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May 2015 · 357
Naked Summer
Mike Essig May 2015
The air is numinous.
The sun shines through branches
Illuminating everything
and every bird expresses
a lascivious symphony.
The light pierces your hair and
You shake it loose, set fire to air.
Aromas of our bodies,
sweat, sweet and ******,
rise in olfactory splendor.
I cannot remember
a time before summer when
your nakedness was not all
that made my world
everything magical and endearing.
May 2015 · 1.2k
Cartographer of Lust
Mike Essig May 2015
Your words and eyes
resonate deep within
and set me aquiver.

They set me a task.

At once mellifluous
and sonorous they
tingle from my hair  
to my very toes
(and all the mysterious
places of pleasure between).

I have been given
a royal charter
to explore your body.

I imagine my hands
(very willing hands)
gliding over your
callipygous posterior
or your adorable *******
or your ineffable *****
and discovering
new territories
as yet unknown.

I want to fill in all
the blank spaces
on your map.

A cartographer of lust
who will not surrender
until your world is whole

and you are wholly mine.

  ~mce
Let us go exploring Louise.
May 2015 · 440
"Confusion Boats"
Mike Essig May 2015
Sunbeams pale
on a white wall.
Love wavers.
Life whines.
Loss hovers.
All is uncertain.
I am in
desperate need
of more grace.
Release your
green eyes
into my heart
and I will know
what is real.

~mce
May 2015 · 573
William Carlos Williams
Mike Essig May 2015
Love**

Love is twain, it is not single,
Gold and silver mixed to one,
Passion ‘tis and pain which mingle
Glist'ring then for aye undone.

Pain it is not; wondering pity
Dies or e'er the pang is fled;
Passion ‘tis not, foul and gritty,
Born one instant, instant dead.

Love is twain, it is not single,
Gold and silver mixed to one,
Passion ‘tis and pain which mingle
Glist'ring then for aye undone.
May 2015 · 418
Walls
Mike Essig May 2015
Many folks
live inside walls.
The walls
of their houses
their yards,
their offices
their minds.
Their world lies
inside those walls.
They believe those walls
are the world.
But the real world
the green, verdant world
the world of danger
and of delight
lies beyond.
Few people venture
out and into it.
These few people
are called alive.
May 2015 · 702
Despair
Mike Essig May 2015
Sneaks up like a VC assassin
quick, invisible, deadly
the knife slides into your ribs
while you are thinking far away.

A sharp, sudden pain
and then sudden falling away
into a world of hurt.

Emptiness floods your body,
frozen and stuttering
in incertitude.

Ice enters your stunned heart.

It lasts a second, a minute,
an hour, a day a week, a year.

For that interval you gasp
with the hopelessness of life.

You do not want to die,
you only want to feel nothing,
to escape into nothingness.

And then it departs suddenly
and the earth returns to view.

Birds sing and women are beautiful,
the sun winks and you are saved.

Until the next time when
the unseen blade again finds
your soul and chaos blinds
you to life.
May 2015 · 397
Clocks
Mike Essig May 2015
Clocks are the butchers of life.
They take it and cut it into pieces.
Some folks get the good cuts:
houses, families, money, mindlessness.
The rest get the nose, hooves, tails.
Awaken, sleep, work, ****, drive, eat:
Relentlessly it drives us on following
directions, being where we must,
doing what the clock says is appropriate.
Slaves to its tick-tocking reminder:
death is coming, hurry up, hustle
or everything that will not matter anyhow
won't get done. Check your watch.
Step on the gas. Be where you must be
to make others happy and get a pat on the back.
I have been buggered near to death by clocks.
No more.I am taking time into my own hands.
I declare it obsolete. I ignore its chiding.
I won't know what day it is and I won't care.
And when my clock stops forever. I will be free.
May 2015 · 883
Murderous Morning
Mike Essig May 2015
The twin pockets of love and money.
You wake up and there they are:
one far away and perhaps impossible,
the other merely nonexistent and empty.
You dreamt of an old friend cut in half
by an unlucky burst of machine gun fire.
You wake up angry, lethal and mean.
You want to strangle the world
or whoever you happen to meet first.
Unless you wish jail, ruin, or the chair
this is a good time to simply disappear.
You need to hide away from the world
until your rage subsides and calm returns.
Like Grendel, you must slink back into your den
and let the blood-lust dissipate.
If you don't, someone is going to die.
And it will probably be me.
May 2015 · 243
Help!
Mike Essig May 2015
If only you loved me
I would be a better man.
Less angry, more gentle.
But on this chilly morning
you are far away and unlikely.
Still, hope sticks.
I must only endure to find out.
She loves me; she loves me not.
Showered by your kisses,
I could live the life I ought to.
I could be lenient, soft, smooth,
forgiving, tender, calm, serene.
I own a good but wounded heart.
Kiss me Lover and hold me tight.
Help me to be the man I can be.
I will pay you back with a love
beyond any  ever known.

~mce
May 2015 · 298
Truth Punches
Mike Essig May 2015
Poetry tells the truths
that cannot be told
but must be told
the kind that hit
you hard and leave you
punchy with grace.

~mce
May 2015 · 168
Providence
Mike Essig May 2015
The universe
loves fools
and creates
a need for us;
otherwise
how could we
make it through
even one day.

~mce
May 2015 · 244
Love In The Morning
Mike Essig May 2015
The birds of dawn wake to song.
Slow at first and then cacophony
We wake to their audacious clamor.
Move closer, love, I need your warmth,
your peace, your breath, your body.
Stay with me and you will clasp my neck,
and I will enter your being
and our oneness will bring courage
and the darkness will become easy.
We will enter the uncertain day together.

~mce
Mike Essig May 2015
When the papers finally arrived and the seals were sealed and the law that had made had unmade he took off his wedding ring and felt truly naked for the first time in years. But in that nakedness rage boiled. He wanted revenge on women. And for seven misfortunate years he took it.

Seventeen or sixty, no matter. Meet them, charm them, tell them the lies they yearned to hear and then **** them. The ******* was extraneous, no more ****** than doing push-ups or eating  apples. Even as he ****** them he lied, telling them how **** and desirable they were, how he never felt this way before. Convince a woman that you believe what she wants to hear and her legs will be on your shoulders in no time.

Mission accomplished, he would simply vanish.Not take their calls, their texts or emails. He didn't just want to hurt them, he wanted to make sure they knew they had been hurt on purpose. He wanted them to know they had been ****** in the worst, truest, most brutal sense of the word. Degraded, used like a ******, taken like a **** and discarded. It is hard to say how many guiltless woman he punished this way. He didn't feel bad or guilty; he felt nothing.

There is no excuse for his behavior other than he was a strong person and when a strong person ***** up, he ***** up in a big way.

Then suddenly the nothingness closed on him like a clamp. All the manipulation, lies, and corruption exploded into his brain. He felt like a guard at Auschwitz directing jews into the gas chambers. For the first time in his life he was truly ashamed. So he did what had to be done. He simply gave up women. It was nowhere near as hard as he had imagined. After a while, it became peaceful, restful, satisfying. He invented his own Order and became a monk. He imagined this a permanent state that would last his life.

And then, wholly by accident, he stumbled across a woman. Her words ****** the breath from him; he swooned. It is an alarming thing to imagine yourself sexually dead for years only to wake up and discover that you aren't. Afraid for his very soul, he became smitten. But fear lurked in his *****. What if this was pay back for his sins. What if she did to him what he had done to so many others? It would be just, but he did not know if he could survive it.

But he held his breath and took the leap back into the world. He put his heart in her hands. He does not know how this will turn out or even if it will. But for the first time in years he feels like an entire man. It is worth flying too near the sun even if destruction is its end; better to be fully alive for a while than completely dead forever.

Redemption? That can only be bestowed by the gods.
Ladies, beware of an angry man on a mission.
May 2015 · 534
Verbal Sex
Mike Essig May 2015
When I speak to you
I tremble
as my words penetrate.
I think of
wet thighed surrender.
Deep inside you
I feel the pulse of god.
And we are making love
without even touching.
May 2015 · 871
Theological Bullshit
Mike Essig May 2015
Propositions about
the afterlife are futile.

Do you believe in God,
heaven, clouds, harps and cherubs?

And then you die and discover
that you must lead many more lives
searching for perfection.

Do you believe in the Bardo,
in reincarnation, in the sweet
possibilities of getting it right?

And then you die and find yourself
on a fluffy cloud surrounded by
annoying cherubs whose harps are incessant.

Or will you become a mute patch of earth,
that is wet and dry and favored by worms.

I have closed the eyes of the dead
and all I can tell you is they were dead.

What happens after is futile surmise.

You believe or you don't.

But believing is not knowing.

And when you know, you will not say.

~mce
I don't want to hear it.
May 2015 · 220
Don't Bother
Mike Essig May 2015
I tell people in poems or speech
that I do not fear death.
They scoff and say that everyone does.
There is no convincing. I am quiet.
But to myself I think: I don't believe
that death can hurt me more than life did.
Oh, I stood it like a man and gave some back
But Hurt after hurt until pain became balm.
Life or death, what reason to fear eternity,
at its worst only brings more of the same.
May 2015 · 205
True Story
Mike Essig May 2015
Once, when married, my wife
was shopping in Victoria's Secret.
I was busy trying to be invisible.
But a young, perky sales associate
pounced on me and asked to help
in the eternally obnoxious
manner of such women.
I said I was looking
for the children's section.
Security was called. Out I went.
Now I will never find out
Victoria's special secrets.
If anyone knows  what they are
or why they are so special,
please let me hear from you.
Never assume someone has a sense of humor...
May 2015 · 2.5k
Exploring
Mike Essig May 2015
You'll be a mysterious cavern
I discover by accident.
I'll be an intrepid explorer.
I will enter you like a cathedral
expecting holiness and hidden treasure.
You will grip me in your darkness
and hold me like the man I am.
Holiness and treasure will keep us there
until spent and satisfied,
we will return to our worlds
better than we have ever been before,
pleasured by the treasure we have shared.

~mce
May 2015 · 2.8k
Full Moon
Mike Essig May 2015
alabaster
ivory
white
creamy
eggshell
and just
the size
of a woman's
thigh.
Love full moons
May 2015 · 263
Selective Vision
Mike Essig May 2015
In the World's eyes,
the only things
I have ever succeeded at
are war and failure.
Fortunately, I never look
through those eyes.

  ~mce
May 2015 · 939
Affluence
Mike Essig May 2015
Affluence creates
distorted dissatisfaction.
It makes morons want
to be the Kardashians.
It makes kind people
ignore the world's misery.
It makes unkind people
arrogant and pig headed.
It crowds out those
who are really important to you.
Eventually, it becomes who you are
and then you are no one at all.
All that's left is your stuff and you.

  ~mce
May 2015 · 261
Desire
Mike Essig May 2015
I want you to be
the very last thing
my tongue tastes
so I can die
happy.

~mce
RLA
May 2015 · 412
First Date/Last Date
Mike Essig May 2015
I once went
on a first date
with a woman
so lovely
she made
my bones ache.
She said: "I just
want to make clear
that I have
no baggage.
"
I said: "How sad.
At our age
no baggage means
no life.
"
That was also
the last date.
How smooth
am I?

  ~mce
True story.
May 2015 · 244
How Things Work Out
Mike Essig May 2015
I broke my soul
and lived
in an empty world
until madness
set me free.

Few people
have heard
as much silence
as I have
nor accomplished
as much nothing.

And yet,
content,
I sit here
being what I am
expecting
nothing more.

  ~mce
Mike Essig May 2015
Every place you go
becomes just another suburb
of everyplace you've been.

   ~mce
May 2015 · 309
Elegy
Mike Essig May 2015
He lived.
He pleased himself.
Small things
amused him.
He endured.
He smiled.
Life was as good
as it could be.
That was enough.

  ~mce
May 2015 · 3.3k
Being Loneliness
Mike Essig May 2015
We must all
live with a
full measure
of loneliness.

That is
inescapable.

We must never
destroy ourselves
with futile
attempts to escape
this loneliness.

Sit with it.
Accept it.

That will only
make it sweeter
when it ends.

  ~mce
May 2015 · 12.5k
Suffering
Mike Essig May 2015
Suffering
is the landscape
of life.

Hope is
the sustenance
of life.

To avoid suffering
is to avoid life.

Love yourself.

Love other's
even though
they don't
deserve it.

Be gentle
with yourself,
even when utterly
fatigued and
victimized.

Make you life
a poem that
you create
and hold it
close to your
heart.

The best
you can do
is all you can do.

  ~mce
May 2015 · 382
Howdy
Mike Essig May 2015
When we meet
I will not
even say hello.
I will take you
in my arms
and kiss you
so hard you will
begin to melt
as will I
and finally
we will become
one hot,
steaming puddle
on the floor
with nobody
else to say
hello to.

~mce
May 2015 · 842
Lifeboat
Mike Essig May 2015
In this world
of suffering and blood
it is difficult
to make a special case
for yourself.
May 2015 · 605
"I Ain't Going Nowhere"
Mike Essig May 2015
The very best thing
about loving someone
is that it very much
makes you want
to stay in the world.

  ~mce
May 2015 · 1.7k
Resistance
Mike Essig May 2015
The odd and funny part of life
is how we resist
the nature of our own minds,
pretending we have
no more freedom
than a train stuck
on its predestined tracks
when we are the builders
of the railroad.
   ~mce
May 2015 · 333
Good Nazis In America
Mike Essig May 2015
It is always easiest
not to think for yourself.
Find a nice safe hierarchy;
burrow in cozy and comfy.
Don't suggest changes;
never risk disapproval.
It's always easiest to let
yourself be governed.
So what if it makes you a coward.
Nothing is ever your responsibility.
Trust God, the Rich and their Police.
They will keep you warm and safe
until they don't need you anymore:
And then O how surprised you will be.

~mce
Sheeple
May 2015 · 903
The Rest Of The Story
Mike Essig May 2015
The ignorant religious
are fond of quoting Jesus:
"The poor you have
with you always."


They never mention
he didn't say to
sit on your ***
and not do anything
about it.

~mce
May 2015 · 593
Bleeding Heart
Mike Essig May 2015
If your heart doesn't bleed,
you are dead.
You have become
just another greedy
little **** factory
on your short path
to becoming
compost yourself.

~mce
May 2015 · 1.7k
Contentment Vs. Confusion
Mike Essig May 2015
You opened a random book
to a forgotten page:
A formula for loneliness,
a recipe for age.

I never meant to bother you
disturb you happy life,
bu you took down that book yourself
and opened it to strife.

It was a lucky accident,
well, lucky just for me,
but you were taken when that page
fell open for you to see.

It doesn't make you happy,
it makes you ill at ease;
It wasn't what I meant for you,
I hoped that it would please.

Say the word, I'll go away
and leave you to your peace;
forget the ghost who passed your way
just paint your masterpiece.

I know I make you nervous,
I only want to say:
speak the word and I'll be gone,
I'll be gone today.

You woke me up to live again
I can't go back to sleep;
but I will not do harm to you,
I'm not that vain or cheap.

My life is in your little hands
It's up to you you know
to find a place within your heart
Or bid me now to go.
May 2015 · 562
Hope Against Hope
Mike Essig May 2015
I want to breath your perfect breath
I want you dance me to edge of death.

The time short, the night is long,
indulge me the joy of this final song.

Sing me a simple lover's lullaby,
bring me to life before I die.

I want to see the Glory through the lies,
Just one last time through your green eyes.

Let me remember how to be young
before I vanish and the song is sung.

   ~mce
R.L.***
May 2015 · 620
Sylvia Plath
Mike Essig May 2015
I Am Vertical**

But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
******* up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them —
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
May 2015 · 2.1k
e e cummings
Mike Essig May 2015
may i feel said he**


may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)
May 2015 · 768
Kim Addonizio
Mike Essig May 2015
What Do Women Want?**

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the *******
dress they bury me in.
May 2015 · 425
William Carlos Williams
Mike Essig May 2015
Arrival**

And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom--
feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
The ****** veined body emerges
twisted upon itself
like a winter wind . . . !
May 2015 · 480
JOHN DONNE
Mike Essig May 2015
To His Mistress Going to Bed**

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew  
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
    Licence my roving hands, and let them go,  
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
    Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s *****, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we  
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
    To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
May 2015 · 1.6k
Eric Bogle
Mike Essig May 2015
And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda**

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me **** over ***
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to **** tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?
Best song about war. Listen to the Pogues' version.
May 2015 · 1.0k
Jane Hirshfield
Mike Essig May 2015
More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam
returns over and over to the same shape, but the sinuous
tenacity of a tree: finding the  light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another. A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers,
mitochondria, figs–all this resinous, unretractable earth.
May 2015 · 293
Mary Oliver
Mike Essig May 2015
The Storm**

Now through the white orchard my little dog
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in this world.
Oh, I could not have said it better
May 2015 · 716
Mary Oliver
Mike Essig May 2015
At Blackwater Pond**

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have
settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
May 2015 · 667
Adrienne Rich
Mike Essig May 2015
For The Record**

The clouds and the stars didn’t wage this war
the brooks gave no information
if the mountain spewed stones of fire into the river
it was not taking sides
the raindrop faintly swaying under the leaf
had no political opinions

and if here or there a house
filled with backed-up raw sewage
or poisoned those who lived there
with slow fumes, over years
the houses were not at war
nor did the tinned-up buildings

intend to refuse shelter
to homeless old women and roaming children
they had no policy to keep them roaming
or dying, no, the cities were not the problem
the bridges were non-partisan
the freeways burned, but not with hatred

Even the miles of barbed-wire
stretched around crouching temporary huts
designed to keep the unwanted
at a safe distance, out of sight
even the boards that had to absorb
year upon year, so many human sounds

so many depths of *****, tears
slow-soaking blood
had not offered themselves for this
The trees didn’t volunteer to be cut into boards
nor the thorns for tearing flesh
Look around at all of it

and ask whose signature
is stamped on the orders, traced
in the corner of the building plans
Ask where the illiterate, big-bellied
women were, the drunks and crazies,
the ones you fear most of all: ask where you were.
May 2015 · 1.1k
B B King
Mike Essig May 2015
"Nobody loves me but my mama baby
and you know she could be jiving too..."

Really nothing left to say.

~mced
A huge loss.
May 2015 · 377
Not Slight Of Hand
Mike Essig May 2015
I sometimes think
people believe
poetry is easy
as some ****** girl
who will swallow you
for any kind of fix.

They believe whatever
escapes their mouths
is poetry. They open
and out it pours, complete.

It is not.

Inspiration is easy,
just lines that leap to mind.
But to make a poem takes sweat.
It is a craft that requires
work, and thought and pain.
It means finding the exact,
right word out of millions.

If it simply pours out of you
and you do nothing to shape it,
it is just words and probably
not even good ones that are true
and will outlast your broken heart.

Dig in. Learn. Read. Practice.
Become a sculpture of words.
Pay the price for beauty.
It will be worth it.
Hard Work
May 2015 · 403
Dylan Thomas
Mike Essig May 2015
And Death Shall Have No Dominion
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And Death Shall Have No Dominion


And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Through they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
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