I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,
A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.
The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.
The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.
Standing still head's up
Retrospect greatest pitfalls
Mass consciousness whim
Wandering till dawn
Waiting brave for the result
Less breathe heartless beat
Until the mind soar
Now is inexplicable
People grim anew
For the best of all Juries
Render canny nod
Captivated voter's wit
Last laugh never ends.
A truth in rage of insult furrows my mind
For it is only an offense given to me by myself
In the mouths of others far innocent than I
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks
For I have surfaced into an ugly mistake
I am always inadequate in this brain
I try to shine like the advice of grace given
But confidence rarely rears its head my way
There’s a sort of shade blocking its way
A shade that darkens everyday
That very shade led me to believe my feelings are wrong
That I will never belong so long as they are not controlled
I must be careful—for the lines of love and lust run cold
I hate myself truly this night
And no one but myself will give me the right
The very right to degrade my every being
Because you are not seeing what I am seeing
There is no point
My lines run cold
Can I be so bold as to say
I still love with a pang of indistinguishable doubt
All feelings enter in
As my truth blurs and checks out
Your words pierce me so deep
I cannot describe the pain I feel
God it hurts so bad
It can’t be real
Much like the love I have come to embrace
The very love that links to your face
Tears don’t give it justice
It can’t be real
Much like the love I will never face
I never knew following dreams could be this lonely,
But up on the hill, looking back, thank God I'm not the old me.
If the tears will fall, let them be;
I believe this is God's plan, follow your dreams.
In their dreams…
Whisper indoctrinated dialect
Upon my harrowing song
Remove that scented, plastic tulip
Place it upon my oblivious palm
As if we’re in a Sadie Hawkins dance
With petal currencies
I woke up only feeling like a thousand bucks.
A foreign knock-off made of recycled, rubber bolts
Tell me I’m priceless with borrowed, high-interest breaths
Liquidate my potent complacency
To become that symbol of an elitist humanity
Stroke that clouded, diamond tip
With your sensual thumb
Love stamps of approval
After 6 months of quickie penetration
And co-signatures on dilapidated apartment leases
Take me to our creator!
Tell Him I am free!!!
I will stand here in virtual observance!
Wait, where are you going?
Come back to me!
COME BACK TO ME!
My wheelchair’s batteries are fading!
How will I stand?!
Sadly, they never validated their reality…
©Drake J. Eszes
It was sixty eight
We had the world by the tail
Jim sang, "Hello, I love you"
We kissed to the soft beat
The Doors played on the radio
Now it's eighty six
The world has given me hell
Morrison has long been dead
Gone, kisses and soft beats
The doors are closed, I'm all alone
Note: Jim Morrison was the famous lead singer of the sixties band, "The Doors"
He tragically died at age 27
Contest: Nette's "Doors"
Poet: Dave Wood
I stare in the mirror, my tears fall in vain
Can’t see my reflection through the veil of this pain.
Who is this person I struggle to see?
I don’t want to judge her but it’s surely not me.
This stranger I cast looks so tired and weak,
I wish I could help her but I’m frightened to speak.
Cause it’s dark and lonely in this shell where I’m bound
Where once there was laughter, is now void of sound.
and the beauty I knew in just yesterday’s time,
seems gone in an an instant with life’s rythym and rhyme…..
Then GOD he spoke child…What do you mean?
You’re more beautiful than anything that I’ve ever seen!
The reflection you cast it don’t matter to me,
What matters is that you can see what I see.
That your spirit is filled with a breath that is true.
And a beauty so deep that this world can’t undo.
I know that your journey seems to heavy to bear.
But I’ve given you family that love and who care.
So hold on tight through the dips and the turns,
For the ones who believe are the precious who learns.
And wether your journey is to stay here or go,
Please know I love you so much more than you know.
I wish I could tell you the beauty that awaits…
But you will know only, when you see heavens gates.
THE WIDOW'S DAY
He’d been dead for forty years
But she carried on each day
Got up at eight and dressed
Ate luncheon on a tray
No bride was kissed as well
No groom felt more complete
And one year was their gift
When Fate served them defeat
She should have followed him
But life grabbed her instead
Who is to say what’s better
The living or the dead
Each day as sun drew low
She tossed a glass of wine
Lolled on the white porch swing
And took a dip through time
His shadow found her then
She touched his rugged face
It emphasized the fact
No one would take his place
And though she craved wild nights--
Cold loneliness was cruel--
she lived her life alone
becoming no man's fool.
my friend I've met you in
the most peculiar way
I feel what you feel I cry
as though we speak.....
my friend your not alone
in this world I too have felt
the loneliness the fear..
one day life won't seem so
cold you'll see the wondrous
ways of human kind.......
crying so loud but a cry
that isn't heard in hearts
or oides of others...
shamefully I speak of remorse
and guilt as for me
a life altering journey...
A blade that cuts me open
doesn't leave a trace but grasping
for comfort it bleeds blood of sorrow
blood of death......
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’