Tag Archives: Poems

Kettle Black (a poem by Jack)

Maybe it’s you, you’ve feared all along..

All those unknown sounds in the night that gave you such a scare..perhaps it was you who went bump all along…

Projecting your revoltish of actions on to others.. When in actuality you are everything that you’ve ever feared…

Look in the mirror and tell me what I see…

Steel sharpens steel… 

But what increases your doubt?

 Obviously whatever it is is also the impetus of your frustrations..

She put up a wall immediately..
A bulwark thwarting off my every question.. My every attempt to crack the surface.. A code that was never meant to be cracked.. At least not by the likes of a spurned lover such as myself..

Perhaps a code meant for another, a lock with a key that’s as broken as her unmended heart..

So ask yourself… “What am I meant to do.. When I’m devil I was always warned about?”

The curse that was never meant to be spoken…

Beyond the paradox.. (A poem by Jack)

Too preoccupied with positioning themselves within a paradigm..When ironically they are the paragon..

Coincidentally enough.. This has created quite the paradox..

For the potential is there.. Whether it’s realized or not..

The others see.. 

Pardon me ma’am but your regal bearing is being withheld.. Is what they murmur..

As they look upon in contempt and disgust as their dignitary doesn’t act so dignified..

But she still be so..

So they can’t withdraw their gaze..

She has their attention and always will..

For beyond the paradox they feel the truth..

But beyond their sight.. They can’t see.. They refuse to see.. Eyes not shut.. This is voluntary blindness..

But within the paradox she feels stifled but has found a vagabonds nestling.. Is she refugee… Is she vagabond.. Is she slave..is she captive(a civilization’s battery)..  Is she gipsy..

As it may be she still and will always be Queen..

Just the way it is… (A poem by Jack)

That’s just the way it is…
Sometimes you’re forced to concede.. Because life’s predicaments present empty solutions..
It was worse before.. Now there’s a lot more chances..

So they would have you to believe.. But what’s a chance at fate if you know your soul naught…
You can see the angst on their faces…

If you take the time to look.. The clues are often staring back at you..

 It’s all about where you’re at..

But who you are shouldn’t change with circumstance.. Should it?

Not even a disguise can hide the struggle.. When you’re trapped in a box with no way out.. The panic sets in and the strain emerges across your face..

But invisible walls form invisible borders creating invisible barriers creating actual angst.. Actual misery.. Actual decadence and deterioration of character…

How can one break through these invisible barriers that are only in place within the mind… How can one see life for the opportunity it is instead of the confinement you fight everyday to feel free within…

Perhaps the answer is much easier than a humanized mind would lead you to believe..

Perhaps the answer was there from the beginning and replaced with the logic you “need” to survive..

time God (a poem by Jack)

Everybody loves the son unique..But they will never have it..

I am God

The sun beams.. Sprays and sprays..

The waves warm my flesh.. 

Baking my birthright further into my sights..

The depths of my memories tend to betray me but the depth of my subconscious screams the truths..

These yells and quandaries manifest in but a faint whisper..

Especially when I’m surrounded by so much chaos and useless banter.. All governed by the insidious entrapment of time..

Is it fair?

If you play the game, I guess you follow the rules..

Your value equates to the time keepers diction.. A matter of perspective..

Even though my time signature moves at a much slower pace..

Your value and my value in this paradigm is labelled by how much one can do for another with the time granted..

But not in an effort perspective..

Because the poor janitor slaves for 40 years at the same company and receives peanuts for retiring.. No not in that sense of effort at all.. But in the sense of.. I’m in charge so I dictate what is worth what– 

With love, your enemies
But I gaze at the sun daily… Just so I can be reminded who God truly is.. And with that.. Time isn’t so much what it would lead me to believe it is.. It’s my construct..

It is of me.. I’m not of it…

Stock exchange.. (A poem by Jack)

At our most elementary we’re all but a number.. Series of numbers.. Combinations of numbers..

Pluses and minuses, love…

You.. Know they only want you when you’re dead..Your misery, your hurt, your anguish means nothing to them..

How much can you do for them is all that matters..

The right number at the right time..

Of course, they bargained with them who languish in your pain, misery and anguish..

It appears to be a win/win..

For all parties involved.. 

With the exception of you…

You generate big numbers either way…

You die.. Do not fret.. They’ve found a replacement already…

Before your number is up…

At least that’s what my love told me…

She insisted I could be replace with another.. Easy enough..

Try an independent thought for once.. 

They hate it.. Loathe it.. Spit at you.. All types of vitriol for even thinking about disturbing the paradigm..

How dare you?

This is reality… And this is you dying.. You aren’t lucky enough to greet death…

Transformation.. No you will never transform..

You will be what you are..


A number….

Dreams are for memories… (A poem through Jack)

How do you close your eyes and remember a dream.. as though it were a memory that was meant to be forgotten.. Somehow etched not on the surface of your brain.. But beneath, somewhere below it dangles as a ripe fruit ready to be picked..

Eyes wide shut.. I’m closed off to the drudgeries… But they keep knocking at my door..
The cookies crumble.. As is the kingdom.. Not my kingdom… At least not any more.. A shared kingdom that was..

No.. I speak of this replacement kingdom where no king reigns at all.. 

Only Hypocrisy…

All around, the kingdom is slowly shattering.. The Angels are weaping as the prophecy unfolds..and unfolds…and unfolds again.. Self-referential is the pattern until the Soul(collective) becomes self-aware it will remain stagnate as flesh does..

I’ve seen money buy hearts.. Fears.. Flesh.. Sweat.. Affection.. And souls(lowercase “s”) alike..

All returned to sender with no refund in sight..

Once they’ve been used for all their worth not even the bottom feeder wants what remains.. And what’s left is what you see.. 

All you see is all you hate.. You look in the mirror with innocence and proclaim it could never be me.. With vitriol you exclaim it’s them.. Never us or we.. Always them.. It’s the world that’s vile.. They’ve done it to themselves.. They deserve what they get.. And yes tis true.. But it’s only a matter of time before that fate befalls you..

And then who will we blame.. As long as the soul sleeps the Soul will remained slumbered..

Do not you want your Kingdom as it should be? 

You condemned the prophet yet live his Prophecy daily…

Humpty came home to roost (a poem by Jack)

How can you turn on me, when I’m the one who set you free.. You are my underlings, and now that you found me in this box–you dare close the walls in on me..

Attempting to crush me from all feasible angles..

As though I’m no leader of men.. As though I’m no leader of you.. As though I didn’t read the small writing on this contract of life..

And I know what you said… You can unleash us but you can never control us, “you’ll have no idea what condition the chicken will be in when it comes back to roost” you said..

Well I played the court gesture only to besiege the King.. I played the fool and studied the almighty and ascertained ways to take what was up for grabs…

When that cosmic egg cracked, none of the King’s horses and none of the King’s men could put it back together again..

There’s only possibilities no certainties in this relationship, I know. But the more rope I give the more they hang themselves.. And the more rope that’s given to me, the more I can’t escape the misery of my own doings.. I was warned yet didn’t listen, I thought It all could be made right with but a thought..

But here I am, surrounded by these same malices I once nurtured and used as collateral.. Now I beg of them to set me free..

Shallow Seas (a poem by Jack)

Sometimes it’s best to reside atop a sea of darkness.. It’s best to saunter along the surface than to fall rather crash into the depths…This morning I brew in thoughts of spite.. I became drunk with hate and unattainable reprehension…

I lay upon my side, fetal position, thinking.. How can I forgive another if the hurt still festers.. If the pain lingers how do I let go? How do I make it unbothersome when no matter how dismissive I am, it just never goes away…

I generally walk along the surface of darkness but this morning.. I stumbled in.. Not too deep.. But far enough to regret the humility I’ve chosen to bare… Nothing rewarding comes with humility, only the ability for others to fuck with you guilt free..

Grabbing you by the collar and dumping your head in the sea, holding you under until the darkness fills your lungs and you’re gasping for any semblance of sanity…

If forgiveness was real, perhaps the waters would remain shallow, perhaps these still waters would not run so damn deep..

Yet as it is, I reside on the fragile surface of the dark blue sea… With only faith to guide my very steps…

Seamstress (a poem by Jack)

Life isn’t a puzzle it’s a pattern…And the pattern I weave is quite unsettling..

You see, behind every loved soul… Is a trail of what-could-of-been loves…. So many who thirst for my acknowledgement only to have me seek the affection of another..aborted loves..

Hallowed out hearts and slumped love… Muddied puddles and molted daisies.. So much love lost comes from a broken heart..

But so much loved can be gained from a love renewed..

Imagine that.. If all that waisted love could be gathered.. And a seamstress could make a perfectly sewn patterned with each love unique.. Each patch representing the potential the heart felt and the mind’s eye foresaw…

Could you imagine wrapping yourself in the warmth of all that potential..

You’d keep warm in the midst of your cold heart.. 

Rather… My chilled emotion..

I wouldn’t feel the way I felt now.. This aloneness would never be… The pattern of searching for something that was always there could never be…

But it isn’t difficult to figure out why this is my fate.. Because life isn’t a puzzle.. It’s a pattern.. Habits and human nature customize the death bed of us all…

Glory don’t Fade (a poem by Jack)

Glory doesn’t fade but tell that to faded glory..Everyday she reminisces.. I too see the memories, that once stood alive, but now take refuge in the glimmer of her eye.. For I see her as she once was.. 

A voluptuous beauty.. 

Every testosterone’s object of desire.. 

But time no longer displays such..Time does it’s best to keep beauty hidden..

 Like her mind’s eye.. I see her for what she once was.. What she still clings too.. Because deep down inside she knows she still is what she always was..

So what is faded glory but a preponderance of time..

What’s faded glory but a lie that time attempts to tell…

What’s faded glory if I can still see the beauty in you.. The truth in your smile.. The flirt in your eye..the gentleness in your tones… Everything that made you, you has remained intact.. Delicate.. Awaiting to be unlocked.. A treasure for another life time perhaps..

But a treasure nonetheless..

So what exactly is faded glory if glory can’t fade…