Fire & Ice
poetry by
Michael David Anderson
Smashwords Edition 2010
Copyright © 2007 Michael David Anderson
ISBN 978-1-4357-5106-4 (Print Version)
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any form.
Introduction
What follows is a collection of poetry I’ve written over the past decade. I’ve been published before in several anthologies, starting with my first published work “Dog” when I was in the eighth grade. I’ve gone through many creative surges throughout the years, and I think I’ve selected some of the best work that I can show you here. Of course, there’s some poetry that will remain in my personal little “vault” and that’s because I’ve deemed some of the poetry either too personal or too inappropriate to display here.
For those of you out there who know me, you’ll probably be wondering why I of all people would deem something in my own work inappropriate. I tend to be a blunt person to begin with, so the very idea that I could be holding back will probably make you all wonder, What on earth is Mike hiding? What types of poetry is he keeping out of this book?
I’ll tell you that now. Some poems are meant for one person and one person alone, and some just don’t live up to my idea of what they should be.
The poems that follow are the ones I think are the best representation of my work… and if they’re not, they’re in there just to make the other ones look better. I hope you enjoy this collection as much as I enjoyed writing these poems over the past decade. As to why this collection is titled Fire & Ice, I can offer one simple explanation: the poems I’ve assembled here cover a variety of topics, but a lot of them cover the basics as well – love, breakups, and so on – while others show you just how random I can be at times. Fire & Ice represents the diversity of tone and subjects you’ll find here. There’s a good chance not all of the work assembled here will suit your taste, but I’m hoping there’s something here for everyone.
-Mike
HELL
The
fireflies
gather in
the air at night,
producing storm clouds
of a fiery light
that leads wayward souls
back to the depths
of a cold
abyss –
Hell.
MUSIC WHICH TO KILL YOURSELF BY
I'm losing my composure and all my self-control
I'm committing suicide by blowing the brains of the universe all over your wall
I'm losing faith in this prison, this so-called free world
I'm dancing in the blazing inferno of hell, feeling like I'm ten feet tall
I'm buying into this fascist commercialism dominating our economy
I'm weeping with all the slave laborers who can't afford to die
I'm killing our species by telling you to perform a do-it-yourself vasectomy
This is music which to kill yourself by
POSSIBILITIES IN THE LAND
OF THE INVISIBLE SUN
Monkeys monkey around merrily on the monster magic mirror
Red are its eyes and flames shoot from its mouth
Its tongue lashes out – BOOM – Gotchya!
In goes a monkey
-It’s normal here
This is the Land of the Invisible Sun
-And anything is possible
Tigers try to stay on top of the topless trees in terror
But they go crashing downward in a rage of fear – south they go, oh yes, south
The ground strikes them in the face and kicks them into the magic mirror’s jaws, yeah
In goes a tiger
-It’s normal here
This is the Land of the Invisible Sun
-And everything is possible
Millionaires lose money to mere men of mass mystery who never look in the mirror
There goes the green, yes, out go the lights, there goes the money into the feisty lion’s enormous mouth
So much for the money, duh! It’s gone, shoot, yeah
There go the tears
-It’s (ab)normal (t)here
This is (the Land of the Invisible Sun) Earth
-And anything’s (im)possible!
Am I confusing you yet, reader of normality?
A CRAVING, MADDENING THIRST
This thirst is driving me up the wall,
making me question everything I see
and everything I am.
Am I just a pawn? Am I just waiting for the dawn
to continue my life in some strange cycle
of insanity and chaos?
Life comes full circle like this.
In hate there is passion.
In love there is infatuation.
In all of this, you can find bliss
in absolute, unforgiving ignorance.
These are the random thoughts of a writer
dying of thirst sitting at a computer screen
wondering if the pounding in his head
will ever go away? Will it please go away?
Do you know what it's like
to eat something bad and wake up
in the middle of the night, cold and confused,
watching as the light in your room
flickers off and on,
off and on,
like a pyrefly on crack,
and slip into the bathroom to relieve yourself
only to find there is no relief, only sorrow?
You realize that you're stuck there for an eternity,
devoiding your innards at first
and then standing up and devoiding your innards
out of your mouth and unable to control
the spasms of your bowels as you retch,
splattering your waste at your feet,
leading you to retch even more.
GHOSTS
The ceiling fan revolves,
casting lazy silhouettes
across the jigsaw pattern
of shades of blue on
the walls of this haunted
room in this haunted
house.
The ghosts wait
in the hallway, waiting
for me to leave the
safety of the light and
venture forward into the
blanket of darkness.
Why
are they so vengeful? Why
do they haunt me so?
The clouds on the ceiling
reflect the sky in the
daylight hour, but here –
here in the witching hour –
nothing is certain, and
all is darkness,
all is uncertain.
Our lives are shrouded
in a mere ghost of a chance.
Do we sit on the sidelines,
or do we dance?
These ghosts will not hold me back.
These ghosts cannot hold me back.
BLOW
Off the bus, they can cuss
until they get back home.
A sick perv rides by
because he knows they're all alone.
He checks the box
beside his seat.
He knows they'll think
these will be very neat.
Pulls through the red light traffic
and slides up to the curb.
It's time to have fun
in this suburb.
He grabs the box,
gets on out,
watches as these little kids
scream and shout.
He calls to them,
calls them over
just like he did
when he was in Dover.
The kids look at him
like he's a stranger
and wonder if
he's any danger.
He smiles again
and holds up their prizes
and lets them know
here's their surprises.
He hands each one
what looks to be a tiny balloon
and let's them know
they should blow them up soon.
One girl gets a red one
and thinks the blowhole
is much too large.
She's afraid she'll blow out her soul.
The balloon's not white,
it's red.
The man tells her
she got strawberry instead!
She puts it up
to her mouth
and sloshes something wet
all about.
It looks like mayo
past its expiration date.
She's already tasted it,
it's much too late.
It tastes a little off,
a little sweet,
a little salty,
and in a way pretty neat.
She looks around
at the other kids
and realizes that
they've all got the jizz.
She asks the man
what it is
and he tells her that
it's a special product from his secret biz.
He reaches into his car
and brings out a string
so she can tie up
her blow-up thing.
With the white mayo
all over her chin
she runs back home
and runs on in.
Her mommy sees her
and drops her glass,
demands to know where she's been
and beats her ass.
She's only nine,
much too young
to be doing such things
and drinking cum.
Her behind hurting,
the little girl cries
but mommy says
she doesn't believe her lies.
Mommy pops the balloon
and gets sprayed with juice.
It even gets on
her big fat caboose.
The man moves on
to the next town,
sowing his seeds of mayhem
all around.
The little kids
will never say no.
All they ever want to do
is give the balloons a really good blow.
MY ATTEMPT AT A SESTINA
I once wrote a poem to look like an ass,
like one crazy, high-toting son of a bitch
with the drive of a dog and eyes of a cat -
but who could ever give a damn?
I'm writing this sestina to sound eccentric,
but who really cares? Who gives a fuck?
Not my friend Incognito, who only lives to fuck
like a bloodhound on the trail of a bitch
in heat. He can really be a bit of an ass,
obsessed with women and cars. I mean, damn!
Incognito can be one cool cat
but all the same he's still a bit eccentric.
But how, you ask, is that eccentric?
A lot of guys who are considered a cool cat
are in love with their cars and a piece of ass
because all they ever really want to do is fuck,
but in the end all they'll hear is the women bitch,
but will they care? They won't give a damn.
So he won't say "G-D," he says "G'damn!"
instead so he doesn't have to hear her bitch
about taking the Lord's name in vain. He's such an ass.
But more than that, he's a foolish fuck
with a style not at all overly eccentric.
And to think, he thinks he's such a cool cat.
But he better watch out, for his whore owns a cat
and if he steps on it, she'll kick his sorry ass
and tell him that he really was a lousy fuck.
It may be a lie, but that hurts his eccentric
heart, and he says to himself, "G'damn!
This girl is such a bitch!"
So now that we know about Incognito and his bitch,
I have to admit this sestina was a bit eccentric.
But I think I did very well, I didn't fuck
up too badly. It feels like landing on all four damn
legs with the grace of a cat,
but in the end, I still feel like an ass
MISTAKEN IDENTITY
These foolish games have lasted far too long
Maybe I had it figured all wrong
How could I stop where this was going
Without ever knowing
That y'all thought I was a bastard
Itchin' to get rid of me just a little bit faster
And y'all thought that I was crazy
Thank ya very much, it doesn't phase me
Y'all must've thought I was a son of a bitch
Lookin' for any old way just to get rich
Your view of me was so damn hazy
But fuck y'all, it doesn't phase me
You have absolutely no clue who I am
Try to show ya but you don't give a damn
Can't stand the way you look at me
The real me is the me that you can't see
You've got the notion I'm some common criminal
So you treat me like I'm an animal
Don't judge a book by its cover
Only then will you discover
Just how biased you are inside
There's no way you can hide
That y'all thought I was a bastard
Itchin' to get rid of me just a little bit faster
And y'all thought that I was crazy
Thank ya very much, it doesn't phase me
Y'all must've thought I was a son of a bitch
Lookin' for any old way just to get rich
Your view of me was so damn hazy
But fuck y'all, it doesn't phase me
THE KNUCKLEBREAKER
Breathe in deeply, swear on this silence
You won't utter one more goddamn sentence
I'll crack these knuckles and send you reeling
Be fortunate for all the pain you're feeling
It lets you know you're alive
It lets you know you haven't died
It lets you know you're alive
It lets you know you haven't died
I will break you into a scattered thought
For all the times the two of you have fought
Infected her with your bitter words you've spoken
Left her whole yet left her spirit broken
Relish the splinter and snap
Of cartilage as I knock your head back
You deserve more than what you've let her suffer
You gave her pain, not one word of comfort
Feel the blood trickle down your chin
Remember all the lessons of your sins
You shall carry all the guilt
As I bury a metaphorical knife up to the hilt
Pain lets you know you're alive
It lets you know you haven't died
It lets you know you're alive
It lets you know you haven't died
Leave her be, she's so happy
Without you ruining her time with me
How could you try to spoil something so heavenly
You should know you got off lucky
Lucky
Pain lets you know you're alive
It lets you know you haven't died
It lets you know you're alive
It lets you know you haven't died
MY TIME ISN’T WORTH
YOUR TWO CENTS
Moonlit sweat, bloodshot eyes
From all the tears that you cried
You were hoping I would sympathize
Despite all the lies that you told me
Caught up on this roller coaster ride
There's no way you can hide
The simple fact that you lied
So now you're on the wrong side of my heart
Where should I start to tear us apart
And make my way away from you
Broken and used, lost and abused
And yet you're the one feeling confused
You just wish your feelings would shut up
And start making some sense
But babe I can't help ya
'Cause my time isn't worth your two cents
Step on back, now you're stunned
Can't believe I've ruined your fun
Like the paralyzing boom-crack from a gun
You're looking at me like I'm a son of a bitch
But you've chosen your path
And I'll have the last laugh
'Cause only later you'll realize
You're only part of my past
Now you'll see just how fast I'll get over you
Where should I start to tear us apart
And make my way away from you
Broken and used, lost and abused
And yet you're the one feeling confused
You just wish your feelings would shut up
And start making some sense
But babe I can't help ya
'Cause my time isn't worth your two cents
PUNISH ME
Darkness enfolds you
Silences you as you sit and wonder
Look how it holds you
As it embraces you in sweet thunder
Wrapped up in thorns now
Catacombs of self-indulgence
Blood in the scars is how
I've lost my innocence
So whatchya want?
What the fuck do you want from me?
What the fuck do you want me to be?
Whatchya want? What a cunt
You're being to me
Hurt me, curse me, c'mon and punish me
Lies flower about your soul
Watch now as they take hold
Bred with the best of sin
A hybrid of beauty and horror within
Kiss me on my lips
But leave me feeling selfish
Fallen in love but lost in this
Words can't describe this shit
So whatchya want?
What the fuck do you want from me?
What the fuck do you want me to be?
Whatchya want? What a cunt
You're being to me
Hurt me, curse me, c'mon and punish me
Youth and innocence
Take their toll
But are lost inside
We all know
This darkness from without
Consuming the within
Lost in this labyrinth
I don't know where to begin
So whatchya want?
What the fuck do you want from me?
What the fuck do you want me to be?
Whatchya want? What a cunt
You're being to me
Hurt me, curse me, c'mon and punish me
So whatchya want?
What the fuck do you want from me?
What the fuck do you want me to be?
Whatchya want? What a cunt
You're being to me