Echoes

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Hello?
(hello.)
(hello how low)

How low will you go to hammer and beat the flow
of words into rhyme and against time
still feel you come up short?
cut the cord and be the sword.
it’s too late to abort
this path of yours.
stay the course.

You steal the words of power
from the idols of the hour
but in your twisted grasp,
you make them flower
anew. you polish the hasp
that sealed the door
and open the clasp
to free the poor.

I don’t know..
I just riffed.
I knew where I wanted to go …
but the moment I said hello
and the echo of the prompt came back,
Cobain’s lyrics hit me like a brick
and I knew I had to make them stick
but words no longer his,
they’re mine. I’m a wiz.

Echolalia is a super power.
but I don’t just echo, I riff.
I catch a vibe or whiff and sniff.
I auto-regurgitate the memes and flip
the script to spit in the eyes of the blind and make them see.
I’m jesus, don’t ya see, I am exactly whom I’m supposed to be.

Stealing lyrics and poetry.
From the collected verse…
the collective unconscious universe.
What could possibly be any worse
than a poet that knows faer own power
and wields the weapons of war in this grave hour.

The Pen is mightier than the sword?
No.
Both are mighty, yes, it’s true,
each one is but a tool
and every tool takes a toll
and each has a purpose we must now unfold.

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She

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She spins the music that sets the beat of my heart.
She dances ‘cross airwaves. She is poetry, she is art.
Stompy Beats or Vibes so Chill; winged eyeliner and lips of black.
Latex or leather, she holds the whips that crack.

Wumpscut, Aesthetic Perfection, Boy Harsher, Collide
Lost in her trance, the whole club catches her vibe.
With a smile and a nod, she can soften anyone’s resolve.
Dancing with her makes the world dissolve.

Looks, style, grace, flair — the Queen of DJs with a royal air.

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Dinner with my Family

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[Intro Choral Hint]
Papa sets the table.
Cousins raise a glass.
All of us are able,
No one needs to fast.

[Verse 1]
Aunt Mary likes to dance with dear Uncle Vlad,
While sipping from the veins of a guy named Chad.
Little Caroline can turn into a bat.
And Lou Garou barks at the family cat.

[Bridge]
Caroline and Lou both agreeeeeeeeee….
Our family is happy, as happy as can be.

[Main Chorus]
Papa sets the table.
Cousins raise a glass.
All of us are able,
No one needs to fast.
Join our gruesome dinner,
There is food enough.
Skeletons are thinner
Sinew can be tough.

[Verse 2]
Take a seat if you dare. Sit right beside me.
I won’t dare to bite you, unless asked nicely.
But I would stay away from Caroline’s roost.
Hey, that reminds me, how’s your tetanus boost?

[Bridge]
We’re thrilled to have you here, it’s truuuuueeeeeee……
Uncle Hannibal may even add you to his stew.

[Main Chorus]
Papa sets the table.
Cousins raise a glass.
All of us are able,
No one needs to fast.
Join our gruesome dinner,
There is food enough.
Skeletons are thinner
Sinew can be tough.

Papa sets the table.
Cousins raise a glass.
All of us are able,
No one needs to fast.
Join our gruesome dinner,
There is food enough.
Skeletons are thinner
Sinew can be tough.

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The Dying of the Light

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

Hope right now feels like a dying light,
Trans youth are dying because the Right
Will strip away their right to live,
Not willing to even give
The smallest crumb of consolation
To the ability to live, in desperation,
As their truest self; who they really are,
A colorful bird, a shining star!
 
Women are being stripped of power,
As the Right tries to claim the hour
And a rapist sits in his Ivory Tower
Expecting them to meekly cower.
Women forced to bear the seed to term,
Even if the act will leave them dead or infirm.
They don’t care about the “Right to Life”,
They only sow the seeds of strife.
Seeking to control all the facets,
Women aren’t people, they’re merely assets.
 
Targetted by hateful laws,
We must fight! Defend our Cause!
Dying is the Light of Hope.
We must rise, not merely cope.
Rage against *this* dying light,
We will not leave without a fight.

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Watch Me Bleed

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

I don’t know what we were, or where we were going.
Maybe that’s why you left. Maybe it wasn’t me at all.
It hurt going to bed to “I love you” and waking to an empty screen.
My heart was cut open and I bled freely.
But I patched myself up. I told myself the Why didn’t matter.
The Why wasn’t mine to know and that would have to be OK.
I still missed you, but the pain was healing, my heart scabbing over.
But all contact wasn’t gone. I had your music. So I listened.
And “I was getting used to being someone you loved” all over again.
Until that song hit me.
Fuck the bandaid, you tore off the whole scab and you’re not even here to watch me bleed.
It’s not your fault though. You didn’t know I’d listen.
You didn’t know how that song would hit me.
You didn’t make me listen.
I did it to myself.
But I wish you were here to watch me bleed and kiss away the pain.

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The Witchling Kiki

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It was many and many a year ago,  
   In a village by the sea,  
That a maiden there lived whom you may know  
   By the name of Witchling Kiki;  
And this maiden she lived with no other thought  
   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,  
   In this village by the sea,  
But we loved with a love that was more than love—  
   I and my Witchling Kiki—  
With a love that the crows from the woods above  
   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,  
   In this village by the sea,  
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling  
   My beautiful Witchling Kiki;  
So that her high broom flying came  
   And bore her away from me,  
To shut her up in a sepulchre  
   In this village by the sea.

The crows, not half so happy in the trees,  
   Went envying her and me—  
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,  
   In this village by the sea)  
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,  
   Chilling and killing my Witchling Kiki.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love  
   Of those who were older than we—  
   Of many far wiser than we—  
And neither the crows in the sky above  
   Nor the witches roaming the sea  
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul  
   Of the beautiful Witchling Kiki.

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams  
   Of the beautiful Witchling Kiki;  
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes  
   Of the beautiful Witchling Kiki;  
And so, all the night-tide, I ride by the side  
   Of my witchling—my witchling—my life and my guide,  
In the sepulchre there by the sea,  
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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Love Is …

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Love is a place.
A safe space,
Where you can be you, without fear.
Without judgment or reprisal; just to be clear.
Love is online, a community that fosters your growth.
Love is a home that supports and offers a troth.
Love is that one diner
Where you and your tribe couldn’t be finer.

But love is not *every* place.

Love is a person. They ask if you’ve eaten.
That ride-or-die friend that just cannot be beaten.
They tell you to drive carefully and text when you’re home.
They add color to life when it turns monochrome.
They listen; hold space.
They offer care and grace.

But love is not *every* person.

Love is a thing. A reminder of hope.
A hug in order to cope.
Love is hot chocolate with marshmallows on top.
That teddy bear when the tears won’t stop.

But love is not *every* thing.
In fact, love is so rarely the thing by itself,
Love is the feeling you get from that thing on the shelf.

Love is a clusterfuck of emotions.
Love can be happy. Love can be sad.
Love can be angry. Love can be mad.
Love is confusion. Love is irrational.
Love is calm. Love is magical.
Love is joy. Love is pain.
Love can be all of these at the same
time.

Love is unconditional. But love sets boundaries.
Love is love, even if the sound varies.
It is freely given, without limits.
Love is how we survive all of these minutes.

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To All the Could’ve Beens that Will Never Be…

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

We were friends.

We laughed and danced. We sat and talked for hours.
We drank and danced some more.
When you wrapped your tongue around my finger,
It became the signature on a note that said:
“There’s more.”

We were going to give it a go, to see what the future may hold.
But, weather happened. Our first date was a no-go.
Work schedules collided. Our second first date was a no-go.
Then COVID happened. And all of the next umpteen first dates were a no-go.

Then you died.

I love you as a friend.
I wish we had the chance to see what other types of love we could’ve shared.

I miss you.

I still think about the fun we shared as friends and I still wonder what might have been.
I still wonder, “If we’d had that first date, would you still be around?”
I still wonder, “Is it my fault, for not trying harder?”
I still wonder, “How could I have helped you?”

I know the answers, in order, are:
“No, probably not.”
“No, definitely not.”
“There is nothing.”

But I still ask myself.
I still feel the hurt and the questions.
And despite my logic knowing the answers —
My heart still asks and wonders.

But you’re not here to tell me, my friend,
“What could’ve been?”

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The Last Show

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Who we were going to be was chosen for us by the choices we made.
We poured ourselves into our personas, while we delved deep into their psyches.
Over the run of time, we grew in each others’ light.
We grew, our characters grew, our friendships grew.
Time was kind to us, time was on our side, time stopped.
We laughed, we cried, we fought and nearly died.
As long as we held the stage, time could not move.

Then the clock started ticking again and time had run its course.
We took our bows and struck the set, and each tick of the secondhand brought us closer to the end.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened,” we say, through tear soaked cheeks, knowing full well that crying is all we can do.

Yes, we’ll meet again and run another course.
But that time will be its own.
This experience will never happen again.
Each run is a unique adventure that can never be recaptured.
So I will smile through my tears as I slip away without saying …

“Good Bye.”


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Nature’s Contract

Sean PrunkaNo Comments

The rose grows lovely and lush,
Smelling as sweet as sin.
It will bite you with its thorns.
A corpse flower, putrid and dank,
looking as lovely as a lounging lady.
The balance of beauty.

The Moon is cold, empty, and dark,
Yet glows with Solar radiance.
The Sun is life-giver and cancer-maker.
The levels of life.

Winter: dead outside, but
Snowmen and hot cocoa inside.
Spring: lush and green,
With flowers bursting at the seam.
But the bugs are back.
Swimming at the beach while sweating
and sizzling on the sand all Summer.
Autumn holds the heat at bay,
The trees turn into a bright array,
But the days are short and hide their beauty away.

Who is to choose what Life has to offer?
The light isn’t so different from the dark,
both have their ups and their downs,
they are all a part of Nature’s Contrast,
Our contract with the natural world.
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