Ignore what people sell you, pay attention what they buy.
The former is misleading, while the latter seldom lies.

Someone Else's Wares

How can you give what's not possesed?  I won-
der how a thing like that could ever be.
To give and yet to be bereft of that
you hope imparted, yet it surely fails.

To give a dollar, first we earn one, then
the giving must succeed.  This math is sim-
ple much too simple, thus we overlook
its applications more abstract than this.

How can the anxious peddle bliss?  'Cause wo-
rry yields more worry.  How can someone thus
consumed be selling peace?  Such pretense, reck-
less vanity, and blind to one's humanity.

The tiny human that believes himself
is more.  First make your house a paradise
and then I may be tempt to sample wares.
If not, you peddle counterfeits, and worse
than this: it's someone else's wares.

-------------------------------------

Iamic pentameter.  I think this is starting to grow on me.

Lifeblood

Well, shall I take my wages from your pain?
And pile up stacks to sky be financed by
your comely dread, your sparkling tears such la-

mentations soothe my ear, I pray to hear

again those cries, since I rely take life-

blood by your gloom, your soon, impending doom.

Well, shall I take my laughter from your tears?
And shorten yours to extend my years of vamp-
iristic quite sadistic appetites.
I dine on anguish; dread, I savor it--
my fav'rite taste, since I rely take life-
blood by, your gloom, your soon, impending doom.

Well, shall I take my triumph from your loss?
What other way for it to be?  Expect-
ing me to ever lose? I dance upon
your grave, graffiti up my name upon
your tombstone, why?  Since I rely take life-
blood by, your gloom, your soon, impending doom.

---------------------------------------------

Seriously, I'm going to write a happy poem one day.  I don't know why they come out like that.

You know the deal, iambic pentameter, internal rhyme, etc.  Since I love end-rhyme so much I thought iambic pentameter would make me, you know... not rhyme--since the beats are irregular (well... they're regular but not regular for rhyming purposes something about an odd number of beats just doesn't work for end rhyme, i mean you can do it but I dunno, it doesn't do it for me, sounds really forced) but as you can see I get around that by having internal rhyme.  I can't stop rhyming :( I think I'll have to get an electric shock every time I rhyme to rid me of the habit.  But whatever... next poem is going to be happy... unless it's not :)

Overdraft (a duet)

With comeuppance so bitter, reprisal so sour
Please God grant reprieve thus postponing the hour
That karma matures, oh please say it's not true:
The unfortunate day comes that my debts are due!

I've been spending and spending with credit unending.
So imagine my shock at the bill that you're sending!
And all of these charges attributed me:
Are certain not mine, they were certainly free!

I surely wronged Grace, and boy how I screwed Sam!
But they surely weren't angels, and I am the man!
But the rest of these people, I don't even know.
If you can't right your records, I think you should go.

But even you right them, it matters not much.
I owe of them nothing, beyond of their touch!
So tell your employer to whom you did see:
My celebrity status:  these bills should be free!

My employer is Justice, and her boss is Death.
We've been keeping your tab since before you drew breath.
We've been keeping tight records on all that you do.
The unfortunate day comes that such debts are due!

Your celebrity status is all in your mind.
From where I do come from, you're case eighty-nine.
We've seen all your dealings, and we're not impressed.
If you haven't the balance, we must repossess.

Oh money?  I've got it.  I've silver and gold!
And property, women, and mansions--behold!
So tell me which one of these catches your eye.
I'll throw in a Caddy.  Now come!  Don't be shy!

And all your possessions from clay and the dirt.
To you, they have value; to us they've no worth.
We've seen all your dealings, and we're not impressed.
If you haven't the balance, we must repossess.

Are you lacking in reason?  Now, why be like this?
I offer my finest so just take your pick!
'Cause money? I've got it.  I've silver and gold!
And property, women, and mansions--behold!

Your properties: dirt squares; and women:  just bones.
And mansions: just shacks; can't compare them to Home.
Since you've nothing of value, since we're not impressed--
Since you haven't the balance, we must repossess.

Now invisible guards, to your left and your right.
Have daily prevented comeuppance from sight.
Been staving off accidents, cancer, and more.
We'll be taking them with us, relieved of their chore.

But...

As far as your fortune you think earned by skill.
Was actually result of a gigantic bill.
But not one that you owed, but several owed you.
You've exhausted their favor and now it's all through.

'Cause the way that you cheated and clawed to the top
Has put you at dangerous height for the drop.
'Cause unlike the mountains so wide at their base.
You nothing of substance to keep you in place!

The loans that you took out are now upside down
The height that you soared becomes depth in the ground.
Twelve lifetimes to build it; exhausted in one.
The fortunes you shored up are now all but done.

Just squandered your fortune, forgetting to save.
And accruing more debts every step of the way.
And in need of new fortunes to pay it all back.
And fortunes and virtues is just what you lack!

Fortunes?  I've money...

Yes, silver and gold.
And all of them empty, they're naught to behold.
The fortunes I speak of are not dirt and clay
Not property, women, nor mansions I say!

Since you've nothing of substance, no character fine.
You've dug yourself deep in a pit hard to climb.
Since you clawed and you cheated your way to the top.
Without base to support you, so here comes the drop!

Why didn't you warn me?

You sent us away.
Said, "Won't you come back on more fav'rble day!"
You said we were "buzzkill" with tidings unglad.
That the longer we stayed 'round would just make you sad.

You just could have pressed me!

Remember?  We did!
You emptied the bottle; in closet you hid.
And when we came knocking you said, "Go away!"
And when we knocked harder, you smoked Mary J.

So naked you stand here with nothing but shame.
If you must point the finger yourself is to blame.
You'd plenty of warnings, now that time has passed.
The days of self-glory and this marks the last.

With comeuppance so bitter, reprisal so sour
Please God grant reprieve thus postponing the hour
Yet karma matures, I'm afraid, it's quite true:
The unfortunate day comes that such debts are due!

I've been spending and spending with credit, now ending.
So why have the shock at the bill that we're sending?
And all of these charges attributed me:
Are certain all mine, they were certain not free!

----------------------------------------

Okay this poem started out as a bit of schadenfreude at Walter White's downfall (see Breaking Bad if you don't know).  Maybe I was the only one wanting to see him fail, but c'mon in real life everybody wants to see druglords fail and put in jail or dead, but make a fictional drug lord and everybody loves him *shrug*.

Anyway, first attempt at a disciplined anapestic tetrameter. I like beat that it has, kinda like a horse gallop feeling to it.  I hate that I write poems that require two voices (especially near the end when they finish each other's sentences), because it makes it harder to do a reading of them (seriously, you don't know how many takes I had to do), but... I only have myself to blame :)

Oedipus Wrecks: Genesis

Each portal to that grief-wracked, hellish place
Inscribed foreboding warning for the wand-
'ring, weary, woeful souls be-damned I AM
to stand before those awful, vacant gates.

"Through me you enter woeful city fine.
Through me you stray yet further from sublime.
Through me you plummet depths you'll never climb.
Through me you enter woeful city prime."

To heave such heavy sigh when learning our
misfortune hour to stand bereft of deft reflex
collision course impending wreck with dest-
ination none elect and yet arrived.

From other side such shrieking cries.  A tick,
a tock, began the clock of moth and rust.
With tantrum screams, yet dragged I AM toward wick-
ed gate, all begging coming much too late.

To hazard open up the eyes, upon
the portal thus inscribed a final warn-
ing, lifetime mourning for wand'ring souls
about to call abode the realm of woe:

"Through me you enter woeful city dear.
You'll flee from pain yet always find it near.
Through me you enter woeful city tier.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here."

In pain in screams in mother's cries tak-
ing birth between her thighs, she slumps relieved
on seeing babe and drawing first of ma-
ny breaths, now little one confess such woe.

The other side of wicked gate cries once
resounded turn to cheer, and only babe
continues woeful chorus, fresh the warn-
ing 'scribed on portal door that opened here.

They're instituted far too long perhaps
to grin and welcome into swaddling wrap.
The baleful words fresh from th'gate bid wel-
come grievous welcome mournful tenant, come.

-----------------------------------------------------

Okay, this is my first attempt at iambic pentameter, and I admit this one is pretty poor.  I usually write poetry almost exclusively with end rhyme, and though this has some, it's not the exclusive pattern.  I wanted to challenge myself and write in iambic pentameter (just to see if I could do it) with no end rhyme, but as you can see, that didn't end up happening.  The tone of iambic pentameter is different from my normal writing which is more song-like, this is more like a monologue in a play (I guess that's why Shakespeare used it).

I'll try again, but I have a feeling iambic pentameter is going to be my white whale

Vulcan Blues

To talk about the way you feel
How is it easily revealed?
And when I talk, I stop and start
I loathe discerning my own heart.

And when you talk, it's fancy free
You're spinning circles round of me.
You've lapped me thrice, before I start
begrudgingly reveal my heart.

But not so freely, how I edit
And why I bother, that's your credit
Without your prod, I surely would not.
Except your model, surely could not.

I'd rather logic, reason, sense
Ad nauseam, at your expense.
And when I finish, something clear
Not muddled feelings held not dear!

Like nitroglyc'rin, TNT
Emotions sabotaging me!
If only could divorce from me
These mongrel dogs of mutiny!

You love your feelings.  Me?  I loathe them!
I seek divorce, while you betroth them.
I'm missing out?  I guess that's true.
I'm less one mongrel on my crew.

---------------------------------------

Okay this one is a second attempt at iambic tetrameter.  I was a little bit less disciplined (more artistic) than last time.  Some lines end with a "feminine" rhyme (which I hear is okay actually, and not cheating) but I wonder about some of the 3 and 4 syllable words that have the accent on the first syllable or third syllable, if that works or it was too forced.  I of course offered a reading to "cheat" how it's intended to sound anyway :)

As far as the subject matter, I guess it's kinda weird, someone who writes poetry not wanting to talk about his feelings *shrug*

Oedipus Wrecks

The space between the earth and skies
No exit found between your thighs.

And every time we plumb those depths
Lament we haven't found it yet.

I know this was the portal in.
Why won't it take me back again?

And every time I lie awake
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

But soul remains here wrecked on earth.
It's hunger bound and parched of thirst.

I sought oasis 'neath the skies
Yet found no fount between your thighs.

What siren song be-sung is this?
To shipwreck sailors seeking bliss.

And every time we lie, I die.
What beckons me between your thighs?

The body comfort?  That's too base!
We'd rather rise to higher place!

I found distraction in your mind
Yet soul did yearn for other climes.

The depths we plumb, the heights we climb
And both they fail to pierce sublime!

The ample curves are so adored
A body portal, something more?

It houses something in that skin
Which portal did you enter in?

With source beyond the earth and skies
it took no birth between those thighs.

Which gate is it you entered through?
And can you take us back with you?

We plumb the depths, yet can't say why.
We scale the heights, can't pierce the sky

The space between where I reside.
Which portal did you enter by?

------------------------------

This is probably my first long poem with a disciplined meter throughout (iambic tetrameter, try saying that five times fast).  I guess I usually do just straight masculine rhyme, and am quite lax on the meter (it may change from line to line or stanza to stanza) if it's there at all.  It was pretty fun exercise being disciplined for a change, I think I'll try some more.