Category Archives: Self-doubt

Trucks Use Right Two Lanes

Driving today. I’m not sure I have the energy to keep being angry. I am at a loss for words, a somewhat rare occurrence for me. Probably something to do with the motion sickness. That and I’m hungover. What a wonderful life I live. That statement is both sarcasm and not. Please enjoy the poem today.

Little Dancing Monkey

Every day I sit here

A monkey at the show

Dancing for their amusement,

For their

Satisfaction

What am i?

A man?

A goon to do their bidding?

I am angry

I am unsatisfied

For it is not with my own agency i make these choices

But a need to survive

When i need to thrive

These animals

More bestial than the most terrifying wild thing

Concealed beneath the veneer of fake smiles and solid colored suits

They own me

They own us

Don’t you think it’s time to break free?

I Am Angry

I am more angry than I have ever been. Seething. Burning. I am undervalued. Undersold. Powerless and voiceless in a world that would forget my life and experiences and relationships as if they were a blip on nobody’s radar, were I to disappear today. It’s not that no one cares. Many, many people care. I am not alone. Far from it. I am loved by so many people. I know this. I value this. It is the many who treat this world as a playground, the many who treat this world as a plaything, to be used and thrown away. Opportunities are scant, pay is a pittance, the climate in decline, the true Great War on the horizon… How are we to not be disillusioned? How are we to not be angry? Lacking purpose and guidance my generation trudges on through the slowly hardening concrete poured by generations before, hardening and slowing our progress, turning the Earth into a desolate wasteland we alone will survive to navigate. With no guidance, we must find our own way. We must save ourselves and our world. No one else will. And I am angry.

Eaten Away

there is beauty in this slow decay

extant expression

deterioration

hazel eyes, so much light

a facade, hidden from sight

a mind gone bad

past its due date

just a tad

Monsters Under My Eyelids

Good morning. Every day is an opportunity. Gotta keep telling myself that. A child, faced with a monster, closes their eyes. What do they do when they’re still there in the dark behind their eyelids? What do you do when you close your eyes but you can still see those things you find most terrifying? Grab your little toy hammer and grasp it tight. Face them down. First and foremost, you are your own protector. Become a hero to yourself and you will find peace.

Die Helden von Einst

that’s where i want to be

not waiting to see

not fleeing, but flying, steadfastly alighting

my course, ever self righting

all’s well that ends well

building a boat

rise above the ocean swell

never to glean, never to gloat

a good man

realizing how i ran

never again

to find in others, that sacred glen

i find my peace

whence from me, you’ve taken a piece

amidst ancient stones, druidic hymn

not for him, just for him

Going east

searching for the beast

in the forest, hearing birdsong

i know the journey ahead will be long

Enduring quest

runic test

training and straining

the beast’s strength never waning

and with my spear and shield i trudge on

ever further, unto the dawn

drawing strength from heroes past

knowing my line will not be the last

von Helden komme ich

und Held werde ich sein

Busts and Buttresses

Good morning. Nothing, you see, has quite the same longevity as stone. It is ancient when you’re born, it is ancient when you die, and it will be ancient when your great great grandchildren die. When nothing else survives, so the stone goes and lives on. Always there, perhaps changing ever so slightly, but always there. You may not last forever, but your sculptures will. Make your busts and buttresses. They’ll outlive you.

Saga of the Stone

So too, do all things, turn from ash and bone

to dust and stone

It matters not if you atone

For all is ash as dice are thrown

Turning leaves with the rake

Doing all this for your sake

It matters not if you will break

For all is bone as beasts awake

As bricks and timber start to quake

There’s no time and nothing to take

Flee, my child, there’s no need to shake

For all is ash beside the lake

Answer, answer please, the telephone

I only wish you could have known

There is no need for terror sown

For all is stone,

And you are alone

Black Bangs

Good evening, friends. Busy day today, preferable for me. Posting from my phone on that account. Truly a blast. I have for you today a poem that I spent the last 30 minutes writing. I think you’ll enjoy this. Without further ado:

The Last Musketeer

How am I supposed to function

This pain in my chest

Beating heart, myocardial infarction

From which I have no rest

Rippling, rifting, sifting sanity

Robbing, sobbing

In the mirror, the vanity

For apples, we’re bobbing

Tubers and shoots

Zipping through my chutes

Down through my legs

And out through my boots

All my fingers

And all my toes

Slender digits, saintly timbre

Singing souls, lovely ghosts

All is cinder

Burning timber

Start from tinder

Detach the limber

12-Ilber horse artillery

Sound the cannon

Turn that pillory

Into a canyon

“All for one, and one for all,” said the first, said d’Artagnan.