Spoken word poetry I recorded recently.
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Poems I: Spoken Word Recordings
Spoken word poetry I recorded recently.
Summer Thoughts: Poem/Journal Entry
Summer Thoughts:
It takes a lot in me to make the images I create, the artwork always railing against my own downfall, always railing against me in one way or another, some of this can be regarded as scattered thought, misplaced words, some of this can be regarded as poetry, or just self explanatory. Wandering through the hallways of my mind, opening each door, just to see how many more boxes I have yet to unpack, search through, arrange and toss aside. July, as I know it is just too long for me. I am not a person of summer, I was born under a September sky, and July just drags on and on and on. Depression, when optimism fails let me turn to you, come on lets burn out together, one bright spark, ignite, a star once called upon in these images that seep out of me, the artwork made from empathy, sprawled out, all magical thoughts, watercolors and pastel dreams, happiness and sadness, I can never really tell which is which when I feel as lost as this, late night poetry disguised as thoughts, nothing makes all too much sense except for this senseless beat, pounding in my head, pounding like drums, I could shout ONWARD, onward- but its been said before, in another confession, in this concession-stand that is my mind. When these thoughts of depression sing me a song, never out of tune, always ringing in my mind. Thoughts of late night depression and joys, and the tears I just can’t cry- not when there are many dreams to be chased, the tears I just can’t hide in painted memory, painted sympathy. A ghost peering in, the afterlife and afterthought, the people pointing fingers at one another, its a big bright world full of beauty and scars, political nonsense of insecurities, never will they ever get to the best of me, the best is yet to be come, to be, to be found deep inside someone else’s sympathy. I never celebrate the good times, the good times from here on out just seems like a myth, the beauty of life, and the irony has become quite funny to me, as much as I prepare for the bad times, the bad outweighs the good and that is alright, because the good times come and go and memories preserve them like snapshots, photographs for no one to see. Sometimes its the music that guides me, sometimes its lone inspiration, some say, winter can be the cruelest of all seasons, but I think summer is cruelest of all, coldest of all, a slow burn, all those with self righteous vanity, people that I don’t know but know me, simple handsome smiles, simpleton simplicities, brain-dead beauties with admirers who are just as simpleton as them, I’ve got no time for those who walk a jaded path, empty lives with nothing to prove, and sure, I am no saint but my fight is real, my words are mine alone, its always me with the paintbrush smearing lonely smiles across the canvas. I obsess over the little details that no one else can see, in the end it will always be me against me, me vs. integrity. The summer nights tend to drag on longer than any other nights within any other season. Any other season, summer, I can do without. A ghostly smile, a lonely speech, it takes a lot in me to pour out these words I keep deep inside, but I’ll let them pour, much like rain, on a night like this
-Dandy Jon-
Cynical Bastard Wandering Thoughts
Wandering Thoughts.
Silence
Distortion I
Distortion I
I close my eyes, inside a dream
Every color fades and every sound pulsates
With each fuck you take in and with each fuck I spew out
A collision of tortured dreamers, with headphones on I drift
I shiver, and shake, and scream, and shout out distorted mumbles
Shattered delusions, with everything I take inside
Just take me out of here, take me away, antihero
Inside a dream, this lovely scheme, distortions
Music pulsates through every part of me, distortions
Lovely distortions of who we once were, what we could have been
Music bleeding through this heart and soul of me
With every fuck I give, with every blurred light I wander into, inside
So cynical with simplicity, so list inside of this, whatever this could be
I close my eyes, inside what appears to be a dream
Someone else’s dream
Just get me out of here, take me from all of this
We don’t belong here, we don’t belong
Inside this sickly blurry dream
We don’t belong here
-Jon Powder-
Wishes
Wishes
I wish for you
Something true
Much truer than this
You deserve so much more
To anyone who cares
I wish you the best
That this life has to offer
To those whom I’ve loved
Family, friends
Makeshift enemies
I do my best to not hold grudges
Even if my weaknesses get to the best of me
I honestly try
To not let my sadness
Take me whole
Even during my darkest moments
I do what I can
To break free from this feeling
This fire will soon fade
And as I sit here and contemplate
All of my wishes
I send out to you
All of you
The night may get cold
But the sun will even shine
Through the coldest days
May these wishes of mine
Reach you
And wrap around you
I send out to you
My best wishes
And may you do what you can
To keep the light shining
In your heart
In your gracious hearts
Every last one of you
I send you my best wishes
Because it is all that a person can do
Can do
-Jon Powder-
A Scattered Series of Morning Thoughts
…A Scattered Series of Morning Thoughts… I, dreamer, choose not to display anything other than who I wish to be, an artist, a fighter, an endless body of work that maps out my queer punk poetry, my series of sorrows, my pleasures, my contemplations, my fuck ups and my strengths to endure, to disturb, to irritate, to make humor of… an arsenal of wordplay to play with along the merry and content, to bring on black storm clouds, to rain down my life into these makeshift words, I don’t know and nor do I care if my sense is made clear in the minds of hipsters who glare back in my direction, converse a thought, an open book, converse a speech only to be heard of by yourself, contemplations, makeshift dreams into reality, wide awake fucked, because making sense is a senseless act of millions of thoughts fighting to be heard, but the ones that remain silent are the ones worth fighting for, worth keeping to yourself. I, dreamer, choose to only be all that I want to be, and never sell myself short for anyone else’s expectations of me, and here as it may be, connect the dots, an endless series of imagery, so sit here, with me, if you will, choose, or ignore all together… Converse, convey, follow whichever dream leads you to whichever foxhole you choose to fall into, some fall deep, some crawl out, some scatter and shatter in reality disbelief, truth is often ugly, even at its best, ugly even when rearranged to look pretty in poetic designs. Because poetry is fight, poetry is spirit, poetry is protest. A revolution for the self and only you can save yourself. Converse another day away, sleep a shiftless sleep, awake at the slightest ruckus of day to day city life, a scattered series of morning thoughts, wide awake, lost in thought, with headphones on and the music blaring through my skull, a scattered series of morning thoughts, cascading into daydreams and vivid imagery, converse a thought, it is for you to do so, to bellow in, wallow in sweet sorrows and delights, a scattered series of morning thoughts, its been awhile since I bled such sweet poetry, its been awhile since I gave a damn to do so, but its worth every moment, to dream this way, all the art I’ve bled and poetry that I’ve written and read, to share these dreams with you, scattered as they may be, is worth the time, the effort, a scattered series of morning thoughts, from me to you, even when truth is ugly, let it share its afterglow, all the cracks, dirt, blood, sweat and all, when making sense is a senseless jumble, give no fucks to complainers and carry on the march, converse another afterthought, make play of your disbeliefs, do what bleeds the best… I, dreamer, choose to carry on, even when things get fucked up, when things pull through, when things fall apart, when new roads are met, with enthusiasm, a sense of dread, a sense of melancholy, a sense of unknown feelings, wherever these roads take me. I, dreamer, choose to only display who I am, who I wish to be, who I am on the inside, and however you make of it, is up to you, up to you…
-Dandy Jon Powder-
The need to feel pain in order to be creative
The need to feel pain in order to be creative
(…written in 2009…)
There is always a need to feel pain for some reason
Inside or outside, but sometimes it can fuel the creative energy
While most of the time it drives me up the wall
Empty words, mean empty threats
A shattered mirror leaning against the wall
Hallucinations inside my dreams
In my mind, I wear a cloak
And the towns I wander in, are lost in twilight
The need to feel pain, is always a necessity
We are a civilization that needs to feel the pain
In a world that spins on when we are just a flick of dust
Scattered in the wind
I am sitting here, rubbing my eyes
Its 4AM and it is not alright to sit here
And be so awake
Looking for empty threats
And turn them into empty words, finding a need
To feel pain to be creative
We are a species hell-bent on pain
Because it makes us feel alive
There is always a need to feel pain for some reason
Inside or outside, but sometimes it can fuel the creative energy
While most of the time it drives me up the wall
And most of the time, I am tired of it all
But still I carry on
Because I don’t know any better
Because it makes me feel alive
When most of the time, this pain
Makes me dead on the inside
Inside
A colony of men
Feeling a thousand paper cuts
The need to feel pain
To be creative
The pain
Never ends
-Jon Powder-
An Abandoned Church
An Abandoned Church
(…written in 2009…)
The daily discontent
Has got me mourning
And you will never know
How true I was
You would never know
What songs I could’ve singed
If I ever got the courage to sing them
An abandoned church can stand
Only for so long
Before the weak inherit its fragile interior
And mark it as their own
I got me a waltz
That I waltz whenever I’m alone
And I got me a song
That I hum along to
When my emotions are dead inside
I hum along
In hopes of emotional resurrection
I take the abandoned stage
And perform my gay cabaret
To the audience of misfits toys
And forgotten faggots and outsiders
And nuns and priests
Left to wank on the burden of their own demise
The daily discontent has left me here to
Scream insanity, and the daily purge
Has left me here getting fat off of apathy and snacks
And yes, I would like fries with that
The daily discontent has got me humming along
To the songs that speak to me, deeper than heartbreaking words
From my distant and colder lover
The gay cabaret from this effervescent faggot
Changing skins and changing suites
To suit my new disorder
An abandoned church
Can only stand for so long
Before it sets itself on fire
Realizing what the future brings
Evolution in
Religion out
Equality in
Bigotry out
The daily discontent has left me here
Looking at words on this screen
Words on papers
Falling, crashing and tumbling
On my still beating heart
The daily discouragement
Has got me spitting blood
And getting sick from the corporate beast
That is the father and son and holy ghost
And the followers that waltz to and fro
To Sundays service
And hand jobs for the oppressed
And repressed
My sexual identity dilemma never changes
And no amount of female nudity
And condoms could ever change the direction
I was meant to take
So sit down, shut up
Just be a man
The daily dilemma
Of trying to be comfortable in your own skin
Has gotten so bad
To the point where you don’t know
The reflection you see anymore
The sexual identity dilemma never changes does it
Sitting down
Getting numb
Taking drugs
Just keep on filling up your prescription cup
And do you feel the way
Your parents want you to feel
And yes, I got me a song
To sing
When I try to sing it
And yes, I got a gay cabaret
Happy or homosexual
Take your pick
Surely I jest just because I can
Surely I scream anarchy, just because I can
Getting fat off of empathy and apathy
And maybe I can hold off on the fries for now
And yes, I got me a sexual identity
And yes, I got a heart to give or break
And yes, I got something to lose belief in
The daily discontent
Has got me mourning
And you will never know
How true I was
You would never know
What songs I could’ve singed
If I ever got the courage to sing them
-Jon Powder-
DandyJon 