The Ghost


Silence does indeed speak volumes.
Every response has been little more than vague
I say “I love you”; not confirming is considered rude.
Not to mention how you avoid me like the plague.

Silence has been well, it allows you to think
Think perhaps, that I won’t do what you intended
Calamity and chaos are not what rolls around my rink.
Time, or another person, have always been what’s mended.

Once again I’ve been left for dead
Like a long abandoned, forget me not.
A keepsake that rests in the back of the head
Or, a not often visited burial plot.

You’ll come to realize how resilient I am
And you know I won’t say “I told you so”.
I did indeed do all that I can
It sucks the way things ended though.

So, I write now from the other side.
Watching you from a surreal afar;
Wondering if the punishment fits the crime.
I’m the only one that knows who you are.

I cared too much, which you don’t care to see
I worried about issues that many who love you would.
I’m the one suspended in limbo, as you’d agree.
Leaving me in the dark again, is no longer any good.

I may appear different now
Being viewed through the eyes of contempt.
I’m wondering if there’s anything-
That can’t be feigned you won’t resent.

So, play your silent treatment game
And act like everything is fine.
Deep down inside I know you’re lame.
In time, you’ll look back on moments you were mine.

Oh well, whatever, eventually I’ll be just fine.
I’ll rise above the silent abandon,
And conceal my pain in rhythm and rhyme.
It hurts though, to say good-bye, my friend.

By: Charles Poore


Last Month

I was low
Really low
Play out in traffic at night kind of low.

It burns my upper spine
Not so much about suicide
More so that I want to die.

Because I can’t relate
And I’m tired of trying
I’m tired of wondering why I’m not crying.

I’m tired of me
Not being NT
And I can’t help I think they’re all looking at me.

They’re not
I know they aren’t
And I know I’m not giving all that I’ve got.

For What?
A new spot?
All that I know is I’m home in my thought.

One day I suppose
In times delicate dose
All of my thoughts will be mapped out, exposed.

Until that then
Whenever that then
I’ll await the return of my low little friend.

By: Seigh Pten



Before I realize it I will be old.
Until then, I’ll continue my delusion,
That all I put my hands on turns to gold.

Not that I am speaking of glittering confusion.
Rather, an understanding of a thought so far fetched;
It unfetters humanity from economic institution.

Giving us reason to hold our hands outstretched
Without fear that helping someone has a price.
Trading greed for value so peace may be etched
Into the stone of our magnificent edifice.
When looking back upon ‘our history’ of OUR time,
I hope our children’s children realize some were nice.

That we cared to acknowledge the sublime
Utilizing the innate skills from both heart and mind;
Uniting our souls through harmony and rhyme.

By: Charles Poore

Mobile Man


He comes to this motel every Thursday, Friday, or Monday.
It’s not too bad of a locale, for the most part it stays pretty mundane.
I watch him though. He’s got long hair, and the same clothes on every time.
There’s plastic bags in stow, and a back pack that dangles behind.
He often flies up into the room, very rarely does he come out.
He must live a life full of gloom, all his joy, perhaps, fell victim to rout.
No one ever arrives to make his acquaintence, at least none that I have witnessed.
201, that’s the number he inhabits week to week, finding shelter from an unknown distance.
I wonder where he goes from here, his tags presume a close estate.
His clothes are indeed quite austere, suggesting business is not the date.
This mystery of a man has left me puzzled; arriving here from year to year.
I ponder if he has a clan and someone elsewhere to hold him near.
I can imagine this hooded lynx to be the whatever my inner mind sees.
But, what I think is irrelevant, to what may actually be his hopes and dreams.

By: Charles Poore

Call Me Something

I want to scream
But, I know that does no good,
It makes me look like a selfish child
Whom only wants their attention understood.

I love to kiss
However, that is not a one person act.
Besides, I’m not very good with people,
Those that have met me consider that a fact.

I need a hug.
It kind of sucks in a lot of ways.
This simple act of comforting another
Is a curse for me, because specific touch evades.

I’m losing myself
I don’t say this in a depressing way.
It’s an understanding of distance and being
As if to say I no longer acknowledge humanity.

My heart is breaking
And I’m the only one that’s fit to heal it.
I know my ways and my stubborn mind
I know it’s going to be another year or so of torment.

Anyway, I’m here.
Though, I’m not certain what the point is.
Is anybody? I catch a glimpse from time to time.
I get confounded now and then, just to keep employment.

Then, I’m gone.
Back to where I dwell, to stare out at passing traffic.
Until my next adventure reveals itself,
I linger in the companionway, docile and passive.

I’ll write my songs.
I’ll share my short stories, poems, and musings.
I tie them to an idea that’s been on my mind for years.
A magnum opus full of thoughts, concepts, and warnings.

It’s not different.
Though, it’s certainly more than “much the same”.
It all makes sense in my little world.
But, being its only citizen becomes mundane.

I’ll take a breath.
It reminds me that I’m here, in reality.
Where most things don’t make much sense
And it’s the only place to be what we’ll be.

Take all my effort,
It’s derived from a mind that doesn’t adapt anyway.
It’s pulled from broken pieces of used up emotions
Maybe then I’ll get my reasons, maybe then I’ll stay.


You know the phrase, ‘don’t quit your day job? Well, I epitomize it.

“I think his name is Lurch. Hey! You listening?”

“Huh, oh yeah. Lurch. The guy from The Monsters.”

“It’s The Munster’s, first-off. Secondly, I’m talking about the guy from The Addams Family who always answered the door, ‘you raang’, in a real deep voice.”

Tom caught me in a daze again. I really didn’t care about this conversation, at all. I was busy staring into my shoe and wondering what I was going to do until payday. Three more days to go and I had six dollars, four cigarettes, no food, one warm beer, and a light on my dashboard that suggested I should get some fuel. The adventures in my life always seem to come about when I’m in these situations. Most people, like Tom, would panic the second their phone chimed reminding them their bank account is -$200 and some change, not I. I have a real talent for stretching a dollar, I just wish that talent would sometimes stretch it in 100 grand. Hell, I’d be happy with a Jackson in my hand.

Tom was the kind of guy that had it made. Wife, kids, house, dually truck that could haul a semi. You know…a guys guy…. He’d go about his day at work talking sports and of all the wonderful, relaxing things he does. He gets to go home and drink his beer while his feet are up on his recliner. The perfect white picket fence existence. Why he hung around me I could only guess is that he wanted adventure, or, that he actually hated his life. I’m sure that’d all end if he found out I fucked his wife more often in the past six months than he has. But, that’s also why I never asked him for a dime. She paid up front for me to keep him away from her.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Tom. Mostly because he likes me, and more so because his wife is a hobo-sexual. Not that I’m a bum, I’m a vagabond. I work, I have a home (though most folks don’t live to the metaphorical degree that I do), I have possessions that fit rather snug in my backpack, pockets, and hand. Other than that I have no real reason for material needs outside of necessity.

“Pugsly! That’s the kids name.”

“How much more do you have left in that crossword?”

“Eh….five. here’s one for ya. …She made her feature debut in Mermaids and played the role of….”

“Christina Ricci, Wednesday Addams.”

“Wednesday! Brilliant. You’re a godsend Toby.”

“Alright, twins attached at the h-, wait, here comes, that motherfucker!”

“Keep your voice down. Ask me questions and pretend like we’re having lunch.”

“But To-”

“Then ask me that way without all the excitement.”

“Okay, that’s the prick she told me about that’s been stalking her.”

“Now, look at me inquisitively like your waiting for an answer.” Tom did as instructed. It’s beautiful to watch a man who has it all, go through simple motions. It makes me feel like the ultimate puppeteer. I fibbed a bit about wondering why he spent so much time with me, he knows I feel no pain, so I’m the muscle he needs for this little endeavor. It’s few and far between when I have to flex them. But, I do. This is the big bucks, but I also live cheap. The guy we are hunting apparently follows Olivia around to an unhealthy extent. Leaving free coffee coupons under her windshield wipers, popping out from behind corners to walk her to her car after work. Tom told me he even found a few dick pics on her phone (though, they may have been mine). Either way, the guy was a creep and he was trying to move in on my woman. My justification is that I’m the only creep that she’s comfortable with. I spoke three words “Flora and Fauna.” Then I exited my little black car.

Guys like this always seemed to have a sixth sense about being followed. This wasn’t a go for the kill kind of hunt, this was reconnaissance. Gathering Intel and bringing the small mannerisms a person has to paint a more vivid portrait. I followed him from across the busy parking lot. He moved smoothly, flowing almost like water. The hood he wore didn’t make much sense for this sort of heat, other than the fact that it was raining. His hands were in its pockets suggesting some kind of insecurity, even from this distance I could see that he had some kind of stim. His right hand fluttered about inside of it, as if he was flicking the inside of his pocket. I recognize this because it’s something I have to be vigilant about not doing myself.

He stopped at his car and I looked down and spotted a twenty next to a gray coupe (the universe provides again. I bent down to pick it up and when I rose and pointed my sight through my brow I could see that he was looking at me. I knew the look, it screamed, ‘I see you!’. So, I returned a subtlety that said, ‘I know, I want you to’. In the blink of an eye he was in his car, started it, and pulled out. He stopped for an extra moment at the end of the row. I pretended to forget something and made my way back towards the store. I think this creep may be a better creep than me. In any world, I now had twenty-six bucks, so I bought a bag of potato chips and headed back to my car. I was curious to see if Tom knew that I gave him the answer for his crossword.

The Worst Thing In The World


The worst thing in the world exists because I perceive it.
Because I can see it, touch it, and feel it. This makes me believe it.
This makes me believe that it’s physically there,
Leering at me through dark and graying hair.
This ‘it’ is a man, or whatever I glean.
The worst thing in the world doesn’t like to be seen.
This thing, this person, doesn’t disclose nasty phrases.
This he/she/it is blessed with the most beautiful of faces.
Residing wherever the wild things are,
At one time it’s name was ‘The Morning Star’.
Keys to a kingdom were passed on in it’s fall,
It defended it’s cause not to kneel before ‘All’.
‘All’ being God in it’s greatest of glory,
Or so the book claims in its fairy tale story.
Now here the world rests in turbulent times,
Because immortal beings hold hostage their followers minds.
I laugh at this, though I’m a fleck through eternity;
A blink, a fleeting whisper, and dust will become of me.
What a shame, such a shame, the worst thing in the world is;
Fingers pointed, wars get waged, and truth becomes a prism.
All because we make it so, all because one day we imagined;
that there’s something more out there that we simply cannot fathom.
And so we pillage, plunder, and rape
And so we go on with our routine of hate.
And so no one knows just what to expect,
From the office of leaders appointed by the derilect.
The masses they’ll crowd, they’ll protest in vain
The worst thing in the world, oh what a shame.
Empires give way to enterprises that rise,
Corporations and greed who have no care for blue skies.
Buying off kings, governments, and land.
Leaving no room for fellow woman and man.
So what, who cares though, because you think you are free.
You’re paid for with paper so it’s not slavery.
There are many times I often wonder…I ponder….
Why the best of ideas are not ever funded.
In with the new and out with the old.
But wait! the world doesn’t seem to have enough gold.
It’s wasted on products that dismantle mankind,
And fill the people with fear of what they might find.
One day they’ll see that economy is a ruse
A way of keeping the meek easy to abuse.
A way to keep the dimwitted masses occupied.
So, here’s a statue, a building, and a cause to defile.
The masses don’t seem to care for the masses.
They only see ignorant, foreigners and asses.
I guess that it comes with the territory.
Of hating others so that peace may ring free.
It’s all been built through the good graces of privilege;
Who wrote us a check that gave us the edge.
We will do what they say now, no suggestion will be shot down.
Heck, even the almighty at one point decided everyone should drown.
It’s been written God did this with a heart full of love
Then felt bad about it later and gave you it’s son.
The Worst Thing In The world and the crap it comes up with.
I tell you, in my opinion, humanity has always been rather disgusting.
I can’t wait to be gone, to be the hell out of here.
Honestly, when I’m looking back, I’ll be happy to state that I no longer care.
Whether or not you can accept it, or see;
The worst thing in the world is them, you, and me.