there’s only one way this is going to end - the book

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/8119228138

https://www.cyberwit.net/publications/2103

	Author: John Sweet Binding: Paperback ISBN: 9788119228133 Publisher: Cyberwit.net Pub. Date: 2023 Price: $15
In these poems, we find how the poet withdraws from outer experience to concentrate on the inner. These poems are full of amazing and deep imagination. It is evident that in all these poems there is present a rich style and a variety of melodies to attract the readers. It is quite remarkable that the poet has discarded the obsolete or worn-out phraseology. The poems are endowed with intense imagination, dreamy grace and subtle suggestion. All these poems become quite charming due to ‘maturity, manifested in technique, of feeling in relation to thought’.

1973

this is the one time you

will ever see your mother cry,

so pay attention

 

six, seven months pregnant and just the

two of you in the house,

exposed,

isolated,

and the wooded lot just across the street

 

the laughter and the whistles,

the idea of rape tossed out lightly like

a dove from open hands

 

rocks thrown from behind the trees and bushes and

then the sound they make against the

side of the house,against the living room window,

and where are the neighbors?

 

why is there no passing traffic?

 

not today

 

and she stands just to the side of the glass,

behind the curtains,

and do you remember being ignored?

 

do you wonder why you never

wondered where your father was?

 

why this is all only told

from your own limited point of view?

 

and then there they are, no warning,

the tears,

silent and luminous and maybe

your breath catches in your throat

 

maybe your heart misses a beat

 

and you stay where you are,

 

and you watch

 

you remember everything about this moment,

but you forget growing up

 

bits and pieces, sure, but

the bigger picture is blurred, is ripped and torn,

pages missing, images distorted, and

does the moment end?

 

it must, because here you are

all these wasted years later, children of

your own and a whole net set of fears,

but who to ask?

who to tell?

 

best to keep quiet, to bleed cautiously and

only in darkened rooms

 

best to get drunk or stoned,

maybe laid, and

best to just bite your tongue

 

maybe turn the radio up and sing along

 

stand back out of sight while the

moment is played like a fixed game,

while it stretches and darkens,

while despair continues to build in

the pit of your stomach

 

this new golden age of elastic time where

nothing ever ends

and all of us are marked

 

a hand on the doorknob?

 

a mouth opened up to scream?

 

the first day of the black hole your

life will inevitably become

a mouthful of shit and some heartfelt thanks

 

https://thecollidescope.com/2023/04/09/the-daydream-years/

AT LEAST HE'LL HAVE TIME TO TAN HIS BALLS NOW

 

THERE'S A REASON WE LAUGH AT YOUR PAIN

 

OH, SNAP!

 

Gotta love the snowflakes.  Free speech only for those who think the same narrow thoughts as them. 

 

Let’s bring it down a bit with some lighthearted verse.

 

And the cat again, because the cat kicks ass.

 

christ the saviour

 

 

another day of no sun of no

money no drugs and

in the silences between breaths

there is only waiting

 

in the fields that move from

the edges of town to the collapsing

hills there are only weeds

                          and mud

 

the ragged coughs of feral dogs

who have learned to walk on

their hind legs

 

have learned to fuck for pleasure

and to torture for even more and

will you remember where you were when

you heard about cobain’s suicide?

 

will you let your children keep the

skulls they find along the

freeway’s edge?

 

it’s a brave idea to not believe in

killing, but it won’t

help you at all down in juarez

because your tears will have nowhere

to go when the ditches are all

filled with corpses

 

those in power will wash themselves

clean in the blood of the weak

 

this is the only real truth

that history has to offer

GETTING THE SNOWFLAKES' PANTIES IN A BUNCH SINCE 2006

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there's only one way this will end

 

poem for drinking the blood of those who would fight to keep you down

 

in the age of fear,

be the enemy of tyrants

 

in the age of ignorance,

believe only in truth

 

fuck the addicts and the

whores who

sell their asses for power

 

fuck the kings of pestilence and

the queens of disease,

and fuck all of their sycophants

 

every castle can be

burned to the ground

 

every flag is meaningless

 

use them for wrapping corpses,

for wiping your ass

 

believe in the

sovereignty of one

 

pledge allegiance

only to trust

 

in such obvious ways,

change the world

the beggar, with his hands cut off

 

in the sunlight taking

pictures of falling water

in the moment

worried about the future

and denying the past

and none of us born w/ the

knowledge that all words

are empty gestures

 

the answers to every question

about worth and about

value given only in

terms of money

 

the failure that comes from

having none of it

 

children at the front door

with eyes full of hope and

empty hands or the ones

left dying in the street

 

man w/ a gun aims it at

your heart, says help them and

he’ll shoot

 

is saving just one any

better than

saving none at all?

 

has the sky ever been so

perfectly blue as it was on

the last day of your life?

 

it’s not the absence of joy or

the absence of beauty that

brings you here, but

the abundance

the transience

 

the knowledge that you have

thrown away more

than you will ever get back