She caught me on the street.
She wanted to say,
“Go fuck yourself”,
But
I beat her to it.
And so she did.
cruel
The USS Towers: A Sailor’s Lament
There she is,
Rusting under the fucking waves,
Our eternal mistress sleeps,
steel heart still.
We’re topside now,
but her ghost still raves,
In the depths where our memories chill.
Her engines’ dirty growl echoes in my head,
stale AC’s sour breath,
salt on my tongue.
Our small destroyer,
pitching, we bled,
Puking our guts out,
God, how we are wishing we were young again.
Mess decks,
a cesspool of stories and grease,
Hot, nasty coffee could raise the dead.
Shitty midrats barely kept the cold at bay,
Bitter sludge burning holes in our head.
Tossed us around like goddamn rag dolls,
Yet kept the enemy away,
our steel mother.
After long watches,
fucking dead on our feet,
She’d rock us to sleep like no other.
They sank her for practice, our old girl,
A fucking exercise,
that’s all she was worth.
Silent rage burns,
as memories unfurl,
Of our home, our hell,
now in the earth.
One by one,
we’ll ship out again,
Join that endless fucking Westpac cruise.
No more bullshit,
no more pain,
Just the freedom we finally get to choose.
She sails on through the starry night,
Her crew aboard,
forever free.
No brass to polish, no watches to fight,
Just us, our old gal,
and the endless sea.
M.Hatter
Road Rage Romance
Out on the highway,
crossing the great American landscape,
I had a girl with me, hungry and eager.
Pulled in, took a piss, had a cig,
got her some food.
Back on the road, she excitedly opened the bag.
“Where’s your food?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
Truth is, I wasn’t.
“Well, then I’m not hungry…” she said, crumpling the bag.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re not hungry?”
“Here, let me have a fry.”
“No,” she said, throwing the bag out the window.
“Fuck you doing?” I yelled.
What the fuck? Ten bucks down the drain.
She started to cry.
“Why’d you throw away good food?”
My vision blurred from anger.
“Fuck you! I want to eat with you!” she screamed,
hitting me upside the head. “Why can’t you understand that?”
I reached over and slapped her,
she slapped me back.
We’re both slapping, and I miss the blue lights in the mirror.
Siren kicks in.
“Jesus, see what you did now, you cunt?” I yelled.
She hit me again.
Trying to drive, pull over,
while she’s hitting me,
I’m blinded by rage.
“License and registr- Hey! Stop hitting her!”
“Fuck you! Do you know what she did?”
“He has weed in the car! And he abuses me all the time!”
What the fuck! My anger’s off the charts.
“Out of the car!”
Gun pointed at me now.
I smack her one last time,
the last time for sure.
I never saw her, my car, or my personal belongings,
again.
Joe
Joe was a boy of 12, big for his age,
they sure did make boys tough back then.
His head was as large as a basketball,
greasy hair parted on the left,
swooping down, covering one eye.
A scar on his lip made him look mean
and deranged.
Oh yeah, the jury was split on old Joe,
right down the middle.
Half the class adored him, the other half, hated or feared him.
At recess, he made it a point to choose one of the boys
that didn’t sing his praise,
or he just didn’t like,
and beat the snot out of them.
I never understood his selection method,
nor did anyone else.
There was no way to know when your time was up
and you had to square with Joe.
You needed eyes in the back of your head,
and when you saw him,
you ran.
On one sweltering Chicago day, in classroom 107
at Public School,
we learned that Joe died
while up at the lake with his family,
swept away by a strong current and drowned.
The future gone for this boy.
They say, when they found him,
his body swollen and his lips blue.
There were sniffles and sobs,
but hard to tell if they were sadness
or joy.
Sitting at my desk, staring at the door,
I let out a sigh of relief.
I don’t think anyone heard me,
just like they couldn’t hear the desperate cries from Joe.
12 years old and relieved of duty.
I remember looking out the window at the playground, knowing
that while God didn’t listen to Joe’s prayers,
he definitely heard mine.
poetry #poem #free verse poetry #free verse #dark poems #free-verse #dark-poems
Memory
In a dark, smoky corner of a forgotten bar,
Where the neon lights flicker like dying stars,
I sit alone, with a drink in hand,
A man whose life never went as planned.
My fingers trace the rim of the glass,
Each scratch a memory of a love that didn’t last,
The stale air heavy with tales of regret,
Of dreams unfulfilled and debts unpaid yet.
The bartender, she nods, knowing all too well,
The stories this man’s weary eyes could tell,
Of days spent toiling under a merciless sun,
Nights lost in shadows, nowhere to run.
My laughter, now, is a crackling radio, static and spent,
Echoing in a room where hours are bent,
Where hope is a coin tossed in a wishing well,
And fate, a dealer with nothing left to sell.
The lines on my face, a roadmap of sorrow,
Each wrinkle a path I’d tread again tomorrow,
For in this world of steel, smoke, and grime,
I’m just another soul, lost in time.
So, in the end, I raise my glass to the ghosts in the room,
To the dreams that died, the love that met its doom,
In a world that spins too fast for those who walk slow,
Im a man who’s been everywhere but has nowhere to go.
Tragic
The truth, so bitter,
Provokes nausea, churns
In your gut, a scenario
That could have been bypassed.
Vitality, entirely squandered,
Did you presume
I’d remain in the dark?
Those who place their trust,
Find their belief
Shattered by those
Unfit for faith.
Falsehoods and manipulations
Of reality have morphed
Into the contemporary
Sermons, cloaking the
Genuine truth.
Furious, you seek
The culprits, and
They smirk back
Right into your eyes.
They provoke you
To oppose.
Ah, they believe
They’re more cunning than you.
Concealing behind feigned
Outrage, they mask their
True sentiment: terror.
Their apparent indignation
Serves to measure you,
Merely diversions,
A scheme to shield you
From the stark truth that
They are the
Offenders.
The architects of
Agony and distress.
A man finds himself unable
To provide for his kin
Due to these inept figures
In authority.
They have not just
Expended resources and time,
They have ravaged
Your very spirit.
For them, it’s
The ebb and flow
That erases all
Traces in the
Grains.
Simple to be
Significant when you’re
The author of this
Tragic drama.
Old
Maybe I’m stupid, maybe too hardheaded , I don’t want to give up
I’m old, parts of me starting to sag,
gravity is a bitch, so they say.
Who are “they” anyways?
These days, the cold wind cuts through my clothes,
I feel the icy touch in my bones.
Theres no escaping the cruel reality, I’m old.
I try to ignore the obvious. “The elephant in the room” .
Standing there, in the dark corner, grinning like a fool.
Motionless.
Eyes are dead.
“Don’t say dead!”
I look back on the warmth of my youth.
Making love to a beautiful girl under that tree.
The grass was green, and the sun golden.
Things were a lot warmer back then.
What was her name?
The memory fades.
I’m alone, or am I? I have a hard time figuring that out sometimes.
I don’t see people. Only silhouettes.
Now I’m sitting here, in my frayed robe and thin pajamas, with death in the corner.
How long has he been here?
Cold air biting at my ears.
My pale withered hands resting in my lap.
Wisps of vapor, escaping my lungs with every raspy exhale.
Smoky tendrils floating upward and,
quickly vanishing into the pale light.
A visible reminder that I am still in the game!
Can’t have me yet! But I have no courage to tell him that.
The grin of death, widens.
My heart starts beating fast.
I shiver, it’s so cold. I wish he would go away,
Don’t come back another day.
I still have much to do.
“What do you have to do old man?”
I search my cluttered mind and come up with nothing.
Is this what madness is? Rooms filled with useless and forgotten memories.
An endless tsunami of images, voices and thoughts, washing over me with full force.
I can’t seem to find anything when it counts!
Why is my mind so disorganized these days?
I want to find my way back to that place. That place in the sun.
Making love to that beautiful girl. What was her name?
I would marry her. Or maybe I did.
The place with no regrets. Sins are forgiven and forgotten.
I miss everyone from those days. Where in the hell did all they go?
I know I was there. I just can’t seem to find my way there anymore.
My days in the sun, are long behind me.
Was there ever such a place? I can’t remember.
His lunatic grin widens.
Consumes his whole face now.
“You just don’t get it old timer?”
Tears start to stream down my face as the reality starts to sink in.
“You can’t remember because you ran out of road. There isn’t anymore ahead of you.”
Shaking my head I look down at my wrinkled hands. This can’t be true, can it?
“Take your time old man, you’ll figure it out eventually.”
“I’m not leaving…”
I just don’t understand…
Why don’t he go away?
BlackDayz 