Confessions

Confessions

(…my first poem written in a few months, I spent the past three months away from home, out of Canada and wanderlusting in Minnesota, my thoughts are still gathering…)

Confide in me not, softly spoken poem
Reprise not this song that I cannot find the strength to sing
I’ve been running steadily for quite some time
Confide not in me, turn away to somewhere else
Seek not redemption through me
I write to the tune of a songless bird
Still searching for rhythm, still longing for melody
So forgive me this time, if I flounder throughout my days
This hope is hopeless, as is a prayer in atheist skin
And the way things were
And the way things are now
Agnostic bones shuffle here again, and here I shuffle ever so again
Turning deaf ears not
I am no one with the right words spoken
So speak not here into my ears have fallen deaf
Not for a lack of empathy but for a refrain of dignity
This is all a race, and I am running out of breath saving it for others
Who take it without question; take it because it’s there
Take it without restraint
I’ve been spent many times over, so confide in me not
I’ve got no ponders but my own
In these confessionals, in my book of poetry
In my book of memory
I’ve got no lack of apathy, but my empathy is running tired
And life’s dramas and grand comedies sometimes get to the best of me
I’ve traveled from here, to here, to anywhere
Walking roads with no end in sight, endless nights of dreamless sleeps
Picking up on emotions like a satellite dish
So forgive me once again, if I crash down from my travels, my confessions have run me tired
I write to the tune of a songless bird
So excuse me again if I fuck my dreams astray for another night
For another moment
I’ve got no answers, only questions
Sleepless nights here with questions of my own

-Jon Powder-

The Turnip King

The Turnip King

He sat on his throne
Feeling somewhat alone
No one liked turnips, but he couldn’t help but
Claim the notion of calling himself
The Turnip King

Looking mundane, slightly mean
His facial features
Almost made him look fifteen
He read endless poems
From a Dandy named Jon
Baffled by his theories about
Existentialism in carrots

Baffled, his theories were
Twisted and unsung

“surely, if there is existentialism in carrots, there must be abstracts in turnips”
The Turnip King pondered
Existentialisms and Carrots
(and silent films about popcorn and candy corn)
He had other thoughts to think of
And he loved his candy and pop corn
The Turnip King sat on his throne
Watching television
Watching the Red Carpet arrivals
Of some celebrity obsessed awards facade
Was his favorite pastime

Clammy hatchet faced trolls
Of plastic dicks and jaded tits
Discussing what they wear, who they fuck and how to think
The Turnip King thought

This show was the shit

Still bothered by theories
Of carrots and existentialisms
The Turnip King got up
To create his abstracts
“if these turnips don’t shine bright, I will not ponder this plight, oh curse you Dandy Jon”

“curse your poetry, your theories and weirdness, ignorance is bliss and you of all people shall see this”

He turned off his TV and began to create
The abstracts of turnips
The existentialisms of its foul taste

The Turnip King sighed
And he began to cry
His theories in abstracts
Was all but undone
He sat back down and began to mope
He lit up a spark
And began to smoke his dope
His turnips turned rotten
And he was left alone

The Turnip King realized
That he was the only person
Who liked the turnips and their foul taste

He cursed the name of the Dandy

Dandy Jon, you cretin
Your theories of carrots and existentialisms
Have destroyed my life
And if you weren’t gay
I’d burn your house, rob you of your money

And steal your wife, if only you had one

-Jon Powder-

Yesterdays

Yesterdays

Yesterdays, all my yesterdays
Staring down at the edge
December 31st, 2011
Looking at how things may have been
Time is now and never
And this how I could fall
Let go and see how it all has come to be
If I died here, if I died
Because I wanted to
More than anything, I wanted to end it all
Standing at the edge, looking at ghosts as they celebrate
Another new year, another new time
Today may be just another yesterday
But yesterday never felt as long as today
And time has never moved so slowly
and time has never sped up quite like that
Quite like that, a flash, a pause,
looking at the way things have come to be
To here, the beginnings, the endings,
and the runaround and off I go
I didn’t let go, I simply moved on
Or at least I tried, everyone knows I tried
Sitting on a midnight subway, head in my hands, trying not to tremble
Trying not to fall, I get up, I escape another way
I run away, I play to the beat of a sorrowful drum
The sound of sorrowful times, but yesterday never looked so cold
Never felt as cold, as today and today will be another yesterday
But as time will go on I know it will always be inside of me, always be there
Memories of people come and go and time may heal a wound or two
But time won’t erase everything
Time only goes on
So, you see, this is how it came to be
Came to pass, and everyone knew how hard I tried
Standing at edge, seeing how things would have been, could have been
But things never came to be, never ceased to pass me by
A life lived for someone else’s selfish heart
Is not a way to be
But try and tell that to someone when you
yourself have felt this way
When you too have also fallen for a pretty face
When love blinds the heart, it’s nothing to be ashamed of
The rationality of being human, and the pain that comes with the skin we bleed
The life we live, the nights we spend awake, pondering, self-doubting what we can be
What we see, nights where all we want to do is end it all
Take that pill, use that knife, and pull the trigger
Or jump off the edge just like me
Yesterdays, all my yesterdays
Today, tomorrow, another time and space,
who knows what the future brings
I’m not going to preach, I don’t play that self-righteous game,
but I’ll tell you what I’ve seen
What I’ve felt, what I know, I don’t have the answers
But I’ve come a long way, far from where I use to be
Standing there
Standing on the edge
Yesterdays, all my yesterdays, to see than and to see now
It’s not simple, it’s not easy, but you need to get back up
Get up again, as long as there is a beat to drum to, inside your heart
Today may be just another yesterday
But yesterday never looked as cold as how it felt on the inside
When I was standing there
At the edge
Wishing I was someone else
Not wanting to believe, how it all came to be
And I can’t say that it gets better, because that would be a lie
But I can at least say that I try
Every day, I try

-Jon Powder-

Artist

Artist

Rub my eyes
And sit here awake
Listening to music
The most melancholy kind
I can find
And it heals
It helps
To a great extent
It gives me hope
Rub my eyes tonight
I mustn’t fall asleep
When the ink hit’s the paper
It’s a hunger the artist craves
Its like a good night of sex
But the feeling doesn’t last
Listening to the most sadistic music
I can find
Taking cues
From other tortured souls
And blank states
Lost souls and bastards
Rub my eyes
And sit here feeling cold
An artist
In another rotting state of mind
Finding creative crutches
Than later dismantling the process of art
And throw the rest of the heart and soul
Of the art
Into the fire
And start all over again
Rub the eyes
And get lost inside
Another tortured state of mind
And turn off the music
And try to cry
But nothing comes out

-Jon Powder-

A Collision

A Collision

I’ve been known to laugh sometimes
At the absurdity of things
The mending ways, of foolish hearts
Got me going around in circles
Back to the start
I’ve been known to see the forest for the trees
And still I’m allergic to thoughts unease
Thoughts like these
A collision of tortured dreamers, loveless schemers
On blank pages we bleed, on pages we feed, charcoal eyes always staring back at me
A collision of lights, inside this heart, not repentant
Facing dawn, knowing this road doesn’t come to an end
Come to a halt, when letters get burned
When poetry is left unsaid
When wars rage on, when protest has become as vacant as celebrity
Everybody makes stands
But no one ever stands up when the time is right
When one must face the cold on their own
No one makes a stand when it counts
Only when repetition becomes more of a chore than obvious references
And here I sit, here I go
A collision of tortured dreamers, in reveries
A collision of haunted memories
Waiting for the dusk to come, swiftly here, swiftly undone
And I sit here and see, all that makes me
All that breaks me
Seasonal contemplation, spiritual condemnation
I’ve been known to see the bright side of things
I’ve been known to sing the blues
An endless highway, an endless highway of dreams
A collision of tortured dreamers, making play of sorrowful times
Sorrowful times, always referred to as the good times
The best days of my life
I’ve been known to laugh sometimes, at the absurdity of things
A collision of my dreams, here they are, in my hands
Like a Saint with some time to kill, days to get on by
Like a modern misanthrope, like another dead eyed poet,
with a crown of thorns, with a shroud of hope
I’ve been known to tell the truth
In order to validate the lies I tell myself when I’m alone
And I don’t take lightly of my protest; inside this collision of tortured minds
My redemption is not repentant, nor am I revenant
I’ve been known to stand on the razors edge, for you see
No one ever told me there was way out of these burdensome times
Burdensome times

-Jon Powder-

November Came Along

November Came Along

And it’s like decades of dreaming the same old things
I close my eyes, and it all repeats,
I see the dates on the calendar
And it’s not about when and why
But about where I was, when a heartache came along
To sing, such sorrowful things
When November came along to carry me through these days
When all I could face was me
When faces started to fade and all that was left was vivid dreams
And it’s like decades of the same dream, just let me breathe
Let me feel, let me sleep here alone, let me sigh some relief
It’s a never ending journey
and my bags are packed but nothing ever moves
And it’s not about how much strength you can keep inside
It’s not about how ignorance can be makeshift bliss
It’s about who you are, what you’ve lost, what you cannot find
To confide or to walk away, deny or to let it collide inside
And here I am, looking for another reason why
When reasons go left unsaid, thoughtless and abandoned on the curb
And it’s like decades of the same dream,
awake in my bed, slept like the dead
It’s like decades of the same snow falling down
Decades of someone else’s dream, someone else’s nature scheme
When November came along
When November came along to carry me through these days
Oh these endless days, endless daze

-Jon Powder-

When

When

When family becomes your main enemy, you must
Get up and walk away, when you can’t calm your nerves
You must sit down and catch your breath
The screeching and screaming of the broken karma that surrounds you
When you can’t breathe enough air
You must close your eyes and let the tide take you away

And when you can’t see the love anymore
You have to look closer and see that
The wicked heart that strikes you down
Is your own
When you can’t feel the warmth of a lover
Take no joy in self numbing because nothing works
When it comes to feeling alive but the real deal
Of a lovers sweet kiss and protective heart

You can’t see the sky for what it is
Because you are waiting for some grand rapture to come
But no rapture will ever come tumbling down
From a Heaven that takes no part in this world
We exist in
And when you can’t see
The person inside of me
You got to look away, look away
For you don’t know who the sorrow is inside this man
Love in the distance
But it reaches through the static and void
When you can’t see the reflection
In the mirror
You have to get up and find out who you really are inside

The days go by so slowly, so slowly
It kills me on the inside

-Jon Powder-

Dilemma and Damnation

Dilemma and Damnation

Surely if this feeling
I feel was fake
Than lover, would you take that shot now
Strike me dead
Maybe I’m better off
With the thoughts in my head
Gnawing away at whatever
Empathy I have left in me
Surely, if this was my dilemma
The thoughts of falling in love
With no one to hold
Just ghosts in the distance
My words written down, I’ve not no sense of shame
Come and take a look at me
My words written down
The dilemma of a gentleman’s heart
And the damnation of the lonely thoughts
I think, when I’m awake at night
Surely if this feeling
I feel was fake
Than lover, may you strike me dead
With those eyes that can pierce my heart
Like daggers
That cut me up deep
Cutting me to the bone

-Jon Powder-

Poem of Idles

Poem of Idles

I write here
Out of tune like a broken piano
I write here, a poem of idles
A poem of scattered leaves
We live in sorrowful times
But tell me when it has ever been any different
When we connect we also fall apart
And when we connect we fall apart
And I’ve parted ways
With whom I use to be
A circle drawn in charcoal
Smudged and scattered on this sheet of paper
Thrown upon the floor
And I’ve parted ways
With what I knew of you
And all I consumed in you
And here you devoured me, and all that is left
Is scattered apathy
Upon another shoreline, inside another scheme
I use to know more than this
And I keep the faith that one day I may know why
But until then I got answers I need to ask
Messages lost in bottles
Perhaps you can empty them out in time
And there he shines before me
Like a radiant glimmer of light
A glimmer of hope
He asked me what kind of poetry I like to write
The kind that can be written I replied
The kind that only a broken heart can mend
Drown in here, drown in here
And deep down inside
I always knew it was always going to be me vs. me
As these ghosts carried on, as the world went on, as nightmares reigned on down
What is there left to give
We live in sorrowful times
And tell me, when has it
Ever really been different
And my heart plays on like an out of tune piano
And here I write
Another poem of idles
A poem of idles and scattered leaves of fall
And I’ve parted ways again
With whom I use to be
Whom I use to know
Another poem of idles
Falling with the leaves

-Jon Powder-

All That I Wanted to Say

All That I Wanted to Say

What you call sacrilege
I call staying alive
Picket signs or picket fences
Serenity O call thee faithful
All that I wanted to say
Is lost in dreams and empty vacant poetry
What you call wrong
I call free
What you call obscene
I call it truth divine
Because I am the one on this cross I bare
Not you
Never for you will I be led astray
Never for me will I walk away
All that I wanted to say
My soul runs free with the wolves of black and gray
My spirituality is neither here nor there
And in my dreams I am running free
A slave breaking free of his strains
And who are you and what do you do
You reap my heart and you bury my needs
And who are you
And what do you want
I can’t earn a living nor do I give a fuck
If I’m down on my luck it’s okay
Because I could never walk without a burden to bare
Nor do I care about all eyes on me
All eyes on thee
Who are you and what do you say
Will I walk down those golden streets one more time
Will I gain permit to be myself
Or do I have to follow where so many others fell
Who are you and what do you want
I paid my dues the moment I arrived
and I’ll pay them long when I’m gone
Where do I walk to
Who do I love
Who are you and what do you plea
All that I wanted to say is bleeding out of me
Can’t you see that
I’m a whore like any other else out there
With my hands to the sky
Prayers not knelt
Just another child of a flawed God
Prayers not knelt; it’s so easy
to illuminate this thought
Can’t you see that I am nobody’s hero
No one’s saint, just another heart trying to get out alive
I can’t play no game because there is nothing to save
All that I wanted to say is bleeding out of me
You call it shameless
I call it real as it gets
You call it pathetic, hey man
I am just trying to get along here
Can you spare me some time to change my ways
Because I’ve been un-perfected in those eyes of you
Can you give me some spare change so I can call for my executor
Shot down in senseless violence and serenity
Can you spare me some time because time is greedy
Another self-importance with its claws in our eyes
All that I wanted to say
What you call filth I call poetry
Poetry is ugly, the reality that holds us barred and tied
Poetry is dangerous in the hands of a few
All that I wanted to say, all that I wanted to be
I’ve been spat on for so long this is now my vanity talking
And healing, come over and heal me as I lay here
All that I wanted to say
Is bleeding out of me
Come here and stitch me up
Come on and give me my last rights
We all have a right to be silent
Come here and scream me with me
With me
In the silence
Silence
All that I wanted to say is bleeding out of me
Bleeding and repeating
Gone

-Jon Powder-