Best Over Your Head Poems
My dream home, is far from being a perfect place
the garden is full of weeds and it has no grace
Curb appeal in fact it’s sorely lacking
Still there’s something here extremely attracting.
Yes it is true the porch paint is peeling
above cobwebs cling to a rosette on the ceiling
Still my mind it can only see perfection
because to this place I feel a connection
Overgrown ferns poke up through the floor
as I navigate my way to the front door
The hinges moan I can hear them speak
Like my old bones they groan and they creak
Audible whispers, I strain to hear what is said
“Don’t you desire more, than a roof over your head?
Climb my staircase, please make me brand new
I’ll be more than a building I’ll be perfect for you.”
I gaze through a broken window down to the street
There are stories to be written and people to meet
So yes this old house, I’ll make her my home
She wasn’t meant to be neglected and left all alone.
Inspired by Constance La France and written for her Decaying House Poetry Contest. July 15, 2020
Be Thankful
When things seem so unfair
Remember what you have
A roof over your head
Food on the table
Memories made with
Family and friends
Some days can seem a drag
But you’re alive so smile
Learn to be yourself
Remain honest and trustworthy
Your work oh such a grind
Suppling pennies to spend
Providing for your needs
So be thankful
You’re in charge of what you do
Live for the day
Tomorrow’s are always there
Make life the best you can
Be happy
Laugh until you cry
Have fun always
Stay crazy if you must
Just remember
Remain thankful
Tomorrow may never come
It took me awhile to comprehend
the true significance of "be patient."
We've heard it all before,
but it's funny how we often fail
to cogitate over this phrase
and feel it's ponderous weight.
One who says it to you means well,
not playing the pontificating fool,
but hanging a priceless jewel
over your head so you wear
the advice like a necklace.
So please listen to whomever
advises you to "be patient."
It's arguably the two most
important words you could ever hear.
It'd take me a mighty long day
to list all that I've learned
from this simple phrase.
It's common sense, stripped naked,
made to dance in a cold rain.
Yes, my friend, be patient,
when wading back into
the murky creek of love and romance.
Be patient as you chase
your rainbow. Don't move too fast!
You'll get to that pot of gold.
Do not be discouraged.
Be patient when on life's highway
lest you crash! Good things
come to those who wait.
Date written: 01/17/2021
You don't get it and that's ok,
My ink is different from yours.
Oh, you didn't get that joke,
It flew right over your head.
My meter must’ve been off.
My rhymes weren't right.
And all my punctuation
weren't quite right either.
You wonder if I heard of
spell check or Grammarly?
My ink is quite different
from yours, we differ.
We all come from different
walks of life, my poetry is
written from my experiences.
I may not get what you,
write but I will give you
much respect, sometimes
respect is keeping your
mouth closed and opinions
to yourself, it’s all about
respect, what else do you
have if you can’t give that?
Alexis Y.
10/12/2021
You are alone on a deserted island that has been filled with overgrown fruit
and bare essentials. The water is so clear you can use it as an honest mirror
of truth. Over in the distance you spot a lovely hammock that has been hung
between two sturdy cypress trees. You decide to walk over and give it a try.(b)
Its soft material hugs you and before you know it, you are fast asleep in that
lovely makeshift hammock. The sound of the ocean rocks your ears in tranquil
motion to and fro. (b)
Passing clouds glide over your head without making a sound. They are watching
you breathe as they go by. Breathe from your diaphragm, your chest, your throat,
Breathe in and out.
You smile cuz you are in a place of inner contentment. A little green turtle trundles
along moving side by side close in , circling your little soft hammock.
She is heading for the ocean for some seaweed, jellies or tunicates. The little rosy
seashells are sitting at the edge. They call you over for a barefoot walk. You smile
as you rise and go to the edge of the water wetting your feet and holding spaced
with the dolphins and the fish (b)
You are going to live here for a little while. Long enough to receive your fitful rest
You are going to stay her for a little while, cuz you know it is the best place to be(b)
The End.
Your hand is lying over the table.
An aura of innocence over your head
sparkling like a blooming sunflower.
You haven’t slept for million years.
All the hot blooded complainers and
Cruel smiles are hovering in the air.
Calm like a tomb you are smiling and
dreaming about an unreal dream of love.
Don’t open your eyes before you travel
back and discover the weeping meadow.
I am a man not at all eternal,
but eternally deep as my soul is rising.
I am devising my demise;
I am breaking my disguises with my own bleeding fists.
I am having fits of madness, and my madness is joy.
Oh, what joy there is in madness.
Truly, when you see the sadness for what it is:
God flipping coins over your head
and it is a coin with only heads,
while you keep making the wrong call-I tell you no tales,
these spells are for your ills, my friend.
Take my hand and swallow that bitter medicine,
for together we go into madness.
I'll light the way, for I tread here every day.
I have made my home in hell
and found joy at the top of my head.
Standing cynical and numb on the cliffside, watching the waves flow, tumble, then crash up against the jagged rocks below.
Little bubbles of sea foam pop and crackle as they slide across the rocky beach shore.
The water ebbs back again to repeat the cycle; it goes back home just to be pushed out again
The salty sea breeze catches your loose hair,
just a few strands at first,
just enough to feel… something,
just enough to remind you something is there.
Before long, the wind picks up
and tosses your unbounded hair around in swirling gusts of unbridled resilience,
to get an easier path to whisper sweet nothings into your ear,
promising flight and unwavering freedom,
promising serenity found in the unending horizon,
promising harmony and complete wholeness.
The wind understands.
The wind empathizes with your pain.
The wind draws thin comforting fingers across your cheek
and breathes compassionate vows into your restless soul.
“The wind understands,” it promises.
You look down in shame, knowing no one is to be trusted enough to believe such things.
“Just come with me, my meek child. All will be well.”
The wind tempts as it brushes your hair behind your ear.
The wind runs down your neck, ruffles your dress, and spreads your arms wide as the wings of the gulls over your head.
The wind slips down your sleeve to billow your skirts.
The wind beguiles you closer to the cliff’s edge,
“To get a better feel of the openness around you,” the wind assures.
and in the moment the wind runs through your fingers,
you feel enough of the sky that for a moment you believe the whispering wind siren.
You finally let go and let the breeze sweep you up,
lifting you into the vast sky.
You embrace the promised freedom and smile at every peaceful whip of wind
right before you are thrown into the sea
and the awaiting rocks.
Now I don’t know if I really learned about love
Or if I got to explore what it’s made of
Is it a warm feeling when you hold hands?
And kiss and laugh at each other’s stance
Are there the troubles that seem to last forever?
Because if it works out, you get to live together?
Get married and have babies while still in your teens
You have the rest of the world to explore your means
Is it pain, is it awful? Is it something you want to end?
You’d do it yourself but you don’t want to lose another friend?
Why does it eat at you inside, why it makes you hate yourself?
Why does it make you think there’s something wrong with you?
Why would it make you want to kill yourself?
Is it that sad, is it really that true?
Why do some people say it’s happy times and some say it’s just ****
Why do some people think it’s who they are, and some say it doesn't exist?
Tell me about betty, what was it about Betty?
You said she was smart and slick but really really pretty
You never got to know her but you said she was the perfect girl
Until you saw her with Army, it changed your view of the world
Doing something illegal I think (Wink wink)
But if you brought it up, she’d say you weren’t her shrink
Was that not love though you said it was alright?
You could let her ago until another night
When you saw her again with an older guy
Well why? She didn’t love him either so why try?
So it wasn’t right and you didn’t win, but what about your fling with Jocelyn?
She likes track and field and feels the burn
And when she got wet you saw through her shirt
But that wasn’t sure, ‘cause you didn’t like sports
So love was a no go until Cindy Snow
Wasn’t as fine, maybe a little portly
But sweet as heck and had a nice little Courtney
She was interested and you played with it
But then she said she was a Santanist
You may not have been the holy man
But you couldn’t have that hanging over your head
You wanted to find someone instead
Now when you found it’s over
Had to find one more with Lola
Was a family friend but still real cool
But it was like incest with bended rules
And that was not something to do
So that couldn’t work but it was okay
Because she said she didn’t feel that way anyway
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
-10/6/2013-
clouds as fluffy as the whistling bliss
encircling in the sky, eyes fonder and kiss
abaft the hidden pillows of lace
brightness over hays above Thy grace
Friends are hard to find so be careful
Friends are like the wind
They blow to you when your days are good
Friends are like the storm
They pour sorrows to your heart
When your days are bad
True friends remain forever
Like a Redwood in the forest
That is a true friend
And I must be honest
Some Friends like you because you have something to offer
Some friends like you because you are like no other
Very few friends like you when you suffer
A true friend likes you on a summer or rainy day
He welcomes to his home and wishes that you stay
The world will dance to your tune
When you beat the drums of success
The world will run away
When you stop to make progress
A true friend will stay
With you in your time of need
And he gives his last drop of blood
Rather to see you bleed
A true friend will cloth you and give you something to feed
A roof over your head
If that be the case
It does not matter what is his tribe or race
The world is a market place where every one comes out to sell his ware
Survival is the yard stick so very few really care
Friends are hard to find so be careful
A chameleon can change the color of its skin
But a chameleon can not change where it has been
A dog is loyal to his master till death
But bad friend only thinks of what he could get
Jealousy and envy
Fills his heart like a poisonous venom
When I was poor he hated me
Now that I am rich he hated me more
Away I say
Don't want to be your friend no more
MISOGYNY
HE SAID
I AM YOUR BOSS, YOU FOLLOW ME.
little me said, I thought GOD was the boss.
HE SAID I WILL HIT YOU WHEN I THINK YOU DESERVE IT, EVEN IN FRONT OF YOUR CHILDREN! I AM THE ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!!
little me knew that if we said “no,” HE had the capability of crushing them all, like Esther.
so, then, the skinny white girl
with nowhere else to go
said
okay
When the day dwindles pale...with my tall mug of ale
I'm a weepy ole' fool , it is quite plain to see
I'll shed many a tear ore' the wee smallest thing
I am known to spill oceans, with a tall chug-a-lug
There'll be tubs splashing tears, all over your head!
For,.......... I love my old mates and I'm lovin' my brew
I have a dilemma, it's the bluest of blues
but I can't decide which I'm holdin' more dear
a fine league of shipmates or my lagers of beer
I moon over moonlight shining over the sill
While I drink with my matey, who is over the hill
O', ......he'll tell me a story of his granny who's ill
And my eyes will start wellin' and a river will spill!
For,.......... I love my old mates and I'm lovin' my brew
I have a dilemma, it's the bluest of blues
but I can't decide which I'm holdin' more dear
a fine league of shipmates or my lagers of beer
There is lint in my eye over sharing goodbyes
I'll lament just a bit over missing Ma's pies
When a goat has been bitten by a snake that is long
I will leak like a bucket ..for a world that's gone wrong
If I must kick the bucket, so what if I do?
And if there's a heaven and the devil's not due
You'll know for sure I have a smile upon my face
from seeing my shipmates and from drinkin' my brew!
For,.......... I love my old mates and I'm lovin' my brew
I have a dilemma, it's the bluest of blues
but I can't decide which I'm holdin' more dear
a fine league of shipmates or my lagers of beer !!
_______________________________________________
For Cyndi's "Raise the Roof Pub Song" Contest
Innocent child,
wake up from your rainbow colored dreams,
listen to the red feathered rooster,
it crows the early dawn's burden,
hang on me,
dance along with the swaying golden weeds
among the fields of corn,
watch the trees of blue and gray,
follow me on the dikes of rice fields of amber green,
look at the scarecrow,
it looks like death,
open up your eyes to the sad realities,
the common farmer of tattered clothes,
his pockets filled with mud,
he is a prisoner of a violent semi-feudalism,
with hands wrapped in callous,
bleeding while tilling the bone-dry land,
he works like a slave for his landlord.
Little child,
even the plain smells with fog,
moistened leaves keep on falling over your head,
but never close your eyes,
do not be scared to see the toiling man's stomach,
it has been empty for ages,
he is nailed on the cross of ferocious poverty,
dying,
suffering,
yet our politicians live in luxury,
do nothing but to corrupt for eternal power,
they keep on pretending as common farmer's saviors,
but they are actually scarecrows,
the angels of death,
do not trust even you admire them with sugar-coated words,
sooner they will give you the worst blow.
sweet child,
open up your mind to the relentless cruelties of this world,
the common farmer's skin is burning,
still toiling under the hell of the sun,
sweating with blood,
and his eyes are flowing with tears of agony,
yet the government does nothing to give him a decent life,
he goes to church every sunday morning,
confessing everything about liberation,
asking for freedom from the madness of hunger,
but he realizes not,
people around him,
including laymen,
also are victims of brutal political corruption.