Poem-A-Day: Day 565

Cycle 9

The whole project, the whole concept
was for giving the purpose away
under the false claims of artistry;
no future can be had chasing waterfalls
or anachronistically dancing anarchic
to every passing fashion, fad, and dance,
but the tango skipped, hopped, and tripped;
landed face down in copper wires. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 564

Cycle 10

The whole project, the whole concept
laughed out loud, rolled on the floor laughing
and clapped thunder blasts from fist;
pounded table after table understanding,
physics is everywhere they said,
physical never tears down the walls
or scams that fine dining shine of prime
gone whistling through the shallows. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 563

Cycle 11

The whole concept, the whole aim
wrapped tightly in wire basket woven dream
leaving nothing left to imagine
except numbers and lines;
codes drifting in and out of reality
and virtual tenses past and present
gone horribly awry, aware of blisters
grown faster on brains drum destructed. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 562

Cycle 12

The whole concept, the whole aim
marched in single files
one after the other over under white;
screams and rhythmic patterns tapped,
danced into the night and up a stair,
some case in point that rendered files useless;
the useless grasp of grasping at straws
left reflections rejected, splashed on bliss blown
     dread.

Poem-A-Day: Day 561

Cycle 13

The whole concept, the whole aim
plastered rafter scams dripping coiled chips,
and flipped cups up the down gullet cram;
the wistful tornado nights green with envy,
every night gone dreaming
at simple dribbles down spinal chords;
the same note struck each time:
be sharp the sayers often said. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 560

Cycle 14

The whole concept, the whole aim
drained rivers clean fish skipping drips,
just effervescent gushes pushing wired memory,
pushing thoughts astray,
a stray vision brought from nothing
to be gained but something dancing black
gone red, the read was nothing scoffed
and so the notion doffed a sallow cap back. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 559

Cycle 15

The whole concept, the whole aim
shifted course, of course the coarse road
scraped and scrapped the sacred and scared,
typed oohs and ahs that rapture blasted
clean through and under roof;
raised the bar and shot cards all far and away
better than anything ever tied by binding;
and the aim left biding time away. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 558

Cycle 16

The whole aim, the whole movement
was a symphony of growing numbers lost;
the numbers cast aside; drunkards’ pleas,
they thank the simple nickel and dimed dropped
at foot into the cup gone from notions
and bumpy blustered wind storming;
a voracious, often vicious viscous vigor
limping dimpled into back seat love and heat. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 557

Cycle 17

The whole aim, the whole movement
started growing wild;
controlled uncontrollable tornado dreams
lashing back over black and green,
balking, it would seem, into the face of dodging
     steam;
the grain of salt and mystery that popped
and left remains: charred tinder whispers
and one gone blistered dimple sentence. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 556

Cycle 18

The whole aim, the whole movement
became a game unending tragedy;
the catastrophic melancholic whining
of a dream cast back to past shadows
left dancing and tripping over stairs
leading down from ground remorse;
back to a Morse code tapped into brain:
dots and dashing clapped thunder blasts. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 555

Cycle 19

The whole aim, the whole movement
lost in a sea, heightened sight to see
no steam on the horizon,
no amber waves or majesty;
the tree lined fog left crippled legs
black and gangrenous amorous vapor daze;
hazy memories of crap lined backwoods traps
and a jester clapping past from passed shallows. 

Poem-A-Day: Day 554

Cycle 20

The whole aim, the whole movement
was a symphonic spree come to coda;
an epic faith no more relying on the relay;
drenched dancing misfits monster smashed,
and two by three the demon laughed
into the crashing night, waving simple stride
from wiry arms and sinew blended brain;
the only thing left, laughed laughable.

Poem-A-Day: Day 553

Cycle 21

The whole movement, the whole project
started with a note and ended with the wrote
rote memory of something,
the pinned down and up gone flying high
to grasp the grappling blizzard sun;
white in all directed nothing down over,
lifting blistered lofty dancing ever up,
and finally in realization having done no more.

Poem-A-Day: Day 552

Cycle 22

The whole movement, the whole project
took control and lasted fast and strong,
having happened quicker than the gone
now over and awaited nothing done;
conceptually broken down
and left reckless mess from whats and whys,
a simple box would never happen
to brim with simple brevity storming balks.

Poem-A-Day: Day 551

Cycle 23

The whole movement, the whole project
blackened naysayer nauseating tense
the past now hurling present to the passed;
hurling sporadic saccharine
asymmetrical callous blasting fallacy,
phallic mastery and penned history;
the hysterical secret misery now washed,
travelled back into accidental disaster.

Poem-A-Day: Day 550

Cycle 24

The whole movement, the whole project
pounding sweet reverie, revelry sweating beads,
hot waste dreams pasted yellow,
sallow eyes among the fields of whimpers
and slowly beating hearts,
breathing steam from babbling streaming towers;
nothing giant plowed from earthenware
or wearing tweeting demon activities.

Poem-A-Day: Day 549

Cycle 25

The whole movement, the whole project
warped from wrapped inside the mind;
trapped from down the grounded tarpon splash,
water rushing thunder green and still the why
wavering to the who and what will happen;
the stillness speaks to nothing
but disaster cyclones spinning black and white,
red redemption listening to tinder cinders.

Poem-A-Day: Day 548

Cycle 26

The whole project, the whole idea
is culminating deeply from the was
not yet blustering blunder from disaster;
the accidental birthing blast
from the green sky cycle cloning past
to future campaigning wired hearings;
the few things that happened happen once,
or often did so more than stomping deeds.

Poem-A-Day: Day 547

Cycle 27

The whole project, the whole idea
wrapped in tight cubism;
not moving, neither movement nor stability,
or stable ideas running wild over tones;
the be sharp symphony number three to ten,
fashion blending wet with dead dreams
dancing up and tripping down hip-hop beats,
beating what was left to beat of game.

Poem-A-Day: Day 546

Cycle 28

The whole project, the whole idea
zipping listen drenching withered hear to more,
no more lasting impressions
except the cipher from doubtless thunder,
water rushing over the under
bridging what used to be to never wanted;
dreams from wired cyber transient eclectics
transformation into clips sitting pretty.

Poem-A-Day: Day 545

Cycle 29

The whole project, the whole idea
now a mastery inclination
inclined to fashion disaster from the hip,
skipping from table up to down top
green gone big from bickering black
red the white from inside the bulbous cube,
brain to spine the rigid history drowns
in hysterical chords brought to coda.

Poem-A-Day: Day 544

Cycle 30

The whole project, the whole idea
over tones and over wrote,
wrought from years left over not yet buried
in the earth with yellow dandy prancing seraphim;
the tower babbles through to river washed
and history looks back to see disaster
limping gingerly over color carousel;
the beacon left to beckon call and crash.

This entire project is written backwards so it will read correctly when read on the blog. Although, because it's cyclical it shouldn't matter too much.

Poem-A-Day: Day 543

Just When I Thought It Was Ending

Was I to know
it all wasn't good enough?
and for my life,
I survive.

When it was ending
I could feel it, 
I could feel time
and I thought I could feel you.

Tell me,
was it like losing innocence?
I did mean to hurt you, 
that was in my mind
when I thought it was ending.

I could feel it,
I could feel time,
and only when I thought it was ending
I could feel you.

How was I to know?
I thought it was ending.
I thought I could feel.
Time will heal when I could feel.

Poem-A-Day: Day 542

Then I Go Twisting

Then I'm bored of this
Modern techno sound so dull
The same machismo.

Poem-A-Day: Day 541

I Lose Myself

precious
the things

wasted
the bitch 

deserved 
so cool
 

savaged 
low-life corner

soul
it's only 

myself
let go

shoulder
tough enough
 
misunderstood
my persona

myself
let go

control
too precious

wasted
concerned bitch 

deserved 
I've done

wasted
I lose 

let go
control

Poem-A-Day: Day 540

When I Start To (Break It All Down)

their point of view
wants to tell me
if I have I been careless.

Can I make it better?

when I break down
it's perfectly clear  
everything's gonna be alright.

Where is nothing else sweet surrender?

I deserve to make it through  
I'm sure it should all break down
it's perfectly clear.

Poem-A-Day: Day 539

A Whole Lotta Love Run Riot

A movie star
had a glittering career.
She could never understand tonight.

Nothing more tonight
was on psychic frequency.
Her hands were tied gilded cage.

She ain't no lady
with strange behavior.
Ain't nothing more to come tonight.

Poem-A-Day: Day 538

You’ve Got to Save Me Right Now

So many battle wounds…

Strength comes from lessons,
though the very depths
had self esteem beaten out.

I grew sick of apologizing… 

Everything was wrong,
meaning, demeaning
to save me right now.
 
Somehow, you got to save me…

Poem-A-Day: Day 537

What Will I Say When You’re Gone?

check the silent falling sunrise

alone and gentle breathing can't be easy 

it matters to something I believe I should do

now our lives are precious
 
this emptiness will hurt like drowning

go crazy and walk away fading

no more persuading will make emotion

when you walk the world keeps turning

the hours are more time

and I know I need drowning

Poem-A-Day: Day 536

Fill Us With Fire

The soul inside
and word and deed
don't look back,
never see light,
every particle,
time in black and white.

Blind to the beautiful
choking on air
and a waste of time
will fill fire,
no sense of pity
will fly into heaven.

Feel something
to aspire to the lost and found
again and again,
feel the sun to the end of time
to the beginning
across the universe.

We can feel this crazy world
fill us with fire.
There'll be no pity into heaven.
We're the waste of time,
with fire, no sense.
We will fly into freedom.

Poem-A-Day: Day 535

Be With You

Call any time,
just tell everywhere,
hold never
when you haunt me.
You care,
and if the sky should come running,
just call,
you could touch me.
You make it beautiful,
physical,
it turns me on
every time you go.
You leave me lonely,
and if you call
I would be with you.
If the sky should fall,
I'll come, little darling.
I'm coming, 
love is coming.
Want me.
Say you want me,
And tell me I'll be waiting.
Haunt me 
everywhere I go. 
If I could,
I'll come. 
I'll come back.