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 Dec 2015 PoETE Poet-Pete
ryn
.
O                                                                                  
•• i really don't see the need to                                
•• dictate•the way the dishes are                           
•• sorted in order in the sink •i                              
•• don't see the point in being                                
   •• irate• if the door creaks when you try to think•
    •• i can't tell apart between emotions you feel•sad-
   •• ness and disappointment, they look the same to
   •• me•i do not care  if it's mauve or teal•for good-
    •• ness sake, the  cushions...,  they look fine to me!!
    •• •well, i now wave my white flag and surrender
     ••                             • because all these  differences...
     ••                           don't matter at all•just know that
     ••                          i have sworn to love you forever•
••                                                      ­                          
••                                                              ­                  
••                                                              ­                  
••                                                              ­                  
••                                                              ­                  
                                        *even if you drive me insane
                                        and up the wall•
Concrete Poem 19 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
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By the time we reached the final act
our dialogues turned to whispers
warmed us the pledge to the silent pact
we would be rehearsing under the stars

dew would damp the players' cloth
all but the two were gone
who were tied by the burning oath
must shape their roles to perfection

owls hooted in the night's shadow
world slept behind shut door
we were numbed to the time's flow
by the sounds of claps encore

one the alien had blood thick green
that only the ****** revealed
when unbeknownst was cut his skin
by the other soon to be killed

that time now ***** to yellowed page
long back fate set him free
my skin is now bold in age
he's evergreen in memory.
In fond remembrance of a friend who was snatched in youth. We acted together in a few amateur plays one of which was Green Man.
This took so many years in coming.
My relation with her
inhabits a silent space,

you don't need to talk much
below the ocean's surface,

it's like a rest after your work is done
an earned breather after a long run.

Now it's holding hands and swimming together
having seen all the weather.
Why do I walk upon
the bones
of the ancient poems ?
Whose words I grind
into
the thirsty desert dust ,
underfoot
my mindless journey .
Come dust devils ,
swirl away the passions ,
leave bare
the rawed flesh withered hearts .
Drag the barge of love
behind you ,
as all your rivers have run dry .
There are more
spots to be outed ,
no stage of fright to fear .
Just a wall
of years ever taller
that protects and denies
at the same time .
Oh , come soon
hallowed Halloween moon ,
I feel you ,
cold kissed
upon my lips ,
suckling a life's soul
from my lungs .
Pray do ,
my time when due ,
I stand upon the dust
above my memory .
moon black hole Halloween
pull back the thin veneer
of pretense that obfuscates
this holiday season
profuse excuses of joy and peace
are hollow and brittle and leave
bitter proof of our lackluster compassion

expose the specter
of greed
dormant in capitalism
vestiges of a dying culture
the refuse of an apathetic
American people numb
to the trauma inflicted
by megalomaniacal leaders
consent given implicitly
in the complacency of obedient conformity

will we refuse to acknowledge
the stains on our hands this Christmas
red liquid misting our faces
bloodlust and endless war
there’s no
rhyme or reason
to these
sycophantic intonations
deafening these words of treason
in vain attempts to assuage guilt
with endless iterations
of false hopes and puny gods in
brainless trying to defy reality

we belie our true intentions
our self-serving obsessions
and inane consumption
hazes of the mundane  
in suburban graves

if the greatest gift is giving itself
we won’t find solace in the holy temples
of strip malls shopping centers
and corporate retail palaces
a Friday as black as our fractured hearts
witness the death of humanity
choking out all we were
grateful for the day before
I wrote this today while I stood in Barnes & Noble and watched people come and go, chasing deals, laden with shopping bags. Black Friday is a microcosmic example of everything wrong with American culture.
 Nov 2015 PoETE Poet-Pete
anon
Our hearts frozen to ice
We were two glaciers drifting
Our presence engraved into the ground below
We were meant to last forever
But something between us broke
Now we spend eternity
Apart
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