POEMS BY
GREG ALLEN TOENISKOETTER
1967 – 2009
From Collection of Poems, “Words Not Wasted”
Life On The Pavement
Viewing the city from the fifteenth floor brings one a complacent looking glass.
Studying the activities below, one sees people moving about as steadily paced cars.
There happen to be many fatal accidents; but still, there are no lanes in order to control
life on the pavement.
In Less Than A Minute
A young man threatens himself.
He can’t bear life.
He jumps from ten stories up, while onlookers gaze in spiraled funeral amazement.
The western world doesn’t believe in taking tangible possessions with themselves in the afterlife.
That’s why this society is based on a first come, first serve initiative.
In less than a minute, the young man becomes bare.
The New Wave of Life
This is the new wave of life.
Souls dancing on technological love.
Imagination.
Creation.
New ideas are what we’re in need of.
Joyous is the modern season.
Contempt of belief is what I see in skateboarders, lobbyists.
Free souls bearing a wheel of fortune
Advertisements dyed in highlighted hair.
The new wave of life.
Dreams connect in one fashion.
High style.
Passing fads.
The whole family participating in touch-tone chores.
Always wanting more.
Another famished surfer will roll in with the next tide,
Having pearls of wisdom to share.
He’s been out on the sea of creation all his life.
Intersecting Freeways
As we construct our love for life, we experience, we forget.
Driving at different speeds, although they all intersect.
Intrusions forsaken.
Life moves as a freeway, destination mistaken.
Images
Situation
Confrontation
Alienation
Pretentious sensations….
Look in the mirror when talking to others.
Have you left anyone out?
Literature That Sings
Writing reigns in philosophical origin.
Feelings from soul,
Let them speak.
Run through my heart; literature that sings.
Time for creation and clear thoughts that you bring.
Plummeting through ancient civilization at night,
My white horse and I, the dark knight.
The Wrong Key
Embalm dirty houses with stationary pure white latex.
Pumice walkways and yellow sun doors.
Pleasureable stepping stones.
A gold key with an aluminum keyhole.
Contemplation
No, I haven’t quite yet figured out what
the meaning of my life is all about.
For I know how to run with and watch my mind,
but I’m still inclusive and indecisive about my body.
While the two environments can coincide conceptually,
there are many external factors that cause interfere.
There’s no orifice in which my body can run to
as the places my mind will take me through.
For I’m a dreamer of all desires, where everything
breaks up and dances upon the fire.
This is a personal power;
the watching of souls and dreams
in places where many of these are easily unseen.
The stench of “style” lying in naked eyes will have to
miss, the love of life through perceptual awareness.
I was sent here as lover and as a companion, in order
to help fill and cover others frightening canyons.
As incompetent feelings lead us to believe, that
intangibles become harder to relieve.
While style and high culture invade the mind,
love and companionship have many conflicting signs.
For when I was young, I would lie in bed
and watch night shadows moving about as naked ghosts.
So wild and free – Yet bare and eroded with vulnerability.
For shadows alleviate ones mask;
Hidden from others in the dark but blinded in
one’s own personal light.
It’s like looking in a mirror, watching and studying
the contours of physical characteristics,
but one always sees more.
Getting to know my personal creative that once
was secluded in my virtuous feeling house.
The sandbags barricaded, the shutters closed, with
guns of insecurity protruding from the windows.
Bombarded with lethal shots of my well being;
This creature which is the real me had a hard
time dropping his arms for others to see.
I live now:
Note for the answer.
Feeling the heart beat,
It’s beating faster.
Don’t run –
For it will only catch you,
Oncoming lies you’ve stirred in your own brew.