Month: June 2013

Dr. John Irvin Feebleshift (day 757)

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Ahh but I’ve been trying you see
To excel at all my studies
I am, after all, a studious beast
Studying all day, as it is
I’ve picked up some secrets
Theories and quantifications
Which makes sense, if you think about it
Complete sense when taken in context
But without questions
There are no answers to logically justify
So then when you ask
Should I be asking you questions?
“Of course!” I shall answer
It is but a trifle upon my abilities
No hindrance to my day at all
To answer you with vigor
Responding to your inquiry
For in the end
Without my knowledgeable responses
What good would my studying be?
How just are my studies
If I do not share them
Impart what I’ve learned on eager ears
Surely it’s a fools game
To withhold knowledge
From the inquisitor
Assuming the inquisition
Isn’t a dispute over whether or not
My head should remain on it’s comfortable perch

aSquirrel

Dr. John can be purchased here.

Miguel Raptimus (day 756)

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Ssssay ssssstrange friend
Might I trouble you for a ssssecond
I have been sssssearching
For quite sssssome time now
Looking and looking, you ssssee
For the tavern, the tavern
I sssswear it wasss ssssomewhere right here
Lassst time I wasss around
It came sssso eassssy for me
I jussst sssslithered right in
Sssshouted to the barkeep
“Hello Hello! I’m here for a beer”
Ssssay have you ssseen it?
Can you help me sssstrange friend?

aSnake

Miguel can be purchased here.

Share It, and Smile (day 755)

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Have you ever had one of those mornings
Where you wake up, fresh and ready to go?
Sun greeting you with a smile
Dog with a wag of his tail…

You know, one of those mornings
When the blender blends it all
Without even one single stir
And you remember to put the lime in

Like the feeling of putting on
A fresh pair of underwear
Pulling up the favorite pants
With a very white undershirt

Or like a great hair day
When looking in the mirror
Is simply compulsive
From all angles

It’s hard to find those mornings
But when you do
When it’s within your hands
Share it, and smile

She’s Cheeky (day 754)

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She’s cheeky
She tells me to stop
That poetry is dead
ALL POETS MUST DIE
She yells in caps lock

I lament and dig
Into the bowels
Of my horror
Of my rhythmical
Regurgitating madness
To give reason
For my exploration

These darkened spaces
These sappy ballads
My arching expressions
Into confusions womb

Like battle scars
Pocking my being;
Unsettling patrons
Horrifying relations

Yet I try
I push out my heart
Bleed it upon death
Illuminated pixels
Spare tablets
Leftover envelopes
And just push play

Anderson the Tender and Marianda Hamphretta Dalsento (day 753)

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Mom, will I ever be able to fly?
-no dear, you do not have any wings
But, you can climb better than any bird

Mom, will I ever learn to sing a song?
-no dear, not like the birds that you hear
But, sounds you can make is music to my ears

Mom, are we really the devil’s animal?
-no dear, not anything near to it
But, it will do you good to be cautious of your ways

Mom, will I ever become bad and devil like?
-no dear, you’re heart will always be where you place it
But, that is not to say you can not become

Mom, will this tree always be our home?
-no dear, humans will cut these trees soon
But, we will move on and build a new home

Mom, will I always stay this small?
-no dear, you will grow up to be a very fine sloth
But, you must remember to eat your vegetables to ensure it

Mom, can we stay here for a while?
-yes dear, I like it just where we are

aSloth

Anderson and Marianda can be purchased here.

Sounds From My Heart (day 752)

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I fear you will grow old
Without sounds of my chest on your ear
I long for touch from your fingers
Pulling me back
I see your figure sway to the music
Fixing snacks to eat together, touching knees
I hear your voice as it carries
Around the house with Leonard Cohen
I fear you will grow old
Without sounds from my heart in your ear

Friday Night Shakedown (day 751)

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Do not take your hands from the steering wheel and let it drift into unkept edges of city streets.
Make haste! Make speed, good man! Towards dotted lines of hope we must spare no time in pursuing!
But, mind your thoughts as you swerve here and there. Remember precious and delicate matters at hand.
Remember the gambling stone that sits atop at lookout point; sunsets and cityscapes that sweep the horizon so.
Can it mean it is so? Can the limits thrive against the collapsing opportunities of hope thrusting inside my veins?
I should think as you call out my name and shatter my silence that even in the darkest of hours hope should be flung.
Despise my bated breath as non-committal silence that burns down the doors of unturned and untrue thought.
I am a so-called warrior. I am a fenced in guardian. I am a dotted line on the roads to freedom.
I am an invisible sanctity on the lonely island of hope hidden far away from human consumption.
A straightened arrow in the land of many signs, sugar coating fantasy with bikinis and high rise-high cut jean shorts.
Count down my passions as we speed into the night; top down and music shedding our inhibitions like a Friday night shakedown.

Beacon of Hope (day 750)

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It was gravity that pulled apart my soul
Placing memories into the future
Scattered across untrod landscapes of distant lovers
And pulling down on the edges of my smile

-Here I was thinking I had answers
Solutions to problems surfacing on my mind
Yelling at my little conspirators-

I am a little pinnacle of hard edges and rounded corners
Flashing my bright colours at the kaleidoscope
Busy with horrors that meet my sight symmetrically
Echoing late memories lingering amongst cobwebs

-Did I plan this with my own innocence
Or was it ignorance that left me helpless
Learning from my cold teachers with ill humour-

Crashing down into piles of oozing thoughts
Broken secrets and unanswered love notes
This is not a rehearsal for faint memories
This is a beacon of hope in a sea of madness

Long Forgotten (day 749)

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Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust
Love is sadness that carries golden rays of sun towards dusk
Did sounds of heartache keep you awake at night
Blood oozing from hands that toiled for your fortunate future

Will you still love me when my hands have wrung themselves dry
Sitting here dancing with eyes around the moon tonight
Our dreams dressing up in black and white shoes
Placing our love into lust into locks of curly golden brown hair
Twirling ourselves round and round to the tune of trumpets in summers night air

Will you still love me when my hands have curled against time
Sheltering our eyes against the hours of sunlight
Carefully pulling apart leaves that shelter the garden
Shaking away caterpillars nibbling on precious shards of life

Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust
When history remains and old friends have long forgotten
Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust
When the story ends will there still be a thought
Will you still love me when my hands have burned to dust

Guilty Plea (day 748)

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At once there was a gathering of heroes
Soldiers of duty that swore to their master
Guardians of public safety, truth and honor

I, turning round and around
Trapped like a target
Scared like a victim

No it wasn’t a champions bargain alone in the middle
I was the coward; in the game just a pawn
Scrambling for words in desperate desire

In the words of desire I had pulled the trigger
Attempting to alter my position
Captured by the air I inhale, I was gambling

But my hair was not so light
Held up there to scare
I was an example of a rebel to society