Handwritten Series No. 14

Handwritten Series No. 14

docmarek:

I have a chapbook for sale titled In the Rough and it would really help me out if you purchased one. It’s a collection of 15 poems and signed hard copies are PWYW (pay what you want).Click here for info about purchasing a copy and click here to hear me do a reading of the book.

docmarek:

I have a chapbook for sale titled In the Rough and it would really help me out if you purchased one. It’s a collection of 15 poems and signed hard copies are PWYW (pay what you want).

Click here for info about purchasing a copy and click here to hear me do a reading of the book.

(via docmarek)

nothing is sacred anymore

stand up tall & sit straight & tuck your
shirt in & wear a belt & keep your mouth
clean, don’t say words like fuck piss shit
damn bitch and especially don’t call
any woman a cunt, and definitely don’t
say it around your mom, use the right
fork and spoon for the right dish, don’t
drink your champagne too fast, in fact
don’t mix beer & liquor, say please and
thank you and excuse me and make
sure you open all of the doors your woman
may come in contact with and carry her
things for her and reach to the top shelf
for the elderly women at the grocery store
and don’t flip anyone off when they cut you
off on the street, don’t lie, give to the poor, tell
someone you love them every day, smile at
a stranger but don’t act like you wouldn’t stare
at a man getting his head cut off in a guillotine
the same way you did when you saw two people
kissing in public for the first time and for the
first time your mother didn’t cover your eyes
with the same hand that touched your father’s
cock the night before.

NATIONAL POETRY MONTH GIVEAWAY.

docmarek:

In honor of National Poetry Month, I will be giving away a free signed copy of my chapbook titled In the Rough every Tuesday and Thursday of April. Simply reblog this post and follow me for a chance to win. Must have a mailing address. Winners will be selected randomly.

If you’d like to purchase a copy of In the Rough, click here. You can hear me do a reading of In the Rough by clicking here. You can also find me on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.

Good luck!
-Doc Marek

(via docmarek)

First Wave

docmarek:

Someone told me one time,
“you’re living in a
fantasy world.”
I just wish it were true.

They say the best poetry,
the best songs,
come from a broken &
beat down heart
body
soul,
& I’m dying to tell you
that I’m dying.

On the cusp of what was
and what is,
I’m trying to live &

lessons learned from moments of despair

black birds on barbed wire
usher in requiems for
fallen soldiers from
the front lines,
like pallbearers
& ring bearers
covering candles with
the night.

i speak not
of them that are free
but of them that are
bonded,
and not those in fatigues
but those who are
fatigued
by an onslaught
of fickle dreams
known to me and
some others
as tangible perceptions
of reality.

we/they’ve been thrown
in dungeons &
burned at the stake
for fucks sake,
left to write poetry
in the caves of
depression,
letting rip currents
& tides take us out
to sandbars too far
to swim back from
and my therapist
calls it faith.

well, hope is a sliver
stuck in my trigger
finger and a bees
stinger i’m too proud
to remove, look at my
war wounds, yeah,
from life and being
hit in the face with
advertisements about
what i should buy
and what i should think
and who should be made
to crawl or be born or be
dead, like the weight
most pull, we’re as weak
as they say but give any
peasant an inch & he’ll
think he’s a ruler
and give any one of us
breath in our lungs
& we’ll think we’re
g-d.

a muse to be in therapy for

i never invite him, so i
never know when
he’s going to stop by and
visit

"everything you love
is going to die”
he says, taking a long
drag off his cigar

"write a poem
about that”

fuck you, i tell him
he don’t know shit
about love or
poetry

but my hand grabs a pen
and starts writing words
as my brain spins into a
manic episode
and there’s angels screaming
at the tops of their lungs
yes, yes, the very tops
of them
and he’s possessing me
like some kind of demon
and the only way to quench him
is to do what he says
to write what he says
and so thats what i do
every time
and every time, i get something
like this.

Handwritten Series No. 13

Read this a few times over. It means a lot to not only myself but many others I’m sure. 

Thanks,
Doc

Handwritten Series No. 13

Read this a few times over. It means a lot to not only myself but many others I’m sure.

Thanks,
Doc

Handwritten Series #12. 

Handwritten Series #12. 

the kids

shoving mashed potatoes
in my mouth, reading poetry
about poets as the people
talk about classes and taxes
and who they want to lick
between the legs

& now i’m smoking a cigarette
& the kids are outside watching
what they’ll become if they
stop caring.

Handwritten Series #11.

Handwritten Series #11.

poem for a young poet

my dear friend,
everyone with a dictionary
is Sexton
& everyone with a
box of crayons is Da Vinci
and everyone who has
a grandmother that tells them
they sing like an angel
is Elvis

but you have to
let it be your sex
your passion
your high fashion -
wear it like the flesh
that hangs on your bones

let the rain make you smile
& let the sun piss you off
let your sweat be rhythm
and your tears be rhyme
and your blood be that
diction you strive so hard for, let it
be natural
let it seep from you like tar -
thick & black
sticking to everything around
sticking to your lungs as you
breathe it in

do that
fuck them
no advice from a writer
to another writer is
good advice, not even
this
not even the advice of
the one who reads this &
tells you it is, no
disregard him/her

i’ve found inspiration in
beer bottles & dirty socks
clouds that look like christ
& broken clocks

just live,
man.

face down

brains blowing like
a volcanic eruption, red,
covering cities & walls
left to be discovered
uncovered
long after she’s
been gone
& found fetal
contorted in death
as in the womb - she
cut the cord both ways
three inches from the
belly button &
six ft. from the bottoms
of our feet -
face down

color me

you spent
all of your time
trying to color
inside the lines

& when i was
finished,
you crumbled
me up &
threw me away.

meta

sometimes i just
want to wipe everything
clean,

no,
i mean
start over
start fresh
say
fuck the rest
& the past and
transform into my mind’s eye
like a caterpillar or some other
cliché creature of
g-d
that changes enough for us
to take note of

yeah,
one of those is what
i want to be
sometimes
most times
it feels close
& real
& as if i could do it
and then i turn around
and realize that it’s all
the same no matter what
i do
& so nothing ever really

changes at all