Weird Poetry XV: Death of a Computer

I cannot seem to sleep tonight
For though I have shut off the light
My PC moans and groans away
As if this is its dying day

The case fan whines as if possessed
The sound indeed denies me rest
But if I turned it off, instead
It would be permanently dead

Image persistence like a book
I see three screens each time I look
The pixels dying left and right
Accentuate the dimming light

This piece of junk is old, and well
I’d like to send it straight to hell
But cut off from the internet?
Insomnia’s a safer bet.

Weird Poetry XIV: The Sea

Ah the sea, so picturesque
I dream of it while at my desk
A sunset and the ocean breeze
It truly puts my mind at ease

A nice secluded moonlit bay
It simply takes my breath away
The lovely sand, the quiet waves
The hundred thousand sailors’ graves

Wait, suddenly I got off track
This poem fell all out of whack
Well, let me try to get it back
I ought to cut the sea some slack

With creatures of a beauty rare
Marine life is beyond compare
Its deadliness is hardly less
The shark can kill with much success

Venom-laden jellyfish
Their genocide my dearest wish
Barracudas lurk below
I’d much prefer to keep my toe

The moray and electric eel
To masochists, a sure appeal
I’m not a fan of pain myself
My sea life’s on the pantry shelf

For those that think the sea is grand
Wait till a string ray numbs your hand
And riptides pull you far away
Is it a cinch to swim all day?

Especially with the sharks in tow
You can’t outswim a shark, you know
I hope you brought a damn harpoon
Or you’ll be lunch this afternoon

So those who laud the salty sea
Are on ice thin as thin can be
For Nature is a bitch this way:
What giveth she she takes away

Weird Poetry XIII: Night Music

One of those stone cold nights
You’d be scared, except
There’s nothing worse out there than you

No moonlight
No stars
Just streetlamps reflected off the clouds
Neon signs reflected in the gutter
And the gleam of the ancient fire
Reflected in your eyes

Steps clanging on the asphalt
Loud as a hammer
Breath pounding out of your lungs
Powerful as a bellows

You’re out to do some wrong
But the night twists it
Transmutes it
Life hits you, you hit back
It’s only fair

Like an old steam engine
Clattering along on nocturnal rails
Mist creeps out of your mouth
And surrounds you
You give a guttural cry
And into the fog
You disappear

Weird Poetry XII: Life Is A Road

“Life is a road,” the elders say.
“You’ll need a map along the way.
This is so you won’t get lost:
A wasted life would be the cost.”

I had a map for eighteen years
But then it confirmed all my fears
How suddenly it disappeared
When to the final goal I’d neared

Freedom came, but at what price
Nowhere was there sage advice
For sketching out a map anew
It seems I’d never thought this through

Without a map, no path foretold
But endless fields of green and gold
Stretch out inviting me to stay
And wander on my merry way

And so I strolled about this place
Cool breezes blowing on my face
Each patch of flowers new delight
I wander long into the night

Then to my left, I spy a street
I hear the sound of running feet
A stream of people rushing past
They seem afraid to come in last

They cannot see the endless fields
Their eyes are firmly on the heels
Of everyone who’s just ahead
My heart is filled with quiet dread

I turn away from this tableau
And back into the fields I go
To watch the woodland creatures play
And muse about that crowded way

They must be going somewhere great
Because their pace was not sedate
But frantic, as if all their dreams
Were wrapped up in this single means

I try, but cannot shake the thought
That they have something I do not
Success perhaps, but let’s be fair
Just those who walk that road will care

“Life is a road,” the elders say.
“You’ll need a map along the way.
This is so you won’t get lost:
A wasted life would be the cost.”

This they claim: I disagree
The point’s to get from A to B
For goals are grand and great indeed
But I am of a different breed

“Life’s not a road,” the dreamers say.
“It stretches wide and far away.
The biggest sin’s to shut your eyes:
To carve your life to smaller size.”

So here I lie, or there I drift
Each day a lovely, holy gift
For all our lives must come to end
And time’s my oldest, dearest friend

Weird Poetry X: A Hymn to Practicality

What always provides
But rarely inspires
What never relaxes
And yet never tires

With this wonderful tool
You needn’t think twice
Clearly only a fool
Would refuse this advice:

Keep your feet on the ground
Keep your eyes on the prize
Keep a hand on your money
But you must realize:

It cannot create
What it cannot control
The life of the body
The death of the soul

Weird Poetry IX: Saltare Spiritus

The dance of life can be quite slow
A waltz, as far as dances go
Is regular and takes its time
Success cannot be far behind

But some will choose a faster pace
To them this dancing is a race
Salsa, jitterbug, or jive
To live is just to stay alive

For those with a romantic streak
A tango at its very peak
Celebrates the two as one
They must have beauty ‘ere they’re done

Perfectionists have met their match
A style that’s hard to even scratch
Breakdancing wows the passersby
They see the top, they have to try

In dancing as in life there be
A few with no ability
To dance or live in rhythmic line
Though others are all doing fine

I have a dance that doesn’t fit
I don’t think there’s a name for it
But though there isn’t, can it be
That there’s no place in life for me?

Weird Poetry VIII: Metal

Savage sound cuts through the air
Music of the ancients pours out
Like a heavy red mist
Slashing through your arteries like electric fire

Dagger notes
Sword melodies
Fiery voices
Thunderous drums
Dark and brutal 21st century Romanticism

The savage beauty is almost painful
Tears well up in my eyes
A primordial scream splits the air
And I realize
It’s Mine

Weird Poetry VII: The Past

Everything goes
Until it stops
Everything swells
Until it pops

Everyone’s happy
Till they’re sad
Everyone has it
Everyone had

Lasting forever
So it would seem
Suddenly never
Always a dream

The past is a curse
We all must share;
Ignoring our present
Our future is bare

Weird Poetry VI: Mechanical Moon Eclipse

Man
Thrashing about in his cavern of arcane apparatuses
Nasty, rude, brutish
Banging on a typewriter
Banging on a drum
Banging on an animal corpse

Doom creeping in, vise-like
The pressure increases so subtly
You can’t feel it until your head fucking explodes

We’d all prefer a frontal assault
Let doom face me like a man, you’d say
I can defend myself
Against a known enemy

But here I sit
In a humming mechanical box
Fate, no, Nemesis, circling in for the kill
Willful prisoner to the flights of fancy
Of a three-quarters dead God
And about 6 billion people

I can’t identify
Any single object around me
Then all at once it hits me:
They’re distractions to keep me from realizing
The Reaper is at the door

And I
built
them
myself

Weird Poetry V: Sleeping In

God declared the Seventh Day
To keep those godly blues away
A day to lay about and rest
The Lord himself has thought it best

The sabbath day is holy, right?
Morning, afternoon, and night
Thou shalt not work, but slouch about
Lazy are the true devout

I take this sacred creed to heart
And play an even greater part
While some rest just one day a week
Seven days is my technique

Some people shun my ways and say
Tis not God’s will to waste a day
But I reply to them with glee
What’s good for Him is great for Me