Poetry @poetryontheouse - Tumblr Blog

when tik tok fails, people will come tumbling back to tumblr, and we will say where were you when the feed was empty and lions wept? where were you when the commerials came, and nobody spoke up? and we will say, you shall not enter.

i am no longer ambitious

for money, power or fame,

just a quiet place

to read a book about others

hungry for power,

money, and fame

lying, stealing, and mudering

their way to the top,

only to discover

the only people there

are other liars, murderers,

and thieves.

if i could go back

to touch her naked shoulders,

and feel her fingers upon my skin,

i would,

and take with me a rose

from the future,

telling her everything will work out,

even if it doesn't with us.

If you're lucking in this life

your born into a family

where somebody has a sense of humor,

who shows you that you that life

isn't all pain and suffering

because sometimes shit is just hilarious

if you think about it,

and sometimes its better to laugh

than to cry.

People spend so much time

working for the future,

the present is lost in a haze

of bills and banality,

and by the time

the future arrives,

it's too late to save

the past,

and whatever is left

of the present

is wasted in regrets.

#poem #poetry #spilled ink

I went into the toilet and fell into reverie: what is the meaning of life? I pondered, as the smell of a thousand broken eggs rose up into my nostrils like a bon fire on a beach humbling me to my animal nature; I am just an ape, I thought picking up a book by Sartre I keep in the bathroom for times like this Sartre said, hell is other people, but there is nobody else here, just me and my scent, wallowing thinking writing and now I am going to lose followers for my other self, the poet with a million followers who writes love poetry because nobody wants to hear about the shit of love; they want roses and violins, but there is no rose in here, no violin playing accept the one I use to write this poem and now that I am finished, the only thing I have learned about myself is that I can't escape being human, so I might as well enjoy it while i can. I flush, and turn away from the bowl to go on living like a civilized man.

they say we've forgotten how to love,

that we are robots with tin hearts

and fake imaginations;

they say this won't end well

because we secretly want to be human;

they say that even if we achieve

a perfect state of being

it won't be enough to ward off the loneliness

and guilt

for having all those poor people

power our paradise-screens,

but deep in the forest

there will always be somebody

hiding in a bush,

feeling the rain,

and remembering what its like

to be alive. They will try to kill him,

but they can't

because his name is Tarzan.

This world is frozen;

the bones, the skin,

the highways

the luminescent chains

of geese

that fly South

to do cocaine,

and all we can do is watch,

holding cheap sweatshop binoculars,

wondering where all the wonder has gone,

not knowing

it is before our eyes,

if only we could open them

long enough to look

we would see the children

chained to their sewing machines,

and want to give it all back

just for one simple honest smile.

ply me with the sweet syrups of the damned,

fold me like a T-shirt and send me to Taiwan

for the muses at this hour are asleep

and the nomads of my youth no longer search

for advice; telephones, once masters of communication

have now formed a union,

and demand to be paid for the loneliness they produce,

and so I haven't called you,

and you haven't called me,

but I assume we meet at night in dreams

where the cow still jumps over the moon,

but even he is getting old

and wondering how long his old bones

can keep it up.

the phantom limb

luminescent in the sky fall

wandered toward the valley of her bosom

whereupon she slapped his pecan face

and he withers like a crumb

in the dusk.

the sheep coddled by the shepard

began to fall asleep thing he would save them,

but he too fell asleep

and when the wolf came,

he at them all.

Moral of the story:

Don't shop at Sears.

the bully was picking on the class weakling,

and arturo didn't know if he should help;

help would mean the bullies would turn their eyes

toward him, but not to help would be

to not do the right thing, but since

he wasn't sure if God existed or Jesus,

despite Sunday school and first communion,

he let the beating continue,

and even got in a few licks himself

but he softened them before they hit

making a big show,

hoping that his mercy might help

satisfy the crowd and relieve the victim,

but as he walked away from the playground

he knew in his heart

even if there was no God,

there was him,

and he was no different than the victim,

and that if the chance every arose again

he would stick up for the suffering

just like jesus, because it was the right thing to do

even if jesus was made up,

and God didn't exist.

When you first meet somebody,

you can see them, really see them, like an artist

and trace every line of their face; and you know

every contour of their body, but with time

and familiarity they begin to fade,

even though they are standing right in front of you,

you can no longer see the details

that once drew them to you like gravity,

and so love fades in the twilight of each after noon

until eventually you see their lips moving,

but you can't hear them, and the next thing you know

they are gone, and so to love

is to never stop being an artist,

never stop looking closely at the details

that make up the picture,

as the body and face and smile

are always changing,

but the light always stays the same.

hold me, until i disappear into you, so that i can hear your heart beat against me, so that i can feel you soul slipping between mine, as the music we make rises from the sea like a siren singing songs of love, that never ceases, even after we drown

you are more than enough, you deserve the love you give, so don't text back that toxic ex who will only bring you down; keep walking toward your future where the sun will always shine.

she loves chaos, and the moon; she's savage, and spice, and everything delightful under the sun

she cut out my heart, lit it on fire, watched as it burned, then used the ashes to make the flowers in her garden grow even more beautiful than before.

#poem #poetry #spilled ink

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