Best Every Day Poems
Slow is the sun knowing that I am already awake...
Unwilling are these eyes to search that which has already been seen
Now, time waits upon my hands to make something unknown
Does anyone know how long it's been?
All my life has turn a shame
Years are passing without a gain...
Moments becomes hours for me, when I see the others smile in minutes
Old is my mouth; for not having strength for such movements
Now, time waits upon my hands to make something unknown
Does anyone know how long it's been?
All my life has turn a shame
Years are passing without a gain...
This mind, beats so much more than this heart
Unwilling are these eyes to search that which has already been seen
Easy is the wind to those that welcome its flirty touch
Soft are the sounds of the leafs being crushed
Dazing is the street light, when watched throughout the night
Animals pass and smell my sent; small acquaintances if you might
Yonder noises: added ingredients, to help imagination take a flight
Watching children play
Eying women walk
Dim; the lights will say
Nothing seems to stop
Everyone's alive
Sadly, so am I
Death's a friend to each one of us
All of us will cry
Yelling out: Come friend, tears will not shed mine
This mind, beats so much more than this heart
How heavy is the rain on a wet coat longed?
Undisturbed is the playing of my high school song
Rusty is my skin, but I not worry for it to be touched
Sounds of other voices keep me hushed
Dealing with myself so long
Aging is my only grown
Yield please earth, been so still, I feel you spin
Friday games I never win
Reaching out to grab myself
Inside me, there is no help
Does anyone know how long it's been?
All my life has turn a shame
Years are passing without a gain...
Slow is the sun knowing that I am already awake
Awake to feel the air up above me
Tumbling down in quakes
Until I cry: NO MORE SHALL I TAKE
Riding upon hopelessness
Dying upon wait
Alone with my heart inside
Yearning for her to stay...
Not Every Day is Perfect
I took my pad to the park today.
I wanted to find an idea for a book.
I was blocked…you know… stuck.
I walked outside, and looked up into the sky.
The clouds threatened rain.
I had no umbrella, but a man in a clown suit presented me one…
immediately.
I took it, and walked on.
Down the brick paved golden street,
and turned just to the right, the bus stop on ahead.
The shuttle to Mars left five minute ago, so I hopped the train to Texas.
We arrived early for lunch with the king.
As I sat with his highness, I whipped out my pad intently...
No!
Still no ideas.
I left from there as the flamingoes were dancing and getting out of hand.
I decided to take a stagecoach to the florist shop as it would help my mood.
The soup was chicken, with small white rice, shapes of animals and crackers.
Still nothing to write about.
The day was getting late. I had to go back home.
A roller skate, a rickshaw and two hot air balloons…
The darkness came early, on my sunshine day,
But I am very happy, as my package arrived.
I have new pencils, from far away.
I will take them for a walk, instead of my pen.
Tomorrow I will try again.
It’s that time of year again
when lights are strung, wreaths are hung
and glass balls in every color and shape dangle,
sparkling from evergreen branches
in homes, displayed in front windows
with plastic Santas, (some waving)
standing in Styrofoam snow
for all who pass to see
Department stores are all a shimmer
with sweaters and mittens
lining shelves in themes of red and green,
as illumined reindeer hover overhead
the frantic shopping crowds while
sales clerks wear red pointed hats
with white furry balls atop
City streets are draped in
silver and gold glistening garland,
offering season’s greetings
as even traffic lights seem festive
with “Jingle Bells” blaring from
car stereos through open windows
inviting the cold air in
And I chuckle,
not in a bad way, perhaps in a selfish way
for you see, I know that this is me,
no matter what time of the year it is
because my heart is decorated
with the most beautiful ornament
I could ever find…your love
And every day is Christmas to me…
Written for The Heart of Christmas poetry contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose
~*~
In the Living Years
nobody’s perfect we are who we are
there’s no one reason or no perfect rhyme
divided by difference in a generation of time
You see things your way and I see things another
I see the dreams and wishes of a Father and Mother,
and I’ll do my best to erase all your doubts and fears
I’m glad I got to tell you ~ “In the living years”
~~**~~
is inspired by the song
“In the living years” by Mike & The Mechanics 1988
Thank God for waking up, for opening our eyes
Another day is at hand
filled with opportunity
perhaps a wedding band
Thank God for releasing our arms from sleep
Thank God for separating the land from the water
For giving us two legs, for letting us upright walk
…not to mention creatures who think and talk
Thank God for girding us with strength
for giving us perception
in three dimensions
height, width, and length
Thank God every minute of every day
for the countless miracles He brings our way
for our elbows, shoulders, our feet down there
for our eyes, ears, nose, mouth and hair
Thank Him profusely the day before we die
Do it devotedly ~ we’ll begin to understand ‘WHY’
Every day is a fresh start, a new beginning.
We can reinvent ourselves
We can be revitalized and inspired.
We can instill hope and love in others.
Every face we make, every word we utter
Every movement of our eyes and smile
Can uplift and enthuse
We can indulge ourselves in positivity.
Each day is a new day.
Yesterday is gone; it is foolish to chase it.
Today is a blank computer page.
A canvas without Gesso.
What we decide to do today
Can make us a hero or a villain
Can uplift and inspire or bully and oppress
Let’s be revitalized and refreshed,
Let’s instill love and hope
Why can’t it be Christmas every day
With lights that cheer and cards that say
I love you and I hold you dear
Why can’t it be Christmas all the year
Each night could be a Silent Night
In quiet peace, no guns in sight
Where Egg Nog pours and ribbons flow
And each kiss steals ‘neath Mistletoe
Oh yes, and all may share the gift
As hunger ceases, sure and swift
And every Carol’s song of love
Is grateful to the star above
Why can’t it be Christmas every day
Perhaps that is too much to say
At least in thought that’s how it starts
Let’s carry Christmas in our hearts
i sit in my deckchair
lisning to the birds and bees
i love the way the tweet and get hunny for me
i love all animales from the fox to the wosp
thear is nothing than upsets me
when im out and about with all you
by james christian
Some people are bored.
I am not.
Some people live the same day every day.
I don’t.
Some people never change their opinions.
I do.
Some people have not picked up a book since high school or college.
I am not one of those.
Some people do not believe in life-long learning.
I do.
Some people like to clean.
I don’t.
Some people stay with one political party or one religion because it was their parents’.
Laugh.
Some people are garage-door opener sellers because their mom was a garage-door opener seller.
Really?
Some people never find out that they are a cartoonist, a poet, a painter, a gardener.
I did.
Some people live the same day every day.
Exactly as their parents did.
Other people live a fresh new day, every day.
The bound out of bed, delighted to be wearing mismatched socks, both fluffy of course.
They pop into their stretch pants, and their saggy, baggy, comfy, sixteen-year-old favorite Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and they head for their art studio.
Or they run to their office and plunk themselves down with a coffee or a tea and a piece of pie or something equally delectable, and they begin to write or draw or throw glitter in the air.
Guess which one I am?
Every Day I Die.
Dark shadows cast
Over a cursing clinging damning past
I so want to move forward but the dye was cast
My hands are bound
My feet frozen hopes and dreams are dashed
Drifting aimlessly
All washed up in a turbulent sea
Lifeless
As a lonely barren tree
That once reached for the sky
But was struck by lightening
And deep inside of me
Something died
A butterfly helpless wings ripped apart
A crying heartbroken child frighted
Left in the dark
Gapping sore wounds that never heal
No one else
Knows how I feel
Haunted aborted
Too many knots to unite
Facing a mountain
Every day I die.
Peter Dome©2019.
Each New Year, you make a resolution,
Nothing life-changing, just minor changes.
January means a brand new start for
Optimists who wish themselves a better
Year ahead: vowing to improve their lot.
Little changes are often accomplished:
Inasmuch as they least affect your life.
For instance, eating meals at the table
Every night: not in front of the TV.
More often than not, you'll fail to honor,
Or maintain those hasty New Year's pledges.
Resolutions won't change reality:
Even if hope promises that they will.
Each New Year, we pretend to undergo
Various metamorphoses that we
Equate to achieving our New Year's goals:
Resolute in our desire to succeed.
Yesterday sets, as tomorrow rises.
Don't fret over your annoying habits:
After all, no one's perfect, and in time,
You'll learn to enjoy life more, come what may.
Continue to try harder and never cry
Despite temporary setbacks
That in your way present a face wry
Challenges aplenty in irritating stacks
Never let up
Despite sorrow and lack of glitz glow
As your happiness tap
Seems to dry up leaving you feeling drained, strained and low
Every now and then
All the more reason determination to grow
In your career, prayer life, crib and Eden
Squeezing so hard you attempt to throw
Away principles, procedures and value systems
That have borne your challenges through thick and thin
Regardless of varieties and types of items
Life at you throws in clean, lean and mean
Times when it seems as though the end of the road draws nigh
Disaster and its sister Sorrow
Not entertaining, not hearing reasons from darkness you fly
Away to a brighter tomorrow
Destined and designed for you and yours
Long before your life saw the light of day
To open for your life, your dreams, your aspirations doors
Where hope lies in wait for you as long as each day for hope you pray.
We've split the atom
flown to the moon
harness the winds
recorded belugas who croon
built mighty cities
on former sand dunes
but from common sense
we're still mostly immune
I cry yet do not weep
The remnants of my pillaged decaying heart
Lay in the putrid foul gutter deep
Beneath your feet
Cursed at birth wounded throughout life
Feeling the hurt of countless stabbing knifes
A mere puppet torn this way and that
Deflated emancipated buried
Feeling lost lonely and crap
So much love to give
I spend my life in darkness and limbo
And do not live
Time goes past
So fast
I lay here in my cocoon
And lick my wounds
On the dark side of the moon
Lacking affection and tender care
I reach out but still no one there
No lovers head nuzzled gently upon my chest
Do rest
No pleasure no relief
I mourn my passing with so much grief
Unwanted unloved unlovable
I rest my weary bones
In the freezing gutter my heart no home
Waiting anticipating my impending fate
Won't someone rescue me
Before it's too late
As I slip closer and closer to oblivion.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Aug.
Every day is a struggle
Not to cry
To fall to our knees
And ask God why.
The economy is a nightmare
Chasing away our dreams
Leaving us hungry
Crying out for a means.
Jobs have been cut
Dwindling money so tight
The war is on
To keep our hope in sight.
Food to clothes
And simple school supplies
Every where you look
The money cries.
The once simple things
Now have a luxurious price
The list of necessities
Must face a slice.
Staycations are in
Vacations are out
Even retirement
Travels a different route.
The economy has sunk
Like a wounded ship
As the color of green
Loses its grip.
Everyday is a struggle
Just to survive
The American dream
We labor to revive.
NOTE: As a divorced mother of three children, having my hours cut over 3/4 has taken its
toll on me. Looking for employment has been not only depressing but frustrating as well.
I wrote this poem to try and "heal" my pain and struggles. I know that I am not the only
one that lays awake at night wondering how to pay the bills or feed my children; but still
the pain eats away at me, the frustrations build like a volcano, and the humiliation
strips me of my pride. I find myself questioning my dreams and goals; my skills as a
parent; my faith in the American Dream! Some of you will say that I have become
depressed--and my guess is you would be right. I hate myself for lying in bed feeling
sorry for myself and crying all the time--that is why I wrote this poem...it is my
cure..my medication...my doctor. Through this poem I hope to pull myself up and out of
this hole of sadness I have climbed into and hold my head high as I wait for things to get
better...as I wait for that one miracle to light my way. Hey...that gives me an idea for
another poem..gotta go write...I love you all. Thank you for reading my poetry, for your
kind and compassionate comments and may God Bless each and every one of you and keep you
safe and happy during these difficult times! All My Love, Deborah