Best Tamara Poems
WHERE ARE YOU WHY CAN'T I FIND YOU
WHY DID YOU LEAVE WAS IT ALL TRUE
YOUR SMILE, YOUR LAUGH, YOUR SPARKLING EYES
NEVER COULD HIDE YOUR DISGUISE
DON'T YOU KNOW YOU WERE A STAR
WE ALL KNEW THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE
AND IS THAT WHY YOU WENT TOO FAR
NEVER ENOUGH, NEVER ENOUGH,
CAN'T GET ENOUGH, WHATEVER IT IS
NEVER ENOUGH, CAN'T GET ENOUGH
SUDDENLY EVERYTHINGS UNCLEAR
AND I'M SO SAD THAT YOU'RE NOT HERE
THOUGH YOU'VE GONE THE FEELINGS STAY
ISN'T IT STRANGE THAT LIFE'S THAT WAY
YOU NEVER REALLY SAID GOOD BYE
AND I'LL ALWAYS WONDER WHY
NEVER ENOUGH, NEVER ENOUGH
WHAT EVER IT IS, CAN'T GET ENOUGH
IT'S DEATH'S REVENGE THAT LIFE GOES ON
AND MEMORIES LINGER THOUGH YOU'RE GONE
SHOULD WE BE GRATEFUL AFTER ALL
IS LITTLE BETTER THAN NONE AT ALL
NEVER ENOUGH, CAN'T GET ENOUGH
WHATEVER IT IS, CAN'T GET ENOUGH
IS IT JUST AS WELL YOU GONE
DID YOU THINK YOUR LOVE WAS WRONG
FORBIDDEN FRUIT IS ALWAYS SWEET
BUT NOT ENOUGH TO FEEL COMPLETE
WHATEVER IT IS, NEVER ENOUGH
EXCEPT FOR JUDGEMENTS, OH SO TOUGH
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE TO GO
SAVING YOU FROM WHAT YOU KNOW
I DIDN'T CARE AS MUCH AS YOU
FOR WHAT WAS SAID OF WHAT YOU DO
AND HOW I WISH THAT YOUR LAST THOUGHT
GAVE YOU ALL THE PEACE YOU SOUGHT
AND THOUGH YOU'VE LEFT THIS MORTAL PLAIN
I HAVE NO DOUBT WE'LL MEET AGAIN
SURELY THERE MUST BE A PLACE
SOMEWHERE THIS COSMOS HAS THE SPACE
WHERE IN ENOUGH WILL BE ENOUGH
WHATEVER YOU NEED WILL BE ENOUGH
ENOUGH WILL ALWAYS BE ENOUGH
Age 6….. Passing the mirror,
she pulls at her cheeks,
sticks out her tongue—
blonde ringlets encircle
a freckled face.
13….. The mirror beckons—
She stops to preen,
hating wavy hair
that tumbles into her eyes…
She wonders, “Am I pretty?”
18….. A young lady,
ready to meet life’s challenges
reflected now—
Anxious to leave home,
and parent rules.
24….. A bride in white,
smiling at her reflection
in the mirror—
Mother, in the doorway,
proudly holds her veil.
30….. Carpooling, PTA,
soccer games, late dinners—
this is her world…
No time to fret over
crow’s feet in the mirror.
40….. Does life begin at 40?
The mirror doesn’t lie…
Maturity shows in her face.
Was ‘Self’ lost between
motherhood and mid-life?
50….. She discovers his affair…
Tearfully calls Mom—
Can she forgive?
Out of shape, distraught,
she sobs in front of the mirror.
60….. Freedom, a time to just BE!
Comfortable in her own skin—
with time to pursue
her own wants and needs.
Life is good!
70….. Passing the hall mirror
in her usual flurry,
she glimpses her likeness,
suddenly realizing—
she’s the image of her mother.
Tamara Hillman
©2006
This year, at the holidays
of course, I miss home,
surrounded by sand dunes,
and Iraqi mosque-domes.
But I willingly came
to guard against fear—
not let terrorist conquer
everything I hold dear.
I know my mom worries
about me over here
away from family,
and good Christmas cheer.
And while I do miss
the fun and the fare,
I know I am fighting
for reasons most share—
For Freedom, for Justice,
for our forefather’s plan,
for choices—God-given,
to every man.
And for all you protester
in the streets of your city,
looking upon me
with hatred and pity,
I’m fighting for you
to have that skewed right
to act like a fool—
burn our flag in plain sight,
For our children to prosper
without boot in their back,
and patriots guiding them,
to stay on the right track!
It’s not just our training,
but a true state of mind—
to be honest and faithful,
and love all mankind.
I’d gladly lay down
all I can give—
my life and my soul
so that others may live.
And to let every man pray
to the God he sees fit,
tho, I may not agree,
he’s entitled to it.
My sons and my daughters
may not know it yet,
but I fight for their future,
and have no regret.
So celebrate Christmas
in your own merry way,
and please send a prayer
we’ll come home one day—
When this war is over,
we’ve finally won,
we’ve conquered the terrorists—
sent ‘em all on the run.
Americas worth it—
all this sacrifice,
and, Mom, don’t you worry
‘cause I wouldn’t think twice.
I’d do it again—
even die in the sand
for Freedom and Liberty,
for we MUST take a stand.
“Merry Christmas—Blessed New Year,”
to all, I now say,
and, “Thank you, dear Jesus—
have a Happy Birthday!”
Tamara Hillman
©2010
An ol’ cowboy once told me,
“Son, keep yor’ Saddle straight—
cinched up tight ‘n squared away,
an’ don’t depend on fate.
For if yor’ a straight shooter,
yor’ life will be real tame.
A handshake will be good ‘nough
ta trust yor’ family name.”
Now, I went along believin’
the whole world thought like that,
but fifty years have come ‘n gone
with politicians gettin’ fat!
They get upon that barren stump,
an’ swear to make things right,
but what I know ‘bout them folks,
makes me lose sleep at night.
Empty promises an’ shoutin’
‘bout things they’re gonna CHANGE—
folks aren’t really thinkin’
how their life—they’ll rearrange.
It’s all about the poor folks,
minorities ‘n such—
money from the rich guy,
an’ taxes that ain’t much.
But when I get ta figurin’
what will happen later on,
like when factories an’ plants close,
an’ rich guys are all gone—
Who’s gonna pay the wages
to feed my kids and ma?
I ain’t forgot DEPRESSION times,
an’ anguish that I saw.
An’ derned if I can figure out
why some folks are on the DOLE—
Could it be a case a LAZY,
an’ a life without no goal?
If no one in DC’s lyin’,
an’ the old ways never was,
I guess I’d give ‘em latitude
in their promises an’ buzz.
But I been ‘round just long enough
to know what’s right ‘n wrong—
an’ I ain’t taken in so much,
nor followin’ the throng.
There’s one more thing I gotta say
‘bout EVIL in this world,
“Ya don’t kill a grizzly with sweet talk,
an’ screamin’ like a girl.”
Men fought an’ died to keep us safe,
an’ let our FREEDOM ring—
that there’s the tune I’m followin’—
the anthem that I'll sing!
Tamara Hillman
©2008
Such a glorious grace of diva
Limitless is her divine aura
Poets compete to verse on her
For she is a presiding Lord of flora
A beauty with brains in tons
Besides being Lord Goddess Arora
Blue gets fixed precisely such
As her drape is like anaphora
Who is she-the enchanting one!
Of course it’s hypophora
Is she a seductress or temptress!
I am sure not less than Tamara
Winsome mien and gorgeous grin
Looks just stunning in coat angora
Wherever she is my lady luck
May she’s all laurels like Laura
A super woman so beautiful
And enamouring in this era..!!
I didn't see Tamara today
But I may see Tamara tomorrow.
I didn't see Tamara today
But I may see Tamara tomorrow.
In the year, nineteen an’ thirty-nine,
in a small town that seemed not to care,
a little girl tried her very best
to dress well, and groom her dark hair.
She’d fight for her life—whatever it took,
an’ survive her father so cruel,
her heart would stay strong , she’d try hard to belong
in this town, and much harder—in school.
Her mama had passed on to Heaven—
five years since she’d breathed her last breath…
Daddy had tried to hide how he cried,
but then chose to live life in the past.
He drank every day of the week then,
and worked—but seldom, at most.
His life seemed meaningless—useless,
lacking life goals he might boast.
Food was quite scarce in the cupboards,
and her thin arms and legs bore the tale
of bruises and stripes from the whippings
she received every week without fail.
She was only a girl in the fourth grade
but her will and good marks got her thru’—
nobody would come to her rescue,
in those days—t’was the wrong thing to do.
Her dresses were hand-me-down clothing
with ties hanging loose in the back—
bright calico colors were faded
but worn proud no matter their lack.
She tried hard to comb her long tresses
and bathe whenever she could,
but water was heated on a potbellied stove,
and Dad wouldn’t chopped any wood.
The house, feeling cold and so lonely,
was never fresh cleaned as before,
looking neglected and run down—
crooked shutters and broken screen door.
Kids teased her at school on the playground,
and shunned her when seen about town.
Her soul was burdened with sorrow,
and her eyes looked sad-blue tho’ dark brown.
Suspicion and rumors abounded
but folks minded their business back then—
they stayed out of another man’s family
no matter his obvious sin.
She struggled each day in her hard life,
making plans for a future to live
but fate was cruel and decisive—
too soon, she had no more to give…
The town had just turned a blind eye—
neglected to care for this child,
protect the poor girl who lived in their midst,
and was known to be quite meek and mild.
Now, a grave lies stark—unattended,
her birth date and death carved in stone—
murdered by her drunken father,
ignored by a town—left alone.
(dedicated to Donna who survived abuse)
Tamara Hillman
©2007
The signs are all around me—
skies are suddenly gray-white,
and I smell snow is coming,
maybe on this very night…
************************
What is this ambiance of awe
when viewing those first flakes
swirling softly t’ward the earth—
a white blanket soon to make?
It’s not as tho’, these many years,
I’ve not witnessed this same scene—
snow piling high on field and trees,
and grass no longer green.
There is no explanation
for the pleasure I now feel
as I listen to this old house creak,
and think it no big deal.
The warmth and coziness inside
is multiplied ten-fold,
and I treasure it above those things
bought with purest gold.
Each flake serves such purpose
as it tumbles to the ground
covering seeds and crops to yield
while making nary a sound.
Protection from the temperatures
dipping way down low—
snow insulating ground from frost
spread liberally e’re it goes.
And I, like many others,
who endure long months of snow,
get weary of it later on
when it curtails where I go.
But oh, thru’ frosted window pane
reflecting fireplace glow,
it fills my heart with wonder,
as I welcome the first snow.
Tamara Hillman
©2011
This is Part-II
Yes, I tell the truth even if you throw stones, but I have to keep my headgear clean. I am going to Princess Anne’s marriage. Princess Anne, you know, the queen of Liechtenstein had chosen her as his son’s bride, you say braid, yes, and the Queen has a braid already. She wants a bride for his son. I am going to join the party. The King of Tamara has sent me personal request, though he is more interested in my quddrillon. But please let me go, hoho, don’t cringe away from my quddrillon. Sometimes it bites. It depends on its mood. And its mood depends on the Grousimeter. Do you all tell me to explain Grousimeter? Are you all fools? I have no time. I have to go to Azerbaijan to meet the prince of Blumenstein. My quddrillon will read his horoscope, a better word than horrorscope. He will make a journey to Spinx to learn Bordeology at the cue of quddrillon’s double ffrump; yes it has Pfeiffer Syndrome since early quddrillonhood. It was treated with Axpiridin. Everything had gone excepting double ffrump. It has made him professionally ahead of other quddthings. Quit. Quip.Quit.Quip....
END
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
17 October 2014 09:47:00 (IST)
In days of old, when nights grew cold,
men told a dreadful tale
of Trapper Jim—how they buried him
on a night the wolves did wail.
It seems at the time, Jim was checking his line,
and stopped to camp for the night—
He heard a sound as wolves gathered round
which gave him an awful fright.
His horse and mule were no one’s fool—
they whinnied and brayed at the moon
for they knew their fate, it was much too late,
they would all be devoured soon.
There was nowhere to run in the midnight sun,
escape was the man’s one desire—
Like ghosts in the night, wolves sprang and took flight
as their shadows danced in the fire.
He pulled up his rifle, but nary a trifle
would be left of him there alone—
His friends would find him, the man they called Jim,
just a hank of hair and a bone.
Now, no one can say what happened that day
as the trapper knelt there in the dark,
but men say today, it happened that way,
and the tale is true—not a lark.
And they tell of wolves with cloven hooves
that prowl and chase in a pack,
of forbidden grounds where devilish sounds
are heard if you turn your back.
The story is clear if you’ll just lend an ear
to the tale of Trapper Jim’s fate—
Don’t tramp on his grave, nor pretend to be brave,
or you’ll find it might be too late.
Tamara Hillman
©2007
Wounded by the words of hate
For you to change I will not wait
I guess I was the one you didn't need
Too blinded by your ego and greed
Its the same thing with all you guys
Filling my head with all your lies
Telling myself that all is well
While words were said that bite and yell
You never hit me; you wouldn't dare
But you left scars if you care
Scars that constantly try to hide
Scars that are forever burned inside
The days I'm unhappy to be alive
Are days when thoughts of you arrive
Days when i pull my hair and yell
Knowing, of course, nothings well
A new idea like smoking pot
Brings my mind to other thoughts
Scars that are forever burned inside
Bring thoughts and attempts of suicide
Your memories have made me insane
Constant thoughts and constant pain
From memories of you I cannot hide
Bringing scars to the outside
Knowing of course nothings well
An apology you came to tell
But wounded by the words of hate
A sorry from you came too late.
All this time you always knew
Haunting you what i went through
Memories of my awful life will burn inside
Until you drive yourself to suicide
Two lives filled with scars and hate
Was it chance, or was it fate
At least the pain and wounds are no more
Two lives ended ends a war.
_By Tamara Brown_
dont understand
and cant stand
cruel hearts
and for the most part
dont care too
im not like you
dont miscontrue
the way i feel
to be real mean
cuz i mean, look
u stay a closed book
take a look at yourself
its unhealthy to bottle up inside
and hide from everyone
you gotta outrun your fears
years coulda been saved
tears coulda been saved
depraved minded all this time
not thinking it a crime
to hurt those around you
but its true that indeed
that the innocent bleed
at your feet
defeated and breathless
hopeless and lost
at the cost of what?
your pleasure?
there is no measure
of how digusted i am
and i am disgusted
at the very least
at how you feast
on others' pain
and embarrassment
whether thats how you vent or not
you think your a big shot
taking cheap shots
bullying your way thru life
well you feel good?
you feel empowered??
Well all i see
is a hopeless weak coward.
Tamara Brown
Feb 3, 2011
I feel
the pain
of absent truths
the proof
is in my actions.
The lack of feelings
I'm dealing with
make me realize
theres only a fraction
of happiness.
but I want it all
cuz I recall
the better days,
but that was a ways
away.
My thirst is profuse
which the use of water
cannot dilute.
I'm voracious
but my hunger
is tenacious
and tough.
Bread alone
is not enough.
You knew,
I knew,
we all knew
the truth.
The proof
of unlasting happiness
is evident
and I've spent
just about
enough time
trying
to proove otherwise.
My cries
overpower
my hour
of worldly happiness.
I guess I feel
fed up.
times up
im done.
-Tamara Brown
Jan 1, 2011
The clouds are moving away
The race is almost over
I willingly kicked the pride away
There's no more time to hover
When the elements are on your side
We've swam across the tide
Relax, and breathe deep for the time is now
Look back and look again at the Sahara
\Which once stood very dry
When there was no one called Tamara
Your eyes surely will not lie
The Sahara is now evergreen
The love is old but pristine
Relax, and breathe deep for the time is now
I've done my part
Drawn the curtains to expose the light
I've kept evil ones apart
Kept the beautiful things in sight
It's time to make your love tangible
And stop repressing
So we can both stop distressing
It's time you exposed all the love
God gifted us from above
Relax, and breathe deep for the time is now
To tell me love me too!