| Poems: 110719 - July 11th, 2019 |
|
| Robert Morpheal (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2019/07/11 12:10 |
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Subject: Poems: 110719 - July 11th, 2019
From: Robert Morpheal <morpheal@yahoo.com>
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110719A
-----------
feeling the challenges
of what passes as sanity
becoming too much
to bear up under
it presses you down
into a thin, flat line
of gone numb
and nothing special
attempted escapes
get punished
with escalated costs
and forced regrets
you cannot get out
for good behaviour
trying to squeeze
from under a laugh track
kept you pushed down
under that last crush
of so many years ago
and nothing ever since
flashbacks to lives
you never got to live in
teasing patience
lacking a new chapter
proven pointless
to turn over a new page
with the same writing
scrawled all over it
self assertive arguments
change nothing
machines always wanting
larger sacrifices.
--------------------
110719B
-----------
Summer heat
sweats the wet ground
stream of consciousness
streaming in the blood
of too much wanting
and all the parties
that never were
where we never met.
The fished in
to looking forward
and other pastimes
losers and winners play
for distraction
from bird song
between leap frog
fish jumping.
The plans I made
having been rejected
the bridge tumbled down
creating another gap
filled with the onrush
of perpetual silence
eating away
the canyon walls.
Invested too much
into everything
barely getting out
somewhat alive
according to statistics
vital and otherwise
walking away
into more solitary.
Never found a friend
backed anything
running up against it
connecting dots
between losses
creating empty spaces
to colour in
with to whom it concerns.
More blanks
filling in illusions
seemed a sure thing
rationally reaching
to seemed to be there
grasping emptiness
of go away.
Passing away time,
in fill in gestures
place of anything
would have been doing
struggling evasive
making any sense
of what it meant.
---------------------
110719C
-----------
None of the right people
so the undertow
becomes a writing off
dragged out from under
into all alone
in castaway
bottomless waters.
Sensation adrift
cut loose
from left over meaning
stink of fish entrails
peck at anything
beaks of birds
drop a feather.
Mornings suffocated
from any motivation,
rising stiff
to counting the dead
on the dead land
reconciling nothing
past empty bottles.
No idea where
to get on with it
having lost track
in a broken off
out of touch condition
of disregarded
objection over ruled.
History only succeeds
when it is a resurrection
millennial anxiety
pointlessly repeated
denying further value
to the name tag
and the costume.
Past the fringe
is what was mainstream
even the circus
will not come back again
the bread is stale
leaves a ferment
of expense.
Truth and Beauty
packed their bags
finding no one
genuinely interested
or any willing
to collaborate
as to social value.
-----------------------
110719D
-----------
If nothing else intervenes
there are the threats
of various specious instances
offering immanence
of destruction.
Cruelty of flashbacks
into childhoods
of breaking
everything we made
then building again.
Life seems taken over
by unfinished matters
varying as they do
from abstract to ugly
ideals and cravings.
Waste of time
reasoning about it
where the foot went down
into tripped up
entangled disaster.
We all fall down
if no one catches us up
before going over
pitch dark
and head first.
Oh Lords, protect
from everything
and forever
make miserable
past your toll booths.
Circumstantial gauntlet
initiates to nothing
breaking off
bruised arrangements
of squelched neurons.
Transmitted signals
the traumatic fracturing
of broadcast rules
leaving the invalid
permanently hobbled.
Beginning to believe
being helped
into straitjackets
would have been better
than nothing at all.
-----------------------
110719E
-----------
Don't want to live
in a dollar store mentality
new incarnation
of five and dime
fake content.
Lived each lie
to best of ability
where it wrapped up
any present moment
ribbon and bow.
Can still imagine
desirable ways
for a wild time
on the way out
from nowhere.
Do not know anyone
who has that much going
as to imagination
feeling as desperate
for stimulus.
More pictures
of matchstick men
doing nothing
other than pumping up
further outbursts.
Turning back the clock
to jazz time blues
poets of desolation
would feel like something
rabbit from a hat.
After that isn't
anything that it was
cracked up to being
where all we ever get
is hearts our torn out.
Card in the mail
being to occupant
from anonymous sender
mass marketing pizza
and funeral services.
-------------------------
110719F
-----------
Everyone assumes
all the incorrect assumptions
in the infiltrated feed
lines of corroborating testimony.
The way it always hangs,
at any mass slaughter
of originality
deaf to the idea.
General Idea knew it,
but that was in a past time
when it was possible
to get it together.
Now slogans rewritten
in marketing departments
consistent with authority
dividing it all up.
Whatever came up
to publicly panned
left nothing valued
and even less realized.
Reality once definitive
of machine configurations
retaining functional options
beyond a button push.
The machine now defining
moulded plastic reality
constrained boundary flex
button push shapes.
No one shows real interest
on any remaining level
of the playing boards
blocks all possible moves.
--------------------------------
I have never witnessed so much irrational and prevalent obstruction in rela
tion to any sort of genuine form of contentment, on any level, about anythi
ng at all. So much that people could do, so very much more readily in the n
ot so distant past than appears to be the case today. A trend that has defi
nitely and steadily worsened in recent decades, since the Cold War ended. A
trend towards the stiffer and stiffer imposition of the one dimensional de
solation of a socio cultural wasteland with less and less chances for even
the most modest forms of even the most temporary forms of what were histori
cally socio-cultural opportunities for some escape.
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