Miraquill
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
#whalingcitypoetry
271 posts-
9 0 1
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
©kevinosullivan6 0 1
kevinosullivan
15w
Gravity
A northbound gaggle of geese overhead.
New Bedford is warming in mid February.
Frosted window glass where motors run.
Off to the dock for coffee, check the boat.
Inspect the lines, hoping all is finest kind.
Surely the harbor seals will be swimming.
The gulls will be shitting and squawking.
They hunt for lone clams on the decks.
Carrying them above they drop them hard.
Birds using gravity to feed on quagogs.
Another day, working in the Whaling City.
©kevinosullivan7 1 1
kevinosullivan
19w
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.
©kevinosullivan7 0
kevinosullivan
20w
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
©kevinosullivan39 1 5
kevinosullivan
22w
Land bridge
The aubergine migrants cold against the white Scottish winter. On lowland island surrounded by sea, seeking asylum; yearning to be free. If only the pangean supercontinent still existed then those fleeing war could simply walk to Times Square. There they could coagulate into the twisted bosom of capitalism. Where the greedy ghost of Adam Smith is worshiped at every chance. Profit justifies the most deplorable and despicable behavior. Forget all past suffering while all waking hours are engaged in surviving a laborious rat race. A maze of competitive madness without tradition or honor. Human conflict and desperation fuel all passage, most at perilous costs. The toll paid is always more than expected and rarely without regret.
©kevinosullivan9 0
kevinosullivan
23w
Despair
Fractured asylum found in nihilism.
Seeking safe ground, wiithout pain..
Like an artificial being, alien to all.
They live or die, us loving and crying.
Just lumps in our lonely mortal throats.
We pilgrims sail solo on tear filled views.
Deceptively exposing tidal deficiencies.
That cannot be explained or remedied.
We chart courses that batter rocky crags.
Barely buoyant, hardly heading onward.
Still we sail on in delusions of despair.
©kevinosullivan8 0
kevinosullivan
24w
Gale
The pie plates and cans flutter from simple kitchen strings. A gale is blowing sixty plus miles an hour outside. Fitting as it's sixty plus degrees and almost Christmas. An old world deterent of animals in the backyard vegetable garden. It sounds as if the spirits are dancing tonight. The blue tarp which blankets the wintering fruit tree sings like a sail. Our New Bedford home where the docks are surely full. The salty fishing crews must be out on a tear. That mischief is in the windy warm air. Blown in from another place, smelted from danger and dreams. This gale is raw astrological energy that must disperse itself. Emotive wind, ripping like fractals in the routes of time. The banging racket and howling whistles, announcing to the future that the past is near.
©kevinosullivan7 0
kevinosullivan
25w
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.
©kevinosullivan9 0
kevinosullivan
25w
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.
©kevinosullivan14 0 2
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.
©kevinosullivan7 0
kevinosullivan
25w
Quirky
Eccentric the schoolboy
Gifted and such
Emotionally reckless
Where bridges get burnt
Creatively evolving
Through stages of growth
Yet foibles of character
Where insolence rests
Freeform as a thinker
Apart from societal grace
His thoughts of the darkness
Dwell in obscure reverie
Far reaching and odd
A quirky menagerie
©kevinosullivan11 0 1
kevinosullivan
25w
Another while whale
Built up tensions
As cold as all war
Ballistic injustice
Profits they soar
Gravity for granted
Atmospheric demise
We are irrelevant
Fodder in guise
Mars is for sale
Society deranged
Another white whale
Humanity exchanged
©kevinosullivan7 0
kevinosullivan
26w
Relics
The darkness of fossils hidden in our past
Out of step with society, nurturing hatred
Wasting away in pursuit of pain for profit
Instituted darkness as a looming shadow
Trustees of war defeating moral humanity
Prideful ignorance sung from their graves
The cold distance of time rarely is enough
For the veins of tragic disgrace pervade
Such ancestral relics live on by influence
Coagulated in lustful, ignorant bloodlines
©kevinosullivan7 0 1
kevinosullivan
26w
Inhuman
Lonely cyborg seeking human company
Online and invisible, unconnected to life
In solitude he creates alternate identities
No matter his attempts they go unnoticed
He is a simulation of an actual live being
While eating, aging and communicating
His life image, timeline and message lost
Just a tether to conceptual experiences
Without an audience, there is no artwork
Meaningless by the mindless generation
An emotional exercise clouded by fodder
Rarely fossils remain in celluar plasticity
His essence is both inhuman and utopian
©kevinosullivan10 0
kevinosullivan
26w
Dust and ash
Been scuttling ships and burning bridges
I am ever onward moving in wild abandon
Lonely and longing is the soul under stars
Seeking meaning from future broke pasts
Loving is letting the dead bury themselves
For memories are collages pasted in time
We are that primordial fragmented energy
Like motes dancing in the sunlight beams
Dust and ash, minerals, music and magic
And on those strange shipwrecked shores
You will find us in the refraction of twilight
For no vessel can return us all back home
We exist only in the dreaming salt of tears
An umbilical binding us in the Astral plane
Cry not my son and strike that last match
©kevinosullivan11 0
kevinosullivan
26w
Vincent's Subjects
We are the potatoe eaters of Van Gogh's brush. Like the De Groot family we are the rough worn and downtrodden who eat hunched by the hearth. Hard hands and faces show a peasants struggle. Twice stolen, like the toll that's placed on us all to survive in such an unjust system. On through time we work and die while fighting the whole way. Tired and poor dark and tattered; our time has also stripped all hope from humanity. So we sit and eat.
©kevinosullivan8 0
kevinosullivan
26w
Rewilding
Simplicity evades as the grind culture pervades.
Serenity escapes as the hustle mob reshapes.
Intentional poverty holds the keys from property.
Spiritual practice dismantles the stinging cactus.
Grinded downtrodden towards soft paths untrodden.
Joyous hopes come true from natures tropes.
Walden dwells internally opposite daily hells.
A shanty shack rewilding stakes up the ante.
©kevinosullivan8 0
kevinosullivan
27w
poverty and me
Nature is a shock treatment into pure zen
Suffering is the attainment of God's hide
Winds blow clouds fast under Moonlight
A beaver moon awaiting a lunar eclipse
We are below, of desiring good and evils
What prevents our inevitable living death
Such organic transactional conundrums
Destined to want for lack of acceptance
Negatively charged by my unemployment
Depressed in my poor minuscule identity
Intelligent reality escapes this rock planet
Dormant while seeking awakening truths
Questioning the meaning of the universe
With technology and hate, poverty and me
©kevinosullivan10 0
kevinosullivan
27w
As poverty knocks
The peasant ham bone broth soup tonight
With onions, tubers, carrots and spinach
Rendered bits of fatty pork piece flavors
A few smoky sausages, rice and peppers
As poverty knocks I write and make soup
Christmas is almost upon our family soon
Another year of wintering debt to capital
We pay the monthly bare minimums due
There's an electric oil heater blown by fan
We have eachother but they hate my soup
It represents unemployment depressions
I have not quite given up on still living life
I have quit auditioning for a new jobs pay
Steeped in boiling failure like ham in soup
Jesus saves us all who kneel to suffering
All I can dream of is Spring time laboring
I am a failure as a man, dad and husband
Writing ridiculous poetry to the big abyss
Praying for salvation in the literary verse
As unskilled a worker as I am a real poet
Afraid of my limits, craving a decent end
Hopefully they will be rescued by better
As poverty knocks, soup; until I surrender
©kevinosullivan