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Some Poems - Poetry Group

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Kristoffer Martin

Symphony, chains clinking against metal
Links rubber seats cradle and comfort

Sand filled wind hums the tune metre with each swish
Each dip, each crest

Married two too young to know
The missed crescendo

An imbalance, a racket and rocked seat
Waxing ever skyward only to wane

What chains pull, lashing our minds to the past
Gone playgrounds and dusty summer days

That grazed the sky with time to spare
So fast we lose so many visions

Red top curls, acrobats balanced above
Simple crescent eyes

Idealistic mirrors for the unknown
It was the last we swung

Boy Whom I Never Knew

I see you seated there
Without a coat on this cold bus
Brown auburn eyes glancing up at me
Past me, curious, nervous, alone

Your hands squeezed tightly in a bunch
Grasping the end of your sleeves
Weakened by the short yawn
And I know who you are

I see you studying people
Testing your wit against
Dark shadows that wonder in and out
Across the colored windows

The same you are, to me
As I was then
And though I do not know you
Born years after me

I know you, fear for you
Wish that I was a different person
A person in your life
To show you how not to be me

But I know that I am not that person
So as this bus ends its trip
Settles for its short reprieve at a
Transfer station in the middle of early
Winter darkness

I leave you to your wit, your bright curious eyes
Knowing that you will find your way to your next bus
And to your home where all the love or hate or indifference
Awaits you.


Missing Friend
(For Richard)

Twelve years have passed since we last spoke

I wonder who you have become
Wanted to be
Tried to be
Would have been
Who I could have been

I wanted to grow with you
As my brother
My family
My friend
My mirror.

Now we seem lost
Untethered to all
We were
You in your life
A thousand miles away
And me in mine

Many thoughts forged
Remembered of you
Who you were
To me

You, me
We are not even acquainted
Wishful words imagined memories
Lost to what could’as and would’as

Wish that we were still friends
And not pictures on a screen
That tell truths and lies all at the same time
Words and dots and pixels that separate
Our past and our present


Missing Thunder

A gold red sun lay in the distance
Sloped below black skies
Shimmering gold strikes gently.
No Thunder

Coaching the clouds to pour them selves dry
Yelling, try damn you
White light dancing hard
No Thunder

Blasts of Kansas winds out of their home
Pushes me towards home
Nature’s right brightly burned
No Thunder

Faster does its life come to an end
Blown heavy miles long
No light this time
But a low grumble grown so large to shake me.


Rung Out By The New Ones
By Krist Martin.

Pimp stomp, rappin', go jammin', hip hop no reason t' stop. Look out, shot about , crouching, screaming, yelling, singing. Hard Core, Soft Breath, broken hearts, angry tarts, reverberating over the radio. Casted, lasted, over blasted, loud high strings stretches, intramural messages. Timed Beat, over heat, dead, by white powder dust, singing on high no must. Heart racing, drums playing, sex dreams, lust and tire, nothing over fellatio. Big booty, long hair, no underwear, high leather, low thongs, what's wrong with these songs?

Days of rocking sweetly gone, the old big bands thrown away, so wrong, Elvis Presley, his hips a swingin', reggae, jazz, hip hop, Slip Knot. Punked out, cast with doubt, boy bands ruling all yo' girls. Vinyl, A-track, tape deck, CD plastic, mp3s a soundin'. Remix, tried out Styx, oh my heart is achin', strainin', over sung, sing song, drawn out melodies, tired fingers playing the same old rhyme, message time after time.

Old masters sing their songs, the new, rappin' about the good ol'days, what good ol'days? Before the playas played, ripped off bling bling, boobies on the big game. Music messed with, chord to chord, struck thundered, blundered, rights to the words sold and stolen, Napster, Jamster, computerized Rapster.

Big bill playas, righteous dick-ators, earning lots-o-cash, buyin', lyin', not simplifyin'. Where did we go wrong, what happened to Believing in Yesterday, and having our life Change in Oh So Many Ways, The Girl With Kaleidoscope Eyes, and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Jail House Rock and the Soul of music.

These days are gone rung out by the new ones, these days are gone, rung out by the new ones.

Old masters play their songs, disappearing in the ho drum, time go by techno, bebop hip hop, multi million dollar race. Money's changed all these hands, no sad songs by these fake bands. Fixed up songs gone so wrong, "Help" lost to the dire lights long gone. Skinny boys, blond hair beach, home boys singin' "niggas reach". Damn these lines, love, rusted guns, high fly, jazz, base, blame, blazzed, razzed, black to white, king of pop, socked once, twice, three times, non stop.

Fallen bands, music "Idol", fought and lost, sarcastic to fantastic, moddled idiotic, raised by the masses, raced to the TV. Lime light, cascaded the old for the new, same sung, new singas, copyright infringement, raptured predicament.

Where did we go wrong? These days are gone rung out by the new ones.
Where did we go wrong? Those old masters played their songs, not for the money huney, soul to soul, not for the fame, soul to soul, only for shame, these sell outs too tame.

Where did we go wrong, those old days rung out by the new ones.



nice an deep


nice an deep

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