An explanation or self examination

A lady asks me why I speak in seasons
The reasons why my lines are ever changing
First flighty like autumn like footsteps on crushed leaves
Grounded yet forgotten as soon as the foot leaves
Like winter so icy so cold as the tundras
Of emotions enticing to no one but "me"
You can't communicate it yet you just elate it 
To such high magnificence yet it never brings
A sense of serenity like spring does in green leaves
These are the poems you cannot write yet
You have still to falter, alter lines, visit altars
And pray to the muses and hope heaven to bring
Your own summer of sound and fury 
Abound in murmurs the whole world sings

I say exactly oh my lilting lady
There's so much for me to do as of yet
But I keep my heart open for the world to join in
And love and live in laughter like a child's glee
I pray that I can open up the earth sometime 
Cuddle up next to Gaia and listen to songs sung
By the merry mirth making man and his furry kin 
And at night look at the cosmos that tunes a tremulous thing
All the earth's a song that I wish to sing 

But what about the darkness within your soul she asks?
The fiery envy that looks at all who pass
With a twisted grin and a thirst for tyranny
You write these poems to be answered not for answering
You write these poems to feed the maggots in your soul
Planted by your mother who said- "You are more"
You write these poems as an affront to your father
Who left you a disaster with his words-"You can't control
What comes in the world, the waves are too strong
You should leave the water lest you want sand in your pockets."
And now that you've left them you think that life
Would bestow you a poem as apology for the strife
Of knowing not knowing whether you are any good
Whether you can weather life with a little line
And a rhyme that charms only a few
While the many cast an indifferent eye at you?

Oh lady why do you speak so murky?
She asks what do you know of poetry?
She says what do you know of pain?
She shouts why do you even sing again?
Your reasons are seasons they too shall pass 
Maybe you're better off chasing ass

I am- what I am I don't know
All I know is I feel a burgeoning in my soul 
To write a few lines with which I'll know 
Of hope or some small semblance of the matter
I know I'll never weather disaster 
I know I'll never be more than human 
But I'll try to make the world more humid
So minds like flowers will grow from this
Small line like vines will climb the abyss
Out of the chasm where silence exists
Or maybe I'll just get tired of the shit
And climb it myself and like Capaneus
Shout screams at the Olympians for being so putrid
Have lightning flung at me I'll throw back tenfold 
Do I write poetry for beauty or gold?
Why can't I have both? That's the heart of the matter
And when I die I'll leave a pretty body to be laughed at
Or reviled and the maggots be eaten as yachagumbas 
Or maybe I'll be forgotten won't that be a humbling 
Experience. As of yet I don't know it all
I just want to write a poem 
No, I want to write them all.

But what I want doesn't matter and we both know it
In the end I just want to be a better poet

The restless

Every city is the same
I mean women never look at you because you're wearing last years clothes
I mean hotels shine like distant stars when you're in a crowded room for two
I mean poems don't sell for pennies each you'd have better luck with one string guitars
I mean when you're sitting on a bench with a note book in hand scribbling you're greeted with blind stares
I mean
Every city is the same

But like the jazz greats that improvise a solo with a song written a long time
Ago I write of things gone by with a fervor of tomorrow I write of sighs
On airport lines the plane's about to go you dream of birds but the attendant won't let you know
How long to wait and I sing of disaster like missing your buss pass on a busy day
You had to make the interview the chance won't come again
And like the jazz greats croon I sing of tunes to dance to while waiting on your girl
Outside her work and looking at the stars
In a different city than the one you were born
And songs of Demi gods and prices can't
Catch the feeling of earning your pay put through
To pay the rent when the rent's due
And like the jazz greats go on and on
I'll keep singing till I end but the song
Will go on and forever we are legion we are
The restless stranded in countries so far
But each a song of struggle and smiles covered in sweat
Each a myriad emotions that one song's held
The song being life and you can be a tune
Or a dog confused howling at a concrete moon

But we are and that's the best we can do

Nananananana

Piss colored beer I float in you lightly
As you float my eyes and call so enticing
The icing on your glass the melting water
Gushes mightily I might just falter
Like days that pass smoothly as the waterfall
Of tears and booze mixing like colors caught
On a surreal painting like those in museums
Serenely stare I at you with more interest
Why paintings when liquors' more colored with curious
Bondage than melt clocks and bonded am I with
You so why do you disappear with each line
Whenever I kiss you you lessen in the glass
Time passes you're empty as words that do not rhyme
I receive a well meaning text I answer
I'm just fine.

Poorly constructed mornings- days after
Lines written last night have lost their charms or
Maybe you've grown more impatient, complacent
This sickness unlike death is lasting, more vacant
Hungover the fervors of last nights moot imagery
Is like a grand glacier look inside there's some leaves
And even a forest hidden 'neath all the cracks
Hidden neath the snows of the coldness of limp facts
The glacier won't move it's wanting of some light
Like hearts grown bitter and heads knocked by the sun's rays
The mornings are cruel when you're still in last night's daze

Parables

"When my eyes were closed off to the world
I thought I could dream a thousand dreams
Brighter than the chandelier
of helpless life where pauses are screams
And words but mere menageries
But all I saw were hopeless sighs

Rivers run through memories cries
Of words and pictures of what could,
Grey walls on which were writ what would
Never come true but still it clenched 
My eye lids steadfast against the current
of the times that have passed me by

And slowly my gulliver what held high
Sled by, lower, as on a slope
of snowed in hills which only wilt
and drowned me in percussion of what if."

"Such was writ in the diary
of Caid Ali, famed philosopher,
Whose immortal words of 'Why bother?'
I stamped in my soul when I was young
When flung to a world of books, I hung
those kindred thoughts down my neck
And now I realize that I wrecked
My youth in a solemn study of
Old words on listlessness and love
of nothing but sweet innocence
of childhood dreams, a land pleasant
But never had, nor is it meant
To be, happiness is lent
and must be paid back with much interest."

As the lecturer with these words paused
I couldn't help but think of 'Life on Mars'
That old song by Bowie that sang
"It's a God awful sad affair", oh man
and how Shakespeare writ, all the world's a stage
But are we mere actors, or words on a page?
I don't know, but this I know for sure,
Thoughts like these are the words of a bore,
Is what she would have said, my dear girlfriend
And how life is a merry thing to the end
But how can I make her understand
That thoughts and action go hand in hand
When she says such and likes to think
These thoughts are hers, but when to the brink
I've seen her go, suicidal pains
Yet still she's managed to gain
Some semblance of hope and I guess that's good
What are your thoughts on this? 

I would
like to say, please stop telling me
Your tales of thoughtless insanity
In sullen words, I don't really care
What you think or would like to share
I have troubles of my own, so kindly please
Go fuck yourself or choke on cheese
P.S. yes I forcefully rhymed
Just you show you to what extent I don't have the time.

The most perfect thing in the world

Never before have I been drawn 
To magnificence of such degree
Something a painter would have drawn
If that painter knew what I see 
Every night in my dreams 
The blackest bits of all my soul
Mixed up in garbage bags and thrown
Out to the streets hidden from lights 
Some angels must close by have been
Who molded them to something spry 
And had them twisted totally 
Tweaked tumbled transmogrified 
And had them laid above your eyes
I saw them once am hypnotized 
I hope I get a chance to swim 
And good in that fur paradise
Like Beowulf, Byron and my name
Writ in the same breath when I say
I will and do for I've known now
The magic of perfect eyebrows

Alf's second bit

Four walls converge like lotus flowers 
And the stalk is rooted to my head
I think back on those four walls housing
A desk a drawer and a bed
Of which the head board was scribbled with
Half written thoughts where before I slept
jargon and truth were jumbled till tilled to
Future poems you've never read 

The desk hid pages upon pages 
Of fantasies of whimsies had
On rainy days when my mind played
Games of pretending the poets that
So long ago lived now lived in me
And through my ink they writ their words
Hopkins, petrach and a splice of Dante
To calm my nerves when I felt sad

But in the top left shelf of the drawer 
Were put pages still unwritten by
A mind so active it kept forgetting
Poems sang quick but not memorized 
And a heart that was too scared of the page
For what if when turned in it turned out bad

And as I lay here in another country
At 8.am and still awake 
From the night before I can't help but think
How foolish I was to think a chore
A task which would have made me only
Occupy my time with tiring work
That was worthwhile and actually worthy
Instead of watching cartoon porn.

Reaching inside my heart I can see
Everything I wish to say but can't speak
Go away dear reader for I can't bear
Responding to your looks or to feel 
Even shreds of some sympathy 
Try understand and if you can't read the first letters of this verse then you will see

Alf's first bit

Hephaestus cuckolded by Mars the bold and unbroken, unbound at day but devout in worship at night to Venus when nigh who fears the ugly Hephaestus who can see what is that's happening but let's it not deride him his duty to mankind creating in fine time his armors and weapons to aid the Olympians in their wartime leisure in which he takes pleasure while mars takes care of Venus' tremors and loves with all heart though she only lusts hard and has other lovers but when he's above her hands on his chest he tries his greatest to calm her and soothe the passions that ooze in the deepest darkness when only a light kiss can awaken something he nibbles with all his might the god of war here a mere puppet an example of karma for when she wakes it is time to leave this for her rightful place is beside her husband cuckolded and uncraved but still at end of day the man she's bound to and though mars resounds to believe it a hurdle it's obvious to each it's a necessary burden for the key to this deep down they both know it's only the thrill, the excitement they go for. Nothing less and nothing more.

Young Charles Bovary

Born out of control, with an idle heart
He stepped into the world completely anew
Mother had high hopes and father knew
He birthed no fool though he never cared to know
Him or how he felt of things
How he laughed and ran or counted wings
On ravens while he walked the wayside
Stealing moments though he never knew why

And when they shipped him off to medical school
After shipping him off to dormitories
After shipping him off to prefectories
After making him do all this and that
They never cared to ask him he never cared to tell
For he never cared for anything at all
But he did his duty, he studied well
He knew not what he studied but still he did
This and that all in hopes to impress
Those distant figures that like sea shells
Sang oceans though it's only illusions not dreams

Then he discovered idleness and the serene
Moments stolen from busy streets
And the magic of jaunts that take you nowhere
And everywhere and rivers that curve the moon
When viewed from the sidewalks
Then viewed from your room
And images reconciled in him a tune
Very real he could feel a new typhoon
Approaching his heart but before it could reach his soul
He failed his exams and had to go back home.