I eat peanut butter
I eat peanut butter from a jar
Sitting quitly naked at the bar
Wired in frankincense and cheap olive oil
You can never spot where Ive hidden my old boil
I eat peanut butter with a spoon
Hanging on a telophone from the moon
Looking everywhere for the third rock in my drawer
cause I'm followed by the elaphant whose getting rather cold
I taste peanut butter with marmalade
Its sutured with nectrines with astringent taste
Surrounded by a gang of malefactent tea cups
Coming from Buenos Aries on the back of maple syrup
want to ride the posse of little bitty irishmen?
I lick peanut butter from outerspace
I was born southside so it goes to my waist
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Sadness = Happines :)) :
Frowns are just grimace sitting upside down
Angst an erotic name for boredom in motion
The abyss is the cabin were the soul will conspire
To rave in a daze, of dance of misfit rage.
You scream in your mind for someone to hear
but all you get back is static feedback
Your internally bursting, on a private frequency
That Nobody pays to witness your seething.
Slave to fear and master of deceit
Enchanted to the chains of your own misanthropy
Hopeless romantic for cynical deprivations
You know only pleasure of self-abnegation
Van goh is your idle but you lack his impression
Nietzsche is your god, and your just his ghost
Sartre you devour as an idol to rule your apathy
You like to have the lead to the role of self-defeat
But you’re an amateur nihilist
without motive to nothingness.
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Black, White and Grey
Tell me life is black and white
That there's a wrong and there's a right
Where good men never rot in graves
And villains always change their ways
Show me that there is some cause
Some just material from cosmic laws
Descending from determined hands
That there really was a master plan
So I tie my mouth around a stone
And sit with ease of caged angels
Looking patient with strong virtue
While wishing vengeance with a cudgel
A person's truth is another's crime
Our best relations come through lies
Were locked behind doors with holes
Peering through imagined glances
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Ode To A Kitty Cat (Whose Name Is Tinker)
Against daily tides of the worlds pitiless faces
Which tribal afflictions divide brothers to strangers
The most affectionate loves are from those bundles of furs
Which reverberate sweet melodies through their whiskers and purrs
Coiffure our body with their warm coats of tender conquest
Issuing preeminence with outstretched paws on our stomachs
I know the childhood innocence in a love that's not spoiled
To Machiavellian insidiousness and duplicitous liaisons
For domicile companionship beings a virtue that's absent
From the homo sapiens détentes of misfiled connections
And when loneliness announces its uninvited presence
Filling our brains drawers with hampered customs of dejection
My little Tinker comes to make her thrown upon my body
Spreading forgotten smiles as her tail wags like it's her hobby
as I brush my fingers against her mane I know devotion which is foreign
And as I feel the bristles of her trestles and I know I'm never lonely.
A pets love is forever and never diverted of human currents
poem by Kevin Patrick
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Milfay
Aromas cajoled with a sucrose frost
Hypnotize my nostrils with salivating gust
As I rush to entrapment of my hearts first love
Intertwined in the string that's my Pandora's Box
Unwrapping the knots as my inpatient tongue
Satiates my lips for that gifted baker's dozen
Salubrious excitement at the content within
The marvel of design for elegant that's Victorian
Behold to my sight such sumptuous substance
Decked in fine tigers frost glistening- but not melting
I gently extract and inspect her circumference body
To consume every layer for my mouths private study
First its whip cream- angelic coat and fine color
Then lustrous custard with more textured pallor
It proves that my taste buds mature when I'm older
For my preference is bitter and not vanilla that's sweeter
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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4 Against 1
4 against 1, the birth of a cynic
Enterprising through the laughter of the revolting pontificate
For little boys are wolves while being sheep's to their parents
They saviour blood on playgrounds against those who are different
Like the witches in Salem, and the Jew at Auschwitzw
They commence genocide to an introvert conscience
4 against 1 in a line up with guns
Unwavering malice surreptitious with slackened jaws acid tongues
It's a wall of fixed derision operating in unison
All psychically linked relaying intimidating medicine
To the one who dare smiled without showing vindication
Thus beginning the long march towards arrested passions
4 against 1, it was the end of all my fun
When the grass and the trees always seemed brightly green
And there was a special excitement in the taste of ice cream
But all of that suspend upon that long day in September
Once an eight year old grew wiser to the packs of human behaviour
And became an older man all stuffed up and embittered
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Scary Treats - Halloween Poem
The Moon is full and ominous
Conspiring spectrums in the mist
With terrors mortals should not know
Catastrophes within the soul
Tarantulas the size of hounds
Creep and crawl on window silhouettes
Their hairy bodies cling to pangs
Waiting to eat you with their fangs
Green Witches read their almanacs
Enchanting riddled vulgar tongues
Cauldrons boil evil potions
Frogs and crows with one eye sockets
A piper hymens a devils tune
Inside the shadows of the woods
Where pyres burn of pagan rites
Draw rings around the whicker man
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Funeral for One
It's the one thing I can't rehearse
The final act where I have no lines
Or watch the audience in the isles
Complain of my performance in the role
And sneer derision that he looks so old
All powdered up and decked in mould
For one day they'll stand at their own curtains end
Being chewed by the flowers of their final applause
So long to the critics I can't hear you judge
Your despondent analysis of my really great lead
The only lead I ever had
In a role that I was born to play
In a role that I was born uncertain
Sitting there won't be so lonely
All cushioned up in velvet lining
Draped in mahogany chesterfield sachet
Escorted somewhere near the Hamptons
I'll be lead by strong men in maître d' form
Perhaps a young splendor will pass me a glance
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Fat - Was it worth it in the End?
Was it worth it in the end?
To waste your time in idle drugs,
and leave your souls to Botox thugs
that wiped your manners of self respect
For questioned choices that circumspect
The fabric of your very persons?
Was it worth it in the end?
Squashing a person who's not ten
Who never popped their sternum pen
But who is boundless in vitality
and vigor then you'll ever comprehend
Was it worth it in the end?
To build a dream on the slop
of a canyon heading down
Were your stuck beneath the bottom,
never reaching the top
Obsessed with the minute
In perfections with no truce
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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To Meet Another Day
In the shower
Her tears mingle with the steel rimmed faucet
Artificial downpours ignescent libations
Parachuting raindrops
On the pours of her late summers sinews
Both releasing and imprisoning
Her thoughts meditations
To the disasters of the past
And the future inference
As vapour breaths of dew exhume the room
Entrapping its occupants
With hopes of quite gloom
Safe in the mechanics of volcanic rain
Blanketing the porcelain of her flesh tender pink
She holds onto the air expecting a miracle
To materialize in a magic box of Gods tricks
But none do show
Preferring to stay silent
with trademark anonymity
As the child she loves
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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