It's ok to write poems and put them here

Yeah you can enter, but she can't
Cus this is MY FUCKEN HOUSE, I KEEP IT PHARISEE FREE
Yeah I can parse further, but not til she takes THREE steps back
Cus it's also MY FUCKEN PATH

Don't mardyface, I'll stab that right off of you
Just cus you share the same daddy as me
And a former bedroom, just not THIS ONE
I remember your sobs while I was being abused

Also remember the last time (he) was round
You LITERALLY hid in the backyard
I made polite, for twothreenine seconds
Scored more Korean gear than you

You had the better hand that time
I think?
A socio wife
I maybe pick my life

You spied my cashcard, called me out by my government name
Yeah I go by my middle name, what of it?
My first name gets me punched in the head round here

My first name designates me as Catholic
I mean, I'm not, I grew up CoS
But went to Catholic school in a Catholic place

So my middle name is safer, but then obtusely
I wear my medals outside my shirt
So still get beaten, but at least I'm asking for it

I secretly appreciate it, it helps me focus

I need to focus
To clear up something
Somewhat easy to miss

Some would say troubling
In its insidiousness
Insular forms of reasoning

Insofar as it can be glimpsed
At all, the new calamity
Calling out to the senseless

Coalition of the willing
Fools we have known
Knowingly voting for cruelty

No one answering their phones
So some polls got unreliable
Unrelenting pessimism soaks to the bone

Unreadable offenses to thoughtful souls
found in the local paper’s op-ed sections
set aside for professional trolls

Suffice to say don’t read the comments
where the point is to keep the lies aflame
Afloat and unextinguished

A fly could feel more shame
Slipping in while the window is closing
Clinging to clothing and lacking a name

I Share My Bed with a Large Dog

After I’ve rumpled the sheets
wrestled and tossed and turned
After I’ve seen you shake in your dreams
and pulled you back from your apprehensions

After the deep breathing and chests heaving
stretching and whining and wide yawning snores
After the first sun shows on the ceiling
slips down the wall, the dresser, the floor

After your nose starts to sound like a whistle
I raise my phone to check in on the weather
After you have seen me move you feel better
Your brown eyes wide open and paw pads like leather

only after that —
and after the your sharp elbows rib my core —
only after all of that could we crawl out of bed

I’d stuff my pockets by the fistful
With stones known for nothing less
Than cleaning hearts out clear as crystal
Returning them new and baby fresh

I’d unclench my fists and feel a new absence
Tension loosened like overlong lasso
The sense of heaviness vacating the chest
Like long sustaining chords on a piano

I’d tear down the dust choked carpet curtains
Open the windows and let the cold thin air in
Take away all of this furniture, I don’t want it
Let this space take a full measure of its emptiness
Unadorned and full dimensioned
Strip the paint off, every last bit
Leave it to be whatever it is

version 2

I’d stuff my pockets by the fistful
With sharp stones notorious
for cleaning hearts out clear as crystal
Returning them new and baby fresh

I’d unclench my fists and note the absence
Of age old tension like an overlong lasso
Lying on the sand and dripping on the fence
The sense of heaviness vacating the chest
like hanging chords from a detuned piano

I’d tear down the dust soaked curtains
Open the windows and let the cold thin air in
Take away all of this furniture, it’s not needed
Let this space approximate its emptiness
Unadorned and full dimensioned
Strip the paint off, make it raw again
scraping straight through to the empty canvas
The underpainting shaping the form and the content
Unrelenting waves confusing and enchanting us

Drills and hammering and echoes and shivering
We left too loudly and came home whispering

rain as a noun, rain as a verb
rain on the soaked wings of a bird
rain on tin, as seen through a thin umbrella
on the cold lake
on the cold tent

rain in 4K, osaka at dawn
rain on the drought patched lawn
rain out the game which won’t be replayed
bouncing off plastic helmets
muddy puddles on hard clay

rain so i can evaporate
rain on the spot where he lays
rain like it has never fallen before
coming in under the door
pushing up against the floorboards

rain scatter our travel patterns
slippery green, serpentine
rain filling up the old ravine
up to the ankles deep, trembling
rain make us clean

rain unaccountably
overwhelming the systems of registry
overcome efforts to understand
rain and suddenly go, freeze on snow
overwhelm the world we don’t know

rain down in the catacombs
rain drip off our lips as we kiss
offend the dead and spirits unseen
we dance the dance of unforgiveness
rain on my suffering, rain on my last chance

rain until we are entranced
rain on your wedding day
break me up then steady my hand
cover my sidewalk, make me slip
peak through the door and see me sullen

keep going and going
scare off my daylight
give us a free carwash
cover it up, rain make it okay
rain keep falling, rain wash us away

I’m embarrassed by what I might do
If you would like me 2

Everything in me is now on sale for free
There is nearly nothing I would not rearrange
Without question, quite openly
Everything within may be removed or amended, without hesitation or prior permission

I held a grand reopening of my body
And it was poorly attended
I overheard them noting that there didn’t seem
To be a significant change in my construction

I hoped the ease with which I discarded my beliefs
Would be described charitably as adaptability
And was glad when it wasn’t part of the conversation

Would I disavow what I knew to be true
If you would like me 2

There is no coherence in the center
Of an oblong shape with a wavy perimeter
Unevenly balanced and laboring strangely
Like a pilot at night with a broken altimeter

So tell me what to do and I will change
I’ll preemptively meet you halfway
Repetitively, paradoxically
Until our atoms are just about touching

How I’d latch onto your line
If you would like me 2

The old bastard pretends
He can’t use his phone.

He holds it far away from his face, dramatically
Perches his glasses on the tip of his nose.

He objects to speed. Ethically. Aesthetically.
He doesn’t understand that speed is a form of simplicity,

Which is happiness.
He is a poet.

love that, treeship

at the speed we’re going
it’s hard to believe
that an hour has passed
long telephone poles
pass through our window
keeping unreliable time

i want to be full of wisdom
like eight toddlers in a line
holding onto a rope
on a sidewalk stroll
who don’t care where they’re going
and the teacher who is pulling

-

we’re both on the fish oil
mine fills a soft pill
yours pumps in uneven lumps
from the slippery bottle
I keep in the fridge
by the milk and the eggs

knowing our moment will arrive
and it can never be too late

in support of my mental wellbeing
whatever that means
and to help your muscles weaken
at a less rapid rate
we swallow fish oil

deep sleep under my feet
i’m wide awake, listening
to the dream of frisbee in the teeth
running back toward me

fuck man, stop doing this to me!

haha, uh oh! hope it's a good thing, or at least not a bad thing :)

Genuinely, you should talk to a publisher, or at least get them out there

oh, i feel very lucky to get to know a zine/poem/art/music crew recently. they make a zine where anyone can contribute, so i submitted something recently and usually read a few things out loud every month or two. i get to play new music for that same crowd too, and have joined a couple new bands, shows coming up, etc. it does make a world of a difference to know that when you're working on something new, there are people to share it with soon afterward. i haven't really had that outlet for a really long time so i'm holding onto it for dear life now :)

nice!!

my limo arrives with blown out back windows
covered by plastic and spattered by rain
driven by a man in a santa hat
whose beard is black and patchy with gray

when the wheels stop spinning I step right in
to a coniferous interior with Christmas tree scent
where thick vines grow in place of seat belts
and soft pine needles thread lines of indigo

his grin is crooked, his sunglasses tinted
the dusty dashboard is scorched and bent in
a disco ball jumps when the light turns green
and the bumper sticker on the crumpled trunk reads

may we meet again

we were flies in a beehive
carried by transparent wings flickering
and unheard in the swarm’s buzz storm
looking for an exit to the building

we were drawn into the mystery
by its qualities of ambiguity

these leaves aren’t dead
they found the ground and leapt
around toward new homes
on fallen trees along the riverbed

those were the days
when we cared less
about lost sleep because
our dreams were frequent and vivid
and the wakeful life loved and lived in

i see. the ac exhaust pushing the leaves
my broken toe walk tilting heavily
working down the shallow slope
like a slow drifting toward the deep
end of the pool past the last black stripes
undulating on the surface of the water
but still at the bottom, the lower the pressure

from here you can see the sun rise
now I’m on a pleasant streak
i may never go to sleep again

pay what you can for a diy
electro show in a basement

the upside-down singer bit
down on the mic and offered
noise stabs from their abdomen
ear plugs absorbed some of it
what did pass through was too true
to be heard in quiet rooms
but struck a chord in mosh pits

the smoke machine shook and pushed
waves of silver tipped clouds at us
the bruise-kneed crowd wanted more
heavy chains to whip at feet
standing still along the wall
boozy lips and rose-kissed cheeks
want for water, thirst for sweat

a horseshoe hangs over the front door
a traffic light over the restroom
a barrel with a checker board
sits in front of the fireplace

on mother’s day at cracker barrel
the parking lot is completely full
browsers crowd the old country store
and behold the forty dollar snow globe

our eyes scan the decor
the new menu features boozy drinks
third verse same as the first
chicken fried chicken
early online check-in
chicken fried chicken

it’s 11 am, the server has three stars
she asks about cream and sugar
as we play tabletop solitaire
I leave three pegs behind and i’m just plain dumb
hashbrown casserole for the breakfast side

home is where

the propane gas grill
still has the price tags on
string dangles from stainless steel
handles by a freshly cut lawn

roasted bell peppers flaking
on the cooking island station

chromium plating control knobs
porcelain enamel wire cooking grates
made to complement any outdoor space
the backyard, garden, or terrace
the balcony or the courtyard

the lights in my home
are bluetoothed to a phone
sometimes i move to turn them on
but minutes pass in darkness
and notifications keep me alone
as i do chores in bluish tones
from my sofa

the checklists fall into my bottomless pit
that’s not at all like the world we touch
more like the interior invisible thick

i switch my lights to red
and the effect to candle flicker
dimmed to thirty percent
the insides of my lids are fed
a prehistoric ambience

i never write poetry but had a thought today at work....

If I was a record,
you might notice some fraying at the corners,
minor ring wear, and
light surface scratches.

There might be a small split
at the center of my spine,
some spindle marks on the labels,
or foxing to the back panel.

I still play fine,
with mile surface noise,
but groove wear is becoming audible
at the end of each side.

"mild". but okay

must be that country magic when
a twist makes blinds open and the trees sway
like great masts tilting against sea waves
limbs and trunks alike bend with the wind
with flapping leaves of flickering sequins

https://i.imgur.com/JSWLpdF.jpg

we want to play
we’d rather not be apart
i don’t want to leave, i say
but it’s not my yard

it’s yours, wet nose pressed against the window
soft dog gray ears folded
in under their own weight
perfectly old, your favorite shows

i seem to have turned into a pumpkin
forgetting how to walk
beginning to crawl in the tall lawn

-

widening path lined with
dreams steamed in cool baths
don't leave don’t come back

see the chests holding breaths
waiting for the real forgiveness
from voices inside of their heads

it’s a long walk
the way they talk
and don't talk

-

i drove so badly the guy in
the car behind me said
what is wrong with America

-

butter soaked texas toast
lands on the pan
and starts to sizzle

garlic in oil, old water boils
a cup of hot tea
with honey drizzles

your hands are candles
aloft and soft
tapered and chiseled

your warmth melts me

real slow out the window
part-time barflies
do fine on bells and whistles

https://i.imgur.com/oRWoRcI.jpg

shovels in the
sky marine blue
bleed viridian green
on the treetop canopy

at a glance it’s broccoli

feed the thirsty vampire kid
popping wheelies in the backyard
hoping somebody is watching

the puddle waves are parting
as they swerve through to get the wheels wet
and leave tire tracks in the garden

riding pegs in the sunset
in a straight-leg kneelocked stance
matched by their fading silhouettes

tucked in shoelaces and rolled up pants
why hold onto anything
don’t forget to give it back

if I knew how to act
I’d sell a million books and a half

I read what you write instead

if i knew what was wrong
i’d make it right if i could

i wonder if i’m in over my head

hallelujah for the stars
thank you for being here
for being exactly who you are

thank you for making my cheeks go red

when he sang the dictionary
— bless his heart
it landed spot on
in parts of brain waves
that are hard to make much sense of
but still, lodged in there all the same

long after, the echoes of his words
bounced around in our thoughts
the high F to the low G
impressing us asynchronously
to the day of his performance
lulling and surging independently
of the original occurrence

my memory of it kept changing
until it no longer resembled his song
and i no longer believed what i thought

he might have sung the telephone book
the addresses, phone numbers, and zip codes
he would convert each line to a melody
and belt out the surname especially loudly

i believe he may have been the first
to sing the world book encyclopedia, 1997
just the last paragraphs of each entry
he told me but i no longer remember clearly

critical update:

~bless his heart

when he sang the dictionary
it burrowed into parts of neurons
that are hard to make much sense of
but still, lodged in there, spot on

i'm told he sang the telephone book
the addresses, phone numbers, and zip codes
converting each line to a melody
and belting out the surnames especially loudly

i believe he may have been the first
to sing the world book encyclopedia, 1997
only the last paragraph of each entry
he told me much more than i could ever
trust myself to accurately remember

long afterward, the echoes of his music
bounced around in our thoughts
the high F to the low G
impressing us asynchronously
to the day of his performance
tunefully lulling and surging independently
of the origins of their occurrence

the sounds in my memories kept changing
until they no longer resembled his song
and i no longer believed in what i thought
i'd heard so clearly

Reading in the morning
Reading at night
Reading old books
Reading new books
Reading on the bus
Reading on the train
Reading on the stairs
Reading

People
Wherever you go
People

still writing a bunch! here are some that i wrote a while back and still like:

i can play most songs
if you give me a minute
lumped in the tub
filled to the brim
watching the shows
stretching my toes
swirling the suds

here’s the life cord
wrapped to your wrist
it gives us the minute

here on the soft downy
lawn of the back of your head
we don’t check the weather
so much as stepping so lightly
shaking like an overwhelmed witness
speaking of growth of goodness
please come home now
and make your nest

when it’s warmest
we paint each other’s dreams

-

what is wrong
the words i chose
when is the show
don’t stay long

squinting in the parking lot
waiting on a shoe to drop

who are you
frozen august
ill and dogged
tried and true

torn up tickets at the gate
laminated student rates

don’t be mine
no good money
unbecoming
until the time

to arrive in the smoky glow
of unknowing unraveling

-

you had hardly knocked when I said come on in
wrap yourself up in my heavy blanket
it was a gift
we can share it

i lifted the fabric
up and over our heads
from the darkness we peered out
through crocheted stitches
in air which was warm and thick

we were furniture
for a long time it was like this

the leaves try to fly
for the first and last time

i like you as you are
sunset landing from afar
i like what you’ve run into
and how it changes

--

things i do now that i know you

i make sound effects when i walk
i keep my right foot planted and pivot around
i stretch my arms long to reach the ground
up coffee and when i pour it say “pew pew!”

https://i.imgur.com/lApSyFV.jpg

I think you’ve got about 10 poems there bro

i didn't even post the others! there were like 30 poems there

limbo is a container for time
where one waits for godot
and knows how low one can go
how long one can hold onto
a breath before it hurts in the chest
with pinprick moments of silence
hanging in the upper halves of windows
like potted plants watching gardens
glow in the twilight, wanting to know

https://i.imgur.com/1J4OtLS.gif

my elbow flicks the light switch
because my fingers and forearms
are covered with paint, i said
what a mess of a mixup
to overlay the mediums
the message is in the tedium
replay what you heard
and see how it’s different

from what came before
send me a postcard
you’re halfway to the end
then halfway to the end

I’m noticing more people smoking recently saw

footage of Joni Mitchell singing coyote backstage on the rolling thunder

tour and is there a correlation between the populace quitting and obesity

yeah, I'm a poem
(not a syllable wasted)
I convey meaning

Part-Time Rapper by Scott Seward

I rock rhymes.

Sometimes.

i woke up in the middle of the night the other night and thought that. and then i went back to sleep. thank you. thank you very much.

with the right beat, i think you just wrote your first #1 single!

under the fence
you crawl on all fours
the lock to open the gate
from the inside

i heard your stomach scrape
along blades of grass
split in half along the stems
lift the hinges
to let our friends in

we light soft candles reminiscent
of the end of a sunset
projected wide onto wrinkled fabric
pulled taut from clips in the corners

the double u is spoken
the double v is chiseled
w reflects the
soft m in the center of the back
yes, I’d like my heart back
x marks the spot I can wait
what time does the sun set
don’t let the dust get wet

new game plus
starts with all the items but none of the progress
or all of the progress but none of the items
or with everything you can remember
or with nothing at all

but a new body and internal clock
settling into a walking pace
might mean time might
sturdy the fall
fresh sets of rules will unfold
as peculiar rhythms that become your own

shaded blades next to
lit blades lit green
warm my toes
blue and yellow
hope I won’t bring my
giant foot in the sky
swinging down hard
to divide my yard into two
discrete zones
of careless trampling
of careful misunderstanding

he hit me hard
he felt bad
-hit me back
come on, get me back-
no, not now
not when you’re expecting it
wait until you’ve forgotten
when i finally hit back
we will both laugh

“
The old arm
Of a new love
“