“Scavenging. For a Bucket List.”

With passion the pen moves
Past the point of no return,
Where words engulf reason
And rational action is acquitted.

I write of things that I have only felt in my sleep
Or hidden in the broken chambers of my heart,
Aching to take residence in the physical world,
Void of ridicule.
Hidden, sheltered is you.
Us.

The well is clandestine, but pristine. Deep. Covered by the constant clamor of the leaves. Of voices.

A paradise dwelling far in the forest of not lies, but truth.
An entire life, shielded by a fancy backdrop, built on the backs of lust and desire.

And voyeuristic need;
Wanting something that someone has birthed an allure for.

And now I crave.

A bystander to my own life.
Harshly learning that I have been granted my own independence, my own reality.
Vigorously checking the list as a scavenger at a children’s party.
Only to realize this scroll of wishes gets longer.
The days get shorter.
It becomes a bucket list.
I check off days ’til i die.
Therefore, I selfishly yearn you.

For if you escape me, i will not know.
And death is not knowing,
so i go.
Ahead.
With no regard for life.
For there is not one,
But the second that passed.

“Scavenging. For a Bucket List.”
-iamjeffcohran
2.18.11
Atlanta to Brussels

Tour

I must admit that I stared.

Laying in the bed.

Radiant.
Exhausted all her fears in me.
Exhausted all trust in her.
Within a minute; this bond was formed.

I have yet to ask, “Who is this woman?”

So, I stare at her as she slumbers.
Investigating silently.
Hoping she is who I think she is.

Thumb through her hair as she shyly snores lightly.
She is comfortable. In her skin. Naked. Before me.

Peaceful beside me.
Therefore,
I am somehow relaxed within her bubble.

I wish to stay there for awhile.
Is that not a problem?
I cuddle under her like a two-year old to its’ mother.
It is tough and lonely on the road
to success.
I just need you to hold.
At my leisure.

Life’s a seizure.
Unpredictable.
Shaking at your ankles;
Discombobulating your soul
‘Til it is obsolete.

&

Obsolete

is my global world.

Different locales do not broaden my horizons;
They confuse my borders.

Now, I want it all.
I can have it all.

For, I have seen it all.

Now I must conquer.

Even for just a moment.

But I know home.
And home is home because home has always been home.
Therefore, I go home
every time.

And not to her.

Tour ends.
Life doesn’t.

Tour.
-iamjeffcohran
March 27, 2011 -April 5, 2011
Atlanta, Detroit

#writersblock [1.Four.thr33] post #35

another day. another attempt at writing thwarted.

my writer’s block continues. nevertheless, i figure what else can i do but post what i’m working on. this is a portion of a piece entitled 1.Four.thr33, which happens to be the name of the clandestine project I’ve materialized over the past three years. with 50 pieces already in the book, this writer’s block doesn’t press me much at all. keep in mind that this is just a part of a much longer poem.

-iamjeffcohran

I am none a saint,
Nor a liar,
Nigh a saint,
For I retire,
Retreat.
Into myself.
In-grown
Un-grown
Invested
Pre-occupied
Un-sown
Scathed
Famished
Vanished in mirrors of self-hate
I languish
Evaporate
For it is too hard to handle.
Love is too hard to handle.
Hate is too whelming to fathom,
so I die.

For doting.

Love is a homicide/suicide
Killing the insides of two.
Conjoining the spirits into one
A reincarnation of the carnel into a perverse, gooey form of lust smattered on platters
Like a slop of prison mystery meat on a bun
Mashed together inconveniently
Some shitty remnant of some shitty remnant of something that was once something that meant something to someone but ceases to mean anything
Anymore.

Two spirits equaling one multiplied two more,

And another,
And another,
And another.
Dot, dot, dot.

I don’t know how many spirits my spirits have proposed and married to.
I supposed that I was true.
At whatever moment.
Whatever drunken, high moment.
Whatever elated, sedated moment.
When panties dropped to floors or poetic words were spread like bodies on dorm room beds
Or when prayers for you to stay the night challenged prayers for you to never call again.

that’s where i stopped. until next time, iamjeffcohran

cyberstalking [love] post #25

i want her.

right now.

in front of me.

as if there’s no tomorrow.

for if there is no tomorrow.

i need to be with you.

now.

don’t tarry.

don’t shuffle.

linger as the fog.

obsess.

prevail.

do not leave

without me seeing you.

in all your glory.

your beauty.

your splendor.

the spectacle of it all.

you are what i want.

i flaunt.

i dream.

you taunt.

that’s as far as i got. maybe i’ll add some later.

“cyberstalking [love]” (c) -iamjeffcohran

october 7, 2008: dow down [thework] post #023

I’m not here.
This is not happening.

Factions of Her
monopolize, segregate,
&
devour reason.

Inaction rebels against progress
and progress is stifled by lies.

save our souls or save our selves.

savage our land or stockpile your wealth.

who impedes She?
who contorts me?

The shortsighted
devil flaunts
riches,
bitches,
gold,
drunk of brew.
The multitude
works for
pennies
&
idolize
the powerful
few.

disabled by
token activism,
for no one
listens.

Voices are consistent,
but Greed
lacks wisdom.

Gluttons without a compass,
People sealed from action.
Information aplenty, but
Knowledge withheld.

I am not here.
This is not happening.

“October 7th, 2008 (Dow Down)”

october 17, 2008: dow up [thework] post #022

i realize my fears,
recognize life’s strife.

become unmoved
by my tears.

others
paper chase
as I stay
still
I placate
as rain condenses the window sill.
winds batter,
the storm
is hardly fierce
so I brace for pain
as i retreat to consult with minds that are clear.

few & far
are they
who look at the glass so awkwardly
who fixate on the why
‘stead of embracing
in
the paper chasing.

Stuck.

not burdened down by gold bars.
weighed, but empty.
money serves as the standard
so they feel burdened by lack
of black cards & ‘lacs on twenties…

see, there’s a reason why it’s the called the ‘gold standard’.

the galaxy is…

progressed with a filthy pacifier
purified with toxic pathogens
the courtship of men & money is where our death begins.
& morals are skewed
& people are screwed
diasporas enslaved,
buildings in-caved,
world renewed with acid showers of coins & credit,
goods overvalued
we are thwarted as mere fools
as we decline to making
paper or plastic debits
of our souls…

ruled by men
overseen by demons
sympathized by unjust saints
scantly-dressed vixens
& robust expectations
that stunt a pure child’s faith
as we break & bruise limbs
stretch & stress
ourselves
to
measure
up
to life’s dimensions.

so i plop pad & pen,
keyboard & words.
release understanding.
to understand.
that we all have nothing,
not even ourselves,
& that ourselves, no price could afford
& ourselves have nothing else
but peace within our Lord.

“October 17th, 2008 (Dow Up)”

“aftershock” [4betteror4worse] post #020

i wake.
the foundation shakes.
you lie.
next.

to me,
you are friend.

you sleep.
peaceful.

i ramble,
rumble,
stumble.
drunk.

you snooze with a satisfied smirk as if your dreams are fulfilled.
as if your dreams are real.

i gather my clothes.

you reach
for, something that isn’t there.

i care.
and i care.
(so)
i stare.
shake my head & wonder.
pray for you in slumber.

can you survive?

-iamjeffcohran

the island [4betteror4worse] post #019

must endure
must practice
patience.
struggle embodies life,
but does not overshadow it.

for, there are far more beautiful things to focus on:

the trees,
the children,
the newness of the day,
loves near or far,
stories that make you giggle
or sob.

& memories.

sweet & bitter
memories.

art, poems, songs, prose,

clever analogies & similes.

success(?)
perhaps.

nevertheless,

life is nothing to run from, less you wither & die.

praise & worship & acknowledge Him
as often as you recognize:

happiness
comfort
acclaim
pain
joy
pleasure
stress
failure
disappointment
love
hate
loss
embarrassment
shame
tears.

fears
are nothing
but a
disillusion of life
empt-ed by
immature souls
who seek to protect
their minds;
entreat to have control
of what we humans cannot handle.

oh, what in this life,
can you mold,
completely
without a portion
falling apart from the whole?

life is…
amazing when
life is…

there is always potential
where
life is…

“the island”

e train to jamaica queens [4betteror4worse] post #018

life is…
but a series of crisis
randomly jumbled
with humans with big brains & big egos
stuttering
hypothesizing
theorizing
anticipating
making sense of
bullshit that may all be random
at the end of the day.

but not so random
when the clock strikes nigh.

i take the E train to jamaica queens
in search of
another train
that takes me to
an island

for a better life

a better perspective
a better me
for internally
i hurt
for what I don’t know
i hurt
for who i didn’t know
i work
& i don’t know
who it is or what is or why or how it got to be this way
6am,
rise,
shave,
shit,
shower,
bland-ass breakfast,
crazed-ass traffic,
9-to-5,
people who loathe me & I loathe back;
with corporate smiles on faces.

static existence

traffic.

7:30
sharp
bland-ass dinner
tv time
to bed
to death
in my head
every night there is death
in my head.

so, i took that e train to jamaica queens and swore to Christ it slid off track
towards oblivion
towards a preferable life,
with more interesting people,
then I woke up with a twisted smile.

at least there is peace
in my dreams.

“e train to jamaica queens”

apparently [4betteror4worse] post #017

I thought about her today.
Hadn’t in a while.
Heard someone say, “babe.”
A familiar timbre.
Heart beats faster.
Heard her laughter.

Came to Sunday dinner.

Met my pastor.

Left Christmas Eve.

Returned the next fall.

Gone in spring.

Lost in the shuffle of my thoughts.

It still means something.
Apparently.