colours(untitled)

[Canofceleri]

other poems

 

 

21.

 

there he goes

taking shots

and brushing against you,

and all your infinite wisdom.

we're told you know so much

about us,

but where were you in '87?

where were you when skies were born

of their impregnable pigeons (landing whereever they pleased).

 

there was a summer i remember

where the sun shined through to

old september.

it set stronger than clouds

but it didn't hurt them any..

because that summer...

o that summer--

that was the summer

when the sun shined through to

old september, happy.

 

there he goes

taking shots

and brushing against you,

and all your infinite wisdom.

he loved you, baby

and you ripped him apart.

you let him see that we're just animals

and he could be happy without you.

 

idle trees with weak leaves,

giving up is always hard

until just after.

and that car you had sitting there,

in yonkers with italians and no philosophy...

the sun shined brightly then,

set stronger than the clouds.

but you, baby,

not making any sense at all

just keeping to yourself,

hurting everyone at all.

 

there he goes

he's dying old

and telling fables.

he's living a lie,

though still he'll see heaven

and he'll see it very soon--

it's in the sun, he's f*cked

with all his infinite wisdom.

 

 

17.

 

at home, suspect

of all my friends.

suspect of the people of

the world.

everyone's got a mask on.

but i say,

hey,

we can all be fools together.

 

 

25.

 

i'm drowning

and pedestrians are smiling.

 

 

==============================

 

 

colours(untitled)

 

 

1.

 

something is going to happen out here

on this gray landscape devoid of human touch

with just miles and miles of cold winding cord and sung

songs from a desert devil looking for some form to take

hunching over the cacti drenched in blue dark

chanting silence like death in position to strike

lunges out of portises and high rise buildings

looking for a mark, looking for a way out

because something is going to happen out here

on this gray landscape devoid of human touch

with just miles and miles of wire and sung songs

from an evil desert dweller

like a vulture over the fire

lurking through no water looking for a soul to steal

in position to take it all, or nothing

lunges out of backseat dwellings cold without moisture

settled fog on through my head and into the crevices of consciousness

looking for an exit,

through lips cracked in blue ringing nights

death comes then because

something is going to happen out here

on this f*cking plane of not so much

of ribs, of skulls of other bones

lining the miles like telephone poles

though dry bloody chords do sing this song

there is no devil for me to hate

i double over and heave and die some more

death chants in my head, searching my mind for one last

clear cell to keep jesus away just a little longer

looking to stay in the game just a little longer

wanting to stay forever

 

something's gonna happen out here

and it's happening....

 

right now.

 

 

2.

 

a family of rodents inhabit

an abondoned car

cold and rough from rust

a shell of its year on the road when it drove the country

on nothing more than gas and cheap cigarettes.

the '87 buick was destined to live,

to die, and rot

and then the sun cracks through the already faded

paint and leaves it real thirsty-like.

o of the year when i traversed this yellow day terrain

with my poor passed auto

and hummed and rumbled and flattened rodents and rocks

and SAW THE FUTURE!

o of that day when i saw the future

and was so wrong, so wrong, so wrong,

so wrong.

o of that day

o of that day.

 

the mother feeds the kids their dad

starves herself and dies

the kids run into the walls of the '87 and die shortly after

not having ate in days

because their mother did a stupid thing

a stupid thing astupidthingastupidthing

if their mother only knew at the beginning of the stanza

that it was all in vain

i'm sure she would've treated herself

to one more satisfying meal.

would not we all?

 

 

3.

 

"i try not to think about it as much"

 

"i'm 87. i'd say, i uh led a life. but it's

never a'nuff... you know"

 

"there's not a day that goes by that i don't look

at a person and really think about how what they're thinking about

doesn't matter. they're 35? they're half way done. almost dead.

they're gone."

 

"f*ck you, f*ck your wife, f*ck all your friends"

 

"okay..."

 

"i'm goinn'a tie you with this rope... and there's not a f*ckINTHING YOU CANDOABOUTIT"

 

"what?? what is he trying to---"

 

"there he was, he was right there, he was reading a psychology book

and talking about homeostasissomethinorother... homeostasis?

 

"homeostasis?"

 

[imagine ethnic cleansing here]

 

.............and then, what noise would a dying cosmos emit?

...the sweetest music?

no, that's just ridiculous romantic human bullsh*t.

...... for real though... a dying cosmos? a dying cosmos?

"IT'S ALL GONE TO HELL!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

open your eyes.

 

 

 

try to smile more.

 

eat healthier, whatever.

 

just be happy.

 

try.

 

live.

 

 

 

i love my wife.

i love these ways.

 

 

 

 

 

open your eyes. and then fall to sleep.

 

4.

 

and then my ears were filled with the most music they ever had been filled with

and my brain exploded and love adorned the apartment like confetti but

that's okay because when i looked in the mirror shortly after. my head was back

and i could still hear the awesome music and see the sadness of blue still

so that was all okay. i still die, but that was all okay.

[Canofceleri]

Oh... replies are welcome?

[King_Vercetti]

Those must be the greatest poems I have ever read mate. Post some more.

[Canofceleri]

Those must be the greatest poems I have ever read mate. Post some more.

I'd hardly go that far. The "colours" poem actually got ripped apart in a poetry workshop I post at. But I guess here it does exist as the greatest poems ever. I don't think I've read any better, I do remember BrassKnuckles having some good sh*t though.

[Paco]

I love your style.

 

Link to this "poetry workshop", my dear friend.