In This, Our Life, A Poem by Eddie Myles, Jr.

So much happens over the course of a lifetime. Each person’s story is different but there are always similarities of existence. For me, the journey of life is a difficult one. I see it as dismal, dark and painful. I fault religiosity for much of that. Still, I’m not an atheist. In any event, there was a John Huston film staring Bette Davis (among others) of the same name. I suppose that was the inspiration for this poem although I didn’t realize it until after I finished. I’m a huge Bette Davis fan and while not in my top five, the movie (which was based on a Pulitzer Prize winning book of the same name) deals with a destructive sibling rivalry. There is wealth, loss, love, betrayal and all things human. It’s also a film that dealt rather truthfully with the realities of racial discrimination in the USA and for that reason it was denied an international release at the time. But I digress…



You only get so many chances and there are but so few amends
People don’t get second chances, oh so rare those second winds
Bodies do not get much better, only older and then decay
Minds do not get any sharper only dull to much dismay
Therefore, you must choose wisely - within this, our life
Because the time is finite and the future not so bright

Falter now with mayhem bring the violence in with teeth
Gouge the eyes of sorrow turn them outward, underneath
A vision never clearer than the one, in this, our life
We build such sacred places yet our tool remains the knife
Of braver souls and foolish hearts you’ll not quite ever know
For in the minds’ recesses live regrets and burdens grow

But do please hold, these little children as they breathe with iron lungs
Be they symbols of damnation as with us they walk among
You shed false tears and pretend to bleed, from an artificial heart
These idols make decisions by which this, our life, is torn apart
A pain too great for normal things like vicodin and whiskey
The sacrifice of first-born sons is one I carry with me

And so it is, just as it was and like it always would be
Trees still grow and rain still falls and new born babies “could be”
You and I we aren’t so different of defect we’re bred the same
For while the sword we wield is mighty it comes down in but one name
But betrayal still has left undone the image in the mirror
And doth reflect a second man the third be merely shimmer
These ancient claws rip flesh from bone the false ones feel the strife
All such things the record holds, be true - in this, our life

Destruction

Not sure what I can say about this one other than some times emotions build up in response to something you can’t process or deal with. For me, I’ve never been able to talk but it seems I can always write. Now that I’m an adult, I am much more communicative but as a teenager - when this particular piece takes place - not so much.

I want you to destroy me, I want you to learn,

I want you to consume me, I want you to burn

And when you reach inside me, take the time to look,

Rest your gaze upon me and take my soul just like a crook

Never disregard me, respect for what you decimate

The scar you opened on me, a wound has never been so great

If what you’ve done is what you think I fear your new world order

For what you’ve done and what you’ve left remains beyond my border

There’s a crime built into passion and a strength built into fear

In a place this wouldn’t happen, at a time that isn’t clear

The things that do remain, they are things of yesterday

The bones they are left broken and their dust is swept away

I like knives, the way they hurt, and open up a vein

Memorialize me, at that age, and I will stay the same

There is no angst like after 12, and shortly before 20

In fits and spurts it opens up a path that may be many

When I’m bored I feast on scraps and clever antidotes

I’ll die three times and lie once more just to see you choke

And even as the sky is black, these words are held in violet

Fear him most, a man destroyed, who never tries to hide it

Glory

One of the most contradictory aspects of life is love and relationships. I am quite interested in the relationship between power, anger, love, trust and honesty. The desire to rule verses the requirement to respect the object of your affection. I am not a religious person, but there is something spiritual that goes on between two people, in my opinion. Again, that contrast and conflict is a theme I continually explore.

You caught me between lifetimes - and you knew my moon

Instantly attracted, it never felt too soon

Opposites attract, but rising always wins

Your nature took me places, my mind had never been

Though it seemed that your affection, just wasn’t all that true

I guess I turned my blind eye, as men in love so often do

Because when I reveal my spirit, I do so through and through

When you make the wrong choice, bitter consequence ensue

In the end, strong men do crumble and these women they do smart

I bet you thought you’d break me too and that you’d wound my heart

But while yours may be feline, mine is solid stone

You tried to take the best of me, but you’re the one I own

For I have seen your glory, and now I’ll never drown

And I will be a king to you, and you’ll provide my crown

Love and loyalty commanding, this vow do not forsake

My crown is not of thistle, but, my wrath will not be fake

I told you once before, your will was one I’d try to spite

To strike you down, with these cool words, is how I’ll make this right

Though these words they may sound angry – all, is full of love

My temperament be easy - takes its cue from you, my dove

So hold me now in silence and whisper in my ear

Repeat the things your life has taught you I would want to hear

You may fool my instinct with soft and pleasant stories

And I may rule you ever more, for I have seen your glory

Eleutheromania, A Poem By Eddie Myles, Jr.

So many of my poems begin with my interest in a single word. I then take that word and try and figure out how it relates to something I’m feeling, have experienced or am otherwise interested in. I take the same approach to my tattoos which is why many of them are the result of, subject of or inspiration for my poems. This poem continues my fascination with the image and idea of the falcon and what it means in my life. The title is somewhat ironic but mostly a word I really like:

I often jump from airplanes, out over the ocean, down into the blue
Where fireflies don’t see me but brutal hunters often do

More than once, I’ve scaled a skyscraper and fallen with no parachute
My fall need not be broken, my life need no rescue

When I sleep, I dream of Africa, a time and land way back when
My nightmares are uneven but they’re shared by native men

I pray, folklore stay Aboriginal, wild, free and true
With honest eyes, we speak these words to native sons - and daughters too

So I go, and grow, insatiable - to feed my wanderlust
When days are long, I’m happy just to feel more dangerous

I sometimes walk a thousand miles, in a direction, known by few
I’ve climbed my share of mountains just to move beyond the glue

On my back, grant wings like falcons have, my hands be those of talons
So I may have a means and way, when my freedom hangs in the balance

I hate the talk of harmony, and peace, and all such banter
Opposition is sacred, like Thunderbird, and Underwater Panther

I am dazed, that I bleed this way, and that I have but one true aim
When destroyed, to finally be, free from all this pain

Omnibus, A Poem By Eddie Myles, Jr.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a fascination with Latin. As a writer, inspiration is everything. Sometimes I write based on an experience I’ve had or witnessed but lots of times I’m simply inspired because I like a thought or in this case a word. This poem was actually inspired by a tattoo that I have and that was inspired by both a single word and something I was feeling. Enjoy!

I bear these scars with honor, the badges of my life

Plurality of existence and existential strife,

If resistance is the husband, then, success will be my wife

I was born of pyramids, foundations strong and wide

Prepared now for calamity, I never need to hide,

Life may be my falcon but, the dove is still my guide

My arm is full of power and my sword is now unsheathed

The consequence of hours rises up from underneath,

Waste them not the time will come when I shall be unleashed

I faced many choices and destruction was the worse

No one has it easy things are not all joy and mirth,

So,I learned about my blessings and that “vitam” was the first

I reject predestination, by its will I can’t abide

Because I believe in dreamers and in hope I do confide,

I let inspiration help the path I chose divide

A man of many conflicts be a man of so few words

The yin and yang of passion, is best left undisturbed,

But be that still, the conflict rests, as one between two birds

But I am not alone, many parts there must involve

Those who wield the pen and voice continue to evolve,

From time until indefinite to make the world revolve

With open minds we conquer, and move beyond the noise

We use these words as weapons, not as small and futile toys,

That makes us men and women, not a group of girls and boys

A legacy of listeners with dark and painful fears

Poetic be these voices, as deaf may be these ears,

As Will once said, the eyes can see, and make this live for years

We Are Complicated, A Poem By Eddie Myles, Jr.

I have always liked exploring the mind. I spent a lot of time doing it personally and I am fascinated by the minds of other people. I think the only way to really know the mind is to observe behavior but words can help too. In the end, a really interesting person can’t be fully understood (except maybe by one special person if you believe in that kind of thing). I like the idea of complexity. I think it is complexity of the mind that creates interest and interest breeds attraction and attraction is one of the building blocks of relationships (intimate or otherwise). Thus, this poem was born out of my own complexity and the complexity of another.

I have a body

I have a mind

I have the will

You will be mine

You’re just a body

Your mind like a child

Your will is fierce

I make you mild

It’s not a love song

We are not friends

It’s not a daydream

Time doesn’t bend

I take my shirt off

You leave yours on

I let you touch me

We know it’s wrong

Not that which feels right

Not what I yearn

But that which makes lessons

Gives things that you learn

I flex a muscle

You flash a smile

I use my fingers

I make you wild

When I let you know me

You act like a child

I don’t run from you

Honest is easy

My truth is painful

While you still deceive me

But I’m still the dog

And I’m always wrong

And you’re always faithful

To that sorry song

And I have a body

And he needs to breath

And she needs to feel

And he needs to leave

Now we’re alone

It’s quite inside

The world opens up

It swallows us wide

But narrow our focus

And loud our contempt

For ways of convention

Defined by such men

I see your body

It needs to be held

Strong like a tree

Yet needs to be felled

Into my arms

Beyond my gaze

Further than memory

Blurry like haze

I lick your finger

Then press it against

My lips to taste me

My rage isn’t pent

If you take your shirt off

I’ll take mine off too

Never with armor

These things that we do

I’m on a mission

Myself to reveal

I want you to know me

To make me feel real

I’m not a genius

I feel kind of dumb

You make me smaller

A child sucking thumb

I never intended

These things that I’ve done

And now I am naked

And you make this fun

Victory, A Poem by Eddie Myles, Jr.

This is a deeply personal, in many ways more than some of my others. I think like any other kind of writing, poetry is about story telling. For me, it’s a way to tell my story, my personal journey. Because I’ve always struggled with dealing with and expressing my emotions and feelings in real time, poetry has become a major outlet for me. This particular poem, like so many of mine, is about a love and a relationship. And like most of my work, it’s about regret,maturation and about hope. The title may seem a bit disconnected but, trust me, I have my reasons.

My fingers wrapped around your throat as I breathe, you choke

My gaze is fixed upon your soul, as I push, you pull

Your burden weighs upon my back, and I bare, your yoke

I feel you deep and love you blind, I am - your hope

The time we spend is not our own, so there is, no more

I feel I have no sparrow as my pleas go ignored

You grow this life and birth this pain, these things move fast

This love of ours was meant to be but not, to last

My vow unravels ever more, still you can’t, move on

I feel that she can love me more - when I leave, you mourn

The torture starts you wield the whip and I flinch - then squirm

With masochistic tendencies, I beg, for more

You sense the guilt consuming me, this wound, is sore

I ask for peace, you come to me and become, my whore

You think you’ve seen a change in me and you think, I’m yours

But my feelings are the ones I see, I can’t - see yours

As I sense that you belong to me, I exploit, you more

I feel bad for what I have done to you and I hate - me more

But your tears have no effect on me, since my heart, is cold

As you become more insecure, I feel, more bold

Fast-forward at a lightning pace and we’re old-er now

Life has had its way with us, I’m bro-ken down

Now I’m ready to be good to you, but you can’t, be found

So I’m resigned that I shall be alone - no you, and me

I hope you’re warm and that you’re loved - if not, by me

I think about you so my dove, End - less-ly

If there is truth in silver linings then, shine down, on me

Right now it’s only cold and black, and I can-not see

The point in causing pain like that, and I end, our fight

So insomuch as there is darkness, then, there will, be light

Amore, Ego Morientibus Tarde

For a long time, I’ve had something of an obsession with Latin. I even put all of my tattoos in Latin. I like how it’s a dead language so in a way when you use Latin it’s like hiding the meaning of what you have to say – sort of like poetry does. So that’s why I chose to title this one in Latin.

 

Amore, Ego Morientibus Tarde (Love, I am dying slowly)

There’s a time and place to die but this one isn’t it

So while it isn’t easy, you try and force a grip

They’ll say the future’s bright but it seldom is

Not when hopes and dreams and blood are taken from new kids

Love is cursed like Adam was because of his for Eve

Soft may be the kill but fast and hard the pain it leaves

It causes men to lose their hope and wonder why they try

And grieve their loss these mothers do but no one hears them cry

Claiming stakes to manhood with actions plasticine

Jaded thoughts of women who can’t say what they mean

Introspection leaves me full of angst and insecure, my love

Your cruelty grows, envelopes hope and fits me like a glove

As sure as life inhabits all the things you do and know

There are darker things a mind will not allow to show

In failure inspiration blooms and confidence divides

As simply as I think of you then fear I won’t survive

It’s painful now to hear your voice and think about your hands

I hate that I remember how you helped form who I am

I can’t believe in fairy tales and other allegory

If truth be told what haunts my soul’s a darker somber story

This fear erodes resilience even decimates fortitude

I’m left with many lessons only this one holds most true:

You can travel where you want in life, to places old and new

But no matter who you might become there’s still the dying that you’re born to do

The Body Struggles, A Poem by Eddie Myles, Jr.

With a knife we begin, the cord is cut

From womb to tomb, it’s such a rut

But in between the hands do touch

And feel and grope and hold and such

To touch is to live, to live is to struggle

Binding hands and mouths to muzzle

Curvature, of spine and breast

Beauty is of neck and chest

From lips on fire and arms a flame

The burn of passion the joy of pain

With these hands I do thee please

And hold you down and me release

With eyes you stare and make me melt

And long for touch, wish to be felt

But like the body, it breaks down

It cannot breathe and can’t be found

Desire wanes and comfort’s lost

From touch recoil no longer soft

And yet not hard or rigid still

A heart can beat but never will

Creative Journey

When I was a little boy, I was really into drawing. Mostly Mickey Mouse faces which I would use a dinner plate and two saucers to create the outline of - I was obsessed with perfect circles and symetry back then, go figure. I learned to read shortly before starting Kindergarten and the writing came soon after. I don’t know exactly when, but somewhere around the 3rd or 4th grade I found I liked writing stories and the drawing kind of ended.

I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember. I’ve even done it professionally at the start of my career in journalism. But I took a ten-year or so detour where graphic design and then more corporate endeavors got in the way. I never really thought of myself as an artist of any kind but I consistently have this creative urge nagging at me. I have expressed it in my life in ways - fashion sense, hair styles, decorating various apartments, I was even in a dance group back when I was a kid.

A few years ago, I began a tattoo journey to document some things out of a feeling of angst and a lack of voice. I’m still on that journey but it hasn’t been quite enough.

In the last year or so I’ve gotten back to my writing - albeit in spurts - thanks in large part to a guy named Matt Smith who I went to high school with. He’s a published writer/poet and he started a Facebook group that sort of reignited the spark. Going back to school and having to write so many research and criticism papers also was a big part of it. It reminded me how much I like to create something and, mostly, have a voice.

I’ve always been a fan and an admirer of art, even a student - I recall the extensive teaching essay I had to write about color theory, typography and graphic design recently. I volunteer at a museum and I spend as much of my time as I can at galleries and museums. But I’ve never considered myself an artist - although writing, especially poetry - is squarely within the realm of the arts.

I think I want to try my hand at creating something besides written word. I’m not sure what just yet - I really don’t think drawing or painting is a skill of mine, but maybe a class or two would help. There’s photography but I like collecting pictures more than I like taking them, but again, maybe.

Got to give this some thought - any advice is appreciated - but I think my inner artist needs to come out.

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