I've been working on A TON of writing. This creative writing class I'm in has been helping to keep me motivated to write, which is good, because I love writing.

I'll try posting more in the coming weeks.

constructive criticism is always helpful.

A City’s Thick-Veined Hand in Collapse

The run-down ruins of a ghost’s abandoned metropolis

erupt from the concrete-stained surface of the earth.

Where legs once stampeded from house to home, from home to work

and back again

by misguided people lost in the world they knew.

From here, the souls’ feet are maggots of time,

peaking their ugly heads through the structures they created.

They are long since abandoned, the lucky ones

boarded, saved from Saturn’s thick-veined hands, the unlucky ones

bear the scars of his abuse, shattered windows,

with sick remains stretching out to slash a misguided arm

reaching in to take the only remaining memory of another.

Beyond the offices lie the beds their cars

once occupied throughout the light of day, but now

only rusted metal shards stare back at the onlookers.

Cars a far-away memory now, or simply a box which contains

far-away memories.

Upon the rust and dust, the great conquerer!

In cahoots with time, nature took her toll

and a small signature of her work grows upon those enslaved.

A thin and sickly layer covers all, a moss hardly fit

to cover even the smallest of rocks, simply an icing

to their work to destroy.

Autumn's Physics

Day three or four of posting a poem everyday? I don't know. But this is the one I am most proud of as far as form and set-up goes. as for Language, however, I think I could have done better, but maybe you'll think differently.

Remember the crisp autumn leaves
Falling into gravity’s clutches
Like the perfect little examples
Of physics that they were?
I whisper softly into her ear
Remember the days leading up to winter?
Remember the breaths of autumn
That we took in together?
Remember the smell?
The air of the season?
Remember the taste of each other’s lips
Pressed between the pages of our books
Like the dead, but beautifully dead shapes
That fell from the sky?

I remember
She responds
I remember the red flames that shot
From your lips, that singed my hair
I remember your words burned
Like the blazing summer sun, and
I remember all the times I thought that we
Were forever one, but as the season drew to a close
As the snow covered the tree’s beautiful children
Everything seemed dead to me, every cold wind
Reflected your outer appearance, and
Every snowflake had lost its virginal glow
Every day the world grew colder, and
Every day the limbs that connected us became
More stiff, and more dead, until that grand day when
The final blow was struck down, breaking the icicles
That linked us, and setting me free.

But do you remember the autumn?

I only remember the fall.

Arithmetic Warfare

I am trying to continue writing every day at least until school starts, and I've been doing great, except for the fact that I wrote something yesterday AFTER I had posted my old poem titled "O! What A Night" well, here it is, what I wrote yesterday, and tomorrow I will post what I wrote today, and so on. I hope I'll have my internet working again tomorrow, but we'll see. For now I'm borrowing a laptop from someone.

This poem is called Arithmetic Warfare, and is a poem geared towards children about the horrors of war. It's not exactly my best work, but I think the ending is pretty powerful, so perhaps your excuse it's fallacies once you reach the end.

All the children

Punished for not knowing

See the rabbits and deer

And dogs and cats

And little baby birds who cannot fly

Run from where they once were

To where they will later reside.

It is not that they play

But that they sense

They sense things we do not

And those senses are flaring on this day.

That is why you are the punished children

You are the ones who do not know

The birds and beasts

The fish and sheep

They know of what comes as you sit

Alone in your classroom

Listening to the teacher's drones

Instead of the drones from the sky.

Above is the fury of another world

Falling upon us

And you

You learn of three times two

Is six little airplanes flying above

Four times two is the eight little bombs

And twelve times two

are the twenty four little boys

And little girls

Who will not make it home tonight.

O! What a Night!

This poem samples lots from different places, I took a line from the movie A Clockwork Orange,"Oh it was Gorgeousness and Gorgeosity made flesh", I took a line from a song by The Unicorns "But.... it yet remains"(an AMAZING rock band, if you're into really raw sounding pop-punk, they're for you), and I took a song title from a Babyshambles song (another amazing band, they're a british-indie-pop-rock band fronted by Pete Doherty) "La Belle et las Bette" and changed it around a bit, "Il était la belle sans la bête" . But, this is all my original work, I just think it's fun to allude to things like that.


I used an online translator for the French in the very last stanza, if anyone knows French, it would be WONDERFUL if you could post a comment that just translates that phrase exactly, and then maybe you could post what the proper grammar of it would be in French. Thank you, because I honestly don't know ANY French, but for some reason I have a strong desire for those two lines to be in French.

Flames fill my throat
Pressure, my head
I don't feel it
But it has happened
I have crossed over
Another world,
Another time
Another place
A place I don't remember
But a place I have lived all my life.


Conversations are lost
To the winds of the warm afternoon
To the fog in my head
To the sense of vision
It has taken over my memory
Like a silent movie, short clips play
Over and over again in my mind
I don't remember them
They didn't happen to me
But they did happen to me

The lights dance before my eyes
One color contains all
They dance like bulls in china shops
Graceful, but without a purpose
It's better on the ground
It's always better on the ground

Flying through time and space
Something I don't remember
The silent film plays on loop
But I can not read lips
And these lips do not speak
We reach the end
I remember the end

A new time
A new place
And a new set of stars
to feast my eyes upon
The sirens close in
But the sirens I shove back
They reach the back of my mind
And there they are muffled
Everything is new, old and new.

I have seen it before
But it is new to me.

O! the beauty
Alas, the visions of my life had all been lies
All but this one whisper softly
Behind my back, horrible falsehoods
But this one, this vision
It yet remains.

Green sprouts, how does it grow?
Brown clumps, how did they die?

Then it all ceases
The questions are silent again
The beat of a drum is all that is left
The drums play like never before
O! It was gorgeousness and Gorgeosity made flesh
It was the beauty missing the beast
Il était la belle sans la bête
I don't want it to end
But it all ends too quickly

I remember the morning
The night is gone forever
Though, O! what a night it was
The voices lost to time
The visions scratched as film prints
Il est allé
Mais je me rappelled
O! How I remember

Forever's Children

I just wrote this, and I just remembered I have a blog to post poems and stuff in.... oh how I have forsaken you, my blog.

I am a failed poet, seeing as
Form eludes me
I do not know when to break lines
Or when a line should drag on, seemingly forever, into the depths of eternity.
But the truth hovers above the world
In black clouds that predict storms
And when the world sings
The storm breaks and truth
Reigns over the black lies that breathe
From forever's door.
And forever is shot into the darkness of
A thousand suns reversed
and we,
The children of the earth
Shall live for the now until the day
We too pass beyond forever's door
And see the remnants are merely never
And into the never us children fall
Forever.

Lyrical Poetry... again!

I wrote these a really long time ago. I think they're probably still my best, although there have been no plans as of yet to use them for my band, so I think I'll post them here, and see what people think.

Reasons to end our Courtship

Not feeling the touch of your hand again
Never tasting the sweet of your lip
These are my reasons to do it
The reasons to end our courtship

I don’t want to see your face again
Not after what you just did
I don’t know what I can do now
I don’t know if I can live

That look in your eyes makes my stomach
Feel like it’s going to give in
I used to long for your gaze
Now I can’t bear to see it again
I wanted your lips to touch mine
And we’d be as one for a while
But since I have seen you with him
I don’t think that we could reconcile

Your love is no longer for me
You only have eyes for him
And seeing your face light up
Makes me want take my life on a whim

I think of all ways to kill myself
Each one is worse than the rest
I can’t bring myself to do it
I can’t open the medicine chest

That look in your eyes makes my stomach
Feel like it’s going to give in
I used to long for your gaze
Now I can’t bear to see it again
I wanted your lips to touch mine
And we’d be as one for a while
But since I have seen you with him
I don’t think that we could reconcile

The blade in my hand is too dull
The pills just won’t make me forget
So I bring the light to my face
And drag on another cigarette

I convince myself that you were wrong
Just one more in a whole line of mistakes
And that I will find another one
Who won’t be such a goddamn flake

But that look in your eyes makes my stomach
Feel like it’s going to give in
I used to long for your gaze
Now I can’t bear to see it again
I wanted your lips to touch mine
And we’d be as one for a while
But since I have seen you with him
I don’t think that we could reconcile





Hope you liked them. Let me know what you think.

A New Lyrical Poem!

It's about Daniel Johnston, and not about Daniel Johnston.
It's about his music, and not about his music.
it's about copying his style, and trying to do something different from his style.

I hope you like it:

There's a dead dog laughing at a clown
you don't want to see his face
you don't want to see that frown
he displays on his face
no, you don't want to see that frown.

A man named Daniel asked
September '83
How are you, oh how are you gonna be?
you don't know the answer, you're hiding in the trees
because you can't feel that breeze
that is blowing in your face
oh no, you don't want to see his face

There's a dead dog laughing at a clown
you don't want to see his face
you don't want to see that frown
he displays on his face
no, you don't want to see that frown

A man named Johnston
December '85
continued this story
oh, it was worth a try
now whenever you hear it
you hear it you will cry

'cause there's a dead dog laughing at a clown
you don't want to see his face
you don't want to see that frown
he displays on his face
oh, no you don't want to see that frown

A Short Story.

This I'm posting because a friend of mine told me to write another short story. Well, I had and I hadn't. I had already started writing another short story, but I had never finished it. I never really had a solid idea of where it was going, and I never really had a solid grasp on what it was even about. Now it just sort of reads like the opening 4 paragraphs of the first chapter of some book.

It is about religion, and I don't know why. I'm not religious, nor am I religiously atheist, so I don't know why the subject constantly pops up in my writing. I don't mean it to.

Anyway, here it is if you're interested:

“And they have brought the wrath of God upon us. They have created a utopia. Just as we wish to, but theirs is not for the worship of Jesus, our lord and savior, it is not for God, the one true God, the God of the Israelites, and the God of you and I. NO! They have created a Utopia for Satan himself. Sinners run rampant, The women are whores, the men are immoral, and all the children illegitimate. Is this the world you want your children to be brought up in?”

Apparently it wasn’t. My family followed Samuel Parker into the hell that he called “Paradise on earth” in order to escape the tensions and so called “Sin” of the modern world. It was where I was born, where I spent my childhood, not knowing of the outside world, and then, in 2023, the year the US army decided to take military action against the horrors going on within our “paradise’s” walls, where I watched Samuel Parker sacrifice my mother and father (along with 50 or more other couples) in order for God to protect us from the wrath of “Satan’s Army” as he called them.

Perhaps it was the sight of my mother and father slitting each others throats with the knives stained (maybe not physically) with so much blood from so many people. Or maybe it was getting my first glimpse of how these so called “Sinners” lived, and that the outside world (or their “Utopia of Satan”, as Samuel called it) was a much more peaceful, and loving place than the utopia he had created. But whatever the reason, on that day I abandoned religion.

I was thirteen and when rescued from Samuel Parker’s hell (as it later became known) I was placed in foster care. Five years passed, and nearly as many foster homes. Each one worse than the last. Every time they tried to instill a sense of faith in God, hope in prayer, and security in knowing that the afterlife brings better things. But I never bought it. After seeing the hell that Samuel Parker established in the name of this same God I should now love was enough to turn me off of the idea of religion forever.

But I am now eighteen. I am eighteen and never have to live with another fanatical religious family. Looking back, I can understand why they tried to place those religious ideas in me after what I had been through. I know that Samuel Parker’s form is not the real religion that drives so many other people, but in my mind if there is a God, then he allowed those events to unravel, and therefore he is not the one I wish to commit my life to.

It still sort of wraps itself up in the end, despite me thinking I was going to return to it. Strange...

Lyrical Poetry!

Finished:
This one is going to be sung similarly to a song by Okkervil River called "Plus Ones" it's a really good song. These lyrics I wrote right after listen to that song for the first time... it wasn't really the first time to listen to the song, but it was my first time to REALLY listen to the song, anyway, here it goes:

What do you see
In his eyes
They’ve put you through
A hellish time
And now you turn around
Back to me

You’ve always been
The one I want
But you’ve played games
With my heart
And now you leave me hanging
Like a tree

Sometimes you don’t know what to do
And I know what your world is coming to
You tell me that you just don’t know
What you want to have anymore

(long instrumental thing)

Sometimes you don’t know what to do
And I know what your world is coming to
You tell me that you just don’t know
What you want anymore

I tell you
That I’m right here
And I will never leave
Don’t fear
For it will ache your heart
To think of that

‘Though I love you
More than he
I know things
that you can’t see
And to be with you
Would hurt you more.

Sometimes you don’t know what to do
And I know what your world is coming to
You tell me that you just don’t know
What you want anymore

Unfinished:
The following is a blatant rip of of Bob Dylan's style. If you don't want to see someone butcher the greatest lyricist to ever lives' style, please look away from your screen immediately. This one is not finished yet:

I call for everything to be returned
You say you don’t care
I say “So I’d heard
But this is the end, girl
And to our separate ways we must go”
And to that
You just whisper “no”

“What is your basis
For the end of our relations”
You cry to me as I leave the room.
I stop and turn around
To see your frown
To which I just respond
“This is the end of us together
And the beginning of us apart
The beginning of something new”

You throw my things all across the floor
Crying out “You can just find the door”
I say “I should” “I would if I could”
And, “don’t throw that, it’s made of wood,
It could break”

(harmonica)

That's where I stopped with that one. I hope to finish it later.

Love (A Short Story of first kiss, first love, and inner peace)

I wrote this a while ago, and have decided to finally post it. I've been reading and rereading it since I wrote it months and months ago (actually it's probably been about 4-6 months now), and have decided that it's good enough to post, in fact considering I haven't experienced any of the things I talk about (love, first kiss, complete and total feeling that all is right with the world) in this I'd say I fake my way through it pretty well.

so, here it is. It's called "Love (A Short Story of First Kiss, First Love, and Inner Peace)"

I turn the corner and there she is. Her face like a Goddess. No, not like a goddess, she is a goddess. Her perfect brown curls trailing off her face like shaves of the darkest chocolate you could imagine.
And then she smiles at me.
Her teeth are as perfect as you could imagine, two rows of the whitest pearls I’ve ever seen, like the bones of skeletons on Halloween her teeth glimmer back at me.
She runs up and hugs me.
Why do I deserve this? Why was I given a goddess? The very definition of beauty is standing in front of me. She wants me. And I can’t even imagine, in my wildest dreams, a girl half as beautiful wanting to spend a single second with me.
She opens her mouth to speak. Rattling off theories of Nietzsche and Socrates, her voice is perfect. Her intelligence matches her beauty, if it were physically possible, I would say surpasses, but I know better.
She doesn’t want me. She can’t want me. Perhaps this is a dream. I could pinch myself and wake up.
I do.
But I don’t.
I don’t wake up.
Now she’s laughing. She saw me do it. I explain to her what I was doing. She understands. She actually understands.

******

If there is a God, I don’t worship him. If there is a greater being out there, I don’t believe in it. I haven’t been to a church since I was 12. I haven’t wanted to go to church since even earlier. This girl can’t be a reward. I haven’t done anything a controller of things like this would want to reward me for doing. And I sure as hell aren’t perfect enough for this girl. She doesn’t seem to care.
The next time I see her she says something, something to make me laugh. I laugh.
The smile fades from my face and I look away. Not for long. Just a second. Just long enough for her to know that that leg of the conversation is over. I look back towards her and flavor explodes from my lips. Coffee and cigarettes. I’ve never tasted anything as wonderful. The twang of her lip gloss helps as well.
I’ve never been with anyone like this before. Not intimately. Not like this. It’s my first kiss. I’m 16 years old, and it’s my first kiss. Thankfully she seems to be leading. I don’t know where to go next. I follow her. Her mouth opens. I open mine. Her tongue enters my mouth. In the past I had always assumed this moment would be awkward. Maybe even disgusting. But I have never before done anything that felt so right, that tasted so wonderful, that gave me this feeling.
I have been with her three hours today. My friend set me up on the first date.
Before last week I had never really even been able to talk to a girl without feeling inadequate, feeling pathetic. But Sam. Sam is different. I finally feel like, for once, perhaps everything is right with the world. Nothing could kill this moment.

******

I follow her to her room. We both lie down on her bed. Our lips break for the first time in what feels like hours, but I know to only be a minute. I wonder if I should have brought something. I wonder if she expects certain things out of me tonight. I wonder if she wants me. if she really wants me. She doesn’t. We just hold each other. It’s a cold December night, and we only need the warmth of each other’s company. But it’s better this way. I don’t need to be inside her. We don’t need to be one. Whenever we’re in each other’s company we are one. That is when I realize what Sam and I share. This is love.