Collected Poems by Raven... HAI ITS PHARA... I LIKE THESE

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ravenrussell
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Collected Poems by Raven... HAI ITS PHARA... I LIKE THESE

Postby ravenrussell » Mon Aug 15, 2016 7:24 am

Collected all of my nonNinjaExclusive poems here:
/flame /flame /flame /flame /flame /flame

"Ever"

The ever distant future is the only perfect moment.
It is unfouled by humans, and not yet a forgotten,
or misunderstood memory of the past.

The particle present, fused into a complete future.
We may choose the direction we experience time,
but we can not choose the direction of her winds.

The present is busy, chaotic, serenity not insured.
I stand at the crosswalk of this ever infinite-lane road.
I look both ways, past and future, but if I continue...

looking both ways, I will never see my current steps.
I will trip over even the smallest pothole,
tiny pebbles of instances, confounding medians.

Time is a construct of the human mind, but
without time we may have never been.
The chicken cries fowl when its egg has wings.

Fate, like a finished jigsaw puzzle, we may
recut a piece, but all of the other segments,
are reformed to fit into fate's inevitable portrait.

The crowded alarm clock hours, buzzing,
but timezones keep them going forever, ever
needs for the night drained dreamers of AM.

If the clock had five more hands, would we notice.
The tinier segments of existence may change
what we notice of time, slow us to a different reality.

Time is like a blindfold for our sense of mindfulness.
Trauma and worry further disable our vision.
The face of the clock riddled with smiles, sneers, sorries, all samples of seconds unfolding.

How many generations until you are forgotten?
We're not the yellowing photos, the mildewed news.
We, the digital dust bowl, tomorrow's dead archives.

Future selves look down from not yet bought shelves.
Paradoxical children who allow us to borrow the present.
While their future is a wrapped gift,

ever under a Christmas eve tree.

We are but memories contained in future loved ones' bereaving tears.
My fear of the future, like a guard,
who keeps me locked in the past.

Ever after, does not denote the hero's death.
Happily is transitory, a flicker of a ghost,
with tomorrow being steadfastly alive and well.

By: Russell Jay Keenan

12/10/2016 2:51am


Brand New One 12/7/2016 11:42pm

"You Are My Authors"
Lean in and share a moment with me.
Breathe as heavy as you like,
Sleep as soundly as you want,
Be bashful as much as you need.

Spin your tops on repeat,
dreidels left drifting to the right,
like a pump shotgun, the metal rounds,
a floor as silent as before,
but it's the groundwork, the foundation
to this whole moment.

Write a metaphor that bores into me.
Spill similes on my sleeved up arms,
where the name my heart stores,
resides amongst day's dandruff,
and impossible stresses cracking,
an arm of muscled repression of her.

Follow me down the cul de sac,
in. example. all. points. bulletin.,
where my ambulance waits, strobing,
listen to the way you wrote this,
copying my chaos screams on Blackberry,
using thorns as styluses. Gacked!

Follow your line for officer friendly,
with a stack of regrets and excuses.
It'll never be my fault for what I write,
blaming the stork for dropping me with
keyboards for hands, cynical sardonicism,
and a penchant for gathering the struggling.

"Many Muses and Stipulations"
Spoiler: show
By: Russell Jay Keenan

Had many muses full of minutea
Draining moments of inspi/degrad/(r)ation
Aging like copper, with that lingering smell
Let one slip today, two days after meeting
the Holy Spirit himself, shock white.
Shaken with ind/pr/icision. Heartless
words from my broken mouth,
leaving music in the night air.
Solemn songs of God's beauty,
and happy tunes of torment.

I feel split as each muse predicts itself.
I feel spilt as each muse redirects itself.
To be a target in a world of arrows.
To be a w/hol(y)/e man in a digging contest.
Once my priest told me to have forgivness
always in my heart, I disregarded him,
and hated him for what he said.
The muse of him/her
The demure, and the sharp
I'm cows in a chute, shoot your bolts.

I've had too many muses of perfection.
Pieces of art, Picses, Cancer of soul.
I spill the stars to incite the universe.
I spell the stars in his insightful name.
We all can be my mus(e)ic, I can't be
When filtered by a tar filled lung,
my voice still means muse to me.
I used to be the most important person,
in a world full of unimportant people.
Now I'm a subway train to the center,
passengers screaming for it to stop.

If muses read this in their hectic way,
m/An(ic)/hedonia made me say it.
I swallow two more pills, feeling ill
from the two more pulls, spieling it.
dealing with the drunken past,
that wants to take my masts down.
Ship me to the edge of a flat world,
and tell me so, once I've slipped the edge.
Some find it funny, some care uncontrollably,
others sleep in beds alone and broken,

by me or other, it doesn't matter
in the conte(x)/(s)t that is life.
The liars make the finish first,
but the honest play the game longer.
I dream of that maroon muse,
bloodstained brainstem, memories infused.
I refused medical attention once,
now it's never offered again, shunts
draining foodstained shirts off of
ugly men and their hollow muses.

10/25/2016 9:57pm



"Laughter Leftovers, In Microwave Bowls"
Spoiler: show
"Laughter Leftovers, In Microwave Bowls"

I trigger a lingering doubt.
Fingering the lips of my pout.
I'm about to shoot off a shout,
finally tell her,
what I'm all about.
But I stutter and spatter my spit.
Skitter in my scattering shit.
Muck in the mud once again.
This is it!
I'm throwing my fits.
Tantrums, doldrums and last calls.
A baby bawling in old pool halls.
My heart wants to bleed it all.
Moisten her mind,
in full recall.
She sweeps through the curtains.
Windows left so uncertain.
Clearly the panes are hurting.
Going to break down
and work on my wording.
Somewhere beneath her waves,
The tumbling surf she makes,
is the pearl that I crave.
I'll swim down,
to show her what sand creates.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/11/2016


"1988"
Spoiler: show
“1988”

Oh, the romance of unsheathing you.
Undressing your golden radiance.
Years, of dreaming, you’ve emerged,
pillow freshened, Snuggle bear excited.
Infant baby of Trix and Energizer Bunny,
fully fed with Ferrari red puffs, and nuclear
battery powered, sleek design, all mine.

I toy with you, nudge all your buttons.
I salivate on the color of your fire.
You break me, leave me screaming.
In exultations my emotions engrain.
Half-baked ecstasy, all my lunch money.
I fall back, batman blanket squealing up,
“I Love You Super Mario Brothers 3”

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/11/2016


"I'm So Glad You are You"
Spoiler: show
"I'm So Glad You are You"

We were born of love and misfit grace.
Faces of glaciers, a little outer space.
God may have breathed a garden.
What's left up in His lungs?
This womb seems to harden.
A gloom exhales from the young.
We all expect a pardon,
from the warden in our mind.
If I can find my part in,
the jailer wasn't ever mine.

As the dice seem to roll into our tombs.
Follow me, I'll tip the dealer soon.
If we fall, love will be the band-aid.
If He calls, I'll protect you from
His mandate.
We never have to fear that breath again.
We will win, the thin line will thicken.
Love and hate, an eighth day will be given.

We were born of innocence and mercy.
Infant maps of genetic controversy,
but when I look at you,
my mind in a hurry, flurries.
Worry spills like apples from a tree,
that we're never supposed to eat.
We all want one grand parade.
Ticker tape shaped accolades.
No more forefront charades.
Everyone glad we were made.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/13/2016


"Leo Rising" Dedicated to my late mother
Spoiler: show
"Leo Rising"
Dedicated to my late mother.

The carpet coughed up a red Rorschach.
In somber silence I spit cirrhosis.
Spinning barstool pillows, half-gallon snooze button.

3 a.m. slot machine affairs,
methamphetamine prophylactic protection.
Nightmare dream companion, shadow creature expansion.

Guilt spread like bread crumbs back to yesterday.
Hansel and Gretel are co-dependent,
and addicted to eating witch for dinner.

The floor passed out, linoleum shook epilepticly.
With borrowed time, we drank the clocks away.
Thinning hair, clotting arteries, spotting memories, dimming.

You can lie to your friends and family,
but at the end of the night you go home with your liver,
and you can't lie to your liver.

I now see glimmer out of glum, shimmer rather than rum.
Spirit sparing, perception like lilac to the lush.
Mindsets housing feelings that I never grew up.

With hopeful gasps, fresh air conceives within me.
New dreams bubble apple blossoms across tomorrow.
Harvest filled continents, planets of ripe days.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/4/2016


"Wailing and Sanguine"
Spoiler: show
"Wailing and Sanguine"

Wailing Wolf in chartreuse hovels.
Dining with sickened, lonely caribou.
Scattered bones and folderol.
Laughter flickers bickering.
Back and forth alpha full moon calls.
Howling till the tide's turnaround.
Raising hell and burying angels.

Cave, stone silent, as the crow flies tired.
Sanguine She-Wolf nurses pups, curled.
Promises of packs strength flex.
Night whispers its security blanket.
Far off the constellations stretch out.
Luminescence feeds its milk to
the mouth of the cave.
He will be home from wander with wonder.

The tundra crackles as dawn fingers the east.
Wailing Wolf creeps as dirty shadows.
The runt mean-mugs him,
as its tiny stomach stretches thin.
Sanguine speaks only in heartbeats,
legs kicking in wildflower hopes.
Shattered dreams bloody their paws.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/19/2016


"Kneeling Before My Past"
Spoiler: show
"Kneeling Before My Past"

Forgetting the whales in my pod.
Laying prone, phoned in my life.
A tube, a tunnel to my lungs.
A chunnel through my mouth.

The nurses are Nazis.
This place is a chop shop.
Parts of me sold to the highest bidder.

Wandering from the herd,
I heard will bring relapse.
Staring into cat eyes,
circling the marbles with my shooter.

Less than a year, you're
stepping in the morass.

The river is carrying your troubles away.
As I sit in this log-jam.
Pouring Barleycorn on King Alcohol's crown.
Down and polluted, my thoughts
cannot be refuted.
Dim and deluded.
In my past I am rooted.

Taking aspirin like popcorn,
eating the whole bag.
Ragging on my lovers
and getting sick with parasites.

I might some day glow.
Show a sheen, dream a little dream.

The catheter reeks of poisons.
Excuses, reasons, flowing forever.

I'm not a self-starter.
I'll barter words till I'm a martyr.
Blow my ego sky high.
Leave no dry eye.
As days fly by.

The nurses are jib heads.
Their lips are all red.
I tied to a too short bed.
You heard what I said.

But I do not recall.
Ativan stained it all.
I thought no one called.
No visitors in the long hall.

This waiting room,
barren in my mind,
actually filled to the brim
with brothers, sisters, and friends.

Gratitude like a poignant whisper,
that I can't quite hear now.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
3/14/2016


"The Mule"
Spoiler: show
"The Mule"

Every kind word feels like love.
Bared, and talons tear, a mare
surrounded by stallions
a mule in a duel
with one with fuel

Her calm demeanor
you should have seen her
demure and dimpled with the curse
of youthful skin, they're all in
let's see them hold her when she plumps
when the humps of living have
devoured her overpowered form.

The jackals circle the exposed flesh
meshing with haughtiness and overregarded
time wounds all its travelers
favored fighters left in disregard
Marred up, dissolved in solvent
that we all must try to resolve
involved, evolved, revolved and
finally
hoveled in our niche
groveling in a ditch

Every moment like a plunger
held high between her thighs
I sing your name forever
climbing to notes I can't describe
the rise of falling fast
grasping at 'because of this'
last call for the mules
to feel barren and used

By: Russell Jay Keenan
3/21/2016


"Chewing With the Toothless"
Spoiler: show
"Chewing with the Toothless"

Trap house, bed bug ridden blouse.
Rap blasting, week long fasting.
The past, like thick blue tar
wall-papered, crystalline bar.

Dope den, penned in warrants.
Just a crib, railed in jib.
Roped in, turmoil in torrents.
The spoils of welfare's coils.

Rooms filled up like tombs.
Mauseleoms of manic meth.
Death foiled, boiled in spoons.
Museums of aching breath.

Broken recliner beds, lazy boy,
until the bong bell rings.
Unspoken manipulation destroys,
Heroin of Troy, hell sings.

Dusk, drugs, diggling trust.
Rusty chainsaws, morning a must.
Pawn shop a foregone stop.
A pillow of coming down, a rock.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
4/12/2016


"The Worst Nights Never Die"
Spoiler: show
"The Worst Nights Never Die"

The stutter stop of shocking static discharge
Barging, scene set, sexual betrayal, cinema large.
Knife illuminated, inflated homicide, let's bleach
the whole joint
what's the point?
If the sickness feels so good,
then the cure ever seems it would,
soul, ephemeral, melting and cold.
Bold declarations, Folding over
Mildewing Lies, Cries of Fidelity
Clovers, three leaved and useless
Stability, consumed in the mess.
Reality, a friend of convenience.
Employed by the thoughts I breed.
A murder of crows, perched like seeds.
Denied blessings, she opens the douvey,
to convey the loss, the cost, feeds
the descending daze of an endless
maze,
crazy,
disjointed and pointed paternal tests.
Blazed, no longer amazed at the lingering
pests at rest, a lasso of latency.
Fingering the cut, stitches in infancy.
Redundancy begin, let my infamy begin.
They were always playing darts...
They were always playing coitus...
Always neighing and saddle backed.
What I lacked, tacked to the board.
It tore when you ripped. Stripped
on stage, let your milk white skin
drip. Bottom lipped, pouted within
Justifications and Ramifications,
Journal of a mad woman, frutrations
spelled out in foreign disasters.
They were always playing darts...
They'll always be saying join us...
The flutter, the chop, ocean liner floating and fucked.
The scuttle, spacemen saucing the vacuumed radiation.
Neighbors like moonbeams, gravity assisting reparations,
the hole annoints,
where he points.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
4/11/2016


"Silence Like an Organ"
Spoiler: show
"Silence Like an Organ"

The same silence you stored socially
in bomb-shelter, iron bank vaults.
She implores the room in leftover...
...echoes.

The same silence I squandered
with bulldozer tongue work crew
speeches, diatribes, inside you...
...breached me.

The same silence for which he...
...salivated.
She strokes the rifle stock.
Oiling the barrel in spit and shine.

The same silence sold in bulk,
in sacks of shit, a brothel of bugs.
She meant the best, but bent...
...the rest.

That silence that snubbed the stars.
Constellations making a racket.
Spinning coffin lid, hidden...
...by dirt and grass.

That silence when you spoke.
The breaks in conversation...
...ghostly,
in the x-rays I keep laying around.

That silence that saving...
...the wounded brings.
She spills her thoughts after tripping.
I am left with a patient foot held out.

That same silence, switching albums.
As the inebriated DJ remembers,
he didn't make the music he blasts...
...he but flips records.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
3/25/2016


"Ten Dollar Words Aren't Cheap"
Spoiler: show
"Ten Dollar Words Aren't Cheap"

The Exoteric is Esoteric in itself,
only a small group can comprehend.
Most of us, dictionary gathering dust
on a shelf, blow hard,
across the front cover.

Crack it open to find
a thousand chasms of the mind.
The smell of earth after a long dormant rain,
an undeniable scent that I smell right now,
Petrichor /?pe?tr?kôr/.

This tiny group, called learned by some.
Branded nerd, glasses fogged in the blowback,
by others.
This commune smothers itself in savory syllables,
like a sundae being eaten by a stood-up lover.

If I don't love my native tongue,
who Will?
If I don't masticate (not as dirty as it sounds)
I don't live.
Chew the fat with me 'til we're obese.

Each moment words appear out of nothingness.
A stray Dendrite carries an impulse.
Without this we would not be,
but define Dendrite for me?
I hear the trestles of heaven heavy, creaking with profanities.

Industry Terms,
are above my hard-hatted, blue blood.
Unless you're speaking of augers,
or snatch blocks (again, keep your mind out of the gutter),
you've lost me.

To be found, accepted,
I name drop, I boost my egos, unintentionally plural.
Ten dollar words falling from a bulging wallet of ideas.
I revel in eluding understanding.
Once again speaking in acronyms that only talk to me.

Front Side Bus Speed.
No, the front and the back of a bus,
do not travel at different rates.
It is a computer term.
A language in its infancy, FNG. LOL.

Latin, the dead tongue,
that lolls around like a lollipop
in our our mouths,
Flavorful, romantic words.
Not like Bling /bliNG/,
the dictionary's newest child.

Love.
A word so dense,
that it sinks deeper than can be expressed.
Known by all, Understood by many,
Perfected by One.
"And that One is God, may you find Him now"

I am a bastard,
no, not a despicable person.
My parents were unmarried,
when they spit this 'it' out.
and immediately
gave a word for my being.

A name.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
12/20/2015


"Kids Don't Read This You May Learn Something"
Spoiler: show
"Kids Don't Read This You May Learn Something"

Front zipper flayed open,
broken eyelets of a bra,
only seen intact once before.
From the dirty bed,
to the filthy floor.

Lingerie, all lacy and linen,
netting to hold you in.
Although I dangled uselessly all day,
you won't see that side of me.
As my belt trips me forward.

Wrapped about my legs from fervor,
a devotion to the lost art,
of making love in a car.
Slippery stallion all brushed,
pony up to the bar.

We searched for your panties,
long past the after sex cigarette.
Sepia, an amalgamation of women,
slips serenely into the night air,
of a Terra Firma still young and supple.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
12/30/2015


"Golden Bricks"
Spoiler: show
"Golden Bricks"

Stolen stoles lay furred in fury,
furthermore,
I reckoned to wreck myself once more.
In dreary depths I lay, inlaid,
with played out passion.
Pass me on, a ration of compassion.
And I be gone.

Burned eulogies by burned out people.
Epitaphs and obituaries fade.
I dream in bitter slivers,
fragments of fractional life.
The colors seem to run,
in desperate marathons,
as butter on sweltering sheets.

Onlookers throw pipe bombs
and explosive pickles.
The chore boys clean the rocks,
while still delivering dirty talk.
And all between the you and me
lingers that one, strong, middle-aged finger.
The dead ringer and a whimper.

Gold bricks weigh me heavy
in the waves. The ways and means
heap the waiting water high.
The lost loves line up in endless lines.
Wake up, the wake is over.
Taken over by being sober.
Undead, peat-bog, ancient lakes.

We were pilots in a former life.
We flew off the handle to our wives.
We soared just above Icarus.
Lured toward the reward. Our burning
wings killed, not only us
but all those around us as well
the sun powers heaven and hell.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
5/7/2016


"The Stranger" A poem from 2001
Spoiler: show
"The Stranger"

Put to bed,
two shoes laced on the floor,
Newspaper,
with stories I'll never read.

The door is locked.
Busy is the paint,
drying to the walls.

Descending liquid,
creeps the open hole in my house.
It is hardened,
called glass,
but I see through that.

Faithful calls,
from lovers I regret.
I've two now,
but numbers are for liars.

The carpet wears thin,
from obvious instinctual treks.
Go to bed, go to work,
back to sleep.

Dirty linens,
covering the creep of mildew.
I've dreamed of lesser places,
but reality pinches me.

The sour taste
of a left behind woman.
The once-a-month,
end of the sentence,
dot on my sheets.

Angels flirt my ceiling,
drape their wings from laziness.
They only fly,
when sinister are my veins.

Drip, drop back into bed
to sleep again.
Watch My life unfold
as I scream silently,
about my body not being mine,
and how my origami lungs burn
from the inside.
By: Russell Jay Keenan
1/25/2001.


"Our Many, Varied Ways to Speak"
Spoiler: show
"Our Many, Varied Ways to Speak"

All these letters, e-mails,
misunderstood emojis.
Electronic innuendos,
laying down crystal clear
in mailboxes lined in fear.

The stamps, the signatures full of gif's.
The ifs and or butts,
stripped of meaning the daily to do.
Post it's full of sexual tension.
Mentioned messages, flexing words.

All the I ams' IM 'ed.
The likes, and the leftover toolbar.
File. Save As. Too distant, too far.
May the Morse code leave me nude.
Long and short candygrams, FTD.

Snapchats of a snapper twittered.
Fitting in 532 friends with a status pending.
Mending fences with a sledgehammer.
Demolition teams writing loving memos
to the alone, down-trodden, former

address holders.
Folding notes and spraying the room.
School children, but bikers in intensity.
A propensity for going postal.
In a world of overloaded stimuli,
I am I, until a meme features me.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
5/9/2016


"Black Mothball Baby"
Spoiler: show
"Black Moth Ball Baby"

Black mothball binky,
so terrible when torn from my grasp.
I toddle about the room,
baby safed from the flowered asp.

Swaddled in rolling papers,
filtered conversations, lit at both ends.
Coddled and burnt by perverts.
Firemen doing lines of napalm friends.

The teething potty monster,
lost his innocence in my martini.
This empty onesie, filled with a nightclub.
Alone in my corner, sweating out Mussolini.

Mildewed turkey baster,
barely used delivery device done.
If we parry our glances much longer,
the duel will be won by no one

By: Russell Jay Keenan
6/16/2016


"Paisley"
Spoiler: show
"Paisley"

Under her moonbeam earrings,
jingling like wind chimes,
under her zebra stripes,
savannahs sweep the envious sky.

Under her polka dot umbrella,
droplets become desert,
she's just dessert, a blouse,
dripping slowly before it's ripped.

Stir your coffee till it's afternoon.
Under her paisley ceiling tiles,
as they dance as alive as Dead Heads.
Under a pillow a hidden alarm clock.

The night sleeps restless,
under her eyelids she wrestles hyenas.
Useless are minor excuses,
Under the strong midnight arms.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
6/16/2016


"Her Phases 800% Slower"
Spoiler: show
"Her Phases 800% Slower"

She howls, fully phased, naked, collecting rage.
In lunar seas, solar sail sweethearts of regret.
I row solitary, confinement's mistress, shackled.
Throwing anchors from the brig,
but the words dangle uselessly,
from the deck of my lips.

She wanes and waxes in true satellite shades.
She disappears in white-rabbit hole supernovas,
reappearing all filthied up on an 80's soap.
The antennae split, sprouting pubescent growth.
The vulva of a sitcom with its laugh track clitoris.
She carefully warns the calendar,
for when Misunderstanding airs again.

The moon has a sister, not previously in the tree.
The orchard of the skies, stars like pollen scattering.
Decaying gravity deceases like diseased bees.
Adultery leaves that subtle scent (
New mini-moons shouting from bottomless wells,
The Hell of a once wished lover,
Engulfed in necrosis, neurotic, and sadly smelling)
of stale copper.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
6/22/2016


"The Bikini"
Spoiler: show
"The Bikini"

The pregnant woman bemoans the loss of her bikini body,
as the awesome gift of creation spins cosmic within her.
She tiptoes across the solstice grass, outshining the sun.
The baby burbles a thousand futures left undreamt,
and vanity steals the moment.

The oldest man alive, traces each wrinkle wisely,
dragging his finger across his eldest scars.
Retirement, convalescence, all he wants,
to tiptoe with her across the equinox flowers.
senility steals the moment.

The one piece, sarong, hidden beneath an umbrella,
stretch marked across the sand, thighs of cottages.
He runs, feet high to escape the tide, toward child.
They spin cosmic, squealing together for mother to join.
and vanity steals the moment.

The oldest woman dying on a bed of mirrors.
The miracle of making beauty reflects itself.
Removing comforter, douvey, shawl, heavy nightgown,
she dawns herself, eclipses the room in bikini.
majesty steals the moment.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
6/22/2016


"Awaken to Day Glow"
Spoiler: show
"Awaken To Day Glow"

Fresh veneers, too few peers, leers from the jeering,
mirroring the bridge and tunnel crew with gold bar
lexus hard hat precision, diction predilection a fiction,
friction between the castes, pasts placing us with a full mast,
or a spell that is half cast, weakly sputtering wand,
fern frond, floating face first in a two inch deep pond.

Meshed in veiled, racist discussions about asian drivers.
Arabic, terrorist, hateful gun rhetoric, shot full of holes.
Feeling like a goat amongst a herd of elephants.
Truncated by the needs of the many, trampled
stampeded, remembered as the defeated minority.
Mr. Feelgood, slumped, half-dead in a port-a-potty.

We Plutos at the edge of where we used to be.
We Platos, knowing nothing as soon as we knew it all.
It's fatal, to fall for the great American dream.
In spearmint flavored, sugarfree sold out goals,
I awaken and accomplish day glow, washed out stories.
Those who make my money, laugh at its authenticity.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
6/29/2016


"Rent Money, Heroin Honey"
Spoiler: show
"Rent Money, Heroin Honey"

The rent money is past due
and her phony face is stitched
with ritalin and mdma.
The electicity is shut off
and her lying nose rub routine
while post nasal drip races.
Crank by a neck along the stretch,
while along the rail cocaine
with its stale ammonia cooked taste.
Her track mark, pin prick adornments,
so much more important than bills.
Thrills inhaled, exhaled blues, failed feuds,
bailed out attitudes, we are new on ludes.
Methadone clinic morning, all stain glass colored in.
Scoring Heroin on the bus ride home, some,
but not enough, the rough edges, scraping
pipes, tooters, foil, anything with footprints.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
6/29/2016


I didn't realize I'd posted so many. I enjoy all of them, I but hope that ya'll can get a tiny piece of my enjoyment. /peace /peace
Peace to all.
-Raven
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HAI ITS PHARA... I LIKE THESE

Postby ravenrussell » Mon Aug 15, 2016 7:28 am

“1988”

Oh, the romance of unsheathing you.
Undressing your golden radiance.
Years, of dreaming, you’ve emerged,
pillow freshened, Snuggle bear excited.
Infant baby of Trix and Energizer Bunny,
fully fed with Ferrari red puffs, and nuclear
battery powered, sleek design, all mine.

I toy with you, nudge all your buttons.
I salivate on the color of your fire.
You break me, leave me screaming.
In exultations my emotions engrain.
Half-baked ecstasy, all my lunch money.
I fall back, batman blanket squealing up,
“I Love You Super Mario Brothers 3”

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/11/2016




"I'm So Glad You are You"

We were born of love and misfit grace.
Faces of glaciers, a little outer space.
God may have breathed a garden.
What's left up in His lungs?
This womb seems to harden.
A gloom exhales from the young.
We all expect a pardon,
from the warden in our mind.
If I can find my part in,
the jailer wasn't ever mine.

As the dice seem to roll into our tombs.
Follow me, I'll tip the dealer soon.
If we fall, love will be the band-aid.
If He calls, I'll protect you from
His mandate.
We never have to fear that breath again.
We will win, the thin line will thicken.
Love and hate, an eighth day will be given.

We were born of innocence and mercy.
Infant maps of genetic controversy,
but when I look at you,
my mind in a hurry, flurries.
Worry spills like apples from a tree,
that we're never supposed to eat.
We all want one grand parade.
Ticker tape shaped accolades.
No more forefront charades.
Everyone glad we were made.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/13/2016
Peace to all.
-Raven
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ghostdogg
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Postby ghostdogg » Mon Aug 15, 2016 8:50 am

Cool
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Postby Itsa notame » Mon Aug 15, 2016 4:07 pm

ravenrussell wrote:"Laughter Leftovers, In Microwave Bowls"

I trigger a lingering doubt.
Fingering the lips of my pout.
I'm about to shoot off a shout,
finally tell her,
what I'm all about.
But I stutter and spatter my spit.
Skitter in my scattering shit.
Muck in the mud once again.
This is it!
I'm throwing my fits.
Tantrums, doldrums and last calls.
A baby bawling in old pool halls.
My heart wants to bleed it all.
Moisten her mind,
in full recall.
She sweeps through the curtains.
Windows left so uncertain.
Clearly the panes are hurting.
Going to break down
and work on my wording.
Somewhere beneath her waves,
The tumbling surf she makes,
is the pearl that I crave.
I'll swim down,
to show her what sand creates.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/11/2016


I like this one the most. It reminds me of whenever I choked trying to spit game and still ended up getting laid lol
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Postby ink » Tue Aug 16, 2016 2:51 am

nice title change.. tis a shame aint it. dont give up on us tho.. i follow you, but i am but one man. most of your content is deep so it leaves me with much to process and reflect on...
so for that, i say thank you. continue to write and i will always continue to read!

/peace & :heart:
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Postby ravenrussell » Tue Aug 16, 2016 6:42 am

Ink, you've been there. That counts. Thank you. Your words mean a lot, as I respect your art quite a bit. Keep on keeping on.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Postby Corgimom » Tue Aug 16, 2016 11:57 am

I assume by spit you mean trying to talk with game? Or are you saying you were rapping? Or are you saying you were reciting?
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Postby ghostdogg » Tue Aug 16, 2016 1:19 pm

Corgimom wrote:I assume by spit you mean trying to talk with game? Or are you saying you were rapping? Or are you saying you were reciting?


I believe it was meant as "talk with game" but itsa notame keep me honest lol u could've been rapping or other :D
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Postby ghostdogg » Tue Aug 16, 2016 1:22 pm

ravenrussell wrote:“1988”

Oh, the romance of unsheathing you.
Undressing your golden radiance.
Years, of dreaming, you’ve emerged,
pillow freshened, Snuggle bear excited.
Infant baby of Trix and Energizer Bunny,
fully fed with Ferrari red puffs, and nuclear
battery powered, sleek design, all mine.

I toy with you, nudge all your buttons.
I salivate on the color of your fire.
You break me, leave me screaming.
In exultations my emotions engrain.
Half-baked ecstasy, all my lunch money.
I fall back, batman blanket squealing up,
“I Love You Super Mario Brothers 3”

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/11/2016


Also, I enjoyed them all a lot but this one is my fav!
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Postby Corgimom » Tue Aug 16, 2016 2:44 pm

ghostdogg wrote:
Corgimom wrote:I assume by spit you mean trying to talk with game? Or are you saying you were rapping? Or are you saying you were reciting?


I believe it was meant as "talk with game" but itsa notame keep me honest lol u could've been rapping or other :D

Feeling really old today.
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Postby Itsa notame » Tue Aug 16, 2016 4:52 pm

Corgimom wrote:
ghostdogg wrote:
Corgimom wrote:I assume by spit you mean trying to talk with game? Or are you saying you were rapping? Or are you saying you were reciting?


I believe it was meant as "talk with game" but itsa notame keep me honest lol u could've been rapping or other :D

Feeling really old today.

I did mean talk with game lol
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Postby ravenrussell » Tue Aug 16, 2016 4:55 pm

Corgimom I meant 'spatter my spit'. The point was that I was failing when I was trying to tell her what I was about. Stuttering and spattering spit. Literally taken as screaming and spraying saliva while yelling. I love the idea of where you and itsaname took it, however.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Postby ghostdogg » Tue Aug 16, 2016 11:14 pm

@Corgimom I wasn't making fun, just being silly <3

@raven "skitter in my scattering shit" when I read ur first one, that line always hits me with the feels.
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Postby ravenrussell » Tue Aug 16, 2016 11:51 pm

Thank you all for responding to my plea. I just want to grow as an artist, show my stuff to people who crave lit. Let's create together, ninjas.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Postby Itsa notame » Wed Aug 17, 2016 2:28 am

ravenrussell wrote:Corgimom I meant 'spatter my spit'. The point was that I was failing when I was trying to tell her what I was about. Stuttering and spattering spit. Literally taken as screaming and spraying saliva while yelling. I love the idea of where you and itsaname took it, however.

That's what's so great about art is everyone's interpretation. It hits everyone in different ways and I love it.
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Postby ghostdogg » Wed Aug 17, 2016 2:30 am

ravenrussell wrote:Thank you all for responding to my plea. I just want to grow as an artist, show my stuff to people who crave lit. Let's create together, ninjas.


I like that... Any ideas?
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Postby ravenrussell » Wed Aug 17, 2016 4:31 am

I like your "Boss" song. I've got an idea for lyrics/poem. I'll work on it. Might take me a little bit, I haven't hipped and/or hopped for a bit. He heh. Lol.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Postby ghostdogg » Wed Aug 17, 2016 9:17 am

ravenrussell wrote:I like your "Boss" song. I've got an idea for lyrics/poem. I'll work on it. Might take me a little bit, I haven't hipped and/or hopped for a bit. He heh. Lol.


Nice, ty <3 I would love to hear/see what you come up!
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Postby ink » Tue Aug 23, 2016 5:17 pm

ravenrussell wrote:"Laughter Leftovers, In Microwave Bowls"

I trigger a lingering doubt.
Fingering the lips of my pout.
I'm about to shoot off a shout,
finally tell her,
what I'm all about.
But I stutter and spatter my spit.
Skitter in my scattering shit.
Muck in the mud once again.
This is it!
I'm throwing my fits.
Tantrums, doldrums and last calls.
A baby bawling in old pool halls.
My heart wants to bleed it all.
Moisten her mind,
in full recall.
She sweeps through the curtains.
Windows left so uncertain.
Clearly the panes are hurting.
Going to break down
and work on my wording.
Somewhere beneath her waves,
The tumbling surf she makes,
is the pearl that I crave.
I'll swim down,
to show her what sand creates.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/11/2016

your words flow and crash like water.. incredible
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Postby ravenrussell » Fri Aug 26, 2016 4:53 am

ghostdogg wrote:
ravenrussell wrote:I like your "Boss" song. I've got an idea for lyrics/poem. I'll work on it. Might take me a little bit, I haven't hipped and/or hopped for a bit. He heh. Lol.


Nice, ty <3 I would love to hear/see what you come up!


I have my kids for two weeks, and will be held up in creating this. I have been thinking about it, however. I'll get to it asap.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Postby ghostdogg » Fri Aug 26, 2016 9:26 am

ravenrussell wrote:
ghostdogg wrote:
ravenrussell wrote:I like your "Boss" song. I've got an idea for lyrics/poem. I'll work on it. Might take me a little bit, I haven't hipped and/or hopped for a bit. He heh. Lol.


Nice, ty <3 I would love to hear/see what you come up!


I have my kids for two weeks, and will be held up in creating this. I have been thinking about it, however. I'll get to it asap.


No worries - whenever you're ready. I'm not going anywhere!
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Postby Phara » Fri Sep 09, 2016 3:17 am

this is awesome. word the fuck up. Also... i would love to see some performances, podcast wise of webcast wise going up in Lit... we could incorporate them in as we build Radio.
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Postby Phara » Fri Sep 09, 2016 4:09 am

I fell off earth myself homie... and my baby is still getting its legs underneath her... when I disappear the board has a tendency of getting a little quiet, which we are resolving soon and together. That being said... your words are incredible...

give me your favorite one and I'll put it on the NV fb... cross platform it, FB is a powerful beast and people are still getting used to a classic forum again
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Postby ravenrussell » Fri Sep 09, 2016 4:34 am

Phara wrote:I fell off earth myself homie... and my baby is still getting its legs underneath her... when I disappear the board has a tendency of getting a little quiet, which we are resolving soon and together. That being said... your words are incredible...

give me your favorite one and I'll put it on the NV fb... cross platform it, FB is a powerful beast and people are still getting used to a classic forum again

I appreciate your words and time. Thank you. I hope you heal quickly. My favorite one is below, but feel free to use any of them as you see fit. Be blessed.

"Leo Rising"
Dedicated to my late mother.

The carpet coughed up a red Rorschach.
In somber silence I spit cirrhosis.
Spinning barstool pillows, half-gallon snooze button.

3 a.m. slot machine affairs,
methamphetamine prophylactic protection.
Nightmare dream companion, shadow creature expansion.

Guilt spread like bread crumbs back to yesterday.
Hansel and Gretel are co-dependent,
and addicted to eating witch for dinner.

The floor passed out, linoleum shook epilepticly.
With borrowed time, we drank the clocks away.
Thinning hair, clotting arteries, spotting memories, dimming.

You can lie to your friends and family,
but at the end of the night you go home with your liver,
and you can't lie to your liver.

I now see glimmer out of glum, shimmer rather than rum.
Spirit sparing, perception like lilac to the lush.
Mindsets housing feelings that I never grew up.

With hopeful gasps, fresh air conceives within me.
New dreams bubble apple blossoms across tomorrow.
Harvest filled continents, planets of ripe days.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
8/4/2016
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Postby Phara » Fri Sep 09, 2016 4:47 am

gimme ten and i'll be back
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