I originally had some of these posted on my own site back during college. Some have never been seen by anyone outside of Australia, except one person I shared them with. Now I’ll share the poems I’ve written over the years. And if you still don’t know what the Hall of Two-Way Mirrors is about, well, tough.

Lust Trap

(almost got deported from Australia for this one)

Basic instincts running wild
as she runs through my mind
dodging nervous branches,
breaking away from my binds.

Tears stream your face
when you realize you can’t
escape a man whose mind’s made up
and he wants to see you scant.

Just relax and let it all flow.
Don’t fight what you can’t escape.
You’ll be free when you succumb
to this deranged, naked ape.

Take a leap into my arms.
It only hurts when you first land.
Afterward it’s followed by euphoria,
then we’ll walk together hand-in-hand.

Lordly Bane

(a eulogy)

Times long forgotten of romantic nights
cuddling on the couch and in bed,
holding her tight to my bare chest,
feeling her soft hair caress my skin
kissing her sweetly on the forehead,
massaging her back along the spine,
drifting to sleep with her in my mind,
waking up in the nighttime cold,
alone without a care of my surroundings,
seeking the one I loved all my life,
finding her nowhere to be found.
Then an angel appeared at my feet.
She crooned at me with anticipation.
I held her to my heart and kissed her
from her head down her back,
reeling in ecstasy in her natural aroma.
My heart was panged with memories
and I fell asleep with my new love,
but I still remember my long lost first.

Rejects from Hell

Born of blood into sin
in a world with no god,
yet one with many
fatuously makes me nod.
I drift into a world
of fractal realities
with perplexing thoughts
and truthful fallacies;
inner demons set loose
into my nightmares
that are now dreams.
At peace without cares.
Dream of lustful sex;
sweet, vengeful murder;
stolen childhoods;
illusions of grandeur;
running from society
when society surrounds.
Fight for my rights
while playing on their grounds.
Leap over vacant mentality
through the nexus
between sanity and lust
on a spiritual exodus.
Reliving the past,
condemning the present,
awaiting the future.
A world of morons to resent.
Walk into the stream:
shambling zombie forms,
rejects from hell
who won’t conform,
festering under wrath
from pious defects,
blind as daylight moles
despising us rejects.

Lies

Strung out and confused about
LIFE
Bites where it hurts the
MOST
Of my time is spent
SLEEPING
Are the gods, saviors, and
DEMONS
Race through my
MIND
The vultures who feast on your
BRAIN
Flux in my dazed
STATE
Your will and they will
LAUGH
At the fools who don’t listen to
YOU
Know all there is to
KNOW
Your limitations which you’ll
ENCOUNTER
Forces foul and
WRETCHED
Souls cry out to
GOD
Sleeps on his bed of
LIES
Spread with all life.

Requiem

(dedicated to Edgar Allen Poe)

From within the night’s dark solemnities
abound the fears abiding within the soul,
forever tormenting; forever disrupting the peace,
the mind of an inquiring soul;
among others: eaten alive, eternal torture,
a death premature.

Few have survived the agony,
though terribly disturbed are they,
and many have experienced it
at night, in bed — where they lay.

For have not we all awakened
in the middle of the night,
unsure of our surroundings,
unsure of our life?

For most, more oft than not,
it is after a nightmare
we awake with a fright
among the beasts of darkness.

It is not a curse,
nor a blessing.
It is, it has, it always will
exist beyond our control.

But to live in death
is to reside in the darkness
within one’s own tomb:
the shadow of the soul.

Horrific thoughts much like these
escape our minds as we step into light,
but one man reminds us of the frailty
of the human species, its transience.
Requiescat in pace!

I Have a Dream

I have a dream that one day
I will meet the perfect girl.
We will become friends.
We will fall in love.
We will marry.
We will fuck.
We will have children.
We will die happy.
That is my dream.
Who cares?
—careless_dreamer@yahoo.com

Tick Tock

Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Dick
Dock
Dick
Dock
Dick
Cock
BONG!
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick…
I need to get out more often.

Untitled

Drenched in sweat
immersed in blood
consumed by greed
filled with hate
blind with lust
lost in piety
raised by pride
killed by friends.

Untitled

(another eulogy)

White billows tumble through the summer sky,
reflections of my past in a blue sea.;
look back on my errors and wonder why
I was so consumed by humility.
Opportunities passed up, chances lost,
too shy to say what I actually felt.
Nothing was worthless, no matter the cost,
yet I scowled and did not pray as I knelt:
blamed God for lack of a destructive will,
blind to my ignorance and foolishness.
Waited around with fifty years to kill,
asked for undeserved aid from holiness,
but I refused His offer and forgot
that I need you, the world, and the lot.

Horatio Pornblower, Sailor of the Sloven Geese

(a series of limericks)

There once was a sailor from Greece
who sailed the ship Sloven Geece.
When he’d come in to port,
with the whores he’d cavort,
living his life in great ease.

Whores soon became quite expensive
as his manhood became quite extensive.
In order to economize,
his sailors he’d sodomize
until they became quite pensive.

At dawn he’d call, “All hands on deck,”
then give each sailor a peck.
As his head would drop lower,
time seemed to move slower,
and of course no one would ever object.

One day while raiding with joy,
he shanghaied a young comely boy.
He took him aboard,
but then he was abhorred
to learn why the child was so coy.

The child was a tomboy in heat,
which Horatio thought was neat,
so he took her aside
and made her his bride.
Thenceforth his life was complete.

Untitled

(kiss-ass poem to my first girlfriend)

Please tell me now what I have done
to have angered my beloved one
so that I might remedy the past
and onto our faulty love hold fast.
When I see you with your heart so true,
I know that I am not worthy of you.
But please, oh please, let me believe
that you are not just fantasies conceived.
I think about you day and night
from the dismal dusk to the morning light.
When I think of you, I cannot sleep,
only lust, laugh, or weep.
I’ve dedicated to you my life and soul,
so when I’m with you I feel whole.
You are my master and I your slave.
The shackle that binds me is the love I gave.
I have said things to you that I know were unkind,
but my jesting only made me blind
to just how much you claim to love me.
And how painful for you my words can be.
So please, say you love me and reaffirm my belief
and I’ll do my best to turn a new leaf —
for I love you more than death or life
and continue to pray that you’ll be my wife.

Untitled

(a dirty poem for my first girlfriend)

Take me away from this forsaken land,
lead me to Eden by the hand,
or travel far and live by my side.
Paradise is everywhere with you as my bride.
If I could just reach your bra’s cumbersome clasp,
then eternal joy would be within my grasp.
If I could delve into your juicy well,
then to you my heart I would sell.
If I could suckle on your plump melons of joy,
I’d be the happiest American boy.
All I want is to live with you forever
and spend eternity as one together.

Untitled

(both an homage to “Lord of the Rings” and criticism of “The Bible”)

Sitting at a computer
staring at the screen,
Professor was on the internet
wondering where he’d been.
Shakespeare has been acclaimed.
After death we acknowledged Poe.
We praise the Holy Bible,
but still we’re filled with woe.
False prophecies and claims
misleading weary spirits,
gaining undue fame.
Bilingual at most in speech,
gifted with a loud voice,
followed by hopeless souls —
that is all their choice.
They either beg on T.V.
or rally under picnic tents.
Preceded by former tales,
their ideas are often bent.
“What if a new book,”
said the professor to himself,
“were to replace the old ones
in the heart and on the shelf?
Bibles are the most popular,
so it should be the same way.
Nations would need to battle
inland and near the bay.
Lands must be long forgotten.
Archaic tongues should be spoken.
Demons could ravage the land.
Promises could be broken.
Miracles that can heal or destroy
only the wisest of men could master.
Greed and insolence lead to war.
Amends are made in the wake of disaster.”
Hours were spent surfing the net,
looking in ever literary nook.
Frustrated, he logged off and sighed,
then accidentally found the book.
It resembled a scripture
and was pleasing to read.
At the same time you could learn
about the value of good deeds.
He laughed at his insane thoughts,
put Tolkien’s works away.
Who would believe in literature
written in such a fantastic way?

Jester’s Fight

(as appeared in “Tapestry” MPHS anthology)

Where were you during World War II?
  Laughing in my mother’s womb.
Where were you during Korea’s war?
  Laughing at my father’s tomb.
Where were you during the Cold War?
  Laughing ‘cause the end was nigh.
Where were you during Vietnam?
  Laughing while getting high.
Where you were during Desert Storm?
  Laughing at speeches George Bush gave.
Where were you during Armageddon Day?
  Laughing loudly from beyond the grave.

Sorrowful Weather

A cloud forms over my head.
It is a dark, ominous cloud.
A grim face appears from within
and taunts me with an awful manner.
It calls me names, ridicules me.
It destroys my spirit.

It is the gathering of other souls

A storm appears out of nowhere.
Abstract figures swarm all around me,
poking, prodding,
constantly hitting me.
They tear at my clothes and skin,
laugh hideously in my face.
They are my peers.

Earthquakes and volcanoes erupt.
A monstrous figure sits on a throne,
laughing at me, sneering at me, throwing flames at me.
His companions coax me into being one of them.
I fight for my sanity and life.
Never shall I succumb to their accosting.

A thunder storm breaks out.
Lightning crashes all around me.
Whirlwinds and tornadoes pull at me.
Cherubim and and archangels soar by me.
The clouds open and a scorching light envelops me.
An omnipotent being drops down.
He looks at me and laughs heartily and tauntingly.

Memories of calmer weather muddle my mind
while I huddle beneath a stone structure
awaiting the end of this frightful storm.
As I gaze up towards the sky,
emerging from the boundaries of my roof
are billows of fluff resembling scenes
from a childhood of happier times.

Rain pours down,
drenching my clothes.
It has a strange salty taste to it.
My face turns red as it dribbles down my cheeks.
I suffer a mild cold, even though I am helathy.
Yet sadness is a disease
and I am dying of it.

Through the disease of society
necrosis steals my heart and mind,
but I am human and as such
I will fight for my life till the day of God;
and so I will struggle forever after.
The rain is my tears and the peace
afterward is my victory over life.

Graduate Hopefuls

Four years of high school completed at last.
From your point of view that wasn’t fast.
But those four years will pay off soon,
even though you acted like an ass and a goon.
All that was taught to you was taught with care,
which will make this poem hard for you to bear.
A freshman moans, “Three more years to go,”
yet a sophomore sighs, “I’m in high school. Whoa…”
The junior groans, “Enough is enough!”
While the senior thinks, “That wasn’t so tough.”
So remember, those of you with two or more years,
when the teacher talks, open those ears.
And keep your eyes open for a few more tears.
Keep up the work as graduation nears.

Untitled 

(dedicated? to my high school bandmates)

The music blares as the band whines
and two hundred students march in lines —
lines which wobble and sway
this and that and every other way
through the crowds and past the cameras.
They smile like idiots for their grandmas.
Every so often they step out of line,
but a sharp yell makes them step back in time.
Most of the year they play so flat,
and out of class their horns go blat!
We shout and we cheer
though they’ve stunk for years.
Yet they are school — some of us —
and are there for the sports riding the bus.
People take them for granted, and so they should.
The band tries to do what they could.
But don’t expect much out of such a class:
they just do what they must so that they can pass.

more to come later… the wine is wearing off and I’m getting sleepy