#poetwannab

521 posts
  • kevinosullivan 1w

    Visiting Stranger

    The trees in the park wait in majesty

    Their leaves swim on the city breeze

    Chimes from church bells sing time

    A reminder of childhood memories

    These roots tether past to identity

    Decades ago when playing was work

    Now reminiscing as a visiting stranger
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 1w

    The end of the road.

    In my dreams I travel that road
    Out with bands on tour
    As I am unwanted by reality
    I imagine who I roll with
    On imaginary highways
    Visiting similar truck stops
    Hours of silent would be banter
    Letting my cracks show
    A dream once actually fulfilled
    Now just a clouded memory
    Regurgitated in my psyche
    To be applied to the voids
    Middle age and sober
    The end of the road.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 2w

    Fewer Sunrises

    The world has shut me out
    But I have latched the door
    Shunned by my reputation
    I relight the burning match
    Manacles of lonesome shame
    Indented but not depressed
    Watching the shrinking clock
    Desperate for drunken banter
    Or the gospel of youthful hope
    Knowing that the best has passed
    With fewer sunrises on the future





    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 5w

    Happy Easter Mother

    You've been gone a few years now.
    My tears are still fresh around Sunday.
    While finances were always sparse.
    We would all try to get you Lillies.
    Without a headstone or even gravesite.
    A son doesn't continue on this tradition.
    Just another reminder of temporal cycles.
    Here today in full bloom while living life.
    Gone to fertil dust in the soil and sea.
    Energy remains where memories weep.
    Happy Easter Mother
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 9w

    Vagrant Hope

    The corrosive napalm of religious retailers burns at the foundations of spirituality. By pilgrimage to poverty we wrestle away power from the powerful. Legions of demons force feed nuclear omnicide, polar warmth, militarism and consumerism at all costs. Anihilation orbiting at the precipice of looming extinction. Vagrant hope in the face of a preventable destruction.

    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 10w

    The sick and the pale

    The first glimpse of spring hits Massachusetts. Its after Saint Paddy's day but before the actual first day of spring. Like many I emerge from severe vitamin D deficient winter. Crying for no reason, unable to leave the house. Like a bear emerging from a cave, I sun on the porch. Birds chirp and flutter as my elderly neighbors walk. Unlike me they are still unsure of the warmth. They dress in heavy coats and scarves, I sit bare chested in shorts. My bone density pain seems to fade away in the sweat. Full sun and sixty one degrees is like heaven descending. Why I toil unemployed in a New England hellscape is unknown. The people, like me are miserable and hard from years of winter. We are the sick and the pale, cloistered indoors.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 13w

    Electronic Cages

    I hate you more than ever. Your perverse.
    You lure them all in like mindless drones. We sit tethered to our metaverse phones.
    Meanwhile Putin's thugs invade Ukraine.
    A former Russian bastion reunited again.
    There's gas pipes heading west to flow.
    Natural resource profits shaping borders.
    Democracy is a lie and capitalism kills us.
    I joined faceborg today but will end it all!
    My life is a farce as are the majority there.
    I cannot pretend to care as it smoulders.
    Crypto scams, memes and NFT insanity.
    Inauthentic lives lived in electronic cages.
    Aggressive edge lords police their scene.
    I cannot pay to play or pretend to be cool.
    I am alone, unemployed, sober and dying.
    My days numbered in algorithmic loss.
    Posting but never networking to connect.
    We are consumed by consuming fodder.
    A death culture pervades the gospel truth.
    We are already buried, rotten as fertilizer.
    We experience but the reverb of shadows.
    Memories of phantasmagoric figments.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 14w

    West of forty

    Heading west of forty years old in weeks
    Adult kids hate me but so goes that song
    A whirlwind of tides that break on shallow
    Unhealthy obsessions with past conflicts
    Unable to rise above angers petty height
    Her mom sips morphine in home hospice
    Another heartache that doesn't end quick
    Mourning loved ones before they are dead
    While knowing that we are lowly and frail
    From childhood to seen better living days
    West of forty as the pendulum sways
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 18w

    Returning Home

    Slippery deck plates and broken bilge pumps.
    Rusted valve handles and sticky hatch dogs.
    Frozen bearings and rusted fresh water tanks.
    Electrical smoke as the big diesel starters
    crank.
    Cigarette histories varnish the woodwork in tar.
    A rebellious bunch, five times likely to die working.
    His bags stacked as he waits for his scheduled bus.
    Disappointment and unpaid again, returning home.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 18w

    Vision Board

    My future seems bleak, bloated and poor.
    I quit yet another shitty job the other day.
    Bills paid to keep the credit wolves at bay.
    My headache is proof of my living misery.
    I rarely write as I rarely get stimulated so.
    Putin is invading Ukraine while we warm.
    Racing natural gas pipelines to Europe so.
    I have a surplus of frozen water over here.
    While the American southwest burns dry.
    We cannot pipe water west as it's too late.
    We are in peril, racing to the precipice.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 19w

    Unread

    Strangled by sadness without excitement
    Suffocated by boredoms rhythmic waves
    The banality of daily realism choking me
    Walking to work, punching a time clock
    Seeking meaning along sidewalk cracks
    Rummaging for literary scraps among ash
    Questions lurking where answers wander
    Imposing agita on the innocent and naive
    My inner turmoil evaporating like distillate
    An essence of toxic stardust adrift in time
    Breathing creativity inside literary arteries
    While mixing with the chafed or abrasive
    Too much aggregate and everything dies
    Too little and the heartbeats won't shine
    A life above the veil where utopia grows
    Heaven amalgamated away from greed
    Plain speak hidden in convoluted poetry
    Unread or interpreted, lost in the internet


    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 23w

    Quack

    Shoot down the immoral fowl who flutters
    Deceiving ducks who lie, flail and falter
    The bloody feathers in down filled pillows
    Make death of they soaring from ponds Bloodlust nears the suns setting horizon
    Quack, quack, quack sings the quackpots
    Till buckshot blasts musket lead in flesh
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 23w

    Don't move the goal

    I remember youth sports where I competed as a boy. I played football, hockey and basketball. We had adult coaches who tried to instill discipline, respect and morality into us rough city kids. We didn't become saintly or completely honest or morally just but we got better. This betterment has ebbed and flowed in and out of that young player who know lives inside me. Now I am middle aged and try to be fair and rarely compete. When I do, it amazes me how often fellow adults simply move the goal. While theoretically not nefarious it is unfair all the same. A contest between peers should be just that, not influenced by outside meddling after the fact.

    Several times in my adult life, people have rewrote the fine print after soliciting submissions. Poetry and graphic design projects specifically. As someone who know despises competition as well as capitalism; I rarely compete. Some times I want to contribute in an effort to creatively add something special to the sauce. For all of you adults calling for submissions of art, design or literature; try to imagine your childhood as if you were coached by adults with honor and integrity. Try to imagine how a subtle and trivial date extension and failure to crown a winner puts the whole contest in question. Don't try to demand inclusion and or judge based on bias instead judge only on the quality of the work available. Your tweaks and adjustments after the terms have been published is simply wrong. It is thievery, bigotry and deception.

    Keep the field level for players who show up and suit up to participate. Run your contests and choose the winner. Don't solicit entries and then squander the intellectual effort of others and the integrity of yourself or your organization.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 24w

    Shields

    A mother pops pimples as her curly haired toddler plays on the passenger seat. It's past nine pm, as we wait in our cars. Me for my bad knee after a motorcycle accident. I wonder whom they wait for as he plays and she fusses with freeing pus from her skin. The boys curly hair reminds me of my seventeen year old who had similar hair and loved their dad once.

    I arrive inside and appreciate the nightime skelton crew. The young girl who checks me in has beautiful eyes above her mask. Maybe a few years out of college, late twenties. She hands me a non metallic mask to swap out my fabric mask. It has a faint scent of mold or mildew as I put it on. I answer her few questions and wait alone in an empty waiting room out front of an empty medical office. It is calming and I do not miss whomever works the day shift or care to interact with fellow patients.

    I am met with a flirty MRI tech. She is funny and close to my age but happy throughout life. She is not as young or pretty as the other girl but a fitting match. She does like me. I know this as few people actually do anymore. It is impossible not to recognize her laughing and our banter in between routine medical questions. She showed her Trump card somewhat hidden when she said "Your Brave" after I answered if I had been vaccinated.

    She assesses me, my personality and my nationality and sense of humor for compatability. We are a match despite me being clinically depressed, unemployed, celibate, practically married with kids, pets and plants. My misery in respite as I reminded of life. We laugh and joke, periodically she flirts and perhaps is violating policies. The attention is not unwelcome, too often I am ignored or openly challenged in emotional conflict.

    I undress and sit, waiting to be called as I put on scrubs. Having mentioned how I hope to keep them after out loud. I am reminded of my brother who is a VA nurse and the stolen pajamas I wear at night. I am nervous as I sit in my changing room with my door open. Pop country plays and there is a speaker that has a knob on the wall to adjust the volume. I play with it, then remember how much I hate modern country pop music.

    I can smell my failing deodorant that leaves my natural musk in the air as I lock my things in the closet. Without aluminum I think and wonder how many people forget their four digit codes. She mentions her eight year old dog and how he should be able to come to work with her. We joke about this and that, laughing loudly like old friends. Then I see the toddlers dad who looks like a good match for the waiting mom. I wonder what his injury is and if it prevents him from working.

    I am summoned by the head guy who administers the imaging. By my side she preps me for my scan. She brushes up against me as they ask what type of music I like and place a ball in my hand for emergencies. I press it to test as she giggles away, saying not now. I reply that I had to test it to know it works. With ear plugs and headphones on I hear the music of Sinead O'Connor yet I say it is Alanis Morisette. He says that they do not have a punk rock station as she offers to find something on Pandora. She asks if I'd rather her stay to sing to me. I nervously say no but we both know I meant maybe.

    My time in the machine is done and I remove my ear plugs. She said we had our first fight as I made fun of the music that played in my ear. She knew every band and said she has a knack for knowing music. The Cranberries, Dido, Incubus she states. The poor thing has no idea that my entire life has been warfare, where I lure in civilians like her to become future combatants. With no battle winners, I just seek out the skirmishes where all involve will loose. I admitted my lack of knowledge and weakness for such trivia. I assure her that I was good at Jeopardy style trivia but terrible at music. She said If I wanted to keep my hospital scrubs that she wouldn't tell. I thank her but get dressed and leave without fanfair, no goodbyes or employees visible as I walk outside.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 24w

    Rosebud in winter.

    A newborn rosebud in winter.
    Full of color and temporal life.
    Such sadness and morbid passion.
    Courted by the strength of the sun.
    From frozen ground devoid of hope.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 24w

    Severed

    I sit dismantling a relationship in my mind.
    I seek mutual order, healing and some peace.
    How can we have gotten this far from the mark?
    All of this stuff, the physical detrius of a home.
    Our teens childhood innocence is being lost.
    Their toys are still stored in the bedroom closet.
    I can throw out my stuff that anchors me in pain.
    The shame is that as a unit we survive better.
    Alone we will all perish from the heartache.
    Solemn slaughter of mental illness on a family.
    Just a bad day that erupted out of normalcy.
    Before truly waking, the bond had been severed.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 24w

    A Shrouded Cloak

    The traumas of loving lives on past death.
    Sure we all know that death is inevitable but we all trudge on.
    We live scattered, hidden and distracted lives; consumed by the trivial and mundane.
    We try to pretend, we try to forget, we try to heal.
    Few truly know us but our mothers and lovers.
    It is sometimes hard to love us, sometimes painful and jagged to watch us falling.
    So the traumas live on in the pall of a loved ones death.
    A shrouded cloak woven through our collective fabric of time, connecting us all.
    My mourning tears shed at the news of a strangers death; for I have known love and death.
    A mother's young adult daughter and only child, gone in her prime.
    A veil of darkness will obstruct that loving light once more, and on again.
    This is the way, and we will all face the harrowing path, bearing the burdens of loving, trauma and loss.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 25w

    Tarsands

    The capitalists piping gets welded in place.
    Our bipedal survival for our sacred human race.
    Warmer it gets to becoming a hellscape like venus.
    Like the Buffalo, Cod fish and ice sheets between us.
    Gone is the atmosphere of ozone protectorate.
    We are the desperate, ignorant and inconsiderate.
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 25w

    He forages

    His interests spread out akimbo
    Like the missing web of a harvestman
    A ground scavenger lacking venom
    With a noxious scent he repels others
    Feeding on opportunity he forages
    Seeking purpose beyond mere survival
    Yet alone he roams feeding on discards
    ©kevinosullivan

  • kevinosullivan 25w

    Sad and grim

    Dreaming of the American southwest
    Where there is sand, sun and dust
    Low desert romantic daydreams
    Wintering here bulges the seams.
    Such blue melancholic daiy conditions
    Sinful souls tortured to living perdition
    Chest pressures painful in agony
    Banal interactions seeking humanity
    Lost, abandoned as others evade him
    Few see anything except sad and grim
    ©kevinosullivan