Tag Archives: joti heir

Become a verb

If I could be me

As much as a tree trees

How wonderful life could be

 

Nature exists in perfection. It becomes the verb of itself. A tree trees, air airs, earth earths, fire fires. They perfect what they are supposed to be. If we as individuals take ourselves as a verb and perfect the being that we are, then great heights we can reach and wonder of all ages we can see. If only we can commit to be the verb of our being.

The Man In The Cardboard Box

Poetry allows you to interpret the words of joti heir through the eyeglass of your own world.

The Man in the Cardboard Box

 

You think I am embarrassed

I see it in your stares

I am not

There is freedom

In in living without care

Yes my clothes could use a sew

But a covering is not worth

Hours of slave dough

I was like you too

A long time ago

I tried with all my might

To give it a go

It all stopped making sense

A few years ago

And then it made sense

Life became mine

I feel no defeat

Yes I sleep in a box

In a public square

But the stares don’t bother me

Nor do the glares

After you are done with that meal

I’ll enjoy the rest of it

They give me the same power

They gave you

I’ll squeeze some lemon on it

So I don’t get your slave flu

You can save me if you want

Maybe I’m doing it all wrong

But I don’t see the difference

Between a bed under the sky

Or one cemented up high

Here the birds see me

They don’t glare or stare

They just sing along with me

Now please don’t feel sorry

You can also come for a bit

We’ll have jolly times

Until your human owners call

So you can make money

For that food that I enjoy after you all

Don’t worry you see

I am not crazy

I just discovered this world is not for me

And I don’t see an exit

So I will calmly wait out the storm

So I can get back to where I came from

Normal Does Not Exist

There is no such thing as normal

Just acceptable and unacceptable levels of insanity

Who determines that is a mystery

We don’t know where we came from or where we are going. So could there actually be a thing called normal? Is the person who douses themself in drugs and alcohol normal because they can’t stand the insanity?

Or is the person who walks on and  ignores the insanity in a sober state normal? There is no such thing as normal and supposed to be … don’t you believe?  So if there is no normal, it means you must must be exactly who you are.

That is the only thing the universe expects you to be. A 100 percent expression of you.

Selfish

When you strip it all away

And you just don’t belong anywhere

The world seems not for you

What do you do

There is nowhere to go

And exist you must

Yes you can end it all

But it seems like

An extravagant choice

So what do you do

You must find meaning

And the moon shines

And when you look at the water

It whispers things

There is something there

Don’t let it go

There is something

A living

Beyond the noise

There is something for sure

So don’t lose hope

Like I almost did

Today

Tomorrow will be brighter

If you choose to look for the

Brightness

It is there

The better choices are in front of you

Better love and life

When you get totally

selfish

Human Hungry

Human Hungry

if you tell me you are famished
I shall promptly gouge your eyes out
with a fork
you do not know what famished means
famished is not minutes, hours or a day
it is the days after
the pangs become soft
you try not to think about it
remove food from brain
to find place for thought
to think thought
to find food
therefore you
sit and think
driven to craziness
you know of its taste
it is everywhere
but not for you
the moments between
expectation
and
impossibility
those moments
think thought think
so you just think
than you think
you can do anything for this food
to assuage your hunger
than you realize
you will do
any
thing
it
takes
to
make the
pain of longing
for food
disappear
as you walk
past plates full
of food
that people
in blissful existence
have thrown away
they are full
too fat
too shy
don’t care about food
they have other things
to think of
food is a passing
thought
my thought
my though
my thought
as you watch
them
a bite
balanced delicately
on the tongue
it dances
oh it dances
of cabaret proportions
to the throat
slides
to waiting
stomach
you are
more hungry
think thought think
you can do
anything
for it
kill
prostitute
you watch
her push it away
it is being sent
to the dump
it is then
you realize
you cannot
you won’t
grab that
gold
off that plate
as they
look at you
with pity
at your pathetic self
shall you
climb into the dump
and pick the
food out
along
with the
disease
you realize
you cannot
then
the starvation
begins.

Crimson Waste

Crimson Waste

by joti heir

Oh
yes we should blush
it is darling is it not
in the face of your manliness

it is divine
for now you know
you turn a cheek crimson
and the crimson below is yours too

but how about
she is lovely
and turns crimson at the table

and later she turns over
and says
see you later

will you be happy
or agreeable
or angry

as your species do
if her crimson was wasted on another
and you became just a

From The Princess Will Kill You and Dance on Your Grave Poetry Collection (on Amazon)