If the stars could talk
They'll whisper in silence
Nothing but truth
Telling
we can't see or reach
Giving leverage
Awakening our potentials.
If the stars could talk
They'll say you can light up the world
No matter who or what you are
Either big or small
Teaching us not to settle for less but the best.
If the stars could talk
They'll say you can go from zero to hundred
And from hundred to zero
Dedication and determination
Are the keys for maintaining positions.
If the stars could talk
They'll say nothing bloom all year
Even the sun goes at night
Sometimes our spark fades
When we step into brighter light
That's why the stars always shines at night
Never at dawn, maybe in another galaxy.
If I see something in the ditch
I have to stop the car
and pull it out
sometimes it’s a toilet, a broken lamp, a desk, part of a chair
I especially have to pull it out
if I do not know what it is
I make a cat’s curiosity seem sporadic
we can find room for this, I tell my husband
he is disgusted
What is it?
Luckily, I am a quick liar
because I often do not know
highland bull does the pumpkin dance
with candy corn that knows how to prance
the rest of the animals roll their eyes
they do not understand bull’s happy cries
they are too old to remember
the excitement generated toward December
when pumpkins and gourds fall off their vines
but highland bull does, he is dancing down their lines
If I tell you what you want to hear
Will you actually listen
Or silently cajole yourself
That you have converted another.
If I tell you things you do not want to hear
Will you dismiss them
Without giving them any thought
Deny them the possibility of truth
If I listen to what you tell me
And question the efficacy of its truth
Will you dismiss me as a fool
Or engage me in lively debate
Or have your values calcified
Been stilled by an arctic wind
Blowing cold across a frozen face
Unable to smile at its own contempt
Even if invited, I wouldn’t have gone to a Charlie Kirk-hosted lecture dinner.
Like Jesus, I prefer to dine not with the righteous but with the sinner.
Besides, Charlie would not likely have invited me.
We're adherents to different sides of Christianity.
And only time will tell which one will be the winner.
I want Love.
The kind of Love,
which holds my hands,
kisses my cheeks and gives me peace.
I want Love,
which wants me too,
"I'd let the world burn down for you".
I want Love,
which respects,
the "forever and beyond", I guess.
But where's this Love,
I can't see?
Do I miss the opportunity?
Or are just my expectations too high?
Is this Love too much Disney?
Or is Love just hiding from me?
Even if it is -
Love, you have to know:
I am going to always want you.
a warm puppy’s head is on my left heel
it’s a heavy head; he is a big puppy
he is cozy here, next to his mama
I got him at four months and ten days
wonder if he ever thinks about his birth mother?
he has the saddest brown eyes
so I think he does
Yes, scared for life, he dies a dismal death,
Life’s worth if lived fullest, life fraught with choice.
A life loved by the soul within is faith
That lets one live, not just exist sans joys.
To live is to die, left with no regret,
To wake next morn, feel light, all loads relieved.
A dance of chance to take, life’s not to fret,
Nor length of years, but years packed with life lived.
To live life full is then truly to live,
Challenges when come, to meet them head-on,
Grow wings, wander and leave, to no place cleave,
Love light, love night that reigns darkest ere dawn,
And take to sails, good sea or gusty gale,
If only life dares, new heights can one scale.
_______________________________
Crown of sonnets | 01.01.2008 | life, adventure
If only life dares us new heights to scale,
Joy and thrill of adventures, not of rest,
Conquest of crests that feels like Everest,
Life lived like cut off kites that freely sail.
There’s thrill in a risk-starved scare-less soft ride,
Nor joy in scaling a tiny hillock,
In a high-sea drama rehearsed on dock,
Romance, nor wanderlust O with a guide.
Comes seafarers’ thrill in confronting life,
In braving woes as if they’re a tame bull,
Only he lives that lives life brimming full,
He that sails through hanging on stormy strife,
Not one way wary of his wobbling breath,
He, hardly does live, dies a dismal death.
______________________________
Crown of sonnets | 01.01.2008 | life, adventure
Note: Time comes when one reflects on the life lived in the past, and wonders what if he had lived it another way. Man tends to secure a cocooned life made safer if not sure, devoid of risk and rough ride after dreaming for challenges in youth. Yet again he's left thinking about the rare joys of life missed out—if only ‘I had taken the road less trodden’! But… alas, it’s too late.
Part 2 of this poem follows.
Don’t spread cremation crumble on burnt toast.
Is what the undertaker said about dad’s ashes.
My furrowed brow responds…
Why? Who would do such a thing?
If you were to follow a random person
from the street, ever wonder, where it might lead?
You just might pick some ordinary schmo.
single?
innocent?
cavalier?
kind?
You may find out something—wishing you hadn’t
psycho?
shallow?
yokel?
callous?
hapless?
omnicidal?
Would you spread cremation crumble
on burnt toast or follow a random street person?
If Trump were to croak, say, by choking on a slice of papaya,
how long before his ilk would see it as a heavenly sign and run it by a
biblical scholar who would then be given the imperative
to scour the Bible to come up with a plausible narrative
to prove that Trump's death was another example of a suffering messiah?
what love could i seek if it’s not yours?
a joyous ode to your name—
even sorrow would glee to hear.
i’ll leave some words on your doorstep
slowly relenting, slightly scrambling.
like the way they were in my tongue,
your name’s as sweet as the morning dew,
waiting for my lips to utter
each syllables describing all of you
don’t spare me from your benevolence
don’t spare me from your rage
don’t push me away when the voices
get to the corners of your circle
breathe me in and hollow me out
let me hear the ache in your voice
before the wind’s whistle blow you away
from me
The sonnet form's antique and mired in dust,
Why should I strive thus so to write one well?
If bard I be then learn new styles I must.
Will I achieve my goal, who can foretell?
So here I sit again with pen in hand,
Attempting some new quatrains that will rhyme,
Entreating Muse to guide my falt'ring wand.
The formula, so strict, takes lots of time,
But I'll persist 'til fourteen lines are writ,
One final couplet crowning three quatrains,
Persistence now completing this last bit.
There's something 'bout a sonnet tests my brain.
Yet I prevail, these fourteen lines once one,
The prize obtained, this poet's work is done.
If you’re looking for a blessing today…
or anytime you’re feeling blue…
look into the eyes of your child
or any child
and you will see…
a blessing looking back at you
If I could have lived my life
Then this life is not mine. Not mine. Then this present has gone too far
I didn’t wait this time. Never. I needed the love. But that didn’t work
Doesn’t work the love? Unacceptable, my life? Yes. This is the reality
Solitude is the price for my independent life. I am paying the penalty
Hmm. Price? Penalty? Hmm. I am telling the truth. Looser life is best
Goodbye, my lost life, I feel good in the undertime, this world is mine
I needed to live my life. Very. But the psychology crossed my own will
I couldn’t put the fruit of my dream on the altar. Monsters’ science kill
Kill you
Kill me
Everyone
Don’t give up
God gave a way
Restless solitude
Is my life
We will met
In the Eternal
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