I closed the door, but I didn’t lock it
I kept the key in a secret closet
My guitars are in their folders
And my spirit is undercover
Even on my worst days, I’ll still believe
Some temporary things are for eternity
For a homesick mind like this
New year, new songs, same storyline
People keep asking if I will survive
They don’t know all the assets in my hand
Because I’m addicted to beat the game of life
Even in my best days, I see perfectly
How you destroyed all my dignity
You came, you ruin me, then leave
The wedding flowers have already withered
and with them our last opportunities
All my strings are worn out
And my voice got tired of lies out loud
Even in my best days, I secretly
Kept asking if I enjoy all the time I bleed
My limits went down
My knees were begging down
Could someone hear me out? I scream out loud
Mentally we rummage through
Our trashcans of the past
Viewing what was worthless
When in that trash were cast:
A milestone magazine we see in there
Worth thousands in “green backs” now
Oh my, if we had known
The things that we now avow.
Mountains of words we wished we’d said
Lying in a dusty, useless heap
Applicable now that time has passed
But … didn’t know that we should keep.
And people’s names we thought were bad
We discarded thoughtfully
But as time passed we slowly learned
Twas we who didn’t see clearly.
Critiques installed in folders bold
Of things we did not approve
Time moved on … we re-assessed
Those things now are “in-the-groove”.
Now we know of judgements made
Before our many years did flow
Were all based on things
We didn’t really know.
I got lost again
in childlike wonder
Looked for seashells
while listening to thunder
The rain it came
soaked me to the core
I paid it no mind
while exploring the shore
I removed my clothes
too wet to wear
Laughed and skipped
danced without a care
The troubles of the world
slipped from my shoulders
My adult responsibilities
and mountain of folders
On a secluded beach
with childlike glee
I discovered the essence
of who I used to be.
There are flakes of black stuck to my palm
remnants of the bottle’s cheap paint
clinging to the rich warmth of my veins
It isn’t a surprise to find my water bottle in such a state
simply another thing of mine that’s far past its prime
Folders broken at the spine and
laces long soiled in muck
Hole ridden socks
and well-worn sweaters
A price for the stability I’ve struck
and reminders of what I must still weather
I brush my hand on my thigh
firmly as to rid the flakes from the ridges of my skin
As one would the guts of a fly
and as thoroughly as dispelling the guilt of sin
I know the flakes remain on me
But my sweatpants are black, so
I can retain my dignity to a certain degree
A “PAPA” coffee cup
Not quite as old as
Those who gave it to me.
An old metal stapler,
Part fastener, part weapon.
27 pencils which
Can never be found when needed.
Notes, scribbled cursive
The hieroglyphics of the elderly.
A seven and one half pound,
Dust covered, Dictionary/Thesaurus
A Poetry for Dummies manual
A collection of “mystery folders”
That I am afraid to open
An heirloom collection
Of paper clips
The scent of bacon
And pancakes….
Gotta go.
Born of Silicon and Oxygen, you hide in the Earth,
Formed in shapes sizes of dust and rocks, and heavy boulders;
Midst costly gems and stones and jewels, you have august worth,
Electricals and opticals intertwine your folders...!
Crystal and white and red and pink and green in their pure forms,
Like flowers and birds and beasts in various shades and shapes;
Prism-like pristine kaleidoscopic elegance conforms,
As glass, concrete, mortar, or jewel show perfect stapes...!
A proponent of optimism; you are a sign of luck,
Polished Prefabricated you perpetually shine;
With diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, when you are stuck,
The charm of your fusion goes beyond the enchantment line...!
Particles of the sun and moon and the stars in you thrive,
Fine alloy midst alloys, O quartz, fond feelings you revive...!!!
It was right on the tip
of my tounge.
I losed my thought in
looking for something.
Why aren't the folders
marked: by tempo?
Who putlyrics and rhymn
on top.
They erased
melody and harmony
and put Bounce and Boogie
in it's place.
Love song has barque on it
we are going to dance not
waltz!
Ghee whizz: don't spill
no liquer on my floor.
My mind is already in a
fugue!
I thought it was coda!
start back at the top.
Art song complications
they are such picky people!
Outro:intro refraim!
Take all your vitamins and meds, twice a day
Exercise often, don't just 'play'
Eat healthy foods, but sparingly
No caffeine ever after mid-day
Regular visits, doctor and dental
And don't forget to check the mental
Make sure you're insured: life, health, house and car
Work long and hard hours, you're not a rock star
Constantly check your emails, texts and twitters too
Don't neglect your cousins in Kiev and Timbuktu
Inspect the a/c, heater, all vents and sump-pump sure enough
Use color-coded folders for your financial records and stuff
Now just follow these simple regulations and rules
And don't sweat the sleep ~ you insomniac, you
He had a disorderly mind.
She had an ordered one.
She had cerebral files,
binders,
alphabetized answers
for every occasion.
He would come to her
with questions
like - what-do-you-call-it
and who’s-his-face
and whatever was the name of
some thingamajig or other.
She would calmly dig into her mental
folders, data banks and dossiers
and supply him the correct
precise response or comment.
He would hurry away
holding her answer tightly \
in his loose
fumbling, bungling
and forgetful mind.
Then she would happily turn
to her main purpose in life
which was torturing little animals
and laughing maniacally as she
listened to their screams.
I am much aware of the previous records you read
Both bearing my mark and my seal
Carried no good, stocked with vile and deceit
But I urge you brothers and sisters
To think harder, coz I’ve been penning for your good
Whatever that spooned you, whichever way you were spooked,
Am back in a new hood
With goodies deep in my cortex, ready to vortex
Complex truth into digestible pieces
Thousand papers and folders, all addressed in
Love, sincerity and in peace
I am conversant with my said forced sense
Out of baseless and disarrayed script
I bear this title out of personal merit
Coz I waited for their approval and credit
And dismayed I was by their verdict
Thousand mistakes recalled in my name
The scandalous seat that I chose to tame
Some said by default, some by floating innuendo
But self-conclave justified my crescendo
Your commitment to my letters
Will my critics’ faction clear
As dignity I behest, all the hiatus I’ll bridge
To just overt my intentions and loud scream my point
That my penning is not by simony
But morphing from Real to Pope Benedict
I ran for a long time.
And from alot of different things.
And you can be running and not even know your running.
My whole life was a sprint away from pain.
My family called me so strong.
They applauded my solidity. My stability. My reliability.
She'll never let us down. It's a little awkward now.
Because I did let them down.
And I'm not strong.
But I am fast. And I know how to run. And I know how to hide things away in a special folder.
For later or never.
But mostly never.
I haven't faced the things I'm afraid of.
Spent 22 years hiding.
Never daring to open those folders because frankly my memory of them was gone.
But now they're open.
And I see myself again.
And I've stopped running.
And I felt my pain.
And I will continue to feel it
And it's gonna hurt.
Deeply.
Bring it on.
The dust accumulated from a span
Of years that reaches well into the past,
In folders placed from back when it began;
Discrete events across a distance, vast.
Like vapors freed by comet's forward cast,
Receding, fading like a tail mundane.
Will aught of this trajectory remain?
Or pass by undetected, with no trace?
Or counting all as loss, seek better gain:
To know that You ordained this merry chase?
----------
(for the ‘Dizain’ poetry contest, on the subject of ‘Dust’
cleaning out my desk drawers after a career of work
Sponsored by Constance La France
Submitted 2/4/22)
Accusations and lies
the narcissist with demons inside
Stand on your toes
carry a yoke on your shoulders
No one must know
Store it away in folders
whilst dying the boulders
Alone she sighs
Origins of Love
David J Walker
Pursue the origins of love
Young lovers of life
A man a wife
A child
A family filed in
Familiar folders
The hottest of
hot years
Fade to warm
The warm fades to cold
And cold
Grows old
then older
And before you know
The old fades
To colder
You, always searching.
Searching through the remains of dusty city archives
That led you wandering, through rows of granite headstones
Where lifeless identities lay.
Searching through the remains of dusty city archives
The melancholy, haunting, ghostly, faded images
Where lifeless identities lay;
Excavating crumbled lives, stuffed in moldy folders.
What is the future without a past?
Silently, harboring loss and abandonment;
In the shadows you clung to glimpses of hope,
With dreams of your mother's opened arms.
Silently, harboring loss and abandonment;
Relentlessly you continued your vigil, to search
With dreams of your mother's opened arms.
When science revealed our past,we embraced the future.
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