Our story or history
What is the different
from the past and now
What really has changed
Cos it sims like the same events of the past
Still exist in our current reality
We are not free before
We still not free now hopefully
We were in captivity before
We are still in one now in Africa
We are at war before
We are still at war now
We never loved one another before
Till now is same
There has been never a change
But an illusion of change
Cos our reality’s
are not different from
Our story or history
If you’ve ever wondered where you might find,
the answers to the endless questions sought over time.
The sense to the insanity, the radical of the norm…
the settling waves of frustration, the calming of the storm.
Deep beneath the layers of what most don’t see,
are the answers to those endless questions… beyond reality.
There is a world in a different color... the shades some may never find.
Lighting the world of imagination inside a writer’s mind.
If you look passed the confines of discretion,
you’ll see more than black and white.
You’ll discover the shades of expression I share when I write.
Though some may never see the colors this poem is trying to instill.
I am without any doubt
that a writer will.
Adored by all the plants and trees,
but forsaken by his wife,
he loved the sound of a gentle breeze,
and gave the grasses life.
When she said, "time to mow the lawn",
he knew which side that he was on.
By Poet "The computer is the delivery room for a new poem."
Pen, ink and paper join forces,
Opening up a wonderful story.
Everyone will enjoy reading,
My dancing words are now a poem.
pristine sharp cornered brown box garnishes excitement
we rip him open with anticipation
new merchandise has been delivered!
this box is repurposed for sorting, carrying, hauling, storing
left out in the rain, the box looks sad and sorrowful
we could fold him flat and put him into our dumpster
Or we could burn him up
He has lost his usefulness
difficult to remember now what he brought in the first place
What's your story?
Is it a sop story too
Cause seemingly everyone claims too
And maybe there's not a good story to tell out here
What's your story?
Is it worth even telling at first
Or you believe it needs to be told
That's why you get all grumpy when no one wants to listen
What's your story?
Why do you think yours has the punch
And are you sure we don't have a story like yours out here?
Or you just want to tell yours too
I ask cause why should anyone care in the first place
Cause if you're doing it just for people to care,
Then are you really living?
Or you're just doing what all the others before you have done
Must you curve out a name and still make everyone say it
I thought the greatest satisfaction comes from knowing you did it
Or doesn't it count until they all know?
That's why I ask What's your story?
My story is already out there
But I'm sure you missed it
Cause we only relate to stories closer to us
That's why we live on hurting each other cause why should you care?
The PO£T
The wedding venue burnt without flame
the moment we stepped in.
You and I, hand in hand, step by step—
we laughed till our facials started aching,
we danced until the floor grew tired.
That was the story of our first day in love.
Twenty five years after marriage~
we now hardly speak,
our children hardly know us.
We rise too early, return too late,
stealing only minutes for
good morning
and how was your night,
before the routine begins again.
Nannies cradle our children in their arms—
they bathe them, clothe them,
and sing them lullabies meant to be sung by us.
Last night I saw your first gray strand,
glinting as you hurried into your car.
I smiled—you’ve joined
my five-year-old company of grays.
Darling,
how many more years
will we remain strangers tied by rings?
When will our children truly be ours?
Forgive me for leaving this note in your shoes,
but I wanted you to find it
before leaving for work this morning.
~ A Story You'll Surely Adore ~
('Suicide's a Pain')
As I was about to enter the store
I was smacked by a malfunctioning door
Without so much as the slightest warning
or a perfunctory good morning
Astonished more than stunned
I took off at a brisk run
to inform the manager-on-duty
of the door that had greeted me so rudely…
When I’d finished my story, to my utter surprise
the manager muttered: “Lies, lies, nothing but lies”
My jaw dropped and I exclaimed, “Why? Why? Why?”
the manager replied, “We’ve an epidemic of spies”
“Spies from our competitors,” he continued
“that’s why we smacked you upside your head”
In disbelief and rage, I said, “Well, I never” –
pivoted right back into that door ~
and keeled over dead
You were nothing.
Closing any chapter with you feels like heartbreak,
The small crinkle that the crack makes,
That little sigh my heart takes,
You, oblivious to the stakes.
Hoping you only look this good in my arms.
Hoping you only miss me when you’re drunk.
Hoping for you.
Wishing you understood; you were poetry I wove with my own two hands.
You were ordinary but in my mind you were magic.
My love turned you into flowers blooming at cemeteries
and rain filling up crevices of drought.
But
You and me;
We’re a living testament that loving someone is not nearly enough.
The pain won,
But I hope you know, to me,
You will always be worth the inconvenience.
I will always remember you;
In little flowers behind ears
and rearview mirrors,
In Parked cars conversations,
and last minute cancellations.
You were everything political
You were everything painful
You were everything heartbreaking
You were everything beautiful
You were everything I once wanted
You were everything mine
You were everything.
I hear every noise and the house stirs
as he lies in bed. His door is shut
but I smell him on everything
he’s touched in the loft.
I listen to the sound of the house
as it breathes.
He allows minutes on his lap
each morning, pats my head
and brushes me away.
Then he is gone.
O how he forgets he’s mine.
He says he’s doing errands
but he forgets what’s important—
Me.
I go downstairs to check
on the others as they
sleep through the day.
I go upstairs and sit
on a box at the top
of the steps.
The room is an empty chamber.
They are
The pages of an old love story
Earmarked, faded yellow,
Moments underlined
Highlighted in life’s colors
The words are still clear
Feelings vibrant
Hint of mystery
A “chance” meeting
A sly whisper
A stolen kiss
Never returned
The story
A non-fiction homage
To love’s tenacity
A roller coaster ride
Shrieks of laughter
Silent tears
A soft wind riffles the pages
As they walk, slowly
Hand in hand
Quoting their favorite lines
From the pages
Of an old love story
There once was a little boy,
Whose imagination would not rest --
Cursed or blessed?~ was difficult to say.
Some journeys were only fantastic-play:
Sliding down waves, shaking tentacles
With friendly octopi – but there were those, also
Instructive, like the flying fish, who could not fly --
Sort of on the surface, would just lie~ and cry. Try as
He often did; not one scale would elevate...even
Garnered Gale’s windy' berate. Proud of her churning,
Dislodging force – with that little fish, like whipping an
Expired fish-horse.
Then a trumpet, from an angel on high:
Opened in the sky, a bright, sunny eye. No sense to
Tear, little brother – one added drip to an ocean, cannot
Not change a dip, for more of the same slop – one more salty drop will
not lift aloft a repetitious, soggy flop. Realize, from the top, a new world to see –
Now, will yourself some real wings...as did the crab his legs, and go for eternity!
Once upon a time
I set out to write a story
about going to north Africa
arriving in Ceuta
things were all in order
but no sooner on the bus
than detected reported
ejected from escorted to
and deported 'cross the border
it was to be an expensive
soft leather-covered book
and altho' I took
more than one look
I could not find the words
would fill a tome
and so
tho' second-best
I settled for less
and instead
I wrote this pome
there was once a boy named dylan and dylan was insecure, then comes along a girl he thinks will be the cure. he showers her with praise, she gives a little back too but little does dylan know she’ll leave him feeling blue. now dylan had been affection deprived and his health declined, he’d try to talk to her but she wouldn’t even bat an eye. so eventually she’s been given enough praise and she’s done with dylan, time to move onto the next guy and become this story’s villain. dylan was left with guilt he thought it was his fault you see, he thought that the relationship was truly meant to be. now dylan’s health declined and he almost set his soul free, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it because he had grown too weak. now dylan has his friends, but amongst them he is lonesome, he has became completely numb and has hardly even grown from the same boy i spoke of at the start of this story. that boy is me and i don’t say that with much glory, i hope this finds the right people who will read and understand, hopefully my story will continue to expand.
Once upon a time long gone …
The reigning queen let out a yawn,
And stood up from her regal throne
To trample down the hall alone
She ripped the crown from out her hair
And flung it out the window there,
It tumbled down the castle wall …
No knight or king did hear it fall
And off the ground it did bounce
The crown rolled out into a flounce,
Tumbling down into the moat
And thankfully it did not float
A queen no more and yet she smiled
Chuckling, whooping and skipping wild,
Saying goodbye to the castle rafter …
She'd found her happily ever after.
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