The Once Never Poet

Basically bad poetry: one per day (unconnected and random, sometimes intentionally bad for funsies) --Rebecca McLaughlin (@McRebecky)

[onceneverpoet]

“Oneself, an essay:”

“It wasn’t something that I did.

It was something that happened to me.”

You can see from the author’s use of passive language

that the author is distancing themselves from

any responsibility or impact—and, in general, pain—

of the event.

In fact, through the use of self-review concealed

inside a third and second person narration,

you can sense the author’s attempts to distance themselves even further.

In fact, the entire construct of introspection

had the intonations of an essayed biography,

as if to protect, to detain, to isolate

oneself from oneself.

So distanced in fact, that the planet on which they stood

appeared to be a star, cold and small in the night sky,

and you’re peering through the tilting mirrors

of a telescope at a pinprick of fire

to prove to yourself that if you can’t feel

the earth underfoot,

there’s no reason you should feel

the flames.

[onceneverpoet]

An Argument Against Nihilism

The world needs nothing, least of all us.

We’re not here by request

it’s no contest,

our conquest isn’t blessed.

We’re just creatures self-obsessed.

we paint ourselves in a frame,

give ourselves over to fame,

and say we’re playing a game

that what we do is in the name

of being good or god or great, or wait—

if we look at our lives and say it’s fate

what does that solve?

It doesn’t absolve us

let alone evolve us.

If the world doesn’t involve us,

doesn’t revolve around us...

we can’t blame chance on justice.

Let’s discuss this.

On good days,

the world may feed us

on bad days, it’ll mislead us and bleed us,

but it sure as hell doesn’t need us.

See, I don’t want to be a nihilist

with the vilest perspective

that the world is defective

and the human experience

is nothing but imperious, a delirious rampage

like an animal uncaged, afraid, enraged,

letting that wild untamed rage

take center-stage.

I want to be fierce in the face

of this frenetic chase

as we each race to find our place

in a world that can’t be bothered

to pretend that it’s an honor

to house a few billion souls.

We’re not in control, but we can determine our role,

and even though there’s nothing waiting, creating, or innovating

to make us whole,

we’re still here,

fighting to put aside fear

to find what’s dear and hold it near,

to take hold of our lives and steer.

The world may seem unfair

but don’t you dare

use it as an excuse to lose your sense

of self-awareness, because here’s the truth:

no matter what,

you should still care.

[onceneverpoet]

You Called Me Crying

You called once.

I didn’t answer.

You called again.

I love you, but I didn’t answer.

You called again.

I want to say I would do anything

to ease your pain, to be selflessly supportive

(whatever that means), but

I didn’t answer.

You called again.

Years have passed this way.

Sometimes I answer,

when I can.

And when I can’t,

I don’t answer.

[onceneverpoet]

Your Shadow Said

Don’t leave without me.

I’m scared of the dark,

because the dark is where

I disappear.

[onceneverpoet]

If you forgot

Just in case, let me remind you

of the breeze rippling through the cattails

and the small black ant crawling on your leg

and the empty sky so blue blue blue

and the world waiting for us

with a primrose promise

that we could be better

even better

than this.

[onceneverpoet]

Chains and Coins

The cruel cannot distinguish

between the sound of iron chains

and the sound of silver coins.

[onceneverpoet]

It Doesn’t Go Without Saying

I'd like for it to go without saying,

but it doesn't.

So I’ll say it.

"I accept you for who you are

where you come from and where you're going

who you love, how you love

the choices you make and the things you can't choose

the things that broke you and the things that make you stronger

I love you for everything that makes you, breaks you,

shakes you, and shapes you.

I love you for your journey and your self.

Identity is complicated.

It evolves through our lifetime.

It evolves through our culture.

It evolves through our history.

Whoever you are,

I accept you.”

[onceneverpoet]

The Success of Sociopaths

Fortune favors the cold,

the ones who seek

the chill of coin

over everything else.

[onceneverpoet]

Have Hope Here

Here, in the smallest pocket of your heart,

where you keep the dust of stones you kicked

down empty roads until they became yours somehow,

and you carried them the rest of the way home. 

Here, in the darkest fathoms of an ocean’s trench

where life means something else

to those of us we call monsters—

we who cannot fathom light—

we who barely fathom life.

Hear where your heart screams

hope, hope, hope

—summoning it from the dark trench

of a small pocket—

as if a gentle thing should be born

from such desperation.

[onceneverpoet]

Other People’s Kids

Your mother told me

she was fine if you grew up to be a sociopath,

because at least sociopaths are succesful.

[onceneverpoet]

Gone

By the time I realized

you were chipping away at my heart,

there was a cavern

where my body used to be.

By the time I realized you were gone,

I was gone, too.

[onceneverpoet]

Timely

I will grieve on a schedule

when you build a world

of copper and clockwork

where even the metallic musical bells

of midnight chime hollow,

and the clouds dissolve

from black to gray

in morning dissidence,

and love is a forgotten deficiency

of skin and muscle and heart,

whirring with mechanical precision

but without purpose.

[onceneverpoet]

The Silver Spaghetti of Pain

My pain is not profound,

and it is not poetry.

My pain is without taste,

without poignance. I will not coil it

around silver tines

for your consumption,

nor season it with metaphor

to make it “mean something more.”

My pain is not me,

but my pain

is mine.

[onceneverpoet]

Reality Bites

It wasn’t so much

that the truth hurt

so much that it was a fear

that reality had settled around me

like stones taking shape,

and everything I dreamed

of height and heat

was gone.

[onceneverpoet]

The Lie of Loving You

The way your matchstick lips

flickered with a brilliant smile

in an uncertain heat,

was the best lie

you ever told me.

[onceneverpoet]

Fear of Falling

A thousand years have passed,

and still among the mysteries unsolved

is how exactly to fall

without fear.

[onceneverpoet]

Place Person Sound

Home—Place—here—

blue trim, crooked garden

roses buried under the barn—

—or Person—you—

red-framed glasses, graphite hair—

—or Sound—music—

sharp flute, leather boots on a hollow crate

breaths of song and laughter—

—or All—Everything—

graphite roses framing a garden in red,

a song of hollow, crooked boots,

sharp laughter like glass,

and you, you, you—

—this, I think, is home