Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

drinking oatmeal stout
for breakfast is probably
a sign that all is not well,
that there are termites eating
at your foundation, and
where do you begin searching
for those little albino cellulose lovers,
shit, they could be anywhere,
they could be localized, or they
could be all over the god damned place,
and i'm fairly certain that chest pains
are not a gift from Eros or any other god,
rather a shot over the bow to clean up
your act, but like I said termites can eat
the whole fucking house, eat the door sill
right up to the coat of paint, leave a thin
booby-trapped layer of sanity, lookin' all
intact, and then when you are careless
you accidentally step on it, end up
in the basement with a broken neck.

vivid. a short, lit fuse moments away from the big bang and the feelings just have to grasp the fuse and jerk it outta the keg or it's over... all fucking over and there's nobody to blame but yourself. dammit. life is a bitch at times and surely these times have come and loomed over your life like a volcanic cloud that never fucking moves but continues choking the goddamn life not only from you but from e-v-e-r-y fucking face you come into contact with. surely life this ugly has to fucking change... but when, dammit, when?

((where's that oatmeal stout..???))

thanx m...guess our journeys are unique in some ways, but the rigor is probably the same, as you say, life can be a bitch, and even if we had a manual, we'd probably throw in the trash, 'cause real men don't need no stinkin' directions....ha....thanx for reading.....

good stuff saw

just a random thought after reading your poem>>>>
I got to watch my step because the danger in living is dying.

But there are worse things than death. But then being a couch potato I might actuallly enjoy a broken neck. One way to stop smoking.

Nothing to do with your poem
Just a note to myself.

Perceptive. In fact life tries to hand us all sorts of manuals. Few of them stick around for long, it seems..

thanx truck, I agree that there are things worse than death, ask the guys at Guantanamo....it's a torture practice facility...go there and perfect your craft...doesn't matter if your subjects did anything wrong, what's the difference, the important thing is growing as a torturer...
oops, got side-tracked...
and mnaz, thanx as well....without a guide we break all the rules....

sometimes we trip ourselves...see ourselves...wake ourselves up...

oh...ps. i really liked the last couple of lines starting with "but like i said..." great analogy.

thanx Smile, appreciate the nod...just checked out your website and it's excellent, you're a natural.......

The eventual fall to the basement we all know so well, the reason for the fall goes far beyond the coping mechanisms...the stout breakfasts....
This is about the randomness of timing when it comes to ending a spiral direction...
this is one of those reads that makes a reader think...while laying in a basement...where you so deftly leave us.
i dig it immensely.
Excellent
H

thank you hester for your thoughtful response...I'm always pleased when one of my poems can move someone to dig in deeper.....take care.....

thank you hester for your thoughtful response...I'm always pleased when one of my poems can move someone to dig in deeper.....take care.....

cool. oh...thank you! drop in any time...

the basement looks the same as the roof- if you cannot feel yourself
sometimes broken is a term loosely thrown around
the actual shards are still in your skin when some clever human decides to lecture you on what you did that brought you here
as if i did not know how i got here
many times i thought that i knew something
like a secret
but those things end in a flash of clarity
truth seems to crawl out of the places i hid from myself

Wow, what a surprise to wake up and see a comment to a poem i wrote in
2008......had me confused for a sec......but that's not uncommon, ha

thanx creativesoul........terrific response......a poem itself......

cool photo....who might that be ?

it be me- aloha- freedom is best felt alone, i am quite content these days-i know it is a good day when i can see where i have been, and be grateful
love of my children, now men has brought me back to life
all my efforts at another kind of love
brought a world of strife
today it isnt such a problem
the soggy issues of a lost wet dove
in a tree of sacred prayers