Apologetically Poems

I'll be Alright

I'm no one's love story 
My words spiral back to me 
My love letter never reach the right address 
I sing my love poems apologetically
As if this piece of broken links 
that connects me to feelings that are forbidden
Isn't even mine to give
To others

 
But I borrow time from people 
To recall the memories that 
I pray I didn't waste


My lifeline is short 
I already got my heart broken twice 
Another punch lends itself on my face 
In the usual fights where I'm beating myself
On days I can't bear my own presence


I need someone
To witness my traumatic episodes of 
Shaking furiously every time 
The similar nightmares chase me around


I put ice cubes on my tongue 
And numb my feelings as I swallow 
My sentences with a smile 


I am not asking for a love that lasts eternity
But hold me for just another second 
Just read one more line where I distract you
With my metaphors 


I don't want to be lonely with myself tonight...

Sit Here

Come over and sit next to me
I saved this seat for you
My eyes are pleading quietly 
Hoping that you do

I'll keep my hands here on my lap
But if you only knew
How much they want to know your feel
To convert it from a view

Now I might try to orchestrate
An accidental touch
It wouldn't be too obvious 
Nor would it be too much

A simple reach across your arm
Made to look unplanned 
Or I could stand and help you sit
And offer you my hand

Perhaps "coincidentally"
I'll brush you as I kid
And then apologetically
Say sorry that I did

Or I could sit and just enjoy
The fact that you are near
Moments like those mean so much
I hold them all so dear

Dresser Designed By An Artesian

It was the dresser few could have visualized
I spotted it in the flea market as fantasized
Patterns most would have been able to think up or paint
Created by an artesian whose designs are never faint

This dresser had a signature, not any kind of surprise
So marvelously orchestrated it nearly hurt my eyes
It was a gorgeous dresser, which would look great by my bed.
I only paint one of a kind things, the artist apologetically said.

One Poet's Confession

Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly
I find myself indulging in silly frivolity,
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

Occasionally I pen things distastefully,
Not considering my life’s finer quality
Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly.

Often, I am reminded of this by family
In their special positions and filial capacity
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

And taken to task, I react apologetically,
For I sometimes get trapped in triviality
Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly.

I’m guilty of some silliness unabashedly,
I have even written my share of parody
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

Most of these I’ve kept sealed hermetically
Lately, I’ve indulged in some bawdy comedy
Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

written March 23, 2022
revised March 24, 2022

Releasing Rumour Mongers

Lies from directions I had not expected 
Offered in a variety of ways 
Apologetically 

Pretending to be concerned 
I sent them away 
Recognizing their imperfections 

Seeing them more clearly now 
Rumour Mongers 
Thriving on gossip 

Fabricated by clouded minds
Trouble makers 
No longer friends of any kind

Crazy Me Believing In You

crazy of me
living with your lie
to expect of thee

that you might somehow see
you are my special guy
how silly can I be

how insane of me
to expect you to try
I'm sure you must agree

to believe in thee
without a bit of why,
expecting honesty

un-apologetically
figuring out good bye
setting you gloriously free

how crazy of me taking the road so high
knowing how selfish you can be,
to think that you ever thought of me.

Written December 15, 2018             Contest: Mid January 2018
                                                     Any Theme 
                                                     Sponsor: Brian Strand

Trish Lee

Trish Lee was un- apologetically,
 absolutely, completely,
 foundationally, right most of the time.

She was basically,
categorically, mathematically,
able to tell time because her cuckoo clock chimed.


Hypothetically, analytically, 
metaphorically, she understood the cuckoo clock 
better than most.

Because scientifically,
 comprehensively, she could shift-change
 and enter the clock like a small wispy ghost.

The Fingerprints On the Park Bench

THE FINGERPRINTS ON THE PARK BENCH

WET PAINT

Perhaps if it had read ……SLOWLY DRYING PAINT

Who knows……WHY

So many must test
the veracity of the obvious.

Question the tone of the voice,
the size of the “angry” letters,
offering a cautious advisory.

We flee the “crime scene”
having left DNA and fingerprint evidence
of  our “Thomas like” doubt,
curling our fingers
into a “safe house” fist
of self-conscious denial.

We return, as it is said,
to the scene of the “crime”.
Apologetically touch
the fading green paint
of a lonely park bench.


© John G. Lawless
     2/23/2017

Dead Eyes

My love for you is a tasteless agony
A single shroud thrown over the rest of me 
As I tip toe the path of masochism it only brings me closer to you
Because I don't believe that the bottle would bring the pleasure of damage that it used to 

Your eyes are cement and storm clouds 
And you yourself are fresh black ink smeared on the paper with tears and rain 
I am unable to see through you 
It is nearly impossible to read you 
You do not allow me to see your pain 
Constant restraint 

I am the frigid mist that surrounds you at night 
The solemn phantom that watches you while you sleep 
The cold hand tracing your jawline and stealing the occasional empty, atmospheric kiss
The tense air on your lips 
When you sometimes awake
I disintegrate before you can catch a glimpse of my face 

Yet once, I believe, you were too quick for me 
Finally you could see
The lone white essence watching over you 
Realization spreads across your face 
And as I fade away,
You smile apologetically 
Before you fall back into your dreams

Depression

Arbitrarily
Apologetically
Apathetic

My Un-Apologetic Apology

I HATE BEING WRONG,
BUT EVEN WHEN I'M WRONG,
I COULD'VE BEEN RIGHT!
ONLY IF THE SITUATION WOULD'VE HAD THE RIGHT WRONG PRESENTATION,
I WOULD'VE HAD ALL JUSTIFICATION FOR MY DRAMATIC EXPLANATION!
MY APOLOGIES FOR PULLING OUT THE DRAMATIC EFFECTS,
FOR SOMETHING THAT SHOULD HAVE ONLY CONTAINED BACKGROUND EFFECTS.
NEVER INTENDED OR THOUGHT ABOUT THE SIDE EFFECTS.
SO WHERE DO I BEGIN?
HOW DO I FIX MY LIPS & GATHER MY THOUGHTS;
IN AN ATTEMPT FOR WHAT WOULD, SHOULD & COULD BE MY APOLOGY?
WHEN I MYSELF CANT RECALL A TIME OTHER THAN THIS,
WHERE MY APOLOGY SHOULDN'T BE CONSIDERED,
LET ALONE ACCEPTED!
I WOULDN'T DARE REQUEST NOR SUGGEST
THAT SHE NOR ANYONE ELSE,
ACCEPT WHAT SHOULD BE MY APOLOGY.
BUT I AM,
UN-APOLOGETICALLY,
ACKNOWLEDGING & ACCEPTING THE FACT
THAT I MESSED UP & I WAS SO WRONG!
I'MA OWN THAT.
AND THEY DON'T HAVE TO EVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN;
BUT I WASN'T GONNA ALLOW THEM TO WALK ANOTHER DAY..
CARRYING THAT.
I DID THAT,
I OWN THAT.
NOW HOPEFULLY,
THEY'LL ALLOW ME TO RELIEVE THE PRESSURE
OFF THEIR BACKS.

My Daughter's Victory

MY DAUGHTER'S VICTORY

A lie
A deceit from hell 
Basket filled with lies
Lies still in his grave 

A misery
Talk the walk
A wise fool 
Very faultless

An Infidel
Sticks to the pants that feeds him
Scratches his feet on the ground
Like a day old chick 
In quest of a corn seed

A beast
Better caged up in the zoo
Barks, a dog
Bites without instincts
Apologetically useless

Oh! my unborn daughter
Bonded in the spirit
It hurts anytime it flashes my mind that
Angels have also had their fair share
Of the tyrant head
I cry

But, I find solace in the fact
That my daughter is I
Well groomed, properly taught and well fed
My daughter, my love, my life
I can't wait for the extermination of man
That glorious morn when my daughter and I
Would smile at his fall at the foot of his grave
Celebrating my daughter's victory.

Writing Activity For Poetry Club 2

* We were told to people watch to draw inspiration from the outside world*

Public transportation
Is
My
Source for real world information
The
introverted Man  across from me shuffles his ipod
His lips move to
Lyrics of an unknown cadence 
Lost in a day dream
Remembering childhood fantasies
He is Battling with Lil Wayne, Eminem or even Drake
Or feeling the guitar sing when he’s playing with the Queen
Just an ordinary man, no one would usually take notice of him
But the crowds recognition, the attention, the admiration of women
This was the life much more suited for him
The Bright pink colour in his cheeks or his laughter rising to the ceiling
Would be much more captivating
Than his dreary grey scowl, hardened from societies disapproval
He looks back across from me
Almost apologetically
Poets weren’t meant to be spies
I looked him straight in the eyes and told him Never apologize
Your dreams are closer to you than you realize
Love yourself first, and that trust will seal your fate

Elizabeth Wakes Again

Once more I'm summoned:
Out of the soft grays of almost-sleep, 
Pulled by your cries through the still murk 
Of our house, resting quiet as stone,
The hour unknown, but one of the dead ones
Verging on the dawn.

I enter your tiny room resolved on threats,
If that's what it'll take, this time.

-  But there you stand trembling, pink fingers grasping the crib,
So sadeyed it makes my heart ache
With the love of you.

So once again I lift you, hold you tight
As you sob into my shoulder apologetically.

You've no word for the Terrors that assault you by night;
Can't name them to me, that I might banish them
With whatever Father-Magic I possess.

So I give consolation as best I may,
In soothing murmmers, enfolding arms,
Before I lay you back down, now calmed for a time
Then shuffle on back to await the next round.

My head swims with its want of sleep, I'm too tired now
To feel even traces of acceptable anger
At all these nightly robberies of my rest.

     Besides, I've no word for my formless fears either,
     No teddies to post for guard;
     But a warm and loving wife lies in wait
     To comfort me.

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