Classic: one of my favorite words

There is a clipper ship in the harbor.
Alone, not seaworthy.
Moss and calcium infect and warp the deck.

Sunny day. No fog.

The ship knows why it was made
and now it cannot love the sea.
The sea is no longer infinite;
The wax and wane of the tide
make a heartless joke
as the shore ropes creak and laugh.

No captain to shout orders,
no crew to follow them.
The gulls have made nests
and now command with their squeals
the poor old clipper.

Wood fills with water,
swells; stretches.

The falling sun and rising winds
bring in the other ships from fishing trips.
Tidal tricks make the solitary ship
bow and yearn
for freedom and adventure.

To the other ships
the lonely clipper is
nothing more than a reminder of their own future;
bored,
ruined,
and hopeless.

Our lonely ship exists now
in memories
of crashing waves, the shouts of men,
salvation from the storm.
Covered in filth without the faintest remnant
of the rapid rowers
that once found solace in
the hollow belly.

We do not beat on,
boats against the currents.
We fall asleep one day in a dirty harbor
tied to the dock with tight ropes
never to wake up again.

Worldview: an overview

I only write poems about things that matter once in a blue moon. My poems are usually about a feeling or an image in my head. But sometimes, I get so overwhelmed with my own thoughts and I have to write them down. I do it honestly. If I am angry, I will write angry. If I am resolute...etc. There is probably too much here, and its all packed in tight. So, read slowly, and maybe you will stay with me.


This Room Was Once So Still

Before, when mothers held the children softly,
we were never scared.
The house’s gentle noises let us know it was all settling down.
Fires crackled calm reminders of our safety and comfort.
We were going to be okay.

Then, not to be denied by our created consolation,
it crept in quietly.
The knowledge drifted over us like cigarette smoke.
We breathed the in the creeping mist.
It was inescapable.

Our hopes were so simple. New bikes for Christmas, family tree reports, and chalk to make foursquare courts. We chased the blonde girls in class and stood atop jungle gyms as kings. It was all so far ahead of us.

Now we test genitals for diseases
telling each other we will never love enough to make forever last for ever.
Our parents showed us just how important promises really are.

An entire generation of genius wasted on friend requests and about me’s.
Japanese bukkake and German women shitting in each other’s mouths…government secrets and conspiracy films…abortions and hangings…celebrity nose jobs and blow jobs

by clicking and pressing enter.

We know too much
and our lives are too long;
the apathy of post-modern philosophy is purely a reaction:

“We can become our dreams, but maybe dreams are lies to help us fall asleep. We can love, but maybe love is nothing like we were taught. We can elect change, but maybe change is nothing like we thought.”

It is counter-intuitive to have faith in things we cannot see.

It takes courage to be sure of what we hope for.

The greatest romance we have in this world of knowledge is belief in something greater than just what we know, faith that the knowledge is far more pure than the knowing.
What is true must be true because it was created to be true.

But, this world is not so still.

not like curt's blog

why does this happen to people?

http://www.wwtdd.com/photo.phtml?post_key=17081&photo_key=59291

also youtube bai ling sometime. that bitch is dumb.