Prevention

Prevention

Tonight I got depressed:
I picked my nose-
no one told me to stop.

-Matthew Koutzun

An Exchange in the Night

An Exchange in the Night

Two dark forces-
an exchange in the night;
neither a blessing,
neither a plight.

A coming together-
a meeting of one;
either a daughter,
either a son.

A culmination-
of ripe fluid;
some driping,
most mixing.

And now-
it's witnessed;
all gauking,
all approving.

They've all-
been there before;
perhaps not now,
perhaps later.

-Matthew Kouztun

(This Post is also based on a painting I've done recently, so yeah. It's pretty blunt the painting if you read the poem- and kind of graphic if you think about it. So I'll leave it at that. The colour is kind of messed up because of the flash and the lack of light but it's really cool in person!)

The Reasons -or- Relations

The Reasons
-or-
Relations

They lied when they said
it's for sex.
They lied when they said
it's for the touch.
They lied when they said
it's the kiss.

Because it really is
knowing that when you're at a restaurant,
someone will watch your things
while you're in the restroom.

Because it really is
knowing that you can run
for that extra bag of buns
while your other groceries are watched on the till.

Because it really is:
oh you know-
or you will,
when you need someone to watch something.

-Matthew Koutzun

Far

Far

Distance,
as it's counterpart: time,
are in part the owners
of segregation.

If I were to say,
you are here,
and I am here,
this only stations us.

And if I were to say,
this is your hour,
and this is my hour,
this only determines evening.

But if we we're to speak emotion,
we're this,
and we're that,
then both- distance and time:
have failed their task.

-Matthew Koutzun

Your Waste

Your Waste

A story,
is created with
ups
and

downs.


It is started with the:
concept:
the underlying issue:
the one that ties one up:
devastating.

It is lead on a very long time, by what we call incidents rising- rarely falling, and we will continue on this path for a while it winding and caressing the theme, mood, and thesis, and molding us into incorigable beings that will have to accept the final garnish on the plate.

Climax:
is not enough:
for execution:
timed:
to the last second:
only warrents a possible chance:
of transfered emotion.

And anticedent:
hardly an action
deserving ones time.
Tied up events,
that were never formulated properly:
just leave the seat.

The story has ended.

You should have made your own,
and not
on the stage or screen either.

-Matthew Koutzun

"Don't worry," I said

"Don't worry," I said

You said,
"I thought we were best friends."
But this was never about us,
so I explained to you:
"Don't worry-
lets go over this again:
you can have her heart-
I just want the body."

-Matthew Koutzun

Women are Boulders

Women are Boulders

Sisyphus:
damned to forever push a rock,
up a steep hill
only to have it always roll down the other side
his work never complete.

What compels him to carry on?

Is it pride?
or is it stupidity?
The want and will
knowing that for some reason
this task must be complete.

Or were we lied to in legends?

Perhaps the hill is different:
never ending,
a steep incline
that never ever stops-
will never be complete.

What compels him to carry on?

What be at the top?
What does he have to prove?
Maybe we are missing more of the picture;
lied to yet again;
the story never complete.

Women are boulders.

-Matthew Koutzun

Sacraments

Sacraments

I denied myself chocolate today.
But I do not know whether I did it
for my mother,
or for Jesus.

Terrible weeks had come to me,
but through each I managed,
only once had to call in for the regime
that is my mother.

Helping me-
cleaning up the things that lay around me;
and in honour of her pride in me,
she bought me chocolate for the Easter Sabbath.

Placed in the fridge;
I kept it there, so it would not melt-
and today in a moment of self-indulgence over my achievements
I reached in to have the cocoa as my reward.

But I stopped,
and guilt wrapped around me.
My mother had bought me these for a special day,
a day for a man who gave all he had.

And I placed them back,
taking a fruit cup instead,
not knowing my motives,
whether religious or familial.

I think to my mother,
and I think on to the lord,
and find one soul,
both scaraments of my preservation.

-Matthew Koutzun

For the Man in my Life (Ode from a woman)

For the Man in My Life (Ode from a Woman)

Told me it was complicated:
that it was hard.
Well of course it is silly
when you touch it like that.

You said,
we should wait, time can cure this
it can cure these feelings-
these things called emotions: passive.

I can't cure this,
nor will I.
Cause probe as you wish at me nightly,
you haven't gone so deep as your compliments.

And things are getting longer and harder to deal with,
and the complication of positions are getting worse to deal with,
and how to solve these problems take longer answers than the ones your giving,
and as they lengthen, my yearnings, they get longer and lustier and wholly born from you.

And from this,
a sullen low,
nothing to show,
and here I be

still.

-Matthew Koutzun

(Technical comment about poem: the "you" is not suppost to be on the next line... I just couldn't get the font to go any smaller to get the structure right.)

What we forgot -or- Bauhaus (A broken sonnet)

What we forgot
-or-
Bauhaus (A broken sonnet)

Neat and ordered,
and set into a structured beauty.

They said it had no form
and we had no right to control it.

But we did:
with logic and with science.

And the marvelous things we made,
constructed with such calculation.

We can never be wrong with formulas,
they are perfect to their core.

And looking on: we see straight lines,
and see what we forgot.

-Matthew Koutzun

(I usually write poems for my paintings right after I finish them but this one took some time knowing the history around the art movement, so I've had to wait for the inspration. I painted this painting for a friend I just met recently and have really clicked with: Cecil ( I hope you don't mind me posting your name here). But yeah, I painted it in the Bauhaus style, which of course is his favorite. I hope everybody likes both the poem and the painting. I posted the painting below.)

Honestly...

Honestly...

Woman on the bus:
truly innocent,
practicly a girl.

Dressed in a grey skirt,
black unsensable shoes,
long cowboy-esque trench coat,
and a hat reflecting the buckeroo too.

She looks too homely to carry it-
the guise:
the gruff looks that she can't fill.

She looks over and motions to her friend:
pointing out the scruffy man behind her:

a scruffy face,
worn out clothes,
body slouched,
holding stiffly onto the pole.

He's fairly handsome.

She looks at her friend again,
yeah, she knows it-
she feels it:
there is some potential;
she can change him.

-Matthew Koutzun

I would

I would

Now,
as a time in the present-
opened it up, since it is a gift,
and took you out to play with:
I would.

-Matthew Koutzun

Heavy Synonym

Heavy Synonym

Weight,
as heavy as it can be,
nothing lasts longer than the
wait.

The strain,
the strength,
the hollow space
in time.

Wait,
for me,
it's hard to lift with the
weight.

The paitience
the languity,
the power of gravity
on me.

How each rubs the other:
we can only guess.
But the wait of the world,
is a weight on ones chest.

Matthew Koutzun

Kindred

Kindred

What is it to be kindred?
What is it to have connection devine?
One of emaculate gesture,
one that that is only one of a kind?

Can it be with having morals the same?
Can it be with actions coming from a twinned brain?

What it is,
is having uniqueness,
without forgetting our simularities,
and divining a right,
while allowing forgiveness too.

So are we kindred?
You and I?
I look to you.
You are still rambling about this and that
and I care,
and you agree,
and there is comfort.
We agree.

-Matthew Koutzun


(This one actually goes to a bunch of people in my life. You can all argue about who they may be.)

Truncation

Truncation

If there were time,
I would not have to worry about the .
I would not worry of the impending ,
if there were .

If I had more,
I would know never of time's ,
I would know never of its exacting ,
If I had .

If it shall take,
It will be a thing that I most ,
It will be a thing that prematurly will ,
If it shall .

How does it consume,
Precise and hollow and taking the ?
Precise and hollow we seem to conside its ,
how does it ?

-Matthew Koutzun