i read it in the manuscript of yours where you called me out.
You said:
“I jumped off the boat because I found a hand to hold.”
My love,
you were not paying attention at all
Our boat would have drowned
carrying the weight of us
if I had stayed any longer,
with no hint where we should go
It felt right in the moment
You were keeping our hands tied
I wanted to let go
before I sink us to the floor
it was a test
that I don't know if I failed or passed—
but it was fate’s plan
I couldn't change
So, in so many ways past and present mesh,
it's reminiscence of everything I have been through.
I thought, I thought I had bid adieu.
And then a poem from 2020.
A soft laughter fill with tears, a glance
A view from 2025
hello !! goodbye, hello ! again.
I feel like I've met my long lost friend ( a grin so bright it eclipsing sunlight)
Pen to paper ,eyes to a book.
I think I found what I've overlooked ( a smile so soft ,a heart that melts)
a passion so fierce
a thirst unquenched!
words unwritten.....
Jaws unclenched!
emotion pours , like a gush of rain rushing ,thrusting to the ocean floor.
I see the me of yesterday. ( Eyes glistening with unshed tears)
I see the growth ( a lie from deep within but a truth that's actually not so thin )
but still the pain I've held at Bay.
I say I'm strong.
I've moved on !
but this brings about a memory of a time
A time
of yesterday
a time I thought long gone and far away
a whisper of mine carried on the wind
I remember you.
I remember you.
I remember you.
I do.
At the sound of your bell I rush to reply
But it rings in the dream I see
In a moment away it flies
There’s no us in reality
Once we were, then we disappeared
Died for no reason at all
But the sound of your bell I hear
Be assured I have heard your call
Comes the evening, the day is gone
By the desk I still sit and stare
It gets darker, and dark is our home
In the countryside of nowhere.
John Michael Osbourne
looks so tired and worn
when asked to respond
he could only say something no one could understand
Your pain is shared, Jim;
I go to annoy by car,
not quite on a whim,
to relatives who chatter
‘bout things I'm assured matter.
“To be, or not to be?” asks Hamlet's soul,
a mind transfixed between the depths below
and life's thin, airy hold: this desperate role,
I still play; although, from despair I know
that meaning consists neither in wealth, pleasure,
nor youth, might, thought: not even in great power!
But in the feet of this poem's solemn measure,
the answer is found: 'tis life, by whose Flower
the gift of meaning is through your love's labor,
the purpose for which you were made and reborn.
In this fact, take heart and faint not nor waver;
but seize at last your life's prize unforlorn!
Though Hamlet ponders still the sleep of death,
I breathe the Flower's scent with life's every breath.
“Be a virgin your first time in bed
once you’ve married,” my dear mother said.
“But why do I see
a picture of me
from the day, Mama dear, YOU were wed?”
" As I’ve said before, I love when readers find their take of the story. We oft write collaborations :) " ~ The big poetess Kim Rodrigues.
Wonderful comment reply!
I look outside my window and stare
Is it me that feels so unaware?
My head spins lightly moving the pieces
I move them around make masterpieces
The world outside glooms so unkind
I want to grieve but it holds my mind
I shouldn’t be so dramatic
But I can’t help to admire the cinema-tics
I color and color until the paper is brown
I climb and climb and don’t look down
The world goes around as I watch
The puzzle fits but there’s one wrong notch
I push them together ignoring what’s wrong
Try to make them fit but they don’t belong
Sometimes things move too fast
I run and run but the past is the past
It comes like a train howling my name
Crushing the tracks without shame
Then I blink it all disappears
The storms in the background but right here it’s clear
So I stay in the path that I know
Watching the flowers grow and grow
Far from all I’ve left behind
Even if sometimes it crashes inside
I let it go and watch it fly
Watching the madness go on by
Letting my smile reply
“To be, or not to be?” asked Hamlet's soul,
a mind transfixed between looming limbo
and life's thin, airy hold; this loathsome role,
philosophers and poets have played (though
some now sleep). Not wealth, nor the lap of pleasure,
nor thought, strength, health, youth, nor unbridled power,
nor in the feet of this poem's solemn measure,
can be found the answer: life's but a flower,
a precious gift, that lives for a short time.
Still, enjoy its frail beauty and brief glory
while it's here, for in life all that's sublime
and dark in this world is just transitory.
None can say for sure if the sleep of death
is g'ntler than life: so, cherish every breath.
Reminiscing notes you sent from your peacock feather quill, kind editor
Embrace did I, your keen buoyancy, words whether grounded or surreal
Private musing you penned upon parchment brought tears of joy, mentor
Lavish poetry, and sage philosophy, taught my damaged soul to feel
Yearnings tormented, now calmed, a tranquil soothing from your gentle quill
I sincerely apologize on my own behalf
It has taken me so long
To have eventually woken up
And to respond and reply
To you as you did to me
As I was so taken up in my own ego and self
With you complimenting and embellishing me
With undue undeserving praise
I never was able or took my time to realize
Whilst you were complementing me
Backing up my own delusional thoughts
Thinking believing and buying into
Just how smart I thought I was
What I failed to sadly and unfortunately
Realize was just how smart you in fact
Actually you we're rather than me
And now I have finally seen the light
I sincerely apologize
I let my ego run away and get so out of hand
And also now more than ever sincerely appreciate
You are still willing to accept my apology
So in some small inconsequential way
I feel my debt and your faith in me
Was and has been repaid
Our my Schade
As recently as this
Father's Day Sunday
Sent me a message
Saying to my
Honorary Dad
Although I don't and am unable
to say it
I hope you know you are my
Honorary Dad
And because of our family history
I instantaneously both assumed and
also presumed
She was indeed in fact obviously
talking about my father her grandad
She looked after when he was dying
And she was a very young child
And as our conversation gradually
continued
She later and myself also said
Life is pretty simple its mostly all about
Paying attention and listening
And case in point I unfortunately
Provided her with undeniable proof
That I sadly myself whilst talking
a good game was not
Because when it comes to me
I quite obviously have a blind spot
But that does not get me off the hook
Or is in any way or form
A valid or genuine
Excuse
If anything it just proves
The point
I am no more better
But should as obviously does expect
Than from her own Dad
"I have my own scripture and it could be bitter or a heart thumper, but either way that's down towards your own actions from within your own thoughts." -Ds-
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