happen, I can move my limbs,

I feel the hugs, of family and friends,

The pill did not take me, God brought me back again.

I read your diary today,

You told me to be happy, and not to throw my life away,

I smiled at the thought, of how you always know me,

I can live with your memory, until it’s truly my day.

I heard your prayer today,

You brought me back, from my disparity,

Foolish was I, to rush to your grave,

I placed this rose on your chest, for thanks of protecting me.

When I saw my body that day,

At that time, I didn’t know that you were watching over me.

 

Arts, creative writing, Life skills, poetry, psychology, sociology

Maybe I just Drink to Get Drunk

Maybe I just drink, drink, drink til I’m drunk,

Then I have no emotions, I’ll say what she wants,

If I have a problem, I’ll just leave it undone,

because maybe I just want  to drink drink drink to have fun.

 

It started in a dark curtained hotel room, or maybe at the bar with a glass of wine,

She asked how I was, and I told her quite fine,

She reached and touch my shoulder, or was that me,

She bought me a shot, I thought it was sympathy.

 

We started talking politics, and she sounded like me,

Her voice told of struggles deep, that I couldn’t see,

I want to relate, yet my mind’s in a bind,

I can only think of gripping her behind?

 

Maybe I just drink, drink, drink til I’m drunk,

Then I have no emotions, I’ll do what I want,

If I have a problem, I’ll just leave it undone,

because maybe I just want  to drink drink drink to have fun.

 

We stepped outside the bar, or was it a van,

I got real excited, because she was holding my hand,

She took me to a doorway, and I just walked on through,

She sat me on the couch, or maybe she threw?

 

Doc I know I’m rambling, yet hears the sad truth,

I have know idea of what, she wanted to do,

In a haze lost, without a plan,

She started reaching for my clothes, I knocked away her hand.

 

Maybe I just drink, drink, drink til I’m drunk,

Then I have no emotions, I’ll do what she wants,

If I have a problem, I’ll just leave it undone,

because maybe I just want  to drink drink drink to have fun.

 

I’m supposed to be a man, I’ve hidden my feelings inside,

Yet here’s the honest truth doc, at night I still cry,

Anxiety has me raddled, a depression so deep it flows out my eyes,

If I tell my family, and they leave I will die.

 

So Maybe I just drink, drink, drink til I’m drunk,

Then I have no emotions, I’ll speak to no one,

If I have a problem, I’ll just leave it undone,

because maybe I just want  to drink, drink, drink just to run.

 

Arts, Life skills, poetry, politics

Social Ghost

Social slavery are one’s to be, one trapped in a social media mentality,

With Hopes to see the next viral calamity, and get high off of negative psychology.

Group think sociology blocks one’s decency, Just for personal credibility,

To give words from enemies, or love from virtual personalities.

Controversy from apparition’s posts, are social gangstas with word boasts,

Digitally cybernetic ammo hosts, with clout from other lesser known ghost.

Verbal chat warrior quotes, are  just cyber bullies looking to do the most,

And watch you sink mentaly, on a computer generated coast.

that delusionary ocean grave, is one’s own dungeon enchained made,

because we must fasten our minds slaved, in to this social media cave.

Can one be demoralize from a wraith, not hear in a physical space,

Just ask the child dead by digital cuts, arms bloody, neck tied from a virtual haze.

That suicidal teen on the outside of social means,

a bright minded gleam, extinguished by socially evocative keens.

These social slaves put the guns in their mouths, And the pills in their hands,

And smile to their peer pressure clan, not caring for the damage caused to their fellow man.

By man I mean child, killed by social media bile,

From once called friend, yet now heart darkened by differing social styles.

They are just long faded memories, who are we to listen to passed graves,

My social media is popping, I can get 5 likes for showing an addics dejected days.

One needs the recognition, and craves that attention high,

No matter if one is in preschool, or even a president online.

poetry, politics

Royalty Midst Retches

Can we call this one evil, if they are a product of their republic?

That nation that praises hypocritical morals, posthumously adopted by fathers long buried in the passed.

Anyone can take on a ghost principle, if one wants to proclaim a self-righteous invisible glory,

It only takes one gullible fool, to start a damaging fire.

Did we overtime become that gullible fool, whilst others led us to follow their dark shadows,

Yet to a ledge of internal death, in the pretext of independence?

But were we really sheep, flocked together by men and women whom knew our foolish morrals,

And cultivated the seeds of hope, to just grow the flowers of their end finances?

For what is a billionaire, or millionaire, are they not just babies,

grown with green forest around them, while we sit in eh self wanted concrete city,

wishing for their nourishment, and them giving bites at a time.

Can we blaim this anymore on the ignorance principle, The act of not knowing,

but yet living on hope and dream, when 99% of us die never getting a bite of their apple?

yet salivating for the taste of those red juices, drip seductively through vision and sound,

to the point when one would kill blood, just to have a taste of that green forest heaven!

Is that heaven seen by us in the mist of hell, millionaire angels and billionaire gods,

And us disciples warshipping their light in our poverty stricken darkness?

Have ones committed the ultimate  self sacrifice, because of failed atemps to touch their hands,

All we could do is drink the wine, and eat the crackers given from their tables!!!

You can only laugh at the ones who praise, hope!

You can only giggle at the ones who seek, dreams!

You can only guffaw at the ones who chase, fantasy!

But die with a smile of regret, that you were never able to be one of those angels…

So praise to the gods above, that you have wine and crackers.

Party on the land and sea, that you have family.

Give thanks and worship, that you are close to heaven.

Yet remember, that they are vain celestial spirits, that don’t really give a damn about you…

For they would walk with a stance, that states their better than man,

Yet heart corrupted black, from financial advances.

Skeletons formed by lower inhabitants, have no baring on their comfort,

For the ideals birth by money and power, make one royalty midst retches.