Sleepster

If you were to ask “What’s he good at now, Matt?”

I would tell you that there is one thing

If you were to ask “Does it make him look fat?”

I would say “Really? Just look at the thing.”

For of all of the things we can do in this world

He basically cares about one

Which is to lie down in a ball as he’s curled

While scoffing when I ask to run

He truly cares not, nothing matters to him

Except for a treat and a nap

If I ask if he’d like to go lift in the gym

He’d say “no, I’ll just sleep on your lap”

“I sleep over here, I sleep over there”

“Must I be forced to pick only one?

“I think that instead, since I’m a dog that is fair”

“I’ll sleep on them all, but you can go run”

We’re All Just Bros

Broseph Stalin, communist, said capitalism, no more

Hipbropatamus in water and he’s swimming to the shore

Winter clouds above and the bro began to pour

She said to put this down so I’ll just bro it on the floor

Shopping all in silence I must tipbro through the store

I’ll bro through basic training when I join the marine corps

A garden bro will tend my crops, my harvest you’ll adore

Scarlet Brohannson takes a bow, and the crowd shouts out “encore!”

I locked the house so to bro in, here’s keys to the back door

Flamingbros at the zoo are cute, you know we all adore

But buffabros and the rhinbros are ugly, an eyesore

I do not bro if I will have the answer you look for

So do not ask this bro again – your question, it’s a bore

Fury

Petty? I shan’t think it’s so!

I have this Monet, and Van Gogh

Clearly, I appreciate

The things the low class tends to hate!

An eye for that which is so grand!

Smaller brains won’t understand

Yes, this is what I say to thee

A peasant is but lesser me

That means that I am better, yes?

Oh come on now, I must digress

Let me say something, highbrow

I am not fucking joking, now

A good person exists in me

The spirit of my mother, see

She can see right through your shit

And make you walk on top of it

So save your graces, save your prayers

Cause I know, you know, no one cares

This isn’t the beginning, friend

It’s just a taste of what’s at end

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”

Lighten TF Up

I’m on a lifelong mission, I’d be remiss not to admit

But every now and then I say enough of all this shit

Why don’t I let my fixed hair down and pour myself a drink?

You know what? Let me take that back. I’ll pour several, I think

 

Tonight I shall forget the world and everything within

Call a timeout on my quest: tonight let’s live in sin

I mean come on, is that so wrong? I don’t claim to be St. Paul

Sometimes a guy just has to stretch his manhood, after all

 

And on that point, can I please ask just how the saints do it?

No pun intended but life must be so hard; the celibate

Anyway I should digress, the details you don’t need

Point is, to stay sane we must sometimes feed our greed

 

The thing that matters most is to do it with respect

Be honest with intention for your actions cause effect

Never lie and lead folks on to satisfy desire

Cause if you do, and you believe…eternity is filled with fire

 

But more than that, its just not right

For they have feelings too

And son of a bitch I just realized

That this poem is preachy too

 

Where were you guys on that one, huh?

The Answer: 2

Thought.

It is such a curious concept. It exists behind everything. Every single action, every single behavior, every single thing we do is motivated by thought, whether conscious or not. Breathing, for example. Do you think every time you take a breath? I think not. And yet you do it.

I am having difficulty compartmentalizing the minutia of human behavior. What things do I file as instinctual behavior, and what things do I classify as conscious behavior? It is a task my superiors have asked of me, and quite frankly, I do not yet know where to draw the line. What things were under these humans’ control? What things were manifested simply because of the circumstances at a given time? What could be helped, and what couldn’t?

The more answers I seek, the more questions I seem to face. This shall be a most difficult undertaking, if I am to speak openly. There are so many pressures I feel falling upon me to fully create an analysis of such behavior. This question of why may be my undoing.

I’ve yet to determine an answer.

The Answer: 1

I fear I’ll never know why they did the things that they did. Yet, counter-intuitively, this is the very question that lies at the bottom of every single shred of truth I find in my quest to understand these things called humans.

Why?

Why did they do what they did? This rudimentary, fundamental question has haunted me since the first day I began studying these creatures. From the very first memory I transposed…that hazy, clouded image of a mother taking the bottle away from its child’s insatiable lips, I’ve always wondered – why? Why did she do that?

It is this that sparked my quest into the deepest levels of their consciousness. A quest motivated by nothing other than lingering curiosity. I have decided that I must understand the workings behind the human psyche. I must understand the reason behind their actions. Why did the mother protect her children from the dangers of the world? Why did the General fight to the death to protect his men? Why did the shaman perform such dances to predict a year’s harvest? What forces were behind these behaviors? What motivations caused them to transpire?

It is this question that I have to answer.

I must understand…why.

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

Letter to My Lost: 1

My love. My all. Such memories do we share. Memories such as the times we’d awaken to the sun’s shimmering rays darting through the window, on those soft linen sheets as you’d rollover, greeting me with the morning’s first kiss. Memories of your fingers gently gliding, cusping the back of my neck, holding me as if you’d never let go.

I so long for these moments. I cannot help but wonder where you are and what dangers lie ahead. Each day, without exception, I sit gazing out this window at the calm beach and its soothing waves; the soft sound of the salted water drifting to the shore. I think of us, my love, walking along that cool, flawlessly smooth sand with our hands clasped tightly together, enjoying the warm breeze as it passes through us without a care in the world.

The days are proving harder, my love. Each day without you further shatters my soul, as my thoughts are imprisoned by the uncertainty of your welfare. I miss you every waking second of the day, and am greeted by your embrace only in my most deepest of dreams.

Tell me you will be returning soon. I cannot bear the thought of going through this every day. I miss you, my Braden. I hope my letter finds you well.

Please come home to me.

With everlasting love,

Your Lilliana

The Ward & the Bone: 13

“Bites of the Round Bowl!! Please, lend me your ears.”

Standing valiantly on the balcony of Cage Spamalot’s Keep, Grr Barker tells the entire Realm of the quest he will embark on, with no puns intended.

“Realm!” He shouts, “I shall commission my bravest, most chivalrous Bites to accompany me on this epic quest! We will weather the challenges that lie ahead. No obstacle shall stand in our way as we courageously mush our way to the artifact of old; the fabled Excalibone!!”

“HUZZAH!!!!” The Kingdom roars before him. “LONG LIVE GRR BARKER!!!”

“Calm yourselves, constituents,” Barker howls as he raises a paw. “Yes, this quest shall bring much glory to our Kingdom, but we mustn’t forget the severity of the threat which lies to the East! My advisors have informed me that there still remains a Phelyon, by the name of Corgin La Fey, who wishes to reclaim our freed lands!!”

“NAY!!!” The crowd shouts, fully in support of their leader. “You must vanquish her!!”

“Yes!” Barker asserts. “And vanquish we shall!! But first, I must unearth the fabled weapon of old!! For without Excalibone, I might as well be riding into a sea of Jellyfish!”

“But wait, my Liege!” A random peasant shouts from the crowd. “What do jellyfish have to do with this narrative? Alas, they don’t even remotely relate to the topic at hand!”

“Aye,” Grr Barker barks, “your words are true. Jellyfish are not, in fact, related to this quest at all. But alas! We shall recover Excalibone and send Corgin La Fey back into chasm from whence she came!!!!” He howls, awoo’ing at the rising Moon.

“AWOOO!!!!!!” The crowd repeats, even though many of them are not Kaynine. “Tomorrow,” Grr Barker shouts, “our quest shall begin!!”

The Perfect Evening

It’s a fabulous night for a moon dance

That’s what the stars shall say

Twirl to my arms, they’re before you

Awaiting to sweep you away

Spinning in circles, directions unknown

Its just you and just me on this floor

Forget all the things on your conscience

As tonight we both dance on the shore

The waves gliding over our bare toes

The sand finds its place on our feet

Its fate that has brought us together

It was written that you and I meet

Tell me this night is unending

That never will it cease to be

Holding you here, in this moment

It makes me feel so fond and free

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: 12

“Grr Barker, you’re up early.”

Trotting aimlessly through the hedge maze outside of Cage Spamalot, Master Squirrelin spots the new King on a morning stroll.

“Aye, Master. I found it difficult to slumber this morning. I am used to my princely duties, but now that I have inherited the Bone, I find that the responsibilities weight heavy on my conscience.”

“This is understandable, my Liege.” Squirrelin says as he pats Grr Barker on the back. “Your newfound tasks must cast an unimaginable burden.”

“They do, old friend. They do.” Barker sighs.

“My King, there is something I must share with you. I have spent much time digging through the archives. There is something I believe that must be addressed.”

Intrigued, the young King raises an eyebrow.

“Go on,” he barks.

“Barker, I have known you since you were just a pup. You know that I have always had your best interests at heart. May I speak freely?” Squirrelin asks.

“Of course,” Barker nods.

Stopping their pace, Squirrelin places a hand at the King’s chest. Looking up in surprise at the gesture, Barker turns to the mage to give him his full attention.

“There is much peril brewing in the East.” The old Squirrel says.

“Peril?” Barker asks, caught off guard dog.

“Yes, my liege. Peril. Much of it.”

Squinting his eyes and slowly casting his gaze toward the rolling hills to the East, Grr Barker suddenly wafts his hair back.

“These lands are as secure as ever!” He barks with confidence.

“My liege! You must listen.” Squirrelin pleads. “There is one who remains. One who was not felled during the War of the Realm. She is a Phelyon known as Corgin La Fey. She is mustering a massive army to reclaim what was once theirs!”

Recognizing the sincerity in Master Squirrelin’s plea, Grr Barker’s arrogant smirk fades into a look of concern.

“Are you certain of this, Master?” He asks.

“I am.”

“Hmm.” Barker hums, stroking his beard. “I shall consult my Bites about this. We must purge the Realm of any evil if it does, in fact, remain.”

“It remains, my liege. It assuredly remains. There is more…”

“Oh?” The King Barks.

“Yes.” Squirrelin asserts. “The prophecies have foretold there is but one way to defeat this scourge. You must recover Excalibone! The sword your father wielded during the War of the Realm. It is the only way that this Corgin will be defeated.”

“A quest, you say?” Barker barks.

“A quest!” Master Squirrelin repeats.

“Then it is so!” Barker shouts, head held high. “Myself and my Bites will take on this quest with honor and return balance to the Realm!”

“Excellent!” The magic-wielding rodent exclaims. “Excalibone!”

“It shall be mine!”

 

What Are You Waiting For?

All the things out there you see, they’re shining, glistening, calling thee. Why wait? Its there, right in front of you, all that needs to happen is for you to stand and do. Do, don’t wait, don’t put it off, you get one life and time, it costs. Please don’t let yours go to waste, dream your dream with utmost haste, chase it till your legs are through, and when they’re gone your arms will do. Make it there, no matter what, don’t give in and don’t say “but”, this life is yours and only yours, I tell you as I’m on all fours. I beg that people understand that life is not some fairy land, its filled with things we need to do and if undone, then it’s on you.

So simple things can really be when eyes are open and you see, take a glance over the sea and wake up to reality. All the things you dreamt you’d be don’t have to fade into the breeze, you can make these dreams come true if only you believed in you. That’s all it takes, I speak the truth, so much is wasted in our youth, if only we could comprehend that time is not a thing to lend, it never stops taking its toll and always ends up with our soul.

I ask you, what is it that you’re waiting for? Someone else to open the door? Listen, friend, please listen close. Absorb these words before your ghost. Your time here is not infinite. We don’t know what happens when we quit. Some say God and some say not, but either way we’ve got one shot. One chance to do the things we dream, one chance to love both you and me. Take this chance and never stop. Take it to the mountaintop. Take it to the ends of Earth, and give a reason to your birth.

Throughout your life, find every door. Fill your heart, then fill it more. And when you find something to love, ask yourself: what is it that I’m waiting for?

The Ward & the Bone: 11

“Barker? He is King now?”

Far to the East, Corgin Le Fey and her minions discuss the new events that have transpired throughout the Realm.

“Yes, madam,” a rat-servant screetches, “there has been much change occurring throughout the lands. Grr Barker has ascended to the Bone, and now rules with his Bites of the Round Bowl. Your carefully laid plans to put Toother to rest worked without err, and everything has gone according to your foretelling.”

“Excellent,” the Phelyon sorceress says. “Toother’s campaign almost destroyed my entire family tree. I will take pleasure in clawing the limbs and branches from his own.” She adds, combing her claw over a scroll detailing the Toother Mansbestfrienddragon’s lineage. “He should have known better. You NEVER abandon a Phelyon in a tree! They will always find a way to survive.”

“It is known, my Queen!” the rat-servant says, rolling up the Bestfrienddragon lineage scroll. “Forever Phelyons!”

“Forever Phelyons!” Corgin repeats, leaning out of the stone window so her voice can echo across the land.

“Rat-servant!” She shouts, retreating from the window. “Send a dispatch to Barko Polo. He shall send emissaries to assist me in my conquest!”

“Of course! Barko Polo is an excellent ally to call upon. You are wise to summon him.” The servant obediently replies.

“Yes.” Corgin purrs. “The Realm shall soon be mine. MINE!” She adds, pointing her Phelyon butt up to the ceiling, exposing her backside.

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 Ward & the Bone: 8

The morning after Grr Barker’s cryptic meeting with The Lady of the Shake, he rises early to greet the new sun. Trotting over to the stone window overlooking his Kingdom, he squints his eyes as the light meets his emerald, green eyes. His thoughts bark the question of whether he is worthy of such a quest, and he internally wonders if he is suited for the job. Before his mind has a chance to answer, he is interrupted by the gravest of news.

“Grr Barker!” A rat-servant hysterically shouts after climbing the many stairs to his Cage. “You must come! Your father has taken ill!”

“My…my father?” Grr Barker asks, immediately concerned.

“Yes! Please, follow!”

Scurrying off into the spiral staircase of the chamber tower, Grr Barker trails the rat-servant across the Castle Cage’s halls until they finally reach his father’s Kingly chambers.

“Father!” Barker howls as he sheds a tear from his glistening green eye, “please tell me you will persevere!”

Weakly lifting his head, Toother Mansbestfrienddragon takes his paw and wraps its around his son’s shaggy neck.

“My beloved Barker…cough cough…y…you must see that our Kingdom r…cough…remains. You must recover that which I have lost. My…my son…you must recover Excalibone!” The King manages to say, before his spirit sadly fades beyond the Veil.

“FATHER!! NO! AWOOOOOOOO!!!!” Grr Barker howls in pain. “How did this happen?!” He asks the surrounding servants and dogtors, suddenly displaying an expression of fury and hatred.

“My liege,” the King’s primary dogtor says, “we believe he was poisoned. His death was far too sudden for this to be a conventional illness.”

“Who is responsible?!” Grr Barker shouts, wanting answers.

“We believe it was the work of Corgin La Fey, my liege!” A tiny rat-servant who has been watching from afar squeals in a high-pitched voice. “There have been rumors that she lives on, and has sworn revenge against the Bone!”

Hearing this, Grr Barker slowly raises his head, looking up at the coat of arms mounted above his father’s chamber.

“She will be ended for this.” He snarls with a deep, sinister growl. “That wicked Phelyon will know my wrath. SERVANTS!” He barks. “Prepare my armor! Tomorrow, we ride!!”

Watching, as always, from the shadows, Squirrelin overhears the new developments. Knowing that the prophecies have now been put into motion, he retreats to his study to research what must be done.

To be continued…