Tag: Poetry

What is the sound of shit hitting the fan?

by sidcorvid

With blood blued on my sweater

And infection taking root in my burn,

I deny my own desire.

Self-worth is overstated, overrated.

Rhyme is a poor man’s crime,

And I want you.

Arrogant in thought.

I didn’t expect this to be easy,

And you are worth working for,

Worth creating my own world and path.

Still, they ask what my story will be.

They wonder what I’ll achieve

Through an illuminated life.

A better question is,

What is the sound of shit hitting the fan?

I deserve nothing,

Have earned little,

And the future remains hidden.

I must beg pardon

by sidcorvid

I catch your glances,

Your eyes meeting mine

And shooting away again.

I see you.

Of course,

I see them during stares of my own.

Who could take their eyes off you?

Not me, not now.

But you must forgive me,

This is a dream of a path never taken.

I must beg pardon,

This is a memory I don’t know.

But I do know now,

And that my happiness in you

Is (wistfully) reciprocated.

Overpowered

by sidcorvid

Overpowered by the Lips,

I lie here breathing,

staring at the ceiling,

Wishing the fan was pointed in my direction.

Overpowered by her lips,

I lie here thinking, romanticizing

Wishing she was struggling with me for the sheets.

How could she love me, though?

I’m broke on a broken computer,

And my room is a mess.

I dribbled piss on my boxers.

Embracing the safety of a bedspread tent

I sink further into the bed,

Knowing if I want change, I must effect change.

But it can wait, just a bit longer.

Let’s just lie here, only for a bit longer.

i wish i could wiggle my arms

by sidcorvid

I wish I could wiggle my arms
under this boundless sky.

I’m lost in transcendent drunkenness,
a fool with a mind.
Synapses firing with alcoholic fervor,
I lie motionless.

The cigarette ashes on my cheek
As I puff with my eyes closed,
But not for too long.

I must stop the dark from spinning.

Wandering and wondering in wanderlust,
I hope we last forever.
I wish you were here now.

But C’est la Vie!
I’ll make do,
and I’ll make do
in accompanied solitude soon.

I see double as autocorrect corrects.
I close my eyes as the sky shuffles.
I fade to black, wondering what tonight will hold.

my existence offending

by sidcorvid

My existence offending,
With every breath of smoke
Which is taken alone,
I march forward.

Fire erupts from the candles at the wake.
A man lies waste deep
Not ready to be interred.

Yet the birds still sing
O’er a body cut down
By Smith & Wesson’s
Newest thresher.

A miracle occurred today,
He has proven something,
If only for himself.

He has become an Ozymandias,
A king of the dead to be forgotten.
The works of his dying hands
Mattered only to his fleeing soul.

The triumphs of loves won
And the woes of years of defeat,
Are but memories forgotten.

I want you in the fall

by sidcorvid

I want you in the fall,

When the sun grows cold

And the leaves turn brown.

 

When the Pennsylvania wind bites,

And those with money go to warmer climes,

That’s when I’d die to hold you.

 

Imagining you in a sweatshirt,

Hand in hand with me,

Walking down a country town Main Street.

 

We’ll forget the harshness of the season change,

The fear of winter to come,

In one another’s embrace

It’s been a rough week or two…

by sidcorvid

Classical references expound upon
My broken lines
Of law enforcement evasion,
And self-actualization.

Shadows shift
In this complex reality
Of the moment.

I fear for continuity,
Long for non-sequitur.
Acting as a Ratatoskr,
Shifty eyes and all.

But a fire is burning behind
These icy eyes,
Tended by blind rage.

Lord, allow me to grow to be
Your Azazel.
Father, let me die
An honored Death

 

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I need to update so have an old one

by sidcorvid

Bloody ‘ell Jasmine!
A free write and a Facebook post?
A poem up Mishter Lusk’s alley!

Or was that Saucey Jacky’s alley!?
Ha, I’m not crazy like that!
I’m just as fun, but without the gore!

This is how one fuckin’ does it!
You write from the bloody heart,
Maybe steal one or two while you’re at it!

He must’ve been a helluva guy,
For Miss Kelly to give her’s so freely.
I’ll never get why ladies like the shag.

But that’s neither here nor there,
This poem’s about me!
It’s about time someone wrote for Paulie!

Ole Sid’s got his back,
Feeding him some grand delusions,
What’s the difference either way?

Let him be great,
Or let him spill some krovvy tryin’.
It’s cheap, plenty to go around.

Now listen to me being morbid!
God forbid!
Back on track, right oh, right on!

I’ll get on up there,
Somewhere high above you plebes,
And when you beg,

I’ll smile and say, ‘no.’
Not exactly, but I won’t do much.
Alright, I’ll save the world with me.

Dammit,
It is what it is,
I wish I was a bird.