HOW IT ENDS

THE IDEA OF FREEDOM IN A NATION OF ASSHOLES

New book, see?  Available as a .pdf at the moment, but I’m thinking it will soon scale the heights of the best-seller lists, as only the finest thought-inducing poetry can.

No, seriously.

http://scars.tv/chapbooks/

(and then click on “2019”)

THE DAYS ALL END WITH THE IDEA OF SUICIDE

I don’t think the link takes you directly to the poems, so I’ve included them below, since I’m a helluva human being. 





https://poetrymagazinefromindia.blogspot.com/











an image, traced

too young to obsess over

rothko's suicide

and so i consider cobain's

i tell you i love you but

it doesn't feel like an answer

it doesn't taste like religion

and it's not the fear of

being forgotten

but the emptiness of entropy

i am tired of being needed

of knowing names

and I have forgotten my

father's face but not the reasons

he had for hating me

i have learned to

see myself through his eyes

have stopped

talking about my past

it was never what i'd

hoped it would be

all,  and then nothing

stand there shaking like

dali’s hands with the muzzle of the gun

placed firmly against the

base of your skull

tell yourself

we are not Gods

look at the sky

then close your eyes

keep everything you’ve ever

seen held close to your heart

beg, and i will be your enemy

or the minotaur in his old age

or god in ruins

no one believes the story will end

no one wants to dig where

the bodies have been left

43 corpses, butchered, mutilated,

parts shoved into plastic bags, the bags

buried in the soft soil by the river and

everything done in the name of

power and everything done in the

name of money and everything

done in the name of freedom

look

what matters is that I love you in

this age of collapsing buildings

what matters is that we hold each

other in frozen, sunlit rooms

that the never ending

space between us disappears

pablo

no house in the country,

no country,

no hope without

the possibility of despair

it’s just history, you see

just the slaughter of the

innocent and the executions of

the guilty

famous women falling from the

clouds only to hit the

pavement with mortal force,

and then famous women painting

these brutal deaths

1939 maybe

and then 1993, the

baby born to junkie sweethearts,

my girlfriend still not answering

my calls two weeks after

the …….

cold sunlight on empty trees

pale blue skies,

pink clouds, brown hills

nothing beautiful, but

beauty was never promised

the future was

never guaranteed

just came screaming up over the

horizon like the fist of god

hoping to cause as much

pain as possible

wide awake now

these kids out in the back yard, playing

in some burnt-out truck cab,

these bent and blackened spoons littering the sidewalk

diabetic cab driver just laughs when you tell him

about the woman you love,

but this is the last cold year before the doctors start

taking off toes, before the foot is removed, before he finally

dies like a dog giving birth

and the girl on the front porch just smiles when she

gets the news, and the spaces between her teeth

says it’s never quite spring,

says she’s never quite warm and the cars on the

interstate all seem like an answer

the days all end with the idea

of suicide, but then they start again

motel just off of exit 58 is torn down, pool is filled in,

but you can still buy the postcards on ebay

you can listen to van morrison

while you drive to a cleaner town

you can sing about the dead kids and

you can dream about sleeping underground

it’s the fine art of nothing ever chaining

even while everything

you’ve ever known dissolves to ashes and rust

THE ENIGMA OF TIME

THE BLEEDING HORSE, WITHOUT IRONY

THOUGHT OF HOPE, THEN I THOUGHT OF YOU

GETHSEMANE

THE TASTE OF SALT ON YOUR LIPS

NEW WORK @

INK, SWEAT

AND TEARS

http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?p=18913

I KISS YOUR WOUNDED HEART

NEW WORK @

THE BIG

WINDOWS

REVIEW

https://thebigwindowsreview.com/2019/04/12/john-sweet-cage/

JUSTIFICATION/DESECRATION

WORDS ARE LOST FROM MY HANDS TO MY MOUTH

NEW WORK @

DUANE’S

POETREE

https://duanespoetree.blogspot.com/2019/04/john-sweet-writes.html

EVERYBODY ON A TRAIN HAS TO GET SOMEWHERE

it was never the moment but

the whole of history leading up to it

my apology arriving too late to save my father

a room of ideas set on fire

nothing of any real importance lost and

the body found in the closet just one more

pointless story with no real moral and

it went like this

the indians wouldn't die fast enough

the gold was worth more than

mothers nursing babies

it tasted like fast food and the children were

always hungry and none of the highways ended

until they'd fell into the ocean

the future arrived with the sound of a

plane hitting the north tower and

then it was gone

we were naked

were rolling in broken glass

called it love because we were

bleeding and then

ten years passed and all we had were scars

all we believed in was money

all i had were my poems

twenty million meaningless words to

hang onto while i drowned

BORED WITH THE IDEA OF JESUS CHRIST

BLOGNOSTICS,

BABY!!!!

https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/04/17/prayer-for-crows-starving-by-john-sweet/

LANDSCAPE W/ PORTENT

YOUR FEAR OF DEATH WILL SERVE YOU WELL

OVERLOAD

ONE PERFECT DAY, HELD APART FROM ALL THE OTHERS

A PROMISE AND A LIE

CLOSER TO THE HEART OF THINGS

WE ARE DIFFERENT SHADES OF SILENCE

WHY THE HELL

AREN’T YOU

IN THE KNOW??!!

http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/1582605

AND SO WHAT? AND SO WHAT? AND SO WHAT?

DIG THE

RABID OAK!

https://rabidoak.com/issues/issue-12/a-fragile-place/

FEELS LIKE WE NEED A WAR HERE

ANGER,

ANGST

AND

BILE

@ RAMINGO’S PORCH

https://ramingoblog.com/2019/04/08/the-ramingos-porch-poems-in-two-directions-and-other-works-by-john-sweet/