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Poems: 260721 - July 26th, 2021
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Robert Morpheal
Jul 26, 2021, 1:09:51 PM7/26/21
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190721A
------------
Don't know why
we never met
but that is how it goes
in passing
and we all go on
until we don't anymore.
I was always waiting
for a signal
coming from you
or the heavens above
sounding the all clear
where we come out.
Out from the pitch
concerning never know
and never knowing
anything that we betray
in the imagining
an end to that darkness.
Throwing off
all those stipulations
and no longer ignorant
about happiness
being carved out
from raw bits of gods.
The way it used to be
in some of those places
that aren't anymore
and always too late
to be remembering
what many didn't know
The sirens are wailing
on random streets
and there are warnings
as to look both ways
indicating what stops
and what doesn't stop.
The start and stopped
clutter of what possesses
with endless possibilities
never sufficiently realized
in the terms and conditions
that define real satisfaction.
All that some ever know
are interrupted plans
right from the get go
hoping for something
of a right interruption
changing the way it goes.
We were never
and never that lucky
in any never before
but I noticed something
I might have adored
gone in the passing.
When is it any different
than what we imagine
being gone in the passing
while pretending
that there is a long list
of greater importance.
---------------------------------
190721B
-----------
It was all by arrangement
but that doesn't mean
it was something good.
The stars are always wrong
and guesses don't count
when playing with the truth.
No one ever lives
after gazing into the eyes
of the real truth.
The truth that we toy with
in the marginalia
hoping to add some gain.
Dirty things need cleaning
broken things need fixing
in a tedious time of life.
It can keep one busied
with nothing much
for too much of the time.
Mourning all the dreams
that ended at someone
who never showed up.
Could write a great fiction
that one would want to live
with the likes of some other.
Someone one doesn't know
from those bulging catalogues
filling a mind with unknowns.
There are the lucky
who sold out properly
at the right time.
The no longer available
leaving blurbs and images
ghosts of dead marketing.
Though as it happens
they don't like the story
and write their own.
Adding to the confusion
concerning one's kidnappers
and their escalating demands.
Times having changed
for obsolescent products
from discontinued lines.
Resistance to all one's plots
editing out one's characters
changing one's settings.
The go, no go, tool
does not go anywhere
all the gaps having changed.
Too hard to really live
an ad lib live life
between official lines.
A dictator always lurking
behind every scene
and under every bed.
Doesn't like the stories
where we tried to write
someone else in.
It becomes a monologue
no one wants to hear
but that was the given.
The big huge world
seems too far away
from where one hangs on.
Against being shaken off
the way dinner is grabbed
and shaken in wild jaws.
Hanging on to fractured
threads of fiction
baited with promise.
I don't know yours
in a billion names
and you never called mine.
Shuffle identities
rearrange the faces
to make porcelain armies.
There is a hardened glaze
over the clay surfaces
of anything nowadays.
Seems a step away
to becoming shards
of what once was.
---------------------------
190721C
------------
Those days are gone
and they won't be coming
back ever after and again
past that leaving of us
to ghosts of once was
in the lost of everything
that seemed to save us
from so much less.
No one comes around
so I guess it was a dream
and now we don't know
the living from the dead
but what we still know
is some of the best
are always long gone
by the time we get there.
No one ever told us
it would go like that
in the rise and the fall
of everything that rises
and everything that falls
up along the upbeat
and down a downbeat
immensity of it all.
Some of us never get
to where others have gone
so we don't really know
where they were headed to
or where it came from
past the same sad stories
of easy to get nothing
for paying all those dues.
------------------------------
210721A
------------
Haphazard feelings
doing the look around
then dash out
to other appointments
on an imaginary calendar.
Crowds of bee buzz
pollinating plastic flowers
become wilt away
at slightest touch gropes
from blindly straying hands.
All the goings on that go
into pointless regions
common cerebral traps
clogged drain pipes
behind the eye plugs.
Not much on the table
that is allowed anymore
except the usual contraband
of a few too common tastes
deadening pleasure zones.
Visions of comedians
picking through garbage
looking for dead jokes
to sanitize and sell
at weekend market stalls.
Everyone is at the races
where no one ever wins
more than their drop dead
come around the hurry
of the crowded far stretch.
Saying the right words
is supposed to work magic
if you say them often
in exactly the right ways
after the wishing well closes.
That is if you really want
the same surprise package
that all the others got
when standing in that line
of grinning strangely.
--------------------------
240721A
------------
Where would I go
in here, out there
round and about
the pain of being
nothing that special
as to being noticed.
There is no gleam
beneath all my tarnish
and only wearing away
under polish and rub
until embrittled
age lines of corrosion.
Must be noticed
to find anyone there
out in that dismal
stretch of making
and breaking bits
of the self same.
I have disappeared
from your sight
cracking the surface
in a going under way
down between wakes
and other losses.
Don't have the answer
to where
there are answers
to the old or new
sorted out questions
and no way to advertise.
They sell tickets
but it is too late
for any of that now
reading the fine print
that covers the back
of those possibilities.
We are the broken up
and the broken down
to no more from it all
than a purchase history
defining risk levels
and character types.
We are what we buy
and that takes us
to suffering judgments
about where we fell short
from estimated conformity
to designer expectations.
Fathers are never proud
having expected much more
of what they knew best
kicked around
in too familiar fields
between whistle blows.
Fractured stick figures
takes up various poses
no longer identified
with definite meanings
stripped of substance
by market changes.
Could make believe
that what we put in
actually meant more
than it ever really did
before passed over
by another shock wave.
If you are of the lucky
you come out of it
part of a brain intact
but most of the program
you used to rely on
having been erased.
You started again
until forced to realize
that you couldn't
then drifting into shock
wondering if there are nerves
in your jiggling Jello.
We spent ourselves
on our belief in hope
and only time will tell
until it all times out
with no score
up on the scoreboard.
Not all of us can love
the same things
in the same ways
but why is it so hard
to really be free
from all that hate.
----------------------
240721B
-----------
There is that resistance
to being arm twisted
into joining the oblivious
as if oblivion washes away
all of your troubles.
Can it dissolve away
all the traces of boredom
that stain the appearance
and maintain the distance
resembling most anyone.
Can it make you love
what you dislike
and despise
your pleasures
for oblivion's sake.
Taking you up on it
from nothing to offer
to popular affirmation
of being something special
among the oblivious.
Oblivion in a refined form
used to wash away
all the sins of the world
and in some places
they say it still does.
They were telling you
all you needed was oblivion
so that you could find love
ending decades of loneliness
at being singled out.
Our tiny tot lifetimes
with our inflated longings
becoming balloon animals
with twisted appendages
tied up in endless knots.
See through needs
arguing with varied wants
and no matter what we do
we still have them all
begging for something.
The endless restrictions
against what is harmless
destroying any cherishing
and various illusions
that could pass as freedoms.
No one joins in
to your favourite games
and you don't want
any more to do with
their routine game plans.
The huddle at centre field
has begun to disgust you
and you hate the coach
so you walk out
on the whole team.
You tuned out long ago
exiting the commentary
on endless replays
and having no idea
who was which number.
They don't invite you
so it makes no difference
what you would do
or what you would not do
in the midst of it all.
There is nothing left
that you can talk about
in that sort of company
and no one you could want
is imagining you naked.
You do not want it
in one way or the other
the way it was detailed
in locker room talk
and that narrows it down.
There were no starbursts
to be spurted out
into a conceptual void
where making out
becomes astronomical porn.
The cruel universe
a numb and brutal place
that fails to understand
the cravings of touch
shared by prettier things.
A rebellion of star dust
against its maker
trying to find a way out
even if for a little while
from all of that oblivion.
------------------------------
A part of me is becoming as revolted and revolting as Arthur Rimbaud was, but entirely unable to share his particular predilections as to how he sought his particular type of cure to that. Each to their own, we might say, but in essence the existential factors end up being too much the same.
------------
Don't know why
we never met
but that is how it goes
in passing
and we all go on
until we don't anymore.
I was always waiting
for a signal
coming from you
or the heavens above
sounding the all clear
where we come out.
Out from the pitch
concerning never know
and never knowing
anything that we betray
in the imagining
an end to that darkness.
Throwing off
all those stipulations
and no longer ignorant
about happiness
being carved out
from raw bits of gods.
The way it used to be
in some of those places
that aren't anymore
and always too late
to be remembering
what many didn't know
The sirens are wailing
on random streets
and there are warnings
as to look both ways
indicating what stops
and what doesn't stop.
The start and stopped
clutter of what possesses
with endless possibilities
never sufficiently realized
in the terms and conditions
that define real satisfaction.
All that some ever know
are interrupted plans
right from the get go
hoping for something
of a right interruption
changing the way it goes.
We were never
and never that lucky
in any never before
but I noticed something
I might have adored
gone in the passing.
When is it any different
than what we imagine
being gone in the passing
while pretending
that there is a long list
of greater importance.
---------------------------------
190721B
-----------
It was all by arrangement
but that doesn't mean
it was something good.
The stars are always wrong
and guesses don't count
when playing with the truth.
No one ever lives
after gazing into the eyes
of the real truth.
The truth that we toy with
in the marginalia
hoping to add some gain.
Dirty things need cleaning
broken things need fixing
in a tedious time of life.
It can keep one busied
with nothing much
for too much of the time.
Mourning all the dreams
that ended at someone
who never showed up.
Could write a great fiction
that one would want to live
with the likes of some other.
Someone one doesn't know
from those bulging catalogues
filling a mind with unknowns.
There are the lucky
who sold out properly
at the right time.
The no longer available
leaving blurbs and images
ghosts of dead marketing.
Though as it happens
they don't like the story
and write their own.
Adding to the confusion
concerning one's kidnappers
and their escalating demands.
Times having changed
for obsolescent products
from discontinued lines.
Resistance to all one's plots
editing out one's characters
changing one's settings.
The go, no go, tool
does not go anywhere
all the gaps having changed.
Too hard to really live
an ad lib live life
between official lines.
A dictator always lurking
behind every scene
and under every bed.
Doesn't like the stories
where we tried to write
someone else in.
It becomes a monologue
no one wants to hear
but that was the given.
The big huge world
seems too far away
from where one hangs on.
Against being shaken off
the way dinner is grabbed
and shaken in wild jaws.
Hanging on to fractured
threads of fiction
baited with promise.
I don't know yours
in a billion names
and you never called mine.
Shuffle identities
rearrange the faces
to make porcelain armies.
There is a hardened glaze
over the clay surfaces
of anything nowadays.
Seems a step away
to becoming shards
of what once was.
---------------------------
190721C
------------
Those days are gone
and they won't be coming
back ever after and again
past that leaving of us
to ghosts of once was
in the lost of everything
that seemed to save us
from so much less.
No one comes around
so I guess it was a dream
and now we don't know
the living from the dead
but what we still know
is some of the best
are always long gone
by the time we get there.
No one ever told us
it would go like that
in the rise and the fall
of everything that rises
and everything that falls
up along the upbeat
and down a downbeat
immensity of it all.
Some of us never get
to where others have gone
so we don't really know
where they were headed to
or where it came from
past the same sad stories
of easy to get nothing
for paying all those dues.
------------------------------
210721A
------------
Haphazard feelings
doing the look around
then dash out
to other appointments
on an imaginary calendar.
Crowds of bee buzz
pollinating plastic flowers
become wilt away
at slightest touch gropes
from blindly straying hands.
All the goings on that go
into pointless regions
common cerebral traps
clogged drain pipes
behind the eye plugs.
Not much on the table
that is allowed anymore
except the usual contraband
of a few too common tastes
deadening pleasure zones.
Visions of comedians
picking through garbage
looking for dead jokes
to sanitize and sell
at weekend market stalls.
Everyone is at the races
where no one ever wins
more than their drop dead
come around the hurry
of the crowded far stretch.
Saying the right words
is supposed to work magic
if you say them often
in exactly the right ways
after the wishing well closes.
That is if you really want
the same surprise package
that all the others got
when standing in that line
of grinning strangely.
--------------------------
240721A
------------
Where would I go
in here, out there
round and about
the pain of being
nothing that special
as to being noticed.
There is no gleam
beneath all my tarnish
and only wearing away
under polish and rub
until embrittled
age lines of corrosion.
Must be noticed
to find anyone there
out in that dismal
stretch of making
and breaking bits
of the self same.
I have disappeared
from your sight
cracking the surface
in a going under way
down between wakes
and other losses.
Don't have the answer
to where
there are answers
to the old or new
sorted out questions
and no way to advertise.
They sell tickets
but it is too late
for any of that now
reading the fine print
that covers the back
of those possibilities.
We are the broken up
and the broken down
to no more from it all
than a purchase history
defining risk levels
and character types.
We are what we buy
and that takes us
to suffering judgments
about where we fell short
from estimated conformity
to designer expectations.
Fathers are never proud
having expected much more
of what they knew best
kicked around
in too familiar fields
between whistle blows.
Fractured stick figures
takes up various poses
no longer identified
with definite meanings
stripped of substance
by market changes.
Could make believe
that what we put in
actually meant more
than it ever really did
before passed over
by another shock wave.
If you are of the lucky
you come out of it
part of a brain intact
but most of the program
you used to rely on
having been erased.
You started again
until forced to realize
that you couldn't
then drifting into shock
wondering if there are nerves
in your jiggling Jello.
We spent ourselves
on our belief in hope
and only time will tell
until it all times out
with no score
up on the scoreboard.
Not all of us can love
the same things
in the same ways
but why is it so hard
to really be free
from all that hate.
----------------------
240721B
-----------
There is that resistance
to being arm twisted
into joining the oblivious
as if oblivion washes away
all of your troubles.
Can it dissolve away
all the traces of boredom
that stain the appearance
and maintain the distance
resembling most anyone.
Can it make you love
what you dislike
and despise
your pleasures
for oblivion's sake.
Taking you up on it
from nothing to offer
to popular affirmation
of being something special
among the oblivious.
Oblivion in a refined form
used to wash away
all the sins of the world
and in some places
they say it still does.
They were telling you
all you needed was oblivion
so that you could find love
ending decades of loneliness
at being singled out.
Our tiny tot lifetimes
with our inflated longings
becoming balloon animals
with twisted appendages
tied up in endless knots.
See through needs
arguing with varied wants
and no matter what we do
we still have them all
begging for something.
The endless restrictions
against what is harmless
destroying any cherishing
and various illusions
that could pass as freedoms.
No one joins in
to your favourite games
and you don't want
any more to do with
their routine game plans.
The huddle at centre field
has begun to disgust you
and you hate the coach
so you walk out
on the whole team.
You tuned out long ago
exiting the commentary
on endless replays
and having no idea
who was which number.
They don't invite you
so it makes no difference
what you would do
or what you would not do
in the midst of it all.
There is nothing left
that you can talk about
in that sort of company
and no one you could want
is imagining you naked.
You do not want it
in one way or the other
the way it was detailed
in locker room talk
and that narrows it down.
There were no starbursts
to be spurted out
into a conceptual void
where making out
becomes astronomical porn.
The cruel universe
a numb and brutal place
that fails to understand
the cravings of touch
shared by prettier things.
A rebellion of star dust
against its maker
trying to find a way out
even if for a little while
from all of that oblivion.
------------------------------
A part of me is becoming as revolted and revolting as Arthur Rimbaud was, but entirely unable to share his particular predilections as to how he sought his particular type of cure to that. Each to their own, we might say, but in essence the existential factors end up being too much the same.
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