Starving

He said, she said, this don’t really need said

All that matters is who you become

When camera feeds dead

I know, you know, do you really think though?

Do you really think you know the person

That’s on this show?

I doubt, you doubt, things they claim they’re about

Everyone has seen it done they never

Do what’s spelled out

What’s that? Well, Matt, maybe you should look at

All the promises they made and how to make a bureaucrat

He said, she said, sincerity, it seems dead

All we have is those who give us words when all we need’s bread

A Waste of Time

A Waste of Time

How often do we fall for things that people say and do?

How often do we wonder if the things they say are true?

And when there’s doubt we call them out when stories don’t connect

I wish I had a dollar for each lie that we collect

What makes us do it? Is it fear?

I fear that I don’t know

But to be real I sort of feel

Like life is just a show

So many actors, all their staff

Just dancing on a stage

And sadly I’d say that I’d laugh

If not for this here page

Pen and pad have saved my life

They’re my only true escape

Avoiding this sharp cutting knife

That’s carves life’s packaged shape

Every night I pray to He

Who I don’t even know

For his hand to help me stand

On nights when I feel low

It’s hard, sometimes, when life’s cold rhymes

Rip out your true heart

I’d give anything, if I could bring

A better, fairer start

Love in Life

So sorely do we wish to find

A person who’s just like our kind

Someone who’s just as weird as us

That we can know and love and trust

A person that just lets us be

And even when we disagree

They know that we’re still meant for them

And do not argue and condemn

Because when love is tried and true

It is not only about you

It is a union that you share

A contract, where you’re both aware

That life is meant for everyone

And when our time is gone and done

You’ll find that what we all should do

Is live it not with one, but two

Life

A raindrop has one chance to fall

To land where it might fulfill all

As do dandelions sway

They, just once, will drift away

Breeze will carry, gently now

The seeds of life that they endow

No second chances, no regrets

One life is what each person gets

Do not be nervous

Feel not afraid

Destroy doubt’s wall

And barricade

Live your life as you want to

Do the things you want to do

Boldly tell the one you love

You’re meant to be and not scared of

Embrace the world as you see fit

For time, we don’t get much of it

Make the most of what you’ve got

Live and laugh and love, a lot

A Turn of Events

Once upon a time a lovely maiden did her chores

She cooked and cleaned and washed and dried and wiped down all the floors

And though her Lord looked down at her, ironically this man

Would force himself upon her because when you’re Lord you think you can

He used her for his twisted games, he thought it was alright

Sadly she just let it be, so she could feed her son at night

And so it went for years and years, till finally one day

Her son grew up and saw the truth, saying that “this man must pay”

Despite his mother’s cries and pleas, the son could not forgive

He told her she deserved much more, this was not a way to live

His mom, you see, quick to agree, would never punish him

Her heart was her worst enemy, enabling Lord to live in sin

So the son approached the man, he stood much taller than Lord did

As the Lord said “hello boy, you’ve grown so much since just a kid”

“I know,” son said, “it must be strange, to to be on the receiving end”

“Of the games you play at night, I bet your wife won’t comprehend”

“Won’t comprehend the things you do, to satisfy your appetite”

“I can’t imagine how a person does this and then sleeps at night”

“At least it doesn’t matter now, because I give what is deserved”

“What’s that,” you ask? “To be frank, I really hate to touch a nerve”

“But since we’re here I will be clear, this might begin to sting a bit”

“I’ve wanted this for oh so long, because you’re such a piece of shit”

“It’s my turn now, so turn around, this will not end quick I must say”

“This won’t be fun, and when I’m done, this broomstick will make sure you pay”

Where Do You Belong

You ask me why I’m like this

I’ll tell you best I can

Some things have happened in my life

That made me who I am

I used to see things one way

But that way got turned to two

And then I started seeing things

From all these points of view

Everything around me changed

◦ ‘Twas different than before

The world revealed itself to me

As it drug me ‘cross the floor

It showed me everything it made

It showed me that I’m lost

It showed me that there’s many more

Who feel the same exhaust

Then, it softly spoke to me

It told me to be strong

And if you let your weakness win

You’re right where you belong

Necessary

NECESSARY

I think I’ll write a poem that speaks epic truth, tonight
It doesn’t matter if you tend to lean left or lean right
Politics aren’t helping us, the gap is greater in-between
We need to stop fixating on whose King or who is Queen

We need to shift the focus to what matters, that’s for real
We need to stop the spinning and start breaking culture’s wheel
Martin wasn’t joking when he wrote that brilliant line
The story’s great, sure, but a grander message lies behind

Nothing’s stronger than a thread that’s woven one and all
But if you try to weave it on your own you’ll sadly fall
History has proven this, it’s not news to anyone
The ink in this here pen I wield weighs more than your big gun

Every life we live is shaped by minds that can run free
And if we came together just imagine what could be
Forgiveness, empathy, this is what we need
And we ever grasp these things our whole planet will be freed

Fire doesn’t put out fire, its ego you should bury
Someone had to say it, right? These words are necessary.

These Things Matter

In his right hand sat a rifle, pointing at his kin

In the other there was powder, and it was meant for him

Turn the clock back and these two brothers who had played

Never would have seen this coming as they grew and aged

 

What is it that we need? Why must we always fight?

When instead we could be ironing our differences at night?

You know that it’s a feeling, and you know I feel it too

I can’t explain the things I see or things that people do

 

What is it that you’re thinking?

What is it that you’ve seen?

My brother, please don’t let the world get

Caught up in between

 

Every struggle, I have seen it

Every loss, I shall regret

But you and I are here now

And our cause we can’t forget

 

Listen to the violin, its strings are being played

Freedom wasn’t given, there was blood when it was paid

Do not forget the ones who wept to make this sacrifice

Because today we need a way to get back what is right

 

In my right hand sits a pencil, I point it at my kin

If I could write that things are right, you know I would give in

It hurts to know that I can’t though, this world is split in two

And I shall fight until it’s right…because she’d want me to

You Might Be A Writer If…

“All real writers are published”

Hang on a second, that statement’s wrong!

What say you of bloggers, huh?

Can poets not come tag along?

“Ha! We scoff with tilted heads”

“Real writers do those on the side”

“We know that true art lies in sales”

“For money validates our stride”

“So please, a blogger? Some stupid poem?”

“You think that these can pay the bills?”

“Don’t make me laugh, you amateur”

“Just the thought gives me the chills”

Bite your tongue, pretentious fool!

It’s not for funds, why true arts made

Passion, love guides pen and brush

‘Tis by-product, when we get paid

And cut! Fake convo ends as Matt chimes in

On wars of words, “label” affairs

I cannot help but ask them this:

WHO THE FLY’D FUCK EVEN CARES?

 

Just shut up and write, you dweebs.

 

You Can’t Spell Fame Without Me

Sure a catchy title, no?

I mean its kind of right

Said before, I’m sure it’s so

But came to me tonight

 

Some day an agent reading a

Submission (one of mine)

Will finish it and be like “Shit!”

“This author I must sign!”

 

But then the intern (her name’s Pam)

Will come say “Time for lunch!”

As the agent says “Oh damn,”

Sets me back in the bunch

 

Getting back, she sits right down

And scratches her blank head

Says “Where was I?” with a frown

Then starts to tweet instead

 

Yes it funny, though its true

This tale that came to be

The future first is said like “few”

And fame, ends with a “me”

Torn

The world is torn, its seams are frayed

They say they’ve wished them well and prayed

So many hold opinions, strong

But words are where they stop, its wrong

 

For if the ones who claim to care

Are genuine, then where’s their fare?

What costs have they all taken on?

Outside of tweets, or Facebook pawns?

 

Let me make this very clear

My life is committed to this, hear?

My books, my poems, they share a theme

The world, it needs a better dream

 

So while you spit and spread your hate

Know your words carry no weight

Keep posting, crying, doing naught

You’re dead weight, friend, an empty pot

The Apex

Tell me what things I’ll see when I pull back the layers

What’s up in the attic while they play house down the stairs?

What person are you, when there’s no one around?

What things do you think when no one else can be found?

Your face, it is beauty, untainted and quaint

Yet what I so long for lies under the paint

Tell me your secrets, your most shrouded of truth

Its just you and I here in this cloaked confessional booth

What wants lie within, what things you desire

Confess to me love, as we light this dark fire

These embers shall burn with your innermost need

You’re mine and I’m yours, it’s a mutual greed

This night is unending, this moment so rare

Though two, we are one without boundaries to bare

And as the eclipse casts its shadow so slow

The apex we greet, with the valley below

The Ward & the Bone: 10

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

The Transition has come, and the night of festivities to celebrate Grr Barker’s ascension to the Bone is at hand.

“At last, he is King!”

Drunkenly swaying through a tavern full of the finest bitches, Grr Sleepsalot wafts his bowl of ale in the air.

“To Grr Barker!!” He shouts as the tavern follows suit, all throwing back a drink of Spamalot’s finest.

Watching the drunken Bites from afar, Squirrelin retreats to his study to record the events he is witnessing.

They are merry-making, and this is acceptable, I know. Yet I cannot purge myself of the fear. I know that Corgin La Fey stirs in the East, and she will pounce at the first opportunity. Its what the Phelyons do, for reasons unknown. They pounce.  

Lo, Grr Barker’s Transition will be a tale to be told for the ages, surely. But there must be a way to focus him on the threat that brews. If left alone, he will focus on nothing other than the games and the festivities. We cannot allow this to transpire. We must focus him on the grander picture. But how? How can we divert his focus on to that which will benefit the Realm? Surely there is a way. Treats. I believe that treats will refocus Grr Barker’s attention. That’s it. I shall consult the archives. The archives always sound like they contain information that the people should know, but don’t. There is simply something about that word, archives, that sounds…informative. Yes, I shall consult the archives.

As he consults the archives, Squirrelin begins his study into what must be done to combat the coming threat. Corgin La Fey is building her forces, and as the Realm is welcoming its new King, they are oblivious to what brews in the East. Let us hope that they will eventually see reason.

Reason. That is what we should see.

The Bath of the Birds

I sit here in silence, observing the fray

They jump and they fly and they chirp and they play

No notion of others, surroundings are clear

They have no concern for the things that are near

A troupe, all together, just having some fun

Enjoying themselves now that rainfall has come

A friendship? A family? Their dynamic unknown

I’m certain of only one thing that they’ve shown

Simplicity flies in this unit of four

No worries, no stress, no rich and no poor

Their life is just that, a puddle to play

A place to post up and put worries away

And as I observe, these birds look around

They hop and they leap and leave marks on the ground

I can tell that they’re happy, such joy do they feel

As they chirp and they play, I can see it’s so real

They love one another, there’s no question of that

I can tell just by watching, it’s a sobering fact

I can’t help but wonder, as I see these birds play

Why humans can’t see things this simple today

This life wasn’t forged for such fury and fear

We were meant to be loved, all my friends, it’s so clear

Today, make a promise, I beg for your words

Reflect this world’s beauty, like this bath of the birds

My Lake Chateau

American-Revolution-Hero-H

Come my friend, its you, I know, that stands outside my Lake Chateau. I took a walk, just hours ago, and now I sit by this window. Please, my friend, I’ve something to show; come join me through the portico. Open the door – its unlocked, you know, and come share this fine, old, red Bordeaux.

There’s something that you need to see, to understand this sad world’s plea. There’s things outside that I foresee, things He’ll, sadly, guarantee. Do you see that burning tree? The wars, the death, black in the sea? The children who were slain by the melancholy and the man who was murdered for saying “I disagree?” Tell me, my friend, if this is what we should put up with without lifting our hands that are free.

I ask that again, you take a look at this place. Look out and observe all the hatred we face. Let your eyes fall upon things outside your safe space and truly grasp all the things that this world should replace. And let me say this, because just in case; its understood that people will always displace what’s right and what’s wrong but that’s no excuse – just disgrace.

A disgrace it is, that we’ve let this become a Hell for the most and a Haven for some. So few can parade, scraping up every crumb, as the patrons they need are left treated like scum. They measure one’s worth based on things, or income, and their vanity echoes like the beat of a drum. Come closer, my friend, you’ll hear irony strum, for history’s song is that the end always comes.

It comes at a time when they’ve all had enough, a time when they realize they’re not all that tough, the people will gather, strip away the handcuff and step forward with honor as they call their God’s bluff.

So let these words warn you, the ones of occult. Do the right thing, or face a revolt.

The Ward & the Bone: 6

The evening following their arrival to Cage Spamalot, The Lady of the Shake and her honorable Bites have settled into their guest quarters, much appreciating the fluffy, soft floor beds Grr Barker and his troupe has made available. As is customary, a Grand Feast is held in honor of the regal guests, with minstrels and jesters providing song and entertainment while the nobility discuss matters of state.

“He is Brave Grr Slobin, Brave Grr Slobin!”

Dancing atop an empty table, a small crew of minstrels begins singing the same song they sung as they approached the Cage earlier in the day.

Slightly under the influence, Grr Barker stands and hoists his silver goblet-bowl to request something else.

“Minstrels!” He barks loudly. “Play a song honoring the Kaynine’s who conquered the Kingdom!”

This request catches the attention of the entire court, as the events that led to the Kaynines’ triumph have been long debated amongst the land. Opting to please their host, the minstrels pick a tune that honors Grr Barker’s father, the current King of the Realm.

“Yes! We shall play the tale of Toother Mansbestfriendragon!”

Taking their positions, the minstrels begin singing the ballad that honors Grr Barker’s father and his campaign to liberate the Realm from the Phelyons oppressive rule.

“They came from nowhere, these Kaynines, and when they saw the harsh Phelyons, they drew their bones, and threw their stones, and now the Realm has grown and grown! With treats they came and fed the land, upon the Phelyons sad last stand, the Bites of Round Bowl, then unknown, gave peace by wielding EXCALIBONE!!”

As the melody booms throughout the Hall, Grr Barker leans back, proudly watching the court revel in the victorious song. Noticing a subtle poke in his side, he turns to see what has approached him as the rest focus on the continuing ballad.

“What’s this?” He asks, looking down at the rat-servant who has poked him.

“Please, my liege, The Lady of the Shake beckons you.” The servant says, bowing her head in respect.

Intrigued, Grr Barker leans over to a still-enamored Grr Pantsalot.

“Grr Pants, keep an eye out on the festivities. I must answer this most cryptic of dispatches. I leave you in charge of the festivities.”

“Of course, my Liege.” Grr Pantsalot barks. “I shall oversee the feast with honor.”

Satsified that he’s placed the Feast in a good boy’s hands, Grr Barker exits the chambers as he follows the rat-servant. Making their way through a winding tunnel of underground catabones, they arrive at a secret chamber previously unknown. Waiting patiently is the Lady of the Shake, whom Grr Barker watched walking through his Cage doors just hours before.

“Greetings, Grr Barker.” The Lady says, her soothing voice echoing through the underground halls. “I have learned much about you over the past several months.”

Not knowing what kind of encounter this will be, Grr Barker responds with a neutral tone.

“Is that so, Lady? Pray tell, how have you come upon such knowledge? Our Kingdoms are united, yet separated. How has my liking been passed along to your lands?”

Casually strutting forward, the magnificently beautiful Lady of the Shake walks down from the elevated stone she is standing on.

“Such knowledge has not been obtained conventionally, my dear Prince. It has come to me in a vision, one which overwhelmed me when I shook off the bathwater the other day after I bathed.”

”Tell me of this vision, m’Lady.” Grr Barker says, kneeling.

“I exited the tub, Prince, whereupon a towel was placed upon me. As I dashed into the nearest blanket and comforter to maniacally shed the moisture that plagued my fur, I saw you. I saw you holding the fabled Excalibone, standing tall amidst a ferocious battle. You were fighting the last of the Phelyons who had so desperately launched an assault on your Kingdom!”

Hearing of the Lady’s vision, Grr Barker gasps.

GASP!

“This…this cannot be so!” He barks, taking a step back. “My father ousted the last of the Phelyons! It is known!”

“No, Grr Barker.” The Lady says. “Evil still remains in the Realm, and it is your destiny to destroy it. You must dispatch yourselves and find the fabled Excalibone! There is no other way.”

Knowing The Lady of the Shake never speaks untruth, Grr Barker pauses a moment, and takes a deep breath.

“Yes. I shall find it, m’Lady!” Turning to the rat-servant who led him, he instructs her to scribe a dispatch. I call upon all the Good Boys and Bites of the Round Bowl! Gather! We have a quest!!”

To be continued…

The Ward & the Bone: 4

Days after the Games, the valiant Prince Grr Barker, first in line for the Bone, parades around the halls of Cage Spamalot, the stone castle which the Bites of the Round Bowl call home.

“I suppose you all witnessed my triumphant victory the other day?” The prince howls, his chest puffed out in pride.

“Aye, you were brilliant in the Joust!” His close friend, Grr Pantsalot, barks as he tries to catch his breath.

“Why are you always panting, friend?” Grr Barker asks his companion, placing a paw on his back.

“I cannot say, my Liege.” Grr Pantsalot pants. “I simply feel as if I’m constantly out of breath.”

“I see,” Grr Barker says, turning to face the other Bites of the Round Bowl. “Come, Good Boys!” He shouts. “We shall dine on the finest of soft foods this evening to celebrate my victory! I have arranged the most well-groomed bitches for you all to consort with in my honor! Behold!” He barks, waving his paw toward the centrally located room in the Tower. Laying within are several beautifully groomed, free-of-fleas female Kaynines, waiting for the Bites of the Round Bowl to join them.

“Awoooooo!!!!!!” Grr GoodGallihad howls, unable to contain his excitement. “Come on, boys! Grr Barker has bestowed upon us the finest bitches in the Realm!”

As the group of brave Bites debaucherously make their way into the Chamber of Doggy-Style, one Bite remains behind, lacking the same level of excitement his peers have displayed. Witnessing the events from the Halls, Grr Barker’s own mentor and personal sorcerer, Squirrelin, sees this particular Bite pausing. Carefully approaching him, he inquires what is on the young Bite’s mind.

“Grr Poopsalot, what troubles you?” The magical rodent asks.

With a grave stare, Grr Poopsalot locks eyes with Squirrelin for a moment, only to let his gaze drift to the floor.

“I have been plagued with nightmares as of late, Squirrelin, and I fear for Grr Barker. For weeks, every night as I rotate several hundred times before finding the perfect spot for me to lay myself to rest, I have had terrifying images occupy my thoughts.”

Recognizing the significance of such events, the magic-wielding advisor tries to learn more.

“You must share these visions with me, Grr Poopsalot. It is the only way for me to use my powers; we must see if there is imbalance brewing in the Realm.” Squirrelin asserts, placing his claws on Poopsalot’s forehead.

As the two close their eyes and hang their heads, deep in concentration, the somewhat cavalier Grr Humpsalot shouts at them to join the others.

“Poops!” He barks. “Come, sit and be a good boy! We are celebrating our Lord’s victory, do not be disrespectful!”

Sighing and briefly locking eyes, Grr Poopsalot apologizes to the sorcerer for his duties.

“I am sorry, Squirrelin, but I must join my pack. We shall revisit this conversation another time.”

Obediently jogging toward the Chamber of Doggy Style, Poops reconvenes with his peers and partakes in all the pleasures Cage Spamalot has to offer. Squirrelin, recognizing the possibilities before him, retreats to his kennel to study what this young Bite’s dreams may truly mean.

Coping Mechanisms

How often do I lift my eyes, shake my head, sigh and realize that its all a pit of lows and occasional highs, an endless board that’s gamed by the wise. The ones who see it, so full of their lies, often sit back and laugh at the pitiful cries. The cries of the pure who don’t don the disguise, fooled by a dusk masked as delusional sunrise. The mask which covers a world we so strongly despise. We believe that the ship won’t inevitably capsize, and pretend not to grasp what our behavior implies; that despite our attempts to understand and surmise, we’re just animals that honestly, Earth should ostracize. No better than the beasts we pretentiously analyze, convincing ourselves that we’re so civilized despite the unparalleled evil we all authorize through the so-called society we’ve created which serves to patronize.

Yes, I suppose it is better to follow the rule, for if we woke up we’d all feel like a fool. Its easy to walk on the straight path to school, to do what they say like the oxen and mule, to keep the wheel turning as the Engine of Civilization uses us as its fuel. We go with the flow to avoid ridicule, distracted from truth by an empty, false jewel.

I question the things I’m told to believe. I refuse to be ignorant, fake, or naïve. I’m guided by reality, not by things we conceive; not money, not fame, not things that deceive. The Tunic of Truth is the clothing I weave; respect forms its fabric and love hems its sleeve. I have no concern for false things we perceive, instead I look forward at the goals I’ll achieve.

Silently sitting, stillness in scope, I gaze at this road with a semblance of hope. So many around see the slippery slope, and join the campaign, hold these reigns made of rope. This rope isn’t normal, it holds divine horoscope; it represents action to those who sit back and cope.

Alone

So many things in life I see, they’re happening all around me. The love, the kids, the joy I see; they sooth my heart and set me free. The warmth I feel when I emcee is cherished oh so fervently, and even when they disagree I only smile, lovingly. Under this Umbrella Tree sits my past and my own memory, and as I watch the fun and glee I can’t help but to think of me. The child that I used to be, when in all the world, importantly, the only thing that mattered was how to climb that big, tall tree.

So quickly do we rush to grow. I need not say it, for you all know. This life that He thought to bestow flies by so fast like that photo taken by the best of show that all the others want to know. They need to know because they lie, as they get mighty and so high, and as the time comes when they die, they suddenly now say goodbye.

Remember me for all my deeds, the feigned actions and false decrees, for all that flows in this here breeze is reputation; legacies. The things I did when I was young, they matter not; they’re all unstrung. That song I sang, I never sung; I hung it on this lying rung. No lies escape misleading tongue, just look upon us, who among? Who among us can be tried? Who knows, who’s now identified? If logic, here, shall be applied then think and please come to decide that all who feign, and all who lied will one day cleanse and purify.

And now I sit here, though unknown, looking down at pad and phone. I think of all the time that’s flown, the love I’ve lost and past I own. I am no King that holds a throne, I am no skeleton or bone, I’m only who I’ve always known, the same thread that my life has sewn, what once was hidden, now is shown. The man I am was forged in stone, my spirit; glass that She had blown, awaiting this new brighter tone, I cherish that I’m all…alone.

The Forge

Silence sits so still inside, supplying souls so simplified, the subjects seem to mystify the saints that I’ve since satisfied.  Now that I have shed my pride I ask if doors now open wide, and though the answer is implied I fear its fake; that they all lied. There’s no direction, there’s no guide that steers this ship, and though I’ve tried to weather storms that won’t subside I’ve got no compass to abide. My sails are tight, yes, they’ve been tied and readied for the Great Divide and as I start this fabled ride there is no other at my side.

I’m at my post, all alone, and though I know that now I’ve grown the doubt still tries to fight, dethrone; yet I persevere and hold my own. The chains that held me I’ve outgrown, that which haunts me, the past I own, I’ve shed – forgotten, now unknown as I reach this stepping stone.

This foot forward is my first, my introduction to this thirst. This step I take, it might be cursed, and if it is then do your worst. I fear no devil, nor decree; no God or unknown deity, the tides are calm on this here sea, Poseidon shares my fraught decree.

I live my life on my own term. I don’t need someone to affirm the fact that I will always do that which causes thoughts anew for when we start to ask them “Why?’ The world will change; ideas can’t die.

Ideas can’t die, they’re just a thought, it sadly seems we’ve all forgot, we’re so caught up in right or wrong that every tune’s the same old song. Pass the blame on someone else, when our conscience says there’s no one else, no one other than our self, rugs are swept and acts are shelved.

Why is it that our world’s so fake? The ones who say they are awake just seem to point out each mistake yet nothing’s done to mend the break. Corrupted chaos is still here, and when we claim its disappeared another talking head we hear; controlled by the same puppeteer. Its this that’s caused this buccaneer to use the weapon of Shakespeare and fight a war that endears the values of the common ear.

What weapon is this, you may ask? Words I fill in this here flask. I carry them with every mask, uncorking them when I am tasked with questions that I can’t explain, when people try to pick my brain, they realize that they’ve tried in vain, for even I can’t hold the reign, even I can’t seem to gain an adequate way to paint my pain. But sure, I’ll try facades and feign, acting like I can abstain from all the things on this world’s train, as I launch this sole campaign.

No other sees these sights I see, no other sits so silently, no other has the patience, see, for this old world is just debris. Its fodder for the filth that’s free and feigns the feelings I foresee, so for the faithful  pray and plea, here’s your rusty lock and key.

Your teachings, here, I disagree. I forge this future for those like me.