It was the last day of school twenty some years ago
The teacher asked us to write a poem, in any form that we may know.
Never doing this before, I let the words flow, just letting it all hang out
After I handed it in, the teacher was really impressed without a doubt
She showed it to some other teachers saying,"Hey look at what Dan has wrote"
None of them could believe I wrote all those silly words down in a little note.
Seven years after school, I wrote my prewife a little poem
She said awww how sweet, and into a junk drawer it was thrown
Five years after that, I wrote a poem in a homemade Valentines card
She looked at it and asked "was buying a real card just to hard"?
Another five years later, sitting by myself and drinking alone
I entered a poetry contest, because I felt my thoughts needed to be known
They sent me a letter back saying they wanted to put my poem in a book!
I right away sent the letter back saying ok, without even taking a second look
That's when it all began, I started writing poetry it seemed like everywhere
Reading it to my friends and they would listen with a unappreciative stare
Then one day I came across this site, kind of interesting called Poetry Soup
I couldn't believe all the heartfelt kindness, they made me feel I was part of the troop
I do not know?
Dear Sir,my innocence is gone now, no more fear ,
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain !
I was crying, i was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and I looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world,that what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir,my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was blind!
having hidden hatred inside,a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds,that you marked,
yes,you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.
Teacher, shall I write a sonnet? Must I?
When I’m not so sure of my poetry…
Shall I write a poem of fourteen lines?
In iambic pentameter –by me?
What shall I write about? What can I say?
In this sonnet which I must jot down now?
My sonnet should be about what today?
To write a great sonnet I’m not sure how…
Teacher, can I write this sonnet later
For I’m not sure of what to write about?
The teacher then takes my simple paper
And “you already did.” my teacher shouts.
‘Detention’ my teacher says, ‘for lying,’
‘But thank you,’ she adds, ‘for at least trying.’
© Mariam Mababaya.
White board…names written hori-
To go pee…right when class starts –
THAT’S just wrong…
Of students who have bladder
Problems – WOW!
Not using lunchtime to do
No one knows
When to do their duties – SER-
You never listen
Yes I know it's true
I see you try and deny it
How's that working for you?
I will say one thing
You will hear another
I will try to fix it
The misunderstanding you see
I just got in trouble
(Sigh) I told you so
They never listen to me
They say they do
And I know they try
But all I want to do is scream
"JUST LISTEN TO ME SOMEONE PLEASE"
All I asked is that you think
What is real?
Do I ever ask this?
Will I ever again?
All I really did
All I want
Is to be free
Free to listen
And free to be me
You'll never see
Just how much your
Not listening has killed me
I have tried
Really I did
I know that I'm not eighty
I know that I'm not nice
But the only thing I asked
For was five minutes (at the most) of your life.
I'm sorry that you failed
I'm sorry that I tried but
Mostly I'm just sorry that
I'm not sorry,
A tribute to Ramana Maharshi, a man who has inspired me for forty years. a greaty Indian saint he was.....Peter
Who Am I?
Sometimes I ask the question “who Am I?”
Am I just this tiny speck put here by trust?
Just a puppet in the hands of destiny
To be blown within the wind just merely dust.
Then sometimes I’m aware of who I am
As I stand beside a lake or waterfall
As the music of the morning melts into me
And deep within that ancient whisper calls.
Well I ask myself this question
“Will I ever find the way?”
Ramana told me what to do
Said “Do it now, today!”
Oh such a little question one may ask
Does the answer come and blow the mind away?
Will the truth arise to set the bird to freedom?
If one asks this thing each minute of the day.
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
Over fifty years have passed,
Tho’ it seems like just the other day;
My father gave me golf clubs,
“It’s a game you need to learn to play.”
He said, “It’s very difficult, but so is life.
There’s more to learn than grip and swing and rules,
Like honesty and dealing with adversity;
Then, pointing to his head, “… and how to use ALL your tools.
Play the Course… and Mother Nature…
Focus on just one shot at a time;
Try to learn from each of your mistakes;
Then, do your best to leave them behind.
These clubs will teach you more
Than our ‘man to man’ talks.
This you'll learn for yourself,
So you can “walk the walk.”
“Practice makes better, but not perfect.
And always remember what they say:
‘”Golf is not a game that we can win.
It’s just a game we play.’”
His lessons served me very well,
Took them to heart and played the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.
Writing poem all begins
Observing world around
Poem can be anything
As long as you enjoy it
Be a reader
Read poems aloud
Poetry is meant to be read aloud
Use your senses
As well as brains
To process words of a poem
Using senses make poetry meaningful
Jot down words or phrases you read
Which are appealing, puzzling
Unique or powerful
Use fresh imagery
Showing reader something in a way
He or she
Has not considered before
Use nouns and verbs than adjectives
Ensure every word has a purpose
Tell not the reader how to feel
Let the words draw out
My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.