Ipoet

Male
from Portland, ME

  • Activity

    • Gentleman.

      7 years ago

      Ipoet

      I am the modern man.
      The Model T of my generation,
      Built by the drive for perfection,
      I am most at home with computers,

      See,
      My makers lost their humanity,
      So they couldn't install it when they
      replaced my bones with ball bearings.
      The only thing I have in common with
      the architects of my aerodynamics is
      hunger.

      There is a diesel engine behind my ribcage
      running on empty,
      And I am hungry.
      Two hydraulic legs with a lifetime warranty
      that ran out on my family ages ago,
      Anger does not come equipped with ears or
      a muffler,
      I cannot hear my words or soften my speech.

      I am the stainless, blameless, steel god of the
      godless,
      I- am Progress,
      Do with me what you will.

      I am 160 miles an hour on the open road
      away from memories,
      Always racing to the future blaring full
      blast,
      Never pausing long enough to stare at
      the past,
      Our mistakes were too great for us to consider
      stopping for;
      Unwelcome hitchhikers latched to my back
      like so much worn baggage in the trunk,
      And a streamlined spine,
      Designed to stand straight.
      It does not bend or break for anyone.

      No-one told me it would be this lonely.
      'One of a kind' is not a blessing.
      It is one ticket to the drive in movies,
      It's an empty passenger seat filled with a
      GPS and the oddly repetitive voice of
      my ex-girlfriend telling me where to turn,
      And this is not what I signed up for.

      I was searching for serenity in the desert,
      But all I got was sand in my gears,
      Tear ducts turned into timing belts so
      I wouldn't have to cry,
      My mechanic said new steering and a
      vacuum seal would get me where I'm
      going,
      But I haven't looked back in years.

      I am the product of my creators,
      And Mother Nature's only claim to me
      is the oil flowing through my veins,
      I am a collision course away from oblivion,
      A machine-made frame with no ghost inside
      to save,
      I know that there is an error to my efficiency.

      I think it started with a savior that didn't take
      pity on the mechanism of my mortality,
      But I'm glad he hands out second chances;
      My failures have bitten deep into my body,
      Leaving rust patch directions toward beauty,
      I will tear the metal from this masterpiece,
      Making myself vulnerable to my own velocity.

      Born again into biology,
      I would rather read the end of my skin's story,
      Than be immortalized by materials.
      This machine didn't have a heart until
      it realized what was missing:
      Me.

    • Ipoet (Poem)

      7 years ago

      Ipoet

      Stop.
      Just stop.
      Before you tell me to play you like a piano,
      And to just hit the high notes,
      There are some things I think you should
      probably know about me.
      Like:

      I spend a lot of time in my mind,
      On the corner of Memory and Regret,
      Lounging against a lamp-post,
      Always smoking my very last cigarette,
      Watching Shoulda-Coulda-Woulda stroll
      by with Ms. Opportunity on his arm.

      I know I'm not always altogether,
      So there's more madness to my madness
      than your modern scientific methods will
      ever uncover,
      And if I stick my head into your clouds,
      It's just 'cause I want to see what you're made of.
      Or, hell, maybe I just like the view.
      But staring at your sun through a mirror,
      I'm gonna see a million midnights;

      For me, pain isn't an end,
      It's the beginning of joy.
      You may have noticed my long sleeve;
      It's because I've got a quick-release heart
      pinned to my wrist,
      I stopped measuring my attraction to other
      people in butterflies because, honestly,
      there were way too many typhoons in
      the South Pacific.

      And I know it's a bit suspicious, conspicuous
      even,
      That I don't watch what I eat.
      I don't read the labels on food, either.
      Yes, I know, “smoking is bad for me”,
      If you're going to argue the point,
      Hold your breath and watch me die,
      My body is not a temple,
      It's an amusement ride...
      And occasionally I take passengers.
      As long as they're at least this tall.

      I still jump the last few feet onto my
      bed at night.
      Not because there are monsters under it,
      But because imagination is a dying art form.
      There are more words in my head than
      lightning in a storm,
      I'm a poet.
      And... don't finish that cliché phrase,
      I've got rhymes like you've got legs,
      They go on for days.

      I tell bad jokes,
      And if you ask me what I'm thinking,
      “Nothing” is going to be a valid answer.
      I've got the face of a cynic,
      And the soul of a romantic,
      So I'll bring you flowers like I'm going to
      a funeral,
      But the second you open that door,
      I'll light up like a birthday cake.

      So, I'm sorry,
      I never really learned how to play the piano.
      I could probably make it through “Chopsticks”.
      But if you you come to me with a broken heart,
      That, I can fix.

    • White Night

      7 years ago

      Ipoet

      I can't be your knight anymore.
      My armor is dented,
      The shine is gone from fighting your
      imaginary titans.
      So I gave it to the Salvation Army,
      In the hopes that, maybe, they could
      save my soul from the deeds I
      did in your name.

      My body was broken defending
      your walls.
      My bones bent by the blame you
      misplaced like a mountain on
      my shoulders,
      Pressing me into forgetfulness;
      Call me Atlas.
      Shrugging would be a relief.
      I've been shackled for so long
      into solitude,
      With you as my constant companion,
      That I am lost more often than
      I am found,
      Even then, I am often gone.

      You put stamps on your letters,
      Sending mixed messages that
      make the labyrinth look like
      a one way street,
      Even the Minotaur took pity
      on me and showed me the
      way out.
      I would brick you into a cask
      of Amontillado if I could;
      Bitterness always tastes just
      the way it should,
      More so when you're around.

      I hear armies marching when
      you profess hate,
      And crows circling when you
      spin lies into love,
      I will leave war to warriors,
      Waging words for freedom and
      forgiveness instead,
      But I digress.
      This is not a poem about unveiled
      aggression,
      To the contrary,
      I wish you nothing but the best,
      Though you'll have to find it yourself;

      Faith was never your strong suit.
      I must have seen your father's memory
      in your eyes,
      Trying to keep the compassion of a dead
      man alive,
      Resurrecting the past doesn't make the
      future better,
      Their ghosts don't push you up to the light,
      They pull you down.

      Into the River Styx,
      You didn't even pretend to fight.
      You cuffed me with kindness,
      And played me for pity,
      How could you forget the sun?
      Maybe your eyes grew accustomed to
      the ragged sadness of small places
      and the faces you knew so well-
      My tears are no longer for you.

      They belong to your possibilities,
      Caught like raindrops in cupped hands
      to be turned into holy water,
      We must have missed communion the
      day they handed out blessings,

      When you told me it would be fine,
      I realized God saves his favor for the
      fallible,
      Freeing those that taste the fruit you
      ate in Hades,
      It was the seed of salvation you spit out.
      And I-
      I rode to your rescue,
      Racing into tomorrow...

      No more.
      Find some other sucker on a white steed.
      I will not let you steal the gold from my
      sunset to brighten your twilight years.
      Why didn't you realize that the moon was
      always yours,
      And its silver in your soul, however tarnished,
      Was just as precious?

    • Poetry.

      7 years ago

      Ipoet

      Was awesome. There are probably words to describe how mind-blowingly amazing Theresa Davis is/was, but I can't think of any that come close to doing her justice.

      Goddamn.

    • 2019 years ago

      Ipoet
  • Comments (5)

    • dizzyblinker FIRST Member Star(s) Indication of membership status - One star is a FIRST member, two stars is Double Gold Loud person

      7 years ago

      Just a thought, but...
      Post some of your words on here too.
      Don't just give all your lovin' to facebook.

    • dizzyblinker FIRST Member Star(s) Indication of membership status - One star is a FIRST member, two stars is Double Gold Loud person

      7 years ago

      Happy belated birthday Kiddo.
      If the Zombies eat your brains, I will not hesitate to remove them from you.
      smiley0.gifsmiley0.gif

    • dizzyblinker FIRST Member Star(s) Indication of membership status - One star is a FIRST member, two stars is Double Gold Loud person

      7 years ago

      393677_10150420339629166_784074165_82586
      smiley0.gif

    • dizzyblinker FIRST Member Star(s) Indication of membership status - One star is a FIRST member, two stars is Double Gold Loud person

      7 years ago

      Just take it and enjoy it! smiley0.gifsmiley8.gif

    • dizzyblinker FIRST Member Star(s) Indication of membership status - One star is a FIRST member, two stars is Double Gold Loud person

      7 years ago

      I have now popped your comment cherry.
      Go team.

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