Top Gear

Same old news

Bored and vain,

Who am I

To complain,

One and the same. 

Absurd what stories 

Count as news

Horror and shock

At the everyday schlock

Twenty Four Hours

Call it a news day

A new day of recycling

The same tired garbage

And in other news

In other news

This is what another news

Had to say about the news

Late breaking, the beast

That you're forsaking

Is feeding you, breeding you

And bleeding you.

For the more we talk

About it

The more immortal it

Ingrains itself addicting.

Read me the news like the weather

Based on past statistics and probability

Tell me honestly.

Grounded

Beaten to submission

The tires slip and in the second control is found and lost

Slammed against the barricade

A moment of silence before the crunch, crush

That floating slowly sideways

Inevitable eventuality,

Brutally pressing into the barricade

Bent, broken and saved.

Hobble away

To a safer place.

Walk around

Access

The damages superficial

Bend down

Access 

The cold ground

For signs of leaks

Shine a light on

Looking for anything

Out of place.

Listening in the desolation 

For sounds of distress

Trying to differentiate

The same old growl from

The chance of something new.

Then it comes down to feeling,

And the gut drops

The shuddering that lets you know,

You can't go on.

Not safely.

Carbulance called.

Waiting patient as the snow builds, the defrost roars

The glow of the radio,

The wind howls without

The mind howls within

Is sedated on the chew toy 

Of modern technology

Never alone with a phone

Never far from home.

Never bored, that is the 

Worst thing we could be,

Pocketing a myriad of devices in one handheld vice.

Squeezing the lithium down the veins, through the heart, mind, cleansed again and in need of a recharge.

Carbulance arrives

Traveling saints with braided metal yarns,

Driving where driven to,

Dealing with every variation

Of human condition,

From the buxom young woman

To the demented old man. 

Answering the call of the unfortunate traveller,

On a morning when they can barely keep traction.

The lines in the road are concealed, everyone driving on instinct and feeling, some failing and I cannot judge,

As I watch the beast

Stare greedily at me through the rear window.

We're it a horse

A bullet for its lunch.

Back at the veterinarian 

The doctor looks over my poor pony bucket,

A broken leg twisted metal

Bones aren't cheap

And labor ain't free

But I'll bandaid her

For lack of options

And spend the week

Working to pay off the mistake

Of waking up early

On a Monday morning,

When I should have crawled back in bed for six more weeks.

D day

For those who went in

Blind and wet

Bravely into

Machine gun jaws 

Innocent blood in the water

Serving nothing

But wars carrion appetite,

Boys against boys

On officers orders.

For those who never celebrated 

The fall of Hitler,

Who never would know

Their painful death

Was not in vain. 

Being sent to the shores of death

Never making it to the sand

A shield for those sons

Who would return home again.

This is a thank you

You can never read,

Never understand what it means

To millions like me

Whom your sacrifice saved.

Hipsterer than thou.

Shave your dirty hipster beard.

Peanut

Life has prepared me,

For this moment

With a brand new little life 

In my hands.

There is no manual

There is day to day

Trial and error

The pair of us foraging a path

Which we hope

Will lead to contentment.

So new

Sleeping silently

On a pedestal in our hearts

Forever.

For my Mom on her 24th 26th birthday

To say you turn 26 today

Negates the last 24

In the first 26, you may have had lots of fun,

But in these latter, you've done so much more.

Sure it might have been joyous, 

Reckless and thrilling, a whole ton of fun, but was it as fulfilling?

As raising three children

Who call you their own,

Whom you repaired and prepared

For a life of their own.

Though they may have been a hassle, while in your castle, always at war against the throne, it may have felt spiteful, and wasn't delightful, but it gave them all solid backbones.

Now they are grown and out of the nest and married having kids of their own, it is easy to see since your mid twenties how your love and your life have grown.

It is fanciful sure to be trapped Dorian Gray, in the shell of a well suited yesterday, but to put a brave face and except age with grace and the wisdom it implies, not to disguise it or feel disgust, but to proclaim it with pomp and thrust.

I'm 50! I'm 50 and I'm looking damn good, half a century old and sharp as a whip. My times not been wasted, I've had good times and bad, but I wouldn't trade one for another I've had, because each was a building block which brought me here, with the friends that I'll keep and my family I hold dear. It's a badge of honour and a tribute to luck, I'm 50, I'm 50 and I don't give a f@€#.

Truth

Neutral observation doesn't exist. It is very hard to tread the edge of the coin. 

Your best option is to study as many sides of history as possible and formulate your own theories which will in turn be biased by your own environment, morals and values. 

You will find most evil in history was based on good intentions, that the biggest lies ever propagated have been done so to benefit the wealthy and powerful. 

Science tries to be a neutral ground for providing answers in regards to natural history, but is contaminated by the fact their is no control subject (neutral) upon which things can be compared. 

Unfortunately with over a trillion lives lived and lost on this tiny blue marble, only a relatively small few stories have made it to today's 7 billion inhabitants. 

We are lucky to have the freedom in our society to know there are two sides to every story, in some countries, and even some religions, the idea of there being a truth other then the one dictated causes anger, ridicule and may even result in imprisonment, torture and death. 

Ignorance is not just not knowing about something, it can also be choosing to ignore the other side of the coin, being so trapped in the one dimension of your own vision that you believe their can be no other way to see it.

 Even modern history which we have lived through is full of half truths dictated depending on which side of the aisle one sits, and you would hope that every one has the best intentions in mind when presenting, but truth will always be bent to better suit the audiences appetite to be right. 

The things you like to read will generally be in agreement  with your preformed  ideals, and you will choose to disbelieve anything that does not conform to said ideals, but on the other side of the aisle the spectrum reverses. 

There is a middle ground, a middle way, a path which lacks emotional attachment to what is right and wrong, however it also lacks the passion and pain that we associate with humanity. 

The truth is. It exists, but it lay in cold hard facts devoid of opinion.

To the moon

DR2Zfk8FvCczmPASE7UgjRqSStkwJ6YE7W

Balancing Melting Snow

Some how it had all come together, and he was trying his damnedest not to think about its fragility. His self destructive nature had been so quelled for so long, he dreaded it rearing its ugly head and blowing over his house of cards. Winter was upon him, with all his short comings he was worried if he could make it to spring, trying to quell the fears with hope, knowing full well the fire depression feeds. 

His one comfort was he was not an island alone, he had her, a golden bridge to saner shores, even in his darkest moments he could summon the light of her nature to cast out the shadows in the scarred corners of his soul. 

In the spring, they would embark on the greatest journey of their lives, a trek which would lead them to their greatest joys and deepest sorrows, that would leave them empty and fulfill them more then anything they had ever known.

As he sat drinking coffee while the cold December snow fell gracefully outside his window, he anticipated the journey, but feared his lack of planning. He knew on the road he could be wolffish , greedy in pursuit of his own desires, a character flaw as opposed to malicious hedonism, yet he knew the compromises to come would be some of the hardest to accept he had ever encountered, with human life hanging in the balance. His desires could be put on the back burner, but his moral compass would have to stay rigid and determined. 

They would have to find a balance between ideals and reality, fiscal responsibility and ability to adapt. How to approach god and death and sex, the normal and unexplainable. The insane to the mundane, Monday to Sunday, 365  days a year end on end.

As he finished his coffee, he noted how far he had already come on his journey, and realized with her, he could go farther then he would allow himself to dream.

Iced

Cracking bones

Wind shakes 

The ice covered branches

All give

Till it's to much to take

The branch falls to the ground

Taking out those in its way.

margaret elizabeth steer

green grass and chocolate labs,
stables and the styes,
country side,
even cowgirls get the blues,
one wild child,
golden memories,
unchained mare running free,
pastures in the sky,
we love you.

For Mary

The diligence of artists creating,

Focused

Each individual strand of hair

As important as the individual 

A great hairdresser with a bad personality is more unbearable than a hack job barber who tells good jokes.

Sitting in the throne

Being groomed

Pampered

Sharing troubles and triumphs

Bared in someone else's hands

Being sculpted lovingly

In a society, 

Where distances are kept

A stranger rubs their fingers 

Through your hair

Here is comfort.

You stare into the mirror

And you fall through

The world drifts away 

Two hands

Trimming away troubles.

I'd rather a salon chair than

A therapists couch

Any day.

Three O

Dirty 

Another day

Doing what I can.

Yesterday's passed by

Over and over

Useless and leading.

Heartaches passed

Anger passed

Days to months to years

Maybe I'm right

Every time I smile

Basking in the beauty

Under a golden sun

Taking it one breath at a time

Is this all it will ever be?

Nice people make life easier

Each soul I've been blessed

Very blessed to know

Each struggling saint

Reaching but never attaining.

Heaven is a place

Always in my heart for you

Deep where you are infallible

Yesterday's we've lost

Only to be certain

Under blue skies we'll crumble.

Spoiler

How breaking bad ends

With Walt trying to save Jesse

And a chemical explosion.

Two episodes left

You read it here first.

The Poet and The Artist

Dear Eli,
((  ///Ofcourse brought
upon by your words...
about the artist and the poet.../// ))

   Enjoy chasing the life and the dream...

but I'M not so sure if that's so correct...

Cause where I stand what am I chasing really?

Just something comfortable before death..

We have to lay that way forever it seems..

might as well rest in a home owned by yourself

for yourself...

Seems darn right to me... Haha..

Well done Sir....

It's a hell of a battle I'll tell you...

Let's continue to defy odds...

E. D.

You provided me with the perfect metaphor,
the dried, the wilted, the faded
the flowers you decorated your house with;
the shell of an echo of a beauty,
You watch their petals falling
yet you keep them still;

You threw me away instead.

Cat

I see you outside,
and frankly,
you and I have so
much in common...
(for my own personal
reasons I hated / disliked
cats...Like waking up
 with one in yourface
inside a shack, with no
AC in
the Dominican Republic,
and its hissing at you,
and your like 6 years old)

Your quite stroll,
your sheek look...
(which I admire from you
Actually...A pacefilled stroll..)

More importantly,

we both like carnitas' from
Chipotle...
we appreciate a good bath...
have seemingly long canines,
(ofcourse yours are just that
much more)

almost all' hand given gestures
like, receiving food, getting hair cuts,
getting picked up'
(like in a car, you get me)

//////////////////////////////////

Come on guys, stop shooting the local
cat with random shots of bbguns...
(save it for the rodents, I think)


mine was brutinized' by something similar...
(got her at the local aspca, it was like
picking up a pizza)

she's got her issues.. I think by now
I think she knows...


And we still have things in common...

Driving the pace

A beautiful day broken

By the heavy foot

Of the pushed too far,

A driver, a passenger 

On a highway

Where one is afraid to drive

And one is just bored.

Please visit www.bleedpoetry.com (thanks)

Broken Libra Scales

The scales tip

Sometimes,

To much weight

Thrown around,

Excitement and frustration

Abound.

Trying to balance

Till some one presses 

And won't let off,

And I snap

Trying to gain back control.

Overfilled with emotions

The chains of polity and clarity 

Crack under the pressure,

The kinder, gentler me drops

The wrath in me

Takes control.

In simpler times

I could just let it go

Under calmer skies

It would blow past,

But instead an eruption of fury

To make up for the worries I mask,

A spiteful tirade

To hide the uncertainty

In the plans I have made.

And as I calm

Find my center

Mend my own chains,

I hear nothing but silence

Bitter angry silence

From the instigator and victim

Laying inches away.

Please visit www.bleedpoetry.com (thanks)

Letter to my son or daughter

Tell her everything,
tell her your faults,
your flaws,
your hopes,
dreams and desires.

Be open,
honest,
you can't change what you've done, who you are
or what you hope to become.

It will give her two choices at that point. To accept you,
as you,
or to move on.

But if you aren't fair
and honest with her
now at this crux,
it will always weigh on you.

Give her the truth,
if it is meant to be,
it will be,
if not,
then at least you know you we're honest with yourself.

If you ever get to the point where you are holding her hand,
looking in her eyes,
saying for rich or for poor,
in sickness and in health,
you don't want skeletons dancing in your mind as you say
'I do'.

I know you love her and will forever,
even if things don't work out,
you will cherish the time which you spent together.

It will all be fine.

Stuttering

All these thoughts
Clips of a decent
Into madness
Teetering on the rim of sanity

To many nights
Left alone in the head
Tossing and turning
In an empty bed
Bleeding in drip drop fashion
Passion spurts
Ferocious and fleeting
Juxtaposing the patient beat
Of the heart

We
We are
Weary

Haves
Have not
Knots in the stomach
Writhing in pain
Plain sight
Hiding on the open forums

Page after page after page after page after page after page after page after page after page after page

Meet me where the punch line is the subject is the title is my poem where I hide what I feel in what I feel I can reveal to steal a glance into the mad sadness coursing through my veins to my brains to my finger lingering between keys, trying to explain the unexplainable in the art of me.

Caught
Fraught
Fraudulent
Forced
Cohearsed
The worst
Dredging out fledgling feelings
Somewhere in subtext
You'll find every answer
You choose to find,
Chameleon phrasing
In plane sight.

Wanderful Life

That sinking feeling you get

Bound to head down the road again.

Like my old dog dying

With the prospect of a puppy

 in my head.

The Stranger

When the stranger comes

To town

Nothing to do but walk around

Things better left unsaid

And offer a couch as a bed.

When the stranger speaks,

Answer in cliches;

Avoid the doeful stare

And the awful truth in your heart,

Where pity and compassion meet.

Where resentment and disgust

Meet silence.

Ohh Quick Endeavor,

Ohhh, How
I Bleed..,

The Daily Grind

Grinding teeth
Coffee
Waking to the highway
Traffic jam
Stuck daily
Draining minutes off
Life.

Detour
Through red light alleys
The shamed stumbling
Past decaying garbage
Decades of waste
Denumont in another tasteless evening
The money maid
Filth dripping down
Her stocking leg
Culmination of mistakes made
Stumbles out across a windshield

Flashing lights
In morning's glory
Blood smeared fender
Tells the story
Of screams from a runaway
Silenced by shattering glass
The sun and moon
Share the sky
Balance in the universe
Remains unfair.

Letter to a Lesbian in Hicksville

Picture yourself in a brick wall room
with a window.
The walls are ignorance.

You can push all you want,
but they will still be walls,
intolerant and not understanding,
the more you push them,
the more you will find yourself frustrated. The window is the Internet,
you can stare at it and see the world evolve around you,
you can call for help,
ask advice,
but for now you are still trapped in the room.

There are two ways to escape.

You can feel sorry for yourself sitting in the room,
eventually the floor will crumble,
and a long hard dig awaits you,
or
you can save your money and concentrate on your education,
when the time is right you will see the door,
you will be able to walk out of the room and into the world outside those brick walls.
I can't tell you there are not more brick walls out there,
but they are crumbling,
they'll be easier to spot and avoid.

Green

Greener pastures
Over seeing
All the truth
Of hardship.

Looking at the sun drenched surface
Ignoring the mud
Beneath the leaves of grass
Standing in sand sinking
Looking at a swamp dreaming
It is an oasis
But beneath the exterior
The muddy bog
With hidden crevices
Sinkholes and rodents.

There has to be rocks somewhere
To plant a house
And grow a home.
Drift through the desert, or cross the fence to the swamp,
Either way toil untold awaits
No way around it.

Advice of friends
And family
Will be bridges,
Choice changes outcomes,
Choose with eyes wide open.

Broke Down

Broke down

The radio goes silent

Battery low

The lights begin to flicker

Then the brakes go

Dead speedometer 

The steering fails 

The engine dies.

Coast to a dead stop

Out of control.

Locked in.

Tow me

To a better place

Out of the cold.

Take me to the greasy spoon

To while away the day

Well I should be working.

Fill me full of coffee breakfast

Give my aching back a rest.

Perched, poached

Another roach under drop ceiling tiles

Loitering patiently

Waiting for someone to fix me

So I can get back on the road.

A day like any other

Only broken in routine,

Broken eggs and bacon

A cure to this disease.

Broken down

In Limbo

Somewhere out of time

Where the pixie flits gracefully

Among the male patrons

Pouring coffee and shilling BLTs

Singing with the radio

Knowing names and orders,

Exhausted and refreshed in every familiar face.

I'm a stranger here,

Yet it feels like a place I've always known

A dime a dozen and one in a million.

Minutes pass like dollars

That will pass through my hand,

Every time stability feels close

The scales tip again

I'm thrown off.

Yet the continuing faith

It will all be fine,

As naive as Voltaire 

Carving mountains into molehills.

complete

Pourquoi dois-je chercher ce que j'ai deja.

Ou ce que j'ai dissmissed, et demantele.

Si elle est brisee, et vous pouvez y remedier .. puis le fixer.

Si elle est brisee, et vous pouvez recommencer a zero avec l'ideal de ce que vous y tes arrive a cet endroit, en premier lieu ..

Qu'est-ce donc ..

Maintenez cette pensee comme un lession, pas une punition.

Le poids du monde est assez lourd pour l'ensemble de nos mains.

Le poids est simplement notre culpabilite, ou comment vous dire nos pensees inexprimees nous alourdir.

Je suis le reflet de l'homme que je suis vraiment.

Il se cache dans la haine, dans les cris silencieux ..

Aussi forte que Stanley.

Cache par les moeurs, et les portes de la terreur exposes.

Pourquoi suis-je encore ici?

Je ne suis pas seul quand je suis hors de moi.

Je ne peux pas construire sans aide.

Mais je ne peux pas construire avec rien non plus.

J'ai besoin de dire quelque chose, ou je vais me perdre.

Perdre le sommeil sur une réponse que je sais.

J'ai construit dans le commutateur qui les tiques et les rayures profondes dans mon ame.

Me disant de se deplacer,

Je suis trop poli sans dire.

J'ai besoin de sentir vide pour creer.

J'ai besoin de besoin de manger, de se sentir.

Je dois cesser de sentiment.

J'ai besoin de cesser de se sentir comme ca.

Je trouve entiere satisfaction subconscienciously a ruiner tout avant meme que je recommence.

Je suis sur une voie destructrice de l'enfer.

Et je ne veux pas regarder tourner la merde.

Je prefere etre seul.

Pour vous faire gagner du temps, sur la construction de votre vie jusqu'a que le mien tombe en morceaux.

J'ai ce profond, sombre, etrange, fasination pour mettre fin a tout cela.

Cesser de me taquiner avec la vie, et la danse de la mort, et la mort vient le gabarit tieburn.

J'ai accepte la mort de plus de succes.

J'ai accepte la mort sur ​​le bonheur.

Mon vrai bonheur se sent mort.

S'il vous plait laissez-moi revenir devant le trou ou vous m'avez trouve.

Retour a la inexistant.

Ou suis-je complete

Desole

Business Note

It is better to sell five sandwiches at a three dollar mark up then no sandwiches at a five dollar markup.
Keep it simple,
Don't confuse.
Don't abuse the price gun,
Always someone to undercut.
Don't fool yourself on value,
Keep your shit tight
Counters wiped,
Cash out of sight.
Value and values,
A little virtue may make the sale.
Stay stocked and fresh.
Take good advice.
Realize most rich got there by saving and slaving and hate to be ripped off. The poor will only buy expensive things if they think someone will notice.
Fads that lack form or function whither quick.
Any one who tells you they are giving you a good price, could give you a better one.
It is okay to reach out over the ledge and grab, if you stand on the wrong side of the ledge be prepared to take a fall.
People hate being stereotyped, I think you see what I did there.
Realize you are not an island, people can and will change if you are drastic in your own changes.
Smile. Wash your hands.

The Patron

The patron sits quietly
Not knowing what to give
Wishing he had the riches
To buy time to spend.
Wanting to offer more
But spent by the days end,
To push sysiphus' stone up the
Hill again tomorrow.
Wishing he could afford
To lift Atlas' burden off the back
Of his passionate friend
So he may flourish unfettered
By reality.

The artist judged the patron
As a patronizing twat.
Without the struggle
Where is the pleasure?
How could a man in a bubble
Appreciate the air?
It would stale and pale the spectrum
Of experience.

The patron meant well
Labouring on...
The artist painted his picture.

The patron had nothing to say
The artist painted his picture.

Because my new puppy is pretty awesome...

http://obichanshinobisan.blogspot.co.uk/