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Jorge Monge Poem
I
on the beach of every person that was and will be
i was but a single grain of sand…
nature and death the humblers of man…
external labels should be replaced with simply “i am.”
much like life this poem is free verse no iambs…
where every face seems to have an ulterior
in today’s world, at birth none are superior or inferior
the key rests in judging less of the exterior…
though many men choose evil,
so one must gage their interior…
they squander the gift and deserve society’s backlash
still some men are unrightfully
grouped in with society’s trash…
our judging eyes often deceive us like cash…
the universe which sees collective over (>) the Ego’s trap…
looking in nature’s processes will help one see that…
there is a “you” that exists off society’s map…
expand your mind and it may land in your lap…
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
In days of emptiness, unknowingly
blinded and far astray,
the obstacle became the way.
started to look at things stoically,
the prying open of closed eyes,
the dawning of a new day.
my mind colored in the baby blue skies,
of a future not so far away,
a promise of a hidden treasure,
the map from society pointed to a far place.
I followed and found, to my initial displeasure,
the gold was right in front of my face;
though gold is abundant, and after I still felt the same.
So, I hopped in my heart’s aircraft for the first time,
I saw a rainbow out the window of the plane;
a promise of new internal heights I was to climb,
a reminder of my past demons I had slain.
all the new experiences I was to gain,
for just once – if I could face my fears ingrained,
in the logical part of my brain!
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
Since I left you I found the world so new
‘Left’ meaning that as I got older and grew
I realized every apology you ever construed
was a strand in an intricate web of your lies
where is the full explanation?
A spiraling maze of emotional abuse under the guise
of a man living the American dream
so, it seemed you were an idea more than a person
I almost wish you weren’t there at all
because every time we see each other thoughts resurface
from somewhere deep within my subconscious mind perhaps?
traumatic memories spring like the flowers in April
contrasting imagery in the last line of text I’m certain
but confusion is what it feels like
I’m trapped in your dark world like it’s Tim Burton
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
The forest of generations
Each tree with a tale to tell
Upon the rings of their foundations
Where each history dwells
Tress of new and trees of old
Wear leaves like feathers
To display their colors in bold
A culture’s greatest treasures
Peaceful lives preserved
Fallen seeds writing new histories
Until the process was disturbed
By unexpected naval deliveries
A new species brought aboard
And spread among the trees
Where years’ traditions are stored
We’ll replace them with these:
That eat away at the leaves
Like a caterpillar without a cycle
These cultural thieves
Stole with greed on their arrival
Although some free of evil
Just a species displaced
A threat to the people
When their local culture’s defaced
As they die away
Their colors become one
A global shift underway
Their histories undone
For every leaf that falls
A culture’s dead and gone
Hearing the distant calls
As we approach the dawn…
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
Moonlight, shone upon her collied, weary heart.
scarred by a life of many failures
and dreams unfulfilled
now she is a slave to her own thoughts,
and undying feelings of indifference.
the master of puppets
pulls on her heartstrings.
she lives on the dark side of the moon.
yet her volcanic beauty is like
a rare celestial body Galileo laid eyes on for the first time
through a telescope back in 1610
and sketched into our history books
for future human beings to gaze at and be marveled by.
this is what her beauty is like.
her eyes are like Egyptian Pools
they show a reflection of her eternal soul
which flows like the Nile;
it could give life to entire civilizations.
she doesn’t see the big picture,
she doesn’t see her beauty,
and these are both great tragedies.
still, she lives on the dark side of the moon,
the girl who was afraid to be…
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
the waves glisten in the moonlight
and there stands the wrestler with time.
trying to grasp the concept of youth
his being is like a grain of sand
underneath the san clemente skies.
the cedar aroma drifts from the end of the pier
and into a starry night
of which lays out to him the map of
the past, the present, and the future.
beauty etched into the universe
for as long as the earth spins —
the wrestler with time.
old houses scatter shorelines near
and far beyond the bend.
there’s a soft passing of a train
and the sounds begin to blend.
it seems to sweep him off his feet
and set his caged soul free —
he is the wrestler with time.
the fishermen with their buckets
pack up and disappear
under the dim glow
of scarcely placed lamp posts.
as he glances over to his wrist,
laces dangling over tower thirteen.
it is there where the wrestler with time
seeks for understanding of why
youth fades and one’s
appreciation of beauty changes
as the days go by.
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
San Clemente is always a nice place and tonight, she was something
different.
wound up by a Creator’s hands to such beauty around how could one be
indifferent?
I vividly remember how beautiful the full moon was, while a slight breeze
was blowing,
serenity in the form of waves crashing; the pier empty as the moon was
glowing.
on that cloudy night, into the black backdrop, battering breezes sent
chills up my body
put on my coat, and in my ponderance, setting like J Gatsby at the dock
less gaudy, caught the moonlight reflecting off the waves.
it formed a line that seemed to go on forever, even though the dense
coastal haze.
the night looked like the cover of Ride’s Nowhere I suppose, and
I wrote this poem so that this moment in time shall never decompose
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
A space of stacked stress
And clothes on the floor
His room is a mess
And his life is a chore
Professors didn’t care
And his grades didn’t either
He sees the end there-
Oh, time the deceiver!
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
A lurking shadow lies
Darkened eyes gleam
In the dust, it spies
Under
The canopy of dreams
Sharpening teeth
As if they were blades
An emptied sheath
A lovely serenade
Forming schemes
Under
The canopy of dreams
The pursuit of a touch
To make skin icy cold
With a frenzied clutch
You can be controlled
If it rips the seams
From under
The canopy of dreams
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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Jorge Monge Poem
I
A smile is melancholy’s mask
clothes to cover soft skin
to send my tears into a flask
to where they have always been
a guise draped upon a wall
your eyes are pleased to see
when the viewer thinks they’ve seen it all
it’s woven like a silken tapestry
Copyright © Jorge Monge | Year Posted 2025
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