sVento the HenpeckHobo's blog: "~*Prose of Purg*~"

Current mood: creative Category: Writing and Poetry After interacting with myspacers for about a year now, I have come to realize why my writing is largely ignored: my writing is all based on either random perceptions or collective reflections, yet they lack a "definition" for the reader to embrace or reject. As a good purg, I am against putting any collection of written words--or spoken words--in a box by defining them in one specific way. People who do that, IMHO, are not only prone to putting words in a box, but ideals as well. You'd be likely to set "Virtue" apart from the concept of "peace", if you prefer to assume such a Nook-ish, defined outlook on life and literature. I feel that the collection of the poems in this blog, along with the order in which they appear, can give my readers a better glimpse of where my center--as a person--resides. Let it be a lens--or compass, if you prefer-- into the mind of a young, retired bum and aspiring Henpeck-Hobo and into the heart of a conscience gone WASP Pro-Bono--weathered by life's many wanton-wares Of Arrows and Olives Category: Writing and Poetry It may seem self-evident by the wars in the Mid-East that Arabs prefer Arrows over a Peace. Ten centuries stained with War-lore have increased a culture the Olive Branch can never reach! But where in the world has this not been the case? North South West and East Our Compasses all cock to Alexander's Greece Our hearts beat in drum-lines no mind would dare see... and there we Unite when desires are peaked In Drama and Life, the Grail and the Fleece the Hunter's nocked Arrow precedes every Feast. ********************** Shades of Mars Current mood: contemplative Category: Writing and Poetry red chambers transcend into veins of blue timid vs. tranquil the beating drum of life the vintage of Mars--infra-anger...black and strife coarsing blood knows nothing but cold and hot on and off pulse and pause tick and tock alive-encased in a box Aces ashuffle in drones of fifty-two passion vs. nature is dealt with each flip Hearts and Diamonds bruise temptation into the lips tattooing passion in dimensions of two--red, in blue spades and clover-clubs know nothing but dark and white loss or gain absence of light vs. essence of life between the two is animation's hue the Shades of Mars bold...in a world used to the in-animate Shuffle me *************** The W.A.S.P. Watching you, I'm wondering...Did you know you're sleepwalking? Restless idle eyes beam, shifting moist eyelids flickering flourescent spheres; slamming doors and spilling tears... Can you feel me when you're dreaming? Have no fear! sVento's the name; Henpeck-Hobo, at your service, W.A.S.P Pro-Bono--Wanton Angel's Suicidal Poltergeist... I'm delighted to be your Con-Scientist! Heard of me, have you?..No?! *suh-VEN-toe?..Sheeyit! Tawk Texan yuh friggin Gyp!* Hmmm... I'm like an Earwig, yuh dig?..Tunneling deep? Swelling the pale-grey goo, inside of you, asleep... I give chase while you dream, in strides following down that jolly green-back bricked road to the wonderful land of W.A.S.P. With each step, you leave my mark behind, you know? And these little piggies have seven toes: One for each dark and beguiling Virtue that provokes you, smiling like the Endangered Cockroach hanging on the roof... of your has-been Old-Man's gas-propelled digs. You feel me NOW, don't you? I am Immortal where tangibles don't exist... Where Jiminy, my enemy, is often sought, but never caught. Tux or not. Where driftwood burns without a fire I cuckold the flames of your desire!... Does it hurt? ********************* A Henpecked Hobo Current mood: awake At 18 years old, Dad and I seldom fought, Homelessness bought us nostalgic alarm. Except afternoons spent with Scott, at his lot No two men ever locked-horns with such charm! Perceptions from bums could collage a pig-sty. Evicted, my sorrows bled ripe--but their pride Could white-wash the fears from my skiff, by & by Knavishly jesting and feeding on lies. Exalted, all Kings need a Duke to harass Deciding who's crowned is a sport for the brass Had I the desire to quarrel like that One fact would remain: I still couldn't bat! Because theres no difference between Noblemen Or roles like the slave and the vagabond, Finn *********************** Always Low Prices...ALWAYS! Category: Writing and Poetry Weary, homeless and all alone at three am, temperature low: thirty-two degrees; automatic doors hesitate upon my entrance-colliding with the glass(always!) as four silver Washingtons ring from my pocket into the till; totaling the price for... a shit-brick piece of Hershey, Pennsylvania made with love (and almonds): 'ninety-three cents' [without tax!] alas!--No change; yesterday was the same, seems tomorrow will be too... ALWAYS ************************* Psyche's Garden Halides Category: Writing and Poetry To see you in the dark, my dear makes flaccid crimson pound with cheer 'cause saddled to my chest, right here is Cupid's quivered arrow-spear. Though gone is Cupid's bow, no fear it drowns with wings in Venus tears. Without it arrows should be thrust by hand into your fleshy bust. I don't know if I have the right though prick you anyways, I might! My trembling fingers catch dim light impassioned by your very sight. Much adds to this young stalker's plight cause beauty best shines in the night. To see you under moonlight, glow makes sneaking stealthy easy, though should not decide for you, I know ('Cause only Cupid feeds the bow!) You needn't arrows to win souls from you a look would slay the bold! Your chestnut eyes react, and stare...... They do not know the force they bare! Like Garden Halides: plants abode with naught a flimsy internode! Since ever first a seedling sprouts stems pawning leaves must know their route! Bright warmth envelops breeding greens. No moderation. Not this weed. When water's sucked, and soil's dry I will crave halides till I die. For nourishment, fried stems reach high not needing any azure sky! Good plants crave NPK-Ca imbalance 'tween those forces may Yield basic or acidic pot. 'Cause lacking either makes them rot! And timid is the one who smokes harvested gifts that often choke! Those eyes of yours, much like this drug Imprison Gods as common-thugs. I have not what it takes to lie or break your will, make you confide or make-believe your hand's aren't bound to love me back, like any hound! Though tempting as that life may be, 'tis not true love when geared towards me. (No Matter what the common creed In Mount Olympus Cell Block Three!) Like feeding plants or bows, you see? Good love's fed balanced! He and She! ********************* Love's Shadowy Manta Current mood: accomplished Category: Writing and Poetry Oscar Hammling wisely wrote: "To ask of love that it be without jealousy is to ask of light that it cast no shadows" I agree. Love is a blanket whose light is night dancing to mock the flames People escape in it's embrace... leaving no trace Of it's true face But what if shadows cast while I'm blanketed in Darkness? Who has envy when there is no love? Cupid has a neurotic sense of humor he never aims to please... merely to subdue hearts with the shadow of Olympus. Jealousy is a cancerous cast over our thoughts--conscious, sub-conscious and unconscious wearing a mask of conscience, common sense and pride. Blanket. My light is Night. I dance to mock the flames. People escape in my solace... Embrace ************************ When Daddy was Fifteen Two days after Grampa's Irish Catholic Knuckle-lipped bona-fide punching-bag wife Left him, took the kids, and ended her strife, he cried 'til his .45 blew him a kiss: ti-click...POP Nine years passed in heart monitor ticks Beep-pause beep-pause, lungs wheezed on like a fife. Just three fourths a brain, his hospital life. You prayed for nine years while he drowned in the Styx. ~*~ "Get me outta here, boy! Dont'cha know I'm okay?" "Yes, Dad." "Y'all never visit me...What gives? You ashamed of your old man, son?" "No, sir. I visit you every week bring your smokes, smuggle in your Jackie-D... Remember?..." "You know these coons, boy?" "...Coons?" "Yeah! COONS!" "Who? The orderlies?" "Don't give me lip, boy!" "They just work here, Dad. ...Fluff your pillow, Clean your sheets--" "They STEAL from me! You know that don'tcha, boy?!" "Yes, sir..." "You never did tell me... How's the baby doin'?" "What baby, Dad?" "Well...you know?..The baby. ....The BABY! The fuckin' baby I was holding when the lightning hit me!... ...The BABY!--" "--Baby's fine, Dad. The baby's alright." "Oh, yeah?.. That's good." "Get some sleep, old man." ~*~ I see it now, Dad. Why your heart is so rife with those bitter old aches from your past. Why you binge. I see why you sever love--tongue like a knife Ever fifteen, your development singed. Subconcious yearns a man comparably bad, Tempered through me--any boy--not as sad. Any son with a Dad... ************************* Won't You Write a Dixie Tune for Me? Current mood: amused Category: Music When Nicholson took to the screen and didn't mold to Ratched's scheme and plotted his escape like Steve McQueen we knew: The battle's lost, but not the War! Only true losers are ignored: Why don't you write a Dixie tune for me? The Combine never broke before this cunning R.P. stole the floor and freed the minds that Ratched whored to sleep. McMurphy sowed what he would reap 'cause Big Nurse Ratched plays for keeps and poor R.P. had his lobotamy... The worst of Ratched's therapies! A Purgatory without dreams but Bromden saved him from this misery And now the Chief is free to dream I wonder if he'd ever sing: Why won't you write a Dixie tune for me? The Battle's lost, but not the War! Remember me, I do implore Why don't you write a Dixie tune for me?