(I’m not dead). Carnival Poem I The music whips you into mania And the sweat of the masses incites to ecstasy If religion is the opiate, This is the tonic. Sweet like cascadoo, Rush of power like cocaine, Addictive like morphine. We are the vessels The street is the vein Infecting all with Wuk-up-yuh-waist-osis And free-up-yuh-self-itis. It is a chronic epidemic Where the only cure Is to succumb to the disease; More riddim, More kaiso, More tempo.
Heart Burn
Hey guys, i’m not dead! I wrote a poem and everything. Read on for delicious teen angst. -.- Heartburn You are bad for my heart. Premature ventricular contractions, Unexpected palpitations, Chronic pain that no Clinically proven prescription can palliate, With prolonged burning from passions Long since passed. All you’d left was a hole, And I was defective. Recovery is slow, I’m still clogged with thoughts of you, But the heart is a muscle So I’m working it out to be stronger. Remission lulls into complacency, So relapse is swift, acutely reminding That chronic pain is persistent. It is a return…
Ode
*NOTE* this has been edited. and i’m much happier with the edit. Ode Your voice is sweet and slow like honey dripping off a spoon, And the way your lips caress each word; parting is such sweet sorrow. Your scent intoxicates my being With its murmurs of power, Hints of vice And the lingering notes of fixation. Your pendulum see saw hips hypnotize my eyes So I play right into your smile When our eyes meet, time moves poco rit, As you weave your spell on me And when we touch, the heat crescendos, my heart beats staccato allegro And…
Fruition
(Clearly i’m on a roll today! must be the no sleep). The words form like fruit in the tree of the mind, If left too long, the birds of distraction Peck away, leaving only, and even then Only perhaps, a husk to make more fertile grounds. Pick it too soon and hope against hope As you force it to ripen that comes out right, But the skin is too green and the flavor is wrong, Though sometimes you can catch it at Just the right time, and nurture it in a Paper bag, and when it is ready, Even through…
New Frontier
So funny story about this poem… The timestamp for the creation is the 5th of august 2008. See what had happened was I started this poem and just never finished it… I couldn’t quite find the direction I wanted it to go in, until one night, the fevers of writing possessed my brain, (lol whut??), and it came to me. And so on the 22rd of September 2010, in the late hours of the night, I finally freakin’ finished the poem. And here it is in it’s longsuffering glory. The title is a work in progress. Give it a year…