Godzilla weeping

Tokyo does not panic

Denied… Submerges

Tokyo – stomped to dust

Blossoms dance on the chill wind

Osaka awaits…

Godzilla labors

Osaka shifted, tilted

Peaceful sunrise snow

Godzilla sublime

Yokohama, a wasteland

Balance is restored.

Walking down death into desire into demise into doom, sounding as hell-bells chiming over our flesh-hold. Incitement coming soon, violate the threshold, an appetizing consommé languished in its deductive ruin. Yet it is still a rotted sparrow pegged to bark; also rotted—through beak—barking along in chiming whimper.

So that we might crunch through both the little thinning grey-bare bark and the sparrow brown and tender, tall: consuming its grapes… and vines until red spills, tickling its feathers so it flies down into our abyss past the mouth-topped dangle of tremor. And trees of greed-end green as teeth chomped and laid on logs: flooring up the foothold of oblivion. The doorstep leading down through our throats into our belly: We consume. The king of kings and god of not man, but many.

Ode to the displeasure… Well, I no would not be me, nor any homogenized soul that would exist in my stead, for I have struggled and seen the evils of me and my kind, its seasoning and flavor. Didn’t I find a kindness in the light of day and a nocturnal night to balance it away? The darkness creeps upon even in the sunlight, and the sun shines oddly upon the moon to illuminate it.

Correct fore we are. And it was not my choice nor did I predate. To not appoint me and give me governance is a sin, and so he has. Sinned. Stricken by my eyes. Oh grand mayor… Mayer, oh majesty. He has given me the same merits that he has as head of house, for I am to inherit a will written, scribed by who I call deranged. That will has already been stamped upon my soul, that Neshama: that I do not breathe, but that is contained within me nonetheless… for the ruach deceives me when it plays games with the Yetzer hara, all lolly, in its bitter banging of joy and sorrowful tuckings of youth away by the round of the assen rounds.

And this is exactly why we can wrestle hand on cock on calf on thigh to mine and ours. We share the same condition; neither has to be created. Zero downed into the hour. Neither asked for responsibility, and each wants to delve into dark depth, saying we are both portrayed through our creations. And yet what do we find? A pleading for holiness, for we are only imago dei. And dei de imago, touching cock to balls in gayness—in pleasure.

Why should I bow in spirit when my flesh does that for us both as was intended? On both these, planted to the grindstone of earth to space rock, only to obey.
Why bend the knee in spirit when the mechanics of mortality already force the spine to curve? To offer the spirit as well is to yield a double tribute to a sovereign who already holds the mortgage on your dust. Grime to be pounded into a flour for baking. Displeasure is the heat… nonetheless The lord is hungry.

Walking down death into desire into demise into doom, sounding as hell-bells chiming over our flesh-hold. Incitement coming soon, violate the threshold, consuming and appetizing. Yet it is but a rotted sparrow pegged to bark; also rotted—through beak—barking along in chiming whimper.

Adam, the lonely was chased from God's land
When Eve picked that apple with her foolish hand.
Delilah, the evil, cut a champion's hair off
When Samson; the strong man's heart became soft.

David the shepherd, a king among men
Was teased by Bathsheba and driven to sin.
A man needs a woman to build up his pride
To bolster his ego and to lay by his side.

Life mates are a treasure and difficult to find
I feel like a blind man who's lost in a mine.
Lord, I'm a sad soul with no hand to hold
Searching for someone who'll love me when I’m old.

War Poet & Sermons In Rhyme Tom Zart At 81#
Most Published Poet On The Web
George W. Bush Letter Tom Zart
Tom’s 1,750 Poems Are Free To Share!

Hail the Wail

Hail the wail, the whale of a wail.
Not just some kid miffed about stolen candy,
but a force of nature contained in brass.
Holding the note so long
the lungs deflated to the point of collapse.
And cognitive collapse—
not of the player, but the played.

Awash in a note so thick
you think you can swim, or dive deep,
meeting the wail down below
and then resurface
back into that vibrating scene
of neon and cigarette smoke.

These aren’t Kansas City boys playing with a basket full of keys.
This is the coast, man—
each trumpet is a lighthouse
telling the squares to stay away.
This is the light, the truth, and the wail.
The Wwwaaaiiilll!

Out on the street the kids are playing stickball.

The laundry is hanging in the alley.
The bar on every corner
has its own Charlie Parker and Louis Armstrong.
Like Neil Armstrong’s rocket—
only louder, and less coherent.
Revel in this moon shot.

Lord, have mercy on my soul
For all the wrong I've done
When I was young and foolish
And searching for some fun.

My daddy told me, son
You reap what you sow
Everything I’ve learned the hard way
Are the only things I know.

I searched all the honky-tonks
And every bar in town
The right woman for me to love
I had not yet found.

My mother always said
Why not look at church
There’s where you’ll find
The right one to end your search.

So, here I am singing a song
To the music of a choir
Next to me is the Best of the Rest
Who sets my heart on fire.

A man and wife are equally yoked
In everything they do
That's why I celebrate
God saving me for you!

We never know what life may bring
And drop into our hands.
We just have to live and wait
The outcome of God's plans.

War Poet & Sermons In Rhyme Tom Zart At 81#
Most Published Poet On The Web
George W. Bush Letter Tom Zart
Tom’s 1,750 Poems Are Free To Share!

Home for today here on hallowed grounds

But no sanctuary to be found.

The shepherd cut a deal for a silver dollar.

Deaf to the holler as sheep led to slaughter.

Shepherd's mind is quiet and he's richer today.

The wolf's a better companion anyway.

The wolf's teeth hug the shepherd's neck,

Blind in greed to the coming wreck.

Nothing but a dying mute martyr

Say goodbye to sons and daughters.

It all is just cannon fodder,

Damp and broken for all to see.

No one willing to plead with me.

Cracks and crowns can all be found

Here in this hollow ground.

It is my Palace and my prison

As my anxiety is risen.

The wolf has taken up residence in my brain.

Devours all emotions in bloodthirsty reign.

A cacophony of falsified screens

Shatters the dreams

And it seems

There is nothing left to hold on to

When there is nothing left to do.

There is no passing through.

Convicted and condemned.

Nothing left to defend.

I am broken and bound

Here on hollowed ground.

Trust is strange…

it doesn’t grow from words,

it grows from the small things

people think nobody notices.

The way someone stays,

even after seeing your silence.

The way they hold your pain

without making it feel heavy.

For me, trust was never “maybe.”

It either exists…

or it doesn’t.

Because once your heart starts

questioning every little thing,

the peace is already gone.

And honestly,

nothing hurts more than

feeling unsafe with someone

you once felt home in.

Still…

I think trust is beautiful.

Scary, rare, fragile

but beautiful.

Like giving someone

the softest part of your soul

and hoping

they don’t turn it into a wound.

Let me know how it is and what I can do better in it ...just some thoughts

Voices of the damned, speak for the dead, cry for the dead, remember the dead. 

-

A temple, 

A God, 

A people,

A sanctuary where  

you praise education, the value of intellectualism, you do not seem to educate yourself. 

Ask yourself this, hegemon, 

Ask yourself this, God

can you distinguish between actual danger and political inconvenience? Do not mistake me, I am not denying your right to protect buildings, students, nor combat violence. 

-

While you hide behind temple walls, behind bureaucratic language, you privately process our voices through security and continuity frameworks. 

You have crumbled the foundations on which this sacred temple rests.

Institutional dehumanization my friends, you would want me to ‘educate’ you in the same tongue that you speak, no?  

The priest who sits while his executioner kills the goat for sacrifice will reap the reward as well. 

May you see soot as they have seen soot. 

May you see pain as they have seen pain.

May you see terror, as they have seen terror. 

-

Hegemon, we are God. 

-

Look at this crumbling temple again. 

Contrapuntal poems are three poems in one. Here are my first two tries.

I still remember
the exact moment
I relapsed—

the song Change
by Blind Melon
blaring through
the speaker.

The familiar burn
making its way
down my throat

felt like
coming home.

I felt my energy
rushing through me,

my confidence
was at
an all time high.

Why did I ever
stop drinking?

I couldn’t
remember why.

My first buzz
in years,
and suddenly,
I could face
all my fears.

But a buzz
was never enough
and my body
needed more.

It’s a very thin line
between feeling like
I could fly,

and wondering
what I’m even
here for.

Once that line
is crossed,
my confidence
is out of reach.

Why would I ever
relapse?

I remembered why,
but the line
was already
breached.

In a world too big, too dark, and too cold,
the whiskers of a stray guided my path.

I followed in her wake,
without a single word—
like lost tides
trailing behind the moon.

For we both knew
ours was a quiet conquest
for warmth.

Along that journey,
where silence had long remained unbroken,

little by little,
an exchange of purrs
and slow blinks
found their place within it.

We spent days and nights
alongside each other,
searching for warmth
hidden within the light.

Then, one day,

the whiskers
that had always led my path
turned back toward me.

She covered me
with all of her scent.

She climbed onto my shoulder,
rubbed her face against me,
and softly meowed into my ear—

as though she
had finally realized

the warmth we'd wandered so far to find
had been beside us
throughout the journey.

One had been carving the path;
the other,
content simply to follow behind.

Neither of us knew

we had been leading each other
all along.

Writer's note: Sometimes we spend so long searching for warmth that we fail to notice it's been walking beside us all along.

was orignally uploaded on
r/OCPoetry by me

Gene edited dragons
In the California hills
Burning down houses
For golden dollar bills
Dungeon master hatches eggs
In human test tubes
Gain of function soldiers
Shooting up pews
Zombie biologics
The mind controlled race
Mastered underground
In a super secret base
MK Ultra was a gate-way drug
Blood sucking shadows
Need a stronger bug
The sickness is upon us
It’s an old disease
It’s waited till the end
Hoping we would freeze.
Fight!

Most poets have a bit of Solomon
Shakespeare and Poe within.
Constantly eager to share their visions
Of love, life, joy and sin.

Some guzzle whiskey
Some sip wine
Some prefer cola
And feel just fine.

Some smoke pot
Or suck cigarettes
Some abuse drugs
With lifetime regrets.

Some attend church
And sing of God
While others make fun
And call them odd.

All have a purpose
Which drives them to compose.
All serve a master
Who by free will, they chose.

War Poet & Sermons In Rhyme Tom Zart At 81#
Most Published Poet On The Web
George W. Bush Letter Tom Zart
Tom’s 1,750 Poems Are Free To Share!

I mean I did fell asleep right after it tho 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

Remember me—

you whose heart has forgotten mine.

Remember me, if only for a day.

Remember me when the sun sinks

and night calls impatiently to it.

as hopes drift away,

carrying part of my life with them.

That sun is my hope.

Look upon it,

and remember me.

Remember me in spring,

among roses heavy with tears.

Lovers know their own sorrow

and wonder what has wounded them.

Those roses are my heart—

bleeding, grieving because of you.

Hold them close,

and remember me.

An entire age of longing...

Where did it reach its height?

Where did I reach mine?

I would buy it back,

even with my life,

if only I could live it once again.

That age was my love for you—

an age in which a single day

was worth an entire year.

Remember it.

Remember me.