I will do that—tomorrow.
I will change this—tomorrow.
I will fix that—tomorrow.
I will call them—tomorrow.
What a weight tomorrow carries—
the weight of uncertainty,
of all the things we leave undone,
of all the hope we ask it to hold.
It will be better—tomorrow.
It will be easier—tomorrow.
I will have the energy—tomorrow.
Motivation will come—tomorrow.
What a promise tomorrow remains,
despite all the painful nows,
all the broken todays,
all the forgotten yesterdays.
What will it be—tomorrow?
What will it bring—tomorrow?
What will change—tomorrow?
What will I become—tomorrow?
But what if tomorrow never comes
the way I keep asking it to?
What if I spend my whole life
waiting for the strength to live it?
Maybe the question was never
“What will tomorrow bring?”
Maybe it was always—
“What is the cost of waiting for it?”
This is MY body. MY temple. MY fortress,
It doesn't come with permissions through the way that I dress.
You have zero rights to do what you please,
If I show some skin, it doesn't make me a tease.
You cannot grab my cookie and expect to be safe,
You should however prepare to be clocked in the face.
As a woman who's been silent for way too long,
Nows the time to stand up and its time to be strong.
When I dress my body its for my own pleasure,
Not for you to go forcefully digging for treasure.
When I dress provocatively it is NOT for your ease,
It certainly doesn't mean I belong on my knees.
I choose to dress in all sorts of ways,
Depending on what I'm needing those days.
To feel powerful, confident, sexy or comfortable,
Not for you to sit there and judge if I'm able.
Women keep rising because we are unbreakable,
We come back harder, stronger and less amenable.
You don't own me, my body, or my rights,
So stop trying to dominate the women who bring you life.
Weather changing - getting warm,
Nows the chance to leave the home,
And spend more time more time with Dora,
My French bull dog the ultimate Explorer,
She gets excited when I pick up the lead,
Then flips into madness it must be her breed,
From 0 to 60 in a matter of seconds,
Using her butt and head like lethal weapons,
Ramming the door and knocking over a vars,
No care in the world and no disregards,
After this madness we need a short rest,
What is her problem is she possessed,
Then out in the open blue skies up above,
This is her domain it's all the smells that she loves,
She then becomes stubborn and wants her own way,
Ignoring all I tell her sit down and just stay,
But I have a pocket it's filled with pure joy,
Treats are my answer it's my only ploy,
I know it's no Winner she's brainier than me,
If dogs went to Uni she'd have a degree,
A masters in human intelligence,
If there was such a thing,
I have her on a long lead ,
But I'm a puppet on a string.
Then, the Good Old Days
Better than what’s now, always
This law, all obeys
When, in good times past
Bygones better, Everlast
Nows always surpassed
And, back further still
Even better then, until
The best be all's it’ll
But, this trend is woe
Each past better than then's now
Life keeps getting worse
‘Till, the Now-a-Days
At the bottom of the hill
Things aren't looking up
No, they’re not and won’t
All generations to come
The next Kids Today
As the pixels of our images' imagined- dance
in magics binary
as chemicals mingling between us-
in touch's refibering, as element_OFelementals
entrenched,
drenched in of love's territorial ink
in it's.environmental sea
at moonlit cove
as stars scream in digital blink
In the silence of a starlit night,
I hear the whispers of the moon,
your serenade of gentle grace,
satelliting a mood,
as nature paints a tranquil face,
Time hands brushed strokes to interlace,
claws for an embrace.
Magic chronochromatic_poetry virtuates
automatically, as
fallen leaves of the tree of Life,
are we, like the nows'
fondest fronds of imagical memories,
drifted by and by inbetween reality sea, driftwood
carried,
buried in a crypt on the wind's soft sigh,.
the eternal cosmic expanse of adjoined mind,
In the diodes of pietry of infrared and canvas of
4D-shade, Spirit Never Fade,
find our way to our dream- that finds a way.
Canadian Geese flying south
and trucks on the highway
jostle for space
in my ears.
The trucks remind me of where I am
in time and place,
while the geese remind me of a lifetime
of here and nows
present, with the wonder
of simply being.
The geese moving with the seasons,
following shifting pathways
of water and crops,
honk as they go;
“Here we are, here we go!
All together now,
here we come!”
The trucks meanwhile
just zoom past
heading, who knows where
on their own.
(9/26/22, first published in my 6th book of poems, OUT OF TIME OUT OF MIND, 2022)
Alzheimer's or Dementia
They are both the same
A disease That has No cure
That eats away the brain
It takes away
their memory
And everything
they knew
Some days they
can't remember
Even The closest
ones to you
They try so hard
Think of your name
But get confused
And can't explain
They Start to panic
Sometimes they cry
They look for help
But don't know why
Feeling helpless
Or in the way
They try to tell you
But cannot say
Their eyes look sad
And tired to
A blank expression
As they look at you
You wish that you
Could turn back time
Go back to when They
were in their prime
Just to talk
About their day
If dreams came true
That's what I'd pray
But all you have
Until you part
Is the memories You keep
Within your heart
So don't give up
Do not ignore
Cause Nows the time
They need you more
And when that day
Will finally come
They will remember
What you have done
when the inner brains 'why is' be as dome-bell sound...
then there have been mistakes seen...caught by...
an inner-eye as cause-effects to be...learned from...
hence
that we learn from/by our 'cause-effect' missed-takes means...
that some 'nows' are time to think of making a few more mistakes...
that to learn by mistakes is to sew wings in the heads 'why-is-dome' as...
wisdom
stan sand
a kiss
an affair-
separation
broken nows
echo to the horizon.
on a trail of vows
farewell handshakes-
destiny's tears
unstoppable
broken vows-
echos to a distant horizon.
on the trail of nows
If I could take it all back
Every wrong ever wrought
Every regrettable thing
Every broken wing
I'd lay it all to rest
In an unmarked plot
Over which I would plant
Quiet thyme
And no-leaf clovers
Lilies of denial
And forget-me-nows
There would be no memorial
No elegy, no eulogy
No monody, no dirge
Not even a calaverita
Unless one is desperate
Enough to count this poem
This nobituary, if you will
No lamentation
No regrets
No go-away birds
No mourning doves
Nor egrets to bear the pall
Only leave the dead featherless
Laid down without down
To comfort them
And the egrets
Stand stilted and white
As nothing
Melancholy
As marble statues
In the silk gray dusk
Like lilies on a grave.
Your fountain of youth has dried up at last
Your poor sullen spirit now flies at half mast
Me, I'm thankful and warm
I've survived the long storm
And happy now's now and the past is the past
12/14/22
Its now to question
It's now to dicuss
It's now deny
Any hold over us
By the spawn of
The unconscionable
The dregs of the dregs
The descendants of
Misfits septic as pus
Unacceptable beings
Being devoid of true
Soul, lovers of gloom
Who live as in holes
Like spiders in Webs
They only can kill
If their dens are not
Cleaned out; nows
No time to be still
It's time to be active
Spread the news all
Around , their agendas
Have lost it, Humanity
Is taking back ground.'
Life without God would be a big question mark ~
The whys, why nots, what nows, where tos and how wills,
If not for Him, we would miss that joyous spark;
Life is a composition of divine stills,
Where God's present in the hills and the valleys,
The whys, why nots, what nows, where tos and how wills;
Without faith in Him, we will not feel at ease,
The whole creation declares this simple truth,
Where God's present in the hills and the valleys;
Man does not know if he will die in his youth,
Or live to a hundred, only God can tell,
The whole creation declares this simple truth;
His thirst for peace, Almighty alone can quell,
It is His pure grace that we're alive today,
Or live to a hundred, only God can tell;
Accept God’s hand in your life, you won’t feel grey,
Life without God would be a big question mark,
It is His pure grace that we're alive today,
If not for Him, we would miss that joyous spark.
17th April, 2022
11 syllables per line
N/A in "An Original Terzanelle" contest
Judged on 5/4/2022
Resubmitted to Constance La France's "Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance" contest
They never give up!
They’re always bugging me, putting me down
In their onslaughts of hurtful words, gestures,
Whispers, e-mails, text and tweets.
I don’t have “just one” good friend.
I tell myself, one more year and they’ll be gone
Away from me, shifted to our tomorrows
And best part is - I’ll be gone from them.
But, it’s me that’s gotta live my life, tormented
By them in their nows.
It’s hurtful in here!
This is where I go to block them out
As well as their rudeness and their tormentations.
This is my spiritual realm; they can’t get in here.
The only ones here are me and strange voices
Coming from somewhere,
Telling me there is another way, an escape.
But, I keep rejecting their voices for I know
They’re not good ways, only destructive ways.
This is what it’s like in my bullied realm everyday
But, I shall overcome them all - everyone.
W.C.Hull © 2015-1-5-934 (E)
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