Explicit Healing: Poetry & Screenplay

By Troy Chavez

Life Mountain

In the snowy
mountains of life.
Keeping the heart
warm is pivotal when
the cold winds start to pick up.
When beats skip don't trip flip the script and live on.


A Play

With a king refusing to be anything different,
than corrupt.
The court deems it necessary to act and rebel.
However,
they all might not have the same motive in mind.
Oh, and a jester might be the ring leader...

And a short story, action packed in America 2045, gripped with civil war. Mercenaries, a shoot out and an outpost " flushed with cash". The beginning of a future novel "Tales Dystopia: land of the divided".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796075434

Book preview

Chapter One: In the Land of Mania

Monty Bi-Theon

Ode to the puppet that dances on a string with much excitement. The twisting entanglement of the strings that formulate the whimsical movements will always come to a completion.

Engendered in a sex of perplexing nature. Masculine but feminine in its approach. The wonder days encroach on the soul of the confused. Rubix cubed to absolution, attached with a formula for normalcy. Dependent on the structure laid before that only whispers at the possibility of a future.

Only, can the present shout to a heaven that is quickly running out of room. No longer singing a tune of equity but shouting on top of the mountains of Olympus stating occupancy below. Do not show your fear when rowing down the red river. But watch as you slowly quiver at the space held for a land of sin.

Where to begin my muppet of anxiety? Where to bring this stage of chaos to an end? Where can the world find harmonious symmetry? Where can we twist and turn our movements of masquerading emotional bearings? Where does the string stop and the movement begin? What’s considered a win? When we eventually blow in the wind?

Ode to the stage of life where we are neither puppet nor master, but rather a piece of wood carved and moved in a reality of motion. Harkening back from the time that was and creating laughter from the same hellish game. All twinging with an awkward tension. Changing my message in a land of applause. Thanking and promoting my joy. Oh boy, what a show! but… who’s the audience, Claude?

The Happiest of Days

Where does the time go when the good feelings come rolling around? Like a train chugging along, eventually passing by and away. Chasing the puffs but they steadily, dissipate. You can hate the feeling that’s empty, or you can fill it with joy that’s plenty.

Never evading the past but carrying it with me. The shade is nice under this tree, let’s sit and feel the glee. The wind and the birds chirping away. Keeping the world at peace, for at least today.

80s Dance, Flamingos

Feel the bump to the beat, moving through the street with a revolutionary drum. Inspiration of a nation with a smile and bravado. Keep a face steady peaking for a lover with an attraction of a glitter punch to the crotch. Ain’t that a thang when we twang Chung the guitar with passion. Funk this, with my pity for a fool who starts some angel dust fuss. What’s with all the rust on these pipes? The time spits copper and lead filled water. Take a rich stance and become a Reagan. Easily mistaken by the articulation of an eradication of poverty. Snort till ya bleed and watch as the country goes in chaos for the next twenty years, waiting to be freed.

Lizards in the Sand

Green eyed lizard slipped on the sizzurp looking for the wine. Cockroach livin in the streets of a bizarre town. Look around for the foundry and the constitution that reaches towards a resolution of hate. Not to mistake the state that rapes our mental health’s precious keep sakes. Keep up, with a hop scotch of whiskey, without getting too frisky.

Ten dollars on that drink got me thinking about the capital punishment for skipping out on a bill, what a thrill. Who’s gonna punish the meek when they turn the other cheek within weeks of their deployment? Trying to find enjoyment with the dirt that rustles through their feet. It ain’t cheap when you’re an outlaw trying to make a living in a country filled with titans.

Heathens keeping track of my sins while they slit throats in the dark and blame the same names that hang around their neck. Let me walk away now before they send my ass a check.

Riverboat Moses

Rains getting heavy breaking off the soil with muddy turmoil. Looking at my plans trying to foil my purpose. What a worthless pursuit.

Parachute your truth in the sky because it dissipates when it touches the news.

Cracker snacks packed for the picnic on the water. Tell me father what time it is, again?

Tell a friend about the word and write it in an absurd fashion. Mason ain’t free in the streets of the meek.

Heard all that talk last week. I’m about to seek the seal of approval. Feeling my skin waiting for the removal.

Two by two, I look at you. Switch my mood to panic that shouts through the static. Addicted to the addict.

Ratchet up my pleasure in the stormy weather with lashing lightening striking twice in the same spot.

Don’t get caught in the middle of the word with a verse waiting for the right verb. Disturb the meaning that circumvents in the clearing.

Spacey clouds that bubble like a wrap waiting to pop from the sky and fall down when the water runs dry.

Make me super human in my pursuit. Never duped, with the wisdom of elder strength.

It’s not the length of the journey but rather the moral underpinning that flows to your feet to make your forward actions groove. Right or wrong, you will have to justify and not cry, to prove. Your move

24+3x

Paddle to the throat, get the boat. Put a wake in the water with a father at the helm. Keep paddling.

Action Jacksons got a 5 and a dime to spend on the fair that hades demands.

Push the boat gently on the sand and make him understand the plan that was determined, even before him.

Check the rims of the treads for chains. Saw a man’s shadow but not a voice. Seek a weapon and shoot the traction.

Push it forward, baby please, don’t look down. Catch a frown with a smiling net and toss it back for the helluva it.

Look at that silly devil trying to stay relevant. Key note speaker with a preacher speaking tongues of the old with a mouth cold but standing with a posture that ain’t, old.

Walking and talking with a tacky phone from the 90’s trying to stay lively. Took one look, now he wants to fight me.

He must have heard about the things I’ve said about him. The brim of matter keeps my attention to the person but wonders, dancing in a naked galaxy of milky suds.

Takin many tokes that stem from a sticky leafy bud. It’s time to stop speaking, now. See the crowd behind me and wonder what they thought during the same wrenching, time. Trapped in their prose and lost in a sea of rhymes clanking in the wind, like a chime, hanging.

Pools and guns

Shoot the shit with your pals and do the same on the flag. What a fag, he’s got feelings. Pull your britches, boy. Look at a man and tremble with this iron on your temple.

Don’t you move. Don’t you say a word. Don’t you tell anyone about this.

Say your prayer, bitch. Say, you’re pissed off, prick. Say you’re mentally challenged.

Pray on my fist and clench a dick like you and suck your own. What else is there to be done on this sunny day with a body floating in the pool. Taking my sun and soaking up all the cool. Bang! Where’s the disdain in water filled with pain?

Hell’s Staircase

In the eyes of the serpent I see myself in a stark reflection. Pale complexion keeping me away from life’s extension. At this point, I choose not to step in the pool of cool dreamy water that seeps over my sauntered wrist. A scream in the mist begging for a wish and a creeping hint at a gist that leads to a gift. Clinging onto whatever’s near. Screeching in fear for a future that’s unclear. Blood, sweat and tears combine to create pain. Hold on, and do not disdain the rain of purple that is created from the devil’s circle. Keeping the mind fertile in belief, holding on for dear life, through the merciless grief!

Suicide Doors with Tints

It’s a telephone call. Dread baby dread. No, don’t give me treads on my black silk. Quilt this. Eyes with tears, one, my ego. Dead with stress. So, edgy with blades that twist fingers at my sorrow. Waking up, always a tomorrow. It’s not the time when the clock ticks. The mind reeks and tricks of my heavenly fantasy. Trips to the water and the fire. Desire, fuck. Stuck in a mind with rumination. Synapses stuck in a loop. How dare you stoop so low, for the thousandth time. Take care and live in the cell of the atmosphere that’s toxic, Ill focused and mad at everyone, here. It ain’t hard to tell, welcome to hell.

Sign the Devil to terms

Look down the street and picture the miles live time with a rhyming formula of distant math. Catch a taxi. Be my ear for the clear ways ahead.

Don’t want to talk about