ALL OF THIS AND MORE

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/bleedinghorse99

It's an existential wonderland...…….

                                     

                                   
                                     

YOU ALONE IN THE HOUSE OF TRUTHS

2 new pieces at Subtle Tea,

but I think the 2^nd one is chopped off

on the web site

http://www.subtletea.com/poetry-by-john-sweet/

Should read like:

ash wilderness 

this little girl with wings

or this middle-aged man with

the bones of his wife locked in the

trunk of a shiny new car

these myths that are actually truths

the way pollock died so desperately

the way lee fell to the floor

screamed

and what is history but a

list of names written

backwards in the book of wasted days?

what are words but a

more hopeless form of violence?

listen

i was never this frightened before

my children were born

was never filled with so much useless anger

and i keep coming back to this

eleven year-old girl who

disappears from her home

thirty miles east of here

i keep coming back to her killer

how he never told where her body was

how he laughed on

the day he was executed

not like anything was funny

but like he'd won

like it had cost him 

nothing at all

THE HANDS OF CHRIST CAUGHT IN THE WHIRLING BLADES

2 NEW SLICES OF

GLITTERY CAKE @

CACTI   FUR

https://cactifur.com/2019/03/27/john-sweet-2-poems/

SONG FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS

DEATH IS MY ANSWER

SOMETHING FROM NOTHING

SUFFOCATION

WHICHEVER WAY YOU CHOOSE TO DIE

OH, THE CLEVERNESS OF ME....

Hmmmmm….  Something older (no idea from when - past 10 years, I'd say) I dredged up from the glorious worldwide web.  Flash fiction?  Maybe.  A memory & make-believe mashup, possibly.  Good fun, any way you slice it.




Within These Walls of Sorrow



    Early afternoon in January and the sky the color of luminous dust. The faded shadows of trees down these chalkwhite streets, and have you grown tired of waiting for Christ? Were you ever promised happiness?

    Listen.

    The children on the bed aren’t sleeping, they’re dead. The mother isn’t God, and neither are you, and neither am I. The days are numbered. Are always being counted backwards to zero, and if all you have is faith then you’re fucked.

    And what if the story was never even about you? What if every border is a lie? You think this way, but then the first plane hits the North Tower, and all of history needs to be rewritten. The person in bed next to you isn’t anyone you love, doesn’t even have to be anyone you know. Your children breathe in manmade poison, and it tastes like money dipped in blood.

    And can you tell a politician from a whore? Not if both will fuck you for your money.

    And when the phone rings, it’s the wife of a man I’ve never met, and she says she won’t be over today. Says her husband is on his way home, but she wants to finger herself while I talk dirty. Wants to cum through fifteen miles of wire, and what I think is that I may have finally discovered religion.

    What I wait for is the roof to collapse. For the crows to find the body of the dog at the end of the street.

    Listen.

    In one hundred years I’ll be dead, but what if this house is still standing? I should leave a message somewhere, should carve some holy inscription into a basement wall. I should remind someone that I was alive, but I probably won’t.

    And I remember one of the last conversations I had with my father. I remember he was defending the war, and I was laughing. I asked So why is this douche bag any worse than all of the other dictators?

    I asked Why aren’t we trying to free any of these women being held in Bosnian rape camps? and he answered What the fuck are you talking about?

    Said he’d never heard of the fucking things, and so I explained what I’d read, what I’d seen on the news, and I told him about a series of paintings I was working on, and he snorted into his drink. He stubbed out his cigarette, lit a fresh one and said Listen - suffering is what actually happens in this world. Art is for assholes.

    He called out into the kitchen, asked my mother if dinner was almost ready, and three weeks later he was dead on the dining room floor.

    Missed my marriage, missed my divorce, missed the end of the war, and now here we are bogged down in the next one. Here I am at the computer, reading about different rape camps in other countries, writing sometimes but not painting. Still not doing anything to make the world a better place.

    Still waiting for the children on their beds of blood and oil and flame to open their eyes.

    To laugh with the voices of angels

THE CAUTIOUS SEASON

THESE DAYS WE WASTE IN SILENCE

NEW RUMINATIONS AT

ODDBALL MAGAZINE

https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-john-sweet-2/

 

MAYBE POETRY IS AS MEANINGLESS AS CHRIST

NEW WRATH @

SPILLWORDS

https://spillwords.com/the-first-storm-of-the-season-and-who-we-lost/

THIS IS JUST YOUR LIFE, PASSING YOU BY

IDEAS AS OPIATES

INNOCENCE

As simple as pulling the trigger.

As obvious as history.

Drove down deserted side streets

in the fading light of December

until we found the door.

Fucked on a cold wood floor

until we bled.

Called it joy,

because silence was an admission

of guilt.

Called it pure,

because nothing we owned

would ever wash clean.

No one we knew ever really cared

when it was finally over.

The world was already full of

obvious stories

with unhappy endings.

NOT JUST ANY DEAD MAN'S DREAM

WORDS TO FILL THE HOLES IN YOUR HEAD

Good words.

The best words.

Not like the ones used by that functionally illiterate chimp in the white house.....


http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/bleedinghorse99

BUT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN, DID YOU?

And now it’ s sold out,

so don’t come

crying to me…….

AFTER THE GHOSTS

THE WHEN AND WHERE

AEONS

A DIFFERENT MEANING

SEEMS A SHAME TO WASTE YOUR TIME WITH ME

DYING MAN IN A BED OF FLAMES

..

POETREE

http://duanespoetree.blogspot.com/2019/03/john-sweet-writes.html

YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND THE KNIFE THROUGH YOUR HEART

RETURN TO

PIKER PRESS

http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=7245

THE BLOODSOAKED MESS YOUR LIFE HAS BECOME

FIND THE TRUTH

HERE @ THE

BROADKILL REVIEW

https://www.broadkillreview.com/single-post/2019/01/15/the-glimmer

BASTARD NATION

WHERE IT'S AT

https://www.amazon.com/Bastard-Faith-John-Sweet/dp/1973919311

https://www.amazon.com/nation-assholes-guns-John-Sweet/dp/1519541341

BABY, DEATH IS MY ANSWER

THE ALWAYS-AWESOME

ANTI-HEROIN CHIC

http://heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/poetry-by-john-sweet

A KING AMONG WHORES

NEW  WORK

AT  SETU

https://www.setumag.com/2019/02/western-voices-john-sweet.html

ONE WORD OF TRUTH

DAY  769  @

WINEDRUNK

SIDEWALK

https://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/2019/02/day-seven-hundred-and-sixty-nine.html