graff1980
The Hopeful Poet
This blog is a fluid river of poetry and all of the other things i love and appreciate.
Love to you all
Your friend, despite the distances that
separate us
Joshua Amos Graff
14348 posts
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People keep marching into the dark parts,
the cold swirling black hole
that grips fiercely, and will not let go
of a single lonely old soul,
while forgetting the invisible things
those star sparkling cities of dreams
that float precariously above the sea,
or all the bodies dropped in the deep
unable to escape their eternal sleep.
Society has forgotten children’s make believe,
the quality of strange stories developing,
then receding with so called maturity
as we become unworthy of play and memory,
led astray by the way the world tries to make
getting money and acclaim greater than
acting like a decent human.
Humans keep moving almost in unison
like a union of dead men stomping
into their own prepared graveyard.
I don’t care how brave they are,
there is still too much foolishness
which could be remedied by altruistic ambitions,
because very little is gained by living like winning
is a matter of thin pickings
as if life is like platinum pigeons,
rare, and hard to catch
like a dying man’s breath.
-2024
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It's a battle of the me who is worthless
versus the me with the purpose,
of piss poor time management
and me trying to plan this shit,
of the blank canvas versus
all this overwhelming madness,
of the artist that works the hardest
versus the heart that doesn't
want any part of this society,
and when all this conflict blooms
inside of me it starts inciting
exciting bouts of creativity.
-2023
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My nights used to be
an endless struggle
two-hour workout session
expressing the depths of
self-hatred because
I believed no one
could ever love me.
I would put in a VHS
of Dragon Ball Z
or any of the Rocky movies,
and try to murder myself
in ten to fifty rep sets
of physical ambition.
I used anger to fuel that mission,
struggling to hit muscles
from different positions
while studying magazines
and trying to measure up
to what they were printing.
I punished cushions when I was venting,
practicing high and low kicking
along with punching,
but never really learned the proper form.
Struggling until I went to sleep
sometime after midnight,
then waking up miserable,
what was the point of the struggle?
What was the point of anything?
Why push myself to the point
of almost breaking?
What is the purpose of this poem?
Is it to learn from my history
and prevent the mistake of,
what?
-2024
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My smiles are a fraction
of the fictions I write
to hide the friction inside.
They are genuine expressions,
but built upon sorrows
and painful lessons,
unconsciously designed to lessen
society’s rejections
and strangers’ discomfort.
So, I play folly’s fool,
spin a grin and joke for you,
but in the evening
those expressions melt
and I am left with
my truest self.
Tears leak and speak
to the tragedies I see repeat,
but I pull them all back because
I am far more blessed
than all those I love.
My smile is the gift I give
while I continue to live
suffering in parallel,
not from actual wounds
but from seeing unnecessary
calamities causing the despairing
of people who should not
have to bear such grievances.
-2023
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I took great pleasure.
Two fingers spelunking,
searching for her
secret passageway,
the apogee of ecstasy
urgently exiting,
and reentering
an undiscovered country.
A sunken treasure
sought in
waves of pleasure,
journeying to the climax,
I loved the way she felt
inside out, and outside in,
and couldn’t wait to
get back to her again.
-2023
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This blank page is a soundscape
that sits and waits for new word play.
It is a map of a city set before me empty,
but ready for exploring whilst I record
each twist, and turn that tunnels through
back alleys, side streets, and other avenues.
It is an instant lottery ticket that needs
to be scratched to reveal its hidden glory.
It is infinite stories including
what was, what we thought it was
what is, what we think it is,
what will be, what we think will be,
and every variance in between said realities.
It is a palette of life in every shade
ready to throw up in my face
as I become sick with the breadth,
and depth of our entire existence.
It is the uncertainty of life, love,
and the omnipresent fear of
what we know will come for us.
-2024
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It's 11 pm.
At this point
of the evening
my mind is
dog shit,
social media scrolling,
screening garbage.
My brain is broken
but I won't hawk it
for a profit.
-2023
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I didn’t know you
could carve the stars
into your soul,
set sail all alone
pointing your bow
away from home
as you keep going
on into the edge
that sailors used to think
would make you sink
then fall off into nothing.
I didn’t know
summer could be so cold
when you get so old,
and your limbs begin numbing,
while your calves start cramping,
but the world would still beckon,
even when freedom looks like a wreck
waiting to happen on thunder road
as your tires turn and rubber burns
while the concrete cracks and explodes.
I didn’t know that paths that I never traveled,
would become a yarn that would take longer to unravel
the farther removed it became,
as what ifs become the largest fish tale I could tell myself,
because the things that never happen
could have been anything.
-2024
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I got a bone thin
weekend creation
seeking inner demon
trying to free men
from a hell
of their own making.
-2023
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Technology invites us
to steal life’s likeness
by creating a prompt and
letting the algorithm
invent something.
But is it to our detriment,
the continuing of our replacement,
as the conclusion of the movement
that began with automation?
News outlets and other media
have already started using it to
help maintain and increase views
while they downsize.
The new AIs will improve
to the point we will not realize
if artwork was created by real guys,
or be able differentiate deep fakes
from actual live videos,
making it easier to accept lies
we were already primed to buy.
It may be the time to say goodbye,
because it has been a nice ride,
but humanity is on the decline,
as it gets easier to fool the masses,
when it wasn’t even that hard to begin with,
so it becomes so much harder to win with
honest and deep intentions.
But I will dive in and keep swimming.
This garden of art still needs tending,
and I do this in a big part
for my own enjoyment
not for any sort of payment.
-2024
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a Lightbulb In The Darkness: Poems by Joshua Amos Graff
I am currently working on a new collection of poetry which will include poems I wrote from January 2024 to April 2024. But this was the first book I ever self published.
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I am the fair hearted
child that tried to start up
a peaceful revolution
to overcome the delusion
that we have to be
constantly competing.
The awestruck dumb luck
creative kid kin to
other dreamers who dig into
the art of inspiring empathy.
Not the prettiest petal on the flower,
or the strongest branch on the tree,
but I am the one who looks to see
brighter stars in our cosmic dreams.
If you are even a little like me,
then I’d gladly share these things
all the smiles, and hugs,
all the laughter, and games.
Existence isn’t about
grinding for better stuff.
It’s about finding something to love,
and realizing that
this moment can be enough
if you just sit with it.
-2023
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The keeper of time
is the keeper of minds,
the sleeper who mines
the secrets she finds
in the neural vines
that wind into
a tightly packed network
of jagged glass gears.
The Queen of composure,
composer of songs older
than the first infant’s cooing,
making music for moving.
A hundred billion years old
life made to create space,
and to this day she still generates
works of reality that are so strange.
On the last second, of the last planet
as all life finally vanishes,
she may weep but still manage
to move on to the next dimension,
a project of her next invention.
Was she meant to be
the fates that weave everything,
Kali, Horae, Eternity,
or just a spectral dream
to be seen for an instant
then forgotten upon awaking.
-2024
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It doesn’t matter if the show is over,
if the jester turned whistleblower
to the shady deals of the harlequin
and her two-timing friend the joker.
It doesn’t matter if the knights
of the king’s ancient court
have nothing of note to report,
no witty repartee, or wise words to retort.
It’s the lack of common sense,
gods, heroes, and fairy nonsense.
the impossible intermixed with
fiction that is sort of realistic.
It’s all fair sport for my cohorts
all the scars, blood, and bruises
there to be scribed and amuse us
as we try to unravel what’s marvelous.
It’s a deck of cards, or dominoes,
a word puzzle, or tic tac toe
to grow the depth of what they know
and show what witty word play
games are made for.
Its chaos confined to fine creative minds
who dally where they will
writing out whatever they feel
because in life there is still
a few moments of joy to steal.
-2023
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I don’t need to express
what the S on my chest means,
don’t have to give up everything
pursuing perfection.
Whatever your expecting
is not my concern,
because I live a
six-sided dice life
of chance that I
play out every night,
walking in the moonlight
as the soft searching edges
of the sea rush up
seeking to brush up
against my bare feet.
I am pretty close to free,
the rainbow minstrel
of natural harmony,
leaving behind
most of the things
that try to harm me.
Feelings of gratitude,
calm as the deep blue
clear water view
washing over me,
I am only slightly
afraid of what will
happen to me
when this existence ends.
When I am floating
like wooden debris
moving with the
motions of the sea
letting it take me,
and only occasionally
redirecting
like GPS,
I am still open to a degree,
experiencing new things,
and using novelty cont.
to rewrite the code inside of me.
Backspace colon slash
insert the code of my past
while copying and pasting
memories that need replacing.
I am an infinitude but limited to
the capacity of my cranial cavity,
requiring partial emptying regularly,
so I can clear space for a different me.
There are a million more lines
that I could write to describe my life,
but it’s nearing my shifts end,
time for clearing the building,
and checking all the doors before
I go home to sleep, and become
tomorrow’s next new version of me.
-2024
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In the future it's most likely
I won't have time for exciting writing
due to our climate's declining.
All my leisurely activities
will no longer be available for me,
because every day will become
a struggle to find things I need
to survive that environmental calamity.
Getting water and something to eat
will become harder as I try
to avoid the heat on the street.
The blacktop may melt the shoes on my feet,
and it may get harder to breath
definitely harder to sleep
with all of that survival anxiety.
So, I won’t be functioning optimally.
-2023
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With slip of the wrist
I nicked my fingertip.
Now, I can’t stop
the thick red spot
on my pointer digit
from pooling crimson,
then streaking
down my skin,
and dripping
like a broken faucet.
One tissue
brightly colored,
barely compressed
because at this moment
I have too much going on
to completely focus on it.
I will get to the clean-up,
as soon as I finish with
everything I am doing.
Tasks accomplished then
all tidied up
with a band aid,
and some disinfectant stuff.
Two hours later,
and I am in the clear.
A few minutes later
I hit the back of the chair,
and the bandage starts
changing colors.
I should probably be
just a little worried
because it is taking
longer than it should
to stop bleeding,
but I am too
stubborn for my own good.
Eight hours later the same day
and its looking ok.
I think.
-2024
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