Sunday, October 30, 2011

Poems by David Michael Joseph

10:02 am

My eyes fight the light.
My mind twists.
The fumes of the midnight hour
Have resonated in my mouth.
I think I saw greatness
(Truthfully that is the last bit of liquor talking)
As the voices thundering in my dome,
becomes echoes of shames.
I press the replay button,
And it all slowed down:
I see a man who looks like me.
He is dressed like me,
He is a better me,
Making sweet love to his Jack and Coke.

Love twisted

There is an eternal struggle between the body and soul,
For both fear love,
For love is death,
The end,
The end of life as we know it.
This force has control that we cannot
taste, touch or feel
But burns our bodies like flames on the flesh,
For the heart is an assassin,
The body becomes a prison,
The mind becomes a liar,
This handicapper of the physical being,
Emotions strong enough to stoke the fire of war.
Hate is just love turned inside out.
Apathy is the real killer of justice,
The real soul breaker,
For when we don’t care we do horrible things,
Like the DMV

Fibbing Coon

I tell the raccoon he was a liar
For there is no good in this sector of reality.
He laughs at me as he digs through the refuse of man.
But to him this is a treasure trove.
His laughter makes me laugh;
I forget the world is so serious.
But I leave him and ask the humming bird the meaning of life.
She smiles and says
“On a fortune cookie from east, there is a saying
'Life is not a gift but a duty'.”
I tell the humming bird she is a fool,
She should move to the East
When the axis spins, the rain clouds back peddle.
Who am I but the son of a fool?
Yet, we all play the clown in the circus of life.
I choose to be the ringleader of this asylum.
The doors are open but the windows close.
Where are the guard dogs of the sane?
I believe another lie-sanity is a gift,
I believe insanity (is the ultimate level),
For the real world is a maximum-security prison.
Racism, poverty and gay porn
All meet to keep us in place,
For the hardest ward to escape is the mind.
But I know a trap door.
It's called fantasy

© David Michael Joseph 2011

David Michael Joseph is a filmmaker, poetry/short story author and screenwriter from New Jersey, but living in Los Angeles. He has made four short films, the most recent Shadows of Sepulveda and C.A.k.E. Have a look at a sample at

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