Humble Mumblings

And if even “The Greats” were just mere regular,

idiosyncratic – day to day observers of society;

Loud muses that mused nonsense – out of boredom,

stress relief, simple idiotic entertainment –

What of me then? My so called art – ponderings

of a directionless point becoming less with each …

*Sigh* … It’s insane enough I talk out loud to myself,

God help me when I actually take time to write down

the humble mumblings of my inner muse.

I’m easily amused, taking advantage of space and time,

making rhymes – poetry is as poetry does, line for line.

Poetry is like life – random and chaotic,

occasionally coming together beautifully in wondrous ways.

Poetry is life.

The best lines obtained through years of disillusionment and pain.

The never ending struggle to fight; Finnish the race!

The journey, discovery and utilization of what it  means to not just live – but to actually feel connected to your being;

That is living.

… That is poetry…

Die-sect

At the center of the equation,

the ultimate variable that changes;

The “in between” that will always be “in between”?

 

If I used numbers for letters to solve problems,

would I still be a genius in my own mind?

Or would I still be a mad man, lost in his own ‘verse,

staged before the common junkie, to be ridiculed?

 

I’m no mathematician: An artist of the language,

maybe once or twice – then the parasites started talking

by squirming violently; They will never tell you personally,

but they are not happy.

 

I really don’t know  how they got in my head,

They must of entered in my ear,

cause with out uttering a word, I hear… everything I dread,

 

Oh the time is coming,

Everything is building up,

the gears are winding and winding!

Something is going to… snap…

 

I’m still at an impasse; X trying to balance wh-Y-at.

If you need an angels dead hand,

reach for my finger tips – they’re in the jar next to my jaw.

 

 

Xiphos

I will hold a hand up, to den -y the apple of my eye.

Pins and needles, in my heart and arms,

trying to impress the lifeless & loveless, only she can disarm,

these bomb exploding in my brain,

drain the poison from my veins.

Give me mouth to mouth, taste my purity.

I can’t save you, but you could save me.

Just keep clutching my sides, exceedingly,

arms wrapped tightly – and tightening,

as our tongues do the talking –

I hear the world burning – and couldn’t care,

caress your face and hair,

Past the layers – lips moist, quivering and bare,

dripping the cure over curled fingers…

An Angels whispered voice lingers…

Suck my neck, my minute to minute, midnight lover,

Eye, Dan -i, eye, … bye bye.

 

 

Space Potatoes

Couch potatoes, awaiting the mother-ship.

Though surrounded by them, all they needed was a friend.

One chance to not be forgotten, to be remembered beyond the ends of the earth,

one chance to finally prove their worth.

But reality stares them down with an evil grin,

They ceased  to be and brought the very scary truth.

As fire falls from the roof, truth goblins dance to and fro in the blaze,

taunting, “we dare you to pass the days.”

That there in, is only if you could be fortunate enough to gaze upon,

the truth through the smoke filtered haze.

The empty haze that swirls with flirtations of death and love;

A moment to catch your gaze, and make you wonder what tomorrow brings.

But with every glance, you may see a  thought, so despising your brain shall sing,

“Today we are but couch potatoes awaiting the mother-ship.”

 

Written by Danny and Ron, July 18th, 2017. 

Con-vill

The world is a con,
Silently they come down,
You’re long gone,
A part of my frown.

The whisper in the breeze,
The doubt in the eyes,
The saucer light above the trees,
Watch me die.

Nothing matters anymore…
Nothing matters anymore…
Open Hades, open the door…

Push me over the edge,
Bring my hate to a boil,
Remember what I said…
Wrap my eyes in foil.

Chasing Shadows

I’m trying to recall the journey,
The feelings of the last 8 days,
Trying to remember why,
Trying to recall where,
It all began to unravel my mind…

Where was I headed when I started this trip?
Did I have a direction of deluion planned?
And what was driving me so hard…why?
Why did I feel the urge to escape?
I’m so tired of same boring routine,
day in and day out, combined with my stress,
Im breaking down and acting out,
Reverting back to the old barbaric me.

Who really gives a honest fuck about reality?
I’ll take my anger and burn it like jet fuel,
Launching me beyond the fringes of insanity,

By night I’ll be a mad man, peeking out the window
Analying everysound and misplaced step of the normal routine.
By morning I’ll be a spooked out bug-eyed paranoid
Trying to convince myself I’m just imagining everything

And all the voices are really just in my head…
But that still does not explain everything…
I can’t trust my own eyes and ears, even my friends
So I’ll be writing signs and waving them in the air

Just in case they really are watching me.
If it’s not all in my head then everyone including the mood and sun
Is in on it – to scare me straight…

How much of it is real?
And if I knew the truth…
Does it really matter?

After 8 long days and nights,
Ive never felt more insane.
Despite all my unanswerd questions,
I do have some answers…

Though at this time,
im not sure they really matter.
Im staring up at the light,
From the bottom of the deepest hole I’ve ever dug.