redemption songs
some new poems i found in an old notebook... enjoy
by the way, my spellcheck is broke, get over it.
one last song for the dying
four days straight augusta weather,
and i'd scratch my throat with a gun barrel.
anybody would.
thick pollutant hatred. love, lust,
and the thrill of the blue lights
drunken wino, skidrow Broad Street
downtown nowhere.
how can you live with your purely unadultarated rage?
breaking wicker baskets over drainpipes
and calling yourself beauty?
there is a living, breathing pain in me.
growing slow like saturday afternoon
old ladies, old hats, musty but free.
i am a boozehound.
broken chainsmoker on the edge of oblivion
screaming your name into white foam oceans
and harvesting dead things at my feet.
lone soldier beat poet
on lonely open roads
with God's sweet grace written on the moon
like pages in my diary, stained with your tears.
and if Jesus were here with me,
he'd tell me to stop recycling my words
into unfamiliar sagas of epic and enrequited love.
lonely, dying world
aching dull in my spine like magnolia gin blossoms
on courtside sillohettes.
dirty, dusty south filling up my lungs
and i'm screaming forgiveness at a sign post.
road home in silence.
reciting my life backwards like subliminal tea parties
and adolecent nightmares.
dirty, damned augusta
with your filthy, muddy river
harbinger of my quieted fury.
one last song for the dying
and two more for the road.
broke both my ankles on the way over
and still managed to dance on your doorstep
three point waltz turn.
melancholy in red.
drug my soul through thornbushes and bullrushes
just to abandon the weight of the world on my shoulders
break myself for despariging obscenities
if it would ease my hurting mind.
untitled
and if you scream, you scream
and i am vindicated
so forgive me for my blunt rejection.
i will not bow and scrape and make my peace with this world.
i will die fighting the air in my lungs and climb up to the stars to be with God.
you will not break my bones with this hypocrytical masqurade and blythe demeanor of gentil society.
sociological downpour.
get off my shoulders, you're not welcome here.
you come into my home and beat my children. rape my concept of real life, real world.
what it's like outside my window.
stop making me a vantage point.
your trail of destruction rivals my own:
vastly private outcry, dying souls, and mourning lovers
the pointed difference being, i only hurt myself.
do not victimise me, i'm not defeated yet.
you are not real. you are my frightened, screamig nightmare.
let go of my wings, you may break them.
coward. afraid of your own equalities.
stop beating my down, you're pissing me off.
i'll snap your neck in three places.
i've become you to prove a point.
you will never be the soul i am.
my poetry
how dare you tell me
howtowritemypoetry?
who are you to put form to art and structure
to prose?
i-t i-s n-o-t y-o-u-r place.
place NOT your o_w_n...
i will write the way i write THE
SIZE i write
tHe
WaY i
WrItE
in my own time, place,
and words.
response
are you in love with me or just infatuated? cause you've got me screaming in the shower to the tune of stale cigarettes and the way you used to taste. get in with you? gladly. just to see your face and pretend it's okay to still want you. i can't see straight and you're holding me down moking it okay. but i'd sleep nakes on your bed if you'd just go down on me. so i scream. shake painful sharp if you would answer me. we are death poets beautiful similar in songs. but you know you still want me and, if you'd let me, i'd shake the foundations of hell for you. wading into oceans of blood and black. you owe me a trip to the beach. and you're feeling me up for forgiveness. broke down the guitar and pushed you inde of me like a disease. but i still love you. so come dance with me sweet disposition and tragic. there are words on the shelves above me and i can't read them till you help me. the deaf leading the dumb and the blind. but it's okay, you're just the best thing for me. so when i wake up on your doorstep just let me and hurt me, i need to be that kind of beautiful. you're killing me but i love it so come back and make the words of blue light rhapsody retreat and crawl away under my skin.
....guess what my favorite line is in each one and let me know....
by the way, my spellcheck is broke, get over it.
one last song for the dying
four days straight augusta weather,
and i'd scratch my throat with a gun barrel.
anybody would.
thick pollutant hatred. love, lust,
and the thrill of the blue lights
drunken wino, skidrow Broad Street
downtown nowhere.
how can you live with your purely unadultarated rage?
breaking wicker baskets over drainpipes
and calling yourself beauty?
there is a living, breathing pain in me.
growing slow like saturday afternoon
old ladies, old hats, musty but free.
i am a boozehound.
broken chainsmoker on the edge of oblivion
screaming your name into white foam oceans
and harvesting dead things at my feet.
lone soldier beat poet
on lonely open roads
with God's sweet grace written on the moon
like pages in my diary, stained with your tears.
and if Jesus were here with me,
he'd tell me to stop recycling my words
into unfamiliar sagas of epic and enrequited love.
lonely, dying world
aching dull in my spine like magnolia gin blossoms
on courtside sillohettes.
dirty, dusty south filling up my lungs
and i'm screaming forgiveness at a sign post.
road home in silence.
reciting my life backwards like subliminal tea parties
and adolecent nightmares.
dirty, damned augusta
with your filthy, muddy river
harbinger of my quieted fury.
one last song for the dying
and two more for the road.
broke both my ankles on the way over
and still managed to dance on your doorstep
three point waltz turn.
melancholy in red.
drug my soul through thornbushes and bullrushes
just to abandon the weight of the world on my shoulders
break myself for despariging obscenities
if it would ease my hurting mind.
untitled
and if you scream, you scream
and i am vindicated
so forgive me for my blunt rejection.
i will not bow and scrape and make my peace with this world.
i will die fighting the air in my lungs and climb up to the stars to be with God.
you will not break my bones with this hypocrytical masqurade and blythe demeanor of gentil society.
sociological downpour.
get off my shoulders, you're not welcome here.
you come into my home and beat my children. rape my concept of real life, real world.
what it's like outside my window.
stop making me a vantage point.
your trail of destruction rivals my own:
vastly private outcry, dying souls, and mourning lovers
the pointed difference being, i only hurt myself.
do not victimise me, i'm not defeated yet.
you are not real. you are my frightened, screamig nightmare.
let go of my wings, you may break them.
coward. afraid of your own equalities.
stop beating my down, you're pissing me off.
i'll snap your neck in three places.
i've become you to prove a point.
you will never be the soul i am.
my poetry
how dare you tell me
howtowritemypoetry?
who are you to put form to art and structure
to prose?
i-t i-s n-o-t y-o-u-r place.
place NOT your o_w_n...
i will write the way i write THE
SIZE i write
tHe
WaY i
WrItE
in my own time, place,
and words.
response
are you in love with me or just infatuated? cause you've got me screaming in the shower to the tune of stale cigarettes and the way you used to taste. get in with you? gladly. just to see your face and pretend it's okay to still want you. i can't see straight and you're holding me down moking it okay. but i'd sleep nakes on your bed if you'd just go down on me. so i scream. shake painful sharp if you would answer me. we are death poets beautiful similar in songs. but you know you still want me and, if you'd let me, i'd shake the foundations of hell for you. wading into oceans of blood and black. you owe me a trip to the beach. and you're feeling me up for forgiveness. broke down the guitar and pushed you inde of me like a disease. but i still love you. so come dance with me sweet disposition and tragic. there are words on the shelves above me and i can't read them till you help me. the deaf leading the dumb and the blind. but it's okay, you're just the best thing for me. so when i wake up on your doorstep just let me and hurt me, i need to be that kind of beautiful. you're killing me but i love it so come back and make the words of blue light rhapsody retreat and crawl away under my skin.
....guess what my favorite line is in each one and let me know....
posted by lisa at 5:07 PM
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