Welcome


I am a poet who has both been published and self published. All work on this blog is all copyright Alex Ness. While I make very little money from my work I am technically a professional. Measuring by the hours I've written I am professional. My goal is to share my work with as many people that can read it, as far as the internet may reach with it. I hope if you are moved you will share this blog with others, and perhaps buy my books.

Whatever the result, thank you for viewing this blog. I cannot express how greatly I appreciate the many people, from many places upon the earth, who have visited.

I bid you peace.

Je ne regrette pas la douleur, car il m'a fait plus forte

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

merciless lust

I'd rather be dead
Sometimes I would
That is the truth
But yes I am alive
Shaking off these feelings
That somehow
I might survive
This wave of hope
That allows me
To feel
Again
Perhaps I'll be redeemed
By some righteous love
Or instead
I'll be shredded
By some merciless lust
That rips right through me
Tearing away my defenses
Leaving me worse
For the moment
Of imagined pleasure
With an imagined lover
Without the torment
Of begging to die
Just so I can go away
And forget all my crimes
I never did
For fuck sake
Every day


Monday, May 23, 2016

Cherry Blossoms Fallen


To know the way
To endure the pain
To absorb
Martial training
I sip from the sky
The rain
As I stand
So many hours
In solitary guard
I paint in ink
Upon a screen
Of paper
Made of rice
I learn to
Quote from scholars
Who understood truth
Embrace the fact
That death follows
Every samurai
Every act
Is complicit
With end of life
Joy found in purity
Faith in the harmony
Between living and death
The finality of the blade
And the eventuality
Of knowing
Honor is everything
Honor is in every breath

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Not a single clue

I am stunned
By the pretense
Of politicians acting
As if we are going
In some sort of path
That seems to be
The right direction
For me it begs the question
How did we arrive here
And the answer?
I believe in the truth
But in America's trenches
How can you find it
Let alone any proof
That we are improving
Just the opposite is the feeling
The tidal pull is relentless
We have not become
What we should have
Our world is a gathering
Of difference
Without acceptance
This ideal of hope
Becomes pretentious
When the budgets of a country
Are examined
And bombs
Are well ahead
Of bread
And recruitment for the military
Is a higher priority
Than training for life
Where we end up starving
And dead












Saturday, May 21, 2016

With no hope

My soul has been crushed
But have yet to be slain
Amidst a deep depression
I refuse to be swallowed
Into the deep
I have suffered in the darkness
Linger in contemplation
Living in the torment
Suffering the possibility
Of experiencing damnation
If I choose to end my punishment
Life is a prison
And fear is the sentence
Despite life's punishment
I refuse to surrender
I resist the temptation
To give in to oblivion
But my memories are torture
My brain is dismembered
I sorrow the echoes of the pit
Where others have fallen
And I grieve the loss
Of knowing the difference
Between the darkness
And the abyss
Where perspective frees me
From the fear
I AM ALIVE
I am forgiven
So I have truth
But the liar
Torments my soul
With fear
And accusations
Of my worthlessness



“A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.”Albert Camus

“Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for a better preparation for death.”  Jane Austen



Friday, May 20, 2016

Danse, Dance, Dance you macabre Dead



NOT FOR OURSELVES ALONE ARE WE BORN

“Non nobis solum nati sumus.” 
Cicero



What does it matter if you are alive
If you do not care to live
Do you say that
You do not care about existence
But you are then worried
About your consumption
Of everything that you can find
You are addicted to the pleasures
That life can give


And wine is indeed divine
But love of things
Not people
Leads to the wrong path
Hatred hardens you
And you become cold
You are afraid to forgive
Become a slave to the flesh
Instead of striving
Become a slave to gold
Instead of learning


Anubis will weigh your heart
And your good
Must outweigh the bad
Or you will be cast into the desert
To be devoured by the minions of Seth
If you do not care about life
You should be afraid of death


Instead
If you live as if you know
Every breath is new
You will know the truth
A rich life is not fallow
Not for money
But for those you help
Those you guide
Those you love
Take a chance
Give others your heart
Give them your being
And so
When you die
You dance
You dance



To celebrate
Those that you have loved
You dance
To remember
You dance
To show 
That we are all the same
 The rich
The poor
The hungry
The fat
You will enrichen others

 
By your path
Know the truth
And understand 
Death is natural as breath
Dance Dance Dance



Tell the residents
Of the afterlife
Why you dance
Tell them why
You danse macabre
Bones shaking in unison
I dance with the dead
Because I died
Because I was born
And I celebrate
My life
Spent for others




'Nemo enim fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit.'
"Almost no one dances sober, unless he is insane."  Cicero




"Si hortum in bibliotheca habes, nihil deerit." Cicero

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Birth to Death



I have become
An insomniac
Morality lapse
I cannot sleep
For the nightmares
In the world that approaches
Are we blind
To the storm that we
Have created by our acts
We have turned our world
From Eden to a dry tomb
The young enter the world
Of the living
We have overseen a massive collapse
While they are innocent
Awakening from the womb
Of the eternal
The moment they breathe
The clock begins ticking
Shall we deny them their due
Life is their inheritance
But the complications
Of our attachments
And desires
Make our promises untrue
We reach from the grave
And steal from their table
Poison their air
And foul their promise
Of hope
We've transcended our life's chalice
What was once an offer
Pregnant with life
Is now a track waiting
Until the end



I have written my own book about the subject



Wednesday, May 18, 2016

The Flock

Humanity is committing suicide
The skies grow crowded
With pollution and city lights
Last days for the wild
People want the neon
So I moved far from them
I watch the skies at night
Hoping to see the end
Not where we'd begun
Not that I want oblivion
I am not hoping for the sight
Of destruction
But I hate what we've done
I hate who we are
I hate where this path
Has taken us
Endless acquisition and consumption
All under the guise of progress
We have fallen from our dream
Or was it an illusion
Replacing hope with
Devolutionary track
Pleasure replaced industry
Leisure replaced victory
Treasure replaced worth
Justification replaced reality
Now we have a world
Filled with offended children
And apologies
Fucked up beyond the repair
Leaving a disease ridden humanity
There is nothing left to reach for
There is nothing for us to find
We've poisoned all our valleys
Leveled all the mountains
Polluted all the rivers
And smogged every sky
Every child born adds to the toll
Mouths are empty
Stomach rumbling
Water jugs dry
We have been sheep following
Our the leaders
Being herded toward the corral
So that we might be fleeced
Our wool serves our masters
Our meat makes him fat
We are their beasts
Bearing their burdens
Without answer
For their questions
But we bear their loads
Become their cancer
And die for their wars
We are the sheep
Herded for their flock
We are the many
And the gates
Have been unlocked

“For millions of years flowers have
been producing thorns. For millions
of years sheep have been eating them
all the same. And it's not serious,
trying to understand why flowers
go to such trouble to produce thorns
that are good for nothing? It's not
important, the war between the sheep
and the flowers? It's no more serious
and more important than the numbers
that fat red gentleman is adding up?
Suppose I happen to know a unique
flower, one that exists nowhere in the
world except on my planet, one that a
little sheep can wipe out in a single bite
one morning, just like that, without even
realizing what he'd doing - that isn't
important? If someone loves a flower of
which just one example exists among all
the millions and millions of stars, that's
enough to make him happy when he looks
at the stars. He tells himself 'My flower's
up there somewhere...' But if the sheep
eats the flower, then for him it's as if,
suddenly, all the stars went out. And
that isn't important?”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
The Little Prince 

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

I am the King

This is my kingdom
All these fields of uncut grass
And garbage
Trop tard
respirer dans les fumées
Personne ne veut me connaître
Je suis le roi des imbéciles
Lay me upon a bed
Of thorns and roses
My body is already broken
Cannot be repaired or stitched
I am ready
Arms outstretched
Awaiting your nails
In each wrist and hand
Pound the nails in with prejudice
And determined certainty
But before you do
Place upon my head
The crown of thorns
To announce my reign
I am the king of the fools
No one has domain
Over me
Trop tard
So very late
Rain rain
Pouring down
Upon my parade
The king and his charade
Where is my entourage
When is the march
My coronation
Begins
Behind the gas station
Giving away free flyers
For the event


Monday, May 16, 2016

Sunday, May 15, 2016

frozen

Frozen in the ice
Her image fell
shallow in the block
ice carved from glacial falls
Black winged angel
Sleeping in the shadows
Carved
From beautiful purity
Her wings
Leave no imprint
Her aura
Leaves no halo
Yet she hovers there
In the space
The depths of fluid
So clear
her face
her lips
So cruel
I am tormented by her haunting
Sorrow bound countenance
She is held
together
It seems
with stitches of grieving
and scars of sorrow
And nothing more
but her beauty
cannot be
mistaken
forgotten
or
forsaken


Saturday, May 14, 2016

Modernity's Wild Hunt



I never sleep
But still I am able to dream
I try to speak
But I have always been struck dumb
For though I have a voice
It is not welcome in this world
No matter how many dreams of suicide
How many memories I never had
Days of pain in the asylum
And drinking liquid cyanide
My life has not been so bad
But still I run
The parts are greater than the sum
And my dreams look like they've been mutated
Even mutilated
Being torn from my womb
From the tomb of my heart
As if someone retaliated
For my having hope
Instead of dreams of doom
But now I pray
And the world still preys
And I am the questing beast
Set to run
While the wild hunt
Is begun

Thursday, May 12, 2016

The midnight bells

Memory has ended
Commerce is gone
Movement has atrophied
Not just one
But everyone
The continent
Now hell
No one could have known
Nor ever prepared
For such a tragedy
It is empty now
Buildings all vacant
Every wall but a shell
Whatever the season
The scene is totally cold
Ever since the plague struck
Nothing lives in the city
Yet the bells still toll
At midnight
When all is silent
The waters move quickly
Without traffic
Without barges carrying coal
The bells however chime
At midnight
None are present
The bones of the past
Are dust 
None bear witness
To the sorrow
And the grieving
Shall ever last
For the emptiness
Can never be filled
Not now
Nor at midnight
When the tolling
Begins anew
The world has died
And will never rebuild