Oh, how ignorant the world is
Who will consider a child a child
Even if it is not born
Does it matter if it is a life?
You were once too
Leaving is easier said than done
But that does not mean the love ends there
For it travels a further distance
To wreak havoc
Who will save us
When the time has come
Who will save us
As the days come and go, the memories stay the same. All at once they rush to my head, as if the pain had made it's nest in my mind.
Thoughts of it all comes to crush me, as if the world it self had given up on me.
Fear of failing, or of not amounting to the others requirements, forces me to do right by wronging others.
Dark thoughts to which I am a slave to the path chosen for me, not by me, but by my actions.
Wanting to make it all go away, but it's same as wishing for richness to all in the world.
They say "the world runs on money," which causes the most unminded of us to jump to the others neck, just obtain a piece of happiness. Some will go as far as to take another's life, just to reach what most of us consider as the ways of life.
My own thoughts have pushed me to do the most unworthy things to the ones who love me. The feelings which force me to be unfaithful to my soul. Leaving but an empty shell to roam the lands.
Ashamed to be in my own body. The thoughts of starting from scratch, and help others thinking as if, but it does not matter what face one puts on. The pain will forever remain within you, until your leaving day.
Like a child enlightened by heightened curiosity,
So is a native swimmer by poetic luminosity.
A prose in sight and sound devoid of modern flair,
For poetic convention the diver does not care.
But take this vague verse as one roaring rhyme,
And take it as verbiage very overdue in time.
Unjustly sunken voices the swimmer seeks to hear;
Battling a torrent history...above, below, and near.
The inquisitive diver infers a present too dismal,
As around an angry sea lies an origin, abysmal.
Rejecting all fables history’s abettors inked true,
The swimmer seeks fair chroniclers as wreckage was their due.
Sought is Illyria, a place far from here;
A land said "not to exist", so how can it disappear?
Most fabricated history our beings cannot fathom;
Quelled grandiose splendor serves political stratum.
So, how does one interpret Illyria’s butchered will,
As her godless schism fibbing history faux fills?
While Illyria’s rebel ship sailed upon history a fright,
Shakespeare's pen amorously inked the 'Twelfth Night.’
Calling curious minds to ponder this hell of a theory,
But consider the diver's roots with impartial query.
What the Illyrian believed in was a life well spent;
Not man-written guidance begging cents to repent.
On modern Illyria’s outskirts sly mythology prevails;
Modern Illyria’s pervasion of such mythology still fails.
But her feeble-minded native is essentially to blame
For their grand, deceptive role in the imperialist’s game.
Brutal eradication of Illyria’s vocal reason
Deem all these conspirators of ultimate treason.
And as the State buries the intellect for piercing wits,
The native dog barks, upon foreign command he shits.
In the European south roam these bad hounds of species;
Anatomical sketches of Europe's rear excreting feces;
A pile all imperialists eject with laxative ease;
A pile all imperialists still smear as they please.
Above Illyrian graves, those below made to inspire,
The dopey dog dances, blind to his own fate in fire.
This damned work of art, not a site for you and eye,
Is an emblematic governance gagging an eerie cry.
The dog's disintegration, painted by his foreign master
Is an art to be repeated in future governing disaster.
As today’s worthless pawns in corruption they engage,
Illyria’s distinctive scions remain fools on a stage;
Our bodies dance and sway like silly puppets at play.
Our minds confined to idiocy as the capitalist’s prey.
Now, a poet's jingle jangle on probing minds they should linger,
As besought are worthy scions who must leave behind a 'finger.'
It snowed all day today
First snow of the season
From the time I woke up to the moment I went to bed
The snow was so powdery
All there was, was glitter in the air
You see, I still want to tell you about my day
Because there are people that come in our lives
And they mean so much it doesn't make any sense
But they do.
I find myself still writing for you
Even though you don't want me to
But after a hundred poems it's hard to stop
My word's seem to come easy when I'm hurting
Often though, angry words are not meant
And actions are unfairly judged just through words
I'm not trying to get back what we had
But no one should feel not good enough.
We may accept the love we think we deserve
But often we deserve far more than we think.
And hush, you did. You do.
I keep checking in on you to make sure you're okay
And it kills me to know that you're not
What you consider flaws are simply the
Little quirks I saw back on your porch that made me smile
I hope you live; that you are more than just alive
Because I know you are a good person
Who deserves all the happiness and love in the world
And I would have gladly spent
The rest of my life proving it to you
Someone can't go from being the center of your world
Straight to nothing over night
I too, still think about you always ...
And it's only been a week...
When the last of the daylight kisses the feet of the moon and night becomes the dawn of the rising,surprised I awake on the lakeside of sorrow where tomorrow sheds tears for the time allows nothing to stand,
I obey laws of physics though consult with the mystics and the doyens of the beer hall only watch as I call to my maker, thief taker,partaker in murder,to kill dead the silence that roars in my ears.
At the bottom of this glass sits the truth that I search for,but as I reach the finale I find only the floor,it's like the dawn of the rising and no less surprising to me.
If I talk with the shadows that shiver in the doorway,they only say to me, 'spare some change for a cup of tea?'
questions that bother me bitterly, I so agree with the Government policy to ignore everything that doesn't look right to me,
and night even more looks surprisingly, like something I wore once on Wednesday.
They say that this madness creeps up on you and the way it attacks is like it's fukin you,as I've never looked back at my retinue I can't tell if the last statement is true or not,
but you've got what I consider to be the utter truth, as I fly downwards and climb to the slate grey roof where the owls there will greet me with beaks set to eat me,
I wake and sleeps beats me again.
The greatest battles/ wars- are those fought in one’s own mind.
Sometimes over & over again. Bridges you are forced to cross only to realize later you must backtrack and cross in a different manner.
To humble yourself enough to consider another option-
one previously beyond and above your scope of perception or ability.
To then fashion a device that will carry you- this time over your obstacles instead of trekking through them; thereby dredging the sticky matter and debris of that particular chaos with you to your next destination. --\
Which of course you will find is only more journey. Likely meant, at some point to be revisited by yourself in a higher consciousness.
I don’t want to hate you
Despise you, place you
Down there in the back of my mind
A dark and brooding place where no one but me will find
You, I don’t want to hate you
I don’t want to blame you
As the reason I have taken sadness as my lover
I don’t want to lay awake at night
Wishing evil to befall you
I don’t want stay awake at night
Having to constantly fight this feeling
I don’t want to hate your being
I don’t want to be confused
Wondering what drove you to abuse
The love I had for you
I don’t want to go again
To that dark foreboding plane
Where a horned being asked me what he can do
For me, I don’t want to even take a moment to consider
To let hatred be my Hearts leader
And yet as I sit here
I feel it boiling, slowly soiling my soul
Painting it black, turning into a black hole
Sucking, taking devouring me whole
It eats me, taking away my bliss from me
And so I am left alone
To again trek across this sea of emotion
Knowing that somewhere within the water’s
A monster lurks just waiting for me to slip
A single moment a like a whip
Coiled and ready it will nip me
And take me, I don’t want to hate you
In the end you we all must do what we have to
But I can never again love you.
178 miles away from me
And 3 hours and 24 minutes exactly
Not too far
When you consider once you were
4451 miles away
Instead of hours it would have taken days
To get to you
I think in numbers
A big number of years apart
Yet that doesn't stop my heart
And 0 replies
Six times today
I've checked my inbox just in case
1 message pops up by the picture of your face
And this is why 0/10 would reccomend
Falling in love with a long distance friend
old souls cast aside by immature thoughts
encrypted speech, hide passion
that blood flow? runs too red
common is not plagued locus or antibody rivers...
there are no makeshifters! when collectiveness is used wrong
the world of the majority supersedes that of any other
we are a mob.
without tommy guns...we run the streets, bat and knife
utensiled to our palms.
never breaking knees for payment--or dumping bodies in mucked water
but hunting down that which is corrupt
that which needs change
because what we consider loose?
is not the only thing that should be contained
And I've thought,
And I've thoughtfully thought,
With this thinker I have,
As to what I have not.
And I'm growing so tall,
Nearly up to your knee.
And I'm learning as much
As life teaches to me.
I'm thankful for
So very much, it is true.
All the good things I know,
I have learned them through you.
You've showed me how grand
A banana can be.
And those sweet, juicy grapes
You've shared well with me.
Those apricots, peaches,
Sometimes they're quite good.
And those big nectarines
Taste just like they should.
Apples and cherries, they're
Fit for a pie.
And they're all kind of good
For a regular guy.
And, of course, chocolate cake,
Double dutch, I must say,
Can cheer up the grayest,
Most gloom-covered day.
But you know what I found out
Not so long go?
A top-secret secret
You really should know?
A riddle, a mystery,
So well hidden in time,
A secret so secret,
I consider it mine?
It all comes down to pudding.
Oh, it's grand as can be.
It is a treasure of measurely joy,
It is the finest ambrosia,
And that smidgen of joy,
Strong enough to turn a man
Back into a boy.
If it isn't asking too much,
If it's all right with you,
And your Motherly touch,
Would you ever so kindly
And properly see
How much fun my world
Of pudding can be!
Let's have puddin' for breakfast!
And puddin' for lunch.
How about puddin' for supper,
And puddin' for brunch!
Let's have puddin' for Easter!
Now that sounds like fun!
Let's have puddin' on Christmas!
Can it be done?
And Apricot too!
Red Ribbon Puddin'
That's bluer than blue!
With the bilbobs inside,
And I love 'em, those bilbobs
That hickle and hide -
Right where they're crunchy
And scrunchy as new.
I'm sure I don't have to
Explain them to you.
Oh, and Pimple Plum Puddin'
That Gran likes to make.
It's hidden so deep in
Her own puddin' cake.
And it's silky as lemon drops
Left in the sun.
Nothing quite like it when
Grandma is done.
Mom, you have to love puddin'
When Winter is here!
When snowflakes are falling
And Christmas is near!
And you surely love puddin'
When Springtime sneaks in!
You love it so much, Mom,
You want puddin' again!
And again, and again,
And again, 'til it's Summer,
Oh, jello's Ok,
But there ain't nothing funner
Than a bowl full of puddin',
All topped in whipped cream!
With a glazing of Caramel
There's Applesauce Custard,
And there's Strawberry Duff,
Even Toffy Raspberry
With marshmallow fluff.
Oh, and Chocolate truffle,
It tastes like a dream!
And there's Butterscotch Ripple,
And Cookies and Cream!
And that can't be so bad.
What did Dr. Whiff say?
And I quote: "A boy should eat pudding
At least twelve times a day."
And he knows what he's saying,
Because he wears a hat.
Don't you want me thinking
And acting like that?
So, I'll have puddin' for breakfast!
Because it can't be beat,
It's a pleasant delight,
And a most scrumptious treat!
And it's healthy, I say!
And in the very best way-
It'll help me with learning
My lessons today.
It's filled with those itchin's
That make a kid smart.
I'll be better at baseball!
I might understand art.
Mom, It'll help me with homework,
Because my head's super thinkin',
Oh, I'll bet you'll even hear
All my thinkin' gears tinkin'.
I may learn to speak English,
Or Russian, or Greek.
I'll be fluent in something
I know how to speak.
Soon I'll be smart as a wick,
And so very clever.
And I haven't figured anything out yet.
I'll pretty near be a genius,
I'll be running the show.
There won't be a nothing
That I do not know.
So fix me some puddin',
I'll be greatful as tea,
And I'll make you as proud
As a Mom ought to be.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"A balanced diet is a cookie
in each hand."