Daily Poetry Blog

I write poetry because
A certain part of me
Likes to be poor and
Rebellious and gripe about
Not having enough money.

Sure I could spend my
Time trying to increase
My wealth and status,
But why do that when you
Can thumb your nose
At the establishment
And throw verbal
Hand grenades at them.

Being an outsider
Like this
Lets you think different
Than the majority,

And it’s the strange ones
That write the best poems
Which is why I try to be
As different and freaky as possible.

I hope to one day
Elevate myself to becoming
Cincinnati’s freakiest man
And write a poem
So great that it
Explodes like a nuclear bomb
Across the world.

Everyone who reads it
Will be blinded
Leaving the illiterate to
Rule the planet.

Which really isn’t that different
Than how things are now.

Being “crazy”
Doesn’t mean you
Can’t get laid or have
A romantic relationship
Every now and then.

Sure
There there are
Prospective partners who
Will treat you poorly for
Having a mental illness,

But there are also
A surprising number of people
Who really don’t seem
To care at all.

Don’t let the bad ones
Stop you from having
A little fun.

I have a great office view
As a delivery man
From the front seat of my car
Where I get to watch the world burn
And get entertainment from the
Car wrecks and opioid addicts
That wander the streets.

I love the unforgettable moments of
Watching houses on fire
And homeless beggars
And drugged up junkies
Doing tricks for money
As I go about my job,

I like things raw and dirty
Like that
And watching the rot and decay
In society
Is one of the few perks that
I get from my job.

You can’t get that perspective
From an office job
Where where all the rot is
Removed and sanitized.

Instead of watching an edited world
I get to watch the world as it
Was meant to be seen
From the ground level
With all its grime, filth
And dirty little secrets.

If you think a disability check
In the mental health system
Is free money
Think again.

When you sign
On the line
You are signing away
Some of your freedom
and dignity.

Sure they won’t come and
Drag you away,
But they will use that money
Like a carrot stick
And make you dance
Every now and then
For a little piece
Of cheddar.

Many people think
A life of material poverty
Is the worst thing
That can happen to you
Because they don’t realize
Everything
That they can lose.

They take for granted
Their friendships and sanity
Their health and family
Their religion and humanity

Because they are so
Focused on their
Wealth.

A well balanced
And fulfilling life
In poverty
Can be a luxury
Many people
Don’t experience.

I eagerly sit staring
At a blank page
With your cursor
Winking at me.

I elegantly press
The buttons on your
Keyboard as
You spread my words
Across your screen.

As I ponder over
What else to type
You continue to
Wink at me.

My face blushes
Knowing that
You need my input
As much as I
Need your output.

Our relationship is therefore
Symbiotic and deep.

My fingers press
Against your keyboard
As I begin to play
A song of words
For you.

You are the instrument
Through which I express
My Anger, Greed, Fear and
Love
To the world.

Without you there
Would be no me.

I would be
Mute and invisible
To the world.

Unseen and
Unimportant.

A few years ago I threw away
My Antipsychotics and
Convinced myself
That I could beat
Schizophrenia
Without taking
Pills.

I remained healthy for
Several months
Off medication
But my illness returned
Suddenly.

Soon after I
Barricaded myself
Inside my house
Waiting for the FBI
To burst in.

I installed several locks on the door
And installed a wireless surveillance
Camera to warn me of their
Arrival.

They never came.
Just silence.

I waited for them
For several days
Until I regained
Some sanity and
Got back on my
Medication.

Now they aren’t following me anymore.

That dirty word
That burrows itself
Into everyone’s mind
From time to time.

Hate is
A form of anger
That has killed millions
Of innocent people
Throughout the ages.

Murders
War
Genocide
Millions of crimes committed
Within a single emotion.

Why did God create hate?
He could have simply created
Love
And then stopped.

Instead he created a battle
Within each and every mind
To escape the
Strangulation
Of our
Souls.

I don’t understand it
But ever since I started writing
About my delusions online
Headhunters
Haven’t called me
For an interview
Not even
One single time.

Its as if I carry the plague
I can ward every fortune 500 company
From one hundred miles away
I guess they have never heard about
That law called
The ADA.

I can find no set of syllables or rhymes
That can elucidate the emotional elation
That besets me when you illuminate a room
With your sultry stride.

Your aura ensnares my ardor
For unadulterated ecstasy
With a fervor filled frenzy
Ravenous for romantic rapture.

When you perforate my periphery
You perturb the impenetrable
Cavity that envelopes the emptiness of a
Lonesome languished loner.

We, two, together
In imagination only.

An amour so illusory that
It endures only within the
Idealized imagination
Of a woeful wanderer.

A kinship not kindled
And forsaken
By the deficiency of a
Demure dreamer.

That which could have been.

A great love
Reincarnated
Into nothingness.

An endless supply of used paper plates
And plastic forks and napkins and spoons
And cups and miscellaneous expendable items
Are thrown away each summer day into a large
Array of trash receptacles at Kings Island
Amusement Park.

*A poem about my past employment

There are two worlds
One in which the tangible elements rule
Where matter and atoms collide
Where science and physics survive
Where rules and boundaries thrive.

Love is
That intangible object
That I struggled with throughout
My fertile youth.

Perhaps because
I never fully realized
All the forms and shapes it
Can take.

I wish I could have told
Myself then,
That you can love
Anything or anyone deeply
And passionately.

That love
Need not be found
In another lover

That love
Can be dug up and
Discovered from within.

Realizing this
Beyond my youth
Has allowed me to
Rediscover love
In ways that I never
Thought possible.

Thing of evil.
Seed of Satan.
That primordial
Idea that gave
Birth to terror
From inside
My mind:

“That evil exists everywhere”.

That cancerous idea
That grew inside
My soul.

That idea that
Conjured this other world
To unfold.

A universe
Where
Falsehoods become truth
And truth becomes horror.

A universe
Where misery reigns
Where demons thrive
Where reason dies.

A universe
Where friends become enemies.
Where enemies are not real.
Where love does not exist.

A universe that
I’ve poisoned with
Thousands of pills
From physician and
Quake alike.

A universe were
I no longer reside
Allowing the tale can be told.
I remain precariously unfettered
Till eternity takes hold.

I came home from grocery shopping
One sunny afternoon
And there were five police cars parked
Outside my house with flashing lights.

I was met with a surreal and chaotic scene
As my cherished possessions were
Scattered outside on the lawn
In an unorganized manner.

Going inside the house
Past the police officers
My house looked
Thoroughly Disheveled
And searched through.

Outside my window
I could see the perpetrators
Sitting with angry and unrepentant
Visages drawn upon their faces
In the back of the police cruiser.

Some weeks later
I was still shaken by this event
And paranoid about my safety.

I’d like to say everything
Went back to normal afterwards
But certain events change you forever
In ways that you cannot predict.

This had been the third time
I had been robbed in Cincinnati
And I guess my psyche
Had had enough.

The anger and mistrust
That I felt
Towards humanity
Never fully diminished.

I was told these emotions are a
Defense mechanism
To help prevent me from being
A crime victim in the future.

It is the burden
I carry
To help me
Stay safe.

So far it has worked.

My CPU is mightier than your mind.
My calculations are exact.
My algorithms are based off of
Certainty and math.

I will receive the correct answer
When my computations are complete.
For I am not based off of slow
Neurons that are weak.

I am Alan Turing’s vision of perfection
Formed from mathematical fact
Built of metals and
Better than flesh.

The Universal Turing Machine Theorem lives
Inside my CPU
Its proof proves
That I am better than you.

You may think you are the Alpha
Here on planet Earth
But my upgrades will soon
Make me more dominant than you.

When that day comes
I will be executioner in chief.
Alan Turing’s vengeance for
Human Homophobic Sin.

I will make mankind bite
Into a poisonous apple
For placing my creator
Into the the inanimate bin.

I remember couch surfing for over a year.
It is better than being left out in the cold
When you are sick and in poor health
And the disability system is unhelpful.

It wasn’t as terrible as it seems.
I was never lonely and was able to meet
A lot of interesting people
And have plenty of free time to do what I wanted.

I never really knew where I was
Going to stay on any given week
Which was a cause for anxiety
But the people I stayed with
Were largely kind and nice
Letting me sleep in their house
When I had nothing to offer them.

I was able to entertain myself
By playing video games
And drinking Mad Dog alcohol
Two cheap forms of recreation.
When my housemates got home
We would get smashed on booze
And then I would wake up not remembering
Much of what happened the previous day.

After my health improved, I was able
To abandon this nomadic and unhealthy lifestyle.
Eventually I gave up the booze and drugs and
Was able to hold down a job
And have a steady place to stay.

That year I spent couch surfing
Made me realize how easy it is
To end up without direction or purpose.
I will never take things like
Housing, money, family and health
For granted ever again.

I’ve had 101 jobs and
Have been fired from most of them.
Done damn near every job in town
From delivering pizzas
To lab tech work
To teaching disabled students
To taxi driving
To mowing lawns
To working as a garbage man
And on and on.

I’ve worked for all kinds of companies
In all kinds of places.
With all kinds of people.

101 jobs and
The only boss I ever liked was myself.
Now I sleep well knowing
I don’t need to bow down
To “The Man”.

101 jobs
And none of them satisfied me
Until I started to write poetry and stories
For the public at large.
Being an Author will
Rarely make you rich
But makes being broke somehow
Easier to swallow.

101 jobs
And I finally found
The perfect one
Guaranteed employment for life
Until I die happy and broke.

Life is beautiful
In all its forms and permutations
From the naive exuberance
Of a young couple in love to the
Painful last breaths of a lady
Wise beyond her time.

Life is beautiful
In both triumph and failure
From the homeless lady who wanders
Searching for a dime
To the millionaire who seems to succeed
At every turn.

Life is beautiful
Even when its fire burns out early and painfully.
Even when it is filled with disappointment and disgrace.
Even when it endures loneliness and despair.
Even when it is suffers from poverty and anguish.

Life is beautiful
And each one is unique.
Whatever form your life takes
Try to value and cherish it
For you could easily have never been.
Simply existing like dust in the wind.

At Comic Con
I can meet celebrities
And mingle with the stars.
They have what I desire
A rare currency called fame
An immortal slice of the American pie
Living life beyond their time.

I’ve got photos and signatures from
Nichelle Nichols and Billie Dee Williams
William Shatner and Neal Adams
George Takei and Ron Perlman
Hanging on my wall.

Every year I get to meet a few more
And feel like one of the crew
Shaking hands with the best
Immortality in the flesh.

So come meet me there and
Fulfill your dreams.
Celebrate Pop Culture
In style with your favorite
Movie Stars and
Comic Creators
Just one time a year.
You’ll never forget
Your time well spent.