Barbarism

Laughed at by the gods
Our losses just an elaborate prank
To entertain something more
If freedom and abandonment
Were not loud enough
To put a force in me
To search for my own exculpation
The way a dog subsidizes
Its household's decisions
In a world that is abjectly unfair
Imbued with free will
But forbidden from philosophy
To bring us into this world
Only to discharge us again
Inhuman and hence divine
This is how I know
God is a terrorist

Fear Her

Babe, the devil's coming for your soul.
She's got blue eyes and revenge on her mind.
A molotov cocktail to quiet the nerves,
And off to work we go, scythe in tow.

Lackluster

My driving force is discontent;
A complacent poet is silent.
In happiness, my words are unspent,
Until the hush makes my pen violent.
Trickling, the awkward verse forms,
Stumbling, inorganic but necessary.
I force my hand, and it dutifully performs,
But the muse is absent, and I feel arbitrary.




The inspiration comes in waves.  I'm comfortable, which apparently means I don't need to write much.  Lies.  I'm working on remembering dreams more.  I'm hoping it will help.  Wish me luck and come visit me on the astral plane.

Roco Loco

Lost at Sea

October 22, 2005

A frisky stallion bounds across the sea

With gigantic hooves and bending knee.

Eyes wide open, whiteness showin’,

Bounds Röco Loco, stallion aglowin’.

Breathes the wind, and drinks the rain,

Sinks down low, lightning in his mane.

Sailors seen his wild herd,

Heard his hoof beats where storms occurred.

Crying out to the ether,

Loudest, softest, it is neither.

Long ago, he lost his herd.

Sank beneath the fish and bird.

He’s run around to this day,

Searched for his family.

That is why his eyes are white.

Tears of salt stream make him fight.

His heart is iron; He’s alone.

He lost his drive but to moan.

His high days are all gone.

His hair is streaked; it’s grey by dawn.

He is naught but a ghost,

In his haunting, Earth’s his host.

Sailors tell of huge white winds,

Of thunderheads and deadly grim.

But now you know, it’s none, but Röco,

The loner horse whose gone loco.

Lost his herd, his will to live,

He wanders seas, can’t up and give.

Believes in days when he’ll find them,

His herd, his mares, standing by him.

But fate has hold of his mane,

Knows he’s not to win this game.

Destined to sail the seas,

Not a soul to be seen.

Lonesome now but a legend,

Röco Loco found his endin’.

Poseidon, here, shot him down,

A tidal wave touched his crown.

Wisped up into the winds,

All that’s left: one white grin.

15 year old me needed no editing on this one.  Another narrative and my own myth.