Best Timeline Poems
DEAD TIMELINE
It was a facebook notification
It has always been a facebook notification
Notifying me of most of my friends birthdays anniversary
Just as always; all I do is post birthday wishes on my timelines.
On a busy Saturday morning of 11th may 2014
Amidst weekend chores; I received a facebook notification in my phone
Like normal; I picked up my phone to read the lingering message
Guess what? It was about Princess Ruphina’s birthday.
Without doubt; it just a normal birthday birthday notification
But still with doubt; do the dead celebrate birthdays?
Amidst possibilities; could the sun ever shine at night?
Amidst wishes; can death days reverse back to birthdays?
In a moment, years came strolling down in a day
Memories surging so fast like fast flowing spring
The long forgotten yesterdays looked like it was today
I can still picture your smiling face like you are still here
It’s painful you can’t picture my angry face since you are not here
Middle finger to death; happy birthday my princess
Your soul shall forever rest in peace Rupina.
As I travel through the places in my mind
Like all the faces on the vine
The memories aren't all mine
Ready to go on the drop of a dime
When we have to walk this line
Coasting through life in a whole new timeline
That will no doubt realign our direction
When we meet it without exception
To discover it's just one big reflection
That will be met with our loving affection
Where I would like to unwind
All these thoughts that I don't want to bind
Because It helps me define
The one who I see dancing in front of me
Makes my spirit soar so free
As I swing from tree to tree
Trying to get to that happy place in my mind
To let go of these memories
That are not all mine
I would rather maintain this down low
So we both come to know
This love that is pouring out on overflow
Where our hearts come together
In hopes, our love will grow
Taller than the trees
As sweet as pie where our love will kiss the sky
Baby, where you will electrify
The outcome when we testify
Our love hits the bullseye
Glimpses I am within a child’s eye of the past
I wander about searching for my inner light
He knocks at the door I tend to ignore stray away
Like a lost puppy I am unsure of my own existence
Blinks of happiness settle my twisted soul but they are merely blinks milliseconds in time that I can’t remember or choose to forget
Shaky is the ground I stand on fearing my end I place myself within a fetal position wishing my life away with thoughts of disease and tears of rage
Blind I am to the miracles he has shared with me
Consumed I am by the past the unexplained timeline of my birth till today haunts my very core
A reflection of a body of weakness called a man taunts me every waking hour unable to breath
I sleep my life away wishing for more without working to earn a successful failure I fear to be
Lonely is this soul that can’t see past the flaws in his rearview mirror time collapsing down on me running out of sand in the hour glass of my dream
Searching for a glimmer of hope a happy medium within my inner demon cast aside in the eyes of society not a single tear for a troubled soul
I wake each morning to the sound of strangers living under this same roof been here all my life but lost I am within the stubbornness of miscommunication
Emotion non-existent In a so filmier place.
I wonder how my kid will cope living in the same wreckage I have come to know
Will he be able to rise above this rage and fairness we call life or will he perish within the masses of silence and negativity
All I can do is hope
All I can do is raise him right and share with him always what he means to me and this legacy of undiscovered successes.
"THE TRACK ON MY TIMELINE"
I'm up, I'm up.
I yawn, I stretch,
I rub the hangover from my eyes.
a day of leisure is ahead of me.
no, it really isn't.
I've got an errand to run and it
involves my laundry.
I've dumped procrastination,
she was an unhealthy *****.
the laundromat is down on Baldwin street.
it's a dreadful place for the lower class.
hey, wait a minute!
the race track!
****!
first race is at ten.
I can still make it,
it's nine-thirty.
no, priorities, priorities.
how long can these clothes really last?
forever, until I'm stripped of them.
nine forty-five.
I'm at the betting window.
twenty win on the three horse!
I grab a beer,
I light up my cigarette,
and the gates open.
I'm a glutton for punishment,
procrastination is my lover
yet again.
By: Chicano Eddie
8-9-2016
To be born and be a little miracle.
To be one and be in the limelight.
To be two and an angel.
To be three and a little princess.
To be four and be a big girl.
To be five and love your mummy and daddy.
To be six and spoil rotten.
To be seven and making friends.
To be eight and making best-friends.
To be nine and leaving your imaginary friends behind.
To be ten and feeling more responsible.
To be eleven and know who you want to be.
To be twelve and happy in life.
To be thirteen and scared that your friends will leave you.
To be fourteen and struggling with your sexuality.
To be fifteen and sad that you lost all of your friends.
To be sixteen and struggling with all the important things.
To be seventeen and a disappointment.
To be eighteen and turn to alcohol.
To be nineteen and turn to drugs.
To be twenty and be depressed.
To be twenty-one and think about who you used to be.
To be twenty-two and cutting.
To be twenty-three not talking to your family.
To be twenty-four and jobless.
To be twenty-five and moneyless.
To be twenty-six and cutting too deep.
To be twenty-seven and dead
How time flies quickly!
especially when one is having fun.
This famous line for the Americans,
shows the truth, indeed, a verisimilitude.
As a happy note to share
there's hope that makes a difference.
Seeing the world in a grain of sand,
can assured the mystery of humankind.
Chronicled and hidden in everyone's heart
aspirations and dreams that await to come;
They really imply a total renewal,
To embrace the challenge
with depth and significance.
We live in an age of competition
with great mobility and anticipation;
with our minds and hearts permeated with preoccupations,
a great deal to keep in tone.
With fears of every sort
With sentiments to unfold;
more experiences follow suit
Day-by-day for the struggles involved.
"Lake Tear in the Clouds" was an indescribably pretty scene
Lewis Pugh hiked in the rain; clouds lifted, he felt serene.
He dove in, swam through hemlock, maple, ash and birch
An adventure starting in nature's wooden church.
Vanderwhacker Mountain, Bad Luck Pond and "Flowed Land"
Through turbulent "Opalescent River", hand over hand
He saw beavers, osprey, an eagle in the sky
Just 300 miles to go, an experience you can't buy.
The tides reach Troy and pure fresh waters cease
So Lewis often swam at night, in quiet and in peace
He would do the backstroke to gaze at the Milky Way
Sometimes the romance of night surpassed that of the day.
A blue moon was rising, the river bathed in light,
The dark waters glowed beneath the stars of night.
Past the Catskills the sun rose, and he was still on a roll
He looked east at Poet's Walk where writers used to stroll.
He passed 200 feet under the Walkway that once was used for rail:
The longest footbridge in the world, and it connects to a long bike Trail
Then Breakneck Ridge, named when a bull fell off the wall
He passed the Croton River, where Paddleboarders try not to fall.
He passed the little park where I often take my mom
People sit there on lawn chairs, tranquil and calm
Past the Palisade cliffs, and the cycling road below
Past the north end of Manhattan and the Spuyten Duyvil flow.
Past the Cloisters with its Unicorns and medieval art
Past the place where Dad first stayed, ambition in his heart
Lewis joined the Hudson's legends, and he made a lasting mark
When he climbed soaking but happy, at the end, at Battery Park.
City dwellers may take the river as a backdrop, mundane, just a given
Some people live walled-in lives, it might be better to be driven
Henry Hudson found here "as pleasant a land as one can explore"
Try looking at the familiar with new eyes, let’s go down to the shore.
you fall in love
and then lose your nerve
you gain it back
but only destroy what you have
selfishness takes over
and all you have left is blind hope
but it never gets better
because you never get better
and love destroys your life
until you realize one day that,
love is all there really is to live for
Life is a flowing stream heading to a dumb past—a tittle on timeline—too brief for a whim, too fluid to fondle. Yet with an uncanny haste I flinch at horrors or wince at hurts. Can’t gel fleeting dreams that soon layer in memory’s folds, or litter like dry bones in the valley.
Each moment, I dream afresh, preening the feathers mirrored in a mirage. All’s dream, dream, a passing dream of a morrow cuddle a bouquet of roses—the fruit sifted from pondering the essence of life. I’ve seen many sun’s; day and night ever speaking.
I look for today, but find myself in limbo, in a swirl, hyped up by hope, yet clutching the wind and a slimy crag. Thus I follow the hollow tales about morrow with cautious hope, squinting as time taunts and recedes to a vanishing point. Life slips away mindlessly in bits till my sun sets in grey or gold.
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
January 5, 2019
From the moment I was born I was considered a miracle
One month premature with so many things wrong
Many considered me a fighter, and I suppose I was
What they didn't realise is that the fight would continue
At the age of eleven I left for secondary school
Leaving behind the world of play for the world of work
But I never much cared for play, only finding praise
When I brought home the top grades
At the age of thirteen I realised something was wrong
Spending countless days trying to figure out why
Why I liked girls and boys, why I struggled in class
But mostly why I didn't want to wake up each day
At the age of fourteen I had begun the biggest fight
One that would last for plenty of years, always ongoing
With angry red lines on my arms, and thoughts of suicide
Always echoing around my head, I battled on
By fifteen I realised the one I thought I loved
Never loved me back, he saw me as his possession
One to do with what he pleased and throw me aside
But I found someone with gentle kisses to help me grow
By sixteen those gentle kisses had turned to violet bruises
Ones that reminded me of the emotional bruises on my mum
It seemed that life had given up on the little girl fighting for her life
The world grew darker in my head every day
By eighteen I was ready to finally leave the world behind
To move away and start fresh, becoming a new person
But the darkness in my head was to follow me
Proving that every year would be consumed in sadness
By nineteen I had turned to drugs, but not the ones I thought
Antidepressants made the world a shade of grey
No longer the black I was used to, but not yet the white
That I have been longing to achieve
So now at twenty-one I am thinking about who I was
Finding my old poetry that reads like a journal of the past
Of a girl scared and screaming for someone to help
Not believing she had the strength to help herself
But now she stands stronger than ever
Every day not quite as hard and the last
Looking forward to a future she knows she can have
Looking back on a past she knows she can overcome
pleated mountains peaks
clockwork waterfalls
chiseled crevices
pressure etched artwork
cascading timeline
gliding the dial
3-25-2021
Tableau - 6 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
The mind hangs in silence,
All is stilled, thoughts lingering
Lazily, as if in cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation, and now is
Only empty air passing over an idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind:-
A dormant volcano creates its explosive flow
Does not the idle mind quietly stream likewise?!
There’s no creation that’s void of time;
God himself used time to speak in creation!
Thus, is not time herself, the plunger of idleness?!
Butterflies are timed in cocooned metamorphosis; babes in wombs;
And likewise, black holes are wombed in the depths of time’s space;
Yes, in all creations, time’s time is an instant of its own self eternity:-
Thus, we poets of the cistern of divine wisdom and guidance,
Must ever be aware that the sacred poem is a creature of time;
Germinating in the womb of mind, and premature birth is also timed.
Yes, while time itself–for anything–does not wait,
We mere mortals must wait on the timing of time,
For it is in its own time that the poem is delivered!
To get where you want or what you want
You have to start from where you are
With what you have at hand at that moment
doing what you've never done consistently
To get what or where you've never before
Giving what the masses want and love.
Success do not comes by playing mediocre
Very timid no venture no success no fun
Failures ain't stop signs but stepping stone
After hitting rock bottom keep trying
Success decorates the doers not the don't er
There's always a way when you make one
Skills are tools for navigating through
Acquire as much as you can while thriving
Striving until you've attained your desires
Creating multiple streams of income is great
Multi tasking according to schedules unfailingly
With a persisting relentless attitude.
Your behavior and attitude towards your goal
Will determine the outcome of your establishment
Connections and growth depends on your ability
Greatness comes from going the extra miles
Winners are not surrender's, steady revival's
Active and always improving in skills and worth.
May your days be full of memories
the kind you like to share
May your weeks be full of peace and joy
by showing that you care
And as each month slowly passes
and turns into a year
Always remember the ones who love you
who are no longer here
2/3/12 Jenny Emelander
In a blink of an eye,
the Future rushes in,
becomes the Present
that bursts like a bubble,
becomes the Past,
and is forever gone!