- Published on Wednesday, 26 March 2014 05:32
by Chris Drew
bug bite knees
days are full
a coffee cup left a ring
on my air mattress
“how’s that sovereignty?”
“the beige walls?”
boxes and bags all over
(even in the streets;
the kitchens too)
as christmas decorations
(or any holiday’s)
in the attic or basement
like fruit cellar sustenance
ain’t survival a wild drive?
little nail and pin pricks
sticky tack and tape residues
marking affectionate memories
of receiving godly truths in tinsel
and electric lights
unconditional love infinite
of foreign celestial bodies sparkle
order in the pass of time
dreaming childlike effervescence
bygone colors into cryptic forlorn apocalypses
making the best wishes out to everyone
eyeing empty space alone into unbeing
paying homage to
the empty vessels
- Published on Tuesday, 11 March 2014 20:27
a poem in six parts by: Adam1
You get to an age where you’re graded
too harshly for staying too the same
while the world changes colors
and staying out late
while your old body ages
like you knew that it would
but you wouldn’t believe it.
They don’t tell you that in college. No matter how long it takes you to graduate.
“My eccentricities” he once said sarcastically,
“You wouldn’t believe me,
but when I was the old me,
they used to be pretty delightful.
I used to have nights full
of drugs and of alcohol
and not be this spiteful
eyesore on a bar stool.
Me and my friends used to play and pretend
to be pirates at night with our mouths full.
But now there’s too many ‘we’re not gonna take this’ nights and weekends
caught in the alleys and waste bins
of ‘we’re not gonna take this’ new friends,
wearing ‘we’re not gonna take this’ headbands.”
Wearing “we’re not gonna take this” expressions
and drinking and grinning discontent
about his parent’s basement
Until the “I’m not gonna pay for this” kicks in.
Until the cuteness is transmuted to disruptive and belligerent
and “you can’t come back ‘til you dry out”
and “Come on, man, get it together or get out.”
And “All of your friends are getting older
and you’re still throwing
up in the sink
like once a week.”
“All of my friends are getting boring.
They’re getting into grad school and engaged to their girlfriends.
And I still wear a shit stained cape into a bar in a small town
‘Cuz I can get away with this,
just like all my other
'we’re not gonna remember this's.
This is getting old.
- Published on Thursday, 06 March 2014 20:24
stomach full of air and pill \\ let the medicine work its way on in let the story Begin again.
- Published on Sunday, 09 March 2014 00:22
by Harrison Parks
De divina proportione (Your curves are two golden means)
Graph the golden ratio. Mirror it.
Place the two side by side,
And watch your outline bloom.
Behold abstraction, pure & yearning
Beneath your arching hips,
so I genuflect between
Slightly gone wild violets.
You know what I am sad about,
Nightingale? I didn't keep your book --
Its stapled cover, its perfect grey,
Its simple title... its pages full of
Comforting words & 18th century diagrams.
Check Out More From Harrison At The Banter Ship
- Published on Wednesday, 26 February 2014 16:49