I wake up to my TV blasting episodes of Woody Woodpecker.
I wipe my encrusted eyes, which had a field day in that dream I had
Involving two Swedish women, a Latin princess
With curvaceous hips that could save me if I ever fell from mountain climbing,
A Sony boom box made in 1984 playing Duran Duran,
And empty boxes of Junior Mints, M&M Peanuts, & Cool Whip.
I walk to my front door to discover hundreds of blood lettered Post-It notes
Slid under by my friendly Mafia neighbors,
“Turn that crap down or say ‘HOLA’ to my little friend! Woody sucks! ”
So, instead of apologizing, I grabbed my power drill
Which I bought off this Mexican guy named Bob
Standing in front of my local Home Depot,
I thanked each of my neighbors by drilling Wal-Mart smiley faces
Smoking Cuban cigars & holding Shotguns
Into their doors
At this point, I popped in some Belgian waffles & French Toast sticks
Into my Cookie Monster toaster oven and turned on the news.
What was I thinking?!
News reports on Sugar Daddies being harassed by stalking gold-diggers,
Another asinine Final Destination movie,
More teacher-student scandals,
Celebrity break-ups & pregnancies
Oh, how the sheep live vicariously through them
Where’s that damn noose I bought off Bob?!
To remove my early morning frustrations,
I turned on my Xbox 360 and popped in Guitar Hero
In which I jammed out to Stevie Wonder’s Superstitious
While performing Riverdance on my hardwood floor
The neighbors below me added a nice, rhythmic sound with their broomsticks.
After my Pilates workout, I decided to strip off my clothes
So I can feel FREE like a Tree-hugging barn swallow
And fill my bathtub with a bottle of Tickle Me Elmo Bubble Bath liquid,
Which I also bought off Bob
Shortly after, I yelled “THIS IS SPARTA!” and performed a belly flop into the tub…
After waking up from my concussion, I laughed maniacally
With my face underwater
My laughs were heard through the popping bubbles rising to water’s surface
I passed out again with a drumming thud against my porcelain dreams.
Second attempt at recovery, SUCCESS!
I gathered all my utility bills
A filled, plastic gas tank, another purchase from Bob
And a Jerry Garcia branded lighter
As inferno warmed my screaming loins,
Blasting John Lennon’s “Imagine” on my 8-Track,
The local Fire department sliced my front door
With titanium axe and an inscription: “Here’s Johnny”
As hundreds of angry firemen & neighbors stampede into my child-like day
3pm, Day Unknown:
I awaken with lines imprinted on my Latin cheeks
From wooden office desk
Strange stares from coworkers
With “I’m all out of Love” playing on the faded, company radio
And a post-it note, “Come see me in my office”,
©Drake J. Eszes
We are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
Except Monday mornings and Sunday nights.
What are they on about, at this place that I seek
That is supposed open 24/7 days a week.
The pub is open we have an unlimited license,
Let’s have a drink before we go to bed!
I’m sorry we are closed the doors shut at eleven
That’s what the snooty landlord then said.
The helpline is here no matter when
Give us a call and we can help you then.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, the phone rings on
A tape recording says, “Sorry everyone has gone.”
My car has broken down the man came to fix it
“It doesn’t work” he said sratching his head.
“There a computer on board and I will need to record
All the things that are broken down” he said.
But I need my car; I looked at him hard,
And he gave me a wizened up frown.
He plugged himself in, then said with a grin.
The computer says it’s fine, the engine is strong.
But the car doesn’t work you toothless little jerk,
The computer plugged in must be wrong.
“How can it be wrong it says the engine is strong?” he gave me a shifty look
“To be honest missus if it ain’t on the pute, perhaps the answers in a book."
He could find nothing wrong, the onboard computer gave a bong,
But it still said all was okay.
The tow-truck they called out with its ramp and its chains
Now they have taken my poor car away.
Modern life is so frustrating; we have everything at our fingertips
There is 24/7 that does not mean that, and fury does exit my lips.
If its 24/7 and help lines constantly, a car that is run by computer.
Why doesn’t anything work, I feel like the jerk, can somebody lend me a shooter.
I want to blast and to break all technology of late
It’s driving me to drink and distraction
The open all hours pubs are now closed,
And my car is still out of action.
The bank is closed, the computers just died,
The telephones gone on the blink
The TV HD, it is fuzzy like me;
I think I’m going to put my head in the sink.
The oven would be better, but its electric not gas
So I don’t think it would work as well
I want to end it all, not practice for the day,
The Grim-Reaper points at me, and sends me to hell.
Therefore, I’ll fill up the sink and put my head in the drink,
Oh, blast, who is that at the door?
It’s the water board here, we are just making it clear,your water is off for a week.
Typical, I have no car and it is too far
To walk out and jump in the creek.
To the seedlings sprouting in the 8 corners of the world:
An open communique can lead towards
a perilous precipice overlooking jagged rocks
being pounded by the relentless waves
of a cold, apathetic ocean --
in such a circumstance,
it doesn't take much to slip,
to be pushed, to be sent over the edge,
shattering upon the rocks below,
sucked down by an undertow
erasing all evidence of your prior existence.
We have come to an impasse,
the windows of opportunity
in the jet-streams of change,
are passing by at astounding speeds.
A true Anarchist
is not a Terrorist;
leave such decrepit despondency
to ultra-fanatic zealots and the New Gestapo.
A true Anarchist
should not fight for lawlessness,
should not wish for chaotic, wanton destruction -
such myths are propagated by automatons
and the controllers themselves.
A true Anarchist
should not raise placards in protest,
should not spray-paint graffiti
upon the walls of gaudy Bauhaus replications,
nor lob Molotov cocktails
at an establishment so entrenched,
four heads grow back
to replace every head, decapitated.
A true Anarchist
dons a masque of mirages,
reflecting nationalism, consumerism and Swastikas
back into the eyes of the pushers.
A true Anarchist does so
by donning the uniforms of business districts,
of the worker,
of the paint-splattered, ink-stained artisan.
When a true Anarchist
gains the confidence and trust
of Drones left in charge
of oiling the cogs,
a true Anarchist enters the control-room
not to smash instruments,
turns dials, flicks switches, presses buttons,
re-writes programs and codes,
in order to help alter the directional course
of the very Beast itself.
Another fresh year is here,
I would love to banish from my life, worry doubt & fear.
I would like to be joyous, true and live life each moment with zest,
and give the people around me nothing but the best.
I would love to talk, communicate and break mental barriers that are creations,
and work hard towards mending broken relations.
I would love to tell my wife to give me all her tears and fear,
and take from me all my love the loving words she likes from me to hear.
I would love to make an effort to be a good friend,
to my elder daughter and put all petty misunderstandings to an end.
I would love to stop to the people in contact ,the shoving,
and spend more time in loving.
I would love to stop being disadvantageous and outrageous,
and speak only the truth and for that be courageous.
I would love to fight my emotions all unfriendly,
and cover them all with feelings that are friendly.
I would love to learn to be sensitive,
and towards others be open and receptive.
I would love to practice not to crib about all the things life has not given me,
and be greatful for the great things around me I have an opportunity to feel and see.
I would love to learn to be content about all I have received,
and focus now on giving and helping those, whom life has deceived.
I would love to pray for world peace and plant more trees,
and work to help out for carbon emission decrease.
I would love to learn to be unforgiving,
and be more tolerant and caring.
I would love to right some of my wrongs,
and be true to myself and hum joyous songs.
Finally, I would love to learn to be humble and full of gratitude,
and to do so spend some precious moments of my day reflecting in solitude.
Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Down in the dark
where we live and we breathe.
in a place where most,
could never believe.
Through the smoke and the dust
by our blood and the rust.
Hear the clanging of steel
and in your chest you can feel.
the rumbling of the ground
with it's menacing sound
for where no one has been
is where our treasures be found.
We truck and we toil
we muck and we moil.
May our luck it be royal
and not leave us
stuck in the soil.
For the path that we walk
which leaves us unseen
tucked far away
down in some machine.
Isolated from all
and free at our most
but not free at all
for the shadow
is always close.
Stalking and waiting
for mistakes you'll be making.
It's grip near your neck
reaching for a wreck
But you must be better
and play your cards right.
If you're gonna forever
live where it's night
and on the top of your head
is your one light
and your only chance,
to win this fight
So when the blast sounds off
and you can't chase that cough
when it's strange to see no dirt under your nails
and you no longer care,
for telling tales
Get yourself some sleep,
you'll be up with the sun.
There's much more work to be done.
This poem is a farewell piece of advice to a group of students I have taught over the last four years. I do
hope they find the metaphor meaningful and believe that they are the "architects of their own future."
Spread before you is a canvas of hope and opportunity
Waiting to be painted with strokes of what you are and can be
Waiting to be filled with colours that define you and the life you live
Waiting to be stamped with the personality that only you can give
To the portrait of your life, by itself a work of art
A work which, on this day, with vigour you will start
Spread before you is a canvas of vision and desire
Waiting to be sketched with shades of passion and fire
Waiting to be decorated with a story and theme
Waiting to be etched with ambition that is now just a dream
Of a picture whose tone, texture and style
Would have made this work worth all the while
Spread before you is a canvas, empty, yet full of space
Waiting to be stroked with your wit, charm and grace
Waiting to be brushed with strokes daring, vivid and bold
Waiting to be painted with a story that can be told
Of a life whose essence is one of sublime beauty
Of a person who lived his life and did his duty
Of a person who lived life the way it should be
Of a complete canvas that will reflect many a memory.
An old man's crumbles........
I am an old man and no matter I say or do.
But still I am living with my stubbornness heart
I have complications with health history
and hospitals always welcome me
Sometime, my heart beats so hard and my veins are twisting me mad
But still I manage to do my work on my own
My walking stick is great support for me
If not, I would not able to stand on the road
Sleep brings me nightmares with forecast scenarios
but when I wake up in the morning I feel nothing but freezing body and feet
My memory is failing and my soul is falling
My head is turning and my life is shortening
How do I spent my youthful life all these days?
Well, nothing much to tell about it because I am not married either.
I really love to recollect my good old days
but my memory of tears kept them away
Youth become major and old become gold. So they say
But sometimes I wonder where do I find my way around
Before I go to bed, I keep my ears in the drawer,
my teeth in a glass of water and my both eyes on the side table
When my sleep overtakes me, I don't hear anything,
my teeth don't feel cold and I don't see anything either
I get up each morning and reset my bones from my sleepy body
Later I pick up the news paper to read world news and sad news these days
If my name is missing in the obituary column, thanks God I am not dead
So I continue to do my work as usual till the day ends.
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright @Sept,2010 Ravi Sathasivam
My resentment flairs
My will ebbs
Still looking elsewhere
I won’t just leave
I care too much
My heart is here
Have more to give
Want answers to my whys
Know I’ll never truly know
Doors of opportunity may open
But I still hold hope
Knowing this is my calling
~The Devil in a Bottle~
Waves or fears so thick you could feel them ripple up the stairs…
The screams the pleadings the sobs,
We would chant our well learnt prayers…
We learnt them from over use; we learnt them off by rote,
Huddled together at night in bed - underneath the overcoat.
That is our blanket on the bed for three.
Please God don’t let our dad hurt our pretty mum-my.
This nightly prayer was our plea, we nightly did espouse
Because we learned the devil- he had now entered our house.
Our dad was the nicest man around, but the devil was spirits and beer.
He could be so happy until his drink - filled us all with fear.
Our mum became religious to fight this devil away
But she was never strong enough even though she would pray all day.
The happy days came when he went to work at sea.
Weeks of peace, we enjoyed we were happy all could see.
We forgot about how easily when he was home, the life that we enjoyed.
Happiness and fun soon left us as he quickly became annoyed.
Then the ripple of tension and fear would creep back in the house
Made us wish we could hide in a hole, just like a little mouse
Hidden away scurrying through walls, and in between floors
Not having to listen to - screams behind closed bedroomdoors.
© ~GG~ 2/08/2012
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION
your belief system is the major indication
of what you can accomplish with positive validation
if you can see it, you can achieve
if you can perceive it, you can believe it
underachievers are always underestimating themselves
non-achievers are always looking for a handout and the most help
average achievers do only what is usually just required
but overachievers strive to realize their heart's desire
in The Bible Mark 6:5-6 are two of the saddest scriptures to me
it tells of the time when Jesus went to His birth place
to spread His Father's ministry
it is somewhat troubling to me when He could find there no relief
because the Nazarenes were in a mind set of utter unbelief
even though He had worked many miracles
in most every town he had ventured to
the citizens of Nazareth were unwilling to give Him His proper due
a showdown in Nazareth, Jesus trying to evangelize God's word
but they saw Him only as the carpenter's son attempting to do the absurd
the power of God can only manifest in an arena of positivity
it can not gown nor gravitate in an atmosphere of negativity
Jesus was rendered powerless, the passion in Him had subsided
because the unbelieving Nazarenes remained unyielding
and completely one-sided
there is a significant amount of unbelief
in many church congregations
where some are just sayers of the Word
and don't believe in the power of the consecration
it takes one drop of negativity
to yield a whole crop of unbelieveability
understand that the Living God can't work in anyone's life
if they are in a state of mind clouded by negativity and strife
there is nothing that can't be accomplished if you know this in your heart
that God can work miracles just believe in His powers from the start
for God can move mountains, He can make a river divide
His powers are omnipotent, just keep a positive attitude in mind
don't undermine God's purpose for you life, allow Him some control
don't underestimate what He can do for you, if you surrender to Him your soul
always look for the victory, don't settle for defeat or loss
use the power of your belief, the power of the blood, the crown and the cross
if you believe God can open doors
what more could you ask for
just believe with God that you can do it
just trust in Him and let Him prove it
just believe in the power that is Jesus Christ
and imagine what you can accomplish
if you just let Him work in your life
Hear the keyboard’s staccato concerto,
an unacknowledged music whose echo
is known intimately by dull, bored minds.
Offices, which shut out the light with blinds,
hum with rhythm as background to life’s show.
I will not be late to work today
I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of
Strewn against a wooden
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase
I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert
Ready to begin my lesson
I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Where there is no abandonment
What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles
I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
I will not write poetry
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving
I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic
It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything
This poem is over
the work day begins
So I see how cruel life may be in a minute,
All around people’s faces gleam & glare
At my gloomy face but never see my net.
And I cry and cry and cry to get ‘em fair.
From times past, I knew of what may be
The finale of this sweet short time gained;
But now it comes with great dismay, to me.
With thoughts of melancholy stained.
Am losing my job to my brother,
I teach him my work as a father
Does to his sons and to the other,
He knows not my hearts as they gather.
They give a life, a life they can’t retain,
They offer me a choice, a choice not mine;
They lead me to the grave, to bury me and the ten;
But they in turn smile and smile as they dine
And so I see that they are not to be
The people I perceive may little see,
My serene into whirlwind occur to me
At a peek and glaze and short see.
Whatever the Asian will decide,
However I cope with them all,
I implore all the good to side
With me as evil entirely will fall.
As she walks slowly down the road,
Her briefcase feels like such a load.
Thinking about the homework she must do,
The reading, rhyming and writing too.
If only the days would grow much longer,
And her back could be much stronger.
She wouldn't be so tired when she got home,
Wanting to head straight for her room.
An hour of rest would be great,
She must get to the library, before it's late.
Yet, she can't resist her comfortable bed,
A few minutes of rest will clear her head.
Oh, the minutes goes by extremely fast,
For fifteen minutes has already passed.
Then off again, she must go,
She wants to better herself, you know?
She dreams of standing on the stage,
With no one giving thought to her age.
She works hard to make her dream come true,
And the chance to share her poems with you.
In his arms
In His Arms you bury your head into his chest and release tears of anguish fury and disbelief.
Gently he caresses your back and says those four little words you were longing to hear. Not "Everything will be alright" But "I'll make everything better" and at that moment a ton of burden is lifted from your chest and into his hands, but to him feel as light as a feather. Trust is elevated and at most high because hearing those words from his honey thick voice makes it ooze from his skin. Unknowingly you find out not only does he sympathize but he empathizes because once in his life not only has he felt the same way, but you'd once said those same words and lifted a similar burden from his body reassuring you of his motives of loving you.
His arms wear scars from childhood, hard work and labor, to him they're not appealing, to you they're a work of art. It should be part of the suffix ology because you've study every detail of his skin, down to the six beauty marks and a tiny recent cut on his left leg right below his knee.
Those arms scream protection when they're around you. Not just physical protection but protection from what the world thinks of you. In those arms there's no judgment, in those arms there's no need to be perfect, contradicting his kind hold on you, in his arms you are liberated.
Just longing to be in his arms
Why, why, why? Is all I ask
Do you send these folk my way
There not the ones I'd choose myself
But I attract within hooray
You must have plans to work me Lord
Have I really gone astray
I try so hard to be polite
You send me those who groan
From trials of life
Crying painful body drones
But I face a war continually Lord
Spine crumbling pained bones
I questioned much over the years
Of those you sent my way
But each one has had effect on me
What will I have learned today
I want to tell of things you've done
And why I've learnt to pray
You sent me counseling to help
Through things wrong in my youth
Then church fellowship did help me through
When marriage went down sluice
A teacher friend taught me much
In assertiveness and truth
You sent me someone kind and true
When I'd thought life was gone
A friend of a friend a neighbors brother
Turned out to be the one
Who'd bring me home and settle again
Protect me and my two sons
You showed me work where I did learn
The skills to pull me through
In kitchens I did learn to cook
In schools help my children too
The staff within were pillars and rocks
In illness helped me do
You send others now to my house
Now I can't go out all alone
I used to sit and ponder sorry
I couldn't do things on my own
But now I have found new waters
I can swim and write a poem
I help others through my charity support
When I can get to phone
I can help in ways that others cant
And control load with able zone
I listen to those there struggling
Look at positives not moan
So I'm thankful for those folk you sent
Though I don't understand your process
But each time one has helped me to
Understand and cope it's noticed
So send someone to help I'll pray
And I'll listen as perfect hostess
Okay, so I realize as it stands it needs tweaking, but at the time the pen flowed and now it
needs some TLC... any ideas welcome, although I do not want to detract from the
meaning/depth. Any idea of rhyme was not originally intentional so please forgive I know at
present its dreadful!! Help please?
I do not know?
I told my kids we'd see it, this movie, they couldn't wait.
We finally saved the money so we started on our 'date'.
They were so very happy to be on there way to see
this show that they'd been saving for even more than me.
Standing by the corner, he came into our view.
He looked so very helpless that I knew what we should do.
I tried to just look past him, to keep my spirits bright.
But, then I looked in the rearview mirror and knew what would be right.
The kids were looking also, they got quiet and so still.
My son's eyes looked so heavy as they simply began to fill.
He said 'Who needs a movie? There's good stuff on t.v.'
That's when I knew my kids would feel the pain of other's just like me.
As we gave this man the money, he looked me in the eye.
He blessed us all and watched us leave without saying goodbye.
His blessing was well worth it, I felt it in my soul.
I saw my kids' compassion shine and I've never felt so whole.
My dreams are not
what I thought they would be.
When I was fifteen,
and thinking of me.
"Twenty years from now..."
the thought ran through my mind.
"I'll be beautiful and smart.
Happy and kind."
"I'll be a stay at home mom,
with my high school sweetheart by my side.
He'll work nine to five,
we'll have nothing to hide."
But the years they change us.
And life gets hard.
You fall out of love.
And your heart gets barred.
You raise your kids.
Alone and depressed.
You work too hard.
Never getting any rest.
And then one day
you find someone new.
And your dreams,
And your attitude too.
Twenty years later,
I'm a stay at home mom.
My high school sweetheart
is long, long gone.
I am beautiful and smart.
Happy and kind.
Who knew it would take
twenty years to find
this wonderful man,
here by my side?
And him and I,
we have nothing to hide.
My dreams are not
what I thought they would be.
When I was fifteen,
and thinking of me.
That lone ornamental plant,
that stood straight,
with colored shiny leaves,
had its own story to relate,
it was brought in infancy,
to the office,
to decorate and tickle fancy,
it was an eye soothe,
amongst dead office wood eye sores,
and people who were alive,
but wanted others dead,
plant was innocent,
and had not thought so in the start days,
but had gathered that over each passing day,
he had a secret to reveal,
that people came to office,
not to work,
but to work down others,
they were jealous and egoists,
they spoke lies and spoke bad of others,
most of the time they did that,
only a little was left,
for the work for which they were paid for,
life of the plant was spent thus,
he became tired and almost dead,
he knew these evil people,
would throw him out one day,
and that they did,
but he was happy,
that he was free,
of evil and bad.
In the country of my forefathers,
Economy is friendless and upset,
Politics are sleeping with labour,
Justice is seducing foreign crime,
Poetry is turned on, but it fears,
Traditions keeps history hostage,
Religions are attempting suicide,
Nature is busy biting its tongues,
Fruits are swearing at their trees,
Education shows God axis finger,
Seas gets shallow, graves deepen,
Life confront its first nightmares,
Death is satisfying its final desire,
Future is stinking nothing but lies,
June 13, 2003
By Mohlouoa Ntsasa
My son is out fixing up the shed.
Winter is coming on. Needed doing he said.
He had the time and the bound-to’s.
I’m not used to this thought process, I’m not. Not from a child.
I watch him for a while.
Opening and closing gates as needed.
The dust, sifted into powder from summer’s heat, poof’s with his steps.
The heels of his jeans dragging strings on the ground, erase the tread of his
The shed is old. There is algae or lichen on the north side boards,
where the wood is splintery gray.
Some of the lichen florets are the color of sage, some the color of a bright orange
Circled with gray ones and black, their life cycle played out.
He hammers nails and screws in screws while holding boards in place.
Sweat glistening where skin is exposed, making long dark stains in his black
Veins standing out against the strain, and
Muscles laboring to prove he can do the job well, without a mother’s help.
While he works I think about his father and how differently they work.
His father preferring team work and orchestrated smooth motion
working side by side, no extra movements – and he whistled.
My son needs to prove his skills first – alone.
The shed is done and it will brave another winter, keeping the horses sheltered
from the elements.
The wind, snow and horses milling about, will obliterate the trail of pant cuffs,
Along with the memory of one cool day at the end of summer,
When a man worked hard to rebuild their shelter.
Much had I planned for your day
Forgetting that own I alone past days
Control of all time lies in His way
As the hidden future reveals by today
Then I know we are used to act His play
God alone make way
Even if we work till May
Glory of our work depends on His may
Best I wish you in your day
The best of life with you stay
Long life in your tale
Peace of mind with you plays
Fulfilment is the price I pay
From the hollowness of my heart I pray
The first day of school I had not yet come to grips with what being a senior was. To me, this was just another year and another grade level. One day, when I was on my way to school, it hit me that this was my last August and my last September not only in this academy, but in high school. This was my last leg of the race and my last time making memories here. A new beginning of my life is waiting for me not in years, but in just a few months.
©2013 Honestly JT
Note: My English teacher gave us an assignment to start writing about our life experiences so that one day we could possibly have autobiographies of our own.
Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.