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.

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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?

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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.

Stride

This, too
shall I abide?
Bite my tongue
and take in stride.

Not to argue
nor complain.
Grin and bear it
and show no pain.

Resist the urge
to say my peace.
To incite war--
it'd be release.

And even though
I've club in hand
Shall I bow and look
the weaker man?

Shall I put my
wooden stick away
And agree with
everything you say.

Bite my tongue?
Swallow my pride?
Even this piss
shall I abide?

Faith No More: Just a Man (poetry cover)

Sky is crystal
clear tonight.
I'd rather not to
see the light.
Not to drink in
such a sight.
I shut my eyes,
and hold them tight.

I look above
What do I see?
The twinkling stars
they're mocking me!
Dancing so
beyond my reach.
Come to me.
I do beseech!

Sparkle, will you
in my hand.
Vain and foolish,
this I am.
Extend my arm
as far I can.
We cannot touch:
I'm just a man.

Lay my head
to get some rest.
Ignore the flutter
in my chest.
Sleep won't come,
I must confess.
I'm longing under
such duress.

Like Icarus,
I hope to fly
Approach the sparkling
lullaby.
But gravity
won't be defied.
I dream about
a cloudy sky.

'Cause if the stars
I could not see
I would not see them
mocking me.
Ignorant,
I am not free.
No more than man
I'd strive to be.

But remaining are they
fixed on high,
a mocking, restless
lullaby.
My hopes and wishes
they defy.
I dream about
a cloudy sky.

Sparkle, will you
in my hand.
And in my palm
a star did land.
Vain and foolish,
this I am.
You're burning me:
I'm just a man.

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So shout out to Jimmy, and his tradition of Faith No More Fridays, without which, I'd probably never hear of this song (it's Friday btw).  I was listening to Faith No More - I'm Just a Man, and an idea struck me (maybe it's been done before): what if I did a cover of it?  Only since I'm not a musician, what if I did a poetry cover?

Maybe it's more accurate to say a "Just a Man"-inspired poem?  But that takes too long to say.

If you never heard the original song, or just need a refresher, link is here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7g4L47kEcS0

The Abyss

The heart so void,
a vacant abyss.
Within, not even
a trace of this.

A desert abandoned
hope for rain.
Feeling nothing,
not even pain.

Rumors of color,
amidst dismay.
The sounds are muted.
The vision, gray.

High and low,
without distinction.
Freed slaves marching
toward extinction.

The urgent words
upon your lips
sound no echo
in this abyss.

Teardrops swallowed
by vacant depths.
Lay your head
on empty chest.

The heart so void.
It barely beats.
Closer than skin,
yet out of reach.

A tundra abandoned
hope for spring.
High and low,
not a thing.

Self-assured

All with opinion
All make their plans
On how I should be
As a man.

Two cents.  Two-pence.
I should be...
All have expectings:
Except for me.

"You're a decent man
You should have a spouse!
You should have some kids.
You should buy a house!"

You seem so sure,
but I don't know
if that's right way
I should go.

Everyone's doing it,
and they're so smart.
So I guess I'm foolish
to stand apart.

You go ahead,
tell me how it goes.
Take pics, send vids
of highs and lows.

But though my newsfeed
may accrue them.
I cannot promise
that I will view them.

They come and go.
Gone in a blink.
And what's the purpose?
I often think.

And the reader says,
"You must be sad.
Why so pensive?
Why not be glad?"

It's true.  I admit.
I think too much!
Supposed joyful things
don't bring me such!

The food: atrocious.
The wine: like gall.
I would partake,
but I'd vomit it all.

"Nonsense," you say.
I should do like you.
Wish I could be your
monkey-do.

But this little monkey
does not see
anything I would
rather be.

This little monkey,
with these two eyes,
hasn't glimpsed a thing
that does not die.

Sure I could pretend,
but there's no reward.
Others, ecstatic.
But me?  I'm bored.

"Isn't this fun?"
No, not really?
"This is the best!"
Can I go home?  I'm weary.

The food is five star.
To me, it's bland.
You call it worthless,
but to me it's grand.

And I really don't want
to spend the time
convincing the other
whose way does shine.

If it's shiny to you,
go ahead and walk it.
But why do you need me
to likewise stalk it?

You go your way,
I'll go mine.
Convincing the other:
I haven't the time.

Most tread quickly.
Few tread cautious.
All chase gaining.
None avoiding losses.

All with opinion.
There's no exception.
Does majority dictate
right direction?

Two cents.  Two-pence.
I should be...
All self-assured:
Except for me.

Woe

Strike a match
and watch it burn.
Something deep
inside me yearns

The trouble
nascent in the flame
reduce to ash
what we have gained.

Build it up
and knock it down.
Watch it crumble
to the ground.

Cry your tears,
but when you're through
dust it off,
and start anew.

I don't like to see you joyous,
relaxed on dock of bay.
Don't ask me to join with you chorus
on your bestest day.

I don't like to see you happy,
this not my jealousy,
Call me when you're feeling crappy
you will eventually.

It's not I wish upon you blue
I much prefer it when you're true
'cause when life puts us out to task
more genuine than a smiling mask
that tries to portray that all is fine
ignoring Woe which bides the time
and complacency I hate to see:
so do not call me smiling.

'Cause over your shoulder I do see
that saboteur named Misery
weaving web a trap unkind
and waiting for the ripest time
to spring upon us strife and woe
and in his claws I hate to go. 

Others might prefer your cheer,
but me I like to see your tears
'cause underneath of Misery's thumb
we're more willing to be done
fire loosed and burned to ground
ready now to turn around
and a change of course I love to see
so do not call me smiling.

But Misery just bides the time
you tell me everything is fine
and ignore suggestions of change of course
what can I do? I cannot force
but day eventually turns to night
and with it that recurring plight
that springs upon us when we're weak
and rescue ransom we do seek
but do not fear I-told-you-so
I do not revel in your woe
it's a shame that woe I like to see:
so do not call me smiling.

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I usually don't like to provide commentary on my poems, but I think this one begged some.  Some of my friends have told me that I have a certain knack for getting them to share the troubles of their life and turning an otherwise lighthearted catching up, into a sob fest.  I do not mind.  In fact, I prefer it.  This poem tries to explain why.

When I say "this not my jealousy" meaning it's not because I really like seeing people cry.  I don't.  But I do prefer the genuine to the affected.  If a person is genuinely happy, I have no issue with this.  Heck, I love this.  But when a person tries to fake happiness and willfully ignores sign posts pointing toward impending woe, this is what "I hate to see"  so if I have to pick between affected and dangerously affected happiness and earnest tearfulness then... "do not call me smiling"