Silence the long lost friend
the quiet breath of the earth
as she sighs
giving me all and leaving nothing behind
cream colored wall paper
falling off in chunks
to show the wood underneath
with all its wormholes
by Hannah Frank | HannahFrankMusic.com
Silence the long lost friend
the quiet breath of the earth
as she sighs
giving me all and leaving nothing behind
cream colored wall paper
falling off in chunks
to show the wood underneath
with all its wormholes
What is stopping me from writing bad poetry?
Absolutely nothing.
War machine
stop like an overloaded washing machine
can't turn
can't burn cities
can't turn babies into bombs
Your Barbie fueled demon sunshine slaughterhouse
Rafah dumpster fire sickening sirens screaming in dead of night
fun house mirrors you see righteousness
capsized in the sea of war
all drunken sailors
high on pillaging
sucked deep into the
dead of night
in the silence
when the bombs stop
and people pray
their headache overloads
the mind
the neurons fire
kiss the earth
kiss the earth
kiss the earth
There is definitely a madness to the earth I can smell it
like the dirt of spring rich with earth worms and decaying leaves
Primavera rises like small green shoots
rudely piercing the dirt to reach the sky.
In Palestine there is rubble
the Spring is augmented by the hurtful rockets
of bombs and debris
why, the girl cries out, is Spring not for me?
We've all heard the story of Hind
Heartbreaking it makes us want to scream and cry for her
so we block traffic
trying to unblock minds.
Bermuda shorts bicycle cyclical idiocy chanting
Ramadan restitution hopscotch
Hillbilly wine running down his cheeks crying
his sister played a joke
All thumbs funky hipster hunting rabbits
Woke manchild flinging mud online
Red torniquet turns quiet my ideal deal where I deal with it
Wanderlust colonization Western expansion happened
Indians already knew the reeds carefully planted and sown
could not outgrow cosmos deck of cards
goose neck microphone garage
Pillage and rape the ramp for exercise
the handicapped rodents need exercise
Pleasure seeking sundial
It starts with the stretch begins at the beginning
Time takes one step down the stairs
while I awaken
I'm barely making sense and I'm faking
my fall
I skinned my knee
but not at all
Sweet child, I see your face
it looks a lot like mine
Sweet child, I see your face
it looks a lot like mine used to look
I'm timid in the fist
my fighting flight is all used up
steel skyscrapers cut my heart
as they erect and build
I used to be a boxer
high on the fight
soaked in sweat
and summertime heat
full of ashes
of defeat
I looked across the horizon
to the sinking moon
the railroad tracks
disappearing in the sun
My hands pointing toward
my friends
wide open to love and
God's changes
a handful of violets
I pray he wants to
move me.
The anatomy of attitude the bones and the sinews of truth
The turtle speed of growth belies the giant tree the acorn will become
Tornados in Kansas lift the house and shift a life
Meanwhile I am numb, in a black hat, getting coffee with espresso
trying to not look like a bum.
I remember exactly where I was
when I realized the paradox of money
I was giving all my power away
I lived in a house
I remember where I was walking
I lived in a dream
I remember what I was thinking
I lived in the sea
I remember where I was swimming
I lived in the sand
I remember where I was walking
the footprints
of Benjamin Franklin
all around me.
[Based on listening to a lecture by Bree Noble]
I guess I can be glad that I'm not him
but I guess I am too old to swoon
but there was magic in the air
I was there clad in black pants and black boots
the bartender was perfect
the curves on the ceiling
the lighting the magical night
walking under the stars across the miles
the distance I went
to get to
the Green Mill.
The error of my ways are calculations
factual traction on the slippery slope of the xy curve
The perspective shift as the ball rotates in space
CAD Design, architecture of the heart
I built a railway station in my mind
every attitude leaning on the other
until I was caught blind
the pizza sauce of someone's ear
talking on the phone endlessly
while they shook me down
for money.
Drawing the line!
Sound is a wave and a particle--
all at once, one circle drives to be
connected to the next
orbits of sound
reverberations of mood
calling to my heart
in the middle of your canyon.
Can you bring me into the fire and the flame?
The campsite underneath the stars,
where we bled for our brothers
to mark the day,
put dark soot on our faces
and prepared for War.
The paint swirls in blue and red
the face I made is upside my own head
the black lines of the charcoal flesh
become the hair
become the mess
my neck doesn't look like his
my mind doesn't float