Friday, October 26, 2012

DISCONTENT





clueless, we wander
aimlessly
through histories
pages
of discontent.

disconcerting,
alone and empty.

inflamed,
passions on fire.

helpless, hapless,
to our own needs.

fearful
and frightening,
as the world
descends upon us.

the universe
planning,
deciding our fate.

fitting us
somewhere
in those pages
of discontent.



how we intertwine our lives,
mix and match our sensitivities,
reach into ourselves
to find ourselves,
is the total sum of who
and what we are.
but we'll never know
just how far.


its all about leaving
a piece of us behind.

dreams on paper,
in print,
enhancing truths,
hiding the lies.

finding ourselves
building reputations.

living up to the rainbows
we've built around us.

covering up the ugly
with something pretty.

so ugly it hurts to smile. 


The Secret Societies, by David V. Barrett.












Monday, October 22, 2012

COMPARED TO WHOM

compared to whom?
or is it what?
what of the wayward duck?
was it chance,
or just bum-luck?
but we do know
the duck
has no thumb to suck.
now, that's truly
bum luck.



not so good as some.
some as good as some.
in summation,
some as a metaphor.
subtract some,
but not the total sum.

should there be more;
summing up,
done more summing
behind the green door.

now we know sunshine,
also a metaphor
for sure. 


Secret Societies, by David V. Barrett.

























Thursday, October 18, 2012

HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND

he doesn't understand.
she lifts the hammer;
drives it down, and down.
he understands.
its a great plane;
so easy to per swayed.
easily arranged, and rearranged.
except,
separate pages link
each separate arrangement.
ink, black, blue and red.
he understands so much better
everything she said and says.
and she paints his ass red
as a reminder
to reach out and find her,
and kiss her be-hinder.



SHE LOVES HIM

she loves him

she loves him not

maybe, maybe not

she'll think about it

when she's out and about

shopping, no doubt


the internet is a scary place. alright to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.


HE HATED METAPHORS

he hated metaphors
absolutely hated
metaphors
metaphors gave him a rash
left him begging
scratching for a way out
braying at the moon
but, oh, how metaphors
did love him so
until his grave
with him they go
oh, he hated metaphors, so


all those exotic possibilities 
moving ever so slowly
in a purple haze
both good and bad days
but those possibilities
forever turning
page after page
oh so beautiful
and at the same time
oh so ugly








SHORT STORIES

so many short stories
we drag out far too long,
and they die long
before we reach the end.

noway to make friends.




I knew a poet who wrote a poem
about a poet who hated the poem
and killed the poet who wrote the poem
and is now sitting in prison writing poetry
about a dead poet and I  think its the best
poetry the poet ever wrote and the poet
thinks so too and plans on killing me next
for his next book of poetry


having amassed great quantities
of anger and dark thoughts,
thinking back to the time
I should have shot you, but didn't.

all we can do is do what we can do
and flush the rest down the stool.



i am tired now
it has been
a grueling journey
i am so tired now

set a place for me


she's finder food
delicious
snack food
yum, yum



yes, at times, i feel guilty.
and then,
there are those times
i feel nothing at all.

if i had known
you were coming
i would have 
baked a pie, or
something similar,
such as a cake.

maybe doughnuts.
maybe not.

maybe i would have
shut off the light
and pretend
there was no one home.

since i am home,
and your are here,
we'll  just 
go from there.

so, what do we do
now?
duke it out,
like John Wayne would do?

tell you what;
lets just grab a beer.

we'll sit back and
let the wives fight it out.

lets get out of here
and give the girls
room
to fight it out.

what's your allowance?
that much!
damn, you're buying!















Wednesday, October 17, 2012

HARD TIMES

hard times.
bad times.
time revolving
around 
mountains
of unfinished business

there comes a day
of days
where all the days
attack
finish up
all old business

time, upset with itself
lashing out
at establishment
establishing new rules
ruling party
be damned

damnation
celebrating weakness
leaking out and over
speaking against
whatever remains of humanity

scattered there
there
desperately clinging
dissolution ringing last call




they say 
its not the size
as i stumble
forward
and backup
stumbling again
forward
and wonder
what size?

and is there
by chance
a compromise?

and is it right
side stepping
falling
on one's sword

because of size?



so many of us
born
no direction in mind
no longer possible
to tell the 
difference
between love
and dead songs

just yesterday
heard a man sing
a song
as if he were a living
breathing 
man with a plan

trying to explain
but just kept right on
singing

deciding
it wasn't a bad song
just leave him
sing his sad
but inappropriate
song

done singing
then to realize
it was Tuesday
and we completely
misplaced
Monday

still lost
in his most inappropriate
sad song



reason betrayed us
left us adrift
betrayed our values
and yet
we suffer more
for we have
surrendered
and we have
accepted this as fact
without a whimper
we surrendered
trampled 
our souls to dust
fools us
yes, fools us