"Cornerstone Kettle"
I used to miss the feeling.
Another cup.
Darjeeling....
Some things are worth revealing
only when we let it be.
You thrive on stints of action.
That one knee jerk reaction
that puts on a show
for all you know
and everyone else to see.
I'd rather sip this tea.
I'll take time
as long as it is being offered.
Harbored some concern
for your deliberate discernment.
In turn,
the perceived oblivious me
was not initially at liberty
to do anything about
your siding with determent.
Determined against my own.
Would challenge my tone
as if I emerged from your loins.
Going
because staying
may incur the stains
that this lifetime can't wipe clean.
How obscene
to believe you have dominion
with a few opinions
and a lot less influence?
You speak out of rhythm fluently.
My truancy
will accompany dismay
for on this day,
I will not wait for YOUR outcome.
You've outrun your help.
Even yourself as you breathe deep.
You wouldn't crawl
and I no longer creep.
Oh yes...
...I used to miss the feeling.
I used to
but there's nothing left
that is worth revealing.
We're years past repealing
and much of it
isn't worth dealing with
so I'll sit here
and I'll ponder
while your heart flails
and you flounder about
wondering how I've found
the way out from it all.
How to silence every call.
How to land if I should fall.
You will acknowledge secrecy.
You will hate that facing me
will imbue my latency.
Pour yourself a cup of tea.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Sanctuary"
You should've noticed.
Be sure to notice me....
Peruse.
Find the clues.
Solve the mystery.
Imagery predetermined and forged.
I want you to gorge
on everything that I do.
Won't have the time
to walk you in direction
so follow instructions.
Construction of the pander
circling your everyday planner.
Scanner of your means
lining your jeans with my errands.
You should notice.
Don't divert your focus
from me.
I am all that you see.
I am all you desire.
I the wick and the fire.
You extinguished in dereliction.
You need me for protection.
Keyed in on your inflection
and noted your confusion.
You're delusional.
I your working clarity.
Nothing makeshift.
Nothing breaks quick
once applied.
All allied against my plans for you
I will subdue
and neutralize
before I order you to
sanitize.
Purge them of their hope
and their courage.
Should I be lost,
then rummage through
their pockets.
Sell the trinkets.
Pawn the locket.
I'm high on your ledger
and your docket.
Don't you drop it!!!!
More precious than gold.
The pressure so bold
to meet sufficiency
so tread with great efficiency
when carrying out my tasks.
Be it the pipe
or blunt
or needle
or flask,
I won't ask
and I won't leave you.
You depend on me
but let's pretend:
"I Need You."
......you should've noticed......
~ Society Of Poets ~
~30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"The Established"
Let's be clear
and let's be here
because it's hard
to see through the distance.
Pretty dark
and
pretty awkward
when it isn't pretty
and we're just not ready
and we become petty
and take stabs
in that darkness.
Torn apart from
what we will not part with
so we start shit
and disparage the finisher.
Listeners of little
lost to thoughts so simple
there aren't enough
to fill the complex
and we just don't
feel the context.
We have no clue.
Don't know what's due.
Can't match this hue
Can't do much more
with the store closed.
Always thought about the day
I'd have to store clothes.
Thank God that container is still empty.
I observe all who envy
and really wonder why
they tend to covet this life.
Doesn't mean it's all great
or they won't get their fair shake
but the brakes will not break you.
They may take you
through more time than anticipated
but what runs rampant
is a lot less enchanted
and extremely antiquated.
If not regulated,
You
not time
should be sedated.
Dedicated to the process
of no expedited progress
lest I wish to fully digress
and miss it all
with no one to call.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Cacao"
I'm just not that curious.
Why are you so serious?
Mysterious on motives
but hesitant to start the show
saying
you know how it goes
and you know that they'll go
regardless.
Regard less self
and consider the masses.
The mask just
worn long enough
to deceive.
Leave
and no one follows.
Dare you be so hollow
to believe people will swallow
just because you break some bread?
There is no instead
unless it befits your benefit.
Finished it barely.
Mentioned it scarcely
until it appears one may oppose.
How comfortable in your clothes
would you admit you are?
How far is the levity?
Is it truly therapy
to be the eye of the storm?
Is sarcasm your norm?
Do you long for your equal?
Have you undergone the sequel
to your after school drama?
No doubt you've pondered none of this.
At the most,
very little
but if you pride yourself
on being bitter,
don't offer any of the brittle....
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"The Applied Implied"
I'm dealing with my complacence.
The priorities are outlined
but I am nowhere adjacent....
Opportunity is there.
So close I swear I can taste it.
It would kill me to waste it
but I may die before I face it.
I am
the one event
that is hard to forget.
A spectacle receptacle
still siphoning regret
and with this admission,
I weather the attention
and field the calls
but when it stalls,
it all feels like detention.
I'm nowhere near the child of light.
I still fight for ascension
but if I'm judged
based on my effort,
I can't hide my remission.
There's a lot there.
Call it an empty plot
where
I place plans I never follow,
hopes I've left sullen and hollow,
and pills I have yet to swallow
because I'm afraid of that.
There's no replacing that
lack of accomplishment
especially when acknowledgement
I accept as if I've earned it.
I've learned a lot
to say I've learned nothing.
Bridges burned as I've spurned
on procrastination.
The acclamation embarrassing.
My potential can carry me
only as far as charity
and so few will feel sorry.
Lauded hardly in deserving fashion.
Imagine the traction
of searching for distractions
while the world around you
elicits reaction
to things I pretend to achieve.
There is no reprieve
when your dream
is to scheme
and the outcome
you are far from
while holding it in your hands.
Much of it I can't stand
yet much of it I exalt.
So much of it in my hands.
So much of it is my fault.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Black Mist"
Risky
Whiskey
Miss me with
that missing business.
That
"won't you give this
another chance?"
This
time that we have
you
mention rehab
like
we have some sort
of issue or illness.
Will this
keep me in your company?
Do you
seek to comfort me
or just quench your conscience?
This subconscious a swirling blur.
I hear the slurs.
I feel the murmurs.
In passing time,
I've learned to
nurture this bottle
dormant or throttled
followed by another.
Letters from my mother
and a brother I seldom speak to
who tells his kids
"I keep you
away
because he's an
unstable alcoholic."
Called it
a "condition"
befitting the remission
that I'm told
has become a pattern.
So Risky
This Whiskey...
...my crutch.
My wheelchair.
With it I feel fair.
Without I'm impaired.
I can't fare.
I don't care
I
won't
care
about embarrassment.
This
80 Proof establishment within me
befriends me.
It
absolves the loneliness.
Only this.
A love that won't last
running fast enough
for me to
snatch
and
steal
and
grab enough
to get it back.
GIVE IT BACK!!
WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT?!
You had to fight?
Stayed up at night?
Your sheets are white.
Mine filthy.
Time is wilting.
I feel guilty
but will admit no weakness.
I
need....
...........
...... this...
.......this whiskey....
......... so risky.
I miss.....
.............
.........me.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"After School"
Afternoons perched on the porch.
A torch passed on
by those who have passed on.
The fawn of stories
told in figures
to youth eating snowballs
from drinkers of malt liquor
and connoisseurs of wing plates.
Pitching up with my friends
but no tackling on pavement.
Days paved with
popsicles,
pickles,
marbles and nickels,
hopscotch and double dutch,
sunflower seeds
and quarter water.
The best part?
Watching the sun go down.
Kids frown
as mother calls them in.
There's always one
crawling in the dirt
leaving footprints
on the back of her skirt.
Wash the hymn of his pants,
Warn them about fire ants,
tie their pillow sheet capes
and let them just escape
to do it all over again.
Made friends I'll never forget.
Found my first crush.
Learned how to make a little
seem like very much.
Saw how other kids reacted
when I scraped my knee.
Felt the sting of loneliness
when they moved far away from me.
Found time
to make time
stand still.
Invoked thrill
as chill as water from the hydrant.
Those afternoons were always the most vibrant.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Devil On The Dash"
Angel riding shotgun.
The scene around us scenic.
Sitting stuck in traffic. ...
My heaven sent obscene wit.
I crooked.
Her vowels just as curvy.
Moments over lonely stretches
where we owned the road,
swerving.
spilling our
essence across the strip.
My ambition.
Skin that glistened
as I aimed to strip her naked.
I reach under.
Increased wonder
and made sure she never faked it.
Baked it after stirring.
Advances after flirting
unnerving
so my jacket
stays on my lap.
Ready to run laps
between trucks and trailers
with an engine full of danger,
excitement and anger.
Familiar flavors
that have rendered my tailored
threads to mere floor mats
and body towels.
Her celestial orifices hollow
waiting to
suck,
swallow,
tuck away
and devour by the hour.
Wicked power in her grip.
Hands slip past my zipper.
Slippery already.
Weight getting
heavier in her hand.
Plans to apply pressure
and alleviate the tension.
Forgot to mention
the lapse in suspension
as I slam down on the pedal.
Broken glass and metal shrapnel.
Grappled with this seat belt.
Felt subtle whispers
become cackle.
Her subtle tone
morphed into
the growl that of a jackal
cornering its prey.
Careened along the way.
Dunked into the bay.
Sunk deep that day
after kisses from my angel...
...a truly gorgeous death.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Cufflinks"
Consider how genuine
the article truly is.
Fully aware...
that this pocket square
completely compliments my hair.
Everything fair
including the weather.
Polished loafers for the coast
comfortably atop leather seats
and wood grain.
Gained speed
but remained fashionably late.
That's the standard.
Cameras carrying a multitude of flashes.
Invitation on the dash
of the all black Maybach.
Taken back to the infancy of it all:
Walls with chipped paint.
Water more tainted than drinkable.
Thinking so much about my rougher years.
Switched gears.
Calibrated with ambition
and leaked out the self pity.
Within me
lies the bowl of fire
burning in tandem
with my desire for elevation.
Grateful for the sensation
of Bose speakers.
Tailored to the attire
of espionage or preacher
or teacher with administrative privilege.
From the ridge
to the last thread stitched
form fit
for the formidably formal.
Upscale is normal.
Received slacks for jeans
and while this jacket serves as my journal,
I was measured for my dreams.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Seafoam In Drift"
"Approach the oceans
in due time, youngster."
Bane of my ambition
in the younger years.
Would pretend as if
hands were over ears.
That subdued the fear
of potential chastisement.
Advisement in droves.
Drove me up the wall
that I would slide down
in protest.
No less
was much more.
Tied hands
would touch more.
Push more.
More structure
meant more means
of torn jeans
and spilt juice.
Fruit of your loins
a pain in the groin.
Can't wait til I'm grown.
Can't wait but I'm growing.
Embracing danger.
No anchor. No slowing.
Parental anger.
Impatience is showing.
Months become years
and you're anxious yet knowing
that there isn't much left
to keep me at shore.
Would stay with you more,
would play with you more
but we're more than sure
that much has been drawn out.
All out or nothing.
Started with something
and made the world of me.
Grew up much different.
Teen with indifference.
Adults with difference
but I know you love me.
"Approach the oceans
in due time, youngster."
Know now that I'm ready
and I thank you, Mother.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
