Wash your Hands

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2016 by bigtuna185


All we are is mud and I don’t always feel dirty

With the caked dirt falling from off of my hands

I am falling off of myself

Every day rising out of filth is a new day to wash myself

I am a part of the earth and the earth is in me

Pushing me out of my cocoon

Metamorphosis ripping the old me to shreds

Organs and bones shifting

My exoskeleton keeping me from harm

Please don’t touch my wings for I want to fly someday

Soaring over mountains and valleys and landfills and sumps

Rolling around the grass with childlike ignorance of all that is coming

What is coming, I don’t know

But they’ve told me it’s bad

Unless you’re good

Then it’s good

But there’s no measurement of good to keep you from the bad

And of course I am dirty and so I don’t want to be dirty when the bad things

Wait, I mean the good things, come my way

And it’s so hard to be clean when everyone else doesn’t want to be clean

The faucet is drip drip dripping down the drain

Keeping me awake at night and I can hear humanity drowning drop by drop

And all I can think about is the mud on my hands and the blood in my veins

And the blood on my hands and the mud in my veins

Because you can’t escape the curse of your ancestry and so we would all be doomed

If it wasn’t for His blood shed for my muddled affairs

We are all blind as the clay has hardened around our eyes

We try to mold our own destiny and shape our lives the way we think is best

But we have cut off our own hands

And we have no feeling

So we die


Song of Myself

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2016 by bigtuna185


When I think of the groanings of the earth
And how she murmurs and whispers life that springs up
Through the firmament, cracks and fissures
Tectonic plates shifting beneath my feet in constant change as I am
I wonder at the sameness of it all
About how I too can split apart at the seams
Continents drifting, Pangaea lost
The world forever changed
About how earthquakes cause tremors along the fault lines of the heart

I stoop down to pick up the pieces
The tiny trinkets that make up me
That have fallen out of their proper place
And try to rearrange them so that they won’t be so easily moved
But I might as well try to chop down trees so that they won’t be destroyed
And store them away somewhere safe
While ironically being the cause of their demise
For you see if you want to be safe then you must accept a loss of control

Safe is not always best.

Roots must be allowed to spread in unsafe places
Dangling off of cliffs
Dangerously tethered to unstable ground
Should the foundation fail
The seed will still spread
And most likely in better soil

I cannot live life tying things down
Hoping that things will not shift out of place
When the world moves, so do I
And we have both learned to live with it

Need vs. Want

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on May 3, 2016 by bigtuna185

*Author’s note: Also done collectively with my high school poetry class.*

I don’t want to function
I don’t want to laugh
I don’t need to laugh
We don’t need to laugh
We don’t need laughter
We will need laughter
We will need inspiration
We will be inspiration
We can be inspiration.

Sunrise, Sunset

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 3, 2016 by bigtuna185

*Author’s note: This was collectively written by myself and my high school poetry class. An experimentation of sorts with word association and the poetic form.*

The sun rises and sets
The mood rises and sets
The mood rises and sways
The mood collapses and sways
The mood collapses and crawls
Every mood collapses and crawls
Every hope collapses and crawls
Every hope collapses and dies
Every hope rises and dies.

The Thief’s Curse

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on May 2, 2016 by bigtuna185


There once was a man
From the town of Not
Who owned a bit of land,
A quite pathetic plot

He looked to improve
His stock and store,
No money to move,
And that cut to his core

This man always spied
On his neighbors across
The road so often he cried,
He felt hopelessly lost

There once came a day,
Winds blowing and howling,
A paper tumbled away
Like a cornered mouse cowering

It skittered and scattered
All throughout town
It was withered and tattered
Nobody would stoop down

Except for the man,
So troubled in heart,
He picked up in his hand
The paper, nearly torn apart

It was a deed to a house
Much larger than owned
And did well to douse
His complains and moans

There was no name listed
It was a strange bit of luck
The man could be arrested
He didn’t give a hoot

He became what he thought
That he should have been
Despite what his mother had taught
When he was only ten

“Don’t steal people’s things,”
She would say after church
“A sin like that brings
Some curse to besmirch.”

Well Mother never said
Anything about taking a name
At least according to what he read,
They might as well be one and the same

He signed the deed with ink
Hastily scrawled in black
The man barely had time to think,
There was no turning back

He packed all of his belongings
And settled into his new estate
Without acknowledging his wrongings
But it appeared to be too late

Upon his sudden arrival
The house it groaned and creaked
After years of lonely survival
It appeared the man had peaked

A body was found under the floor
The man was quite appalled
A ghastly shadow appeared in the door
And for this tale, that is all.

Such is the end for the man from Not
He had no last breath or parting word,
But if he were around for another shot
Would he do it again? Well, that’s just absurd.

Great Minds

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on February 29, 2016 by bigtuna185


What is a mind?
What is that indescribable thing that causes man to
Think, feel, and ponder?
Where does it exist upon my person?

Is it control?
The way that I am able to carry myself,
Manipulating voice, diction,
Twisting words and wills whither and thither
So that they wither a rather
Weaker version of itself,
Coaxing and prodding and pushing.
Am I in control?

Or is it conscience?
Morals, standards, and values
Placed upon us by nature or nurture,
By God or evolution,
Products of the faithful or the stubborn,
Right and wrong, good and evil
Relative to spaces that they occupy,
If it can take up space,
Freud whispering incorrect answers
To the questions in my cloudy thoughts.
What is it that reigns supreme?

Maybe a mind is inconceivable,
For how can you conceive
The very thing you are conceiving with?
What is this miscarriage of thoughts that flutters,
With all of the grace of a flightless bird,
Unsuccessfully through this unexplainable void in my head?
It may prove impossible to say.

Chemical impulses rule my behavior
With all the elegance of a drunken mad scientist,
Mixing rage and comfort together,
Disquieting the peace and equilibrium,

But none of this explains what is mine
And what you can mine from a mind
And how you can mind
And have half a mind
And be strong-minded
Without actually knowing what a mind is,
Adding modifiers and descriptions to something undefined
And if we underlined this truth we would find that
Describing nothing still leaves us with nothing
And yet we still have something and are something.

What if the mind is an indication of our existence?
A blinking red light in a corner that lets us know
That the machine is still running,
That the race is unfinished,
That we are works in progress,
That we can profess and confess
With everything in our being, even the unexplainable parts,
That we are alive.

The mind shows itself with every utterance,
With each new innovation,
Every problem solved,
And in every scribble on a page.

And that seems to be good.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2016 by bigtuna185


Scars and wounds afflict this tortured heart
From battles won and lost valiantly;
This causes cynicism to impart
Its hollow creed to rot inside of me.

Deserted and abandoned all alone
Was how I lived despite my aching soul,
Bruised and beaten, hope itself unknown,
My weathered mind had surely paid the toll.

Stormy days raged skyward from up above,
Little chance for light to pierce the great expanse,
But winds do often change persisting love
To move from naught; endearing thoughts advance.

If but a single draft would catch the sail,
Bring wayward, lonely Love back without fail.