Miraquill
Was it wrong to be Born One or Trust Any?
Been an introvert,
Was compelled to turn out to be one for the sake of safety,
It happened yet,
Again and again;
With trust and distrust;
Freckles trapped in toxicity!
Tears filling nostrils,
Slowly wishpering to have the pleasure bearing it!
Twitching in hopes;
Sweat and fears dunked in;
For it was not willing to lift the parched body,
The path leading appeared dark!
For she ain't a boy?
Hardly a girl, merely a kid
Thought it was a hallucination!
But it's apparent that it is a matter of expectations;
Was it wrong to be born one?
Nothing is as concerning like the truth!
You probably inferred ,but still hold it
©pandichitra_r
#stopabuse
77 posts-
7 4 2
- poetrycity Wowww!!!The very first line... This is beautifully crafted. Amazingly inked.❤❤
- pandichitra_r Thanks ✨@poetrycity
- fromwitchpen Deep and heartfelt
- pandichitra_r Thanks much @fromwitchpen
rayhannahere
63w
Read More#obituary #wod @mirakee @mirakeeworld #StopAbuse #LatePost
I've got name and picture different. Stop assumptions, it's my dumped past, long gone. Now, risen like Phoenix ��
Teach child to be safe whether within family or outside.
No wonder I could relate to Bible verse, Matthew 5:4,
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted..".
©rayhannahere18 0 2
adunbar
72w
For ST
The cold finger tips
of my past always push
they push and poke and prod
me in the small of the back
their touch is frozen
bound to soul to death to the memory
of bottles and mayhem and fear
and even after 10 years clean
I push at it like how your tongue
worries at a sore tooth...
I push too hard, trust too little
expect, fetishsize and seduce
midnight until I recognize my actions to punish myself until I decide
to just let the 5 year old me suffer, weep and rage and heal.
I reach for positivity, cling to and adore people who love, smile and inspire me.
Silje, you push back the darkness with your grin, silliness, laughter and power
You help, all the time, every day
So thank you, and that is why I write you. adunbar2021 (For ST)
©adunbar6 0
adunbar
72w
RIEL
When I think of Louis Riel
I don't think of the Duck Lake rebellion
his sham of a trial
or the Queen's rope used to lynch him.
I don't think of him finally being declared
a father of Confederation or founder of Manitoba.
I think of his statue, south-west of the legislature
Riel, standing alone facing south on the bank of the Assiniboine river.
I used to stop and talk to him, keep him company, ask questions without the expectation of answers
and I still look for answers through his life as it relates to mine and they elude me.
Go see him, spend some time with him and you will understand part of what it means to be Metis.
Riel looks pensive, sad and isolated
away from the eyes of the domes golden boy, out of sight of those who still laugh at him.
History corrected the record but its writers never forgave him and this too
is what it means to be Metis.
I sit with him in winter looking south and wonder was it worth it? Wondering what might have been, if they hadn't destroyed him.
Sitting with Riel and the memories falling like snowflakes around our shoulders breaks my heart, makes me furious and walking up the frozen river, stopping out of my love for him, I cry until the tears freeze on my cheeks and then I turn for home. .
©adunbar5 0
adunbar
73w
404
Flaw in the wet ware
half ones and broken zeros
leave neurons sparking like...
like hot metal screaming under
the capture of iron tongs and hammers.
Endless amperage cycles kill
everything it touches
then the loop feeds back upon itself
static in static out
until the brain becomes
a snake that eats itself.
Can't make heads or tails
of anything outside the loop
boil old boards down to soup stock
come and get it motherfucker
long-rat shadows served after
a head's pounded into a dinner bell.
©adunbar202112 0 1
adunbar
74w
Piano Guitars and a Pistol
I miss Mac Rebennack
The Night Tripper
The zuzu or the gris-gris man
From the heart of the Crescent
"Daily trippin up and down the bayou"
after a card game went bad,
some low rent sleazy gambler
shot off Mac's finger and Mac?
He just went from guitar to piano
like nothing ever happened
THAT was Dr. John,
there for whatever you needed man,
the music or the medicine.
Walk on gilded splinters
through streets smelling of mint and jasmine
heat and impropriety
all roads lead to the sun and moon and stars
while somewhere in the back
monsieur Toussaint is deep in the mix
and the doctor?
He just grinned through the smoke
and spun some Dougie Kershaw
the hardcore cajun fiddling God.
R.I.P. Doc.
©adunbar6 0
adunbar
76w
Spieler in a Straw Boater
Second hand candy striped jacket
look close enough to see the bullet holes
torn through the fabric that left the last owner both ventilated and vacant.
The new spieler slipped right into it
and hasn't fixed it yet
he's got this higher calling
when he dons the white straw boater hat
raps a gavel on the rostrum
always begins his routine like that.
"Hey you! Yeah you, you young stud!
Whyn't you and your lady walk down these stairs
and worship at the Church of the Underground!!?
It won't cost ya a cent but we got bookies in the back if you wanna place a bet
on slippin through the eye of a needle
play the over/under on angels and pins!
There's no bible son, no cross, no Okie preacher fresh from a tent outside
Lawrence fucking Kansas!
This is the Church of the Underground all we want is your attention...hey,
can you worship in the minor chords?
The reason why I ask you that is,
see, we gotta a guitarista who only grants salvation in runs of E (eternal) Flat
Boy, you won't hear shuffle in C on our aural rosary
and the call and response is to whoever you let it be.
Church of the Underground, son, turning blood into Mogen David wine just a buck 99 and for the sacred price of that
you can watch the holy roller go-go dancers in sequined thongs till closing time where you've cum and gone!
GUARANTEED SALVATION SON!
with a heaping side of fun
mixed with the syncopated rhythm of the revelation, that's some power in your pocket and...
You're not gonna get a better deal that boy, so step up and step in, the only thing you got to lose is feeling shame bout your sins!
©adunbar7 0
adunbar
76w
Dry Drunk
Whenever I start thinking to myself:
"Hey, it'd be great to get back to drinking"
and brothers, sister, friends, poets, writers and lovers,
you have no idea how bad I want to go back to a life without fear of consequences
the freedom of total disengagement from sanity
the eager abrogation of morality
and the comfort of the predictability of
taverns, pubs, bars, and road house dives
i remember my blood in an alley
In Josephine County.
I look at my knuckles broken so many times they look like walnuts and they hurt
but lately, even that hasn't been enough
to hold the thirst back.
Worried, sick, scared to death
I listened to JT by Steve Earle and to Townes after that
those albums brought me back.
I know it is late and past due,
but Christ, Mr. Earle, I hurt for you
and I thank and love you.
©adunbar9 0
adunbar
76w
Own It
Almost everyone is choosing
to dance around the issues
of yesterday January 6th 2021
Almost everyone is choosing
to use language of obfuscation
that is fit in parentheses
that dissemble, distracts
and refuses parrhesia: plain speech, unintimidated speech, frank speech
So,
1) It is obvious to the ignorant now that police treat white terrorists different from BLM peaceful protestors. This is systemic racism.
2) If black people had stormed the Capitol building yesterday, they would have been gunned down without mercy and without question. This is systemic racism.
3) No matter what MAGA terrorists do, there will be media, police and politicians willing to lay the blame on Antifa and BLM. This is systemic racism.
4) The MAGA terrorists will not face a reckoning for sedition, terrorism, or tried as traitors. This is systemic racism.
5) The media, blue ribbon commissions, sociologists, psychologists, think tanks and politicians will attempt to understand the motives of the MAGA terrorists, not for condemnation but to excuse their behaviour. This is systemic racism.
Basically, at the end of the day, there will be no reckoning, no justice, no serious consequential condemnation because the terrorists were white.
That is the definition of privilege and that is systemically racist.
adunbar2021 (Own it)
©adunbar8 0 1
adunbar
76w
Panic Attack
Ya. Don't fuck with me okay?
Don't ask what you can do
don't tell me it'll pass
or just breathe deeply or meditate
or ask if I'm sure it's not in my head.
FUCK YOU.
of course it's in my fucking head
what you don't know is this:
It starts with a crawling hollow feeling
my eyes start clacking dryly as
sweat pops out on my forehead
an ice cream scoop pulled through my viscera
and bowel cramps, bent over on the toilet
with the vicious bloody shits
pressure building in my head
gonna die gonna die gonna die gonna die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die i'm gonna die
pulse check ×100. 50 bpm= What The Fuck?! Check again x 100 same information
Fuck tea, weed, booze, brown bags and dbt.
DON'T YOU GET IT? I AM DYING.
fumble and drop and spill clonazepam all over the floor, sudden impulse to take them all...
but one, just one, fifteen minutes later I feel hollowed out, a dug out canoe.
Strung out like a junkie coming down
alone, isolated, used up and exhausted
Do not tell me any of this is somehow fake news and not happening.
I hate you but would never wish this on you.
©adunbar16 4
- joybirdpoetry Very raw and confronting, good on you for keeping it real.
- adunbar It's a truth that needs to be told and discussed without filters.
- adunbar @joybirdpoetry thank you for taking the time to comment.
- joybirdpoetry @adunbar Keep fighting the good fight and writing the good write my friend.
adunbar
77w
Down The Dirt Road Blues
12854-A Paramount Records
Charlie Patton walkin with
The Dirt Road Blues
listen to him and goddamn you if you don't
listen to the man wrestle with himself
driving, determined, Socratic chords
music borrowed from the Delta
but born from the Choctaw drum circles
his voice filled with sage smoke and swamp
choppin, chippin, carryin, the blues
to The Nation, to a world unknown
a world where he couldn't stay
never really went through The Nation
but The Nation went through him.
©adunbar202119 2 2
-
sinegakhetzia
Nice one!
Would you like this to be a part of an amazon anthology?
Dm me in insta sinega_khetzia - adunbar Not if I have to pay for the privilege
adunbar
77w
Sometime After
Red eyed wanderer
thumbing through the highways
of the local Super-Valu
"What can I get for a buck and a half?"
He asks the silent stack of oranges
human mop handle thin
filthy dreads soaking up pools of insanity
smelling like cheap soap with a hint of mildew
passing ships and all that
under the power of allusion and metaphor
his sail full of cautionary tales
man, i'm too tired to stop on the yellow
when did i grab these Oreos?
©adunbar19 0 1
adunbar
77w
Crooked Suture Polka
Blind drunk rage campaign on
oyster shells with razor blades
where cheap shoes shuffle through
the crooked suture polka.
Can't go to the ER they call the cops
and the free clinics closed
but the brother of a friend of a friend of a cousin is a veterinarian
and for three pics of Ben Franks face
and after chopping up a line of percocet, with hands as steady as maracas
he'll conduct the crooked suture polka.
Maybe, in a couple of days, in the stench of green cheese rot, and D.T. sweat,
throw the flop house blanket off
and piss broken glass, red and pink,
into a spattered stinking toilet bucket
while howling through the chorus of the crooked suture polka
©adunbar9 0
adunbar
77w
Odell Bientot's Menagerie
Heat lightning popped like firefly's out in the swamp. Clouds went west as the wind pushed east, rattling the hand painted sign of Odell Bientot's Menagerie. The Menagerie was built after Odell won four steel shipping containers and a Lockheed Martin packing crate in a stud poker game, he beat a full house with his Mississippi Flush at Jack Pardee's billiard and bouree parlour just outside the Quarter. That's the story anyway, and Odell stuck to it despite State Police dropping in from time to time asking ugly questions about strong arm and grand theft robberies. Odell'd just sit there and blink.
The Menagerie was haphazard and eternally dusky. Welded, screwed and cobbled together. The Cypress trees kept the rain off the roof and the boot scaper at the door had never been used. An industrial generator was hid out the back, using bar tabs and secrets to keep it filled with diesal gas. The juke box was glory. A neon and pomegranite lava lamp. It played on red quarters, plug nickles and requests in Cajun French. Blind Uncle Gaspard, Iry LeJeune, and Amede Ardoin just to name a few. The Menagerie catered to poachers, drifters, derrick workers, rough necks, trappers, trades and brawlers who still spoke Cajun French. He served bottled beer and bust head whiskey from a still somewhere in the swamp. Odell loved people who never bothered to fish the main channels.
©adunbar9 0 1
adunbar
77w
©adunbar
10 0 2
adunbar
78w
Realization.
Always the abyss to contend with
(If Mr. Nietzsche only knew)
that as you contend with his abyss
his abyss must contend with you
which gives you the power to destroy
the Bonn and Leipzig syllogism
that when you spit into the abyss
it has no power over you.
©adunbar8 0
adunbar
78w
For P.A. (Drowning)
Swimming on the surface
was always uncomfortable
too much noise,
Light
Confusion
Chaos
Jesus Christ what if people see me drowning?
I don't want their ropes
lifeguards life rings life vests
i want to fall past the deep
wiggle through the reefs
of doubts and questions
into something deeper
breathing between letters
pockets of meaning meaning everything
a cenote of subtext
scrimshaw truth on sacrificial bones
tossed in by Yeats, Yevtushenko, Ahkmatova, Auden
it's all about drowning yourself in it
without witness
except your fear
and the challenge to overcome the hypoxia of your cowardice.
I just wrote this for you. A one off
©adunbar9 0 2
adunbar
78w
Elegy
(Apologies to Catullus, love to Seneca)
Gather up the stars as spears
the sun in a sling
armor the staircase with cannon fodder
sadists walking up
masochists crawling down
none of it means a goddamn thing
petty wars, violence, blood spilled
into rivers flowing into oceans
we are numb to every single inch of it
we are all Prufrock
but
if i take you to a hole in the ground
at midnight in midnight on midnight
a hole dug in the midst of nothing
no marker, no mourners, no martyrs
nations, patriots or borders
just a hole and a whisper from within
beckoning, wanting, aching for you
to lie down in
you will know fear
you will unlearn slavery
death anonymously
©adunbar