Posts tagged poets

Gonna be using this in the summer, poems, ideas, music, anything and everything I’ll be posting about so be ready to enjoy 

and they shoudln’t, I would like to start using this again but am unsure what approach to take. I’ve been working on alot of writing and obviously have alot of ideas and/or interests but how does that translate onto Tumblr. They say the blog platform is dying, thought I don’t completely agree, I am seeing where the amount one has (or wants to for that matter) to share becomes limited

Now that I’ve taken this long hiatus? Comment, let me know and what not, message me and all that good stuff.

Check out my archive and I guess make a decision from there.

I’m never on here, is that a testament of some sort? What do you all think, and should I start writing on here again?

Also hit me up to talk, could be interesting? Probably not.

http://soundcloud.com/jameskennedythepresident/need-jesus

If you love me you’ll do it, he’s my best friend…and father.

I owe you.

The lights are down low on high,
there starts with one and three go a rye.

There’s one everyone cares about…

Topless Cassandra cleans the tub
in eerie light,
slow and dumb.
Topless Cassandra,
she’s alright,
I’d pay a nickel to watch her flight…

and back and forth she scrubs,
I care if I haven’t seen her face.

Wonder if she’s embarrassed
out there like that,
‘even a lace around her neck.
She’d probably welcome it,
and I’d reckon she lives alone
in a place kinda like this…

Topless Cassandra cleans the tub;
who knows why,
is she even pretty?

Topless Cassandra don’t know why
these folks round’ here don’t know no better.

I’m not no better than the rest,
I’d be the first to admit it.
Cassandra whatshername is scrubbin’ up her tears
I reckon,
and in each second checking the reflection of tall dark men overhead
and praying for god to take her in and love her again.

She’s been waiting for someone to love her again.

http://jameswearssunblock.blogspot.com/

Walls left wanting
through heat and cold and nothingness,
so that anything seems better.
I’ve watched the flocks fly further south in arrows of aerial excellence,
but never more than now.
I know they’ll be back for there truly is no place like home,
until then it’s such that anything is more.

I think “What have they done to earn it?”

Every land is steeped in moods until circumstances creep up and ruin you…
and I just can’t take the delusional
who believe the Earth is entirely longitudinal,
with all their “Kiss my ass! Who are you?”
It’s simply disgusting.

You won’t suffer a moment to enjoy the precious ocean beach?
What will you ever know of real love then?
If it’s always breezy,
how will you appreciate still clothes then?
And still hair?
I’m still there,
and wondering how thoughts are more shallow then the ocean beach,
thinner,
yet I’m drowning in it…

and everyone’s gone home.