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dead poet Dec 2024
put down,
you put up.
spill your guts -  
left with the cleanup.
your head is ******,
but unbowed.
invictus, you shall rise -
any day now.

the trials of morrow
lay vast and grey
waiting too see
if you let them prey -
on your mind,
your body,
your spirit,
your rage.
stay average,
or usher the golden age.

wipe the sweat
off your brow.
take a step back
‘fore you take the prowl.
glory is nigh,
do not haste, nor disavow.  
hush little soldier,
any day now.
dead poet Dec 2024
a nervous 𝘵𝘴𝘬 of the lips
a little drop of sweat bulging at the neck
an eyelid flickering way too much
a mind that won’t change
a pillow that reeks of salt
a photograph of a distant memory
a fly buzzing around the plasma tube light
a buzz that won’t go away

a switch that won’t turn off
a stain that won’t dust off
a walk that’s unusual for the age
a kid who refuses to play

it’s the little things that give you away
dead poet Dec 2024
a glass of bourbon
unspent napkins on the side
the cheque is written
dead poet Dec 2024
when the echoes of harmony leave the heart’s chambers,
when the ears ring between extremities of silence,
when the hallows shudder into a lull,
when the birds sing out of tune,

we shall muse together again -
my sweet bitterness.
dead poet Dec 2024
it terrifies me sometimes…
the ugliness that smears the world -
with shades of despair, and evils unheard.

there’re things you hear, and learn, and know,
and wonder how mankind could stoop so low.
your fury knows what must be done, yet -
powerless you watch the madness grow.

the night is no longer the custodian of evil;
we see it day in, and day out.
the morning news, the afternoon bites;
come evening, you’d rather gouge your eyes out.

the screams of anguish of a woman bent over -
on the tasteless floor, her innocence devoured.
the wrath of a community, on the back of one man,
who dared speak his mind - his life is over!  

the game of politics,
the lies, the trecheries;
men without jobs - or homes -
living on the streets.
an animal slain to please a God,
as a child watches,
only to repeat.

yet it all goes on,
as though a **** in the wind.
the world tells you,
‘grow up, man! grow a thick skin.’
i wish i could tell you otherwise -
a story not so bleak.
but there…
they probably beheaded a son before his mother,
as we speak.
dead poet Nov 2024
if i were to find my place in this world -
i’d rather it be on a mountain top,
or the bottom of the sea;
somewhere - where my silence is not a bother to me,
where the voices cannot travel to tell me i don’t belong -
or that i need a voice.
i’m not sure what i’ll do there, though.
but i think i know -
i’d bring a laptop with me;
a broken one.
and i would punch away at its keys with my fingers -  
my poems, all my poems…
again,
and again,
and again…
for years, for ages
until the rhythms girdle into a symphony;
something only i could sing,
something only my heart would know,
something familiar.

and then i would cast it out into the darkness -  
where it belongs.
Joshua Phelps Nov 2024
if love is the
last thing
on your mind

then why do I
have to suffer
time and time

again?

I thought I
made the right
choices

but mistakes
were made and
I've fallen

in a pit
of despair.

self-pity,
and feeling
so worthless

that nothing
can ever
compare.

I thought this
would be the last
time

my heart
would be broken,

but it feels
like you
don't even care,

I'm forever
stuck in disrepair.
dead poet Nov 2024
i liked a girl from school, she was,
for me, a little too cool; she was -
on top of her game:  
something to aim for, she was -
hardly concerned if I had a last name.

i remember those roll calls…
my head leaning against the wall
just to sneak a momentary gaze,
as she'd stand up to answer the teacher's call.

“present, sir.." or "..ma’am”,
that’s all she’d say.
and I knew I’d make it through the day.
i believed someday,
with a voice so sweet,
she’d give me a call,
ask me to meet.

and though that day never came to pass
i remember looking through the broken glass -
of the bus window with a muddy tint.
i could still see her like fine print.

i remember her doe-brown eyes,
her fleshy lips -
the belt clutching her beckoning hips
i’d go to sleep,
drooling like a creep.  
in my slumber,
we’d meet in our secret keep.

she spoke in riddles, it would seem:  
but i could trace the general theme -
she’d throw me on the bed, and i’d fall -
right out of my wishful dream.

it’s absurd, i know -
i’m not a fool.
yet sometimes,
i wish i were the ‘cool kid’ in school.
and though her memories are all a blur,
i’ve yet to meet a girl like her.
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