Dean Ire Wasn't Here

A Conscious Being of Tedious Existence.

[deanire]

The Journey We All Travel

Down the road in yellow woods many have traveled by They say the it’s a beautiful journey If the scenery is taken in The sun that pours through the trees is bright Smell the lilies on the side Drink the sweet water to revitalize See wonders never expected Just when reaching two roads diverge Stay on the main, keep going to the end

Despite the praise of the many I still travel this road empty The sun blinding Can’t stop the lilies make me ill And the water they worship taste stale But at every divergence I kept on the main

Now weary and tired I no longer care for seeing the wonders At a divergence I look down the road With a wooden post reading “shortcut” It’s dark with no sun And the only flowers are by graystones So I say with a sigh Now at two roads diverge I take the road with less travel time

[deanire]

An Ode to My Giant

Last night I screamed “Do not turn off the light” For I wished you to see Out of the shadow what could be The morning sun didn’t seem too far If you blinked I feared you’d miss it “Do not turn off the light ” I dreamt of springing forwards From my chair and dancing next to you Out of the shadow, off beat, and not in sync On each other’s toes we’d step We would had laughed But tonight I plea “Do not turn on the light” There is nothing more to see No music left to play The sun has long since passed And in your shadow I choose to lay

[deanire]

Schrödinger

I love living in the infinite possibilities of uncertainty In the the bliss of unknowing the closed paths Here in this facade of unrealized potential In a world where reality and time does not factor

And if I where to disrupt this sanctuary It would be with mere question Whose answer I do fear So allow me to not open this box And forever be alive and dead

[deanire]

Photo

Hidden in dust covered photo album

A faded memory of forgotten friend

Disintegrates

Smiles forever lost

Leaving only a fictitious past

Of a false fragment of a dead friend

#photo #dean Ire # poem #poetry #poet

[deanire]

Garage Girls

Waste not and come with us

for garage girls will show us new land

rev the engine as you push buttons and turn knobs

at midnight we’ll be in open road

while we burn rubber under piston fire

moving along the twists and turns

as we continue to head east

to catch a glimpse of dawn of new world revival

[deanire]

Cloud Maker

As souls sleep The city lives In glimmer light Under gray cloud sky Thanks to the cloud maker   It vails the truth The stars have vanished Before our birth No longer the sky celestials Exist   Till dawn’s first light And souls awake The cloud maker puffs Gray clouds blanketing us From a truth we wish not to know

[deanire]

Garage Girls

Waste not and come with us

for garage girls will show us new land

rev the engine as you push buttons and turn knobs

at midnight we’ll be in open road

while we burn rubber under piston fire

moving along the twists and turns

as we continue to head east

to catch a glimpse of dawn of new world revival

[deanire]

Photo

Hidden in dust covered photo album

A faded memory of forgotten friend

Disintegrates

Smiles forever lost

Leaving only a fictitious past

Of a false fragment of a dead friend

#photo #dean Ire # poem #poetry #poet

[deanire]

In the Winter Rain

The winter rain Washes away the summer pain But May isn’t a life away That when our favorite flowers blossoms with decay The winter rain clouds are stagnant As our souls are left with only fragments Father knew best, once And mother was alive, once But now in the fading hour Our true hero only exists in TV towers Let us not forget the generational myths That led way to family rifts Is it not time to perform our art To reveal secret stories of our heart We grew up with ideals of perfection That only caused stubborn misdirection This is due to the silver screens Where mannequins react golden dreams Eyes held open Views heart bled sin Why did we pay For the same everyday Did we forget the pain That drove our therapist insane Shall we falsify our death our life our birth So you could be seen as the worth In the boom of winter rain The king’s murder escapes the frame Out of the painting he laughs With pride in the craft Knowing there will be no more sorrow Till the sunny tomorrow Gleefully the children sing Holding hands in a ring At first light they all fall down Onto pillow cushion underground In the winter rain winds Love shall begin The songbirds sing not But they are not forgot Lover’s hands caress Widow’s tears do bless The babysitter sits daddy But in summer little action toy boys die madly And the doll girls are strip Dresser money is tip The winter rain’s flood Enriches our cemetery mud Rise from Death’s abyss Does dreams we truly miss They had perished in the month of spring Misery was what my heart did ring It is winter whom we adore Spring is too much of a nature whore Oh summer chars our bones And fall to us is not known It is only in the winter rain Love is sane It’s now that the lovers become one They aim for a daughter or a son Once the rain ends And winter has gone away We are left here with only corrupted memories Of a time that seemed so pure like the ice That only exists because of the winter rain

[deanire]

Earthly Flowers

Stainless steel magnolia

Lies on a bed of red velvet rose petals

With aroma of sulfuric acid

But the petals taste of iron

So many petals

They cover the marble potpourri

[deanire]

Dreaming

I am dreaming of golden wonders That of sweet copulations A peaceful world to live in And a jolly life with a gleeful wife Time past me as I sleep I am an adult now With only bronze achievements And childhood memories Stuffed in forgotten boxes Only one thing still remains But now it’s time to wake

[deanire]

The Walk Home

Gravel shifts under child’s shoes The sun kissing the ground Yet the road still seems endless Wet beads of salt drip And child’s legs grows weak But the child has a smile on his face For big brother is there Big bother stands taller than distant mountains Big brother is stronger than any elephant Big brother leads the way Big brother marches home And when child’s legs give way He is carried For big brother is there For big brother was there

[deanire]

New Eden

It is twelve or two They are both the same For life is off in a distance Always off in a distance Near the edge of inaudible But here nothing is occurring or stirring But the sounds of the dead Awake amongst the eternal slumberers I sit aspiring distances Where trumpets and banjos fill the air Lights illuminating night’s cathedrals Women and men communing with life elixirs And green idols given to the priest There in New Eden But the cold gripping me here With wind nipping my neck Amongst only the dead Never to enter New Eden For life is always off in a distance So I sit aspiring Waiting for slumber, waiting for…

[deanire]

Killing a Mockingbird

I can assume that all of you have read To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, and I could bet that most of you, like me, were dissatisfied with it. I'm not saying that I hate the story, but I am saying I was annoyed by how the title was just symbolism. That's right I would have wished that the story was about killing a mockingbird. So, unlike Harper Lee, I shall tell you how I killed a mockingbird in one day and three steps. I have to say I have no malice towards mockingbirds; I'm only doing this because Harper Lee didn't. 

Step 1: Research

I woke up this morning at my earliest, 10:59 am. I remember Sun Tzu had once said, “To know thy enemy one must know oneself,” so I must learn about myself. To do this I stand in front of the mirror of my vanity dresser to study myself, and I must say, I am a tall drink of water. “Oh my,” the man in my mirror said. Why does he sound like George Takei do I have an unconscious attraction to George? Well better him than Shatner. “Do you come here often?”

“Only a couple times a day.”

“How could I miss a sexy being of perfection like you?”

“You think I’m sexy?” I said as I ran my fingers through my thick, perfect brunette hair. I couldn’t stop staring at my looking glass eyes that were a deep hazel. They were the kind that could hypnotize you.

“Like a roofied chick.”

“Sir, you flatter me.”

”Hey, do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Me undressing you with my eyes.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“How about me having my way with you... with my eyes?”

“So much,” I said biting my bottom lip. I couldn’t tell if it was me or if the room just got hotter by like ten degrees. I had to fan myself.

“How about me raping you... with my eyes?”

“No.”

“Really?” the reflection said in disappointment.

“Yeah, because you can’t rape the willing,” I said with a cocky smile.

“Oh my, you’re going to be the death of me.” I think I got a good grasp on the wonderful being whom I call me. So I left my room at l2: 30 pm with step one accomplished and ready to begin step two.

Step 2: Preparation

Hannibal had said, “Those who fail to prepare, prepare to fail.” Since I don’t want to fail, I shall prepare.

Outside my house and into the Oregon city of Eugene, I head towards downtown to gather the materials I will need to achieve the death of a mockingbird. I was walking down the avenue and in front of me was a girl who, to me, looked like an ironic hipster going into a Starbucks. I followed her in not because I’m a stalker but because I needed to go to Starbucks. Why must I go to Starbucks? You ask yourself. Well, I need some caffeinated beverage that will keep me alert and sharp for mockingbirds are such ferocious beasts. The ironic hipster was right before me in the line.

I tapped her on her shoulder and said “People who come here are just fascists. I only come here ironically.”

“You and I are two peas in a pod in an illiterate field of racist farmers,” she said as if she had spoken words of profound value.

“Surely this crestfallen society is one of vile cogs. It sickens me to see how they all think of themselves as special when they are only identical pieces that if broken can easily be replaced by another cog so that the eternal machine we called society can continue to robs us of our freewill so we can be good little cogs and continue to live on. I only affiliate with such disgusting beings because I am ironically ironic,” I said, becoming more disgusted with myself with every word I spoke.

“Jezzy Chrizzy, I have never heard such deep words. They struck my very core like a gong in a church bell.” I’m ashamed listening to her. Good thing she was highly attractive with her auburn hair and tawny eyes. If not I would have stopped talking to her the moment she opened her mouth. But since she is hot, I had to ask her.

“Hey, do you want to ironically have sex in the bathroom?”

“Sure.” I knew she would agree because as long as you add the word ironic to whatever you say, ironic hipsters will agree. I think they don’t actually understand the word ironic, wouldn’t that be ironic?

Anyways we headed to the bathroom for a Starbucks quickie.

After getting what I wanted from the ironic hipster I left the establishment to begin step three.

Step 3: The Hunt

It was 7 pm when I started this step. Since I don’t actually have a gun I must use a water pistol that I had bought at a 99-cent store four years ago. I filled it up and waited because as Dutch said, “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” I waited two hours in my backyard, hoping to see a mockingbird. It probably would have helped if I actually knew what a mockingbird looked like.

“Scout what are you doing?” my big brother Jeremy asked as he stood in the doorway.

“Trying to kill a mockingbird.”

“This is Oregon, there are no mockingbirds here.” Dammit. I give up, and you know what? Fuck you Harper Lee. Fuck you.

[deanire]

To Whom This May Concern,

I will be posting short stories and poems that I have written over the years and that I am working on now. I will try to post at least one of my pieces at least once a week. Tomorrow I will post the first short story titled Killing a Mockingbird. 

Best,

Dean Ire