free verse, independent, literature, poetry, Uncategorized

Between Galaxies

Nothing.

Frozen dry

Abyssal vacuum.

Lightless maw.

Neither here nor

Anywhere.

I feel nothing.

Not joy, hate, arousal, jealousy, lust.

A husk that seems passable

Until you pick it up and realize it’s hollow

And the insides have all rotted away.

If there is anything living left

It sleeps in narcosis,

A secret shifting behind plastic eyes,

Stuck somewhere in that empty space

Between Galaxies.

Jack Blare, 2016

Advertisements
Standard
free verse, improvisation, literature, poetry, Uncategorized

The Withering

You’re the Lady Madonna’s most recent abortion.

You like the way the gutter tastes

But you won’t spend the night there.

Your poetry is lipstick and bare breasts

Your charity is a pair of high heels.

You revel in abuse and abuse your rebellion.

Teenage dream that woke up screaming

In the manacles of the modern cycle,

Smelling of booze, cum and regrets.

You should never have any regrets.

So much less sexy than the toys, props and safety of your fantasies.

Reality sours like that glass of cheap red wine in your shivering hand.

The dream is over, youth slips away like the dregs of your tea

Leaving no leaves or ten-cent prophecies to stake the future on,

Just death at the bottom of a cup,

Cold, bitter and withered.

Jack Blare, 2016

Standard
alternative, free verse, independent, literature, poetry, Uncategorized

Dark At Dawn Again

Some kind of modern day wraith

Trapped in a suburban spin cycle

Waiting like a statue for the seasons to change

Days are damned by solitude

Night by masks and guides of lies

 

Try to block it out,

Shape up and keep clean.

Streets like a spider’s snare

Valleys of indecision that swallow whole lives.

And they really do want to change.

We’re all fucked up and drowning in the same fucking above-god backyard swimming pool.

Bromides, chlorine and dead animals.

 

If we stick together en masse there could be a change

But alone or in twos we cling together like rats and sink like stones

To lower depths of praetorian depression

And the abyssal trench of anxiety waits hungry for more souls

The mental illness monstrosity, scourge of a broken generation

Tears us apart and dopes us up with false promises of idyllic futures.

Jack Blare, 2016

Standard
independent, literature, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

Western Civilization

An ordered decomposition,

Erosion by acculturated violence,

Tight-lipped teens crying 44 calibre tears

At the walls of their dearly purchased prisons.

 

The division of the invisible dollar

Sprouts little Stalins from the raw, cold earth,

Flecks of bloody mud in their moustaches,

Dead roots and dead ends tangled in their close-cropped hair.

 

Digital revolutionaries pace up & down

The hairy, distended guts of bedbound banks

Carrying limp signs & political party platforms

Condensed into dull 140 character slogans.

 

The simple has been simplified,

Chewed down & mashed up

For gnashing, sparkling fluoride teeth

Of the swollen Cyber Leviathan.

 

Cameras keep their black oil apertures

Trained unwaveringly on dying fires & past star deaths.

Smog rises in thick obsidian pillars

Choking the last few cancer-ridden voices of organic resistance.

 

Democratic ants armed with computers, smart phones & opinions

Fight skirmishes over tarnished scraps of idealist ideology,

As the invisible monster wraps its tentacles around the bare throats of the poor

& squeezes tighter, & tighter, until there’s nothing left but late apologies

& smoke occupied graveyards.

Jack Blare, People & Concrete (2015)

Standard
alternative, free verse, improvisation, independent, literature, poetry, Uncategorized

Easy To Win

Losing touch with a reality.

Losing touch with all the “people”

Sitting through life immobile stones.

 

SHHH!

Distant, quiet voices

One a woman’s, distant & illegible.

Close, clear, coarse voices

Speaking the same name with derision

Over & over & over again.

 

Oh god. A name. It’s my name.

My ghostly good friends

I think I’ve finally cracked

Like we all knew I would,

One way or another.

 

Define sanity. Define the opposite.

In the end you can’t.

Sanity is measured by the views of the majority.

 

Fuck it, definitions don’t matter.

Sane, insane, what do I care anyway?

 

I’ll put on a mask for you

The one I used to wear so well

Every single day.

I’ll be a placeholder person for you baby.

 

He remembers every psychiatrist’s appointment

With a pristine, yet agonizing clarity.

 

I’ll eat a waffle over the sink

Pour cheap corn syrup until it’s saturated,

Just a soft pill to kill the clever pain

For a few more hours.

Then I’ll go rummaging

Through my friends & family’s stuff,

Searching for a hit of anything,

Or a sharp razor, clean preferably, but I’m not picky.

Sorry, what was I saying?

Jack Blare

Standard
addiction, alternative, independent, literature, poetry, Uncategorized

Night Terrors

Wide awake eyes like hospital doors fixed on flashing red traffic light stops.

The last road is closed, under infinite destructive construction.

Sneaking around town seeking a taste of chemical happiness

To fill the void with lovely lies.

The dam is cracked, the bridge is sinking,

The floods are coming back this year

To soak the City with regrets for its abuses lies,

And the massive quiet scars it drew like a fencing champion with a rapier.

Some days are like knife wounds & strychnine.

A couple of days are laughter, sun & smiles.

Most days are the same.

Maybe I can’t read them.

They bleed together like the trauma unit in a war hospital.

I admit, I was the one that stuck the knife in

To replace grey eternity with shifting shades of red.

Jack Blare

Standard
alternative, haiku, independent, literature, Uncategorized

Arthur et Patti

Such beautiful noise

We rest like white winter winds

Conditioned.

 

Bad Moon Rising love

Sounds tranquilize fear and ego

Afloat in music.

 

Get famous for free

Naked before lust filled mobs

Digital time speeds.

 

Insanity is

Doing this at four AM

Times are not a changin’.

 

Sleeping couch, not I.

Bug eyes see shadows dancing.

Joke poem not funny.

 

Doors, infinite keys.

No love for numb hearted snow.

Music. Free. Sacred.

 

Jack Blare, Intentional Insanity (2016)

Standard