Best Next Time Around Poems
Cause you see no one gets how hard it is to fix back into shape when you’re broken,
Shattered,
I think it’s just mathematically, scientifically impossible to get the pieces back perfect,
Because in the process some pieces may have been lost,
Lost and cannot be found,
Cause I found it was so hard to every get over you,
But it looked so easy to you,
Cause maybe you never feel as deep as you said you did,
I fell deep into your lies and your beautiful eyes and it’s just so hard to move on,
Hard to move on, because you left piece of your soul inside me, the exact moment you decided to get inside me,
Despite our use of protection, it didn’t protect the sexually connection,
No it’s not an internet connection that you can easily disconnect from, but it’s almost permanent,
Yes you permanently hurt me ,
And you watch me with those eyes and that grin cause I, the fool gave you the thing,
The thing that I promise that I wouldn’t give until marriage,
I willingly disobeyed God for you,
Cause you became my God,
I worshipped you,
I loved you with every inch of me,
And now we’re inches from being strangers and I have to get over you,
I’m sure to be careful next time around,
Because I can’t afford to break the pieces of my heart that are left dangling .
A loved one has passed to the other side,
Within my heart there to abide.
I know one day they'll be reborn,
That's why there's no reason for me to mourn.
Even though you've gone away,
In my heart you'll forever stay.
Next time around we'll meet again,
You may even be my closest friend!
From time to time I miss you still,
In truth I know I always will.
You've shown me love, laughter, and fun,
That I'll pass on before my time is done.
Death is not something that I dread,
Starting a new life is what lies ahead.
And when it comes my time to go,
I'll still send love to those I know.
Pick her up when she cries, one said.
Never pick her up, said another. You will spoil her.
Love her, said grandma.
When do I pick her up? The young mother asked.
Three times a day, one answered.
Don’t ever pick her up, another stated. You will spoil her.
Whenever you want to, the grandma told her.
Now? The young mother asked.
Do you want to?
Yes.
Then what do you think?
I should pick her up?
The grandma smiled.
Knowing it will be easier for the young mother the next time around.
Within the mind the monster sneaks
Hidden by shadows of what we think
The sin that hovers the conscious mind
Awake we find the call for time
Time to seek time to tell
Time to buy time to sell
Time to laugh time to cry
Time for truth time to lie
With in the heart the spirit speaks
Revealing the secrets of what we seek
The good we do often incomplete
Awake we find the will we seek
The will to live the will to die
The will to fight the will to survive
The will to love the will to hate
The will to be silent the will to debate
With in the ego the pride often speaks
The outward appearance that everyone seeks
The feelings governed by more than we see
Awake we find what we should be
Be more careful next time around
Be the one who wears the crown
Be the one without the mask
Be the one who completes the task
Nature held a Beauty Pageant
Guess who was crowned a crest?
A flowery green meadow was the stage and rostrum
Watch who won the contest.
Well, the peacock from India was crowned beauty King
The bird of paradise from New Guinea became Beauty queen.
And last but not least was the Indian tiger, runner up
But care he for beauty that he might as well sup?
And what care any of them
for accolades, crown or cup?
Other contestants were the gorgeous leopards
and the flimsy beauteous butterflies
They'll be crowned
next time around.
For beauty tis rich in supplies.
But nature-lovers alone applauded the flamboyant winners
who gaily stood upon the flora
They did come out with 'flying colors'
Around them nature's beauty an aura.
Miss world bird of paradise yet unaware of her placing
The peacock endowed by God a crown
They might never know of this showcasing
At our staring, gawping, they might just frown!
Then there are those unsung unawarded yet perfect beauties
both among mortals and animals
who join no display contests nor pageants
yet are undeniably glamorous nonetheless
for beauty ain't exclusive
to önly beauty contestants.
Mother Earth
An ancient, elegant – once jolly – old Lady,
deserving of so, very much more then
the rape and pillage, the destruction and pollution,
the chemical alterations – poisons,
the theft of, the abuse of
all her innocent, naked, natural beauty.
This old Lady, who has been – who will again –
as self-destructive as any of her daughters –
of man kind – and without the help of man kind’s
selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless greed.
Will She, ?, will we ?, survive the turbulent throes
of an uncertain, an unpredictable, veiled future -
even if we ( as capable human inhabitants ),
even if she ( the energy, mother of us all ), -
are able ?, to curb our insatiable appetites,
are able ?, to thwart what may be inevitable -
change and a world, - her life time of changes.
Is her ?, is our ?, relationship to this universe
a foretold tale of unavoidable doom.
Is our evolution ?, life ?, destiny ?, our development ?,
upon the breasts of Mother Earth,
to come to an end in a daze, a haze of gloom ?,
as we all ( Mother Earth, Life, human kind )
are destined to become ( once again ) cosmic dust
blowing in the winds of memories hoard, of time –
passing into - becoming spirituality adrift on cosmic winds
– ghostly souls, spirits - once again sailing, searching,
seeking solidity, - once again - of visible form
to walk upon the surface of a much better plane,
better then what has become of what we are now !
Next time around, will thoughtfulness ?, be the tought !
It has been thought of more that opened the door,
that – if we do not, soon change - will be closed –
Forevermore !
B. J. “A” 2
May 23rd 2008
Nothing like Gayle’s homemade chili wafting throughout her home
To make even the hardest heart feel comforted and less alone
I met an earth angel when I was a merely sixteen and a half
Her spirit was as inviting and as contagious as her laugh
The very first moment we met I felt I had known her forever
Perhaps in another life I was her daughter and her my mother
Tears rush to my eyes and my heart leaps as I write and weep
As it speaks volumes of how my connection to her is so deep
Immediately drawn to her beauty which resonates warmth and compassion
I longed to be just like her, with the same values, integrity and passion
Older than I, yet youthful and beaming with such strong intense light
Gayle is unusually gorgeous, significantly intelligent and bright
Twenty six years later I receive a call and she is there for me like before
Not just to share my grief for the loss of my father but much more
A white flower bouquet, a ‘Care of the Soul,’ book, a card depicting a work of art
Filled with her original loving words and a talk that healed my heart
Still to this day she is my idol, my guru, my mentor, my ‘other,’ mother
Her abilities are immense her talents are many and her spirit like no other
With the originality of Martha Stewart she wraps gifts and decorates her house
Cooks a feast like Emeril, writes like Thomas Moore and sings like Alison Krauss
A phenomenal writer, and college professor, there is nothing she can’t teach
She resides in harmony with nature in a chateau overlooking the beach
In my next time around when I have self actualized enough to deserve less strife
I hope to be her, with all her wisdom and spiritual depth, and have her exact life
Life on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
from that of an old soul, from pure consciousness
to egg and sperm colliding, to embryo, to fetus,
to that of a baby, a child, youth, a teenager,
a young adult, a middle aged man, this old man
who has walked the walk of the living and the dead
with ghostly shadows floating in night time forests
blanketed by sheets of blackness, permeated with flakes,
specks of light from distant planets, long lost stars,
forgotten lives, as the reflective moon, on high,
tries to shed light upon the nightly shadows,
brighten the edges of all the black clouds
that fill all the empty spaces above the tree tops.
Life on the edge – I have been tripping – have gotten up,
have fallen from grace, yet stands up to face adversity,
have been trapped, yet set myself free, been lost
yet have found my way back to myself.
Life on the edge – time reveals all, all the efforts,
all the accomplishments, all the failures, the defeats,
and all the losses become weightless in the light,
of an old man who sits alone, on his own locked up
in the cage of his own design, his own making
as nightmares continue to haunt - to the end of his journey.
Life on the edge – has been sharp, dull, keen without tears,
in spite of all that life, fate, karma, choice have lain upon
the experiences this old soul has suffered, endured, enjoyed
and yet the dreams of this child – before and after he became –
still linger on in the fading embers of his life’s journey
even if they are but ashes blown by cold cruel winds
putting out the raging fires that once lit up the skies
and wormed the heaven and the hearts of a few mortal women.
Life on the edge – of this plane, this dimension, this universe –
can it really be as we see it ?, is it karma ?, is it fate ?, is it design ?
Does history repeat itself ?, does it come back to haunt us ?,
in another time, in another place, in a different space.
Life on the edge – next time around – will be a prayer
to never, ever have to live on the edge again,
to know no more emotional pain, no poverty of heart, soul,
the stupidity and thoughtlessness of those in control,
those in the know, of the nature of this old man
who has shown – specks, flakes of light, light that has
burned so bright, has flickered, has long since taken flight.
B. J. “A” 2
March 10th 2004
I’m a glutton for love you know
Yet I’m a sucker for pain
Heart on my sleeve everywhere I go
Not wanting sustenance of refrain
Red on my palms entwined with another
Parading around like a stalking saint
Spreading the word to innocent lovers
In message of insight and finger-paint
Thrown into the renovation trade
Rushing the blood to cheeks of the pale
Lessening trounce of quake’s tailor made
Damaging ratings on life’s Richter scale
Mourning profusely, smile without sound
Inventing new sketchings on solar graphs
Mending cracks in the walls all around
Stopping leaks from pipe burst hearts
Filling back up the tear of the hollow
Then swiftly moving along to the next
Extending hands with pride left to swallow
While keeping rejection within its context
The irony of this whole situation
Almost so vague it kinda begets me
Knowledge from past and foregone conclusion
Prolonging a word called simplicity
I’ve seen this before, I’ve loved and lost
Not sorry for wanting to share what I feel
If pain means healing or trusting at cost
At least then I’ll know of feeling surreal
That’s better than not being able to live
It’s so much better then nothing at all
With bountiful bouquets of love left to give
I listen for rose colored voices to call
The aroma next time around will be such
Allowing mitosis that seeks to enthrall
And stroke the face with a gentle touch
In the aisle to wildflower entrance halls
Reach out the hands forgetful of catching
Pick up the broken shards of metal
Trailing emotions while sympathy snatching
Garden bound barefoot on lying rose petals
Healthy and wholesome food for the soul
A soft patch for landing on feet with grace
Creation arranged in colorful holes
For the next time we fall into love’s embrace
There are no truly blue flowers.
No, not one.
Hydrangeas or tulips can be green,
an odd color for flowers, I think.
Brown ones are dead.
Brown and green are the colors of human eyes though,
and blue too, but that’s rare as eye color goes.
Almost everyone has two eyes, or at least one.
There are those whose eyes don’t work correctly,
and some unfortunate souls who have none at all.
Every pirate ever known had just one eye.
Yep, just one eye and a black patch.
(I may be wrong about this.)
There are cave creatures,
salamanders and roaches and fish,
that have no eyes at all, and live in total darkness;
evolution has done away with their eyes.
Why would they need eyes if there is no light,
not even that spectacular light from the sun
in fluorescent (which means “shining through”) ribbons
between clouds on stormy days?
There are other eyes too, on potatoes, certain fabrics, needles
(Each needle has one; there are no two-eyed needles that I know of.).
Personally, I have two eyes, both blue,
which see correctly only with assistance.
I often wish I had the third eye in the center of my forehead,
the one that symbolizes a state of
enlightenment, clairvoyance, out-of-body experiences.
However, I’m almost certain I won’t have one in this existence.
Perhaps I will in the next, assuming I’m not reincarnated as
a snake or, even worse, a dung beetle.
But then, I’ve been decent and reasonable most of this life,
so maybe I will have that third eye the next time around.
It’s worth thinking about.
Kiss
One word to describe an endless lifetime
Kiss
The sweetest thing, the sweetest taste and the worst thing to be taken away
Kiss
One solid moment, a product of slow motion; fireworks cascade, decorate the sky
Kiss
Never could a small moment make someone feel more alive
And tear someone completely down when deprived
Kiss
As passionate as a wedding ring intertwined with a lonely rose petal
Smelling of honey, of delight, delightful excitement
Kiss
As frightening as a thunderous, destructive, lightning storm causing immense panic
Kiss
Could make a man do perpetual back flips and handstands
Could make a man addicted to love and other drugs
Could make a man keep coming back for more
Kiss
Could make a man become questionable, filled with doubt and puzzlement
Could make a man fearful for the next time around
Kiss
Could make a woman sing harmoniously for a thousand days, in a thousand ways
Could make a woman melt in place from the brief intensity
Could make a woman smile endlessly, dreaming happily
Kiss
Could make a woman feel regret unlike any other
Could make a woman burst into tear, feel indecisive
Kiss
The perfect weapon of ultimate happiness, the perfect weapon of destructive breakdown
Kiss
A hopeful wish on a cluster of stars
To cement the idea an angel would be able to kiss goodnight to a hopeful someone
Kiss
A daylight dream amongst a boring scene, attempting to capture a realistic moment
Like catching fireflies in a jar in the eyes of this maid
Waiting to be a proud queen to a king
Kiss
The one panacea known to evaporate the lurking sadness of a day laying siege like pirates
Kiss
The remedy for dying by a thousand cuts
Yet still finding the strength to defy the demon and stand up once more
Kiss
Kiss…kiss…kiss…kiss…
Another moment to chalk up a point for happiness
The perfect weapon of destructive breakdown
A firework spectacle; the sweetest feeling, the sweetest taste
Worth dying by a thousand cuts, the remedy to bring the dead inside alive and well again
As passionate as a wedding ring intertwined with a lonely rose petal
Smelling of honey, of delight, delightful excitement
A hopeful wish on a cluster of stars to cement the idea an angel would be able
To kiss goodnight to a hopeful someone
Love
the way I knew it
was childlike, pure and crystalline.
It was tear-apart lust, down to the ground
and take what you need and give back too.
Things glowed gold
when I went out.
Actually different, a softness, a gentleness
about them.
Hands in prayer blessed above us
our bodies encased in blue...
We served Gods and Goddesses
and it was church and everything.
The light in his eyes
sparked mine which brightened his
our lips sealed kisses of sheer magic.
From another universe this was....
He told me. He said
you kiss me the way I always wanted to be kissed.
I told him that was funny
because he kissed me that way too.
One morning as he lay there,
he asked that if there is a next time around
could we please be 17 when we meet?
Then, we could have a lifetime together
I wanted for nothing more.
And grasped him strongly
and we were one.
There was no difference at those times.
Oh, how my heart and body ache
for that love, that man.
Even a golden vision of him for just 10 moments
of how it used to be before.......
If one could put life on a reel
and turn it backwards a while
because Now you Really know what it all meant
Now, you Really Would hold tighter, because you know it will end soon.
But people, like things, have an expiration date. But my heart keeps beating.
I need an act of heroism
To defeat the terrorism
That's been in my world and soul
I've been broken, never whole
Torn to shreds by horrid lies
Handed to me by sly guys
Each one took another slice
I willingly fave for a price
A high cost that I have paid
Lesson learned, I will not trade
My hearts affections anymore
I need to even up the score
Letting my heart win for once
I was stupid and a dunce
Smarter the next time around
My heart starts to wind around
Sweet smiles or smooth maneuvers
By love lusted evil doers
I'll look for signs that have been
Problematic way back when
Passing by love criminals
Waiting till my soul reveals
The sign I've been looking for
Shaking me right to the core
With alarms, whistles, and bells
Flowing in my mind to tell
My heart its safe to say hello
Green light love ready to grow
A free spirit
I try to stay grounded.
Spontaneous
But well-rounded.
Ever searching
But know who I am.
Never simple
For I love the glam.
Long, brown
Hair and eyes.
Winter is my
Favorite time.
Unlucky in love
But lucky in life.
Happy where I am
Most of the time.
Wanderer of cities
Have lived all around.
Who knows where I’ll land
Next time around.
A poet at heart
If my poems are bad I don’t care.
It’s an outlet I seek
From somewhere in deep.
There's a fine line between fortune and fame
I was riding with the Devil till my horse went lame
I was all alone till loneliness came
The Count of Monte Cristo must have felt the same
Now I walk the dry lands of Mariposa
In the sun-scorched state of California
Was riding with a group that was supposed to
Raise the dollar amount on my wanted poster
We were moving with a man they called P.O.8
Relieving stagecoaches of unnecessary weight
A poem would be left just to leave them irate
A gentleman Bandit forges his own fate
W.H. Taylor was a formidable man
He was riding driver's box with a shotgun in his hand
Mama was grit and Papa sand
Taylor shot my horse and my face hit land
And Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
Wouldn't bother you
If you weren't carrying gold
Now Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
I just want to know
What your front boot hold
When I woke I thought I was dead
Sandy little spot I done soaked it red
Picked myself up on my own accord
I felt like a man that fell on his own sword
All I saw was red as my anger it poured
As I pictured my possie counting out their reward
Now it's time to find out what becomes of me
Walking across the desert at a boiling degree
I can hear my mama now saying nothing's free
When I got caught for the Cherry Creek robbery
Now I think as I walk to my desert grave
The next time around I might behave
But this Highwayman Soul can never be saved
Because what's in the Wells Fargo box is what I crave
And Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
Wouldn't bother you
If you weren't carrying gold
Now Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
I just want to know
What your front boot hold