Debt has shaped most of my sorry life
Shaving it off year by year
Thanks to my devoted wife
She is a gem in her own right
No more tears of shame
My frame of mind feels just right
I smile these days
You can just feel that inner peace
Once I was in a situation of helplessness
Sleight of hand and a twist of fate
With my ex it felt like
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
The kind of man I was
I waited
Trying to convince myself to endure
My hands are tied
My body bruised, she got me with
Nothing to win and nothing left lose
I tried to end it all
I took sleeping pills
Tried to give myself away
Those were dark times
I was a car wreck lying upside down
It took some soul searching
But a wise person said
‘change your world’
I vamoosed the chance I got
Literally I went away
Only with the clothes on my back
What a relief
It cost me relations with my kids
Hell they might feel that I abandon them
I will cross that bridge when I get there
Late uncle Stan
Already called me out on it
Nothing witty to say back
Already to far gone
Careful of who you give yourself away to…
M Cupido
Coffee and Conversations
It’s better than therapy—
a chance to talk and share
all of life’s miseries.
But as we talk,
the laughter grows,
turning dark times
into light.
No longer brewed in sadness,
no longer feeling alone.
if you want your conversations to be
more stable,
Never having to sleep in the stable,
Then conversations over the breakfast table,
Or the tea table,
Whenever you are able,,
Will give you a life that is more workable.
A day planned at the table,
Means no dishes in the sink,
or on the table,
No crumbs on the floor,
As you are heading out the door,,
Giving no reason for the slamming of the door.
Congenial conversations over coffee at your table,
Brings others to the table,
Who will always respect you and your home,
Whenever you are home,
To enjoy conversations at your table,
So, you can have a life that is more stable.
revenge in a pill
gossip needs skill
conversations kill
from a deceitful shill
her hateful thrill
conversations kill
reputations to fill
lies spin in a mill
conversations kill
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
this poem was written in response to the above weekly prompt picture:
Creativeramblings.com/poetry/prompted-haiku-16/
first steps crunch~
then silence swallows each imprint,
a fleeting braille of passage
So many lives lived
are unsubstantial
too many conversations
inconsequential
lifetimes of potential
unfulfilled
hopes dreams ambitions
killed
days wasted
nighttimes too
some held down by others
not necessarily their betters
accepting unquestioning
living a life in mental fetters
prisoners or prey
of the powers in play
I spoke tonight to a dying star,
A flicker frail in endless skies.
It burned with all it ever was,
A lantern trembling as it dies.
I spoke to fire that once was flame,
To ancient light now burning thin.
I spoke to hours that bore no name,
To distant worlds I’ll never win.
I asked it how it kept its glow,
I asked it why it shone so bright.
I asked it what it means to go,
To fade into the velvet night.
It whispered through the silver air,
It whispered with a voice of gold.
It whispered though it was not there,
It whispered stories never told.
It said to burn until you break,
It said to shine despite the fall.
It said to give more than you take,
To risk the heart, to give it all.
I watched it flicker, soft and far,
I watched it vanish without sound.
I watched the dark replace the star,
Yet somehow light still lingered round.
And now I burn because it burned,
And now I shine because it shone.
And now I rise though I have learned
That even dying stars live on.
Conversations with my father,
Bittersweet, and maybe sad
Conversations with my father
Talks that we never had.
Companionably silent
As we set off walking
Neither of us known
For doing too much talking
Down Lambwath road
To Billy Bulson’s farm,
Each with a broken 12 bore
Tucked safely underarm.
I was at his hospital bedside
On the day that he died
Once alone in the car
I gave in and cried.
I am now past that age
And like him slowing down.
Maybe that’s the reason now
I feel him there and around.
We talk about the garden,
Always his joy and pride.
He was never the man
To spend his time inside.
We talk of this and that
In our lazy easy way
And I suppose we chat now
Nearly every single day.
Maybe it’s because I’m older,
That much nearer the other end
But there we sit and chat
Like two good old friends.
Conversations with my father
Bitter sweet and maybe sad,
Conversations with my father,
Talks I wish we’d really had
Brought my daughter to physical therapy appointment
She is filling out three long pages of paper work – front and back
I am listening to other people’s conversations
Learning about strangers keeps me in writing material
My ears are as high as an alert rabbit as I listen to others
I keep my head down, pretending I am not writing down their words.
When it came to love
I had no real plan
I know I wanted to connect in an intimate way
with experimentation and playfulness
I was short on experience
there was a pandemic
I’d had few ‘at-bats’
that’s a sports metaphor
Much of it seemed surreal and abstract
like we’d entered another realm of everyday places
there was a subtle unpredictability
that was unfiltered, instinctive and unapologetically unhinged
freedom permeated every element
still, our collaboration allowed for honest conversation
I remember asking, “What are we doing?”
Thinking back, It underlined how vastly different our two experiences were
.
.
Songs for this:
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee [E]
Blur by embrs & astralcurrent
“I’m so glad you’re alive”
I told you this, maybe a little too soon
With Nyx painting shadows on our faces
it was a little too dark
But you’re eyes were transfixed completely on mine
And I was completely aware
That it was a little too beautiful for just the second day
I met you a little too late
I wish you could’ve known my 10 year old secrets and friends
And I could’ve known yours
Maybe I could’ve wiped your 10 year old tears
or traced your 10 year old scars with the same worrisome frown I have now
And maybe then it would have mattered
I told you on the day after we first spoke
After hearing what you could only tell a stranger
“I’m so glad you’re alive”
And this was entirely true, but you replied with
a nervous laugh, your eyes exposing the lie in the curl of your lips
“Why?” You asked
I really didn’t know
I guess it was just a little too soon
Conversation’s bound to change
As aging takes its toll,
For when you meet with friends,
Exchanging stories is the goal.
So politics may be discussed
Or movies, books or shows
Or travel or the grandkids;
That’s the way it always goes.
Except that something else now comes
To take up center stage -
The ailments that we deal with
And those battles that we wage:
The brittle bones that lead to falls,
With MRI’s and slings;
The joint replacements, followed by
PT with all that brings.
The medications, bloodwork,
The procedures and the fears
That this is just the start of
Never-ending “golden” years.
No longer do we talk of
Wilder days of smoke and wine.
I guess that’s what’s expected
When you go to bed by nine!
While we’re renaming things,
can we please rename “United States” to “AAAmerica.”
I know I’m tired of scrolling to the bottom of every pop-down country list.
And ARE we united? Really, even a little?
That awkward moment when you’re already said, “what?” three times,
and you still have no idea what the conversation is about, but you can tell,
by bouncy and eager expressions, that the topic is loaded. Never sit at the end of a table, dining halls get noisy.
Has a song ever been your safe place?
What if it keeps you warm in a storm,
by getting you up and movin’?
Oh, what about the inimitable effect of a handsome guy?
Now, I don’t engage in decorous affections,
but ‘Cute Soccer Guy’ (I’ve mentioned him before),
wakes us up, by just showing up, oh, we play it lose,
and all, but he makes all of our hearts beat a little faster.
A song for this:
Twiggy Twiggy by [re:jazz]
The Trouble With Boys by Little Eva
THE DAY MAY COME WHEN I WILL DIE
SOME WILL LAUGH AND SOME WILL CRY
YET I BELIEVE THEIR WILL BE
A LOT OF QUESTIONS LEFT TO SEE
UNANSWERED THOUGHTS STILL UNEXPLAINED
THE ANSWERS SHALL COME THE CHILDS' BRAIN
AND AS THEY LAY ME IN THE DIRT
KEEP IN MIND I AM FOOD FOR BIRTH
THE DAY MAY COME WHEN I DIE
SOME WILL LAUGH AND SOME WILL CRY
TODAY THOUGH I STILL LIKE TO LIVE
ENJOYING WHAT LIFE HAS TO GIVE
PROMPTED BY THE THINGS I KNOW
AND IMAGINING THE PLACES I STILL WANT TO GO
THE DAY MAY COME WHEN I DIE
SOME WILL LAUGH AND SOME WILL CRY
HEARING PROGRESS, CREATES THOUGHTS
CONVERSATIONS THAT WONT BE FORGOT
GETTING A GLIMPSES OF A PEARLY GATE
IVE ENJOYED MY TIME AND DON’T WANT TO BE LATE
THE DAY MAY COME WHEN I DIE
SOME WILL LAUGH AND SOME WILL CRY
He’s got plans to meet his friend,
And he’s putting things in his pockets, his wallet, his keys, a set of dice.
‘I can’t forget these dice’ he says to me.
‘I did not know you had a set of dice, that’s news to me.
But why on god’s green earth do you need that to go with you?’
‘Because, Mother, I am off to gamble with the homeless junkies in the wash.’
‘Ahhhh, what will you be gambling for?’
‘I have no idea, Mother, but they are definitely going to stab me to death for it.’
‘Well, be careful, honey, vaya con dios’ I say.
‘If I survive the night, it won’t be because I tried to.
Yes gambling is a very dangerous vice,’ he says as he walks out the door.
He’s back within the hour, they met for burgers and called it a night.
I wonder, how did my kid get so damn funny?
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