Poetry
Protests & Posters
protests & posters
justice warrior
but it's all for show
to feel a part of something
to play your part in something
but you have to let it go
'cause those that are sure
are silent
your shouting's in vain
don't divide us
protests & posters
you're just a soldier
who do you really do it for?
just love another person
just one other person
don't turn your cause into a war
'cause if you give yourself to kindness
we can dilute the madness
protests & posters
protests & posters
my what a noble thing you are
pendulum ever-swinging
there's no such thing as winning
yet, here I am with my guitar
looks like this will be my poster
as I protest against the others
am I afraid to be unsure?
am I afraid to be unsure?
got my protest & posters
don't look to me for answers
don't look at anything at all
J.M. Newcomb
The orange, the vagina, the universe, and the me
I saw the lips of a labia spreading apart, to give birth to the universe, as I parted my mandarin orange in half.
I saw springtime.
I saw microscopic structures and stars burning light-years away.
I saw the edges of infinity.
I saw everything spiraling, rotating, and revolving in a stewpot.
I saw a heart slowing, until it reached the calmest passing.
I saw rains bleaching the scenery a dull grey, and I saw wildfires raging.
I saw my face in a crowd, looking up at a dying sun, with my feet on the bones of an old world; but I saw past it. I saw new life, blooming despite.
I saw rainbow chemicals and dirty factories.
I saw a child’s laughing.
I saw smiles, weddings, and celebrations.
I saw dump trucks and bicycles.
I saw vines, mosses, and lily pads.
I saw my fingernails stained orange, and I bowed for a second or two.
How blessed am I to experience this all?
J.M. Newcomb
Shapeless
some wear name brands
I wear holes on the bottoms of my socks
some float free
and some are living by a clock
but time is an illusion
it's not passing; you are still
you've come to a conclusion
with delusions of free will
some wear badges
and some wear coverings on their head
some are optimists
and some are half-full-filled with dread
when looking to a future
we debate what we should do
I tell you there's no future
and maybe not even you
try to aim,
but there's no distance; there's no form
it's all based on a perspective, on a norm
have you been to college?
did you study really hard?
have faith in something wonderful?
did you cry? were you scarred?
did you kiss the universe?
did you tumble through her hair?
did you wish? were you born?
is there anyone out there?
I am lost, but you are certain, a-okay!
I guess some things oughta matter
don't care either way.
and yet I care 'bout everything
sentimental I am sure
I am just a man
and I'm feeling insecure
but then I see the lines
and I'm reminded they're not there
buried in my mantras and saying little prayers
let it go
free yourself, my friend
who killed Star Wars,
Lucas or the fans?
were John and Paul McCartney
friends or enemies?
I read it in the comments
I saw it on tv
some wear name brands
I wear holes on the bottoms of my socks
some are villains
some fly 'round in a little blue box
you think you know the ocean
but it's deeper than you sink
you think you know the ground
but it's moving underneath
now I'm fading; I'm dispersing
wait! I'm not even anything
It was all distractions
it was only just a dream
let it go
free yourself, my friend
J.M. Newcomb
the nothingbuilders, or the maintenance of
race doesn't have a sound, gender has no look
natives didn't own the land, colonists can't with what they took
when you're alone, in a forest or cave
none of it matters, so let it go away
you don't like the machine, but you never leave the grind
we built this life, to bide our time
all the colors and crimes, wealth and governments
we uphold it, carry it on, continue it
you can study and debate, but you'll only end where you began
it's a man-made thing: truth, knowledge, and progression
i'm not saying abandon your life altogether
i'm saying realize your power, and find what truly matters
but it's hard to let go of these many identities
what would we live for, without desire or an ending?
we love our pain and we love to struggle
it makes us believe it's all worth the trouble
you can't talk black or look like a girl
you made all that up, you need to unlearn
define all you want, to feel in control
but in the end, we all rot in a hole
this might sound grim, it might scare you to death
it might make you angry, but give it a rest
close your eyes and in the darkness you'll see
"oh, so all of this mess just exists inside me"
J.M. Newcomb