Best Wasted Poems
Splotches of black ink stain my diary and hands
most of them much larger than tiny grains of sand
splatters caused when he slammed down my well
hoping to end the love of poetry I never shall quell.
Fool is he for believing his childish tantrum and rant
would keep me from retrieving my pen, for it shan't.
He delivered his message with vicious brutal force
now I shall have a turn to take a retaliating course.
He underestimated my courage and now I seek
to pen my poems choosing adjectives less weak.
My writings shall not be contained in diary alone
Publicly I intend my poems to be read and shown.
He wasted my ink and inflamed my strong-willed desire
To rebel against the monster with thorns sharp as briar.
Well! I have a hundred pens and more ink to fill the well.
If I believed in Hades, I'd write him into the fires of hell.
I've heard there are two paths you can go by,
I've read I ought to take the path less traveled;
I've made my own path despite,
Ever having given either path a gamble.
Lost traversing aimlessly through,
The lush spring prairies full of life;
I seem to unknowingly choose,
Desolate vast tundras of ice.
A colorless empty wasteland,
Slows down my once wondrous journey;
Turning my hue-less eyes face down,
Numbing the thoughts that concern me.
Selfishly I ponder on,
Giving myself a gander;
My lucid daydreams carry-on,
Struggling to turn my criticism to banter.
With no longing for a sunrise,
No interest in howling at the moon;
Only now in sunset skies,
I can feed my empty tomb.
I have known that for survival,
Trapped within this frigid glacial world;
Atonement flourished revival,
Sent within a single warm word.
Precipitous licking fire,
It's flares echo from up above;
Precipitates the muck and mire,
To precipitation of love.
Still off in the foggy distance,
I can faintly hear the tone;
Beckoning to my existence,
For my soul for whom the bell tolls.
My tortured weary body aches,
While my minds bright embers aglow;
The songbirds of sorrow awaits,
Reaping dark empty seeds I sow.
Devaluating precious time,
And prioritizing my pain;
Has left self-loathing in my prime,
With a pessimistic disdain.
Perhaps time isn't as real,
As understands our mind's perception;
It must just be the moments we feel,
More like a figment for recollection.
As the white sands of time flow through the glass,
I helplessly watch their numbers diminish;
With every grain another lapse,
With every moment that goes till it's finished.
With verdancy surrounding me, I wish to spin
around this world of endless spring that I am in.
Bewitched am I by forests, hills, and fields of green.
If nature is a woman, here she loves to preen
in emeralds whose splendor I’ve so seldom seen
as I revel in our drive out to the ocean.
Winding roads we travel with a zig-zag motion.
Where land weds water, we breathe a magic potion.
How I love this gorgeous shoreline of Oregon.
We come upon a beach, so I’m expecting fun,
But sky does not comply, and now we’ve lost the sun!
I also notice once-blue sky has changed to grey.
How happy I had been to spend time at the bay,
but wind and chilly weather bring my heart dismay.
The water feels so cold! I pull my sweater tight.
I can’t lie on my blanket soaking in sun’s light.
Oh, I long to jump some waves! This just isn’t right.
Wasted beauty can’t be felt warm upon my skin!
Bewitched am I by forests, hills, and fields of green
as I revel in our drive out to the ocean.
How I love this gorgeous shoreline of Oregon.
I also notice once-blue sky has changed to grey
The water feels so cold! I pull my sweater tight.
Wasted beauty can’t be felt warm upon my skin!
Written July 5, 2016 for The Crown of Couplets Contest
Judged July 30, 2016 and now used
for the I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada- 2 Poetry Contest of Broken Wings
Sadly, no quantum leaping beneath
our huge red oak tree's autumn sleep.
November 22, 2014
Another year passes, those days are all gone
I think of time wasted, and know there was none
For those moments I sat, idle and still
Preserved me from feeling over the hill
They gave me the strength to get on my way
And do things I should have done yesterday
All the times that I stood, and quietly listened
To friends of mine, who’ve thought, "it’s the end"
Is time I’ll get back, with interest you see
When they stop and listen, to what troubles me
Each peaceful moment, with nothing to do
I'll spend admiring the glorious view
Back down the year, the milestones laid
The things I've achieved and memories made
The time is not lost, it's carefully measured
Stored in my mind, and forever treasured
WASTED WORDS
Lounging near sleep and lingering time
are Eliot, Dylan and I.
We discuss preposterously shaped women
and laugh ‘til our heads roll down
the stairs and onto the crumpled street,
past the sordid cafes and triple-X store
to the busy corner where fat men meet.
Barren, with the violet hour approaching,
my dear fellow Thomas remarks,
“Before murderous time makes fools of all
with whispers of immortality,
we must take refuge (or lest give up)
and shed this burdensome cloak, at last,
for the naked vision found in the cup.”
So we plunge into this purple place
and Eliot begins his quest.
While Dylan speaks of pale-faced men
in rectangular wooden suits
and black-veiled women who sing and moan.
Then right on cue the rattling sky
chimes in a thunderous tune unknown.
Meanwhile, in a sullen corner
lost in a sober wasteland,
metaphorically T. S. sits
shrouded by his darkness,
scorned and shamed by the burgeoning sky.
When a cleavage disguised as a barmaid puts out,
“...remember to focus on the how not the why.”
“What is this strange new beauty ?”, he asks,
as he gently strokes her tattoo.
She laconically spit direct in his ear
her storied life as a dancer
and infidelity rose in my pants,
much to my horror, too much to hold back,
when off goes Eliot into one of his rants.
But Dylan will have his dominion in here,
with a song he whipped up the crowd.
A Welsh tune he belted like a demon possessed,
with vile and wasted words,
but for noise violations he was carted to jail.
Eliot’s guilt was his rain-drenched voice
but Sir Thomas had found his Holy Grail.
Drop shots and trick shots, we admire
The gang banging swear slinging
Outcast that got in..
Someone who can shoot bullets faster than words
Who's idea of having a good time stops at
3 blunts
2 girls
And 1 hell of a night
Who needs confrontation when you have the ability to solve any problem
With the contraction of a single finger
POW, FLASH, and SKID-MARKS
Silence floods the avenue
As the man we knew
Falls pale face to concrete, right behind you
Who's gonna go next?
What statistic are you willing to live in?
When you realize your potential?
Where will you go?
So many lives to live
Why this one?
Break the circle of violence and lay a timeline to a better future
Rise out of circumstances and give your self a better angle
Put down the guns and raise your pens
Put down the gang signs and rep peace
Show love to all the unloved
And maybe they'll be hope for you yet.
Howard Marks and God Almighty
Shared a spliff, and had a whitey
Then had the munchies, and a bong
Annoying Peter with the pong
By which time it was far too late
To frisk young Howard at the gate
God, seeing Peter’s consternation
Outlined the process of creation
How on day three he made the weed
With every other tree and seed
To raise in some, apotheosis
And test some others, with psychosis
Now, Howard’s stash was pretty small
And didn’t last too long at all
So, as he didn’t see the point
Of heaven’s joys without a joint
He got his bong, and skins, and tin
Chucked all the roaches in the bin
And, following a wicked smell
Went wafting off to score, in hell
St. Peter looked above and groaned
As all the angels flew past stoned
by Gail
As he blinks a watery mass tries to escape,
it's no longer a pool as it starts to take shape.
A single tear, it begins to roll down his face,
so elegant, she moves with such beauty and grace.
Dancing down his cheek, clinging tight to his skin,
excited and giddy as she gets to his chin.
Falling through the air the tear is in awe,
so joyfull and free till she noticed the floor.
"But he's happy!" she thinks "I shouldn't be here!"
and with a silent splash she then disappears.
I have sang with Tennessee the song of the south,
I have kissed many tender lips with my crimson
mouth.
I have been with Politicians to the mountain top,
I have crossed without doubt the red gates that writ
in it, "STOP".
I have danced with a cotton dress that danced in
the wind,
And cheated on my wife and told my conscience,
"Never mind".
I married two wives just to see if the love was the
same,
I have covered with filth and fame my precious
name.
Listen to he that sits down to write who has stood
up to live
Than he who writes but his heartfelt shot didn't
give.
Is wisdom found not amongst the experienced and
aged?
Really what shore can you learn from a bird that's
caged?
I have made mistakes and lived my wasted years,
But this I learned, that wisdom and knowledge do
not dwell on a table of fears.
Stumbling all over the sidewalk....
Eyes completely glazed.
It was something that had to be done,
It was one of those kind of days.
So after work, I went to the store,
With only one thing in mind....
To take the edge off of my soul,
To leave this day far behind.
I took my first shot, and started to feel great.
I took my second shot, and began to celebrate.
Third shot, fourth shot, fifth shot....
I kept on going.... it felt so good.
Plans to stop? I think not.
I began to smile and laugh at the inebriating pleasure,
Of knowing I could end the day, happier beyond measure.
I walked down the road, dazed and out of it....
When I got the phone call.
I answered with a slurred speech, "hello!"
"Let's go buy things from the mall!!!"
"Let's ride down the street with the music up loud,"
"I feel so good right now, as if I'm on a drunken cloud."
Little did I know, upon reaching my destination,
I fell down to the front porch, drowned in inebriation.
I was too gone....
I was way too gone....
I crept up the stairs into my room,
Not making one single peep.
Tripped over my daughter's toys and passed out....
I fell fast asleep.
A pile of raked leaves
no child to jump into them
A pet
no one to play with
An elderly couple
no one to give to
A house
that is not a home
An apple tree
no one to eat its fruit
A secluded path in an autumn’s woods
no lovers to walk it
Have you ever had an ‘I’ve wasted my whole life’ moment
If you have, or if you can close your eyes and imagine one…
You don’t necessarily have to be 'that old,’ though
you may sob harder at the age of dwindling returns
… The pain is soul-searing: you’ve poured your heart
into a child, a close relative, a relationship, a marriage
and now you’ve been left irretrievably high and dry,
so you have failed… miserably...
There’s no one can ‘coach you’ through waves of despair
stomach-churning nausea, ready to devour you
No ‘pep talk magic’ to revive your spirits, to restore your equilibrium
‘Pep talks’ are for performers; you are not acting, your pain is real
But there is this: It's All Good. For you.
~ Consider the Source.
was sitting in a crowd but felt so all alone
No communication, everyone staring at their phone
I just wanted to return to the life that I had tasted
No more electronic robots, I guess I'm technology wasted
Back to Bobbi socks and bobbi pins
Big hellos and happy grins
Culottes an pedal pushers, Friday night dances
Back seat in the drive in, teenage romances
At the amusement park in the penny arcade
Ferris wheel rides and pink lemonade
Walk hand in hand, sometimes act like a fool
Talk to each other as you carry her books home from school
Up in the balcony with your hands on her hips
New worlds to discover, lips touching lips
Yelling from the sidewalk can Jim come out to play
Riding down a hill while standing on a sleigh
Hanging from monkey bars, climb a tree in the park
Playing ball in the street until it was dark
Roasting potatoes on a campfire at night
Running and laughing while flying a kite
The smell of a bakery with bread baking at dawn
Lying in the grass, transistor radio on
Cotton candy at the County Fair
Butch wax or Brylcreem to train your hair
Flying high on a swing and then jumping down
Medicine show at the end of town
Picking blueberries for grandma's pies
Watching Old Yeller with tears in your eyes
At the drug store for a burger and shake
Skimming stones across the lake
Hot dogs and hamburgers on the old grill
Chase tag, hop scotch and King of the hill
Hang at the diner everyday after school
Meeting your friends at the community pool
Yes, take me back where talk wasn't a crime
Take me back to a simpler time
For all this complexity. I don't give a damn
Technology wasted is what I am.
I am very insecure
Full of doubt and so unsure
My life's going way off course
Not knowing where it got lost
Swallowed up by all the fears
Leaving me to cry the tears
Of a soul who's dreams were shattered
Broken--never being captured
Gone forever---slowly pacing
Their departure and erasing
My future plans and existence
I can not take the resistance
And being pushed further past
My dreams that are fading fast
In my memories and mind
Is there a way to rewind
Life back to the very spot
Happiness once filled my heart
Before years flashed by my eyes
Giving me more lows than highs
Dreams being put through the ringer
Now they're memories that linger
In the corners of my brain
Leaving a sad hurtful stain
That comes around when I see
Others making history
Living life the way they like
Turning another sharp spike
In my soul that turns and twists
And my eyes once again mist
With the bitter tears I taste
Of a life that's gone to waste