I am two fools, I know…

I love people and I can often be found quoting them in my facebook statuses…I’ve got quite a long list of quotes that I enjoy and that I feel both inspire and personify me. I have been looking over this list recently and have been writing poetry inspired by said quotes as a break from dictionary word “five minute poetry”…The quote I feel that personifies me above all others is this quote:

“I am two fools, I know. For loving, and for saying so in whining poetry” – John Donne

She walked away, dagger in hand, holding her head up high
Laughing hysterically
High and hallucinating
Holding my severed head above her heart to reduce the swelling of things left unsaid
Heavy is her heart though she cannot feel it through the heroin euphoria that has reached her emotions
Stinging are her words though she cannot taste them through the cocaine numb on her tongue
Emotionless and motioning for innocent bystanders to frolic in her potent scent and sensuality
Rancid meat disguised as the sweet smell and taste of salubrious nourishment
I knew her better when she was pretending to be my perfection
Pursing her lips and crossing her fingers behind her back
I am a fool that fell for all the glitz and glamour
Ignoring the glitches and glowering glares lurking just beyond the landscape
So I stood unabashedly before her and extended my hand
As she held the knife-edge to my throat…

Albatross…

It has been ages since I have written here and I can no longer blame the writing of my book.  Those endeavors are resting on a back burner because I chose to delve deeply into love and happiness.  Needless to say, that choice backfired on me and I again find myself here; drinking out of a giant wine bottle, recklessly holding a pen and hoping that somehow this will ameliorate me…

Like the albatross around the sailors’ neck
I am altruistic towards your anomalies
You are beautifully bravado
But bound by your brevity
Breathe
She spits to serrate our salaciousness
And shadow the sorrow we’ve sown
I love her
And I loathe the loquacious lingo I lingered on to land us here
Love
Spoken by the serpent that saw sanity
Only when she slept…

.FIN

Slate…

I have slated these slots of my heart for slovenly endeavors…Inebriated and exacerbated actions wearing Halloween costumes of Cupid and Aphrodite…And I’ve walked into this masquerade ball naked and unmasked upon a crucifix trying to not be noticed…But the slate blue of the blood in my veins is jealous of the heart it courses through…So I hemorrhage expletives filled with amorous cells that cover the diseased feet of those that wear my heart on their sleeves…And when they have all succumbed to the lesions their allegiance to wrong-doing have lasciviously left them with…I will, even then, lick their wounds and titivate the ballroom with their loathsome entrails…Because I have slated myself to be as hard as slate…And to always cherish a piece of those slated for my affections…

Fighting Writers Block: Deaf-Dumb…

As a writer, having writers block seems as terminal as cancer…I’m not fucking bullshitting…I’ve got 500,000,000,000 thoughts in my head and I’m at a loss for how to express them and how to choose which thoughts to express…It feels like I’ve never written a thing in my cot-damn life…And so I force myself to push out something; anything…And the below is what I come up with…A piece of shit, but it’s something…I’m off to the country for a little while to hopefully get my head together because I think the city is only adding to the confusion…Wish me luck…

Turn off the stereo when you look into his eyes
Volume too loud to concentrate on two symphonies
The music in the ocean-blue of his sight is bursting my eardrums
Until I can hear only one tone
And as I raise my hand in protest of this irreconcilable difference
He purses his lips and mouths
“Doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy?”
My deaf tones yield more depth for the concerto of his existence
And he is as beautiful as I am dumb
FIN.

Morose with eyes sewn shut…

I’ve sewn my sight shut lest I see what I have sown

These insalubrious, dubious deeds undoubtedly undo my demure mannerisms

Oh man — many molevolent men –make me morose and quite mad

.FIN

With Bated Breath….

He waited with bated breath
Then he abated his existence in my presence
Presently I am presenting myself as bait
To anyone foolish enough to bite
Blandish
Waiting with my own bated breath
For a present
To abate my bitterness

.FIN

Absorption…

Still writing that book…*le sigh*…Can’t stop writing…My Blackberry now makes my writing obsession more mobile…DRATS!…Absorption…

I am absorbent
Sponge-like and porous
Wringing myself dry of tears
To make room to sop up yours
And yet, your brick-like tendencies
Yield space for nothing but mortar
So I lay here
Dry and hardening
Atop your impenetrable exoskeleton
Wringing out sweat from you
The only version of tears you will allow me…

.FIN

Cerebral Secretions: My drunk text to myself…

I’ve been amiss as of late, for reasons that my very few readers already know…The book is coming along, however slowly…I’ve gotten an extension and it looks like the book will now be out in the Fall (Perhaps I’m inadvertently aiming for a release on my Birthday – October 2nd??)…Part of the problem is that, during my quest to peruse through and choose my best past material for the book, I continue writing…I’m a LIBRA and I’m pretty sure I invented the word ‘indecision’…So how does one pick one’s best when there is more material coming…This, I do not know…I am grateful to the few of you who read my rhetoric…And to thank you, I will share my newest piece…As usual, I was drunk when I wrote it…Exponentially so…

I’m making an attempt
And I’m tempted to use that which is most tactile
We’ve intertwined mannerisms that manifest interesting idiosyncrasies
My mind is licking your intelligence
And your cerebral is secreting abnormal amounts of acuity
Salty to the taste
And dripping down my thighs
Forming a puddle of equations and rhetoric
Smelling of food for thought
And I am sopping up all I can
With my tongue
So as to not waste a drop
Of your mentality
.FIN

Where is the baby?…

“I don’t remember this”, she said.  A sight she’d seen and studied countless hours, days, and years.  The years were seen as memories, played on the virtual movie screen of her mind.  This perpetual image, materialized and real to the touch – in front of her.  Still. Staring. Mute. A breathing photograph.  Foreign.  “Touch”, the foreign thing said.  But touch she could not.  Touching equivocated to staring at an eclipse.  Surely you’ll go blind.  And so she stared.  And found the sight to be quite blinding.  The incandescence of ocean-blue eyes. Blind.  So blind that she cannot remember.  Desperate for some reconnaissance for rememories, she purses her lips and, without thinking, kisses.  Kiss. “Taste”, the blue-eyed alien to her recollection said.  Taste.  Then suddenly she is taken to a moment in the park – by the bay, feet tickled by the wind-blown grass; sun kissing her face and taste – tasting the lips that spoke beauty.  His words turned into sugar cane on her tongue and the sweetness was a memory that was far too obstinate to flee.  “I remember this”, she said.  “We can go there”, he said, holding out a photograph.  Smiling and wide-eyed she gazed at the photograph that seemed warm to the touch; as if new again.  It was a captured moment from the candy-sweet day that had made her recall him.  Horrified.  Staring at ocean-blue eyes mirroring those of the extended hand, and lips that pursed as her own.  “But where is the baby?”.

.FIN

Five Minute Poetry/My Hiatus Explanation: ‘Back’stabber…

The posts here are few and far between…But I assure you, this is for good reason…As you may or may not know, judging from the scenery around here, I am an avid and dedicated writer…I’ve been obsessive-compulsive about writing since the age of 9 or so…I realize now, as I have people constantly asking when I was going to actually ‘do’ something with this apparent ‘talent’ besides share it with the ever-sporadic cyber world, that perhaps something should be done to make this a physical scripture…With this being said,  I am currently compiling my manuscript into a book type thing and am dedicating nearly all of my spare time to doing so…So know (as this type of dedication requires extreme focus) that ‘Scripted Libations: Inebriated Manuscipt’ will suffer for a while…But be assured, when all is done with my first book, I will get to writing more prose to make a book of this as well…As always, thank you for taking the time to read what goes on inside of my head…Until next time, here’s my latest poetic piece, entitled:  ’Back’stabber…

I’ve got my back up against this wall and I’m traveling backwards

Bravado brain bored and bored into the thought of getting back to you

Backsliding and backhanding my own backbone

Backpedaling into the backwardness that is the backstage of my bereavement

While background music attempts to cover the backfired backlash

As I back away

Backless and taken aback
.FIN