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by Drake
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Cultural · #1655075
Poetry in motion
Good Boy ~ Free form poem about being a good boy as an adult.

Splashes from the other room.
Last born in the water.
A tinny voice, well spoken
Makes me proud even as

The other two
Watch the box
As Sonic runs towards something evil
And fatherhood, sweet and true
Moves me to ignore the advice of a thousand Ph.Ds.

Because tonight I’ll give a little soul to the haves
Yet with my spirit etched within the ages
I’ll give it freely and enjoy the show
Loving is free after all, and not something to condemn.

I’m starting slowly
Like the complex animal I am
I’ll begin with a visceral examination of their teeth
and end with the smiles of healthy men

I look upon a future, which only seems doomed
And hope a crack in heaven will spill soon
I’m following the good rulebook as best as I can
But only when I stay inside my room

Because outside, millions die, with a credit card swipe
As I drive, to where my bosses thrive, I’m floating in reverse
Forever still.


Gleaming For A King ~ A Poem about life.

Stuck in limbo
After mud drenched fall
Mind cluttered by a home flown
So far away
Memories, scents and dreams
All blown away

Driving through the night
With strangers
Unknown dangers

Living in this world
In love with this world
Above you, every night
Fishing for some dreams
Gleaming for a king
Crashing through the light
Losing my wings

Deep ocean awaits
Sinking, dying, drowned
A giant eye, widens in surprise
The tentacle throws me across the sea
Into infinity
Through the muddy banks
I’d love to give my thanks
To the thumping, bumping creature
I’ve come to know so premature

Gleaming for a king…


The Decision ~ This is a poem I wrote recently.

Darkness or light
The choice
Pressure relentless
No voice

I watch them run wild
Sensing their breath
Quiet on the side
Inside I feel death

Trapped in a vise
Can’t seem to break free
There’s no longer a thrill
Can’t find an enemy

My soul black with hate
No warmth, only cold
Hopeless, life spent
Can’t seem to find hold

Who do I have to kill!
To get my point across
Who, to kill!
Please, show me…


The Truth Of It All ~ What can I say? It's a poem.

And the truth of it all is…
It comes down to money in this world
Yes I know I know
It’s been said over and over
Yet like firelights blinking into existence

Here is my admission.
It saddens me to a point where I’m bored
That the capture of currency is all there is to have now
No more mysteries in life
No Loch Ness monster or Yeti

Only the droning drowning life of the worker bee
And all of the folly that comes after the day’s work
The endless boring hours spent doing something uninteresting
Something so simple it dulls you
And only wanton destruction to contemplate
For ones own entertainment

Ach. The time draws near.
Where I’ll run around with a smile on my face
And pretend to lead a bloody charge upon legions of evil-doers
Where I’ll think fondly of my pretty wife
And handsome boys
And somewhere the truth of it all will sink in
And like so many before me I’ll accept my fate
And happily play with my mind in the name of responsibility.


Writing prompt: 2/28/2003 ~ Damn. I found this on my computer, I'm amazed that I wrote this.
What makes bad poetry bad, what makes good poetry good? Is it the same for fiction?

Bad poetry, to me there is almost no such thing. I love the honesty of poetry, the raw energy and oftentimes I see raw, unedited poetry be treated as bad poetry. The fact that someone has dreamed up an idea and actualized it into a poem seems worthy of a respect in of itself. What can be construed as bad poetry however can be a poem that has no immediate message. A poem that has no rhythm or rhyme, a piece that meanders and waddles about not getting to the point. Wasting words, wasting time.
Good poetry can become the stuff of legend. A great poem will hang in your head and make you think. It helps stimulate the mind and can help communicate ideas that were dormant within a person. A good poem minces words and leaves room to breathe, paints a picture or speaks to you as if from heaven. A good poem I’ll say is the perfect construction of words to convey your ideas or message. Like an architect builds a building or monument.
Fiction is the same, it all involves communication of the idea in fictions case the story. If the story meanders and clunks about it better be for a reason because if the reason is not communicated the story will fail. Good fiction makes you not want to put it down. Makes you want to freak out and scream. Makes me at least want to praise the writer who came up with the story and read more from that Author. Good fiction, good poetry all comes down to skill and craft. A bad poem or a bad story is simply someone that’s on the road to writing good stories and good poems. I applaud that.


Writing exercise #6 ~ I can't remember what the prompt was for this exercise but I like the result.

I am alone in a desert. In the distance I see mountains and I want to get to the top. I face insurmountable odds but I don’t care, I won’t let that stop me. I walk, I run, I jump, I fly. Faster until my eyes water I race towards the mountain tops.
Wallace asked for his cheeseburger three times before the waitress delivered it.
He was satisfied.


Augen Offnen ~ This is what happens when ones eyes truly open and realize certain truths about life.

Rush clang and clamor
For a memory
An embrace from a new friend
I can’t devise a suitable prize
For the person who controls those worthy
Naughty rhymes disguise my diatribe
As I push the envelope to the man with big hands
Who takes it, opens it, and puts it away
What’s inside, what was written, to no one will he say
Until I’m gone long gone
Away from the pain
Eyes will turn to the sky
The agenda made true

All will smile as the clouds form my name
Sunshine will breakthrough, sunbeams dance upon you
As little ones caper amid fields of green
Where men are true and ladies blue
And not because of bad feelings but because of you

Here you’ve held the line
You’ve held back the devil
The one who wanted all to be circular, and untrustworthy
That chaos demon throwing random feelings in our path...


Ruined ~ A poem about not thinking before you speak.

Twenty minutes too late
Unchecked words leapt through the gate
Darts from a mouth unschooled in tact
Hit the point home unable to retract

A meaning, a feeling, in infancy
Depends infinitely on secrecy
Conceived by the parents of thought
Born strong it’s nurtured and taught

Then Ruined…
The truth that you lied drove the stake through your lark
Delusional confusion gave birth to the dart
The one that shot forth from your mouth to her heart
Could a misspoken thought tear good friends apart?


Found in my notebook #1 ~ This is a short poem I found in my notebook. I like it.

You’re my only proof that heaven exists
Wings long gone, passion persists
Forever in love we could be
I must turn my back on thee
God is elusive, and I’ll never die
All of this, from a mad man’s lie


Lucky Guy ~ A song about coming of age.

November air heals me,
I walk to school past your house.
I see his car outside, lucky guy.
But yeah, you kissed me, you kissed me.
My first time, lucky guy.

September stares me in the eye.
You pulled up to me, plan devised.
And the choice was made,
To fall into your lair.

Immortal love.
You taught me.
To laugh and cry,
Alone at night.
Lucky guy.

Your green eyes,
Send me miles away,
To another time and place.
Where perhaps we fought and played.
Under gray skies,
Your brown hair smelled of hay.

And now I’m, trapped inside your cage.
Oh, lucky guy.


Cannot Think ~ This is about how it feels to have things almost right but not quite.

Threads burst from my head.
Inner scalp, crusted with dread.
In slow motion my thoughts drudge.
Towards inate action which goes unjudged.

There is the kindness I need,
to have my jailed conciousness freed.
To find where the genius resides,
then unlock the soul inside.

Can't think anything besides 'stop'.
Eyes focused on one spot.
While dumbstruck in a daze,
my self-esteems unfazed.

Backs firmly pressed against the wall.
Society has me in its thrall.
Cow-like eyes, gaze at the sky,
tears fall down, as they cry.

Cannot think, past yesterday.
Cannot think, before today.


Almost There ~ A poem about life in the grinder.

He walks in L.A
Wanting to cleanse the earth

Ignorance sitting in the welfare room
The jowly woman ambling insane
Almost getting hit by an expensive car
Rage quietly contained

He feels he’s on his own, with no one to watch his back
He wonders, is this all planned by the sharks?
Why can’t I become one?
With one quick glance at the teeming life before him he realizes.
A shark is too simple for this.

The rules have been set in an unbreakable mold
To break it is against the laws
To forge a new one takes decades of sacrifice
Does one take the bright or the dim?

The problem is, we’re talking about scale
How can he make a glimmer amid the sprawl
He’s almost there, but he’ll never get there
Because to make it worth his while it’d have to be big.


Three Swords ~ A poem about a possible future if one decided to raise scoundrels.

Assembled and waiting
Generals debating
About which one to deploy
Which young girls heart to destroy

My vengeance
Has a penchant
For distress or duress
My weapons
Don’t know
What I aim for

Eyeing each other annoyed
A gene’s memoirs devoid
That warlike we may be
It wont work in society

They scream and shout
As the balls kicked about
On the sidelines
We wear black
Crystal balls intact
As they rant and rave
we receive their castaways

Step outside
Into sunshine
Moonlight betrays
The patterns
Of normal anyway

Three swords
In their sheathe
Eager blades
Long to be free

And they will someday
Fly, stab, and slay
Blood will quench their thirst
Vengeance filled, laughter bursts

For every soul despised
Comes a young-lass surprised…


Natural Selection ~ This is what happens to a good many ladies, and a good many of the good guys.

In this world of swarming bees
Flowers mean to be plucked
That’s the reality.
That’s why we’re short on luck.

When it comes to eager smiles
We’re in short supply
As the maidens eyes go wide
They leave us behind

Ask me why, I deconstruct this way
Ask me why, I’ve given up the game
Ask me why, I’ll tell you someday

The only way to beat them
Is to become them
The only way to cleanse the sea
Is to dive in

It’s a sad day when you can’t trust the ties of friendship
In the photograph his eyes seemed so innocent
Then he played his final hand and found her with a weak soul
Couched in liberty this betrayal makes my blood cold
It freezes you and me in time

And many years later
Crocs and alligators
Feast on the paper meat

You’ve given to the fathers of the unwanted daughters
That guys like me pretend to need
It’s only cause we’re sorry that you fell for their folly
And bit into their baubles and things

It’s my turn to be mean
To lash out at you stupid beings
For allowing the king of beasts
To force you to your knees
And suffer his offspring
While he trots off and sings

I fooled her, I fooled her, I fooled her, I fooled her good!

© Copyright 2010 Drake (drake8 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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