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[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

"Closure" (Original)

The moment that I met you

I thought that you’d been hurt.

The sadness flung from

your jaded tongue

even when you tried to flirt.

Apparently, I was wrong

(because I know that pain quite well) 

and I would wish ne’er upon

the most wretched parasite

that special breed of hell.

.

O, would that I

From my minds eye

could destroy the messages of what could have been.

Aye!

You made me feel a hopeful man 

for lying by your side, hand in hand,

watching clouds go by, dawn to dusk,

til these hands’ owners die:

bones to dust.

.

You hurt me, woman.

I am not a toy.

My heart has been mangled and poisoned in ways that would make you doubt the existence of a kind God, empathy, and even love.

Does it bring you joy

to know you were the one to numb that pain?

That sorrow transformed into a fiery rain

of anger-no-Rage which my heart would employ

for days, weeks, entire months of feeling bitter

to the point where my heart felt like your personal shitter.

.

Ok, enough pomp.

You get it I’m sure.

No need to sow the seed

that I think you a two-bit whore.

I don’t.  I think you’re naive.

I think you blissfully unaware

of the scars that you leave.

.

So let me speak up, I will serve you the truth:

The way you treat me is wrong and uncouth.

And read these words well because they’re

the last ones you get.

I will write about you no more;

on this I am set.

You know who you are,

You follow this blog,

You had me on leash like a loyal lap dog,

I messaged you on facebook,

we talked about plays,

gave me your number, and got a boyfriend the

very

next

day.                          Whatever.

Never answered my texts

or gave me one much less

‘til there was something you needed

for your friend to possess.

I don’t like you, woman,

but I was told to respect you,

by I girl I only just met who has already surpasses you

in my affection.  I don’t like these feelings

I want to be your friend again, not a poseur.

If you ever even liked me

seek me out for some closure.

.

.

Copyright Allan T. Anderson

July 2013

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

Love? (An experiment in deduction) - Original

Is it a feeling that we each create and define ouselves?

Is it a level of affection that we strive to meet and possibly surpass in a relationship?

Is it a set uniform thresh hold accessible to all?

Does it even exist?

Do others use "love" as moral justification for living their entire life with just one partner?

Is it an idea that can exist in both monogamy and polygamy?

Can a child feel it?

Does being "in love" with a person affect your ability to love others?

Is it only achievable once?

Will I forever be chasing that high but never re-achieving it?

Can I still love other people the way I love my wife or girlfriend?

Is it morally justifiable to cheat on someone you don't love with someone you do?

Is it morally justifiable to cheat on someone you do love with someone you also love?

Can you even fall in love with two people at the same time?

.

I may not have a clue what the hell love is but I know this for certain:

Kirsa,

I LOVE YOU!

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

Please post more. Your work is amazing

Thank you. I've been working on some new ones that are a little bit happier. Hopefully, they will carry the same emotional intensity.

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

Thats not how copyrights work

I'm aware, but a very small percentage of the population knows that.  This saves all the paperwork and filing.  Besides, if someone thinks my work is good enough to be stolen, I'm flattered.  Also after doing some research from a college business law class I'm taking, ownership starts the moment an idea is expressed.  I have the original source on paper and dated on my computer.  Thank you for your consideration.

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

"The Fisherman's Quandary" (Original)

I am a fisherman.

I have a shoddy pole and

I carry wispy weak line and

I have in my possession some bobbers.

Sometimes I lose the bobbers,

more on that later.

.

I am a fool of a man

I have a shoddy boat yet

I sail on the largest of oceans.  There

I apply my bait of choice,

of course, it's not a choice when it's all you have...

more on that later as well.

.

Most of the time, I go home hungry,

wretch of the man I am, and

I leave my shoddy boat and shoddy pole out

but I always keep my bobbers close at hand, along

with my bait of choice, of course.

But, I digress.

.

Sometimes-I do get bites,

A very lucky man I am.

Sometimes-they don't break my line,

I reel them in, always in disbelief, and

Sometimes-it just works

until the very last moment.

.

Most of the time they don't acknowledge me,

The indignitable man I am,

but-Sometimes-they do and I

get them so close to being in the boat

and then they get boyfriends.

.

Then the line snaps.

.

Then they take my bait of choice with them

they always do.

Sometimes-they even take my bobbers

my precious, innocent, naive, perpetually floating bobbers

Those bobbers are all I have left and unlike my bait of choice:

Bobbers don't grow back.

.

.

But, I: I am a fisherman!

So I take my shoddy pole and

I take my wispy line and

I rip out another piece of the heart in my chest,

put in on the hook, and cast off once again.

But not before affixing my foolish yet precious bobber

and telling myself that "This next time will be different,"

but more on that later.

.

Property of Allan T. Anderson

Copyright May 2013

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

"Filters" (Original)

I wake up groggy I stumble to the bathroom in an awkward dancefrom my bed my legs have forgotten how to function correctly I reach the bathroom and let out a soft scream "Yeah!" My parents hear it and remind me that they're sleeping I heed their request-for a moment- then repeat it again "Yeah!"  This time they ask me to stop more harshly I grow indignant, groggier, angry I curse into the mirror silently so they can't hear me fuck them they don't know me, how could they-"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Did I say that out loud yes I definitely said that out loud why is it that my brain and mouth work in tandem like this A thought pops in my head and at the very same moment it leaves my lips people call the ability to control this a filter I call it a disease no I don't why did I say that I'm stupid I'm such an idiot perhaps we should move on what did I come here for-for-four-four blocks in a day homework in three blocks all done WAIT NO I HAD MORE LATIN HOW THE FUCK AM I GOING TO-"ALLAN! LANGUAGE!" "Sorry mom!" Damn it there I go again OK get everything done and don't play on your phone don't play on your apps don't check on I should check on my apps "ALLAN IT'S BEEN FIFTEEN MINUTES!" "I know MOM" "Honey, did you take your pills yet?"

...

Oh yeah...

"Honey? Did you-"

"Uh...no mom, I forgot"

She sighs a plaintive disappointed and rightfully so or maybe not right no she is making me feel bad she's not right no one has the right to make ANYONE FEEL BAD this is wrong she is wrong I am right OK.

Breathe

Calm down

Pills.

I reach down into the drawer and get my pills while running water into the metal cup I put on my sink.

I look at my pills

"Bottoms up," I try to down the pills and water in one gulp:

Big mistake.

I take off my now wet bathrobe and crawl back in bed waiting for my filter to kick in.

Property of Allan T. Anderson

Copyright May 2013

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

You're cordially invited...(She said yes!)

If you expected a lot of clues

I’m sorry but there are none,

But don’t you get the blues

Just yet; this may prove to be fun!

Let’s see here…a poem! 

Not an original way, I’m sure

So I observe my debts and owe them

To the romanticists of yore.

More to the point: What is the point

Of this paper in your palm?

If you haven’t guessed already

It’s my way of asking “Prom?”

Now PLEASE STAY CALM: Don’t Panic!

You need not respond if so inclined

Thoughts of “rejecting” make one manic

And harbor worries undefined.

But I can tell that you are curious

Or you wouldn’t have read this far,

And I know it would make you furious

Not to know whose words these are

You may already know though

In which case this is still fine

I don’t count on secrecy as

A great attribute of mine.

So should you have an answer

I will tell you what to do:

Come meet your (potential) prom dancer

In the TA at half past two.

Property of Allan T. Anderson

Copyright April 2013

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

Update (a haiku)

"Of Machines and Men"

it isn't like "My Best Friend" 

more political

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

"Of Men and Machines" (Original)

They love to blame technology for what we have become:

A nation filled with malcontents, others more than some.

Is it really the fault of progress that we've let our standards slip?

Why is it that we spite the tape which helps us keep our grip?

Could it be tradtions' follies: archaic flaws that we embrace?

Or perhaps you'd rather close your eyes than stare real problems in the face.

You take the problems old as time

and then you treat them as if new.

Violent crime existed far before the PS2

So before you blame the one thing

that shelters me from strife

and all the bullshit and the drama which I have plenty of in life

and all the wars for blood and oil

and these acts of so called "valor"

and stories of those impoverished souls who spend their lives in squalor

and "The beast that is America!" which I know I cannot tame

would it be for me such a mortal sin

to play a hero in my game?

Could I possibly feel empowered playing the savior of mankind

or is that too violent a fantasy to have planted in one's mind?

"If not the game, then what?!" they ask, as if it's not already clear.

If you want to stare at a real problem's face

look no further than the mirror.

Property of Allan T. Anderson

Copyright April 2013

[poetrytowhomitpleases-blog]

"My Best Friend" (Original)

Do you really want to know

why I look at my own reflection?

It isn't narcissism; see

I'm quite far from perfection.

It isn't because I love

or even like the way I look;

My physique is frail and skinny

and my neck a bird-ish crook.

No.

The reason I look in the mirror,

for whoever wants to know,

Is because I see my friend there

who I found there long ago.

Long ago when I was younger

I was bullied and alone.

My peers had all forsaken me

for they had friends of their own.

While my studies seemed to prosper

my psyche began to die

and my lack of social outlets

would often make me cry. 

That was when I met him

I looked up with eyes of rain

and then I saw another

who could understand my pain.

We did everything together:

We brushed our teeth, we combed our hair,

and we never needed mirrors again

because we knew we both were there.

We had full-on conversations

we knew our every single thought

Our friendship continues to this day

through all the times we fought.

We still practice shadow boxing

When we feel the need to fight,

Whenever I need a friend to talk to

his lips say "It's alright,"

When we're angry then we'll crank up

the volume of the metal music

We both scream in raw chest voices

until our vocal chords refuse it.

Of course there are the fights

if only just a few,

Regardless of who was right 

The other never knew.

We'd never throw punches or kick

we would only sob and yell

We'd call each other awful names 

and tell each other "Go to Hell!"

Then we'll calm down and reconcile

which at times seems like a chore

But although we both need the last word

We need each other more.

Then I'll try to shake his hand-

and this proves to be too much

because all though we sit-

facing each other-

Our fingers cannot touch.

So:

I've never heard my best friend's laugh

I've never shook his hand

and I've never heard him play bass guitar

while he practiced for his band.

I've never seen my best friend's plays

and I've never heard him sing.

I could never hear him when he said

"Take your mind off everything,"

I've never heard my best friend cry

or read his poetry or his journal.

I will never meet my best friend's wife

until, possibly, rest eternal.

I've never wiped my best friend's tears

and I've never seen him blink:

I can only see my best friend's face-

So when we close our eyes

We wink.

;

Property of Allan T. Anderson

Copyright April 2013