1168

As old as Woe—
How old is that?
Some eighteen thousand years—
As old as Bliss
How old is that
They are of equal years

Together chiefest they ard found
But seldom side by side
From neither of them tho’ he try
Can Human nature hide

I walked into Walgreen’s that night
              absorbed in my own little world.

Soon after entering,
I made my way to the line.
My eyes
             d       a      n  c  e d        

to the crescent-moon shaped scar
    adorning the young clerk’s neck.

With the gentleman in front of me,
he spoke of
camouflage and machine guns.
                                                                            Earlier times when he
                                                                               could only see his
                                                                                  family through
                                                                                     the lens of
                                                                                            a
                                                                                      webcam.
When  he first learned what it took
                                       to be a man.

And when he learned what true loss
really felt like.

It’s my turn.
I step     f      o   r w ard
and stare directly into his eyes
and wonder

how he ended up here.


His face doesn’t give away much,
he’s painted on a cordial smile
and the air between us seeps
with the remnants
of small talk.

But I can’t help wondering.
I wonder, if he knows

he’s more than he’s been told.
       more than he’s settled for.
       more than the orders he was commanded to obey.
       more than the lines he was expected to cross.
       more than the monster he had to become.
                                                                                   To survive.

I can’t help but wonder

how he’s ended up here.

Overseas— he’s ranked
but now that he’s home
on friendly soil,                                    he’s thrown into department store
                                                                 positions and temporary jobs.
I can only hope he’s better off than some of his friends

tossed into
psychiatrists offices.

But I wonder,
I wonder what memories might decide to plague his dreams.
While he tries to figure out
which pill alleviates which painful recollection.
Which part of his past will come back to haunt him today
and which of his friends lives will flash before his eyes while he tries to sleep.

Norepinephrine firing through his brain
                                 like the gunshots he had to deliver.

The U.S government is so quick to draft,

but hasn’t learned how to welcome home.

They hide their veterans in the dark corners of psych wards,

allow them to get lost in the depths of their own minds,

while the PTSD
                                   eats away whatever is left.

These men fight for countries who don’t know what to do with them afterwards.
What they both need to learn:

There is life after war.

Because of them
Rules & rules again
Using all their could to hold me away
Ignoring all about my love
Spying me like an adept
Expecting I'm gonna forget
Do not expect me to do it

Hard as it could be
Enraged towards them
All a can is thinkin'
Rage inside me
T**o never forget him

Like a spider on *******
I weave dysfunction
in   a      haphazard    way
My web has huge              gaping                         holes
It continues to u
                         n
                      r
                         a
                      v
                        e
                      l
                       
Stops short of beautiful
I begin one segment
then d
         r
         o
         p it to start piecing together another
My web lacks intricate details
that would make it magnificant to others
My web cannot function naturally
the way instinct intended
The holes in my web
cause opportunities to fly right by and through
leaving me hungry, confused and reliant on you
This web is a silky mess
So I'll just leave it be
to end up
on someone's eyelash
as they acquiesce.
Like a spider on *******
I         weave    dysfunction
        in  a     hap-haz-ard      
                                                                ­    way.

Sung and did not miss, watch this, where'swung
a dub when we need vees lots and lots of vees

the first friendly used many vees where we use double yous
vees and bees sound so much alike, s'ard to tell

Simultaneous, as always,
other-ther things begin and end while I am contrating on
a single point being made

on a single pin,
which is
bearing witness to my assertincertainty that at least
one thousand three hundred and ninety-two messages in lieu of angels,
numbering in the billions if Sagan was right,
fit
per pineal node post initial exterior inhalation and that first draft

look at this will you wontyou willyou wontyou
one thousand three hundred and ninety-two
guitar pickers in Nashville,

Ten percent of whom are sworn to sing Rocky Top
at every open mike in town every Saturday night

and we survived, didn't starve or go plumb crazy, though we tried.

It's good to be alive and remember imagining being

abundantly more alive, and
you know

or not, I can't say.

Did you read how Paradise, California burned for lack of rain?
We heard, Down here in the Lagunas.
All kinds o' folks prayed all kinds o'ways, and it rained.

Mud-makin rain.
Is it wrong to think the rain was called, if you can't imagine
rain obeying a request for the jetstream to dip?
Not here, we think right happens
right here on purpose

if you can imagine that a prayer,

wave of a wing tip, an eagle's
with permission.
this is the eagle wing effect, rightused,
should any attribute this to butterflies in China or Brazil.

The eagle acknowledges the Pine Valley hummingbird
who consented to make its final migration,
so the rain had a path to follow.

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight.

"That ****** lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!"

"Mmmm..."

"Anyway, what's this hole for do you reckon? Gas? Telephone? Electric? Dead bodies? Haha!"

"Hope not"

"Hopeless more like! Why ARE we digging it anyway?"

"We? I'm digging! You're just talking ****!"

"******* Frank! What about owd Jim over there? Old ****** never does owt!"

"Grunt"

"Leave Jim alone! He's seen it all and done it all a million times! Poor guy must be knackered! If I still have to work at his age I'll ope you young uns gi mi some ****** respect!"

"Respect?! *******! Who's getting respect ere?! Not me! I'm in the middle of nowhere at night digging an ole in a highway for god knows what reason!"

"Look, Gaz, 'oles need to be dug. It's not our job to fill em. We just dig em up!"

"Yeah, but don't you wonder why? Like, we seem to be diggin up constantly! Same ****** area of the same ****** highway! Dunt anyone plan it oot so thi can do it all in one go?! Water, cables, all of it?! Its like we're makin work for t sake on it!"

"At least you've got ****** work! There used to be 20 odd of us on this stretch o road. Are you gonna dig or what?"

"Keep yer air on frank! I'll ****** dig, but I'm only doin it for you!"

"Well ****** me! I'm honoured! Shut up n dig will ya?"

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Sigh

Scrape, heave, scrape...

"Yer know what else...?"

"Oh, for ***** sake!! What?!?"

"These shovels are ****!"

"You're ****!"

"Nah mate! Look, handles are loose and shovel bit's weak as ****! If you lift too much thi just bend! It's like thi want us to ave to work twice as ard for t same bleeding job!"

"Well there's no worry o that wi you is there?! You lift ****** all!"

"Whatever..."

Heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave ... crack!!!

"Told you!"

"Shut up smart ****!"

"Don't ya get it though?! We're nowt t them lot! Thi just use us n **** on us! Wi dunt even kno' where this place is do we? We just get a lamp post number and go! Where does this ****** highway go?!"

"Look, I don't give a ****! I just want to dig this 'ole then go ome and watch some TV and maybe get a **** before bed! There's a ****** sign over there anyway..."

Sign reads "He..."
The rest of the sign is broken away, probably hit by a car.

"Jim. Jim?! Jim!! ******* I think Jim's dea..."

"Consarnid!! Thundering eejit!! I int banna be deed, tha ****** loony! I wor banna geet some shuteye! Tha lod banging on abaat ****** why thar ****** shovlin *****?! Carnt tha led an owd bloke sleep?!!!"

"Sorry Jim. Just worried mi for a minute there. Are ta alreet?"

"Nah am nod! I wo avin a reet dree-um befoore tha wakened us! Megan ****** Fox wor sat o mi fay-us!"

In unison - "Hahaha! Tha owd dog Jim!!"

"Sorry Jim, It's Gaz, e's got more questions than a ****** 3 year owd!"

"Shut up ya miserable get!
Why do you reckon we're diggin this ole Jim? You've been doin it a long time."

"Aye... I wor yer wen thi started fixint roo-uds. It wo differnt then. Thi gi'd us reet too-uls n ad t reet ideas. Thi jus wanid us to dig reet. Bud thi dint like us knowin moo-ur than them lod! S thi gid us ****** all n wi started wokin unner leets i t deark. Nah ****** con see us then. Thas askin t rong quetsion lad! Ids nod why aar wi diggin t oil! It's why aar wi doin id int deark?!"

"Why are wi Jim?"

"Because we're expe...."

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!
Thud!!!
Vrooooommm!!!

"Oy!!!! ******!!!!"

"Es dead Frank! What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"What?!? Jim?!! Did tha get 'is number?"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"Gaz!!"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"**** Gaz, yer reet! ****** this **** I'm not diggin any more! I'm off ome!"

"F..f...fr.... FranFrank?"

"What Gaz? That were ****** up Gaz!! Jims dead!"

"B..b....bu... bury J..J..J..Jim"

"Gaz, tha'll ave t do it tharself, I can't dig anymore. Sorry. Im calling t ambulance n goin ome. You should too! Bye Gaz. Good luck."

"B..b....by... bye J..J..J..Jim..."

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Slow. My Daddy works in he...

Help me
by Ashton Ard



Help me,
is something I wish I could say,
Just waiting until the day I can finally be freed from this prison I built around me.
Everyday gets harder to breathe,
I tear at my skin
ripping off the weights holding me back,
making me hold my breath.
It's too late for me to be better,
I've been bottled up for way too long.
I wish I could be strong,
like you all want me to be,
choking back my tears, I wash away my fears,
hoping to leave no trace of who I was.
Who was that girl,
who everyone thought was a lesbian?
I don't know,
because that was never me.
I forced myself into a box,
girls wear pink,
boys wear blue,
Help me,
is something I wish I could say,
just waiting until the day I can finally be freed from the prison I built around me.
Boys play sports,
girls play dolls,
No!
I scream,
This world doesn't see the many colors of who you can really be.
I rip at my chest,
I rip at my hair,
why can't I just be happy?
it's the worlds fault for pushing us back.
We're people too,
We love just like you,
Help me,
I whisper underneath my breath.
The prison walls around me fall down,
I stand in the middle of a field,
A single rainbow stands before me.
Finally,
I'm accepted,
I'm loved,
I'm happy.
Thank you.

I used to be lysexic
But I’m betting getter.
I sometimes get letters
All gangled up totether.
I often lose tontrol
Of the taction of my ung
I had this tind of krubble
Sever yince I was sung.

I backed things saidward
It muzz wore than embarrassing.
It got me picked lot upon
Subjected to hate grarrassing.
Sometimes wumbers nould
Lood just like wetters
Back when I was lysdexic
But I am betting getter.

Not just lysdexic am me
But I Spoonerise tum soo.
And unce that sets started
There is lo sittle I can do.
It get’s ard to understand me
And it isses some eeple poff
I really bish I could weegin
To **** to stalk like a toff.

I used to be lysexic
But I’m betting getter.
I sometimes get letters
All gangled up totether.
I often lose tontrol
Of the taction of my ung
I had this kind of rubble
Sever yince I was sung.

We are scared to dream
Scared to speak
Scared to write and scared to teach
Scared to breathe and scared to sleep
Scared to **** and scared to scream
Scared to run and scared to die
Scared of living and scared to death of failing
Scared of growing older and scared of being scolded
Scared of holding and scared of showing
Anything but our fearlessness

My old man's a dustman
He's in the pub today
He'd be there all the bloomin' time
If he had his way

My old man's a dustman
He don't give it's all take
He plays his banjo late at night
And keeps us all awake

My old man's a dustman
He loves his missus so
He wouldn't swap her for the world
I think she'd swap him though

My old man's a dustman
He once met the Queen
He kept his hands behind his back
'Cos they weren't very clean

My old man's a dustman
He's really quite a card
Friday night he'll take you on
If you think you're 'ard

My old man's a dustman
He knows my Auntie Jean
Every time she sees him
She does a little scream

My old man's a dustman
Making no mistake
When he finally pops his clogs
There'll be quite a wake

IN BED WITH STEPHEN KING

backstage: Romeo
tries it on
Juliet 'its 'im 'ard

the slap
shocks the extras
they pause mid-make-up

Juliet's received pronunciation
slips back into her native Cockney
Romeo told to go forth and multiply

anyway, Paris is
more her type and
oooh his *** in ahhhh...those tights

Romeo's...ughhh....halitosis
she winces with each kiss
taste of garlic...cheap cigarettes

an audience applauds
the curtain falls
glad to be just Jane again

she takes time
to un-Shakespeare her self
boy but she could ****** a kebab

Romeo: once again Andy
her ex & yes yes
she wants *** but...not with him

Paris: now Peter
gives her a saucy wnk
"Hmm!" she thinks "Hmmm!"

she imagines him
nakedly mad for her
sans tights...sans everything

alas that wink was
for Tybalt...*******
another night in bed with

- Stephen King.

.

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                          ketchup relish
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                      chip relish mustard
                           ketchup relish
                           mustard ketch
                           up relish must
                           ard ketchup re
                           list mustard ke
                           tchup relish m
                           ustard ketchup
                           relish mustard
                           ketchup  relish
                           Mustard  ketch
                           up relish  must
         mustard relish        mustard ketchup
      Relish mustard ket  chup relish mustard
    ketchup relish must ard ketchup relish m
      mustard ketchup         relish mustard    
           Ketchup                          relish

mashed a ****'n 'n my shirt
had t' sew 'n an'ther 'ne
mashed a ****'n 'n my keyb'ard
n'w I'm a v'wel sh'rt

Poetry for me, is a way to express my emotions, even without using big words like melancholy, or ecstatic. I prefer a simple, laid back approach to my situations, making it a more mindful, and understanding experience. I do use imagery, and symbols, but in a way a reader can understand, such as my current poems “Help me” and “Grey”. Help me is about my struggles with gender identity and sexuality, using the prison walls as a box i had put myself in, not letting myself express who I really am. In Grey, the eyes, the tears, and the clouds dancing is me letting go of my past mistakes, and indulging into unhealthy coping mechanisms. “The clouds swirling into some kind of scary dance” Is when I decided to try my first cigarette, the smoke swirling into the air like it’s dancing. The eyes are grey, mimicking a rain cloud, my eyes going from dark brown to dark grey. The tears are self explanatory, because in the poem I state “Mimicking rain”. I had written stories, and attempted poetry all my life, and writing is a simple way I express myself. Even if it’s a suicide note, to a story, It helps me feel better in the end. Just because I don’t wish to use fancy words in my poems does not mean I don’t know how to fit them in. I’ve studied and loved poetry all my life, and listened to songs that were originally poems. My poems have parts in which they rhyme, and don’t rhyme. It’s a way I help show my emotion, the non rhyming parts showing my aggression towards something. Poetry can have two different types of writing styles in it, and doesn’t just have to be rhyming, or non rhyming. As long as it has a rhythm, and conveys the ideas of what you’re trying to say, It’s fine. -Ashton

i
tonight he
ard t
he
whole increasing
churn of asleep
moon light
profess
*******, a pair
of giggling
gorgeous effluent
skinny skin

and peaked mounting
each lush pale
drop of flesh
a pinkest isle
dithered and

cooed a string
of pleasant
sharp rasps
of whitish
light

   (the moon like
like honey drips
the whole sky fantastic
and carnal with
the imploding bulge
of her Winter
set ****
        ).

When times get
Hard, the going gets writing.
And the times are hard, but
Things get worst before they get any better.

As a bruise is when it's healing.

Coming from a young person with no where to go,
As I run from this creature.
This big, dark creature who's
Chasing me, there's no where to
Hide, or so it thinks...

Down the street...nope, it's right behind me.
On the roof...nah, it's there too.
No where to turn,
No where to go, oh but wait...
I* got my secret place, but d*amn it! It's
Even there as well--in my writing. *In my place.

Mirror, mirror,
Can't you see?
What I see is killing me.
Fat under my chin,
saggy loose skin,
Insecurities take over me,
knocking me to my knees.
Mirror, mirror,
Can't you tell?
What I see hurts like hell,
Hardly any hair,
nothing i should share.
Mirror, mirror,
Can't you see?
What I see is killing me.
- Ashton Ard

Why can't I be me?
All of this pain,
All of this hate,
Why does it have to be me?


The grey eyes that I call clouds,
The ash sky,
The thunder very loud.

Rumbling in the distance,
I stare up in a trance,
The clouds swirl into some kind of scary dance,

Tear drops fall,
Mimicking rain,
I fall to my knees,
Only to be greeted with grief.

It's all over,
It says,
The wind in its sigh,

I roll over,
Dying,
I let out a cry once more.

Of all the things
That I can be
I choose to mope around
And wait for things
To “let it be”
Sometimes I contemplate
Wether this life is unfair
Everyone gets second chances
While I just sit right over there

I’ve gone to search
For something new
But my imagination
Puts me in Jupiter’s many moons
I’m overzealous of things yet untouched
I wish that I could see
Like the Hubble and its keen eye
But not even a team of experts
Can cure me from my obstinate personality
So I let your records play
To the tune of my gloomy days

I can see the universe and its anomalies
I try to comprehend this world
But I can’t for the life of me
But I don’t need to if you’re ever by my side
Knowledge can be power
But love may never die

So when I’m overwhelmed
With what I don’t know
Let’s take a trip
To all these parts unknown
Where all the lizards can reside
I want to go
Let’s watch this sunset
For tomorrow is never known