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Don't. Can't. Won't. Listen. Listen.
My mind is awhirl. Too much of that stuff.
Life is redundant. My friends are boring.
My parents are fussy. Absolutists.
No room for me. I try to get in my truth.
Screaming it out in looks
For I am not allowed to speak
Unless spoken to. Right?
My mind is awhirl. Wanting to break out.
Of this prison where I was put right away.
Little ladies don't get dirty.
Don't speak until spoken to.
My friends jabber about the same stuff.
Every day. A rewind conversation.
I am screaming with my eyes
And my body language.
No one cares.
As long as I
don't show
my crazy.
Confession and admission
sometimes resembles near about the same
So what do I name for a deed
I did earlier when I was young
A girl loved me much and I too
but neither I met her nor she in any day
She knew I am a married man
her style attitudes attracted me
I knew there's no sin to love
so I loved her much very much simply
Many years gone on the way
I told her indirectly about me
that I am helpless can do nothing
After a long period she is now married
I admit that I still love her really
I confess that I lost her valuable time for love
I always seem to fantasize about the same thing.
Every night when my head hits the pillow.
I'm older, more confident. Taller even.
I bump into you in town, just mooching around. Probably window shopping cause I can never make rent on time.
We bump shoulders. I turn and apologize politely and you recognize me. You'll have to remind me your name because you remember I'm bad with faces but I need no reminder.
Those eyes, the direct mirror to my own soul.
You'll say, "oh my God, how have you been?" And I'll smile and say, "I've been doing good. It's good to see you" and we exchange new numbers.
A week goes by and you reach out wanting to catch up over coffee.
I'll go.
Pretending I'm not searching your hands for a ring.
You catch me doing so but you don't mention it.
We hug goodbye.
I'd like to sit and think that it would progress.
Two kids in a farm house. The whole picket white fence. The real American dream. But even my dreams are realistic these days.
They know it'll fizzle out, the same way it did before.
You've been the glue that's held me together
When I'm with you my heart feels like it has feathers
And the thought of losing you
Brought me to my knees, just knew this I could not do
Even thought dying would be easier to bare
Couldn't stand to think you didn’t care
And in a moment of weakness I did what I knew not to
Not realizing how much more I hurt you
But now I know I made a huge mistake
And my "I'm sorry's" are anything but fake
I think back to the loves I've lost
Memories from back then and the pain caused
Then trying to love someone more than you ever have before
Falling for you more and more
Sometimes scares me more than anything
I've had a baby, made a vow, and wore a ring
Yet all those different times
All my books, all my pictures, all my rhymes
They all ended round about the same
And I was the one who almost always caught the blame
But with you still I continue to try
The truth to you I wouldn't deny
But everyday I live with that fear
That at any moment or time my dear
You'll change your mind
And there will be nothing I can do, say, or find
If a day where to come when you didn’t love me anymore
I would still love you like any day before
Knowing that this time I almost changed your mind
A different way of doing things I must find
Cuz losing you is the last thing I'd ever want to do
Because I am totally, completely, and irrevocably in love with you!
Here you silently rest unsung hero
A granite stone on top of you
As a symbol of deference and dignity
With the words Rest in Peace.
Rest in peace indeed hero of mine!
You once walked amongst the living
Coming from a battle
With aching wrists, stomach cramps and leaden feet,
And yet the world grinned at you with emptiness.
Yet, they sang songs loud and clear.
Songs of eternity about the same battle
Praising those who came back with
Bleeding noses, cuts, bruises and black eyes.
Rest in peace, indeed.
You once came back from a marathon,
You were exhausted but still had your feet firm on the ground
And yet you were met with lifeless words.
Instead they sang songs of jubilation
To those who came back from the same marathon
With their chests panting like frogs and
Sweat streaming all over their bodies.
And now!
Only now that you lay lifeless in the world of the silence
And the living finally has wax removed from their ears and eyes,
Are beginning to weave songs about you.
For they now know that you had the furnace of a tiger
You had burning passion that lit for men and women
Walking in confusion in the jungle war.
You held an elephant’s tusks
For your knowledge provided paths for those who were lost
And kept them grounded.
You had the strength of a lion
Your tenacity made you fight and fight…
Rest in Peace, indeed
Hero unsung.
When my pen meets my pad I never know
Where the ink gone take me
Use to write alot about struggle and pain
because that was my safety
One dimensional once was my thoughts
Until I learn to use writing to get away
Love poetry but want the versatility to write
About anything
To be honest I can only write so much about
the struggle and pain
Wanna write about the sun and the and refrain
From writing about the same things
Trying to hear the silence you hear when you
Jump from a plane
For five to six seconds can't hear thing because
There's not anything to hear
Simple put when my pen meets my pad I just
Want the ink to take me to a place of cheer
Different poems about the same topic, but all in a different perspective. Poem writers see things in their own eyes and write them down on a computer or a phone. They may write their poems in a notebook or a journal. But we all have different points of views from life that we experience or see everyday. Whether they’re sad, happy, peaceful, frightening or amazing poems, we write them down. We almost write relate able poems, though. We share our feelings to readers who pick up those poem books in libraries, bookstores or from book sales. We all learn lessons and write about them in poems and we even help others.
Buddhists don’t talk of original sin
The way Christians do,
But they both talk about the same thing;
That in the beginning there was light
And the Word, and the missing of the mark.
For Buddhists this “sin” is basic ignorance,
The ignoring of who and what we are.
For Buddhists experience is divided
Into two basic categories;
Enlightened, or Nirvana, and
Deluded, or Samsara.
Nirvana is peace.
Samsara is suffering.
The experience of each are thus polar opposites,
But the simple original sin,
The fundamental deviance,
Is that Samsara arose from the desire
To improve Nirvana, our original nature.
So Samsara is Nirvana plus desire,
The desire to personalize it,
Put our mark of identity on what was
Already always perfect.
To extend the cross cultural metaphor
You could say we wanted to give it
The mark of the beast.
And that’s how we lost the light.
(8/16/26)
As we live on this earth
day by day.
As we think about tomorrow
and experiencing that tomorrow the next day,
You realize yourself being in the future
at that very moment,
You realize you were thinking about the same day
that you’re in right now
that you were thinking about yesterday.
The present is the past
regardless of today
and as we think of the past,
as we are currently in the future.
Every day is the future
except the other days
that happened before today.
People who live in the present
will always have a hard time
trying to escape the past,
but if you think ahead into the future,
you will be unstoppable.
One stone… but please not one ounce more!
Just three cheese straws… or was it four
Nut-crackers made for breaking in
To hardened shells with nuts within
Candies there to tempt my eye
Selected as I wander by
Soft mint creams with chocolate skin
And one more glass of gin
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Two stone… but please not one ounce more,
Those pigs in blankets, I adore
Turkey; roast with stuffing in
Sparkling wine instead of gin
Gammon with an orange glaze
Honeyed parsnips hold my gaze
Cocktail sausage on a stick
And gravy rich and thick
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Three stone… But now it’s nearer four,
Dad, your pants don’t fit no more
Wife says, “Slice of cake for you?”
I say, “No,” but then I do
Mince pies, cake, profiteroles
Christmas pudding, sausage rolls
Custard, jelly, squirty cream
Tried the scales… but hear me scream!
…
…
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
One stone, two stone, three stone…… and FOUR!
My tum’s a shadow on the floor
I was male but now not sure
For I can’t see the proof no more
But sausage rolls that went uneaten
Were never gonna see me beaten
So, it’s diet meals drunk through a straw
Like every Christmas gone before
Oh contraire… my Frigidaire
Is full of sherry trifle
I took a little peek in there
A truly festive eyeful
I’m fit to burst but I don’t care
For Christmas MUST HAVE trifle
I’ve got a bowl, I’ve got a spare
I’VE GOTTA HAVE THAT TRIFLE!
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms