"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
"Float"
Sweep the floor from under me.
Door will remain lovingly.
Under me is everything...
I left in the past.
Never die.
Never cast
into air I couldn't navigate.
Magistrate
still answering to he
who is celestial.
More than fair
the air up there.
Never felt this special.
Used to reach for the sky
being robbed of my dreams.
Dropped my fear and my tears.
Tore the weight at it's seams
and watched it all fly below
where my head used to hang
where my fists used to bang
against the concrete.
I'm complete
when this journey ends.
As far as now,
I'll learn just how
much more I can resend.
No use for baggage.
Tucked that away in it the carriage.
Disadvantage as it seems
was advantage and it teems
with all the glory.
So much is present before me.
Wouldn't worry
the way I used to figure.
Even seldom forgivers
find ways to let go
and breathe.
Time you wouldn't believe.
Led a life I couldn't conceivably
see lasting for long.
Saying so long
to the short wind.
Upstart fins swim slower
than I do
through these clouds.
God's angels in harmony
and the trumpets are loud.
So the next time
you notice me not making a sound,
you'll be looking up
and I'll be shining down.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"False Start"
Content as complicated
as one's choice of haberdashery.
Marathon Man...
dodging the javelin.
Never found a gash in me.
Tragically,
I'm nowhere near
the speed of sound
and light eludes me.
Always aimed to
tell my story
but what should my prelude be?
Could the reader handle it?
Will I be protagonist,
heartless villain
or anti-hero?
Will I remain in the shadows
or become familiar with the people?
Not much is clear
but that fear
is easy to notice.
Struggled to show this
side of myself.
A cry for help.
In need of change
but no real push
to rearrange
or wash the stains
as I complain
and hide the proof.
Not working hard
for that reward.
In that regard,
I hide the truth.
Nothing meant to be disclosed
can stay away forever, though.
Life still throwing javelins.
I can't dodge them forever
so
I've learned to pick my spots.
Tried to predict where they'll land.
Sun is blinding.
Burning hot.
Didn't see one pierce my hand.
Damn.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Worn At The Seams"
I've always harbored some concern
for those relationships
that I've either squandered surely
or never really kept up with.
Not interactions merely focused
on how we may look as a couple
but more so matters of family
where the emotions double
and spill over
and keel over in awkwardness.
Used to say I lacked the time
trying to avoid all of it.
Especially when addressing my Father
because for years
amid the tears,
I swore I had no father.
Twenty-seven is an extremely long time
to come and go before I know
If we would run out of time.
I'm glad we got that rectified.
Still a work in progress
but the process feels
a lot less strained now.
Those outside my means
say that they know how
my Sister feels.
How much it kills
to hear from me less now.
On the contrary of this,
they can miss me with the lectures
because when she and I are concerned,
they aren't the fabric or the texture
and can't touch either without consent.
My little lady.
That's my baby
even when she sends
her Mother into frenzy.
Still learning this life she's facing
but even that requires pacing
while tasting what it has to offer.
My Brother has a daughter.
She's almost three.
The closest thing next to my siblings
that ever clung to me.
I swear:
I caught a glimpse of Heaven
when she first said:
"Uncle Devin."
Tears in her eyes
I wish were mine
when she was chastised.
I guess that's what my Wife means
when she says
I get those "Glass Eyes."
She notes the glimmer
or the shimmer...
...whatever she calls it
whenever I embrace a baby.
I've always pondered two
or even three.
Maybe.
I pray that through my Niece
my Brother would learn
to pay attention
to what truly deserves his time
and earn a greater retention
of responsibility and priority.
Used to look up to my Mother
and wonder how she did it all.
Sure, there was help
and always someone she could call.
I'm forever grateful
but admittedly,
we've become strained.
In my current position
I can't understand her pain.
No longer her child
but always her son.
She would never spare the chance
to tell me that I'm the one.
Applied pressure
that I've learned to embrace
but nowadays, the anger mingles
with the tears on her face.
Self-sufficient,
on my own,
not a castle
nor a throne,
building new life with my spouse,
proud young owners of a house
so we don't get to talk as much.
Promised we haven't lost touch.
She is still my Mother.
Sister laments with her
but Brother understands.
He himself still a young man
trying to start his own family.
Family.....
...............
....the ties that connect us
are never severed.
We just place far too much
on the time and effort
when things don't go our way
or we go two or three days
without hearing from each other.
Sometimes, I wish there were other
ways to exploit what is necessary
without having to choose between
the people that we hold dear;
leaving the other feeling like an adversary.
Not contrary for the sake
of choosing when I'll awake.
Not so deep in my affairs
that I don't want to be there.
This is personal at best.
At my worst, it's like a test
that I never stand to pass.
Just know that my love will last.
Never forget that.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"The Narrows"
I don't want your life.
I don't need control.
When I look back twice,...
I just need my soul.
Couldn't play your role.
Never did compete.
I would rather stroll
than to scrape my feet.
No way around
so I lay down
and let the musings of my day
play around on the ceiling.
Feeling somber in my process;
especially when left to wonder
if my progress is even noticed....
...we love to quote it:
"Doesn't matter.
Never matters
if they see the steps.
All that matters -
- ever matters
is that none are left."
and I stand firm by that notion
to a degree,
but with the stirring of emotions,
one sometimes wants others to see
just how well
or how frail
or how high
or deep sighs over repetition.
Sometimes, I think
we treat independence
like some stubborn tradition.
We can't learn if we won't listen.
This day will glisten and shine
even without the time
I hoped would present itself.
Had to become comfortable
with asking for help
instead of putting myself through it.
If life is to be lived alone,
then less of us would do it
but some change their stance
in front of olive branch
thinking that shots are called.
Would rather let me fall
than latch on
to what they deem exclusive
so If sovereign must be claimed,
lets make this all inclusive:
I don't want your life.
I don't need control.
When I look back twice,
I just need my soul.
Couldn't play your role.
Never did compete.
I would rather stroll
than to scrape my feet.
Leave me to my chores.
My sweat here.
My pores.
Won't distort my sight.
If I cry at night,
I will salve my pain
and take my lumps in stride.
There's more than pride to gain.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Bent And Broken Keys"
The faster you go,
the more shrouded the concept.
Context clues a bevy....
The paper thin seems heavy
when you ignore the lines.
Time is meant to be defined;
not bypassed like billboard quotes.
Take the time to read the note.
Heard you wrote some thoughts
that held some substance.
I'm convinced that you relent
to your content in bunches.
Actions that cue my bluntness.
Much more than a spasm
when you employ your sarcasm
when addressing what we love.
Recalled how you'd push and shove
to be counted among the crowd
of blaring voices speaking loud
for what many can't conceive.
Take this serious or leave.
I've no issue with your talent
but you are your own disadvantage.
Welcomed challenges in sweep
but this promise you don't keep.
Time will teach you dedication.
Patience greater than elation
garnered by your faithful readers.
Nothing new about repeaters.
Have some pride about your craft.
Saw those before you
and you laughed
at the mere length of their exposure.
Now in them,
you seek the closure
that has accompanied your plight.
Candles only burn at night
for one with fire for the wick.
Nothing contrived in the process.
No smoke. No mirrors.
There are no tricks.
So contrived your work conceived.
Many methods you've perceived
as simple as one would believe
ask that you give
more than you receive.
Faster pace tends to deceive;
leaving nothing to retrieve
but a makeshift prison where confined
are all the lessons left behind.
This is your mind.
It doesn't have to be.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Fringe"
This is a process.
Let me ask you ...
to ask yourself
how you are feeling.
Sufficient first step
for this complicated
way of dealing
with the therapy.
"Don't whisper!
You're scaring me!"
You shiver.
I carry sheets.
Sheets with buckles.
Leather straps.
Bound your knuckles.
Wrap your lap.
Wrap your head around fixation.
Excuse for the medication.
Regimen not so exclusive.
More results when all inclusive
More abusive? Higher strains.
Help you deal well with your pain.
Plant the seed that is ingrained.
Conducive capital gain.
You are strange.
You are dormant.
Unappealing.
So abhorrent.
Every torrent fits a trauma.
Dollars down for doctor's drama
and I will lure you....
....I meant I will cure you.
Please let me assure you
now sit and let me
pour you another dosage.
I told you:
This is a process.
I think we've made some progress.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Inside Job"
Plastered him to the pavement
but I missed my arraignment.
Not the weapon I came with. ...
Hide the weapon I've slain with.
Tears that mix with the pain.
A pain concrete must acknowledge.
Vigils where we pay homage
minutes before the riots.
Hours before the carnage.
Headlock tight like the harness.
tighter wrapped around Garner.
Up til down it was harmless.
Haven't learned how to harm less.
Leave that shit up to Congress.
They could use some more free press.
Free world ran under stress.
Bullets removed from chest
after placing the taser.
Set my weapon to phaser,
watch him run for his labor
then proceed with moonraker.
Cops and Robbers the game.
First I tarnish your name
then I augment the scene
just to justify means.
Put a nickel in jeans.
Another quarter in the backpack.
Backtrack
until my story makes sense.
Made cents for something
others care to do for free.
Overseas.
Over pools of blood.
Children slumped over stools.
Bodies strewn across floors.
Potential escaping their pores.
The world would know more
but the news at 11
won't cover 147.
For some,
Hell comes before Heaven.
~ Society Of Poets ~
~ 30 ~
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
