Simulacrum

Along the road to freedom
I see a crippled man weep.
Crumpled up before me,
Lying at my feet.

He said he can't remember
Love nor from whence he came.
It's just this instrument of surrender
That's his ball and chain.

Jaded halo burning bright
Overhead all through dark hours,
But it's made of cracked light
That's raining over me in showers.

And as I am awakened here,
Blinded by golden opulence.
This, my instrument of surrender
Is what keeps me in the past tense.

What The Glass Has To Say

You're ashamed to think of such things?
What's wrong with a little bit of the devil?
To take his hand and walk his rings,
To melt that ice, within, and sinf'ly revel.

"Take up the blade you must!" he scoffs,
"Oh! and remove the touch of pain so real.
Be the flame, black, that draws the moth,
And send out a tongue, CRACK! To make them feel."

You relate with a thing so "foul"!?
Surely there must be a hint of the beast?
Never have I seen a horn or scowl,
But surely, it seems, you've, to say the least.

Ah, but why do you crouch in fright?
I've seen nothing of this suppos'd terror
Before you stands all but the light,
And I am nothing but glass, your mirror.

Elephants

The elephant
Attempted,
Delicately,
To pluck the flower
With its paw,

But learned,
Rather swiftly,
That elephants
Don't make
The greatest gardeners.

The Way It Goes For Some

This poem reflects on the way some people have to do what their elders think they should even if it dashes any and evry dream they ever had.

I am in a capsule of concrete and souls,
Lost amongst an arboreal sea.
Watch us become our obligatory roles,
As we traipse through snow and tree.

Here! Try on this iron suit, his tie of amethyst,
Isn't it lovely? It belonged to your father.
No...? Not this again, you'll do as he wished,
Don't even fight it boy, no, don't even bother.

A life on the ivories, the time of the pen,
Oh, how I wish that could be me.
Ah, that is bliss, that is true existence,
But I'll trade in my heart, so I can be free.

And as I enter that room, the truth takes hold.
For I am in my father's chamber.
Where upon an altar sits his God, gold
And bovine. No more dreams for me, ever.

Where The Hand Does Fall

These are song lyrics. If you ever run into me with a guitar, ask me to play this.

walk with me a while
down by the water's edge
I've been crawlin there for miles
I might as well be dead
I think I see your face
somewhere up ahead
makes me dream of a better place
somewhere I'll never rest my head

walk with me a while
oh please let me be
so soft and sweet
layin next to thee
oh I don't need much, no not much at all
just need be where your sweet hand will fall

this house is burnin down, down down to the ground
been searchin through the fire and look at what I found
found myself an angel amongst the burnin things
pray to god I didn't burn her wings

this house is burnin down
I can't stand the heat
will we my love, oh will we ever meet
no I don't need much, no not much at all
I just need to be where your sweet hand will fall

I'm lookin down the barrel
Of a loaded gun
and you're behind the trigger
lord god what have I done
oh I''m your love babe
oh in flesh and bone
no there's no way thats possible
my love's dead and gone

you are not my love
oh he went away from me
with blood in his eyes
and tears on my cheeks
no I don't need much, no not much at all
but I'll never be where his sweet hand will fall

darlin I'm yours
oh why can't you see
a bullet grazed my heart
but it did not kill me
don't you remember
what we whispered on the floor
oh that you've caught, and I am wholly yours

walk with me a while
oh please let me be
so soft and sweet
oh layin next to thee
no I don't need much, no not much at all
and I'll always be.....
where your sweet hand will fall

A Hole

I found a hole in my heart.
And though it takes my breath,
Everything is alright,
Because it leads to you.

Dachau Replica

Reflecting on my trip to Germany I thought about one poignant moment, a visit to the Dachau memorial. It is a rebuilt model of the concentration camp. This had a profound effect on me. I really like how this poem came out.

Translations for German words: "Arbeit macht frei"="Work will make you free", "Fraktur"="old german writing style", "Rauchen Verboten!"="No Smoking!", "Schadenfreude"="pleasure from someone's pain", "Untermenschen"="lower man (name used for Jews by the Nazis)"

The grinning maw greets me with iron teeth
And Arbeit macht frei tattooed across its face.
As I walk this man-made hell
I realize, none of this is real, but it is,
A replica of refined horror.

There, on the wall, a faded Fraktur mock-up speaks German,
RAUCHEN VERBOTEN!
Brings the nostalgia of Schadenfreude,
And some courtesy
To a place where tourists now tread.

I walked the procession
Past some twenty or more rectangles.
Only two of the hovels are perfectly aged, deftly worn,
And actually there.
Perhaps there are only two,
Because any more would be...
Too real?

Inside those cages,
I see the "beds" of Jews that do not exist,
The water basin Untermenschen never bathed in;
Lockers that never held that striped mantle
Of despair.

And they snap photos, and shake their heads
As if they understand, basking in the solemnness.
But the moment they step outside,
It's gone.

The Thunder Of Idiots

A lot of people like to slam doors and just be loud in general here, and the idea of the "thunder of idiots" came into my head, and I expanded upon it.

The thunder of idiots pierces my room,
For courtesy evades them,
Other than a carnal sort.
Oh what is it that drives the fools,
To surpass ration,
For the sake of delirium?

In the idiot tribe
The braggadocio is king;
To have the least sleep,
The shortest memory,
And the compassion of fire ants,
Passes to them, a throne,
Where they may sleep,
As the peasants don their crowns.

Unknown Perfume

That smell
As I rest my head,
Stirs my love
From hibernation
To return to work
As the hive should.
Make the dream honey,
I know the perfect flower.
It grows in the haze
Of my somnolence.
Oh sweet reverie!
Please divulge your name,
I know you are not shy.

But as you sleep
In a bottle, miles away,
Your specter remains
To comfort me.

I love you,
A thousand times,
Without even knowing
Your name.

I Have Something God Does Not

I have something
God does not.
Something outside
His New Testament
Plastic surgery,
Something they say
He can't give me.

So, I thought
I'd help Him out

Here are a few
Shards of contempt

Use 'em well.

Other People's Poetry (Upon Reading Mr. Youngs' Poetry)

I wrote this after I read my 12th grade english teacher's poetic work on his website, some of which is very good. Though after I was finished reading I had this sudden urge to go read my own work, and it intrigued me.

It is a peculiar thing
Reading other people's poetry.
For the moment I finish
I must run
To the safety
Of my own work,
As if I forgot it was there,
And to know that it is.

5 a.m.

This poem was written at... well, 5 a.m.

What is 5 a.m. like?
It's just 4 red-eyed cyclopes,
The infinite hum,
And me.

Sleepless Night

I wrote this after a sleepless night where I stood and watched a flag blow in the wind for a solid 5 minutes. It was one of those moments where the smallest thing is the most profound and beautiful. I love those moments, its a shame they can't last longer.

This is my place.
A hint of Iceland
In my ears.
A cool rain wets my neck,
And blows through
Unnatural wheat.

I ponder the fog,
And how it can
Suspend orbs
Of muffled orange light.
Those dull suns
Casting their shadows
Against the wind.

Through my earphones
I believe someone
Is coming,
But alas, the wind fools
Me once more.

I turn my damp self
And before me
Is the flag.
Old Glory fighting to
Keep herself from
Suffocating.
Her keystone child
Has already given up,
Withered and wrapped
About their
Collective shackle.

For a moment she is proud,
As any good ol' boy
Would dream of,
But something gives way,
And she falls
Limp.
Never in my time there
Did she rise again.

Spotlit,
Under God,
Above me,
I watched her die
With my mind blank,
And lips kissed
With the cool rain.

I turned and went
Away from her,
Not out of sadness,
But because I knew
She would rise again,
If only in vain.

And as the fog died
That place was taken
From me.
And she became
The martyr of "righteousness" and "truth"
Once more.

Full Bloom

I wrote this for my sister for her birthday.

O little sapling!
You came but two summers after me
And grew in my shadows,
But this was no hindrance.
You took that shade,
And made it your sun.

Spring and Summer are long gone now
And to say the least,
You are unlike the others.
You are still in full bloom.
Mother Autumn’s chilly whisper
Left you unscathed;
The icy breath of Father Winter
Passed you by,
And not a petal is dropped.

Don’t let the lesser flora
Break your branches
Or loosen your roots,
For you are a spectacle
Of Nature’s fine hand.

Even after I return to the Earth,
After every other tree akin to you is gone,
There you will be,
Standing proud, standing strong, standing resolute.

O little sapling!
It seems you have an admirer!
A little girl is staring up at you and wonders,
“How did you get so big and strong?”
And through a gentle breeze, you answer,
“Because I am loved.”

The Invalid's Strength

This poem was created after i saw the movie "Everything Is Illuminated". Its a fabulous movie, really powerful and really funny, but ultimately heartbreaking.

I am a hollow Jew,
Rattling with the echoes
Of the invalid
That I foolishly call Religion.
And though he is weak
Somedays he walks
With me,
With a heart stronger
Than the one I carry.

I Must Return

I must return
I must go back to the broken bed
And the concrete walls
Of higher learning.
Who will be waiting
For me there?
I can't say,
But I hope its
No one.

Along A Path Of Orchids

This poem was inspired by the Georgia O'Keefe painting "Jack In The Pulpit IV".

I met a stranger
Along a path of orchids.
She drew back her hood
To reveal
Nothing
But a solitary blue candle
Breathing
A white flame.

She spoke to me,
Like a thought,
And drew me
Into her.

What lies beyond
Her abyss?

I reach to touch
The unknown
And find
But a wall,
Fragile and trembling.

My greatest fears have come true.

Quilts

This poem was inspired by Gustav Klimt's "Death and Life". Its an awesome painting, go find it.

This is the world
As I see it.
A place of wavering
Uncertainty caught in
An unescapable gyre.
Within the eye of that swirl lies
Flaccid equality, kept
Under organic lock and key.

But as they are whipped about
The fragrant winds, many a soul
Finds its place
Amongst the
Extant patchwork,

Until their needles no longer
Carry a varicolored wisp, and
Drop,
Rusted and dull
Into my cold, timeless hand.

And though it may be
Wonderful
To live,
I think it fine
To be
Where I am.

For I have my own quilt;
More glorious
and ancient
Than this
Huddled amalgam.

You shall be part
Of mine
My friend
In time,
In time.

A Rare Vigil

This was written on a sleepless night, when I was surprised to find the dorm lobby empty, a rare occurrence indeed.

A rare vigil tonight.
The lobby is empty,
And I am calm
In the silence.

The early hour
Does not deny
Sound or motion,
But tonight,
Only the building
Breathes
And my pen
Scrawls.

There is nothing
More splendid
Than detachment
In a place where

Solitude

Is not possible.

Makin' A Stand

This is a protest song.

Revel all you sinners
In your politics
And war.
Proto-punks
And neon chunks
All cry out for
More.
I just wanna know
What makes you think
That you know?
How much a life is worth
And when they should go.
So tip your hat
To the coffins
And the band, yeah,
Cause that's me
At the front
Makin' a stand.

Well I know you
Got your book
And you believe in it too.
Why do you ask
Abraham or Jesus
What to do?
Oh yeah, that's right
They wouldn't've agreed
With you plan.
So you lie to the nation
And tell 'em it's
For the good of man.
But I'll just mark
Another tick
Up on the wall, yeah,
Soldiers just like
Dominoes,
They fall and fall.

So don that black pin-stripe coat
All sable and foul.
Wear that plastic face
You use to hide the scowl.
Cause there's nothin'
Better than a blind nation,
Ready to do whatever
You want 'em to
Whether true or petty.
Now go stand before them,
The proletariat.
Oh my their faces look
rather angry!
Are you scared yet?
Oh, are you yet?

Oh I know you'll be around
For another year.
That's just enough time
For you to instill some fear.
Fear, oh no, you got that done.
C'mon, just another one.
Just one more soldier.
Ah send 'em over there, ha!

Revel all you sinners
In your politics
And war.
Proto-punks
And neon chunks
All cry out for
More.
I just wanna know
What makes you think
That you know?
How much a life is worth
And when they should go.
So tip your hats
To the coffins
And the band, yeah,
Cause that's me
At the front
Makin' a stand.