"you cannot be sad all the time, don’t lie. you are smiling, that is a good thing."
it is a rebuttal from yet another friend of so-and-so says, related by this-and-that and somehow in the crossroads of here-and now we meet by chance and speak by fate. i silently contemplate the vast expanse of the universe in comparison to the shallowness of the waters in some people, simultaneously envying the happiness they bask in and the darkness they get to escape.
there are days when the hardest thing to do is to wake up, and there are days when the rooster crows while i am wide awake but exhausted and numb down to the veins of my very being. it is a rocky journey under faint light and overwhelming dark, a never ending battle between stubborn, suffocating will against the voices who whisper lies and truths all at once. yet here i stand, weak but not defeated, dying but still alive.
i keep this hope in the center of my hand, that someday everything will be okay, and i will love as i have learnt to miss those i have lost.
"i smile everyday, but that does not necessarily mean the smile reaches my heart."
Born and brewing on the road
A choice on me has been bestowed
To grant one side my presence there
Take time to choose; contrast, compare.
Offers, one side, an easy life
Let's sing all day, and play the fife!
The other, it seems, is harder still,
Yet full of life; a forest's trill.
"Come here!" one says, "there's much to do!"
"Have fear!" one says, "it's brutal too!"
"It's crueler there," says one, in rebuttal.
"It's cruel, but fair," one says with a scuttle.
Forever struck, undecided on the road
For which side is better; my humble abode?
Made soon is this choice, for ahead comes upon
Two lights on the hill, like a double edged dawn
Quick like a deer, I unfold into action.
Be part of the woods? Or a slave unto fashion?
To the judgement of others, their eyes on my back?
Or the home of the hunters, to survive their attack?
To the glistening great cities with the smog thickened air?
Or the rolling green trees, all alone in despair?
So towards the lights I will run, on the road I will ride.
For I will always remain with one foot on each side.
He came, reluctantly pulled by his head
At the hands of a masked man,
Using large metal,
Salad Tong appearing forceps,
Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s
Cervical embrace, into the glaring,
First Light of intended living and breathing.
His head now misshapen,
(To return to normal they assured,)
His little body more blue than pink,
Umbilical cord around his neck,
He Absolutely ridged, unmoving.
No sound did he make, appearing more
gone than here.
My own breath did cease until to my relief,
His tiny arms and hands did give notice
Of life, followed soon after by a fitting
Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to
The light, the air, the rude process
That had brought him there.
One moment at peace, safe and warm
Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming
Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's
Do dream, then abruptly ripped from
All that, out into all this!
At that moment I too wanted to join in,
Echo his howl, his guttural protestation,
I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance
Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air.
For me, as if at this moment of his birth, I too was reborn.
My knees grew weak and I was for a instant dizzy,
I struggled to regain my own lost breathing.
Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes.
I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed,
As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor,
My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts,
Expanded then to boundless.
The tender masked women in white,
They with shining, smiling eyes,
Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry,
Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into
My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time
In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son.
At that precise moment, some purposeful mental,
Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped,
And I, WE would never be the same again.
Blushing rouge Dawn in her eyes she beheld with a softened look, dreaming dark.
She drank in the air as it sweetened like grapes on the vine growing blue and gold,
Singing the words as she first spoke them, “Oh forlorn man, be still. Grieve no more.”
Left with her self sad Kalypso abandoned by one who Athena loves.
She loved yet blindly took care not to notice his woefully keening voice.
She who consented to keep captured anguished Odysseus brazenly
Was open to voice that spoke words of rebuttal to god given mandate, grave.
Bathing and cloaked, with his dusky wine given, she conjured up breeze to blow.
Immortal offered divine nymph, so beautiful, sent him on craft out to wine dark sea.
Pining away on her gilded green island she's left lovely loneliness.
by Nat Lipstadt
Why are the children
if not hurting themselves,
so busy hurting others?
I know hurt in ways you cannot fathom,
And I rise up daily with a but a single quest:
Banish the hurt, expel the hurters,
And practice the one true faith:
Kindness and Grace.
Sometimes the madness I read, too much, too much,
And I walk away and store my poems in another place.
But I am reminded,
There is no such thing as too kind,
So I wander back,
Chagrined and Chastened,
Hoping one among you
Will help to raise up
Ask me now to fight your war and I shall vanquish legions vast
Call that I, a mountain scale and I shall conquer summit fast.
Command me firmly, forth to go and I shall strive as best I can
But call me to administrate and I will call you fool, be damned.
Thus some have talent to be red and some attend to hues of green
But few have skills of rainbow shade, few, at least, that I have seen.
Some wear fear upon their smile others writhe with minds that burn,
They wallow deep in misery, whilst others stop to see and learn.
Some are black and some are white, for most the favoured shade is grey....
Roar ye might for judgement's fall, but futile friend... as death's delay.
We were driving along
a dark windy road
when all of the
she said to me
“I don’t like this road
I can never see
what’s behind me”
“Why would you want to?”
“You will see the headlights
and the taillights
in front of you
and if you see nothing
Her face crumpled as
she turned her head
She remained silent
for a while
until her hand slowly guided
“As if I would find
comfort in being
"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.
He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.
"A Rebuttal" by Marshalg
So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help,
One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp!
Would spring erect to help deflect contusions which occurred
When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred.
Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs
And brother Frog with shaggy dog said "fuck" and drank the dregs.
It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue,
So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew!
Phew...that was FUN & hard work!
You make my poetry crumble
Like a building set for demolition.
I want to write beautiful things,
But when I gaze upon you
My mind draws a blank.
I don't understand it really;
We are miles away from each other,
Yet you make my legs restless
And my knees as weak as gelatin.
Your icy blue eyes peer into
My soul until I can't help but melt-
I am in too deep for comfort.
I am sinking fast in the quicksand
Of your sweetly smooth words.
I am fighting off my feelings left and right
But nothing will stop you from knocking
Down the walls I have worked so hard to build up.
I want to tell you I love you like you have
Time and time again. But alas I cannot,
Because I don't want to be hurt or worse-
It's not fair that you pull at my heart strings
Like you do because I have nothing in rebuttal.
Everytime I try my jaw locks up,
My lips seal tightly shut,
And my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth
Like it does when I eat peanut butter too fast.
I try to put my feelings into poetry
But even then the message comes out wrong.
I give up!
I am just a twitterpated poetress
Who's penmanship is less than sub par...
Look, I know I don't owe you anything.
But without the casual back talk and the rebuttal of your face in the couch,
beer in the crook of your arm, and bare feet I'll ask you
why'd you sleep with her?
Why'd you do this to me?
I'll slap you so you get up,
lean over the shoulder I sit next to you
and pour your words on my lap as I pretend to sleep.
And as your unknown confession is listened,
between words you won't remember you said
I'll fall sentimental,
and start tucking your secrets with my hand on your head
behind your ears that are sliced with my whispers
that I'll love you even though you broke into me.
That I'll keep staying until I don't remember why I need to leave.
Then you'll roll over and the cut on your lip will awaken my senses,
rustle the belief
as I quietly ask you what happened.
You'll wipe the spit from your chin,
take a breath that smells like bad mornings,
and tell me it's nothing of my concern.
When I beg for the explanation,
put my thumb against the dried blood reminder
that no matter how solemn your soul
you'll never stop hurting me,
you'll turn away and tell me to go.
Tell me you never actually needed me to stay.
I'll stand up with a face painted fury,
and scream at the things I should have come to expect.
The same rage I slammed the door with when I entered,
now races in my heart as I try to lay it down
on the floor so you can see how badly you broke me
when I heard that there was another her.
"She was just a body,"
you'll start to stutter
"I was drunk and it didn't mean a thing."
But your dreary eyes and your half molded chest
waltzing over to me with a lust in your hands,
tell me that your words in the moment I capture you
mean nothing passed the second their said.
Look, I know I don't owe you anything.
But there's something in the way you look at me that begs the question
to be said under the weight of the consequence of never really being the same
I'll ask you
Why is this all the better we'll ever be?
Why'd you have to do this to me?
I'm like the pest that won't go away. I'll crawl into your head as night fades away. Day after day your dreams seem to dwindle away.
I'll bug your infested mind, as your fiery passion fades to grey. I'll scuttle towards the rebuttal of the stubborn, ever so subtle.
As you cuddle your pillow, thinking of weeping willows, I'll scurry into your flowing hatred, bringing the sacred light of hope.
Grope a manifested thought, once sought to consume. I'll plant a beautiful new plot of light, that destroys your gloom dude.
Don't be rude, cause you're down on your luck. Lose the attitude schmuck!