A practice session

[Wat_Tyler]

This matted and glossy photo of Yesenin
bought at a Leningrad newsstand—permanently
tilted on my desk: he doesn’t stare at me
he stares at nothing; the difference between
a plane crash and a noose adds up to nothing.
And what can I do with heroes with my brain fixed
on so few of them? Again nothing. Regard his flat
magazine eyes with my half-cocked own, both
of us seeing nothing. In the vodka was nothing
and Isadora was nothing, the pistol waved
in New York was nothing, and that plank bridge
near your village home in Ryazan covered seven feet
of nothing, the clumsy noose that swung the tilted
body was nothing but a noose, a law of gravity
this seeking for the ground, a few feet of nothing
between shoes and the floor a light-year away.
So this is a song of Yesenin’s noose that came
to nothing, but did a good job as we say back home
where there’s nothing but snow. But I stood under
your balcony in St. Petersburg, yes St. Petersburg!
a crazed tourist with so much nothing in my heart
it wanted to implode. And I walked down to the Neva
embankment with a fine sleet falling and there was
finally something, a great river vastly flowing, flat
as your eyes; something to marry to my nothing heart
other than the poems you hurled into nothing those
years before the articulate noose.

~ Jim Harrison, Letters to Yesenin


This is the pain of which we speak, pain for each of them, pain when we shriek at the shadows, why does the world have to suck so much when so much of it doesn't? It's too people-y, I tells ya . . . .

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Pamababble


To try to love
Those who will not allow
themselves to be loved
To try to please
Those who cannot be pleased
To try to entertain
those who are more entertaining
About you?
These were some of the things
that wore me out
Poetess
Spoken word
Theatrical delivery
Theatre degree was why
And how you could sing
Hitting notes
Like a sniper
Putting a bullet
In his targets eyeball
At 600 yards
Saying,
You had your choice
I could’ve hit either eye
One line of yours
That made me laugh
Whether words or delivery
I wasn’t sure
And it did not matter
“Don’t call me Boo!!!”
Okay, I can comply
You could articulate
Your deep unhappiness
The myriad of things
That piss you off
Weave tapestries about that
Which hurt you deeply
Explain your profound distrust
And another line
About they know you at the bar
“When the whiskey hits the bar
Before your ass hits the stool.”
Oh, you nailed life
Right in it’s seamy underbelly
Those who knew, knew
And those who didn’t
Did not know what to think
Hanging with the arts crowd
In rundown urban bars
That one in particular
With its dead-end
End of Life perverts up front
The old college dive
For the art school
Like graduating
But never leaving
It was not fair
You were a woman
Between the boys and the bartenders
Someone bought your drinks for you
Because being broke
Was your perpetual condition
Staggering home at closing time
Each night, a walk of shame
At least they did not kill you
At least you did not drive
That saved you trips to jail
You could be interesting
You could be impossible to talk to
If there was a formula
It changed from day to today
What pleased you Tuesday
Was piss in your cornflakes
Come Thursday next
Yes, you did
You wore me out
You were not mine to keep
In truth, even then,
I knew I did not want you
That I would never have you
I did not want to try
And perhaps no one ever would
Somehow, letting someone close
Would shatter the aura
Ruin the image
Perhaps, just perhaps
It would either ease the pain
Or it would be the reason
You would learn to tie
a
noose
In a rope
Death’s necklace.

 

[kathyisgr65]

Rain . . . .


Taking my own advice,
I have no idea what to write today.
But I’m going to write
Because Jesus hates a pussy,
And I, Dear Reader, ain’t no pussy.

I don’t know about you
(and I probably don’t want to),
But the best days of all,
The ones with the bestest weather,
The pretty ones,
Are the days right after
The ginormous hurricane blows out of town.

The air is a special kind of fresh.
Usually, the humidity is low and there is a breeze blowing.
You know, zephyrs.
A bit of wafting without the stench.
In fact, no stench at all.
The air has been flushed.
Disinfected without chemicals.

There is destruction that comes with it.
It flushes Man’s mind.
Rids him of the delusion that we are in charge of anything.
Or it should.

If only for a split second of clarity.. very nice wat

 

[kathyisgr65]

Pamababble


To try to love
Those who will not allow
themselves to be loved
To try to please
Those who cannot be pleased
To try to entertain
those who are more entertaining
About you?
These were some of the things
that wore me out
Poetess
Spoken word
Theatrical delivery
Theatre degree was why
And how you could sing
Hitting notes
Like a sniper
Putting a bullet
In his targets eyeball
At 600 yards
Saying,
You had your choice
I could’ve hit either eye
One line of yours
That made me laugh
Whether words or delivery
I wasn’t sure
And it did not matter
“Don’t call me Boo!!!”
Okay, I can comply
You could articulate
Your deep unhappiness
The myriad of things
That piss you off
Weave tapestries about that
Which hurt you deeply
Explain your profound distrust
And another line
About they know you at the bar
“When the whiskey hits the bar
Before your ass hits the stool.”
Oh, you nailed life
Right in it’s seamy underbelly
Those who knew, knew
And those who didn’t
Did not know what to think
Hanging with the arts crowd
In rundown urban bars
That one in particular
With its dead-end
End of Life perverts up front
The old college dive
For the art school
Like graduating
But never leaving
It was not fair
You were a woman
Between the boys and the bartenders
Someone bought your drinks for you
Because being broke
Was your perpetual condition
Staggering home at closing time
Each night, a walk of shame
At least they did not kill you
At least you did not drive
That saved you trips to jail
You could be interesting
You could be impossible to talk to
If there was a formula
It changed from day to today
What pleased you Tuesday
Was piss in your cornflakes
Come Thursday next
Yes, you did
You wore me out
You were not mine to keep
In truth, even then,
I knew I did not want you
That I would never have you
I did not want to try
And perhaps no one ever would
Somehow, letting someone close
Would shatter the aura
Ruin the image
Perhaps, just perhaps
It would either ease the pain
Or it would be the reason
You would learn to tie
a
noose
In a rope
Death’s necklace.

Damn I'm crying
Hit home and really got the emotions across vividly..is that a poem

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Damn I'm crying
Hit home and really got the emotions across vividly..is that a poem

Yeah, it kind of is.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Marry me?


I saw you there
Sitting with your friends
I heard you talk
Catching them up
I overheard you
Not eavesdropping
I couldn’t help it
I sipped my coffee
You explained your childhood
All that went wrong
How life is uphill
And your two year relationship
That has crashed and burned
You said you missed
That you were unaware
That it was abusive
Or maybe now
That he is gone
It makes sense to blame him
What do I know?
I certainly wasn’t there
That is quite a stew
In the cauldron of your life
And while you talked
And while I slipped coffee
You reminded me of me
And many of the things I’ve done
Like, would you marry me?
As you chatted
I could determine
That you were wonderful in bed
Claws and screaming
Disturb the neighbors
And we got pregnant
And had children
The arguments were vicious
The make up sex delicious
The break up gut wrenching
Anger and recrimination
Hurtful words and tales of things
Real or imagined
May or may not have happened
But certainly made good copy
I smiled to myself
As I got up to leave
We each are the reason
The fish do not ride bicycles.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Tales of brave Ulysses


We think we shall live forever
That death is not sneaking up on us
But more arrogantly than that
We think we shall be remembered
Like Julius Caesar
Or Alexander the Macedonian
But, unless we have cut the Gordian knot
It is more likely that we shall not
We did not slay Vercinqetorix
Nor rid the field of Darius
No great strategem executed
To rout the mercenary hoard
No, we argued with the wife
Or the girlfriend
Or the empty apartment
We yelled at the kids
Or sent a sidelong kick
In direction of blameless dog
In anticipation of being yelled at
By the boss
Living in fear of loss
Of the things we think that we have
The fruit of the sweat of our brow
We can’t wait for quitting time
And the cocktail hour
We did not sally forth
At the head of vast forces
That was for someone else
To draw the sword
To slay the foe
Each morning
We do not overcome
The man in the mirror
And we stare in confusion
And a little bit of horror
Should we shave our faces?
Or turn the razor
To dig for the jugular?

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Lonely together, lonely apart


Lonely as I have ever been
Was when with someone
Thinking that fulfillment
Was here at hand
Or just around the corner
And wondering why
It was so damn hard
Just to stay sane
Oh my God
What in hell is wrong here?
Well, that one did not work
Nor did the next
Or the next
Or the next…
Maybe this is just doing
The same damn thing
Over and over
Expecting different results
Which is, of course
The calling card of madness
I thought they all were crazy
Yeah, faced with the undeniable
The truth appeared
Filthy, smelly, fanged and grinning
Holding out its grimy hand
Clutching this fact:
Common denominator
Well, damn
A clowder of housecats
Picking on each other
Racing room to room
Playing chase the cat
Magically appearing from nowhere
At the sound of opened cans
This just might do
They don’t pick fights
Not with the human
They don’t negate
They do not nag
Nor complain
At least not verbally
There is comfort in that
A need for union
Met in simple terms
On common ground
Our needs are met
Our wants are simple
If I annoy you, you will claw me
And I will bleed, and then I will heal
Physical pain
Is so much more simple
Than emotional agony
That thing I no longer cause

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Purging


Accumulation
Some worth keeping
Some is rotting
Parts get processed
As things evolve
Must needs move on
Like spring and fall
Things bloom and die
Let us not save
That which serves
No further use
No good purpose
Yet some hangs on
Familiar yet flawed
Sticky, annoying
Gum on my shoe

 

[Wat_Tyler]

With a mother like her, I had only one choice: to become a poet.

~ Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Fuck fear


Fuck being scared
Scared of anything
Except may be a grizzly bear
Or a very hungry tiger
Fuck the fear of what your family thinks
Fuck the bullshit you were tired when you were young
Especially fuck being afraid of your job
Of your boss, of your coworkers
Fuck being afraid if They find out
Fuck sitting in the dark
Fuck the cut off notice
Or their neighbors
Or the congregation
Or the government
Especially fuck the police
There are acronyms about fear
False evidence appears real
Fuck everything and run
Fear is a false construction
A little makes sense
But society is a judgmental bitch
So, face everything and repair
Make peace with your insides
Give yourself permission
To go do something fun
Simplify your life
Clean out your closet
Throw away crap you don’t use
Open the mail
Get a house plant
And keep it alive
If it lives, get a cat
And if that lives
You might be fit to go outside
And interact with humanity
For whatever that is worth
Our world is too complex
There is too much bullshit
Simplify your life
Somehow, there are no more cook fires
In our camp at night
Where we sit with our tribe
Finishing supper provided by the Hunt
Swapping stories of the old people
Sharing a history
Or a mystery
Or simply what happened today
Turn
Off
The
Fucking
Screen….

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Quit Da Man


Fuck him
Straight to Hell with working for him
Aspire to more
Meet your neighbors
Learn to barter
Learn to live on less
Stop buying crap you do not need
You are a tool
A cog in his machine
He uses you to make him money
You can learn the same
You can provide goods
Or provide a service
To the folks you know
Do it well and
Have time to play, too
Teach a child to fish
Take a class
Build a house
Write a book
Sixty hour workweeks
May bring a decent paycheck
But the bonus for it all
Is an early grave . . . .

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Can’t have it, or not



Tired of being perceived a twat?
Quit saying you are what you’re not
Don’t have what you want?
Learn to want what you have
Want to write more but can’t?
Write anyway, but can.
Trite as it is, and it is trite,
Be the change that you seek.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Sunrise


Rosy fingered Dawn
Is trotting
Her trollop ass
In for yet
Another day
Of whatever it is
That she does
After
A couple of hours
We forget
That she
Entered like this
A couple hours after that
And we are hungry again
And we will have forgotten
That we felt as one
With Providence
And the universe
Just a few hours earlier
Like we had never
Had a thought
Had the union
Considered spirit
Embraced oneness
Or thought of anyone
Save ourselves
By sundown
We are hungry
Rundown
Exhausted
Over it
And it is
As though
There never were
Any Oneness
At all….

 

[Wat_Tyler]

The Hateful


People are not good to each other
In fact, they can be mean bastards
The judgementalism, the hate,
The insults and the mouthing off
Especially when they know
There will be no retaliation
That is when they are most brave
Most depraved most obnoxious
Most antisocial and disgusting
Cowardly in their biliousness
Spewing forth their shit
Cheated of the opportunity
To use their broken fingers
To pick their bloody teeth
Off of a filthy bar room floor
Or the pavement in some back alley
Where their crumpled forms
should be left to lie, ignored.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

My dreams


They took a hike this morning
They did not ask permission
They just up and left
Going on walkabout
All by themselves
I wonder if they think of me
When they are not here
The way I think of them
They left my head empty this morning
And that never lasts any time
Then I can focus on frustration
And with no luck at all
A resentment will appear
Or half a dozen
The things I cannot get done
That I really wish were done already
Because I wait for other people
To get their shit together
Their feces in a cohesive state
To think we have common goals
Yet our ability to execute
Is hampered by their unreason
Just
Get
It
Done
In my lifetime would be nice
I’ve waited all my life for this
And I have to wait some more
I try not to be angry
That’s never worked very well
It upsets the madness
And my dreams take a hike
I know they will come back
They will find their way back home
I know that I will be able
When all of this is done
To change my focus
To do what I want to do
Maybe for the first time ever
If we can just get
This
Part
Over the fucking hump
I have never wondered
Why I am frequently happiest
When there is no one else around

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Over it, and it’s over


There truly is something to be said
For finishing a task, for getting a thing done
The sigh of relief
The sense of completion
Especially when you have been over it
In your head
For
Fucking
Weeks!
Sometimes we have to do
The repairs, the fixing, the completing
Of something we did not start
We did not cause
And which we cannot cure
But it is ours, nevertheless
And these things are more reasons
Why life can be annoying
And things just are not fair
So, whether you roll up your sleeves
Or tie back your hair
Or gird your fucking loins
We rise, we pick up our swords
And we dash off to battle
Winning would be nice
But most of the time
The simple goal is to survive

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Letter to Jim


Dear drunken crazy horribly depressed poet man
You actually don’t write too badly
But you are a drunk
You think too much
You’re not happy with your life
You’re a fat bastard and you don’t care
Not sure what to do with your child(ren)
And you’re writing to a dead man
A suicide
A depressive philanderer
Probably tries to make himself feel better
By fucking every woman he meets
And, it seems, half of the men also
He lived through chaos
A bona fide successful revolution
Which left millions of corpses
In its wake
Foolishly thinking that they could continue
To talk of revolution
To say revolutionary things
Missing the fact that the previous lack
Of free speech looked like freedom
Compared to what followed it
I’m sure your penpal was frightfully confused
And I’m sure he never felt
That anything else was ever good enough
Poetry, drinking, fucking
Drinking, poetry, more fucking
More drinking
And poetry
And fucking
Launder, rinse, repeat
Or as is popular to say these days
Same shit, different day
Please, don’t be confused
I get it
Anyone not depressed or angry
Seems not to pay attention
What a miserable state of affairs
He had his revolution
We could use another one
We can bitch about it in poetry
But we will not find the answer
In the pussy or the bottle


Part two


What is your fascination with a rope?
Did Sergei do what you were terrified to do yourself?
Let me put this poser to you
I think the silly little bastard
Somehow thought he would wake up
One day later, and the world would be better
I know, long black Cadillac stuff
The black curtain
This is not theatre
For death is absolutely certain
And it is the one permanence
Upon which we all can count
There’s nothing romantic there
No, not a goddamn thing
There is only death
There is no glory on a battlefield
Just dead boys crying for mother
As they bleed out, making red mud
On a wee patch of mother Earth
Hell, the only reason we survive
Is a few inches of topsoil
And the fact that it rains sometimes
Earth is inhospitable
Left to our own devices
Left alone in one of its corners
Like as not, we would not survive the hour
But we amuse ourselves
With our perceived immortal spirits
The best we can hope
Is that, perhaps, it will not hurt too much
Because deep in the core of our beings
Pain terrifies us


Part three


I know you never learned to tie a rope
I did
In fact, I practiced.
I experimented with the number of wraps
Counting the times I drew it around
Sometimes fumbling the pull through
It seems that six or seven wraps
Is sturdy and holds it shape
13 wraps would be best
But is not structurally sound
If you seek to kill yourself
Best not to reflect too long
Because while tying ropes
We can make excuses to ourselves
Of why we should still go on
Of not being a disappointment to our families
Well, if your family was like mine
I’m sure they were already thoroughly disappointed
Of course, they also thought they ran my life
Failing to realize that I, too, have free will
They always seem so shocked
When they told me how to do things
That I was doing and they had never done
When they judged my production
Based on their opinion
Which I had ceased to care about
Because I discovered that when I asked for a fact
If they did not know, they could not tell me
And would answer starting off with, I think
Jesus fucking Christ
I want fact, not fiction
I already have an opinion
So I gave up
So with low-grade annoyance
I sallied forth into the world
Not knowing and not knowing that I did not know
And learning things by that truest of teachers
Trial and Error
The more I learned, the more willing I was to change
Of course, I first had to give up
On the old one that fettered my thinking
In the belief that something would improve
I developed faith in myself
As I lost faith in my fellow man
There are some days when life is heavy
And there are those days when the burden
Is positively overwhelming
Those are the days when the cinching of a rope
Start to make sense
But really, it’s a shitty method at best
Pills work sometimes
Or driving high speed into a bridge abutment
Or the back of a stopped semi trailer
To me, that seems cruel to the truck driver
The abutment does not care
Did you know, Jim
That when the car comes to a sudden stop like that
The old dial speedometer needle breaks and freezes
At the speed that the vehicle was going
At the Moment of Impact?
It takes a truly class act
For the vehicular suicide
To keep the contents of his skull
Inside what remains of his skull
But the state department of transportation
Continues to add guard rails in front of the concrete poles
Thwarting Death and our tiny plans
So we must take matters into our own hands
The moral of the nattering is
If you really want to snuff yourself
Get a 45!!!

 

[Wat_Tyler]

You little bitch,
What is this?
Is that you?
Are you Bios
Or are you Zoe?
Please
Be the latter
Anything else
Is just
Blood on the carpet

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Question authority


Hell, question everything
In fact
If you have believed a thing
For more than an hour
It has begun to qualify
As an old idea.
As such, it needs to be questioned
Change is the only constant

 

[Wat_Tyler]

How is that again?

How do you claim to know me?
You know the little bit you have experienced
But do you know what I think?
Do you know what I do?
I’m not even sure that you know what you do
And I have become convinced that anything that you do
That you pass off as thought
Is pretty fucking lame
It is more like a bunch of preconceived notions
Competing for attention
In a brain too consumed with screen time
And which app is which
And what do you think you will get out of it?
Good Lord, who are you kidding?
Go get some oxygen in your bloodstream
Quit taking everything so goddamn seriously
And stop acting like the world began
When the Sun first rose on the day of your birth
Of course, this kind of confusion is easy
When, unlike newborn kittens
You never open your eyes

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Beware your leaders


Long ago in a land no longer present
At least not in the state it was
The Roman tried to do the right thing
But religious “leaders”, to support their position
Incited a mob to be their voice
The Roman tried to free
What he that day saw to be
An innocent man
And are not we all?
The mob would have none of it
Asking instead to free the thief
Did this all really happen?
Maybe, and maybe not
But it is a didactic story
How often does a mob suspend belief
And do what those it trusts
Direct it to do
To fulfill an agenda held by the few
Justification of errant nonsense
To make a dollar and a bunch of cents
To do the things which sentient thought
Would rebel from left to its own device
It seems that most of us
When we see the face
Of those who are affected
We do much better
At making the right decision
But frenzied mobs are the supreme form
Of indescribable stupidity
They make no decisions
They feel and react
Not thinking and acting
They call for the thief
They slaughter the innocent
Or the least culpable
They elevate the stupid to positions of power
And squabble about claiming to be better
Than those other people over there
Those other people having faces
But being out of sight
Well, why not slaughter them?
They probably had it coming anyway
Why not steal their land?
Why not take their money?
Slaughter their men
Rape their women
And enslave them and the children
Because that’s what humans do
When, aided by so-called leaders
Elevated for no discernible reasons
That give them the tools
To rationalize and justify
The most absurd inhumanity

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Cool April


Here you have come around again
My favorite time of year
This yard blooms out and becomes
The best looking on the block
Not a damn thing planted here
20 years ago when I moved in
Except the weeds that kept the dirt in place
A few dollars here and there
Put toward growing things
Green things, blooming things
There is that dogwood tree
Which I found out in some woods
And dug up and brought home
To plant where my first cat is buried
I still call it the Tuesday tree
In honor of him
That was the day I brought him home
I planted things too close to the house
And they did some serious growing
Crowding the porch
Yet making it private
Still short enough to see over
When seated in the rocking chair
My best afternoon here ever
Was in that chair on the porch
With a cup of tea and a thunderstorm
The rain fell as the wind blew
The bolts of lightning and booms of thunder
Making everything so interesting
To Marvel at the power of nature
And watch her do her mighty thing
To see the storm surge and ebb
And enjoy the rhythmic majesty
Contemplating how small we are
And how we cannot stop it
This year may be the last one here
Or it seems time to move along
How 20 springs have come and gone
Each one different from the other others
This one has had warm days
But the bulk of it has been cool this year
And oddly dry, which is unusual
Yet somehow things continue on
This old house has survived
God knows what storms before I got here
I know of a few it sheltered me from
Who knows how many others before me?
And who may come after
Once upon a time, I would’ve had to know
And today I can take comfort
In knowing how Little is any of my business
And being able to be content
In knowing what I do not need to know

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Time, again


Artificial construct that you are
You just sit there
Holder of the strings
Puppet master
He who makes us jump
Lord of the clock
Like anything you do
Matters to anyone who gives a damn
To anyone who can see you for what you are
Sunshine
The sun is up
Maybe that is all that matters
The only time we need to tell
Is if we can see what we are working on
Oh, I know we have Lights
And maybe even cameras and action
But basically, it all happens
Between can see and can’t see
It has worked for everyone
Up until you came along
Even then, things happened by candlelight
Our ancestors half a zillion years ago
Did their things from can see to can’t see
Retiring shortly after sunset
Awakening in the wee hours
To do a bit of this and that
And then went back to bed
To arise at Dawn
Rosie fingered Dawn
The only day start that we need
But as we got too civilized
We got too busy
We got too capitalistic
Too interested in the Yankee dollar
And the things we could buy
And the so-called status that we held
And in so doing
We became slaves to time
Because someone told us to
We were told that it is important
From very early on
When they sent us to school
And the goddamned bell rang
Telling us to herd ourselves
From one classroom to another
From one subject to another
Learning all the useless shit
That The Machine wanted us to know
So that we could be good little cogs
And trade our souls for what people thought of us
When we run out of energy
When the sun burns out
And sets for the last time
Perhaps the human condition
Will relegate Time to the scrapheap
Where it truly belongs
Perhaps on our way out the cosmic door
And perhaps, just perhaps, well maybe
The human species can resume
Busying itself with the business of Life

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Hello, darling


I see you over there
Would you like to be my darling?
More to the point
Would I like you to be my darling?
In the past that has been a burden
A load no one should have to carry
For in making myself
Responsible for your feelings
I made you responsible for mine
That is a level of unfairness
Which no one should have to tolerate
It is a kind of childishness
That one see so often
In so many love poems
Darling, would you be mine?
Would you carry this heavy load?
Would you try to make me happy?
And that, in and of itself
Is so many moving goal posts
Like buying emotional presents
The things which cannot
Be found in any store
No, darling, let me show my adoration
For you now and forever
By letting you remain free
To do all the things you please
I will process my own feelings
I will own that, which I have done
And that which I have left undone
The right and the wrong of it
I shall own my crap
As only it can be
If I am to be fair to you
And to be truthful to myself
Go, walk, flee if you have to
And darling, I think you have to
Sometimes, the best memories
And the best views
Are women walking away.
And I will be just fine
Because I already am.