Occupied by the primal cries of democracy and its dying eyes.
Ain't no reason to keep pushing some days the infighting the outfighting the needless highlighting of differences in ourselves and others, not some injustice just arbitrary maladjustment.
These words ain't here to minimize or demoralize but to quantify and qualify the true enemy.
We are cannibals, our self absorption and self adornment lead to self consumption and our mutually assured destruction.
As we consume we forget we need to resume what we started, we assume that we’ve done enough and that the movement will carry on without us.
It’s too late, in the death throws of Democracy we choose a different path, without occupation, preceded by preoccupation, we now find ourselves the subject of this new occupation.

I'm an undoubted pleb when it comes to just about everything artistic (with the exception of music, in which I have impeccable taste). A while back, I suggested I'd be interested in seeing some critique or general discussion of already-known or published poetry, if only so I could get others' opinions on things that usually go over my head. This is an effort to get the ball rolling, with a poem that is one of my favorites.

Also, I'm not sure if this belongs here or in ~arts, please classify as appropriate.

Morning - Frank O'Hara

I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you'd be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I'll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go

So we have all these people, and they all seem to be pissed.

So many people and they all seem to have... something amiss.

Many of these people, their concerns are just... entirely dismissed:

By other people with the same problems who somehow look at these perfectly normal people and react: "I have been nixed!"

These problems are pervasive in our memories and experiences and on a metaphorical wall they are fixed;

And yet the root causes are consistently misinterpreted, and ultimately missed.

And the result is we are betting everything for the sake of getting our cathartic and revengeful fix?

That is being delivered to us by people that if they were to meet us, would utterly reject us and loudly hiss?

And if that gamble fails I will be the one to pick up the scraps, and mop up the piss?

Man, I didn't want to grow up to this.

I'm working on this for a poetry class I'm taking, any criticism is welcome.

Edit: Italicized some text I forgot when I copied it out of Word.
Edit 2: Fixed some phrasing.

Coming Out 2.0

When I first came out
I thought it was over.
Done.
I know myself now,
My life can finally be
worthwhile and fun.

But there was always a mess I dared
not touch. Who do I like? What gaze
makes me blush? I suspected the feminine
but held out hope – only taking up one letter
made it easier to cope.

And some people do change after starting
HRT, so patiently I hoped men would appeal
to me. I had some feelings before, it seemed reasonable
they would grow. But as time went on I realized I had
nothing to show. My feelings for men were entirely gone,
but still hopeful for a straight-passing future, I pressed on.

I had definite feelings for women before,
But at times the attraction seemed a bit more –
Did I want to be them or did I want to be with them?
The former I assumed, as it helped to distract,
focus on my work, brush my desires under the mat.

I’d think “She looks cute”, but “in that outfit”, “with that hairdo” and other qualifiers
I began to append, convincing myself what I felt was normal and, like a
Chicagoland road, no bend. When I began to notice some feelings bubbling up I said
“Female friendships are close, it’s nothing, the end.” But try as I might, they flowered
and bloomed, and soon I could not help but be all-consumed. Maybe I’m bi, I thought,
That isn’t so bad. More options for dating, how can I be mad? I told my friend my feelings, and as
expected, for me she had none. She’s still one of my best friends, so I’d neither lost nor won.

I dealt with the rejection and moved on. I could still be bi, better not
jump the gun. You can’t take back coming out, you’ve got one shot – nail it
and be done. I thought everything would be the same, but the floodgates were open,
my restraints had been broken. I could finally be honest about my feelings
for women (endless, confusing and interwoven) and for men, which were at most
an appreciative token.

A week after confessing to my crush, it was obvious
who won. The Sapphic feelings and desires made
their presence known, their intent to stay,
and more difficult than coming out
as trans was admitting
to being gay.

always seem happy and dandy
and talk of love and romance
a riven smile on the face
to hide thoughts of pain

for her, everything has a verse
a waltz at each step
a flimsy variety of beauty
that melts after rehearse

huge hipster glasses
coffee without any taste
a window facing concrete
is now hummingbirds enlaced

and when she sings all her love
I am always in disbelief
cause when someone shouts too much
I sense a hooded grief

You were smart and pretty
and praised every word I said

Responded to my commands
like a very well-trained basset

You gave me food, shelter, affection
in bed, you did as I pleased
and such strong devotion
was hard for me to receive

Cause how could I trust someone
who clearly and truly loves me?

In this grass where we sit,
I saw many full moons lit

Kissed them shivering in the wind,
felt like solution, formed decision, ultimate end

But the frenzy always fades,
pretty mirage in the haze

Silly me...

I just met you yesterday
And once again tremble my veins

Ask not for whom the cradle weeps; it weeps for you.


O sly kitten, O accursèd cat, cry,
cry for the weft and the warp of the world; cry,
cry for the sin and the sorrow and suffering; cry,
cry on the bloodshed, but more on the tears; cry,
cry for divisions, and ill-wrought connections; cry,
cry for the laughter, so far out of reach; cry.
And in crying find solace; peace——rhythm——be still.

                                               cry 
and cry——cry for the widows and widowers, woven together forever,
by weeping and painless heart-let.
   But your pain is not theirs.
   For, though burdened with truth, you will never be cut 
   by the serrated and blunted edge of polite fiction.
   Enough!


When the cat's in the cradle, the mice will play,
And I hope that they fly far——far-far away.
But the tears of the kitten forever abide,
and someday they'll catch you.
               will you take it in stride?

I'm interested in finding more great songwriters across different genres and I want to defeat my own bias, so don't tell me the artist or genre (or maybe put it in <details> tags).

Here are a few of mine -

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds

If you're really as tough as your defenses, you'd let them fall

Tried to deceive me, you only deceived you; what you thought was invisible was only see-through

I said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time"

Emotional luggage, nothing of it, I don't check bags; I just carry on, leave that bullshit in the past

Nothing no scary like a gunman voice when people beg a gunman think twice, and him say no

To turn your sick soul inside out - so that the world, so that the world can watch you die

Coincidentally, not all those songs are necessarily at the top of my recommends, but they are the first memorable one-liners that came to mind. I won't mind if your picks aren't the greatest songs of all time either if the line still hits.

I post a fair amount of poetry to Tildes, with the hope of getting feedback or starting discussion.

Yet, as you can see from looking at the poem tag, there generally isn't any kind of discussion on poetry posts. Even Bishop's departure post only received six comments.

So, why is this? What stops you commenting on poems? I would like to have discussions about what I write with the people here. I don't know if there's something I can do to make it easier to engage with me regarding my work, or if there's something else preventing the discussion.

I'm not quite like you
A few words and that's it
The façade fades
Crumbles
The carefully constructed mood dies
Coping mechanisms defeated
The castle is compromised

A strong exterior only goes so far
Each word pulls stones from the foundation
Fragile walls, fragile heart
I retreat to my secret home
Away from the swords and arrows and fire
No one can reach me here
Safe and quiet and in control
Equally secure, equally secluded

Tapped out on my phone in an Uber on the way to D&D. I write about more than love, I promise!

the water laps at the dam
seeking egress, seeking progress
everyone inside so thirsty
life affirming liquid
but the dam
the wall we built to keep ourselves safe
our salvation
our condemnation
seemed a good idea at the time
but all our other crimes against ourselves did too
how are we so smart yet so stupid
it hurts
it fucking hurts
life without love may as well be an empty gift on Christmas morning
but we all do it to ourselves every day
so many boundaries and rules and norms
all because we’re too afraid to get hurt
too afraid to be ourselves
too afraid to realize ourselves
too afraid to give one another the best gift we can

I’m sorry
but
I can’t today
I want to
but
I can’t
It’s not my fault
but 
I’m guilty anyway
I’m not understood
but
I’m pressured anyway
I yearn to create, to do
but
I just stay in bed
I want to live
but
I’m too hurt

Put your head over here
and cry all the yearning away
cause thinking will bring you nothing
just thoughts and yet more pain

Sleep, sleep my child
breath slowly that way
cause here there is no more strain
under my loving gaze

In your cotton candy dreams
you embrace with such strength
a cloud above in the sky
sleep, honey, yes, sleep
cause here you're free from time

And there I am on this dream
imagining, imagined
the mark of a want, of a wish
a trace drawn in the sky
don't know if I'm the one dreaming
or if I am been dreamed about

So many wants that never were
But that were mine nevertheless
In the joy of many maybes
Slow evening

Time is cursed, it goes
The body is alive and weary
And stuck in hour a soul — immense

Saw in you a trace, a gesture without any end
a phrase with no reticences
a shadow lost in the gaze

A question you have not made
a plot not yet heard
a night with no resolution
be calm, the sun is not late

Glowing friend, your light
has given me
everything I know.
To run you require
a sacrifice

I click open my knife
forgotten forever in the drawer with the butterfly yo-yo,
the heart necklace of an immature love
and the compass
with the atomic symbol.

With the blade I
etch
and cut
and stab
to draw sand
from the glass
long left unflipped.

It slides along your surface
sinks in
and is gone.

lost time like grains leaking out an hourglass
lost feelings like love leaving a full heart
lost purpose like a crusader without a cause
all these years, feelings, purpose stolen, violated
an evil I never invited, never wanted
it's not my fault, not my goal
innocent yet guilty
convicted
more like cursed
their hatred is my destiny
never get back what was lost
never recover who I could, maybe should, have been
robbed of a life, of a happy, normal life
I can't even hate them for it
can't even have that comfort
I'd be just as bad, repeat the cycle
almost sympathetic
only path, only cure, is love
creamy center of a cyanide pill

This is a reflection of what building friendships and close relationships is like for me. Mental health makes everything much harder, but I keep trying.

it shines and blazes
such light and warmth
stories told round the hearth
cold nights kept a safe distance away
beauty in chaotic dancing patterns
it promises everything all at once
no regard for consequences or the future
just passion in the moment
no foresight, only enthralling abandon
its wake is ash
empty, cold, dead
no energy
never burn again
it destroys what it loves
what it needs
not because it wants to
because it is
destruction guised as passion

I wanted to write about self-forgiveness because it's such a hard thing for me to do. Past mistakes and trespasses stick in my mind for decades, and it's so hard for me to shake them. This work is an attempt at expressing that difficulty.

Down in the foothills the peak is so perfect
Covered in pure white snow
Nary a tree in sight
The peak carves a visage in the sky
In the clouds
It just is, it exists peacefully in its austere authority
Calm, serene
Impossible
Yet I yearn to climb
To ascend
Down in the foothills among the trees
The greenof the hills
I make my preparations
Breath
Training
Gear
I practiceand I meditate
I meditate upona life
A life of mistakes and triumphs
Each breath preparing and steeling

It's time to begin my climb
Each step and the air, the precious vital air, thins
Lungs emptying and muscles weakening
And yet I continue
Not quite undaunted, but I continue
The views are stunning
Yet I don't see them, eyes ever on the peak
Visualizing success, not the process
It's so cold
Bitterly, viscerally cold
There's no air
Even a yogi must stop for air
But there's no air
The ground slick with snow and ice
Snow and ice with the oxygen I need
Sealed away in the mystery of the bonds
Just as beautiful as it is inaccessible

But I continue my climb
Slipping and falling, the rocks cut and score
Gashes and bruises amass
I take a moment and reflect
Is it worth it?
Shall I ever ascend?
And as I slip into meditation, I slip down the mountain
All progress lost
The world turns around, up and down
I lose my breath
And land, dizzy and hurt, down the bottom
Even further from the peak than when I started.

First, the piece.

I built a fire from the branches

which were missed by the snow.

Drank the water of the cacti

that in deserts still grow.

Found the shade in the south

where the sun forever glows.

Clawed and scraped my way to freedom

of likes I have never known.

.

A starved, abandoned cub

lost in Greenlandic champaign -

I pawed about the lifeless floors

of snow-imprisoned plains.

With wind ill-matted fur I marched

and shivered through the rain

in search of hearts and hearths to

make me home again.

.

A ward of warmth appeared, assumed

to aid my ailing mews.

A securing shawl of summer softened

me from winters shrewd.

A multitude of miracles revealed

rejuvenating news.

I concluded countless colder winds

are warmer without you.

This site has given me so much: peace of mind, freedom of expression, cathartic release, and a sense of care and community of which I, over the last number of months, have deeply been in need.

Things are looking ever forward as I continue on about adult life. However, included in those plans of forward-action are a number of artistic pursuits.

In search of some semblance of belonging and community, I revealed a lot about myself in various posts and comments I’ve left about Tildes; and made the mistake of not publishing my works separately or under a pseudonym.

I would like to publish a book of poetry, release paintings, and create music. However, I don’t feel comfortable continuing to do so under my real name.

I will be well; I’m in a better place now. (Personally, of course. Not like that.) It’s simply time for me to separate the art from the artist, as it were.

Thank you all, so much, Tildes. I love you.

It’s been fun.

Bishop.

Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more generally. I've never not lived in a city after moving out of my parents' place, and can't imagine going back to the suburbs. Cities are my home, cities are where I belong. I don't think this one is finished, yet; there are a few rough spots, and I'm not sure about the ending. But, like people have said in a few of the timasomo threads, the important thing is to get the words out, to make the work exist outside of one's head.

the city is awake, alive
lights dance in the dark of night
little lifesigns, each a past and present
each a history and a story not yet told
subways and busses and ubers
the occasional oblivious cabbie
(cancer on the streets)
each moving people to their goals
their dreams
veins and arteries in the city's body
lights for seeing
superstructure in steel and glass
inspiration
aspiration and ambition
passion and drive
these power the pulse and the breath
each person, each cell
shapes and grows the city, the body
each experience shapes epigenetics
no place the same after
the city takes us all in
gives us homes
maybe not shelter, but homes
we are alive and so is our home
an energy ineffable yet indelible

edit: A friend has said that this reminds her of the opening of Murakami's After Dark, and I can absolutely see it. Perhaps a bit of subconscious inspiration?

This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I explore yoga more deeply as part of my teacher training program. There's clear inspiration from Whitman's O Me! O Life!, but the message is very modern.

That the powerful play goes on and you will contribute a verse
Why not let the verse be love?
It used to be so easy, so easy, just a simple choice
Choose love
All the conflicts of today and every other time
Not enough love
For one another
For ourselves
Not enough love
All the religions and faiths of the world
All our enlightened leaders
All taught love
The play used to be about love
So many acts ago
Only a few moments ago
Seems like forever
Seems we’ve forgotten the lines
But no one to remind us what they are
And we don’t get a rehearsal
We get one grand opening day
One somber closing night
No matinee
No encore
Why choose any other verse but love?
Love makes everything else possible
Makes everything else worthwhile
Everything else builds on love
That the powerful play goes on and you may choose a verse
Choose love.

note: Posted this with the wrong title first, so deleted and reposted.

A few years ago I got a rather self-congratulatory email from GoDaddy, the domain host, about all the amazing things that their customers do, apparently. Here is a representative excerpt: "One of the clearest lessons we've learned is that the one word to describe you best is 'courageous.' You go after what you really love, you chart your own course, and you create something (often from nothing) that usually makes the world a better place."

I found this rather silly coming from a corporation that hosts fucking domain names. So I was inspired to write the following poem:

1.

Dear Firstname Lastname

earlier this year we embarked on an effort to learn more about you

what makes you so incredibly unique

and the values you all have in common

we learned an equal amount about ourselves

you go after what you really love

you chart your own course

you create something

(often from nothing)

whether it’s

a neighborhood pizza shop

an organization to help those in need

or a company poised to launch a new industry

you believe where others don’t

you have the guts to strike out on your own

that’s courage

and it’s worth every ounce of support we can give

you’ll always be able to pick up the phone and talk to someone 24/7

sincerely

semi-legible signature

digitally scanned

followed by a name typeset in Arial

and a twitter handle

2.

i don’t create

neighborhood pizza shops

organizations to help those in need

or companies poised to launch a new industry

my values are not your values

i have a blog

it has a domain name

which i pay you to maintain

that is the extent

of our relationship

i will go cry in a corner now ok

sincerely

a customer

My phone sits, as I, in silence

In my room – alone.

I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy

To dig into my bones.

When I was younger I was told that

One day God would call me home.

Instead the coffin calls my name in whispers

And beckons the unknown.

.

Why do I feed a body with a

Soul that keeps depleting?

When all my hopes and expectations come up

Short and keep receding – I

Start alternating between plotting,

Thinking, pleading

That I’ll make a rash decision, they’ll

Give my organs to the needy.

.

Perhaps I’ll drive a stake into my head and chest.

No one should endure this mind or heart.

Meditation never seemed to give much value,

All the medication felt a farce.

I’m an incongruent, uncompleted puzzle

Dangling from a bridge; falling apart.

I watch my pieces sink below into the water,

As this letter dances all about the hearth.

.

I carried out important shit in boxes;

Let the rest behind to be thrown away.

I hid and watched as they threw in the dumpster,

A bed now wrought with chocolate and decay.

As the memories flashed in to my brain,

Of how we chose to spend that final day.

(Of how) even on the best day of the end of my life,

I ended up naked, chocolate-covered, curled up on your chest and crying,

Begging you to stay.

.

The devil is a myth they tell believers;

Hell prevents their chasing earthly dreams.

I will not go to Heaven, and there is no Great Receiver

Who will comfort me and silence my screams.

There is no purgatory in the ether;

The earth is this one act’s final scene.

Fittingly, the water isn’t beautiful here either.

It’s choppy, warm, and a putrid shade of green.

.

Someone use my hands to write a sonnet.

Someone use my eyes to see a better day.

Someone use my legs to climb a mountain;

Use my tongue to find the words to say.

They’ll use my lungs to feel the oxygen.

Use my kidney when theirs is in decay.

They’ll use my heart to feel in love again.

I’ll rest easier that way.

I keep on my journey when the world's asleep,

searching you out, like a bewildered sheep.

If you'll come to my aid when you see me-

with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets.

It must be the price of my earthly sin,

that I've no food or water for nourishment

that I crawl alone, in the dark, hoping.

I am the moonlight masochist.

..

So hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.

Bring me the moon, and make me your star.

Protect me like mountains and be my guard.

Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.

Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.

Get me into a home, and out of the bars.

Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -

My moonlight masochist matriarch.

..

I cough as I choke on the poisoned air.

No one around who seems to care -

Save for two beady eyes who approach and glare,

a thin coyote with a hungry stare.

I only hear howls in monotone

as two other dogs come sniff my throat

But at least when they carry off my bones,

I can kinda say I never died alone.

..

Hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.

Bring me the moon, and make me your star.

Protect me like mountains and be my guard.

Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.

Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.

Get me into a home, and out of the bars.

Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -

My moonlight masochist matriarch.

it's kinda silly

kinda nothing

but i was thinkin

kinda wondering

hey.

if i asked.

would you pick the loose string from my sweater

bring a blanket in cloudy weather

go with me on an adventure

give a little hug, a little pressure

would you grab a little snack

put my favorite towel on the rack

hear me sing, and try not to laugh

or light a blunt, hit twice, and pass

help me dye my hair

tell me i look cute in underwear

text me just to say you're there

snap your cookie just to share

or rub my neck soft when it hurts

tell my i've a way with words

walk to the park when wind's absurd

just to sip a tea and watch the birds

tell me that you like my lips

pick me clothes out for a trip

head to the lake to skinny dip

and blush a bit because you like my hips

could you

sweat with me at the gym

fill our popcorn to the brim

say that this shirt makes me look slim

and maybe love me limb from limb

instead of him

.

.

.