Solitary

It always starts off this way;
Locked away in my space I listen,
And I feel. I let the silence I hear
Rape me, coax my soul to her altar,
And leave me with aches and in pain.
I feel dirty afterwards, like it’s my fault
I am all alone, easy pickings for the
Incubus laying in wait for me, every time.
And I am to Blame; I make my anxiety
Intoxicating. I hold that always busy
Neon sign that says; “Come get me, sweety!” Over my head.
I ask for it. If only I would join the busy bees,
And live my life by clicks, I’d be happy.
If only I’d sweep my feelings under my rug,
If I just act tough, I would be smug;
I would feign some aggression and become a man.
And I wouldn’t be in my space, waiting for her to come again.
I would not be confined to my limited devices,
Making my empty space welcome the cold, black hole that is me…
No essence, nor backbone to hold me steady,
But four walls, transparent like nothing, and just a bed I lay on
For our regular sessions, while I watch the world in my confinement.
With my wise words written in ink to my side
My comfort and my reprimand…;

“You live in a cage;
That’s what your world feels like.
When they meet a sage,
Who’s numb to the world’s hike.
They don’t see the bars
Blocking escape; the breeze,
She blows heat from mars
For their blind minds to freeze.”

Protecting me…

Don’t look…

DON’T YOU DARE LOOK!

That’s right, keep walking.

And avoid the awkward glances,

Be awkward and keep moving.

Don’t worry…

Don’t you dare feel SORRY!

Don’t feel sorry you’re lonely while I am protecting….

I AM protecting- I am saving you.

From what you ask??

FROM PEOPLE!

Yes, from them, from knowing them.

They’re Savages. They’re Judges.

They’re hangmen on crutches!!!

They aren’t good for you.

They will murder you! They will torture you!

They will just rape you!!!

And you… you’ll just write another sorry poem

For the pain in your heart.

You will stand waiting for the tear at the isle

You will usher her to her meet her maker

To have and to hold her, that fragile heart you love….

Whenever you’re hit with harsh words on the sly

That they’re normal and you’re;

Abnormal…

You’ll curl up and bawl on print

Whine in abstract and with hints

For attention and a couple more hits

I’m saving you

I’m saving you from all of that again…

So keep walking

Keep walking Son.

 

LEBRECHT|HITLEBB©2016||MADPOET’SDIARY||

Repeat after me…

Say it like I do,
Say it like I say.
Repeat the words and the thoughts,
Repeat the steps and the stops.
Take each verse.
Take each verse and drive it home,
Drive it home until it…
until it hits you.
Hits you like a car SHOULD!!
It Should hit
You should hit you
And know what it feels like to be hit
What hit me?
What hit you?
I dunno.
I dunno what it is you hit-
Somewhere between writing and complaining
I,
YOUR DIARY, had to scream-
Stop!!
Stop this madness, stop the scribbling.
Stop that yabbing,
This isn’t worthy.
It’s stage worthy but are you stage ready?
Now look here son;
You read Byron,
You sought Edgar,
Played in Word’s-Worth
Yes you’re snobbish.
Now here you are-
you dot the lines and play with rhymes…
Frost must feel warm watching a sell out.
What happened to poetry?
What happened to the stuck up attitude?
That stubborn magnitude,
What happened?
The day you bought me
I promised to love and to cherish You,
not this art you took to feel worthy-
To make friends and to feel heavy.
I say -why Reggie- in my Nick Cage voice;
Did I sound worthy?
STOP!
AND REPEAT AFTER ME
Say it like I do
Say it like say
Screeeeeeeeam if you have to
But say it like I do
She broke your heart son, say it like you should
But first
Repeat after me….
I AM A POET
I AM A POET
I AM A DARN GOOD POET SON…

LEBRECHT|HITLEBB©2016||MADPOET’SDIARY||

Buy thy Sins

A penny for every dark thought

Every bad intention ever fought

Would free man from all evil thought

Then heaven would be ever sought

Back to limbo when my horns are bought

Good booty for every evil sought

From the market where white feathers rot

Where white garments soil the lone black pot

Our great fear is of the house that is hot

Where sons of the father dance till never not

At home they dress like servants of old

And run from father when their wings grow bold 

Back to limbo with my booty, brought

From pawning sins just because I ought

In the market where white wings can roam

The white can make the black wing groan

LEBRECHT|HITLEBB©2016||MADPOET’SDIARY||

EGO and War

My eyes waver
My mind says never

My body makes a shiver
And my ego looks to the maker
My anxiety is a trouble maker
And the words, oh the words take a minute longer
Where is the courage – liquid nerves like quick sand –
…To drown my floating nerves in?
My anti – depressants and anxiety tables…
WAIT, I never had any…
So how will I fight it? I can never talk to people
My voice won’t ever burst the bubble
My hand won’t reach for the sky…
But wait
Is this a problem?
Are communalistic frailties really existential crises?
My tongue is sharp
My fingers are nimble
With a pen or Key My law would be absolute
Their eyes will waver
My minds whisper they could never
Their bodies will shiver
The egos will call on the maker
Their anxiety will relax my trouble maker
Oh their words – I can’t wait a minute longer
They are my courage – like nerves of steel on hard ground.

 

LEBRECHT|HITLEBB©2016||MADPOET’SDIARY||

Continue reading EGO and War

A Verse That Read…

I’m no preacher for the faithless realist,
Just a soul hollering theist with a truth.
With palms high against backlashing backhands
From puny men idolizing great denial,
Defending their worship from evil Moses
Hailing Noah – in wait for dry seasons.
I beat the gong that caused upheaval.
I Read the verse that called for pickets
On the day I waved off our maker;
For being nothing but lost translation.
I will burn in a world of damnation
For poor choice in figurative expression.
The only Sin that irks dead Kings,
The reason for a future of scarred skin.
A sin in a verse,
A verse that read:
God is dead.

Riddle me Love….

The weary traveller set on his road,
Stops every time he’s bored and old.
A sphinx on the road comes out to say,
‘Riddle or Pain’; she wants to play.
He climbs on her back, no cross on his heart,
Rides her heart till she’s flat on her back.
Riddles and pain or answers and pleasure,
Be on your feet for the end of the latter.

 

LEBRECHT|HITLEBB©2016||MADPOET’SDIARY||