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paddymurraypoetry-blog · 7 years

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Twenty Two years For This? A Collection of Poems

Poetry

7/9/2017

All the joy has been depleted Continued happiness is fleeting Each day has me believing That I should be deleted. Swirling, sober or drunk, thoughts, A moon shaped pool, ought To describe what I've bought: A purpose for this life! Naught! Dragging days, rushed ride dings, Thousands of off time mood swings. "These are a few of my favorite things," I'm not Julie Andrews, I no longer sing. First attempt to regain creativity! This' my Renaissance, my nativity, "This'll work out fine," pure insanity I'm sorry to all my friends, my family.

Dawn, The beginning to every morning, To everyone's, I want you for my own, I doubt anyone else is this happy to see you, A smile forms before my eyes open, The blue birds brought me your message, "How are you?" a great way to wake up. The days are easier when speaking to you, Songs have beautiful new dynamics, Food has several new savory flavors, The sun's rays are not so harmful, Hell, people are tones more bearable, And work barely ever feels like it! Thank you for loving my quirks, Thank you for all of your concerns, Being here doesn't seems so hard, When I hear from you, it warms my heart! Dawn, The thing I feverishly wait for, Night isn't nearly as colorful as the day, I barely hear from you at all then. The smile earlier turns to a heavy frown, The blue birds stopped soaring long ago, "How are you?" now has a different answer. Nights are tougher not speaking to you, Songs now all sound like discord, Food becomes another coping method, The Moon's rays aren't as charming, People are the last thing I want near me, Work continues at home, it's my life. I am sorry for never opening up, I am sorry if I rushed us to be more, Being here is harder than ever before, This feeling I have for morning breaks my heart.

Last Chance Thoughts on a Country Road (Poem #4) Red telephone towers, Stretching beyond sight Oceans of green, And blinding sunlight. Hoping for obstruction, Some sort of beam, Ongoing construction, Split me at the seams. Can I go now? Should I go now? Dead deer decaying, Isolated blacktop, Altima now swaying, No signs to STOP Lonely country road I love your grace. One last solid day Be my resting place! Can I go now? Should I go now? Blue telephone rings, Mother is calling, Dinner must be ready, Now I am stalling. Is this what I want? Should this be? Racing to my own end, But she loves me. Should I go now? Can I go now?

Dare to Speak my Dream? (Poem #6) Vivid dreams of your divinity, Hopefully occupy me for infinity. Oh please be in my vicinity, Is it wrong to feel sanguinity? Maybe one day we'll hold hands, Observe the sky and make plans, Have some kids and buy some land, Full of lush evergreen away from the sand. How do I approach your semblance? Those rosy cheeks in my remembrance. Can we sing together then dance? Your cerulean eyes locking me in a trance. My tongue will not let me speak, The task is too daunting, too bleak. These stirrings have caged my beak, But would you prefer if I take the leap?

Beat Me New (poem #7) Beat me blue, Smack me around, Burn that insignia and watch it brown. Choke me tight, Hug me firm, Torture this man and watch him squirm. Strike me quick, Set me ablaze, Burn this Gardenia in a haze. Stomp me out, Call me brash, Mix the mulch with the burning ash. Cast me far, Drown me deep, Submerge the fool with all his grief. Rinse me well, Hang me dry Use this shadow then cast it aside. Break me down, Build me anew, Reshape the being with physical ques. Hold me back, Push me forward, Drag this shy clown from the corner. Kiss me long, Give me more, Divulge in the madness til you're sore. Love me now, Love me then, Love that crazy character until the end.

Streams (poem #9) art by Kevin Haley Seeping through the days haze I flow down the city sewer On my way to the great ocean I lose a piece of my identity. Jealous of the Sting Rays and Trout I've taken a brand new form Their freedom is what I most desire So long my Christian name, I'm gone. Sludge and shit sift through my stream Maybe I am not meant to have a life Purposely flowing to build up others Sacrificing clarity for sincerity. I am now together with Big Blue Surgically attached, expanding its size Now I realize all streams flow together One's identity is never just that of itself.

Sing (Do we?) (Old poem) Do we, oh do we sing? How well does the ear hear? Does the music sting? Or is that just fear? Raspy the lyrics leave The pink oral abode, To find a sea To unload the ode. Do we, oh do we sing? How well does it taste? Does the music swing? Or has it gone to waste?

Personal (poem #11) Most days I don't touch an instrument Most days I can't hear the sentiment Most days I can't see the love Most days I can't taste your push and shove Most days I can't smell the motivation Most days I just hate the stagnation Few days I feel truly inspired Few days I smell beauty in burnt tires Few days I savor the fleeting high Few days I grasp that leprechaun "Joy" Few days I hear excitement, Oh boy Few days I crumble like the city of Troy But don't worry about this golden goose The karats don't weigh my wings down The luster blinds all potential seekers As I flap towards the brighter future But don't worry if I don't go the distance Through repentance I've accepted my existence

Garden Shed, Rotten Soil (poem #11?) Piece together tranquility, With sedative memory trickery. Thoughts grow from fertility; The mind is made of garden soil. Enter my garden shed, Root around for root killers Sprays of self-doubt, Shovels formed out of depression. Ransack the toolbox of seeds, They must be planted with ease, Blooming under warm UV light, Soon the thoughts will be ripe. Too long have these plants died Never maturing to positive rays. Go back to my garden shed I must Plant new seeds for the next Spring. Harvest comes and goes with haste For none of these plants are ready Bogged down by heavy rains and cold Shriveled from mistreatment, my scold. But the patch will see a resurgence, Too long have these plants died. Introduce a sedative to the mind, The soil will soften in time for Spring.

Hello Friend (poem) Seated in the presence Of your one true menace Witness the ovation, standing At attention with persistence. Do this, do that he says A figure of darkness my guess, Guess you should be the guest Of his marvelously devious jest. Ask him your true role The mark, as borrowing as a mole The purpose you want, the sole Reason you live and more. The figure lends his voice, Giving you no manner of choice "This is your life's meaning boy, Find it in yourself to rejoice!" He leaves and you are askew, For anxiety runs and runs through The streets of your mental compass; You'll never know how to process

These thoughts, these doubts Cumulous like those clouds They'll stick by your side now Until you kick the bucket and bow.

The End (The last poem I write) The lines are there but I won't draw them They are for another day When I fully give in to Doubt And let him reside fully in my mind. I love you all, but he is always here Driving me over speed limits Past red lights to certain dread. He takes ME for a ride when I'm not ok Then calls my friends in a freak-out foray. I feel like I should embrace Death itself And rid myself of this confounded hell. Every minute is agony on my brain, I'm sorry friends, I can't deal with the strain. Think kindly, or think resentfully For I wish I was able to battle freely, These lines are etched, traced over my bones Time to cut them loose or set them in stone.

Resentful Blessings (new poem) I'm sorry father. I realize now how much of a bother, me and my brother, who I do not treat as a brother, have been to you and mother. My mother, who only smothers my brother and I, with love and pride, is the main reason I have not yet died. Resentful is my deal, but blessed is how I truly feel. You never said I love you, you never said I'm proud of you two. That sounds horrible, and it very well may be incorrigible, but Dad, that is you! The rigid man with the heavy soul boots. I'm sorry father, for we are now growing roots farther. This apple has rolled, miles from the tree hoping to be sold. We could not be more different, for I do not reward resistance. I give my love and affection, things you won't find even with detailed directions.

Remember Mother? (New poem) Remember the porcelain tub Mother? Remember how you used to wash me Crafting bubbles for my amusement? Remember the good times Mother? Remember showing me your favorite stories Filling my head with so much wonder? Remember the doctor's Mother? Remember all the things they said Allergic to outdoor life no matter where? Remember the separation Mother? Remember when father was removed Cast off by you for torturing both of us? Remember my visit Mother? Remember me flying across the nation To see you in person on that vacation? Remember when I was alive Mother? You found me in that porcelain tub Curled up with Fitzgerald's works Not breathing, this time not to allergies Still feeling the abuse father bestowed Not reveling in that vacation, or you.

Convenience (poem) I met the most wonderful woman So open, like a 24 hour convenience store. However, nothing about her is convenient. Any time of day she's got the door open, but I refuse to enter the quaint shop. Why do I believe my money is no good? Everything I want, need is located there, but I choose the inconvenience. Running down the asphalt away from it, from her and the welcoming florescent glow. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with I? Casting myself out of the greatest role, for fear of never earning my own Oscar. The Pearly Gates squeak for me up above, "What a pour soul, torturing himself." Fuck those gates, I want in her corner store, yet I choose the supermarket during the day. Forgettable, lonely, large yet also empty inside, I could have had what I needed last night. Shot in the foot? More like a bullet in the head. Racing away from openness straight home, wishing the convenience store best of luck. Find the right patron miss, find them well. "My money is no good there," I tell myself.

Irony (poem) I hate the ocean, but I'm always out at sea, Staring blankly across the vast cerulean plains, Yet underneath me is a slab of dirty cement, I have always been planted on solid ground, Why does my mind travel to the places I despise? Visions of desperation flash past my brown eyes, I reach out, but the air has no physical shape, I am just merely pushing oxygen side to side, I realize I am drowning on land, how's that so? That oxygen I disturbed has flown away, Swept off by the actions of my own doing, Looking up, the cotton candy clouds laugh, Holding in the rain I so desperately want, The sun no longer matches my bright outfit: My canary shirt and blinding ivory sneakers, Misrepresent the arguments in my own kopf, Without a paddle I remain lost out at sea, The place I despise the most with no recourse, The far reaches of space escape my sight, I taste the salt that also burns my sweaty skin, How cruel God is to the fish, What did they do wrong? Trapped in the water which they need to survive, Yet here I am, unable to breathe the delicious air A fish out of water unable to stand due to despair.

Covering (poem) What is this flabbiness? It stares at me through the mirror. What useless covering it is. All my blood flows underneath. The veins of life pop out. Patches of hair randomly scattered. What is this fleshiness? It's wearing me at this point. I want to peel it off, free the bones from the stickiness. I despise staring at it, who would want to peer at it. I admire others' coverings. How more perfect it is than mine. I want a brand new disguise, I want to obtain another identity. Scrubbing the dirt stains away, I envy those who can touch, skin of their partner, against the skin of themselves.

Exit 36 (poem) Vastly approaching is exit 25, 11 more then I'll have to merge, I asked the girlfriend to lose some weight, "Where do you get off?" Guard rails as far as 20/20 vision can see, The buffer keeping me from the Pine wild, Who cares if we tear down all this green, "Where do you get off?" Troopers camp out next to the camp grounds, Scanning the heaps of metal flying past, Flying at 90 I barely see the flag lights flash, "Where do you get off?" Two more exits until I arrive at home base, No girlfriends, activists, nor troopers, All this time it's about me, me, ME! Everything is owed, better have it hand delivered! Shed those pounds dear not those tears, Cut those trees down, soon you won't hear 'em, Issue that ticket sir, I fucking crave it! I will take any exit to fulfill sadistic needs. Feed me the cries Hun, send me to the pen, Chop it all down so the name is only Barren, Wails of sirens and betrayal stab the drums, My actions have consequences that I can't outrun. Where do I get off? Where do I get off?

Warmth Warm towel out of the dryer, Please transport me back in time. Mother's love is no liar, "Honey you'll be fine, you'll be fine" Whispers floating in winter's air, Louder than the voices inside my head. Changing winds like mother’s hair, Cracking the skin of faces bare. Help me mother for I have sinned! Or is it father I should have told? Hung up on a clothesline, pinned! Due to freeze from past wrongs now cold. With the dryer no longer emitting heat, The Arctic breeze regains its control, But mother's warmth isn't easily beat, She taught her Son how to melt the snow.

Recreation (poem) Shoestring twists Caked in sludge batter Return of the Red Eyes Excuse the stoner laughter These cheeks are inflated Music keeps me elated Blonde dome rising A dank balloon gliding Having lost grip of the string Two hours ticked by Floating down from the high My skin has shed, sober again

Drop-out [Dedicated to you asshole] (poem) You dropped out of life. Two kids, faulty future up ahead Scraping nickels together last night Just to feed his family tonight. You dropped out of college. Took several courses online But never actually finished the race Yet boasts his unsuccessful accomplishments. You dropped out of dreams. Just due to having to now provide Busting your shoulders to grinded dust For a few bucks and no dreams You dropped out of my life. Spit on me when I picked my school Smacked me when depression came to stay Squashed the miniscule love I still offered. You dropped out of life. Judging others because you hate your choices Drunk each day with fierce regret Burying yourself deep while we all still live.

Straightforward Delusions (poem) Sometimes I want to chuck it Far past the reaches of vision The happiness, the great joy Trade it for the rustic gloom Because what do I deserve? Hand grenade with no pin Tuck that away for another day Catastrophes caused by I Sometimes I fail to grasp it Far beyond my comprehension Stick a fork in me and twist it Bop the wonderment right out Exorcise these glorious angels I hate dragging myself to hell But I can't tow away another soul As I board Satan's elevator Sometimes I need to abandon Freeze the beef of my emotions Rotten the fruits of my labors Cast away Hanks of all shapes too You earn what you obtain here Captured fish, career with a degree I hate that I go on murder sprees Eradicating my bliss due to my fears

Wet Floor (poem) I slipped again, but I'm fine, No "Wet Floor" sign this time, Crashing down I feel it, Sharp pains and bones have split, My head bounced off the tile, Maybe this time I'll file, Damages definitely need to be paid, To cover up that I am afraid, Never will I step foot in here again, The home of a once dear friend.

Grief's Angel She swoons to the sounds of the leaves Rustling in the cool night breeze Dancing in the radiance of the moon This is her favorite time to move Breathtaking is the sight The charcoal haired angel of the night Stealing my heart like a common thief Causing me insurmountable grief We were once together long ago Loving and laughing, now just sorrow Each day was spent frolicking through the fields But she stabbed my heart with cold sharp steel Observing her beauty I notice her steps Her blood red lips and bright white dress Popping out of the dark night abyss Holding her tight, oh how I miss Twirling around she sways to and fro She begins to hum a song, that gorgeous swallow A smile forms upon her pretty semblance Striking up a past remembrance Torturing every lover she ever had Those men were driven to become mad It is her pleasure and source of entertainment Watching them turn into insane men Each love aged like that of the leaves Crunchy and brown and dropped from the trees Why did she play such abominable games Breaking their hearts and soiling their names This radiant angel, once mine before others Swoons to her song without any troubles I gaze over and watch her steps repeat As blood rushes down, and I deplete

Circulatory China Shop (Poem #5) This super glue won't fix us Neither will masking tape Duct tape is just as useless While putty won't take shape I am the bull, I am at fault The China's smashed The past cemented The future now and forever is affected The Humid summer air is putrid Sticky streets and vanishing cumulous Don't look at the yellow-green sky Love's in the air and I got no invite I am the bull, I am at odds Charging too fast Too slow to catch Will somebody give this animal a chance?

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