POEMS FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
download a digital copy free / purchase from our etsy store
or read and listen to the poems below
download a digital copy free / purchase from our etsy store
or read and listen to the poems below
Table of Contents
Introduction
I was hoping that the title to this booklet would formally be Wine and Poetry Night Year Two following the title of my first poetry compilation, but that wonderful event no longer happens around here. In another dimension though, it definitely is called Wine and Poetry Night Year Two. That dimension is a better place, the world is much farther away from an untimely demise, cats do not scratch or bite, there are no mosquitoes, and I am drinking more wine by candlelight. 2015 and the beginning of 2017 met me with traumatic experiences so I am unapologetically going to say that this collection is considerably darker than the last, but maybe some readers will enjoy that. It is a cathartic release, just like reading Zen in the Art of Writing while dancing or camping alone in the woods talking to the fire or cutting off all your hair and burying it in the forest or driving for hundreds of miles listening to 90s music are. Sometimes you need to do special things in order to start trusting and feeling again, sometimes they are really strange things, but something, eventually, works; you just need to keep moving, even if you can't feel a thing, even if there is no meaningful direction, even if it seems like the world has ended. Please note that (almost) none of the titles to these poems matter outside of identification purposes. Really, believe me, if you were trying to gain some unique insight into a poem through the title, you won't. In fact, it's probably better that you completely ignore them along with the order in which they appear. You've been warned. I want to give special thanks to Kendra C. for inspiring me to start writing poetry again through our poem-to-poem robot exchanges and for hosting poetry events that are (almost) as cool as Wine and Poetry Night was. It is the sole reason why this compilation of poems has come together. Kendra, you're an extraordinary human being! |
Consumption
Today I had a bad day so diligently ate each morsel of food on Earth. But this made me feel no better, so I could not help but drink all of the ocean's water, burn every tree down to black charcoal, breathe in every last bit of air remaining, and consume planet after planet, along with the stars, galaxies, and gods. Upon finishing my meal of the universe, I collapse into indigestion, and feel terrible. Good Morning Reading the signs of the morning magic rooster, a cockle-doodle-do. The door slams and all the music is replaced by ocean waves and deep sighs In and out. In and out. In and out. They say there is a whale living in these waters that the land dwellers point exclamations at. Over the bridge, as the whale passes under the bridge. I am here, I am walking up the hill, I am gone. Friends I need to remind myself that there are friends, there are FRIENDS, there are "friends," there are friends... there are frieeeeeends! there are frrrriiiiends, there are mmmm friends, there are ummmm friends, there are friends, and then there are stupid piece of shit lousy fucked up friends. Road I questioned the existence of the road thoroughly. Rocks, pebbles, pot holes, ditches, tires, imprints, perhaps a deer. The road moves in curves and mysterious lines. I am moving the same way the road moves and perhaps I am the road. Lies You can either lie yourself into joy or you can lie yourself into suffering. The choice is yours. In Watermelon Sugar The regrettable sigh I release is deeper than all of the farmer's dry wells. You see, I'd rather not talk about the moon today because those tiger eyes light up like fireflies, like blood is life and you're not here to teach me arithmetic but tear this fragile adulthood to mincemeat pieces. It is morning, I am ready. The Problem Love is:
Capitalism is:
Memory There was a memory from yesterday moving so fast in the darkness behind us being swallowed and no trace that the light ever existed. Trust. There was trust. Movement Perhaps consider that life began as small repetitive motions, a dance in the primordial seas. And wishing to dance a greater dance, life grew and learned to move in union, into bacteria, fish, rabbits, wolves, elephants. Into us. But the dance did not stop there, we howled together at the moon, sang songs around the fire, and celebrated the givings of Earth. And before we knew it were a new form of life. We grew into greater beings as the trees intermingle into forests, the birds fly in flocks, the morning mist collects into clouds, the planets revolve into solar systems, and the galaxies swirl into the growing universe, we dance into our organism that is community. And it is our duty to keep life's momentum growing: To move so the great beast may move. To dance so the great beast may dance, To love so the great beast may love. Civilization's Forests Most of civilization is contained within sprawling monuments to humanity, but those people will never know the ghosts of great trees they step through. Bookstores When you walk out of the bookstore, you wonder if you left part of yourself behind, trapped between the pages and spaces of words, punctuation, dreams. Hope I find little pieces of hope hidden under rocks and in between cracks as the universe screams at me. Thought Maybe that is it, you are the mysterious god and I am the periodic occurrence. There Are A Lot Of Things I Wish I Were Doing There are a lot of things I wish I were doing, like howling at the full moon, or falling in love with you. But I have to take my medicine. It is necessary and bitter alone with Father Time at the forest's first sprout of life. Better Start Digging Those unsaid words buried deep below If we can only dig through these layers of malice, ego, and regret, maybe then the ores will be refined: The gold will gleam, the silver will shine, the rubies will ring until “I'm sorry” stands “I love you” leaps and “thank you” transcends what has passed. We had better start digging. A Gang of Silence What if the sound from all you loved went silent? How can a silence become deeper than quiet? Only if the mouths of many SHUT with a Violence. The Gang has spoken, an orchestrated pause to the music of life, the heart beat will fade at a rate unknown to science. Won't the sound please come back with a loving vengeance? Wrinkles She said, "wrinkles are formed so the blood doesn't drip into your eyes." Bone's Word There is a word hidden in my bones. I must snap each two hundred and six apart to spell it out. The first is excruciating. The second uncomfortable. The third tickles. The thirteenth feels like biting into toast. The twenty-seventh has the crunch of cereal. The fifty-first is a memory of heartbreak on a cold day. The seventy-eighth might be a clue. The ninety-ninth dreamed of sunflowers. The one-hundred and thirty-sixth resembles a powerful queen. The one-hundred and eighty-ninth is where I stored my childhood. The two-hundredth feels like a really great accomplishment. The two-hundredth and third is hard to remember. On two-hundred and six my body is a crunchy jelly as I read the word: ______ (Love). I Want You I want connection The sort of connection that weaves bridges between mind body soul spirit. I want to know you intimately underneath the veils of scars of chores of adult bullshit and share a drink from the chalice of who you really are. I want to fall asleep and meet you in our dream, to speak in tangible tones of music and share a moment with your best friend, the ghost of a meteorite who met the meaning of life at strides with stars. I want you to continue loving everyone and everything around you as much as you love the steam rising from a cup of tea, the first sprouts of Spring, the cracks in paved cement that prove change comes at variable speed. And when someone pulls the trigger, the guillotine falls, the siren blares, the silence ensues, When the end is coming soon, I want for us to smile. Rock Bottom The goal is not to hit rock bottom gracefully so that you can crawl back out again to your old self; the goal is to hit rock bottom so hard you explode through to the other side in fiery glory, to your new life. Split To _______ I have a question... Do you exist? Because I feel that at any moment you might disappear, leaving no trace that you were ever here at all. It's as if you are a shadow, midnight burned to daylight's jagged surface. Holding you I hold a ghost, like someone stole you away, young, innocent. I love what I think exists in those moments between waking up to see you peacefully asleep, in that five string harmony of an orgasm, in the small details concerned only with the biggest brightest smile. But then I wonder why, your moon is but a shadow of the sun in its past and the whistle from your bellows holds no church. Did you find enlightenment? A vessel for gods above? The beginning of the end? The end of the beginning? I don't think so. You are merely a glass jar, and the only way I can fill you up is by emptying myself out. I hope that by my leaving, our bodies separating our minds untangling, that you find an inspiration in the energy of an atom splitting or an egg cracking something wholesome powerful substantial beneath the layers of strands we wove together An explosion of existence. The likelihood of us being rejoined is improbable to say the least, but I believe in your capacity to create a whole new universe. Goodbye, Signed _____ Robot I've been mingling with robots my whole life Whispering into their ears They into mine A giant mechanical beast rolls by Who are you? I whisper. You. Hands Put your hands side by side they are entirely different, touched different things had different experiences loved differently, but they compliment each other. Together they are your hands. Cyclic Thoughts Like the explosion of flowers in spring, or cozy discovery of blankets in winter, or the faithful leap into the cool water of summer, or bountiful harvest of fall. These are some of the things to think about while dying and being reborn. Staring Into The Eyes of Robots I leave it on so I can burn a small hole in my mind. The iridescent glow follows me, a needle stuck into my eye, dripping light and color out, painting the imagination and past into blurry vignettes on brick walls, rain drops, and passing strangers. Dream Leaf In the morning I find a leaf in my bed. It must have slipped out of my dreams as I walked through the forest of stout turquoise trees and green goldfish. I Did Not Start A War This Year I did not start a war this year. I did not attempt to save my old crumbling home, tear apart that illogical hypocrisy or make a single poster to raise eyebrows. I did not start a war this year. I did not save the country from tyrants, tell that woman what a piece of shit she is, or say that I love you dearly. I did not cry foul to bad science, bad spirituality, or bad food. I did not start a war this year. I did not throw the cat off my lap, drown the rat, or catch a single shimmering fish. I did not tell the people what I think of them, tell myself what I think of me, or expose the truth about you. I did not start a war this year. Not a drop of blood, broken bone, argument, or arson. I kept silent, I stayed alone, and I maintained peace. I did not start a war this year, and I will always regret it. Living Hope Everything appears dead but there are signs of life returning. I like that time. Trick of the Eyes You just do until you feel awake, forget you are sleeping. You aren’t actually awake, yet, all distractions point you away from that subtle truth. I Remember The Golden Empire Well I remember the Golden Empire well, In the catacombs locked doors of rusty robots and such obscure treasures coldly inlaid with gears and fine threads. Up the stairs The main hall connected kitchen and cozy couch to lazily fill the belly with a laugh through the vortexes of late night. Up the stairs The first living quarters was inhabited by a whale watching sleepy demigods experiment with strange powders and sexual desires. Up the stairs The second floor of beds championed the eyes of a unicorn leading straight into the helm of the ocean which listened to the most secret of stories. Up the stairs The attic spoke of ghosts but the tower's peak pervaded a musty darkness well met with glowing fireflies bedazzling quiet eyes. Up the stairs The rooftop precariously overlooked the whole city into sunset and lighting of bedrooms come night, let us sing to our roots. I remember the Golden Empire well, Down the stairs The bloodstained wars with rats. She slipped in the poison for health. Down the stairs The woman hung herself here, with a rope, with a sadness. Down the stairs The angry messengers so kind until the suits of Mars visit to light the fuse. Down the stairs The Kitchen Witch rearranging jars and scrubbing with a glare, singing her despair. Down the stairs The lying lazy man vying for power in a thick darkness cackling into the crumbling cracks. I remember the Golden Empire well, and I remember its demise. Dehumanized Business dehumanized me. In the crinkled folds of another business report. In the emotional void of another sale. In the... No, heartbreak dehumanized me. In the losing streak of vulnerability. In the un-tuned love chords playing rubbish. No, capitalism dehumanized me. In the hours spent accomplishing nothing. In the vampiric exchange of blood for money No, fear, fear dehumanized me. In the tingling darkness scattered with knives. In the thought of action thoroughly destroying action. No, I know what did it, it was the rats who dehumanized me. Gardens of the Old Prune the roses. Water the petunias. Rake the leaves. The old pay me a million dollars an hour to hide death from them. Just as they hide their mirrors and wrinkles they instruct me, not a wilted lilac, brown patch of grass, nor frayed branch. I use my hands and machines to round up the bodies, cut off the heads, rip apart the limbs, and drag them all away to burn, to tuck in the corners, to clean any stains, but death always comes back. And isn't it funny? The other day I saw flowers and trees and life sprouting from last year's decay. I smirk as the old pay me a million dollars an hourto hide death from them. |
| 2017-4-25_today_i_had_a_bad_day_-_meal_of_the_universe.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_good_morning_-_reading_the_signs_of_the_morning_magic_rooster.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_friends.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_road_i_questioned_the_existence_of_the_road_thoroughly.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_in_watermelon_sugar_-_the_regrettable_sigh_i_release_is.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_the_problem_-_love_is.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_memory_-_there_was_a_memory_from_yesterday.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_movement_-_perhaps_consider_that_life.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_bookstores_-_when_you_walk.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_better_start_digging_-_those_unsaid_words_buried_deep_below.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_bones_word_-_there_is_a_word.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_i_want_you_-_i_want_connection.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_rock_bottom_-_the_goal.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_hands_-_put_your_hands_side_by_side.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_staring_into_the_eyes_of_robots_-_i_leave_it_on.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_i_did_not_start_a_war_this_year.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_i_remember_the_golden_empire_well.mp3 |
| 2017-4-25_gardens_of_old_-_prune_the_roses.mp3 |
