Neo Classic

Oh, Jamison is still around, I never put two and two together. Have enjoyed your work for many years now.

Yep, that is me. I tried to get Jamison back after recreating what I had deleted besides this Neonurotic, but someone snagged my other moniker. Oh, well. In reality I'm the real Jamison.
 
Son Day

At 9:43, thirty-seven years ago
exactly, today, born to parents
who had no eyes for the future,
let their son set in the dark.

Tick, tick, tick, time passed;
he didn't need a mother's nurture
or a father's nature to rise.

The son rose everyday,
everyday by the power of
an inner light he alone created.





posted 6.15.2014
http://www.literotica.com/p/son-day

 
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Son Day

At 9:43, thirty-seven years ago
exactly, today, born to parents
who had no eyes for the future,
let their son set in the dark.

Tick, tick, tick, time passed;
he didn't need a mother's nurture
or a father's nature to rise.

The son rose everyday,
everyday by the power of
an inner light he created.

Beautiful, concise, and to the point!
Belated Happy Birthday, Neo, many happy returns!
 
It's good to see you my dear sweet friend. I was beginning to worry. I've been hanging round, like some invisible bat chick. Hugs, sorry I missed your birthday.

:heart:

:rose:

~ nj
 
Thanks hun. :rose:

My birthday was like any other day.

You're gonna be pissed at me for clogging up your thread, but I had to~

chocolate+birthday+cake.jpg



:heart::kiss::heart:
 
Thank you, pelegrino, nj and Ange! <3


(ps, i'm not pissed, delighted actually.
i hope that cake has red velvet inside)
 
Stone Cold April Snow: Warmer Days

It snowed in June this year,
but my neighbor moved away,
taking her too short kimono,
her naked peach so luscious,

I forgot arduous chores
of shoveling a heavy wet slop
to plowing a heady split, whispering
amorous words, most sincere.

All that remains of her are an empty
porch swing, frozen roses and a
fruit tree to never be picked for
the best damn peach jam I've ever had.
 
from the Dark Poetry thread


Tête Fromagée

Under the peas, chocolate gelato,
and french fries is her delectable meat.
It is packaged in white paper
devoid of blood, hung from
medial malleoulus and fibula
frozen until Labor Day for an annual
barbecue. The thighs marinade in
limes, soy sauce, garlic and honey
while the breast seasoned
for jambalaya. The rump
roasted with a spicy rub, a perfect
blend to melt in your mouth
along with fried green tomatoes.

The head

well that, she can't give it
but I'll have her on a cracker
spread with jalapeno jelly
so she can burn me one last time.
 
from "Borrow a Song Lyric" thread.


Light Stepping

I was there for you in your darkest times,
I was there for you in your darkest nights
holding your head and your heart
then you did the same for mine.

A serenity prayer on your lips
and praise in your eyes
was all I needed to keep on keeping.

I threw away the pills that held
me together and let you do
what the anti-this n' that did,
but you've been better. I'm one step
after the other, feeling lighter than ever.



"I was there for you in your darkest times,
I was there for you in your darkest nights"
Maps by Maroon 5
 
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Mudslide

It's monsoons again, black skies and rain,
raining sideways, flash flood
a river of mud and silt. Red like
rust, an eroding skeleton of what
used to be, but in reality never was.

I kick through the pathless pools,
miss the foot holds and fall with
the slide. I believed you when you
said you loved me. But you lied.

The unrequited is a slice of sun through
the clouds after a storm, a spotlight on pain.




"I believed you when said you loved me"
Black Flowers by Chris Isaak
 
#WordsToKill2015

Girl says I'm is cra-cra but loves her boo anyway.
Not too long ago we were quit.
She seen my new status, a selfie
of a look-a-like Kim twerking my junk.

With all her girls,Twittersphere blew up:
#boyyerintrouble
then my bae tweets, "get your hands off him,
he's my man!!! #kardashianfakeasshoe"

But my python still wants some
so I hack her, I know what she likes,
it's enhanced interrogation,
major bootie kissing, making her #OMG
rolled up together in a Polar Vortex.

Now there's some vine of the epic
XXX somewhere on Youtube,
armatures gone viral.
She's proud of that baby bump.

But what she don't know, is good for me,
she's dumped. I found my wannabe Mylie,
she's the hottest bitch in this place
swagged in my shirts, already Blurred Lines.
 
Beloved

It swells in the chest
and fills to the point of spilling
it cannot be contained

I find I can smile through
but who I see is blurred
she's a blonde star
dancing across an ebon sky

Then all the light falls
on her, an angel with halo firing
the wide world
opening, hallelujah
 
Jr

Rain? Like rainy day?
No, R-e-i-g-n. That's his name.
That's weird
Ya, but that's what's In now
No John, Michael
or James.

Mommas and Poppas
are naming their baby boys
Legend, Major
and Nobel,
Defining words to live by
then live up to.

I shake my head, thinking
I'd hate to be named Saint,
collared with a moniker
of miracles this time
and day
because miracles are hard

to come by and a saint
has to pull two or more
(mind you, all done
several years after death).
Ya, Saint, sorry
try to live that one.

I think, mine is best.
He'll have a legacy easily lived
or choose to let live.
I hope Jr
feels the same when he
names his.
 
Pesty

Day 4 and already bored of this
My attention span is like
this kitten. Flit, flit
and away. Hyper active,
bouncing on walls, follows me
everywhere, instead of Baby Girl,
the kitten is her cat

But she's on me, literally,
around the ankle, all for legs
claws out and teeth chewing
my jeans--thank you jeans!
No scratches or tooth marks
because of you jeans.

Kitten is nicknamed
Bounce, Turd,
Catattack, which she does
from under the sofa,
nip and run!

Baby, come get my
annoyance!

Bite of tuna, lick of milk
and then finally kitten
snuggles in my lap. I like her
best like this.

Though this when she is
taken away from me
to be with her kitty-cat parent.

Until of course, the Pest
is riled and returns,
attacking my leg, her favorite
blue jean scratching post.
 
Pocketful of Peace

As I watch the rise, it lights
the path I run every morning.
Charcoal limbs turn into cedars.

I hold my breath,
close my eyes.

Thirty seconds, a minute,
a minute and a half,
the dawn warms my face,
and I inhale the sunshine.

I pocket this calm for keeps,
saving it for another day
when peace is ripped away.
 
Fall Down, But Get Up Too

"Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on."
Henry Rollins



It's part of living, like every
line on our face. Age is not just a number,
it tells us where we've been,
where we are going.

Show me the scars you've earned
and I'll show you mine
that one on my brow is from a fall
when I was nine. I picked myself up
the one on my knee shaped
like a divot is when I fell again at
twelve years.

The scar on my cheek is where
I fell for the last time, guzzled
a fifth of Beam and shot myself in the face.
It's a graze but the scar is there to remind
me I can pick myself up again and again
wherever I am, whatever I've done.

Fall down a lot, but get up too.
Those bruises and cuts are yours
you've earned them. They hurt,
they heal and you learn.
And none of this needs to be done alone,
I'm here, like you've there been for me.
 
Eggasm

Two eggs fried in a cast iron skillet,
flipped once until the yolk is medium
then placed gently, reverently on toasted
sunflower seed bread, buttered
with the artery clogging real stuff.
Make it into an oh my god sandwich!
That first bite is a cholesterol, golden ooze
of better-than-sex yum I wait for all week.
 
Flu - virus strain who the hell knows

Hurled in the air, it holds, waiting
for an inhale,
scratch of the nose
Once you do, it is in,
has a hold of you and stays
with you for days.

Maybe
you'll be lucky, and it will be
something common,
likely not. It's something
just as catchy.

It's that mutant from the year
before last, you know,
the one the CDC failed
to get right vaccine for the right strain

Right. The tech in charge of that
was up to his wazoo
with testing for Ebola
When was he ever going to
find the X Y Z for the A, B or C?

This guy who spent months
on bat soup virus knows to
stay home in comfort, hope for a
short season, hole up until spring.
 
A Tale of Two Cancers

Two branches in a tree
have the disease, but are not
the same.

One is quiet grace with leaves
turning, but still holding
on even in cruel winds.
It is strong, believing in the sun,
trunk and earth. The sky
will clear bringing warm weather.

The other branch is bare,
quakes in the winter chill.
Decay thins its twigs, crumbling
bark, exposing its rotting insides.
It excepts its death, with a crack,
the branch falls.

One branch in a tree
still has the disease, but will turn
green again this spring.
 
Overcast

The ocean and the sky meet
where I get lost in the gray.
The fog confuses, has me breathing
water, choking on air or maybe,
really, I'm drowning in the clouds.

I'm guessing, today is not a good day.
 
Not a New Conversion On Your Belt

Knock, knock, knock!
more shirts and ties at my door
I'm not switching sides
(well, not the religious kind).

Boys, I'm tired of this place,
with every store, restaurant
movie theater all closed
on Sunday. Forget beer, nachos,
girls in short-shorts, watching
the big game on that day.
Boys, I'm tired of everyone,
the small-minded, the judgmental
the slow-witted country folk
who only know to fuck and live
off their church, are greedy,
scamming Herbert for money.

It's not the view, I'd stay
here for just that because
everywhere I look, it's a perfect
photo, from red sands, delicate
arches to hoodoos that inspire
me even on bad days.

It's the people. That holier-than-thou
hypocrites. I can't go anywhere
without long sleeves, because with the ink
I'm a walking billboard for a sermon if I do.
Yo, I'm not you, your religion.
Get off of my back (ya don't want to
see it anyway, all of voodoo is there).
This is my body and I will do with it
what I please. And I do.

I work on holy days, cut my grass,
paint the house, have long necks
right there on my front lawn,
stripped down to my waist.
See those tattoos, they really are
talking now, louder than any
admonish, there in full color glory.

Yo, come spring, I'm packing house
and hold. One less conversion
on your belts missionary boys.
My drawers stay blue, black or purple,
never white, nor blessed (unless of course,
I've a tent then there's nothing pure in mind).
 
Six Years and Some Months Later,
....... The Reason Why

When I saw you loved me, I stepped back;
worse, I realized I loved you too
and ran away, ending all that we were.
I'm sorry,
we should have remained friends.
However, the conundrum still lingers,
that it was never possible. The inevitable
would've always been wanting more.
 
I've always thought it was the eyes
that I was attracted to, but no,
I realize, it's the brows, especially
if she can raise one well tweezed
dark, arched brow. It usually means
I've done something or about to
and the reprimand is really pleasure.
 
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