Monday, December 30, 2013

"Trick Mirrors"

"Trick Mirrors"

Knuckles made of brass
And the past that I slept on.
Girls who grew up fast
Want the men that they crept on.
Blast from the past.
Buckshot from the future.
Gain financial aid
But the governor abused her.
Sum of the slums
Equivalent to the navy.
Can't deny Brenda's baby.
Dad's name was Marcus, maybe……
Lady draped in red.
Tattoos to her ankles.
Can't seem to stay fed
but you can't miss her navel.
Thank God for W.I.C.
And the welfare assistance.
Four letters spell F.E.M.A.
Acronym for the resistance.
Chose politicians
but we can't spell their names.
Created this system
Just to cast more blame.
Bolster the backlash.
Protect the last stash
With what remains of your life.
Starve you child. Beat your wife.
Brag about the struggle
Like the frat and sorors.
Outline the maligned
After plotting out the scars.
Death after last breath.
Meth and the pistol.
Land ruled over jewels
And thick women named Krystal.
Blood on the pavement.
Tears in her eyes.
We race to the scene
But won't respond to her cries.

Long walks initiated on streets.
Downwards spiral of deliberate fashion
Fashioned to forge forks in the road.
Penitentiary perdition or deadly destitute.
Truth told to closed hearts
And ears that widen selectively.
Collectively protesting another's roots
Whilst clinging to the stoop.
Rarely bread and fruit
but surely loose cigarettes and loot
From those we spitefully purport
While we sit on the porch.
Proud to be until we
Encounter one who can't see
How one wouldn't grasp at straws.
We mask our flaws in mockery.
No support for the survivor.
Those who make it out
Face our groundless doubt
Because they aren't what we're about.
The crab and the barrel
brimming over. Spilling over.
Those fortunate to grow older
Wish their younger days were sober.
Somber feeling with no healing.
Dealing with the lowered ceiling
pressed against new generations.
Never ending conversations.
Persecute them for their music.
How that wear it. How they do it.
Disgusting gyration movement
But no basis for improvement.
Parents left to wonder why.
Scrape acceptance. Smear the lies.
Damned to disgrace and defile.
Fuel for copious denial.
Toil and trial in self defense.
Intermingle with the fence.
Still a month behind on rent.
Pitching fits as wide as tents.
Fifty dollars in your purse.
There was more before the thirst.
Can't afford the change in price
But each first sip feels so nice.
No ice. No milk. No care.
Broken barrettes in their hair.
Skin so shiny, smooth and fair.
Not your daughter. Wouldn't dare.
Not unless you're there to see.
Not where you thought you would be.
Gave your future to their father.
He truly couldn't be further
From the angry son who chose
to put back on those same clothes
and take risks on crowded corners.
Addict mother hugs the corner.
Lost her before he was twelve.
Keeps her picture on the shelves
high enough for him to reach
Cash from the last deal he breached.
Teach the preacher. Predict time.
Find it all amid the rhyme.
Reason washes nothing clean
If one will not change the scene.

So much made of class
and the time that we slept on.
Flowers wither fast
Only after they are stepped on.

Tread in consideration of generations.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

"Red Wine"

"Red Wine"

Documented my patience.
Watch me race after venom
But not the water to chase it.
All my selfish decisions
Obscure but clear in my vision
Especially when we're throttled.
I love when you grab that bottle
and pour yourself a glass.

Nothing less than buxom.
Sat here by your lonesome.
Knees together
like they want some attention.
Complimentary tradition.
I love to sit and listen.
Thoughts that swirl and sometimes glisten
While you take your little sips.
Dripping from your lips
Are things you'd only say influenced.
So fluent that I understand your plight.
Came over every night
Just to increase your selection.
No true thirst for deception.
No desire to slight detection
Although we fluctuate our pace.
Simplistic direction:
Pop the cork and fill your face
With fermented notes once graced
by the hands of every place we've never been to.

I love what you're in to.
This just might offend you
But that next glass just might bend you
Over like the mind of most men do
And I can't say that I'm different.
Just fortunate you've befriended.
Can't offer you past amendments
but we could possibly dine.
Summer salad is fine.
I like Italian on mine.
I arrive before nine
But there's no dinner. Just wine.

You've been dreaming.
Lights are gleaming.
Slowly speaking.
You've been drinking.
We've been thinking.
Barely blinking.
So much plotting.
So much scheming.
All is steamy.
Pass the glass.
This tastes creamy.
Brought my flask.
Left the cork back on the porch.
Skipped past dinner. Tossed the fork.
Made a violent mess of things.
Left some blotches on the strings.

Couldn't get all of the stains.
Poured stale portions down the drain.
Soaked brains slip from the last sip.
Eyes grip like palms around the cork.
Plunged into our thoughts
Twisting firm with desire.
Floated higher through the pain
Spilling over us like rain.
Watched you strain just to cascade
So I cast aid to your vigor.
Far too parched to let it breathe.
Sat it down and let you seethe.

Merlot splashed over malice.
You don't wonder when
You'll crack that chalice.
You just pour it in.
I can't watch
But I return each day.
Wick placed under sober means.
Remember how they burn away
And fade slowly?
You know me enough
To take in my advisement
and hammer out the chastisement
until all that remains is enticement.
And we wonder where the lights went
When we only see the red.
When we sink into the bed
Amid this life so many dread.
We are free to clear our heads……

……Have another glass instead.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, December 10, 2013



Sheets sticky with indulgent streaks
that Tide's extra strength will never Gain.
Delightfully dirty this mind
recalling each delicious stain.
The strain of overflowing.
The constant pain of knowing
just how long it would last.
I'm chasing remnants of our past.

If I chip away,
I will save all of the crumbs.
There isn't much to say
between index and thumb
and the tongue that licks them clean.
This blood boils over your body oil.
Had endless dreams about your hair sheen.
Imagining every last scene.
My malted milky mallomar........ 
you made me travel so far.
Spent some ages down south.
Made some sense of my mouth.
Laid renewal upon shoulders of the willing.
He who would bridge tooth and sink nails
until your ship began to sail.

Frail I look in perception.
Rugged in appearance.
Appealing to potential clearance
but can't shake the interference.
Peruse my path without a cane.
Kept it narrow. Made it plain.
My desire never sane.
I'm licking my fingers again.

Do you ever wonder?
How often do you notice?
We have displayed it certainly.
I lay here next to uncertainty
and I am forever restless.
My best wish and worst fear
would be to draw you near.
That in mind, I want you here.
You need to know.
I've so much to show you
but that moment would be brief.
I may never stave this grief......

I've fashioned you in flavors:
labored in silky ribbons
stretching over every cloud,
proud to dip and drip with purpose,
feigning nervous with precision,
splashing wild into these palms
with no calm before the storm.
Spent my time trying to stay warm.
Night is coldest under covers.
Enticement hovers in my torment
and the torrents mar my vision.
All I want I have envisioned:
melting long enough to linger
but you still elude my fingers
as you coat my mind again.

It all rinses in the rain.....................

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

"Everything In Between"

"Everything In Between"

Looked truth in the eye.
Hoped to catch it in its lie
But my aim shrouded my focus.
Through this aversion, I have noticed
That some ends only exist
To take us back to the origin.
Those who finish and persist
Will eventually be born again.

The path in between
Be it far from pristine
Seldom completely clean in nature
is still meant to be savored.
From the late text
To the latex,
to the lack thereof
To the mutual evidence of love
Rest moments likely reserved
for those who will preserve
And promote what they hold dear.
Far before the fear
Are the days measured in breaths.
More exhales per hour
For those riddled with regret.
Patience coincides with power
Needed to cultivate our youth.
Seedless membranes yield strange fruit;
But the lush will land with grace
Lest they prefer landing on their face.

Origin perceived serpentine
Up until light peers through the cracks.
Acts formed around one's younger years
constantly in the mouths of mothers
And the ears of jealous brothers,
covetous aunts and worrisome grandmothers.
Mother defined by daughter's expanding mind
Sure to be judged on what she finds.

The avenues are endless.
None are sinless. No one sins less.
Men less concerned will not discern
Between her origin and her departure.
Her forfeiture dependent on what she shares.
Her survival contingent upon her care.
Growth forged from what dashes despair.
Her hair the hourglass of her existence.
Early persistence some claim as reward
Paid back as penance to become wards;
Wrought under the watch of those wise
Enough to cloak their eyes
And present it as her shelter.
How they aim to swarm.
They embrace her skin so warm
With no beseech. Just breach and harm.
Far from grace many will fall
Yet among some, many stand tall
Not for sake of survival stories
Or the spoils of grieve and glory.
Simply just to trace the path
Set forward from looking back
To observe how little matters
And how much less should be gathered.

Here she counts her months in laughter
and her years in wholesome chatter
Between the mother she calls daughter
And the child she prays for much harder.
Her glasses rest in place.
The frame perfect for her face.
A lifetime of knowledge traced
by wincing eyes still giving chase
To every single moment around her.
She would raise a loving mother
Whom she hopes would raise another.
They will one day become her.

I used to hope that I would be
Around long enough to see
Just how much they've grown to be
The symbol of love laying before me.
I looked her in the eyes.
Never could catch her in a lie.
There is much mangling of truth
But what is certain never dies.
Its origin is as vast
As the path that it purveys.
How long what manifests will last
Is written in each hourglass.
Every strand beneath a comb,
every doll on makeshift thrones,
every tea pot in the home
And rocking chair now left alone.
Every single chastising tone
Over scratches and broken bones
And that distinct, familiar tone
When we would talk on the phone.
Every wife is not a mother.
Some sisters have no brothers.
Some grandparents are no longer around;
But what I have surely found
Is the truth that what we see
Was and is and will soon be
For what has left us in the end
Will certainly return.

Reborn again. †

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

"Idle Thoughts Part 4: Milky Vanilla"

"Idle Thoughts Part 4: Milky Vanilla"

I didn't request a double.

Generous and subtle,
Another portion poured
As if it were your favorite chore.
You pretend to slip.
Perfect way to lose your grip.
Heavy hands suddenly throttled
and you knew I'd catch the bottle.

Sat it down. Looked around.

Still in her bedroom, it seems.
Can't quite call this a dream
But all is surreal at the seams.
Brink of reality. The cusp of fantasy
All while I'm sitting here.
Revert to normalcy.
It may be time to go…………
…………I'll just sip slow.

Everything is hazy.

What's in the drink you gave me?
I still feel my feet;
But they wander the street.
I'm still pursuing you?
If it's all the same,
I'm not really one for games.
I don't even know your name.
I just acknowledged the flame.

I'm without polish again.

Dress shirt from the cleaners.
Generic demeanor
And a closet full of sneakers.
Got these dress shoes
From a friend who never went to church.
Shoe box value kept its worth.
Searched for keys and found her purse.
Sat there between frown and smirk.

Could've sworn I left this room.

Why are we still in this bed?
Thoughts of you still in my head.
You don't snore. You breathe.
Makeup on my sleeve.
I guess it's easy to believe
That one in my current list of wiles
Would've followed you for miles
Like it would erase my trials.

"Shots belong in glasses; not vials."

That's what she would say.
Came back here today.
Tonight, rather
Just to watch the band play.
I love the bright lights.
I've had the sweaty brow.
I'm still ready now
But I'll just nurse this whiskey.

Peculiar is me wondering if you missed me.

Feels as if it's just me
and you're staring instead.
Fault lines were glowing red.
Now I don't know what I read.
No pickup lines were fed.
Just a little conversation.
City blocks longer than nations
We traverse for hibernation.

It all made sense from the start.

Still don't know your name.
Never asked you for your heart.
I guess that's called lagniappe.
Between the laps we walked instead,
thoughts racing through my head,
that nap shared in your bed,
and this napkin now dark red,
I guess the mood is mellow now.

The napkin is yellow now.

I guess red was the warning.
I was read as charming
but not enough to cost you.
The subtlety in your view
Says "I can't wait to accost you"
As you take away my glass.
No doubt you were my most recent past
Fully aware of my past
From conversing about the future.
Sat here looking like "I knew her……"
"…………I know her! No, her!"
My befriended bartender
more thick than slender
With the heavy sheen.
Skirt replaced by jeans
But skin still that of vanilla milk.

My feet never felt better.

Let her continue her shift.
My eyes shift across the wall.
Examined it all.
Then let the frustration fall.
My memories once plagued
Now appear so very vague;
Crumbling as they fade
In the dim of these lamp shades.

And I'm walking down the street.
And the music was a treat.
And my past is not discreet.
My glass of milk light on her feet.

Refreshing. Yummy. Delicious.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, November 8, 2013

"The Blush Effect"

"The Blush Effect"

Conversing supple like that of
lotion over silken pores.
Easy are the interactions.
My distraction from everything and nothing at all.

I recall leaning against those walls:
the halls of my last place while you anticipate.
Always ready for a taste.
Words that relate in mood.
Found myself smitten as a believer:
Stanzas I deliver
to the enchantment of my receiver
clutching her receiver as if I'd leave her.

We both knew better, baby.
Maybe if the night were longer,
our connection wouldn't seem so brief.
We wouldn't have to ingest the day again.
Our plans would resemble
more fruition than condition.
We would calibrate instead of rehashing
or stashing it all away as sunlight approaches.

Through it all, it would seem
that your fancy involves my ire.
You rub against each thread
until my warmth is present……
……………………then you pull away.

You stay long enough to perfume the air
but even one so fair as you
refused to see it through.
I love every minute that I'm in it.

Too enchanted to be enraged.
Too full to vent frustration.
Generosity in your fascination with me.
I've often failed to glance at what you see.
You sidestep my modesty
and honestly do away with my humble.
You let me mumble
yet you barely even stumble
over my befuddled state of affairs.
Your steadfast interaction
while initially unsettling
is admittedly as refreshing
as the first breath after my last sip.

I've lost my grip.

Shall we call this palpable tension
something seldom noticed and less demonstrative?
Can we say that I perspire
from this mug of hot chocolate?
Can we pretend that I'm not out of pocket
when I say that I've imagined
that deep, full tone all alone
with this lap as your throne?
Can we digress from the fits of stress
that vary from blinks to winks
to glasses of sherry and crushed cherries?

Is it me or is it warmer?

Your glances stronger than any other's advances.
You've fashioned me the charmer
but I've fancied you taking your chances.
So dubious……

My face is evidently flushed.
My last gasp lodged deep within my throat
and you just gracefully float
hours after we've staved our touch.
I'd say you're too much
but I'm a shameless glutton
making room for sigh and swoon.
This crescent moon will fill
before I chastise my will.

Smoothing over every "hi"
are moments that make "goodbye"
harder to look forward to.
Some texts take forever.
Some calls don't get through.

And now you have the audacity
to sit here before me;
nodding in calm admiration?
be a living manifestation this moment,.


Rosy cheeks fluctuate in pigment
although this place is dimly lit.
Palms never before now
asphyxiated to trembling knees.
Blood rushing free
And you just look at me and smile;
all the while observing me
in wonder and amazement:
Less for awe and more for dwindled time keeping.
I'll impart formal greetings soon.
Just let the swoon subside.
You found me on this ride
amid an everlasting rush.

I already know.

Just say it:


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, November 2, 2013

"Rusty Swings"

"Rusty Swings" 

The park is two blocks away.
I used to see it every day
but there are buildings in the way.
What more is there to say
of my current state of affairs?
Too young to go there
so it bears no mention.
Always was forced to listen:
"Not until you're older, dear.
Until then, just stay over here.
Nothing for you over there."
I'm not old enough to go anywhere.

Same stoop. Same buildings.
Still sitting here,
but I've picked up some years.
The shouts of energetic peers
used to fill my ears
but I haven't left yet.
Mom bought me this headset.
Same color as my controller.
Beat this game to claim my fame.
Cheat codes buried in my folder.
Glanced over my shoulder.
Looks like the air is getting colder.
Besides, the teenagers are there now.
I'll just wait until I'm older.

No summer jobs. No scholarships.
Just the ever present politics
that give way to arguments
about my lapse in productivity.
I don't know what they want from me.
I am not what they want me to be.
My point of view they never see.
Why should I care? I'm Twenty-Three!
I've made my own decisions.
Contrary to what was envisioned,
I am not here for display
but I share in their dismay:
The trees have been cut down.
Concrete surface. Flattened ground.
No sand lot to build a fort.
Not even a basketball court.

5:45. Barely feeling alive;
but those fries won't fry themselves.
6:02. Ignored a neighbor or two.
Dodged the rock that kid threw.
There goes my wind shield.
Through those shards of glass,
my peripheral vision still yields
a glimpse of the "For Sale" sign.
I may never have the money.
I certainly don't have the time
to bring back what I never had.
Ah well. Can't waste it being sad.

I've become wiser in my aging.
Spent my younger years staging
an all out assault on my liver.
More liquor than the store could deliver.
Years have cultivated tier upon tier
of an abundance of tears
flowing like an endless river
into the glass of one so bitter.
Not one known for wiles of wit,
from day to day I just sit.
Passers by have little to say
so I just look two blocks away.
It would appear they've added things:
Monkey bars, a couple swings,
a sand box for building forts,
even a full basketball court.

I sit and watch them running.
They are never vexed.
They know nothing of stress.
Children living so carefree.
As calming as it is to see,
that park will forever haunt me.
I live through them vicariously
but they're closer than I'll ever be.
Some of it my parent's fault.
Much of it my own volition.
Placed myself below the bar
to become it's cold extension.
Only ran for sake of pretension.
Built sand castles of contradiction.
Knew the rain would come some day.
Should have taken more time to play.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

"Soap Box And Ceiling"

"Soap Box And Ceiling"

Personal enough to ask off this ride,
Thoughts seeping out that I usually hide.
Call it pride and say that you're over it
And I'll still air it out until I'm over with.
I'm years past done with concealing.
These days, with pen in hand
If I'm sitting alone, just say "He's dealing"
And abstain from future page peeling.
Lord knows I've done my fair share anyways.
Paranoia settling in on my bad days
When I refused to talk but had words to say
While you were busy working on a new display.
That's when stomachs start churning
Over discoveries concerning
people I wouldn't grab the hose for
If I were there when they were burning.
Learning the extent of interaction:
Actions motivated by ill fated passion.
The traction it provides is deadly.
So I shy away if you previously led me.

Desire the provider
For those fashioned as liars
And the cloak will itch
And the eye will twitch
And the lip will quiver
And it will deliver.
Eminent acceptance against futile resistance
complete with quarters closed around distance.
All in the feelings,
Months since the reeling
And the last thoughts before rest
Hang from this ceiling.
My reflections clumped together
Reminiscent of wet tissue
bring me to a point
where I begin to examine every issue.

Is it honestly a trust issue
If I only trust God?
What about the lust issue?
What if fate just missed you?
What if faith isn't enough?
Does a wraith appear and such;
Telling us to go ahead
Just because it's getting rough?
Is there something rude about fortitude?
I have so many questions
And even though we earn the answers,
we never really want the lessons
Until forced to face depression
and hardship borne of transgression.
Truth will run rampant like infection
Through those trying to avoid detection.

A grain of salt for those
Who "know that I won't get to Heaven."
Can't hide their faults;
Especially if they know nothing of number seven
And we're all far from completion,
But we love to compete when
Questioned about our faith.
No challenge or dire straights.
Not rubbing it in your face.
Not stating any demands.
Not looking to alter plans.
Just wanted to understand
How things that affect the family
And eventually the home
Can lead to headline tragedies
when some are left alone.

Some couples still feel alone:
Married by tradition
But marred in their willingness to spar;
Steeped in their war of attrition.
Recalling times when I would listen
To words from family members.
I wondered if they were still smitten
Or if their hearts were ever tender.
Aunt would say she wants
a man that stands strong
But turn around and disrespect
any man that chose to stand alone.
Uncle fashioned himself
as a king upon his throne
but if womanizers rule,
one would section off his zone.

I see a little of myself in my relatives.
Some of it I'm proud to have.
The rest I'd love to give back.
Struggled to keep myself intact
But I'm demure amid my peers.
Learned to conceal fear
And absorb those tears
Before I grab my gear
And I think but never look twice
When it comes to my vice.
Agitated but speaking nice
When friends ask me for advice.
I'd like to reciprocate.
I want that shoulder to lean on;
But when treated as magistrate,
it gets hard to acknowledge peons.
Not peons for my means of advancement
But for their willingness to ignore
What I swore I said before.
Do you listen anymore?!
Do you care that I implore
or just like to hear me talking?
If I reach deep in your core,
then I'm sure you'll just start walking.

I've got more to say.
Kept my ink pen steady.
Just open up a window
if the atmosphere is heavy.
The air is thin and therapeutic.
Listening to music and breathing hard
Both from my lack of oxygen
And because I'm thinking hard.
Swore I'd never play this song again.
Barely friends. Just some things.
Can't remember when. It was just a fling.
I can't eat these lies.
Eyes well and my heart still swells.
Some days in paradise are pure hell.
Our past in my face with a fast pace
Grazed with grace and I can still trace
Every single moment.
Sitting here alone with
Contrition and atonement
That I wish you would've given.
Don't know how much is forgiven
But at least we're both still living.
Privy to precious moments in divinity
And our favorite unspeakable obscenities.

That's what remains of our memories.
Two pages in and I'm lost again.
Might just take a break
And pick up the pen after.
Documented the smiles
And reminiscences over laughter.
Went through all the wiles
And anger that I've splattered.
I'll keep this book open.
I need to add some chapters.
A clear vision of the sky
Hangs high above the rafters.
If the ceiling is made of glass,
Then it will surely shatter.
Just sit my notebook to the side.
I still have some life to gather. †

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

"Idle Thoughts Part 3: Wallpaper"

"Idle Thoughts Part 3: Wallpaper"

Your curvature my compass.
Even closed eyes honor footsteps.
My ears their accomplice;
Willing to accompany every request laden.
Perceived a maven for decisions
Made without conscious precision,
I am upholding my mantle tonight.
Few lights blink above porch steps.
Ponds darker than the last drink.
I need time to think;
But I only recall your wink
With my head buried with your sink.

Sank too deep for slumber.
No degree of hunger;
But my intrigue surely piques.
Your hands cup my cheeks
Like that of clay you've spun around.
You don't make a sound.
You have yet to say a word.
Only footsteps I have heard.
This room filled with words
That I've only read in tomes.
Secrets fill this home.
No wonder you're alone.

Phrases remain jumbled;
Only humbled in your shadow.
I feel your mystique in my marrow;
Scratching against my bone
As if I were your clone.
In that very moment,
I felt pleasure and atonement.
Beneath the pungent bile,
I can taste your contradiction.
I request valediction;
But instead, I choose to stay.
My liquor will burn away;
But not the ashes of the past.
I have seen what lasts
Flailing fresh against these walls.
I remember calls:

Late night requests from another
While over her I hover.
You climb under covers
while I recall their mother.
Haven't heard from them in years.
I can see their tears
As they sat on the back seat.
Their warmth at my feet
From each daily meet and greet
No longer their greatest feat.
My legs held within their glow
Replaced by wet socks and snow.

It's time for me to go.
There's nothing to show
And I question your feigned interest.
At your best,
you've placed guilt back on my chest
And at your worst,
You have replenished my thirst.
The bar doesn't seem so far.

Tucked you in tight
Before dimming your light.
Your countenance would glow
Like the one I used to know:

Imagined the disgrace
When I couldn't recall her face.
He who sips from an idle glass
Incurs thoughts that barely pass
When questioned for authenticity.
She was my divinity:
God's gift complete with hymns.
She was no seraphim;
But her wings would cross my heart.
Her voice like heaven's harps;
Strumming even in her slumber.

I've surely fallen under. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz