Archives for poems

The End of the Road

The End of the Road.

 

I’m trudging down that long,

long road I have to follow

before I appear at the place

where death waits for me.

 

I’m gonna miss being alive

after I die. When I arrive at

the location marked for my

demise, I promise not to cry.

 

I’ll look at the bright side and

see that when I leave this world,

I’ll have angel wings and be able

to fly, sing, and be happy all day.

 

I begin to practice for what’s to

come. I build a set of wings and

jump off a cliff. With a broken leg

I sit with a rented harp on my lap.

 

A hymn leaves my lips, my neighbors

call the police and I’m arrested for

disturbing the peace, but that doesn’t

wipe the smile from my lips.

 

I’m practicing being happy here so I’ll

know how to act after I die, I tell the

angel from hell who wears a white coat

and asks me why I wear a happy mask.

 

I can’t tell a lie, so I say, “When I leave

this world and go on to the next, I’ll

be able to play my harp while I happily

fly around singing all the time.”

 

“You’re insane,” he says and takes me

downstairs to a padded cell where I can

sing and yell until I come to the end of

that road I have to travel before the end.

ART


Art

 

Why in my heart do I love junk like I do?

Sometimes I just don’t know why when

I see an empty can or a rusted nail, I

can’t let it perish and instead of sending

it to its grave, I imagine it hanging on

someone’s wall where the public can

admire my genius for rescuing it from the

junk-heap and turning it into a piece of art.

 

Nuts and bolts welded into a woman’s torso

becomes beauty never before seen, When

like a miracle, the artist shapes her rump, he

fantasizes about its size and creates one so

large and round that he falls in love.

 

Like a child, I’ll lay it on the line. I collect common

things, even chicken wings that are thrown onto

the street, or into garbage cans. Others see only

trashy junk to be sent to a landfill, or maybe melted

down to be used again.

 

Like a miracle I’ll recycle a lot of junk and make it into

something that it’s not. I may create sculptures that move

and make people say OOOHHH and AHHHH and that my

friend, is interesting art.

 

Strange Fetishes

Strange Fetishes

All I do is hang my head and cry because of
a foolish desire to put out my fire. Choosing
to do that made me lose the only one who
loved me half as much as I loved her. She
always got aroused by my flatulence and
suffered from Eproctophilia.

When she claimed she’s not ashamed that
my stink no longer turned her thoughts to pink.
So I told her about the murders I had committed.
That news rekindled her love for me because she
had another fetish called Hybristophilia.

She came to bed with a cold, a sight to behold
as mucus filled her nose spilling over her lips when
she spit. She sneezed, and I got so aroused, I
sucked snots from her nose, because I suffer
from Mucophilia.

I awoke embracing her giant Teddy bear
and became aware that when I had sex last
night it wasn’t with her but with the stuffed
bear. Then I realized I also suffered from
Plushophilia and really loved plush animals.

To overcome this phobia I dreamed of Amazons
on mars. Beautiful alien woman who would make
me king as the only man on Mars. While engaged
in sex with a dozen of them, it hit me that I
suffered from Exophilia.

After this epiphany I changed my dreams right
or wrong, to thoughts of women I had raped and
killed. Their ghosts appeared to me and begged
for more sex. It was then I realized I now had
Spectrophilia.

I rushed to the john and puked my guts into the
toilet. The one who only loved me half as much
as I loved her saw what I did. She became
aroused and dragged me off to bed. I Knew she
suffered from, Emetophilia.

Love is going to live here again. No more loneliness,
only happiness. Birds will be singing as I go on
dreaming without a doubt that we indeed do have
and love our strange fetishes.

My World

My World

 

Is a place where angels lie and

devils have wings. God is cruel

and fantastic as it seems, Satan

tells it like it is. He says to be

redeemed is a sin and it’s better to get

a gin fizz than that.

 

He cracked the prayer lines long ago and pirated

light to brighten his domain. Messages sent to God

were intercepted and accepted by Satan instead of

God, who rolled around heaven all day waiting for prayers

that his heart hungered for, but they never came, and he

wasn’t going to answer them anyway.

 

The fallen angel replied to the pleas in a devilish

way. Prayers for rain were answered with floods.

Appeals for a loved one’s life were responded to

with hospital bills.

 

The few souls who overcame the Imp’s wily ways

and made it to heaven and heard the holy music,

soon got tired of hearing it, and how the wine they

drank came from the inexhaustible supply of  blood

that leaked from the sacred heart that hungered for love

but was forsaken by mankind.

 

Most souls wished they had gone to Hell where fornication

was allowed and there was no price to pay.

 

Punishment it appeared, was to live eternity as we lived

in our world. Without truth, love or fidelity. Those are

reserved for heaven,

 

but I prefer to live in a place where my lifestyle doesn’t have

to change. So when my time comes, with a smile, I’ll go down

below where I’ll be indefinitely enclosed in my world, with others

like me.