#cloudypoetry

[cloudyvstheworld-blog]

Everyday she would ask why

That no matter how hard she fight

It wins, they conquer, it prevails

She would ride the train

Hoping to get strong place after place

But so they haunt, such a waste

Armors fall and crumpled

Divinity of the three, hear her cry

Save her from haunting insanities

Take over and flourish in

Silence the demons within

[cloudypoetry-blog]

… And their voices and words were all

The background to my thoughts, and gains

They became, just noise behind the focus

Of my realm.

 … And even radiant intellectuals hid

Behind my thoughts, for my thoughts were dominant

In my realm.

 … And my thoughts are

About the grasping arm of my soul,

As a hopeful anchor searching for soil,

Not finding the will to accept its loneliness

In still water.

 … And my dreams are filled with hope yet

They leave a hopeless mark

On my resting.

 <Breath>

 … And I am still now with the water

Rushing in chaos above me, lacking

My presence, seeking only a cold touch

On its surface, where my observations keep

Me under.

[cloudypoetry-blog]

Dying Lover

... I don’t know why

I feel angry.

    I don’t know why

I hate everybody.

... Among those I hate the most,

I am number one but you are close.

... I hurt, you say

    My words are sharp.

I ache when I play

    The cruel heart’s harp.

... Never mind my luring charm,

My heart is blue from loneliness.

    Never felt this much harm,

From my own echoing, hollow chest.

... Love itself is penultimate

In dying, I am last, without colour;

    So I lie to hell’s deaf senate:

I was the best, the best lover.

[cloudypoetry-blog]

Escapism

Left the papers the numbers the laptop the folders the letters the calculator the rented books and the life behind and in actuality he started a new one to free himself of dirty cleanliness and hide.

Got into the car and started driving north and not so far stopped at the border for a brief minute looked himself in the mirror and saw no one who was worth saying hello good bye to and he counted from one until two and started driving again hoping to reach the top of the globe and so forth it was the North and the coldest of them all but it was all right.

Canada was great but it wasn’t the place to stay so he left the car behind and got on a boat so he could break the ice of himself and continue the search for the self and he regretted not taking photos of the views and he regretted not bringing more clothes to keep him warm and he didn’t regret leaving.

Healing himself had only one way and it was dipping into the north without anyone’s knowledge. He could have been anywhere, floating on a boat, floating in water, floating in the tub, floating in space; his healing was to be lost forever and not to be found; it was the feeling of his self.

The boat stopped on the Northest of the North for him to get off the ship and join the eskimos whose skin were warm from the cold while his skin was ice cold from the cold, but he did try to recreate the ideal warmth of his origin —

His eyes were blue from nature and the snowflakes of summer while he got older by the minute and he got old by the hour and his life left on a boat for an adventure of a lifetime.

[cloudypoetry-blog]

Anticipatory Anxiety

Waiting Monday morning for an exam I can hardly fail and I might just bite my own tale when it comes to the same day same time next week and I see an F spotting my pupils fulfilling its destiny receiving thrills from deconstructing my false universe.

What is it that makes me better than the people outside the institution where I write this verse from? We are dollar educated and programmed for un-boredom - How will I know where I have to go and what I have to do to find a kingdom that needs a king like me to rule by freedom?

Dumbness, and I can’t speak. I can’t hear your voice I’m concentrating, I can’t see I’m trying out meditating so I can concentrate more and I can be ever-better, sweeter than ever, grow to be taller than ever, use a lever to lift my brain out and celebrate the mind that will break free of the dollars, free of the institutions, free of mathematical and absolutely logical solutions…

And then the “what is next” hitting my head like 1989, allowing for restricted thoughts, receiving a text from the freedom of people: we are done by deliberate accident…

It’s life. It’s less than high power, it’s less than God, it’s lower than the sun, it’s slower than I run, slower than how I revolve around the sun, slower than the turntable turning the record, scratching.

- Backspin -

And we are at the same place where we were, late ’50’s cultural oppressions, supreme creations — both shaken and stirred.

- Backspin -

Dollars on my body, dollars on my head, dollars in my hand…

And we are confused why we turn green, as goblins

Of the free land.

[cloudypoetry-blog]

#sister

And I was reminded once again where I came from, where the path came from and where it’s not going back to —

Escapism is not the feeling I’m looking for but the pistol sounds hit my ears in my head and my destiny in my hand and the bullets in my head telling me to wake up but I’m never going back to my roots where lying is telling the truth, but...

Guarding the truth about successors will never let them break free of their pain when it’s their turn to break, flee from the lies thought best to be taught to them. But they were smarter than their ancestors.

And it doesn’t matter how many times I tell: ”You are worth it” when you think you are not and you get aggressive with me because I tell you the truth about you and your surroundings and the disgust around you eating up your creative genius that is hiding away in the light of your soul, casting shadows of your rulers above your dreams and awaits for the beams of no smoke, no coke, no blow, but real feelings from people caring.

— 

Beams are loving and I am loving you all the time without or with the bullets in my head telling me to go back but I will not go back to tell you the truth again, you are not you again. When were you, you again? You were always smoking the hell out of heaven and trying to alibi yourself out of provoking me but we knew it doesn’t work.

  And I am writing about you, and my thoughts about you, and I wish I could sing about you to the whole world and tell them that you are wearing a mask under-pressure — glowing still, hoping still that someone will steal you away from reality, Tomorrow; but it’s coming for you everyday.

I would invent you but you already exist and I am happy that you were created and you are here, but do something to yourself and do something to the world and leave your mark because it’s beautiful and leave your mark because it’s beautiful and leave your mark because it’s beautiful and leave your mark without narcotics and leave yourself alone for a second and don’t leave your soul behind and feel yourself not going numb from going dark and go high without heaven pulling you up, go fly without green wings, fly on love without flings.

—

I’m tired of convincing you, pushing you, pulling you, crawling from fear, crawling from weakness, knowing not knowing you, crying with my words for you, afraid with the universe for you, baptising myself with poems of this kind for you, aching for you in the deepest caves of the hive of my soul… Your foul world lives in mine and from here it’s a black cloud we blow away with the wind of my kind — I’m not going back. My future is sound, don’t look at what I found, don’t look at me; you will not understand why I’m the loudest in the crowd.

See you, Tomorrow.

[cloudypoetry-blog]

Statement

I’m in my twenties. I’m an Adult, I’m a Kid, a Traveller, a Dreamer, a Student, a Sage, a Writer, an Artist, a Curator, a Friend. I’m a Maverick, I’m in my twenties. (Stanza 1, Original Maverick Statement by Jeffrey Ola)

I’m in my twenties, they say love comes easy but it doesn’t, one thing cannot cease me or please me I’m an adult. I don’t care if you don’t see it, my faults are my faults and I feel how real the world is, the hatred that’s going around – cultural refreshment comes in prices like gold in a pound.

I’m a Kid though, still, and I will not lose this part of me, the child inside of me, the curiousity that drives me to explore and make a big discovery – don’t you listen, I told you I’m interminable! My life is about going and going until I can’t do the impossible!

I’m a traveller, a dreamer to the extent that I think of dreams as realistic, reaching the stars with my hands becomes not surreal but artistic – you can’t stop me with your words: “surreal”, “bullshit”. Choke on my rhymes if you will… Let my stanzas carry you for a while, shit –

I’m still a student, and I will stay for a while, for the time I’m being and that’s worth my while. I’m sorry for nothing because I’m doing everything to learn – you file your bullshit statistics and forecast what I will earn, but money is money and you can’t buy my mind, look at my sight now and find a middle finger

Because I’m a sage, a writer, a creator of all sorts, I will write what I say and will think not to push forward, and yes and yes, that’s not what you all heard! But who cares if you cry about it, cry if you will – let me create while you’re at it, let me build a hill of inventions, getting thrill from creating, bettering lives every second of my living.

I’m a friend, a curator as well – inspiring younglings and build our future in one swell. And while you talk and think not of the words coming out of your mouth, I show and tell for everyone whose coming from the South, or the North – I love my real friends from the beginning and so forth.

I’m in my twenties as a Maverick!

My head is thick and I am ready to go bungie-jumping or freestyling on the radio with Childish Gambino and Kendrick – It doesn’t matter I’ll let someone else pick…

I’m just getting started on this slam shit by being inspired by who I think is fit to motivate me, push me, and comprehend my words that not all of you can see but you can all read – feed your egos and let your first name define your defaults, and I still take your simple insults sometimes: “those rhymes are not rhymes man”. Satisfying you was not really my plan.

These are thoughts put into rhymes, rhymes adopted from my mind to create a statement that was originally articulated by my friend Jeffrey.

This statement is ours truly, and is for you to understand our minds are not the ruly kind. A more honest statement you will hardly find. This statement is a reminder: Being a Maverick is about to go hype and no wonder!

I hope you are listening because this jam was not misleading, you are missing out on the ship that’s about to leave with the Mavericks, top picks, high-top, low-top, Saint Laurent kicks.

We are Mavericks, we are our own slaves, we push each other for we always misbehave… For everyone else: catch our shade on the move – join or fade away and lose, fools!

Or

Join the movement, join the fam, add to the jam from Ola and BVH: friends, creators, writing on a different page.

(Poem by BVH)

[cloudypoetry-blog]

Morning Blender

Screaming alarm wakes me up at 9 am,

I’m snoozing until 11:30, missing my class,

Thinking of you being flirty in the morning

With no pants but my shirt that you are sporting but just now I’m thinking this might be something that you are not supporting; me writing about you being almost naked, but who am I to fake what makes me happy, and I’m not being bad, just happy, feeling splendid, being blended with the thought of you I created.

This might not be related to all those things we talked about, but I have to get rid of my foes, turn myself inside-out, my thoughts are breaking the walls of my skull, and without them I’ll never stay full of myself, and full of you…

— You know, my thoughts are almost always about you —

And the future too.

We will upgrade from regional to trans-atlantic. Our relationship will stay intangible and romantic through the trust I hope to construct with you, a product of our thing, not the one I always refer to, but the one that you have to get used to.

Who am I to talk (hoping this doesn’t seem like blackboard and chalk screaming on the surface) when I just shout.