"We Are Watching"

"We Are Watching"

Place pennies next to rappers
who can't wrap their minds around hip hop;
choking on the same cake
the first Poets burned at the stake for.

We are not the last ones.
We are the first to view the worst
in a world where chivalry is thirst.
We are the apex where texts mean rough sex.

We observe the dark arts:
the very savagery of hidden fantasies.
Well placed tapestry this generation calls "Thirst Traps."
Hear the claps?

You won't hear many because
they only clap long enough
to distract us from their envy.
We clip their fishnets at the seams and crush gleams.

We also have the glimmer of sinners;
but the differential is when we clap hands,
we aren't taking a chance.
We sound without our pants down.

Resound without night gowns.
Bra straps popped
in front of fitted cap merchants
who champion their sermon
while praising the vermin.

We stand as the first ignored and seldom explored.
We write sex and cause bandwidth wrecks.
We say how we feel
and you say "That's real."

We see the truth but you want the stories.
We fall victim to perception
but we are not your categories.
Skim through it all and crawl.

Before you can scrape, scratch or sprawl,
you're taught how to "catch the wall"
against those who only stand tall
to deliver to the giver.

We can see the black water
gushing from the river.
You gorge forcefully;
ready for more slight in refreshment
to infect the connected.

We are free to pay homage
to those who were in bondage
yet we swiftly trade in the reins
for shackles and chains
like the untamed for fame.

We are not the answer.
We are not protection.
We as Poets know
that most questions need direction.
Know who leads before you proceed.

He who sows the seed
cannot neglect the garden.
You have killed our roots
but the heart must never harden.
Far then, but closer to you still.

If you've had your fill,
stand with us and state your will.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Idle Thoughts Part 2: Drunken Stroll"

"Idle Thoughts Part 2: Drunken Stroll"

Sprawling through the streets
like sheets bunched together,
I've surely worn my leather
In pursuit of you.
You....prancing about in glee
So fancy and free;
Not quite cheerfully
But nowhere near demure.
Thoughts this distinctly impure
Would not be easily received.
Maybe you aim to deceive.
Maybe I should turn and leave……

Still walking.
Remaining true to whatever is due.
Refreshingly stale. Routinely new.
I guess I'm still following you.

Wrought within it all
are memories of her phone calls
Months before I spent my nights
At bar tops under dim lights.
Her my refuge from the storm;
My protection from the swarm.
Harm at bay throughout the day
Until I can steal away;
And wash away after escape.
She would snatch away my cape,
Hold me close within her grip
And kiss each tear that lined my lips……

…………your hips………
Familiar in their sway.
Quite nostalgic, one would say.
I'd be further along my way;
But this liquor stirs within me.
Balance will not befriend me.
I stumble into the street
As I begin to lose my feet.
Feeling rugged. Hanging tough.
I suppose I've had enough.
Passers by so grim and gruff.
I just dodged another truck……

And I'm still walking.
Not so resilient but true to whatever is due.
Briskly stale. Commonly new.
Looks like I'm still following you.

For sake of reason, I wonder:
Are you always this seasoned;
Pouncing without one misstep?
Two turns left
Then across the median.
I mean am………am I?
Am I part of something greater?
Will you whisper "See you later"
After leading me this far?
Can you see the scars
Underneath my shirt and slacks?
Will you invite me back?
This feels intimate and preposterous.
Erogenous you may appear;
But are you aiming to endear?

Too intrigued to trace my fear;

So I continue walking.
Steadfast and true to whatever is due.
This life so stale. Your presence new.
Why wouldn't I follow you?

Let's see what we get into…………

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Fence"

"The Fence"

Turned off the lights
just to be certain.
Swiftly cocked my weapon
before parting the curtains.
Deafening these halls
where the stagnant scream.
Now silent after violence,
I've locked away my dreams.
The front door too heavy to hold.
Fortified dead bolts form fit the mold.
The slip latch rusts away in its groove.
Every key fits; but it refuses to move.

Dewdrops darker when the moon hides.
Whips wrap around hips. The eclipse.
The shroud cast upon iniquity.
Chilly showers rinse all divinity
as if it were mass produced.
Potential suitors have called a truce:
The stern tone that we hear
serves as a throne for their fear.
Crystal clear vision through my window.
Portrait of the consummate widow:
A bitter figure with no means
amid a dark and gloomy scene.

I have seen what lies ahead:
The streets a sea of blinding red
bred of lies that we were fed.
The fortunate are lying dead
while we toil with circumstance.
Against the fence they've danced;
prancing around what they covet.
I observe them hanging from it.
Above it the voulchers hover.
Their wings blanket the sky.
Even the brightest stars are covered.
The loosely dangling are soon smothered.

Some say they failed to realize
that they should look to the skies;
but some of them were wise.
They would not gouge their eyes.
Not willingly, at least.
I am never at peace;
but I'm certainly somewhat settled.
I've no desire to test my mettle.
Medals from my proud days
collect dust while tucked away.
Threw out the display case
the day it slammed against her face.

She used to be we.
She was never me;
but who would ever want to be?
Especially not now. I've often wondered,
how could one succumb
to the point where minds are numb
like the body it encapsulates?
How they would captivate her senseless.
Since less time spent at home,
I've found myself here alone
until the days stopped shining bright;
giving way to the darkest nights.

Walked for miles in my confusion
amid woeful destitution.
Institutions we once treasured
are now havens for ill pleasures.
Vile pollution in each camp,
prostitution running rampant,
and the youth I thought were trapped
are the ones who've proudly stamped it.
I can't find her anywhere.
Then her silhouette once fair
was riddled with sores once bare.
Leaking from them are her cares.

I observed her on her knees.
Fists full of her hair he squeezed.
He oscillates his head in splendor.
she assumes her role as lender.
Splinters stab her from the skies.
Rinsed his remnants from her eyes.
Couldn't even start to cry.
Wiped her chin then we locked eyes.
No remorse as recompense.
None of it made any sense.
They walked away; leaving me tense.
I haven't heard from her since.

The autopsy made it plain:
yet another addict slain.
Said she never felt the pain.
Scraped her off the fence again.
She met her killers in distress.
She gave them her home address.
Told them when I would return;
so as far as I'm concerned,
I'll make good her claim tonight
on this street of broken lights
and if any should take their chance,
look for them where they once danced.
 

 

















Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Idle Thoughts Part 1: First Glance"

"Idle Thoughts Part 1: First Glance" 

 

 

 

 

Strobe lights capture playful glimmers
Every time the liquor shimmers.
Bypassed sharing dessert
To skip in after dinner.
Music playing loud,
waves move through the crowd
Like soft hands through drunken clouds.
…………you just sit there.

The bar top an appealing mixture
Of colored glass and solid oak
Provoking a brief stare
Because the glass sits there.
Bottles are only passed
To fill flutes and flasks
For those requesting more
Before new faces grace the door.
The floor a sea of sweat
Washing away any regret,
Extensive stints of sorrow,
Or concerns waiting tomorrow.
Shapes bounce and break in rhythm.
Limbs find exuberance in bass.
One's vantage point is lost within them;
But I can still see your face.

Long, dark hair with a heavy sheen,
Skin pristine. Milky vanilla in hue.
Directly in my view.
Legs crossed beneath resting hands.
Fingertips reflect your glow
Like sunlight crossing snow.
I sized you up so slow
That I forgot about the show.
Paid for it in advance
But couldn't rob you of a glance.
Saw my money wasted
but found my suitable replacement.
Placement so concise
that I feared blinking twice
should your presence be removed.
It was as if you behooved
In your dubious enchantment
That my heartbeats chant with
The cadence of your grace.
Such rhythm in a still face?

This drink must be heavy.
I've had so many
That the bartender befriends me.
You whisk away quickly.
Slipping through this maze
In a daze of bewilderment,
Chilly air cleaving my pores
as I inch closer to the door
That you just stepped behind.
Barely straight lined,
My mind desperate for focus
Among this freelance flock of locusts
That have become this crowd,
Speakers still blaring so loud
As I lean against the brick...
...was this a trick?

Your silhouette fierce yet fair
And a soft, inviting pair of eyes
with lashes dark blue in hue
Silken hair in every sinew,
This from far I have observed
And what surely strikes my nerve
Is this newly apparent fact:
A motive accompanies that swerve.
Concerned barely,
You tarry far from grasp
Yet close enough to fawn over;
Only glancing above your shoulder
To make sure that I still follow.
Hollow your discernment
over your shame, my anger
Or some impending danger.

So what am I to do?
1:52 and I'm near you.
Who is tracking who?
Why this intrigue?
What of your mystique?
Will I incur a change of heart
if I continue to advance?
Should I chance this first glance…………?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz