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20 poems about nothing, p.1
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       20 Poems About Nothing, p.1

           Anthony Barbaria
20 Poems About Nothing
20 poems about nothing

  By Anthony Barbaria


  Copyright 2013 Anthony Barbaria


  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

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  Poem number One.

  Sincere laughs in the dark

  I look up at the night sky and see that there is no yellow in that dark blue abyss

  Sometimes I think that it is just beyond the horizon

  I know better

  The Dawn seeks to shatter the dream

  Breaking the dark canvas with shades of orange

  Yellow is upon us

  Tonight I will miss it

  Tonight I will be sincere

  Tonight I will laugh until it is light


  Poem number two.

  Cracked in the skull

  Bludgeoned on the crown

  Split hair and slit skin

  The flesh tears so easily

  Age has turned skin into paper

  Why not waste it?

  Write a novel on it?

  To some, there is no use, but to cover it all up

  To wear cloth and gauze

  To give blindness to the canvas

  Ink is the cure

  Make the living page jump

  No one will notice the cracks in the skull


  Poem number three


  Jumping through the glass

  A window shatters

  Shards go everywhere

  Someone slips on a wet patch

  Blood soaks through your socks

  Toes bend in agony

  The outside is so nice

  On display for so long

  A mannequin no more

  Delighted to be dripping in blood

  Delighted it is your own


  Poem number four

  Time is a joke

  In essence

  The world is slipping away

  Time has wound us around its finger

  Constricting to fit in

  The world has set a standard

  We must live in that standard

  To break free

  To mix eventuality and what has been

  It is a cocktail waiting to be unleashed

  To step outside of reality

  To create a new series of events

  Time can be constrained to our demands

  Let the new world order be noise

  Noise of a million clocks ticking in reverse

  Time is on no one’s side

  Let it be a joke

  Give a jolly chuckle for time


  Poem number Five

  Senseless Vanity

  Mirrors are like the voices of the crowd

  Joined together in rude comments and snide remarks

  No one likes what they see in the mirror

  It is not natural

  It is a backwards lie

  The hairs that twist in the wrong direction

  The skin that spots and the zits that pop

  Rude people can have such an awful effect on what is in the mirror

  Body types are wrong

  The wrinkles are like fault lines

  And the trembling lips are dry

  There is no way to chase down beauty

  It is all senseless vanity


  Poem number six.


  Fences, Boats and rotted planks

  The floor boards of a house

  The drink tokens at a bar

  A carriage drawn by horses

  Fake Nickels in a jar

  Skateboards and crates

  Filled with wrapped cigars

  Paper and Toys

  Numbered Blocks

  Crosses engraved

  On a large pine box



  Poem number seven

  Art Beckons





  Films about sadness

  Songs about love

  Pictures in a frame

  Sports are all done

  Art Beckons

  The sorrow and the sun

  Light and dark

  Rays of color

  Hues delight

  So much more to see

  Art Beckons

  Art beckons me


  Poem number eight

  Plastic Life

  Limbs are stiff

  Rigid with a fake quality

  A toy doll

  An action figurine

  It is a great facsimile

  A fun toy

  That is the way to think of it

  Sometimes you have to look away

  This flesh is not real

  Bury the casket

  And weep no more


  Poem number nine


  Chow Mein dangles from her mouth

  The smell of oyster sauce fills the room

  Beef and broccoli

  Shrimp and Walnuts

  You grasp the chopsticks in your hand

  She dips her egg roll

  Sweet and Sour

  The way love should be

  Sour and sweet

  You look into her eyes

  Loving stares as you unwrap the cookie

  What is your fortune?

  Takeout for two


  Poem number ten

  Buzz Off

  In your face

  Twenty-four seven

  Make it stop

  And the ads keep coming

  On the television

  On your phone

  In the windows of the store

  Buy and sell

  Freedom to purchase

  Spend your dollars

  It is a wonderful world

  Dollars and cents

  From trees and ore

  Spend the Earth from your wallet

  Forget about the bees

  Buzz Off

  Who needs money?

  When no one can breathe


  Poem number eleven


  Warm and toasty

  Old and smelly

  Fresh from the dryer


  On your appendages

  The ones called feet

  Do you like to wear your socks?

  Paired together

  Degrading into lint

  Some are wool

  Darn them again

  Fixed until next time

  Will they get lost?

  On the floor of the Laundromat

  In the basket of a stranger

  Will you wear them out?

  Black for dress

  White for sport

  Nice patterns for work

  Do you mix them up?

  Or is there no room for divorce with socks?


  Poem number twelve

  School ties

  A slender touch

  Thin fingers on a frail arm

  Someone holds them tightly

  The boy laughs

  He feels so much power

  Maybe he is scared?

  Maybe he is scarred?

bsp; His buddies hold the frail boy against the wall

  Fist swing

  They take turns

  There is no blood

  There is some bruising

  This is scheduled

  This is regular

  It happens

  It is daily

  It is just?

  School ties

  Alma matters not


  Poem number thirteen


  Flipping great

  Things are wonderful

  She said yes

  She loves me


  Jump in the middle of the library

  Books and tables

  You watch me trip

  Down goes the book cart

  I blush and sprain my ankle simultaneously

  She said yes

  She loves me


  Poem number fourteen


  Pay out of pocket

  Give me your money and I’ll give you a future

  The lessons I have are available nowhere else

  How thin is your wallet?

  It needs to go on a diet

  I’ll make you happy

  This is just what you need

  We have what you want

  Come to us and be free

  Just hand over your dollars

  I will keep them warm

  Just be happy

  I won’t deceive you

  You will not feel swindled


  Poem number fifteen


  Sounds of an explosion fill the air

  Something blew up

  A bright flash in the night

  All the power is out now

  It is late, but I need my television

  Now I cannot even see a book

  Somewhere there never was any power

  I do not understand

  I am sheltered by it

  Imagine no electricity

  Some pander for it

  I pander for a luxury

  Others pander for food


  Poem number sixteen


  Bleached bones in the dirt

  Silence looms as I enter the barn

  The piles of hay

  I grab a bail

  All smiles and cheer

  I enter the feeding area

  A long moo followed by another

  A thousand moos

  Maybe just thirty

  I break the bail

  Spread hay throughout the trough

  Silence start

  The Cattle feed

  I walk away

  I fed the meat


  Poem number seventeen

  Silence like a scream

  The things I never want to do

  I do them routinely

  The job from hell

  The way I listen to you babble

  The way I want to kiss your lips

  I hear your words and feel your breathe

  The way I never want to run

  While the others make me flee

  I fill my skull with madness

  Silent like a scream


  Poem number eighteen


  Just shut your mind

  Things come into realization

  You want to believe you can do anything

  You can

  I believe in the epiphany

  That all-time great idea

  The one that brings itself to life

  You do not need to dream any more

  This is the dream

  The execution of the idea

  The form from thought


  Make it real

  Blessed with new insight

  Take control of it

  Tame it

  Now, make it wild

  Understanding the meaning

  It is your epiphany


  Poem number nineteen


  Crusty tubes with the cap stuck on so tight

  You wrench them open like jars from the fridge

  Ideas slide out in primary colors

  Where will your secondary thoughts lead you?

  This is a tertiary world

  A wheel turns in your skull

  A creative flow streams from your consciousness

  Forming lines and strokes from a brush

  You feel the bits of paint, like flesh on your fingertips

  Layers of thought brought into reality

  The world of the mind merges with tangible elements

  Is this proof of the soul?

  A painter’s church is a studio

  Where life is created

  Every stroke is immaculate

  Every wash a baptism

  This is the medley of life

  Vision and creativity meshed with flesh and blood

  Frustrated fragments

  Bits of illusion

  Much like religion

  You need to see the light

  The painters hand forms a fist

  Then grasp another brush

  Heaven is never finished

  And hell is in the process

  Of criticized love


  Poem number twenty

  The Truck

  I’ve followed you from my youth

  You are the hero that I look up to

  I know that you are not real

  But, then I met you

  You were so much like I imagined

  Genuine and true

  I thank you for believing

  In those who believed in you

  I watched a mother cry

  You were a hero to her dying son

  You existed in cellulose

  And now you are flesh and blood

  As adult hood sets in

  Many forget to dream

  The stories of our childhood

  Form the men we’ve been

  Some hazards are trotted

  As we learn to grow

  But some shine through

  In the thick of it all

  So simple it seems

  Just to sell a toy

  You knew there was more

  So stoic you employed

  The best of your brother

  Who you gave much respect

  And you did not deter

  From giving your best

  They tried to kill you off

  The masses did cry

  But then you came back

  You reclaimed your Prime.



  Curbs and ledges

  The itch to ride

  So sweet is that curb

  You see that ledge

  I get the urge

  To barge at will

  coping under my trucks

  I can grind that planter

  I can Ollie that bush

  I touch the edge

  As I grab Indy and fly

  The sound of wheels on concrete

  Fill up the night

  Masonite burns

  And road rash delight

  It hurts so good

  But I get back on tonight

  My shins are dented

  My calves are strong

  A pool waits

  At an abandoned house

  We will skate until dark

  Or someone chases us out.

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