The Sadness Continues

The Sadness Continues

Yes, today, I am indeed saddened
The beauty of which no one can see
Saddens me, the art and the beauty
The simple things most can not see
The sadness continues today for me
But I don’t mind
Because I have my thoughts to keep me company
When I am lost in thought
Thinking of new words to say
New art to make
Selfish I keep most for me
But I try, to elevate
To go against the grain
Yes, today, I am saddened
The love of which no one wants to see
It saddens me, to see apathy taking whole
Of each heart that passes me by
As I walk through this life
Greed consumes, like disease in the heart
The sadness continues again for me
But I don’t mind
Because this feeling comes and goes
This feeling comes and goes
On days like these you see
The sadness continues today
But as you can see
I don’t mind
I don’t mind at all
The feeling can only stay for so long
So long
Like the winter, it can only remain for so long

-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-

The Optimist In Me Got Sick of the Cynical Motherfucker In You. So I Became You and Destroyed Your Only Hopes In Finding Something Worth Believing In.

The Optimist In Me Got Sick of the Cynical Motherfucker In You. So I Became You and Destroyed Your Only Hopes In Finding Something Worth Believing In.

(…a late night arrangement of various thoughts, scattered and mixed up, in hopes of making sense…)

There is a simple need to vent, cynical smile, a jester’s insight
A series of nonsensical thoughts, acts of poppycock
Take all this with a grain of salt
A fuck you is on order, gentleman
Gentlefucks and gentle sucks
The realist in me got sick of making sense, just this once
I’ll find it in me to re-arrange myself, and scatter my cards
Scatter my thoughts
An arrangement of words mixed around
Attempting to give a fuck
In hopes of humor, insight and tongues-in-cheek
There is a simple need to feel loved
In hopes of many hopes to believe in
And there is a simple need to feel exploited and exposed
A lack of self-reservation can get you very far
Something so sweet can at times be just as bitter
Self-haters and those who want the easy life
Contemplate, masturbate, keeping mental breakdowns at bay
For another day
There is a simple need to want to let go
To jump from the highest mountain top
And soar in hopes to never hit the ground
And I’ve heard the best arguments from days long past
Words from dead men being passed down
Like the next new trend, pseudo-hipster candidates
Fighting, flagging, bitching to be next in line, on-line and out of line
Next in the limelight, next in the headlights
Another deer dead on the road
Debate, debacle, shackled to and fro
Old men of many races arguing about who is right and who is fake
Who is right to wing and who is left behind
What next to oversight and oversee, overthrow and overcome
Self-made manic millionaires and dodgy discount pioneers, political silence
In a lack of truth seeking mantras, but wait-
I am straying too far again, reel my thoughts back into place
And mangle them once again, another picture on a canvas
Pastel hearts and charcoal trees
My mangled words of wordplay, play this down
Play me out, play me like a chump
Self-explanatory shameless bastard, just like the one I use to be
Always will be, if and when I need to be
The optimist in me got sick of the cynical motherfucker in you
So I became you, I rearranged the words to suite my own
Paraded words around, I came out of the closet wearing your shoes
Tacky as that may be
There is a simple need to just want to be myself
To keep myself, sketched upon a canvas
With eyes of brown, dressed in black, and surrounded by the deepest shades of red
Deepest fears and dread, something so sweet can be just as the bitter
The taste is sour, the thoughts are wasted
The love is makeshift, and the irony just isn’t worth a commentary
A fuck you is in order gentleman, stroke a good one for me
Consider me a comedian with no subject too taboo to contemplate
The optimist in me got sick of the cynical motherfucker in you
So I became you, looked at myself, hated what I saw
A reflection of who I once was
Who you use to be
So I became me again, and me is what I’ll remain
There is a simple need to vent, a simple need to disconnect the dots
And connect them once again, not coloring in between the lines
In order to put my thoughts back together again
To put myself back together again

-Jon Powder-

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-

Always Be Beautiful

Always Be Beautiful

We wont ever diminish
Inside these hearts so solid
We’ll burn like candles, in the deadest of night
Our romantic thoughts turn into silver
We’ll die golden
We’ll die true
We’ll die young
We’ll die beautiful
We will always be beautiful
We will always be true
No vanity, no prayer, no zealots can
Take this from us
We will always be beautiful, us
The lost and the lustful
The daring and the I-Don’t-Give-a-Fucks
Of this world
Oh, we wont ever give in
Sell out to the greater lie
Who owns who
And who will you turn to, in your desperation and need
We’ll salute no flags
We’ll die for no gods
For fickle the world ejaculates
Upon such fabled hymns
We’ll never give in
We’ll die pure
We’ll die free
We’ll die without a fucking care in this world
We’ll always be beautiful
We will always be true
No despair, no sub-zero raptures will
Ever take our hearts away
We will always be beautiful, us
The I-Don’t-Give-a-Fucks
Of this world

-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-

Storms

Storms

Running, to find shelter
I’ve dreamed of storms
Bad weather
The imagination bleeds
Constant imagery
The skies of black
Reign on through

The running through the fields
Like a hitchhiker passing through
I’m a wanderer, in the bad dreams
Ghosts walking on by
No shelter to hide in
As the dark clouds come and drown me

Underneath the waters
Looking at the narrows
Underneath these dreams
Sad schemes, from restless imaginations
Running rapidly, as I’m asleep
Running from the black clouds

I can’t escape
And so I confront because
There is no place to hide
Let these waves of sadness
Wash me to another shoreline

In my dreams

-Jon Powder-

Once

Once

I’ve been running from myself
Since as long as I can remember
A scared boy in the whirlwind
Running through the fields
Through the depths of imagination
And once upon a time
There was once void inside of me
Awake at night
Chasing nightmares in circles
Awaking to find myself in someone else’s dreams
Someone else’s life
And once upon a time
There was once nothing to speak of
Nothing but hurt and lies
And time may go on
Time may not heal all wounds
It’s best to get up again and fight
Once more, once again
So I am sorry if I fail to see
The ugly in all things
There is even poetry in the stalest of nights
The most vacant of eyes
I’ve been running from myself
Since the day I could reflect
Since the day I found an opening to get away
A scared boy in the whirlwind
Imagination screaming, searching deep inside
Time may not heal all wounds
And time will be cruel
But it’s time to get up, let go
Get up again to fight
I am not sorry if I don’t see in all the ugly things
I’m supposed to see
To believe
Dreams are fragile things
There is poetry in the blackest of nights
There are things that can be only seen at night
I am walking a line of optimism when pessimism
Is what I’ve been told to keep within,
cynicism gets to the best of me
And reality is never what it seems
And once upon a time I use to think
It was all so meaningless
Time never heals, anyone to tell you different
Knows not of life
Knows nothing of truth
Spewing out lies
In a daze of nightmares, chasing in circles
A scared child
Imagination screams
Once more, once again
Dreams are fragile things
Once upon a time

-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-