Ms. Manic, Depressive

• | Print |

Details

Category: Poetry

Written by Michael Bednarsky

Hits: 212

You aren’t here to make me happy,

But that’s what you are doing.

 

Hmm hmm….think about that a bit.

 

You are a freewheeler,

But I always babysit you.

 

Ahh ahh….faux. That means fake, you speak French, don’t you?

 

You are too lazy to be feminine,

But you have been aging pretty well.

 

Okay….I think that, yes, was that because of me?

 

Either way, you’ll share the details of your fictional world with all of us,

But we were never real to begin with.

 

Sounds like you! Sounds like you!

The little number that you ran—it’s only something you do!

What a friend! What an ex!

If you think we’re still cool, you are more stupid than I guessed.

 

I’m not sure what happened.

It was too fast for me.

 

Yeah….that’s what happens when you’re almost always high.

 

But it wasn’t my fault,

‘Cause you were affectionate the night before.

 

Uh-huh, and even your friends thought that didn’t make sense.

 

I did my best, really.

Balance of protection and solitude.

 

Whew…that job being done is kind of relieving.

 

But you can’t stand still,

More mental disorders than I could count.

 

No regrets, then…go on your way.

 

I said to you! I just said to you!

Get away from me, do whatever it is you do!

I’m not sure what that is,

Your memories are contents of a fantasy.

Ms. Manic, you’ll never become what you did plan to be.

Hipster Baby

• | Print |

Details

Category: Poetry

Written by Mox Narsky

Hits: 199

 

A preference is what I have, with everything I do.

Everything and everyone I’ve ever done is done with truth.

I love some things more than others, and with people too.

Everything and everyone I love I love with every move.

If blatant without saying, I still need to announce.

There is a mental installation of who and what I cannot live without.

The type of women catching my attention is of autumn style.

She wears a scarf, values art, creative agony carved in smile.

Much always fond of such, and years pass before perfect match found.

In 2008, we relate, she’s an outsider to the New York town.

A timid panhandler-valley bred as tranquil bread,

With the will of obnoxious Eastern leagues earnestly instead.

I don’t blame you, for I am a native.

New York metropolitan, and I’m rough around edges; abrasive.

Yet when we locked eyes, Bridgewater Corners.

I scrutinized my own life, through your mental corridors.

Instantly amazed by you and wanted a closer look.

Out of high school? Not quite, but results were roped in eloping brooks.

I had distractions, other interactions,

Two years go by, but I, did not forget about my non-fragmented initial reaction.

Melancholy segments in between that time were augmented.

Depressive bouts and self-fulfilling journeys circumvented.

When I had a chance to re-live another chapter of that trip,

I took the opportunity, and almost missed the MTA I hitched.

On the train I sat with a dame I flirted with,

Discussed evening plans during the Tri-State lift.

I explained the vein in which I envisioned it,

A Vermont retreat and in God I didn’t believe, yet it still fit.

See, I was fine with ethereal, if relationships abound,

And if mutual all around, I’m romantically-sound.

So I did what I had to.

In fact I was glad too,

Just to get a glimpse of her lips yet again would arouse you.

Meaning me, I thought of my own reason to meet,

Wanted to share in the conversation, but at rest was the feat.

After Grand Central, en route to Columbus,

Hailing down a cab whilst emotionally-abundant.

Found a guy standing like an entry-man; a miner.

Off the clock but willing with open hands; he was the driver.

Nimbly he just gave me, a chance to be punctual.

I frantically called connections, making sure all was still functional.

Affirmation, still I was impatient.

I scurry out of the taxi back-seat, toward my destination.

People found, I’m cleared, so I’m here, let me meet my peers.

We pile into an old sedan and steer amongst the brush and deer.

By the time we arrive, I’m alive but extinguished.

Ease from the vehicle, thanking my buddy who did bring us.

Some worthy shut-eye, and the next morning I try

To find some outside air to usurp, with which I could learn life.

The chill is brisk, tasting blood from the cracks of my chapped lips.

Cigarette is lit, positioned between my fingertips.

After cancer stick drags and conversations I have,

I go inside to hear a meeting coincide before at last,

When I finally saw the woman; awaited two-year reunion.

Maybe pick her brain: “hey, what have you been doin’?”

But instead I made it gradual, and best it was indeed.

I flirted with her endlessly, ascended in the trees.

Soaked in the hammock with her handbook; golden pages.

I contain my excitement, careful not to be outrageous.

I would only give inklings as to what I was thinking

So I made my statements playful, with laughing and winking.

I lay down next to her, but the wind multiplies.

Words run dry, away she walks, I watch the shadow of her thighs.

I mingle tastefully, in case of a replacement.

But the presence of her is not ignored, I can’t erase it.

Events in rooms, in the same game group.

Worked together, for the aim of win rang true.

Also after nightfall, and a manhunt casting call.

Post-sauna threads, I’m sexy, tattoos and all.

Grasping only a white towel wrapped below my lower back,

I invite her attention, and she looks trapped.

She obviously liked it, but I’m not sure if she wishes she did.

Maybe she felt a little lust, but I wanted love from this.

Also another thing is that it goes against the will,

Of her savior to which she’s gracious, but I’m enamored by the thrill.

After outside at night, I felt the want reciprocated.

But after more talk of beliefs, she was distant in how we related.

I tried to hint that I’d die for her, try I might for her,

But she didn’t want to be what I had in mind for her.

When I left, I felt empty, a phone number I missed.

I put up with such disgust, by aimless days in mental mist.

For some time, happiness lacked, but I am better after that,

In fact, she helped me get back on track.

She reminded me of purity and romantic maturity,

A great potential mother, providing maximum maternity.

Just to think, once being captive from her aura,

Now I ricocheted the effects from such euphoria.

I broke through the wall which had it, bound by being needy.

I am nowadays enlightened in spite of once grieving.

My mantra is love yourself but have a wife to embrace.

I can live without her, but I will never forget her face.

Elsewhere

• | Print |

Details

Category: Poetry

Written by Michael Bednarsky

Hits: 249

 

 

He wants a lip by the creek, but I’m not there.

 

 

I’m sorry, I can only wallow via telephone,

You are not in proximity.

 

 

If you are going to fall apart, just do it outside.

Break down by that creek, sure, that’s what it is there for.

 

 

I’m still moving, my bro.

I’m going somewhere…although I’m still trying to figure out where exactly.

 

 

Are you happy where you are?

Is happiness even your goal?

 

Embark on your own quest, make all of your own decisions.

 

Not at the hands of my ancestors do I look for answers.

Genes and heritage mean so little.

 

Hibernate in a rural cabin,

Bleed atop a numbing summit,

 

Squat in the hallow depth of the under-city.

 

 

These are just suggestions.

 

You must do what it is you feel.

 

I meander, I wither.

Learn from me what you can.

 

Briefly to you I will return…stock up on beer and tobacco for those upcoming precious, pensive moments.

 

Then I will firmly shake your hand, and tell you the meaning of life.

 

The Normal Distribution

• | Print |

Details

Category: Poetry

Written by Brandon T. Bisceglia

Hits: 345

Life is nOt inVariably orderEd:

though by cEnsus Quetelet gUaranteed

deAth by cLinical Symmetry,

no Storied Investigation

nor Grand Machination

evAded Mortal Evanescence.

As capillaries rouge from Nascent blue,

we banDy descriptions and shimmY anew,

but nOne accounts for the truly trUe:

l = Σ my.