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

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Monday, May 30, 2016

No more

For their nation
Youth, untested, green
March proudly, uniformly dressed
Generation after generation
Have been fed into the machine
Grinding the steel into the flesh
They shine with pride
The uniforms hide the skin
From peach, or brown
Whatever the color
It will turn red
Running into the phalanx
Into the fortifications
Into the wall of death
Commanded to do so
By old men, armchair kings
Generals with desks
Presidents who hate the military
And anthems about them
We'll sing
So proudly
We'll sing
What will we have won
Who will remember
What was good
About the death
Or why they died
For their country


Sunday, May 29, 2016

Delicious torment




















They despise
Their savior
Because of his birthplace
Not being Rome
Yes it is the truth
Glory may beckon
But over the years
Through to this moment
I've been aware
I'm not welcome
In the hall of heroes
No one celebrates
A triumph of my legion
My past is a litany of pain
My memory is a haze
Of grieving
Despite Empire saving actions
We receive no respect
But in time
Respect will become fear
And the people of Rome
With power
Will know
Who I am
And they will bring me
The laurels of victory
That I deserve
I know, I know
That there is more
Than being recognized
I just need to find
In my heart
From the deep
There within my darkness
The strength to overcome
Overwhelmed and falling to sleep
So that I might heal
In the fields of Elysium
I saw hope and heroes
The gods had waited
And prepared a table
For my arrival
But I was awakened
From my blissful slumber
By the winds of emotion
And bitter cold sorrow
When shouts of fear
News
From the outer provinces
Struck
The Gauls had flooded across the Po
There was nothing to stop them
From raping Rome
Everything beyond
Except my legion
They were here to reap
What we had sown
And now the Romans turn
To the one they had shown
No respect
And expect
Deliverance



Friday, May 27, 2016

Grotesque protest

Who cares about tenderness
When everything turns
So quickly to hatred
And then bitter silence
Over words not thoughts
And ideas not actions
Unkind moments
Grotesque protests
Over things
Things we don't understand
In the others
Where we sail
Into the unknown
Unknowable
Dreams inside
Keep us apart
Leaving our hearts
Cold and cyanide
Towards the other
The sins smother
Every hope I have
Of knowing why
I go on
Without you
By my side


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


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



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

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

when you left


We weren't lovers
Only friends
Of the highest form
There were so few others
Who could be like us
And now I am torn
Because you left me
Forever
Because of the darkness
That we both fought
Together inside
And I am left behind
Alone
In the forever world
That doesn't fucking care
In a dark room in my home
Left me behind
To torture myself
In the prison of my mind

Monday, May 9, 2016

Another day will pass

Sleepless
In prayer
In the shallow hours
Of the naked morning
Where the only sound
Is of the sleeping bodies
And the breaking dawn
I am still
And I have always known
That the day will pass
And turn to dust
Another will birth
So I must trust
That my aim is true
The seeds I've sewn
Will bring life anew
Because I believe
In more than this


"Learn to love death's ink-black shadow as much as you love the light of dawn." Tyrtaeus

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Upon this day I remember you


You were attacked
Without a warning
You were wounded
By lust and hatred
You didn't deserve it
No one did
Because of his violence
I was spawned
But still
You saved me
Despite the danger
You carried me
Away from death
You could have let me die
I was helpless
And still you kept me
Safe in your arms
Away from any harm
You were afraid
Like anyone would be
Your life was important
As much as mine
Still my life was spared
Because of you
Your life was placed on hold
Until it was time
I was born
You gave me life
And blessed me
With a spirit divine


Saturday, May 7, 2016

My promise

Everybody acts
Like everything is fine
But I'm not them
They aren't me
This moment is torment
I've been waiting for the time
When God would send me
You
To redeem my dreams
Your voice is an anthem
You heart beat chimes
My hope is a choir
And I wait until
You turn my head
And Call my name
Again
Because until you return
I burn inside
I believe
Your face
Your scent
Your voice
Your being
Are love divine
You are my promise
Of heaven


Tuesday, May 3, 2016

The Future for my work.

Hi, and welcome to the future.

MY AMAZON PAGE

I have been asked many times if I have books that are collections of poems rather than about themes or genres, or mixed with prose.  Also, some people wish to avoid anthologies, and works done that are aimed at any specific topic, rather than a collection of work, the end.  So here is my response.

Most all of my work is aimed at a theme, genre, topical idea.  I am reluctant to publish an all in one collection, since people tend to not have bought much of my work before, a large collection of it would perhaps be a large collection that no one buys.  "Here is more of what you didn't want and didn't buy before!"  This isn't complaining, I am neither responsible for there being an audience for my work nor for there being an acceptance of my work among academia or people who love poetry.

I have a couple works though that address the world without any genre or extreme metaphor.  Winter Kill was a fictionalized autobiography, and Birth to Death is a poetic consideration of the cycle of life.  From the rising of the sun, to the setting of the same, we are all subject to the cycle of life.  Everyone who is born, dies.  Regardless of the attempts to avoid death, we all do it.  My mom died in 2012, I learned I had cancer in 2013, I lost a best friend in 2014, I went through a period of deep reflection and this work is about that.  Both books should satisfy your curiosity.


This is a book that will be a collection of love poems, lost love poems, and poems that take a look at the world we live upon/within and consider the meaning of life.  Is life worthwhile without love?  Does life matter without love? 


The Poet's Funeral: Je Suis Fini   This will be a work that considers the role poets in the world, how we function, and how we send them off.  Did their work matter?  Did their lives matter?


My cat Katya is my support system.  When I had cancer she was part of the first line support.


The knights being blessed before the quest for the Holy Grail, by Edwin Austin Abbey.

People interested in contacting me can do so at AlexanderNess63 At Gmail.com

I am found at Twitter


I have other blogs too

Zeus Lover and Admirer

Would it be love?  Was it Lust?
Something beyond us?
Something divine?
Or something
That destroys trust
Zeus All Father
Great leader of the Gods
Spied a young boy
The most beautiful
In all creation
Zeus was troubled
Then knowing
He could no longer exist
Without the touch of that boy
He felt compelled
That without the boy
He'd forever drift
Without the touch
Quickened in his heart
He could not resist
The image in his mind
Of the human so beautiful
Named Ganymede
So he created a form
Of an eagle with which to trick
The youth by asking for water
Then drawing near
And growing close
Then stole him away
To exalted Olympus
Some say it was out of passion
Directly it was romance
Others that it was from
An artist's heart of admiration
For perfection of beauty
Neither distinctions matter
For the youth's father
Lost his son
The beautiful youth
Although given blessings
Was lost to his family
And normality
Never to knew
What it was like
To be human
To love, to live, even die
After visiting
Olympus










Sunday, May 1, 2016

Cannibal feast



This wasteland
Once a land of grace
Where once
Nothing but serene winds
And beauty kissed the surface
Of the earth, paradise was this place
We twist over our desires
But cast our doubts upon the land
Leaving behind our toxins
Never thinking, never knowing
What it is all about
We choose flesh and sin
Over hope and restraint
Who are we to ask
For more than our share
We've dumped our portion
For it grew cold
Begged for pity
Even despair
While staring coldly at the hungry crowd
While we've had our fill
And stand in line for more
To become fat
Obesity is our proof
That someone loves us
Someone comforts us
Wrapping the arms about us
Because there is no justice
And we pass before we realize
Life is not a race
Not a contest of acquisition
But a collection of moments
And people to love
And embrace
So now
With a full stomach
and nothing is left
For the fat
Or the thin
Who is willing
To offer their flesh
For the supper
That will be the last