A Snowball's Chance
As were a pebble or a ball of ice
One Homo Sapient's Slant on Livin' in the USA
As were a pebble or a ball of ice
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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Labels: personal, personally evolving organism, poetry
i am far too far away from you
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
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Labels: Hope, personal, personally evolving organism, poetry
I'm thinking on things I need to mend
old wounds I've kept open
developed skills which fail me now
passionate pleas which must always fall upon deaf ears
because they aren't aimed correctly
even though my accuracy is impeccable
I'm facing up to failures denied
belittled and bemused by my own apathy
have I fallen into disrepair and anguish
painful to behold and yet held up as mettle
it is emptiness embodied
it is loneliness entombed in light
the light which only shines forth dimly
I'm canceling my tickets to the ball
to the far flung reaches of imagination
where I've always known I'll never go
but, dreaming of it, have ignored the here and now
and passed on far too many small wonders
given up this chance or that
for some delusion held so dear
it drains my life of spirit
I'm putting out the weary fire
the flickering candle of despair
which has lit my way through life
for all these many years
though often I have dimmed its light
and hid the flame behind my back
as, knowing deep inside, I questioned its source
and begged myself to heed the truth
before the shadows swallowed me
whole
I am still
and forming
daily into more
of what I'm meant for
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
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Labels: personal, personally evolving organism, poetry
today is rough
I feel the panic seeping in
not like before
with the ways and means
I used to hide behind
underneath the netting
like covers pulled over a child's head
to keep away the bogeymen
from whom I run
today is slow
I wonder why it comes again
so like before
its creeping tendrils
telling me it's coming
I can't hide
don't bother, but I do
knowing nothing but the want
afraid that I won't run
today is long
it wanders like the crooked river
meanders to an end
nature's grades guiding to falls
just as she does for me
in infinite fractal branching
forging futures
fatalistic and magnanimous
where I might run
today is good
oh, I know it doesn't feel that way
not in these still desperate moments
not with the panic seeping
slowly out and away like the tides
away from the beach of solace
leaving behind the stench
of that from which, of course,
I cannot run
today I breathe
know that which I must clear away
with my own two hands
my back breaking
my head filling up
with aromas so inspiring
so despised by now
and desperate to be without them
do I run
today I would close down
except that I cry out
electronic silence the deepest sighs
soul all akimbo
liminal in some enchanted way
amassed of fortunes
under appreciated until recently
as panic began to wane
I glimpsed the place to run
today is good
tomorrow will be as well
and I will run no more
today is good
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
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Labels: Hope, personal, personally evolving organism, poetry
again I lie
it forces its way out through
my teeth
staring into
eyes of amber chocolate
beauty
so true this time
and again not everything
real
I am the wolf
who strives to be the white prince
of dreams
whose soft kisses
open her eyes to life worth
living
silly smile
locked in that way I can't help
feeling
these worn down fangs
promising everything She's
wanting
delivers us
into temptation's empty
belly
where both of us
wallow in our happiest
sorrow
it is here now
awakening to facts not
pleasant
reality
all of those sweet times brushed off
falling
onto my soul
where I will choose to believe
or won't
again I lie
wearing truth's better Sunday
clothing
still just rags
these grand imperial clothes
bare all
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
1 comments
Labels: Cross Posting, personally evolving organism, poetry, Relationships, Self Help, Sincerity
evening fallen empty again
and so full of everything
that might not have been
would never have become this
wonderful, vagrant friend
kissing softly inside my head
when the sun has settled
behind the far side
shadowing me and my dear friend
to writhe in comforting emptiness
this sport is wild mad insane
and willfully indulged
where no one but the ghosts
of satisfactions never born
can cheer us on and wave their arms
occasionally I'll notice something
wrong it seems but sweet your song
brings me down again to trespass
upon the most natural of things
to lose myself where no one sings
and though outside my door
do people wander and endure
their own sweet nothings poured
out by their own most natural
of nature's whores begotten
they must be less than nothing
for my own is so intensely mine
and only wanting more each time
do I embrace it once again
to fall and swallow all your pain
fallow my mind is hardly so!
it simply seethes with cares and woe
the images my friend does bring
instill such fear and hope enticing
bleeding me out of my mind
but darkness always lifts again
too soon! where is my empty friend
without whom now my life begins
each sun's light rising into morning
another chance to move along
before my friend will find me once again
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Thursday, December 09, 2010
5
comments
Labels: poetry, self indulgence
I don't now need
to believe
as hard as I once so truly did
when I was all angst and invective
against the gods
and all their sundry
creators
Is it insensitive
to care far more
for your mortal coil
then for the spin which life
for you has propelled
some kind of order to
this madness
Essences frothing
foaming and devoting
countless little nothings
each of their own
beyond the pail
each with grasping
hands and minds
believing
Awareness settles in
at last I see
at least I see
something more than mere belief
erupting like a plume
of magma from a new land's
birthing cauldron
In salt and wet
unwholesome sweat
and benign accompaniment
of little things
which no one thinks about
lest we be rousted
from our sleeping
For now too long
I have thought about them
though there can never be
enough of thought
expressions of a mind
evolved in trees and
the floor of the world
wide and free and terrifying
Is dreaming still
the night's watchman
the guard upon whom
all lives depend
to waken them
when hyenas roam and salivate
for childrens' flesh and marrow
I believe it's so
but let me be the first
to say that I know not
what favors
mystical unknowns
might deign to bestow upon
our fair and foul
family of humanity
within the jungles
of our complex minds
So wherein lies
the tale teller's crux
that oh so many
believe his sorry tellings
on the screens
and waves of modernity
and soiled by sellings
of mere things to boost morale
to slaver for new needs
to be fulfilled
It's all in the enigma
it's three slight pounds
it's lobes too three
it's aloneness
in the darks of nights
intent on being
someone something gleaming
chrome and bright
which all might to believe in
A portion of our time
elapsed and lost and ruined
yet still alabaster
in pristine and innocent
unconsciousness
alone together
none as one except
in special circumstances
How is the end
to ever come
for ever and the new beginnings
the airs we breathe
and sighing leave behind
to those who
come after all unwilling
until each shall find
our own means to believe
And with believing
cold willing
or the passion of
the fireplace on plains of
ancient dusks' heartless landscapes
and god's
relentless
laughing
Believe believers
or failing that
buy your ways from darkness
it's only what we each are owed
for this life with which we're playing
whether by the rules
we're given to believe in
Or simply until our leaving
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
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Labels: Cross Posting, philosophy, poetry
i'm not going to murder
this man that I love
but I know him like few others
no
like no other
and i loathe him
with all my heart
i am wounded and not afraid
to cry about it
like a little girl
forget the boy i've always been
never had a chance
to truly be
exalted in my pain
i am pathetic and deserve ...
far from in love and there
always there
and alone
in dreams and other blissful days
when manic i am
in reality abolished nightly
daily recriminations boil up
falling down the rabbit hole of
my poor me poor me poor me
empty
nothing left to pour
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Monday, February 01, 2010
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Labels: poetry, self indulgence
Somewhere in the middle
of nowhere, senseless
at the bottom of the top
or the top of the bottom,
Against a backdrop of two score
and three years of greyness
filled with spots of light and darkness
stars and holes;
Bright stars, pitch dark holes,
I would as soon press God into my service
as service such an ogre myself.
E'en as Lucifer, Prince of Lies though he Reign,
would cast away his chance for His love.
An be there Prologue
should beget such horrid honor?
All things have their precedents
in wishes and chance.
Would that I could explain
in Truth, with fictions left to day dreams,
then so might I understand
faults, unrepentant,
and return, at last, to Heaven.
Yet, when Passion is diminished
and the font of Hope turned dry,
some glamouries fetch me back
to sit upon the stones, in doubt.
Would that If would end;
that pity and its fuel, hope,
would leave off and send me no more rope,
hovering relentlessly.
The Morningstar sets free whom He saves.
-
Fucker... what a waste.
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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Labels: good try, pathetic whiny crap, poetry
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
3
comments
Labels: Cross Posting, Existence, haiku, poetry
. .
fasm push 'em
lost an' roll
crock-a-dill
dilly
over the pole
holp
nope
I can't
but would I
could I
nonsense
none of it
all, now,
run dry
"Pinklequickle", my ass...
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
2
comments
Labels: Cross Posting, existential angst, inanity, poetry, sasha/digweed

Rantamble? How 'bout strollin'...
'round about and
far too much lollin'
but that's alright
may be should be
which is oh! so frequently
how it's done
anyhow
along I came
and there I go
succeeding
failing
what's to know
that I can't grasp when
times do come
until it's done
damn! it's done
so now to truth
and sense it so
the wind inside
it swirls slow
as longer
shorter
fuller now
I am again
what once
was how
but all of that
is not to say
that things once done
have gone the way
of dreams and potions
taking lightly
sweetly sipped
no longer nightly
pain escapes
and eases me
into the past
the futures be
all of my time
though wasted still
or what
what will ...
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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Labels: blog thefting, cross-posting, personally evolving organism, poetry, stuff
just this once
nevermore and only
unless because
because well
you know
what if I didn't
what if I didn't take that chance
and I was left
yet again
hanging in the wind
the cold
the emptiness of being
me
alone
as usual
and then again
I feel that I'll change
I don't
I don't have any reason
for that feeling
maybe it's just hope
that shit I won't abandon
even on the edge
so far away now
so far away
On Wikipedia, it goes like this:
"The artist is nothing without gift, but the gift is nothing without work." - Émile ZolaEither way, I'm still one lazy, unmotivated sumnabitch... Catch freakin' 22, eh.
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Friday, November 30, 2007
4
comments
Labels: Cross Posting, Emile Zola, My Google, personal, poetry
Of a course and so it matters
and now so sorely so
that lost in shreds and ghostly tatters
disjointed ideas
ebb and flow of colors prime
Limping forward, pulling free
towing me along
a question, hard, once heard howling
screaming out
its same unanswered song
A darkness piercing brightly
in fullest emptiness
here, take this
what is left 'me
I did not seek its kiss
Through eyes ripped wide
and wrinkled shut
through purpose lost
a tuneless rut
In timbre, hue and what I feel
though ringing true
yet far from real
As all those
timeless
faceless
moist and empty dreams
I recognize in everything
the goal of all my schemes
Escape away 'til sunrise sets
reality's great weight
upon my neck
And opens up the gallows' door
falling away
the scrawl of Love's face
fallen away
Not yet
arise
get up
meat needs turning
bread is on the rise
the wine is fit to drink
Another sun and moon
have their stories to tell
their song still left to sing
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
2
comments
Labels: cross-posting, poetry
But it's only 6:30 in the AM, so that'll change soon enough.
Apocrypha
less absent than common sense
apocrypha on the lips
tips of tongues and spewing
regularly imbuing small lives
with larger self impressions
holding court in absentia
delayed gratification becomes anathema
when what one wants
is only never to be thought the other
apocrypha lends credence to one's claims
echoing elements of others' tallest tales
longing (though of course not showing it)
for the admiration of one's own
an acknowledgment that one is all alone
and still steadfast denial, rebuttal of the same
in subtle ironies missed too often
still plays, whole scenes, brief captions
formulating plans for local domination
of the world which is not everything
except for all that matters anyhow
apocrypha elucidates the simplest
clearest sign of life, la joie de vive
too powerful to bear aught but a wink
a nod
a shrug of the shoulders as the moment passes
eternal
ephemeral
esoteric and surreal but
all too common in our own and only world
Have a beauty day, eh.
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Saturday, September 15, 2007
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comments
Labels: cross-posting, poetry
It's Just The Normal Noises In Here
i'm spiraling down
and outta control
up's comin' the ground
oops
missed
hit a hole
so farther I sink
and longer I fall
reach out
grab a link
to try and forestall
these black dog days of august
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Sunday, August 19, 2007
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i wish i had a mirror
a projector
a still life juxtaposer
not unreal
faked in electrons
drawn on ether
reality
shining forth
from within my head
when in rome
why don't the romans notice
its not important
anyway
it's just what I wish
what i want
but we've already established
that
that means nothing
at least not
so far
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Saturday, August 04, 2007
2
comments
Labels: personally evolving organism, poetry
angular sensations
of ruby red pulsations
where love's gone dry
in over-rotten divets
of earthen sunken riv'lets
that once held hope
for sun to come and bathe one
but not in such a lingerin'
as that which seared the dream
only time
only freedom
only
only
only
everything
nothing comes of waiting
in void of fresher baiting
old hope peeks in
lost counting holding open
the class devolved not moping
for what can't be found
when blinding is the weather
of azure sky together
the blackest of the starless nights
only hope
only freedom
only
only
only
time to fade
to nothing
to see here
move along
move along
Well, maybe, maybe not, eh.
L8
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Sunday, July 29, 2007
1 comments
Labels: poetry
starting over . . again
down
trundling
lazy as she goes
two turns on the
big wheel
hang it all
as the river flows
so dies
the dream long passed chance
and, believe it or not, that's a Good Thing.
Not been in much of a bloggin' mood of late. No worries though. Is just cuz I'm sucked into a book's universe. I'll be back after - or more likely during - the sadness of its ending.
L8!
Posted by
Michael Bains
at
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
4
comments