Poet Tree

This piece was created with thought towards the numerous great artists throughout history that have struggled and fought against internal demons. Various ones that come to mind for me personally are Kurt Cobain (Nirvana), Layne Staley (Alice in Chains), Whitney Houston, Heath Ledger, Edgar Allen Poe, Eminem and others that I can't remember right now. They obviously aren't the only ones that have gone through hard times and they haven't all committed suicide. But this poem is a dedication to them as well as reflection of my own mind during dark times.

Oh em gee

There’s Poet Tree

Where all the artists hang

Like you and me

Poets and musicians swaying

No longer do they write or sing

They wove their own rope

Out of sensitive heart strings

Substance abuse, shotgun skull

Sad and lonely and fearful

Inability to cope

Against the riptide’s deadly pull

Now I can see

Here’s Poet Tree

With a new coil fashioned

Especially for me

We’re never twenty-eight

Consumed by things that frustrate

Unable to see past the present

Skeletons and blind hate

Tragedy and trouble

Disappointment, a popped bubble

In tune to issues of life

Buried beneath rubble

I broke branches with my knees

Ascending the trunk of Poet Tree

Hands that once wrote words

Tightened the rope around me

We’re forever twenty-seven

Free spirits locked out of Heaven

Until that day peace prevails

Minds and gates finally open

I used to be sixteen

Somewhere I lost me

Inside a vat of restlessness

And an apathy to be

So crouching in the leaves

I leapt from Poet Tree

Hope for tomorrow sprung

Into the air alongside me

Music Monday - Five Finger Death Punch

I'm going to start something new on my blog that I hope will keep me writing more consistently. Every Monday I'll do my best to put out a post about the music I've been listening to most recently. It'll be different but I'll still give my perspective and blah blah blah. I realize that today isn't Monday, though I do tend to get my days of the week confused. But if I had posted on Monday, this is what it would have been...

This past week I've been listening to a lot of Five Finger Death Punch. I hadn't listened to much from their first release, but upon doing so I realized why its called The Way of the Fist. Only a couple songs in and it felt like I'd just had the crap beaten out of me. The sick guitars' speed picking coupled with intensely belligerent lyrics makes for an audio smack in the face I won't forget.

Lead vocalist Ivan Moody's loud yelling vocals add impact to the angry lyrics while the guitars and drums slam the air waves with a sound that makes me think of a jack hammer pounding through concrete. In addition to the rough shouting, the album contains a decent amount of clean singing particularly during chorus lines.

Concerning the lyrics, I'd say "thems be fightin' words" and its true. Throughout most of the album, the words express great levels of disdain, frustration, and pissed-off-ness; Usually its complemented by an element of pessimism such as in "Never Enough" the words 'In the end, we're all just chalk lines on the concrete, drawn only to be washed away'. In "The Devil's Own", the lyrics talk about a childhood being destroyed by the father. In the song Ivan (who I assume wrote the lyrics) blames his father for being the reason he's dead inside. He also admits to hating to what he's become as a result of a flawed upbringing. Needless to say, the words contain high levels of emotion, which makes it one of my favorites. Along with that piece, I favor "The Way of the Fist", "White Knuckles", "Stranger Than Fiction", "Ashes", and "A Place to Die".

The entire album is rock solid and it was a great start to FFDP's music career. That's the end to our first Music Monday despite it being Wednesday -___-. I don't plan on them being long or super refined. Shoot me some feedback, comments, etc.

Penguin-Perfect

A poem for dear Ms. Perrault who left us a week or two ago. May she rest in peace, awaiting the Lord's soon coming.

I remember you, teacher

The third one I ever had

My second grade instructor

And now I’m a grad

But those days under your teaching

Created memories in that room

The pictures were penguin-perfect

And the M&M’s were nice too

Something about the Jumble’s

Must have sparked an intrigue for words

Unraveling the mixed-up letters

To make sounds I’d never heard

On this day I’ll recall

Those past times, foggy memories,

Of little magnetic play-things

And action-packed adventure stories

For years after I moved on

We only talked in passing

Each time, a greater distance between

But we always could find ourselves laughing

I thank God I came into the ABC

A few days before your last breath

I let you know you made a difference to me

And that’s something you can’t lose, even to death

So I’ll wear black and white

Like your favorite bird, remembering you

How the pictures were penguin-perfect

And the M&M’s were nice too

Two in the Afternoon

This poem is a bit of a continuance on the previous post about the new year. After writing it yesterday I was hit with a few lines in my head that I wrote down and they became this poem at about 3 in the morning. It has some what of an odd rhyming pattern, but if the first three lines are blended together while reading, then the last two, it works. I could have put the three lines into one, but I think stanzas like this look so much better and with my OCD, I need things to look just so. Enjoy. I hope you all had a marvelous New Years celebration.

If the world ended

At two in the afternoon

I’d consider it a good day

Since I’d be at work

And basically dead anyway

If the world stopped breathing

And the sun’s light went out

I’d find peace that day

If you’d hold my hand and heart

I’d be ready, come what may

If the world burned in judgement

And brimstone fell like tear drops

I’d endure the long day

Knowing that I had a love

Hotter than even Hell’s flames

If the world ended at midnight

The minute after eleven fifty nine

I’d make the best of that day

Hug family farewell, then gather friends

To face oblivion together, brave

There huddled in unity

Our bloodless relations perfect

Spending final seconds of the last day

With the ones we’d hold closer than family

In a contented circle, nothing more to say

The Seventh of December

A poem written in remembrance of that day so long ago that remains vivid in some minds even today.

A harbor of pearls

Taking heat from the west

People trying to do their best

An ocean of blood

New, from petty quarrels

People tangled in the coral

An island of fire

That had risen from the deep

People tucked underwater to sleep

A nation’s pride

Red, white, now black and blue

People unsure of what to do

An enemy, fierce

They’re flesh and bone like me

People, similar, separated by sea

A harbor of pearls

Precious creations by mothers

People still strive to kill one another

FrostBite

A poem inspired by winter a couple years ago coupled with a message.

A blanket of white covers the ground

A vivid and blinding site all around

Sitting there waiting for the victims to fall

A silent killer, making no sound

Falling distractions, specks of snow

They stare upon it as it goes

Until it fills passed their knees

The piles get bigger as they grow

The weather, inclement as it may be

Provides amusement for those like “we”

Who stand to watch in wonder

Continued contentment, in mystery

Frozen limbs on icy pine trees

Brittle branches snap around me

They stare at the sky,

Fixating a gaze with their eyes

The snow continues to fall

They’ll all be buried alive

Frozen limbs on icy bodies

Brittle souls collapse around me

For the spectators are engrossed

Taken in by diversion, witnessed by most

Skilled sleight of hand takes place

And in moves cold that nature doth host

Be warned, those that live in the heat

So a dismal fate, you shall not meet

Those living in the snow, live too fast

They fall on their faces from deceit

For the beauty around them is all too grand

To go back to warmth’s safety, though it be bland

Entertainment draws them in so close

That they may be led to a trap; led by hand

Spring

In memoriam today; People reminisce

Flowers in hand; Held to remember

The ones loved; Those resting beneath

Time to plant; New memories

Rain will come; Nurture the seed

From the sorrow; New life springs

Autumn

A nature-inspired poem written this fall.

Red bleeds on green

Revealing the once unseen

That gold fades to yellow

Falling from the tree

Spring’s effort to grow

Green life before it snows

Seemed wasted later on

When I felt the fall wind blow

If only Time could be wrestled

And convinced not to embezzle

The life in the arms of Nature

So snuggly nestled

Selfish weather always arrives too soon

And has its way, sun or moon,

To steal Summer’s artwork,

The hard-labored-blooms

When I examined the trees myself,

Their leaves destined for frozen hell,

I saw their colors were fantastic

And my attention they held

But the truth could not be hidden

And life could not be given

To restore life to the leaves

So I put on my mittens

After observation, I was betwixt

Knowing this could not be fixed

And death had never been so beautiful

But I shrugged, my feelings mixed