Some days I wish I was a piranha where
I could snap at anyone who pesters me,
Which on days like this is everyone.
How can this be called a life?
Staring past the glass each and every day
Is enough to make anyone go crazy,
Year after year chums come and die,
Why should I bother with the trivial dance of friendship
Anymore?
Especially with that stupid goldfish
With those big and innocent eyes
That annoying childlike eagerness
That only lasted so long before
I took a bite of those juicy black orbs.
My life is brilliant
His voice has been with me
so long
that pain
that joy
cos Ill never be with you
listening,
CD in my mom's car,
dark nights,
lights along the highway,
full moon watching over us
like a parent
knowing every beat
of the drum,
every strum of
the guitar.
every break in his voice
like a second skin,
pulling over me,
youre beautiful,
youre beautiful,
youre beautiful, its true.
every time i needed him,
he was there,
and i could
sing along with him,
without ever looking at the lyrics.
and i don't know what to do.
cos ill never be with you.
I don't drink because I like it,
I'm just giving CPR to my dreams.
Love means just being an idiot.
Oblivious.
Friends come and go.
People die.
Work. Earn money. Keep on running
because you choose to exist.
Create art. - Vomit your feelings.
That's good.
Who knows if there is God.
What comes after death?
Follow the rules.
Be unhappy. - You're living the life correctly.
I don't drink because I like it.
I'm just giving CPR to my dreams.
I built a prison in my head
To house the trouble deep inside
And sentenced certain things to life
In dark confinement gagged and tied.
Kept on a level far below
Are aches and pain that never show
Still further down I keep the lies
In dark confinement from the light.
And sometimes I see just their i's
That look up to me high above
And painfully I realize
They are my biggest threat to love.
Dusken the night
with the blood of day,
In fading sight
lay full your range.
The force of light
against your stay,
All pith of might
has fled away.
Within our eyes
your shadows grip,
Our heart's appease
towards you play.
Our fleeting life
all heaven knows,
That in your clutch
no memory shows.
Who will remember me when I pass?
What am I to the nations?
Does the dust pray to the ground from its past to save it from damnation?
Will forever really seem so long
or as short as life has been?
Was I created to sing the world my song?
Who will remember me?
....................................................
The Willow blocks the passage
To the mountain side,
Where Burton Halton and
Eleven other children died.
It was late September 1884,
When a sudden, violent snow
In from the northern mountains
And the Nalin Pass did blow.
The wind was a lonesome howl
That swept the craggy stone,
And left a kiss of somber cold
That scarred the brittle bone.
The school had let the children
Out at a quarter past -
They had a little touch of sun,
But the sunshine did not last.
They did not know the gale was coming,
They could not see beyond their own,
That sometimes it takes but a moment
To change the life of heart and home.
The storm staggered o're hill and valley
Blocking out the suns warm rays.
The sky a shadowed, bitter dark
With intermittent shades of grays.
They had never seen such angry cold
Reach in so quickly and take hold,
With brutal force and cruel breath
Bury Autumn in sixteen feet of death.
The snow fell wet and heavy,
The wind a piercing squall,
So bent and fiercely hostile,
Til they could barely see at all.
Perhaps the hail, perhaps the thunder
Frightened them and forced their hand,
To escape the cold and bitter vile
Haunt that blanketed their land.
Still, why they scattered as they did,
Why they ran and why they hid,
Remains a mystery to this day,
And shall ever more remain that way.
Copyright © 2009 Richard D. Remler
its funny how what is so worried about today is so easliy forgotten tomorrow.
we only see what we want, and miss the opportunities to get what we need.
we think we know what will make us happy,
and what will get us through the day.
we miss the chances to make a difference,
when our focus is on ourselves.
we lose track of the aspirations,
when we worry about the "what ifs"
i dont want to look back at a life of what ifs
a life of should haves
i want to do today what i was too afraid to do yesterday
Do you want to live forever?
said the Gardener to me,
tending to a creeping thought
and watering the sea.
I replied, no, but thanks, you see,
I'd rather be a tree.
And spread my branches out
to
shelter creatures underneath.
A tree? A tree? He whispered tentatively.
Why, I can't remember what it be.
That word. That thought. That memory.
He shook his head and shrugged at me.
(So, I scratched a crude drawing in the dirt
and The Gardener squatted there, pondering at it a while.
His robes lifted up above his bony knees)
But I do that too, said He, jumping up quite suddenly.
Pardon me, but I just don't see the need.
The need to be a tree!
Just beg a princely role of me
and I'll fulfill your fantasy.
I said thanks..but.. well, you see,
I'd rather be a tree.
He paused for quite a while.
Then said okay, a little hesitantly.
Then said, that he would not be that okay
until he sees these silly things called trees,
and until he sees the purpose of the thing it is
that means so wonderfully much to me
to
want to be a tree.
So he turned me to a tree and put me in a park.
Where couples came and families
and cuddling lovers in the dark.
And colored birds were friends to me
and I sheltered all of them beneath.
And spread new life through little seeds
and quenched the world its need to breathe.
And in the autumn dropped my leaves
to feed the insects in the weeds.
I stretched my roots in
luscious ground and saw such beauty all around.
I was
old and happy as only a tree
could ever wish or hope
to be.
And then I saw that a familiar face was watching me.
And He said..
You are quite naturally a tree
and have done so extraordinarily well in green that I will let you be to live your dream.
And as he walked away,
he smiled happily back at me.
I write such pretty words
About the ones I've sort of loved
I used to think I'd be like Joni Mitchell
And love all the beautiful men
With their beautiful voices
And their beautiful souls
I've gotta get me a singer in the park, dancer in the dark
A dirty word thief to mirror my own heart
Funny how life goes exactly how you don't plan it
(and spaceships hang in the sky exactly how bricks don't)
Or if you were prepared for that
It will go according to plan but taste like splenda
Sticky, fakesweet
Me, I'm riding steady on the latter
Sometimes getting sadder
And barring that time when I was sixteen
All the loving never felt like love
Not all the way
I don't mean to degrade those salty days
I've got a headful of memories that I'd never trade
I don't know what I'm thinking when I say the love I make could be better
Maybe because I've never been made stupid, never really been played
Which is to say that I've never actually gone all the way
Never settled or sacrificed anything I couldn't get back
Most of me is always tucked away
Escaping only in blinding bursts that leave everyone involved a little scared
I don't remember how to temper myself
In relation to anyone else
But I remember every time I've realized that something wasn't what I wanted
I'm damn good at falling out of it
And writing lots of stupid poems about it
I've watched too many people rip each other apart with it
Felt it start to rip at me
Of course I'll never let that happen
I'm the first to advocate divorce
But some days I get really worried that I'm not capable of anything more
It's not that I'm broken
I just have really,
Really
Good boundaries
Maybe I'm lying, scared and selfish
Going against my own mind
I know I've felt bliss
Once I felt infinite
But that was a different me, all soft and made of clay
This me, pushing out these particular words, well
I've never been in love
I'm always a little bit in love
