Poetry

The Onion

The world is an onion,

With different layers,

Different levels.

There are those who live like kings,

Decorated like queens,

On their level.

 

Those eyes stare from level to level,

Dreaming, worshipping, idolizing.

There are those who do not worship,

They are the top of their level.

They don’t have desire to worship,

Knowing their level,

Loving their level.

 

Each level has pros and cons,

With different demeanors and lifestyles,

That individuals have to don.

The pressure and stress of a level,

Can vary from how to act,

How to live,

How to attract.

 

The pressure is impossible to see,

As you stare at the clothes,

The body parts,

The eyes and noses pulsating.

 

Deep inside is where the stress wreaks havoc,

Manipulating choices and movements,

Causing chaos and panic.

 

Moving from a level to a new level,

Can be a dream come true,

Or it can be a disaster,

For me and you.

The American Highway

Newest Poetry video! Uploaded October 31st! Watch below:

The rolling highway,

Endless asphalt,

With racing cars,

Plodding along.

 

As they barely move,

When compared to the space,

That exists in the universe.

They have such speed,

For their time,

For their space,

That is the most important,

In the universe.

 

And what lies on either side,

What lies on and alongside them,

What lies on the asphalt,

As their tires roll and slide,

As they fly by.

 

Restaurant and business,

Both lie in decay.

With the ever-telling sign,

Of boards and broken windows,

Empty parking lots,

Overgrowth of grass.

It is another sight,

We often pass.

 

What lies in abundance?

Carcasses and corpses.

Of domesticated animals,

Both owned and stray.

Of wild animals,

Who whether or not recognizable,

Will be on the vulture’s buffet.

 

The vultures tower,

High in the sky.

They look tiny from below,

We look tiny from above.

As we crawl along,

At a sluggish pace.

They scour what remains of the highway,

But not much remains in place.

 

The auto parts stores,

They are endless.

Outnumbering even the roadkill,

As they lie on display,

For the vulture’s buffet.

 

The auto parts stores give us hope,

That not all will lie in ruin.

As we roll by.

That there will be more to this highway,

Than the racing cars,

And the vulture’s buffet.

 

Listen

The most recent poetry video, check it out below:

Listen to a person who gives a lecture,

They have been born with their opinions,

But somehow follow scientific principles.

 

Listen to a politician who gives a speech,

They recite the same slogans as anyone in their party,

But claim they are free.

 

Listen to a character in a movie or series,

They are full of wisdom and emotion,

But are reading from a script.

 

Listen to your parents as they explain a life lesson,

They are older than you,

But does that mean,

They know what to do?

I am an APPLE

I am an apple. What are you?

Lyrics for the poem:

Stoicism,

I am an apple,

I am an apple with a stem,

A crease,

All apples are the same,

We are the same apple,

Like cloned apples,

In a world of mirrors.

 

Transcendentalism,

I am an apple,

I am an apple with a stem,

A crease,

My apple floats,

Slightly above the ground,

I feel high,

Everything I feel, think and hear,

Will lift me higher,

Until God,

I am near.

 

Dualism,

I am two apples,

My apples both have a stem,

A crease,

My apples look the same,

But they are not on an equal plane,

With competing realities,

They will remain philosophical,

Within my deepest fantasies.

 

Humanism,

I am an apple,

I am an apple with a stem,

With a crease,

With eyes, heart,

And many organs,

I am alive!

 

Reductionism,

I am an apple,

I have no stem,

I have no crease,

I am a round red ball,

Am I an apple?

Am I a jawbreaker?

Am I a bouncy ball?

Am I a human?

 

Relativism,

We are all apples,

We have stems,

We have creases,

Our stems and creases and shapes,

Are shaped by our experiences,

With the world,

With knowledge.

 

Absurdism,

I am a banana.

 

Theism,

I am an apple,

I have  a stem,

A crease,

And a halo.

I am holy,

Guided by God,

My life will never cease.

 

Empiricism,

I am an apple,

I have a stem,

A crease,

A shape,

But I have no color.

All the curves of my shape,

Are mathematically made,

There is an event,

An experience,

Attached,

To each shape of the curve,

To each length,

Of my height,

Of my body,

Of my stem,

What I smell,

Touch,

Taste,

Feel,

And see,

Is the formula,

For you and me.

 

Hedonism,

I am an apple,

I have a stem,

A crease,

And someone has eaten me,

They took deep gluttonous bites,

From around all sides,

I hope all those bites were pleasurable,

I gained great fancy,

From the feel of the teeth,

The lips,

It was like a hungry kiss,

Now I miss your lips,

But there is not much left to offer,

Your never ending hunger.

 

Constructivism,

I am an apple,

I have a stem,

I have no crease,

I have been sliced apart,

But wasn’t it nice,

To still be placed carefully,

To still almost look like an apple,

But I enjoyed being created,

I was an active part of my creation,

Not just some kind of passive,

Machination,

Some apathetic factory production,

I am a unique apple.

 

Holism,

We are 3 apples,

We have stems,

We have creases,

Our stems are still attached,

To our twigs,

To our branches,

To our tree,

We still love our daily radiation,

Our photosynthetic nutrition,

Brings about much satisfaction,

For our growth,

And daily interaction.

 

Modernism,

I am an apple,

I have an artificial stem,

Someone has taken a bite,

Perfectly placed,

For the highest chance for sales,

For the perfect advertisement,

To avoid societies,

Rebuke or perhaps chastisement,

I am worried more about money,

Than I value my own life,

Give me some coins,

Dollar bills,

My appetite,

Will never be filled.

 

Existentialism,

I am an apple,

I have a stem,

A crease,

My freedom,

Will always be,

The most unique thing in this world,

I am surrounded by nothing important,

Just a gray cloud,

Of perhaps apples,

Perhaps nothing,

They do not affect my will,

My life,

Because I am an authentic apple,

I am free,

I am unique,

And I am true,

To my true self.

 

Utilitarianism,

I am an apple pie,

In fact,

Am I an apple pie?

I could be any pie,

But I have no stem,

No crease,

I have a hot streak of smoke,

Dwindling in the air,

My past of being an apple,

Is not even a care,

I am an apple pie,

Would you like to have a bite,

Would you like to have a try?

 

Nihilism,

Cake

Do you love ‘cake’? Then watch this video:

Here are the lyrics to the poem:

“Let them eat cake”

‘They’ve got the distance,

They’ve got the speed,

They’re all alone,’

“Let them eat cake.”

 

Cake is everywhere,

In quotes, songs, song titles,

From books, magazines, on TV,

Even in the bible.

Cake is everywhere.

 

But what is cake?

A bready, sugary, short, fat, cylinder,

Held together by eggs.

Tastes good.

Used for celebrations, birthdays, accomplishments,

Even death.

 

You cannot escape cake,

No matter how hard you try.

Someone will peddle you,

You will never have an alibi.

 

Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, or carrot cake,

Show your true personality,

With the decorations.

Then dive in, indulge,

Until you achieve full satisfaction.

 

Calories will come, bloatation will come,

Perhaps diabetes will come too.

But will you let that stop you?

What will you do?

Love's Arrow

Love’s Arrow

As the arrow pierces your heart, fear not,

The end is not near,

New life has just begun.


Naturally, nervous hands grip the rough shaft,

With each turbulent tug more blood drips.


The blood spits,

it spews,

it spouts, like a never-ending fountain.


The mistake is never forgotten, as you breathe your last breath,

Each breath, pulls you closer, to your timely death.


A Frantic mind wanders,

then it wonders:

What if you had not felt the fatal pull,

remained together with your fateful dart?


With your drastic instinct, you made yourself extinct,

As you would rather die, than to have an arrow pierce your heart.


A Star in the Sky

A Star in the Sky

Close your eyes and what do you see?

The darkness without the light.

Lost,

Blackened,

With not a single light in sight.

 

Light sprays out from stars,

Lying all throughout the universe,

They are speaking and sparking,

Hoping to illuminate life,

And converse.

 

A billion years ago,

A light shone towards this place,

Today as you walk out the door,

It calmly lands on your face.

 

Look at all the millions,

Stare up at all of the billions,

Of stars in the sky.

Look up and ask yourself why,

Why you can’t join them,

To sparkle and shine.

 

Become a star sparkling in the sky,

Make sure to shine bright,

You never know,

Who may need your light.

Sweet Death

Sweet Death

I am the darkness that seeps into your light,

I am the torment that twirls, whirls and chokes,

Anything in its sight.


The sun scowls down at me,

The sky trembles,

The sky hides,

Behind its clouds of fear.


I stop,

Stand,

Stare.

I take a good look,

At this pathetic world.


Dopey peasants pattering around,

Peddling insignificance,

Exchanging naught and zilch.


They will gasp soon,

They will promise anything,

They will grasp at what lies around them.


What is radiating in their emptiosphere?

Upstairs?

In their bottomless pits of wonder?


Don’t they see?

What great feelings I bring?

The sweet feeling,

Of no feeling.

Warmth comes,

The greatest warmth they have ever felt,

The longest sleep they will ever get,

The blackest dreams they have ever sought.


Ahhhh,

They cannot forsake,

This pathetic world.


Ahhhh,

If they only knew death,

They would embrace it.


Ahhhh,

Sweet warmth,

Sweet zilch,

Sweet calm,

Sweet death.


There is no phone ringing,

There is no adolescent singing,

There are no appointments,

There are no more disappointments.

They don’t exist,

You don’t exist,


You will feel,

As if,

you never existed,

At all.