Long Deep thought Poems
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I saw you welcome the sun's kiss in the tropical country.
I saw how you wished you had swings and the feeling of soaring through clear skies.
You dreamt of being your brother's kites.
I saw you cut the string and set them free.
You were so deeply young.
You wondered about rain and its touch.
You smelled of serenity and warm poetry.
I saw how you so proudly wore that red dress with white Daisies your mother bought you.
The chickens pecked at its flowers and you laughed.
I saw you running full speed into your father's arms.
He'd never let you fall.
You felt loved.
Like a child you had small doubts.
You are the girl that never chased after butterflies
You are frightened of cart wheels and shower drains.
As you grew older
You were afraid of deeper things.
Afraid to see your father's closet empty.
Your mother never hugged you.
I know you lived in a concrete home built on sand.
At times the walls came crashing and it left bruises.
You learned to resist,
Against all down falls and tumbling downs.
I saw you survive and it was beautiful.
Your father struck down on you with bone crushing words.
He no longer talks to you.
Your mother doesn't understands you
She doesn't know you.
Womanhood left you stranded.
I saw you drift into deep thought,
Disconnect from the earth.
Love felt like a different language.
You found refuge in a smile.
You put your hurt on paper.
You wanted the world to stop and admire your strengths.
You always run away.
Your voice tucked itself away in it's safe place.
Demons strangling your bravery.
You felt ashamed of becoming a woman
It took your father's love away
And like your mother he made you feel like you don't deserve respect.
You discovered womanhood in the dark. It is a cave of secrets. It is full of difficult strives and expectations. It is full of hardships and twisted inequity.
But somehow in the midst you found it breath taking.
You could never trade it.
It is the birthplace of strength and admiration.
It is the salt of the ocean and the colors of the sky.
Young girl
Learn to live unapologetically.
At times you will still find it difficult to accept your chipped edges
But you are a woman.
You'll find beauty in the scars and in everything that is broken.
Only you can tell the story.
Only you can change it.
Form:
It is amazing how many super important people there are in my hometown!
At almost any intersection, I will be eclipsed by at least 2-3 individuals who are cooler
Than I could ever aspire to think to become.
Lately I see them everywhere!
They look just like the people on the covers of those high quality magazines I see
In line at the grocery store when I am buying my crate of ramen noodles, and
The 4 for $5 Bar-S brand hot dogs.
I can't help but to think, "WOW! Why haven't I seen any of these people on t.v. yet?"
My adulation for people like Newton, the Incas, Brahmms, Klimt has been misplaced!
Just when I felt like a wart infested slug for my lack of awareness,
A gracious miracle occurred:
This girl/woman/tranny pulled up next to me at a long traffic light.
She wore those wonderful Jackie-o knock offs that almost cover the entire face,
Making her nose look like this teensy-weensy little button!
The a.c. blew her hair around like she was in a photo shoot, and
After removing the cell phone that had neurally implanted itself to her head,
She stared straight ahead, as if in a trance.
I was sure that she was probably in deep thought concerning ways to feed starving babies,
Or contemplating the lines for her next secret audition that only she knows about.
Once the light turned chartreuse, she accelerated like a photon;
This is when I noticed the scintillating rims that resembled the UFO that I communicated with
Down by irrigation ditch the day before.
This was a sign... I had to catch up with her and share this knowledge!
I followed her the length of the city until she finally pulled
Her behemoth into some swanky day spa that had no airs of pretentiousness whatsoever.
It was weird because as I approached her vehicle, I began to sputter and stammer
All of my words; I even began to inexplicably lurch as I walked towards her.
When she saw me her eyes widened to the size of coffee saucers, and
The next thing I knew was there were these wires attached to my chest!
Suddenly I was dreaming of the time I ate mushrooms and touched a frayed cord
On an alarm clock.
When I awoke on the hot asphalt, my seraph had vanished into a mid afternoon haze.
I had to give a toothy smile though- I knew that my body just couldn't handle the intensity
Of her heavenly nimbus!
He lives between two worlds.
One that an average, or sane person, finds him or herself living day to day,
and that of a fictional writer, who allows his creative side to pull him into the dark spaces of his mind filled with fantasies and mysteries.
Artist capture these visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas,
Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale their creative side bangs out in millisecond bursts. He withdraws from the creative chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these flashing insane hallucinations.
In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks and once satisfied he re-enters this dark chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry.
Exhausted, he now knows it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But, he now wonders, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be?
He re-reads it time and time again. Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will they clinch their fist in anger at the right moment? Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?
So, what is left for this creative writer who has finished his work. Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates. The world of the common public that accepts their monochromatic existence.
He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his life. He’s now hearing voices, whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes its escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever.
No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. He has found true hell. The hell that awaits all mystery writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort with the voices within.
As I stared at him lying there in his casket I thought of my dad.
A tear of unfulfilled dreams fell from my eye,
and like that in a snap,
Reality was just doing what it had to do.
It took another person from this great earth, a person who made this earth so great.
And as I stood there I imagined any second from that moment that person was suppose to wa
Only this time he would never wake up again. He was gone for good.
The wrinkle in his eye would stay the same forever.
His body appeared cold and fleshed.
It was scary as all those thoughts flowed through my head. Death a deep thought in my
mind. Death something we all must face, something we all must witness.
People dying as the others are crying, we look at our relatives, old and young alike.
And we realize one day they to must die, as those who already have.
But, death does’t at all scare me; in till I will be face to face with the real thing.
When my own life shall be on its edge. On its last minuets of life will I think of how
gracious things went for me?
As I knew what I would think, I wondered what the man beside me in the casket was
thinking before his true minuets of death.
I wonder how he felt or if he even had a chance to think.
But, I know through out his new life in heaven he’lm watch over us-every step every
move. Why God takes some of the greatest people in the world we shall never know.
However, we shall now have more faith and more spirit because he is watching over our
shoulder helping us do right from wrong.
The more I would stare at him and all the flowers around him I would think of how so
many people loved him.
He left for the better only for the good.
Although it is hard for some of us to understand that he will be in heaven,
a much grander place. To live with us in our hearts, in our souls, to help us in ways he
could’t when he was on earth. And he will always be with us, until our dying day, when
we shall reunite with him and be as one.
We may never see his face or hold his hand, have a nice gentle laugh with him, but he is
still in our memories where he can never die. He’lm be with us through our every problem
we face to our every fancy we wish for. Because it is Heave where he went and there all
of his dream can be fulfilled.
Form:
If…..
If we passed on the street, would you notice me, or would you just keep walking past? Would you turn to look at me walking away or would you just keep walking?
If you saw me in a crowded café, sitting alone, writing in deep thought, would wonder where it was you saw before?
If there was only one open seat left in the cafe’ and it was at my table, would you risk asking me if the seat was taken, or would you stand alone near the wall waiting for a table to open?
If after you sat with me, would our eyes meet, would I feel the soft warmness in your glare, or would you just look past as if I wasn’t even there?
If you sat next to me on a bus or the subway, would know it was me sitting next to you, could you feel the warmth of me and want it to surround you during the cold winters?
If you saw a warm glow while you walked your dog in the park as sunset began to fall, would you seek it out just to find the glow was coming from me and that it was starting to fade?
If you did follow and find the glow and discovered that it came from me, would you try to talk to me, or would you just let me walk away again, watching the glow slowly fade?
If we crossed paths in the mall, would you wonder where it was that you knew me from or ignore that nagging feeling of familiarity and just keep moving?
If we passed each other again would you get that same nagging feeling again, would you remember what we once had so long ago, or would you just bury it deep inside like you once did? If you do remember, would you recognize the feeling of safety in that warm glow that came from my heart?
If you did remember, would you see that, that the fire never went out and it is still burning within, would you want it back again, or would just push it away again the way you did so long ago?
If we were in a crowded nightclub, would you be drawn to the glow that only you could see, would you embrace it like you once did and hold it dear to your heart, embrace it like you once did?
If you do hold it dear to your heart once more, would you remember how much it meant to us, and how good it felt to have two hearts as one again, if you do, would it be enough?
If Only!
Author?
Some One You May Know!
Form:
To honor the Mother America, our men and women in uniform
upheld our nation’s colors still hanging from the ruined eagle’s nest,
though it is torn to shreds, with renewed resolution for uncertain future to come.
And everyone dug the ruins to remove the mountains of debris;
some died while trying to help others, some injured while searching
for a piece of life that may still be there in the terrible toll of lives lost,
still yet, some with earnest prayer while watching TV screen.
It is the time for us all Americans, to unite under one same nation’s flag,
more than ever, it is the time to reassure and to proudly display our oneness under one same nation’s flag to the world, though we are a nation of all different races, cultures and of diversity. And now is the time to display our determination,
that we, as the peace loving people of America, will not tolerate the killing of innocent lives, which we, as the people of one great sovereign state U.S.A.
will not overlook what terrorists did to this nation.
No matter where those inhumane evildoers ensconce themselves,
we will go after them, and punish them in the name of justice.
We will return our anger on them, in the name of innocent spirits departed from us, at the time of collapse of the towers, at the time when eagle injured its wings.
We must pray earnestly however, before take up our arms.
we must give a deep thought however, before vengeance
takes its place.
Make sure that our castigation against atrocious evildoers
is not for where do they live or come from, what they do to earn
their honest living, how they look or dress, how they speak or greet one another, or even how they worship their God, but because of their evil desire and what they did to our innocent lives.
Listen! those faceless cowardly terrorists,
this beautiful country will remain on this earth forever,
in the unity of people from every corner of the world
with all different cultural backgrounds.
And with the vision that of impartiality for all
and indivisibility under one same flag, the Star-Spangled Banner.
And prosper as ever by everyone doing their fair share as a proud citizen
of this great nation, the U.S.A.
The way they look at me is almost time stopping. The icey color. The shadow that fall's right
below. Why can't I stop staring? Why are they looking at me? I don't know if it scares me or
just rightly sets me in a mood. What mood? They are beautiful almost unreal... They send
me into a deep thought and a completely differant world. Can I not find the right word for
what they are? Not mysteriouse. Not wanting. Hmmm... My thought's race as I begin to breath
some what hard. Wow, what is wrong with me. Who is this person? Why do I look into thier
soul through thier waunderful time stoppin eyes. It is like I just wan't to melt. I feel a cold
breeze and I almost snap out of it. Wait now what? What is it... I just cant stop the daze. It is
so amazing, so waunderful. I just want them. I don't want the person just thier eyes. Can I
have them? They have to be God's eyes. No man can have such an affect on a woman
through such a thing as his eye's. I just cant figure this out. Im in such deep thought about
all this. What is worng with me? I am not thinking this! I could not just take them. He would
kill me if I tried to take his eye's. He is so much bigger than me. NO, wait I would never
committ such a crime. That is terrible how could I think like a killer. Taking someone's eye's!
That is just terrible! I could never. What if I could just have him. If he was mine his eye's
would also be mine. Hmm... just to think. Can I own something as beatiful and time stopping
as these eye's? That would be controlling of me. I am not like that. This is crazy what are
they doing to me. It's like they turn me into a completly differant person. Do I like it? I don't
know. All I think about is wanting his eyes. It is so consuming to my soul and my mind. Wait
what he is he doing? Is he coming over here? Could that be? Oh what if I can't speak for
looking into his eyes? Oh no, what about all my thoughts? What do I do? I can't run, for I am
in such a trance. Wait what is he doing? Where is he going. It can't be! Is it over? Just like
that? Wow, and yet still I can't stop thinking about those dark, beatiful, waunderful, icey
eye's.
Form:
The world that a normal person, finds him or herself living from day to day, and that of a writer, who allows their creative side to pull them into the shadowed spaces of his or her mind¬. The side that is filled with mysteries, and drama that unfolds in millisecond bursts.
Artist capture visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas.
Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale. He withdraws from the chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these sporadic visions.
In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks the tale _then he re-enters this chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry.
Exhausted, he now realizes it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But he questions himself, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be? He re-reads it time and time again.
Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will the readers clinch their fist in anger at the right moment?
Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?
So, what is left when his work is done? Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates? He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber where he finds comfort, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his soul.
He’s now hearing voices, and whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes the escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever.
No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries.
He has found true hell. The hell that awaits a few writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort listening to the whispers within.
Drop dead gorgeous dark eyed bus boy chased
Peer assured status, focus of my fascination
High fiving idol guffawed and elbowed adjacent
Mates in droves, admirers in rows, dreamy Damon
Enriched to glimpse soap opera face as I boarded
From boys' school nearby, the greener gender pasture
Glance at my rolled up skirt spoke to thoughts sordid
His fleeting grin sent collapsing knees, mates' laughter
In typical teenage fashion for the times, mid nineties
Before social media blinked million comment designation
Our exchange over months limited to several niceties
Emptying bus afternoon he asked me out, supreme elation
Profile examined in mirror the evening of our due movie
Re primped the pair of socks boosting breasts non existant
Had my (only) half decent outfit chosen for past two weeks
Prospect of dating Damon held no heart slowing assistance
Uneventful night pursued, spun by overwhelming innocence
Being too naive to encourage moves, nerves running riot
Our chaeffered lifts to cinemas knew no lip warming kiss
Closely guarded phone each evening, obstinately quiet
A month later, bus reverberated his revised standards
Update explained to his mates, his tastes were narrowing
One percent of girls bore requirements Damon demanded
Variety other than curvaceous blonde, saw attention souring
Perfunctory level of awareness, lack of inner dignity
Allowed me to continue, lust bound, blindly desiring
During next year, Damon must have woken to scarcity
Blonde eligible youngsters for his affection aspiring
Mirror had become a somewhat closer companion
Make up added maturity, curves came, and confidence
Outside brick walled front of school, squinted in sun
Damon boldly suggested our courting should recommence
Sideways glance with my fiend, Suzie, enclosed chapters
Desperately I pleaded with my fifteen year old foolishness
To keep a straight face as I turned him down, lustre lacking
"I don't know, " faux deep thought, " Chance is one percent"!
2nd August 2020
Dusty Old Memories Poem Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
ESCAPE!!!
The thought of him escaping made him feel secure,
hated but safe, he went out not knowing where he was going to,
Or who he'll find there.
His goal was finding joy, peace and comfort...
Being free to a certain stage,
Loved but not cherished. Broken was she after finding out that,
she was the cause of all his pain,
Down grading was she, desperate for money and respect
he's heart was so bruised, he couldn't bear it anymore...
Escape was the only answer, she did it all, not valuing how and what he thinks,
the fact that she was the parent, didn't necessarily matter,
in the eyes of other humans
They fought for what they thought was right...
Desperate and willing to sacrifice anything and everything,
Just for one goal, Love and freedom...
All the rebellious actions committed, as it looks now,
So difficult to turn back and fix, to move away from biting yourself up, for the same mistakes. Same problems
It all happened in a snap of a finger,
Without a deep thought, it lingers in my mind how special they are supposed to feel and pretend everyday.
To maintain a certain relationship...
How they wake up everyday, fix they faces and smile in delight
and happiness like their lives depend on them,
Once again escaping never felt so good, how patient and passionate they look,
Given the joy, the ignorance and the love,
I would strive to make a difference, not looking at the religious qualities and quantities but, the most important thing.
LOVE
The words you bring within, sometimes identifies how you can lie to yourselves and yet feel good about it...
The Pre-tendency of people who live without acknowledgements have implications...
The thought of living a fake life trying to escape from the truth, is wrong.
Meanwhile trying to escape from pain to LOVE is a very brave and wise decision, that people should make.
The thought of it is deprived by the action taken, sometimes caused by depression, anger and/or blame...
Running or walking may sound very easy but yet overwhelming,
Am not against it, if it's for the right decisions...
Consider LOVE, and Happiness
Enjoy!!!!
Thank you.