Wordjunk
There can’t be glue
between the flier
and the wall
it sticks with an adhesive
all it’s own.
Read between the lines
see the words that have enraptured you
so
it’s like technicolor snow
doesn’t make sense
but you’ll watch it
anyways
I always knew you would
be the one to turn this
sentence around
talk your way out
of our final freedom.
This pen fits just like a glove
around your hand
a little tight
okay
We’ll start again
some other day.
Write this down so you
will never forget
the promises you make
the terror is inside you
but your love is much stronger
than all these cobwebs
holding up your corpse.
Wordjunk
falls back in the bin
again
and again
crimple crumple
rumple dump
Just another
writers slump
Keep telling yourself
this is what you want
Keep on going
no matter what.
Hold it together
and fuck this up.
Life in the Hour Glass
The patient feed off of the salt of anticipation
Listening and waiting
For a phrase
To let them in.
Sometimes I still walk
These flats
Licking at the earth
Head down
Beneath this glaring sun
Mouth dry,
Brow wet.
The path we travel
Is fools-gold,
The burden we carry
Is a mighty load.
Serving forever in this kingdom of sand
Our castles crumble
With the dissolution of the land.
We patient subjects
Ambling through lifetimes of regret
Keep listening, waiting
But our paths are constantly beset.
Love does not exist
Here in the desert
Hate breeds in the dunes
Settling with the dust
And in calloused hands,
Or in red, tearful eyes.
When will we tire of waiting?
When will the lion be slain
And peace reign?
Until then we keep drifting
Searching for
Our lost lamb
Shepherds of time
We stay our hands…
In Blood
This poem reflects a darker side to humanity. As much as people like to feel as if humans are inherently good - it’s important to realize there is no such distinction in the animal kingdom. The lion must eat, the pest must spread. And above every animal on the food chain we sit on a throne of blood it seems. As humans we have plenty of redeeming qualities but we have some that are less than admirable that we are less likely to admit. It’s also interesting to note the many suicides that take place within the military - where in a recent statistic I read the total number of suicides of American soldiers in Afghanistan have exceeded the total number of deaths of American soldiers in Iraq. You can search that fact up on your own - but it’s something interesting to consider.
Latest Poetry
For now I will post links to my poems here. Enjoy!
Greed is Good for You
Chuck your ego
from off your high horse
cast your selfish
conceited desires
to the ground
where they may lay,
they may rot
and decay.
Do this everyday
while they may say
‘please clasp your hands to pray!’
Offering palms
firstborn babes
sacrifice spirit
effigy from clay
handover the rib
to these devils in disguise
send them a soul
on white wings
and silver platters
to the highest bidders
of hell.
Sell
us
your
Soul.
The free market shouts its earnings
from atop it’s throne of blood
skulls perched beneath obese cheeks
as gluttonous lips are licked by the tepid tongue of vanity
yet claim freedom from profanity
as it curses the mud smudged masses
down from its gold-trimmed chains
treating us as
animals in cages
and books with no pages.
Then write it!
Tell us how you love
being raped
on daytime TV
and late night infomercials
Tell me how you like
it
Now that you’re
gone.
The Flow of Ions
Forever twisting
out into
void, dead air
worming like spores
upon a nebulous zephyr
asking questions
to human kind,
many that shall go unanswered.
The inescapable reach
of our feeble minds,
fumble dumbly
into cavernous space
probing with inquisitive
yet arrogant fingers
prodding away at the things
we think make this tick.
This clockwork sphere
this amorphous black abyss
we will keep on with it’s riddles
: How many quarks are in a nucleus?
: What are their purpose?
: Why should your meaty mind matter in the shadow of colossi
and surrounded by tiny microbes in infinite quantity?
A troll, a gatekeeper
rolling out enigma
after enigma
incapable of carrying on.
Endless and vast, the knowledge is already inherit
and we are but tiny vessels
incapable of holding one drop
of its behemoth size.
The flow of ions
sweeping through your hair
static waves
crashing into patterns
left markedly by the echoes of synaptic pops
surging through the brain
your veins.
—This is wisdom
this is intellect
this is what will kill us all
and will save us
what will bare despair
and will hope.
It will fade away
bleeding into eons
and ages dark,
darker, still
until Cronos comes ‘round
to reclaim his bumptious children.
While our hands shiver out into black
and our mouths gibber for the answer
we avert our eyes from the mirror of time
for we know what pathetic image
it does hold.
While Listening to Sibelius.
The undying flailing of limbs that forever pervades endless hallways of darkness, the madness inherent in the mind of serial killers, in the poet, in the dictator, in the revolutionary, the artist, the sculptor. The shady spirit that infects it’s prey with agonizing longing, and painful dismay, with brilliant inspiration and magnificent creation. It seeps from us. It seeps out of us. It oozes out of our eyes, our ears, it drips viscously from our nostrils and hangs languidly from the corners of our mouths then drops out of our reach - into infinity. That madness we so shun and embrace, that insanity that lies mute at the bottom of our bellies - it eludes the casual mind. But some…some. Some retain it. While others know not what to do with it - some take it by it’s bestial horns and reign over it with the tenacity of a furious demon. A spiteful demon that wishes to inflict it’s fury out on the world - for better or for worse. It is not good, it is not evil. It is the transcending tendrils of human consciousness in it’s most purest form. It is power. The power to wield one’s madness and use it for something! Those are the truly human, those are the minds that shift the world in directions we have never seen. Those minds are poetry, and every single one is a poem that no one can hope to understand, merely because they are not crazy enough.
Someone who feels the same!
really….he never ceases to amaze.
Stefan Sidelnick is everything and nothing at once. Sometimes he is a poet, other times a comedian, but mostly he is lazy and will post whatever he feels like.
