FD's poetry

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FD's poetry

FD · Status: Offline

anaheim.

what happened to the sinner?
the blank slate-
not yet filled with apathetic emotional overtones,
glaring like a forgotten porchlight at 3am.
rummaging through old home movies of skateboarding nights and
sex influenced days.
turn back the time on dreams and replay them in fast forward.
the iniquitous always return eventually.

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Day dream

Imprisoned by the ideals of a fractured society
allows precious moments
to grapple with the mundane antics
of an incredulous reality.
Days flying by rapidly slow,
I'll dream about tommorrow when it's gone.

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the jack.

if i could go, and see what others see.
i just might recover something.
i could never grasp
the exuberant motivation that was required for complacency.
-it’s the only thing
i’ve never done. run
-the only thing i’ll never do. perhaps?
hard work kept me honest. in a way.
a hand in every accolade but
earning not a one.
a goal and worst fear the same: freedom.
someplace else
i might open my eyes wider and just see.

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my old vengeance

shining red in hot sun
burning inside the (383).
cruising saturday
(late), the road
on her finger -tips.

My old vengeance,
she purrs
(taunting) the boys
with her lovely Nova curves.

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Where Did All The Fair Ones Go?

Politicians like used-car salesmen hanging
their hats on the way in. Griping about
the heat when it's only cold. STOP
now, see no more, Soldiers gone
to graveyards, everyone.

(Another just today.) Nothing
is fair in war and love. not bills or
amendments or even
propositions. (187 had my vote too.)
Reap the benifit
of a man with the agenda: "gotta out do daddy."

Take me to another nationalization a
neutral state where actors act and
libertarians run the world. The election
circus has begun in the land of silicon
and crime and (I can't see,) not too late.
There's soap in their soapboxes.

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The Crying Soldier.

Hot sand battlefield, seams torn open.
A (lone) figure
shedding blood-stained tears,
time now short, grasping
a glimpse of memory:

Betrayed by promises of college compensation,
refining tender dreams of home
so many miles.
All of it in vain, (he eyes the sky one last time)
his life slips away.

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on birthdays.

They asked me, "Did it feel like your birthday?"
to which I replied,
"I don't know."
Mockingly they laughed, "How could
you not know?"

Wide-eyed I glared,
It was a day,
no ceremonious exercise, just
the new experiences
that typify
the ordinary-ness
that days falling in order bring.

By asking if it felt like
a birthday I could only reply,
"I don't know"
as how can I differentiate
a day from any other
when each new day brings a
new day?

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flyboy sam

Crack the case
the corporate pig wanes;

can't stop the anger, the click of
red, that moment when
consciousness fades,
tunnel vision red, black,

rage, darkened contorted
face, horror movie material.
revoke their liquor license before
tragedy is revealed. Repeal

the laws before your leader takes
a mocking stab at the flyboys, the
heroes of annihilation, pushing
his desk down the runway,

fall,
just fall.

As premature ejaculate flows
from his lips as the vp takes
to him another 4 years.
evil coalition of death

and doom who's next? Perhaps
disease torn countries of adolescent
nature, whose entrails are stipend
with mines, and gutted by

our previous glories. Perhaps
more middle sand, hot sunburnt
sultry days. (They're all in it
together.) Maybe home, where

kids are laying on skid row, stealing
a piece of beef to get their maternal
orifice a fix. Take pride
in what you stand for as the world

watches with horrified eyes
the atrocities of pious men.

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Time Bomb

I would make a spectacular war general
if I could get past the government
and the killing. If -
I could lead the way without the republic's blindfold. If -
I could find a new space unadulterated by laughing.

The world's still burning and we're still
living our lives in our bubbles,
pretending nothing will ever change.
What if things were different,
and we were them?

Night will never come;
not soon enough, and if
it does the bombs won't stop falling.
And I'll still need a tree to sit under
composing my masterpiece.

The years a steady blur,
in the end no one will win.

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The Forgotten War

Plug into the new age:
The Americanized revolution.
We don't like what is not like us
And we invade what we don't like.
It's our way.

How many more have to die
Before the imperial regime turns green.
Raising money for campaigns
While nineteen year old GI's fight
Their power war. Founded on lies
And built on shock and awe; watch
Us flex our gigantic war muscle. You

Can't play with our nuclear toys,
We're the only ones allowed to have them.
Was there no lesson learned from Vietnam?
It's not our way,
We do what we do in the name of democracy.

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The Fall

The fall of horror in a rat hole
A tale of terror yet to come.
Our fate sealed by electoral clout,
a democratic voice our only chance?
In years to come,
The inheratance of an egocentrical nation
will reap tyranny from 'The Man.'
Our vibrancy will crumble without our popularity.

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Fingered

Faded blue jeans are my comfort,
seeing them always means home.
Guaranteeing my success would be trivial
in hindsight, (besides I only spent a quarter.)

The painted face
means I'm up for anything,
don't you know. Lost in decadence,
bewildered by certain alluring spices.
I saw you once underneath the magic moon.
I was the girl with the curious stare.