Little Black Book

Black book 16

The following post contains a couple of words that some may find offensive.  If you are offended by such words… please… stop here and read no further.  I hope you will take the time to wander this site and enjoy other posts that do not contain such words and I thank you for dropping by.  I feel that the words used in this writing are appropriate for the subject matter and to best express the contents, circumstances and emotions of this particular…

“Little Black Book”

It was just a little black book
………with names………..
Not real ones of course –
But names in code
For those who understood
The fucking rhyme –
Those who felt the pain
That she had bled
Between the lines
Those who held her hands
When they were shaking

It was just a little black book
………with names………..
Real ones of course –
For no code could hide
Their rude
Misunderstanding…
Never caring ‘bout the shit
They always piled
Upon her soul
Nor when they turned their backs
When ere she cried
Crumpled pictures of their faces
Pasted in between the lines
To remind her of the verses
They erased

It was just a little black book
……..with names…….
Fictitious of course –
Like the words they spewed
While pretending they cared
Stabbing her soul
From behind
Scribbled in crimson
Their own fucking poems
In self-righteous verses
Unrhymed

*****************

The little black book
…….Abandoned…….
Pages ripped
From its perfect bound spine
Crumpled
In dew covered grass
Its cover stained
With tears
And crimson
In a pile of
Green colored glass

The smell of whiskey
From mid-chapter one
An orchid pressed flat
Near the end
Found in the grass
Near a crystalline stone
Neath the White River bridge
Past the bend

A little black book
Of life
Of love
A misunderstanding
A plea…
Scribbled in runes
Her thoughts of escape
Left open……………….
To page 33…

Michael33

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The Bullet

Bullet 2

The Bullet

They’re all blank –
The slate
The page
The stare
The mind
……………………………the bullet
And yet…
When filled with hues
That make them whole –
They all can
Destroy another

Perhaps…
They’re better off
Left in their emptiness –
In silent desperation
For the innocence
Of the child…

Hate on the slate
Rage on the page
Despair in the stare
Misaligned in the mind
All of the above
……………………………in the bullet

And yet…
Children
No longer
Linger in the silence –
No longer
Sit idly by
While those
Who cannot speak
To truth
Hide inside
The voter’s booth
Where money is the root
Of soul-less pleas

Perhaps…
It is the politicians
That are better off
Left in the emptiness
Of their own being…
In the silence –
In desperation
For the innocence
Of the child

Seldom are they ever
Left blank –
The slate
The page
The stare
The mind
……………………………the bullet

And yet…
It is left to those of us
Who dare
To change the hues
That make them whole –
Who dare to erase
The slate of hate –
To turn the page of rage
To peace –
Change despair of the stare
To hope
And realign the mind
With truth
For the most beautiful
Of all reasons…
For the innocence…
……………………………Of the child

Michael33

Without Holes

Without Holes 4

Without Holes

Crap…
I stepped in it again
In the only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…
Left for me to find
Outside my door
By some animal
Without conscience
Probably hiding
Across the street
Behind the bushes…
Laughing…

This isn’t the first time
I’ve stepped in it
Heavens no…
I once stepped in it
On my way to meet
The Queen
But it was then
That I was barefoot
And walked very near
To the stream
So I could easily
Cleanse my sole

Once I didn’t realize
I had stepped in it
And carried it with me
Amongst the others…
They kept their distance
Sneering and laughing
Behind my back
All the while
The only reasoning
I could presume
For their repudiation
Of my presence
Was that I must have
Forgotten to wear
The only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…

But that was in the day
When my olfactories
Were impaired
And surely…
Surely…
I would be forgiven
For the mere fact
That I did not know
What I had done
Walking outside
The edges of the garden
Stepping deeply
Into a pile
Of feculence
Left hidden in the grass
By some animal
Without conscience
Hiding behind the bushes…
Laughing…

Perhaps that is my purpose…
To step in it…
To be ridiculed
By the others
For walking where
They would never dream
To touch their
New shiny shoes
Against the soil…
Choosing instead
To stand upon
Their sacred elitist ground
In a crowd of others
Proud to display
A pretentious pompous ass

Though I may
Step in it…
Again and again…
I will always walk
Away from the crowd
That chooses
To ignore
Or belittle
The light
That shines
From one without shoes…
Or one that is willing
To step in the crap
In search of something different…
In the only pair of shoes I own…
Without holes

Michael33

 

Beyond the Ledge

Beyond the Ledge

Beyond the Ledge

I did not come in innocence
For I have felt the roaring fire
So close
Against my face
Each breath that I would breathe
Could smell the singe

Yet…
Never have I walked into the river
To cool the burning embers
Neath my skin
Nor wandered into reason
To repair my tattered soul
For no longer could I bide
Within the fringe

Always I must lean
Beyond the ledge
For that is where my journey
Finds the flame
Though the smell of burning flesh
No longer lingers in my breath
I alone must dwell
Within the blame

I did not come in innocence
For I have felt the blowing rain
So hard
Against my face
My eyes no longer visioned
Morrow’s light

Yet…
Never did I blink to wash the tears
The tears that blurred my vision
Through the night
Never did I let the rain
Calm embers neath my skin
Nor cool the flames
To change
The wrong to right

Always I must step
Beyond the edge
For that is where my essence
Finds the fire
Though the scent of burning flesh
No longer bides within my breath
I alone must always
Walk the wire

I did not come in innocence…….
For I have felt the heat
— Of the roaring fire

Michael33

Resonance

Resonance 1

Resonance

It fell
Out of your mind
Into poetry
Unrhymed
Like so many
Vestal verses
Left unsaid…
Pushed out
On the edge
Where it lingers
Near the ledge
Neath the tintinnabulation
In your head

You may stash it
Neath the stones
Or in the closet
With the bones
Or inside burlap sacks
Beneath the floor…
Till someone
Shines a light
Into your hidden
Secret site
Where no one else
Has cared
Or dared explore

It fell
Onto the page
On the blank white
Paper stage
Yet no one hears
The sound
If left unsaid…
Yet echoes
Cannot hide
From vestal versus
Kept inside
Neath the tintinnabulation
In your head

Michael33

Flowers Seldom Bloom In Black and White

In Black and White

Flowers Seldom Bloom
In Black and White

Page
After page
After page
Of crap
Worthless words of wisdom
From an idiot –
Delusional ideas of grandeur
That wilt upon the parchment
In nothing more
Than wasted time and tears…
Why write it down
When no one really
Reads in shades
Beyond the black and white
And no one dares to linger
Tween the lines

Yet…
Life just seems to dwell
With verses veiled –
Where flowers seldom
Bloom in hues
Of only black and white
And worthless words of wisdom
Write the rhyme

Poets hide their love
Their life
In page
After page
Of crap
In files most likely
No one else will read
But it’s never wasted time
When life is lived
Between the lines
Where love can glow
In words
That never rhyme

The worthless words of wisdom
From an idiot –
The crumpled parchment
Stained by silent tears
Often brings reflected light
Of love
Of life
In rhyme
In a cadence
No one else may understand –
But when someone dares to linger
In the secrets tween the lines
They know that love
Is never… wasted time

Michael33

Tumbled Stones

River 9

Tumbled Stones

It wasn’t the silence
That led me to the river
For I have always lingered
In the rhapsody
In the stillness
Of the moments before the dawn

I was not lured
By the sound of flowing water
O’er tumbled stones
Nor the song of the whippoorwill
From the white oak tree
Roots reaching deep
Neath the silt

I suppose that one might say
I cheated fate
Though fate is never really blind
When rivers rise too far
Above the knees
And currents flow too strong
For one to stand upon the stones
And find the strength
Of truth
Inside the rhyme

Perhaps I was lured
By reflections
In the ripples –
Shadows dancing softly
In the moonlight…
A symphony of strings
Enchanting one into the other
Voices in the stream
In whispered breath

It wasn’t the silence
That led me to the river
Nor the sound of water’s flow
O’er tumbled stones –
One might say
I cheated fate
Though fate is never blind
While one is tempting

But sometimes
One can only find
The truth inside the rhyme
From voices in the whisper –
Neath the silt…

Michael33