To me poetry is all emotion. The pure raw form of it but also the subtle meanings in it. It's skirting around something you want to say, yet sometimes it's just coming out and saying it. It's to not being afraid yet understanding that you can't avoid feeling it. When you first start writing its mostly getting everything out but as you evolve as a writer the lines blur and your not telling anyone your secrets. The purely vague to open up audience with a wondering soul who will take chance on a piece of you. Still so angry but that's where I want to be with my writing. Connecting broadly and differently with everyone. I remember the feeling and I loved how my words could mean so many different things. I miss that feeling. What is poetry to you? I would love to hear your thoughts.
A beautiful day
People buzzing as they say
"The bride! She's here"
I take a sit down and catch my breath
This may just be my most memorable day yet
but still , I'm sad
because I'm not the one who gets to hold your hand
As I start to sing and play
"It's her hair and her eyes today, that just simply take ma away..."
It's her favorite song
I'm the pianist on her wedding day
Tragic you may think
but she came up to me so suddenly
and said "run away with me"
next thing I knew
You are now here with me
and I am with you
i would like to say
that i wrote you
a long love letter;
that i just couldn't send.
i should say
that it was never sent
because it was never written.
i would like to say
that it was never written
because i couldn't
put it all down in words.
i should say
that i never wrote
that letter of love
for you
because
i never loved you.
She is now waiting
at my front door,
I hear her laughter echoing
I want more….
She slivers through the door
as she slowly moves,
she's guided by the stench
of poisonous booze..
She has a pressed on an ego...
un....like mine,
her words a scapel,
cutting deep into my spine.
She cries dry tears
into her liquor,
any twinge of conscience
grows
thin not thicker.
I trip and I fumble
it seems everyday,
as I try to keep her
from my heart's pathway.
I dream of something more
but I'm led astray,
but soon I'll leave this hell
and have my say.
I can't climb out
of this blaze she's built,
her fiery waves
attempt to hide her guilt.
She laughs as she watches
me incinerate
with double crossed fingers
she thinks she's sealed my fate.
My direction now,
is flustered orange and blue,
thoughts that my mind
simply can't filter through.
I see the fiction
in her diverting eyes,
as she runs her hands
down her tempting thighs.
I dream upon dream
of something more,
full of grace and beauty
a pleasure to adore.
But for now she will suffer
I won't care at all,
She will follow my plan,
one marked for
her fall.
by my son.
Miss him so.............
© 2011 Loe
Homer got hit by a bolt of lightning
late one afternoon
when he was putting new plugs in his tractor.
The electric laser cut him in half
just like a pie
and one half of him fell to the ground
on each side of the machine.
All the contents of his life
spilled out onto the wheat stubble
including all the bittersweet emotions from his right side
and all the rational reasoning from his left side.
Fortunately for his soul
he was right-handed
so that hand crawled across the ground
and took his heart back from the other side
to where it belonged
with all his random joys and fears
laying there like tiny diamonds.
His left hand didn’t do anything;
it just laid there drumming its fingers
waiting for the paramedics.
Fred’s wife heard the crackle
and by the time she got to him
Fred’s right hand had convinced his left hand
to help put him back together
and all she could say was
“Oh, darling, I’m glad you are OK.”
As the sands of time
Slowly slither, silently on
As you try to grab a hold
It siphons through your fingertips
The harder you squeeze
The faster the flow
But when you open your hand
Spread your fingers wide
a small pile settles in the palm
When you hold on
It suffocates suddenly, simply still
But loosen your grip
And life flourishes as you will
Change is the only constant
Always remember the simple truth, that
people are in your life for three reasons:
For a reason
for a season
or for a lifetime
Each one as important as the other
but none so important that you can't live without
each one just a lesson learnt
So be grateful for each moment well spent
Because after all...
All we ever seem to do is say goodbye
Who is this impostor,
glimpsed with horror
in the department store window?
He apes my movements
but fails to capture
their athleticism,
spring-loaded inside an easy grace.
Ladies and gentlemen, do not be deceived.
Disregard those who think they know me.
This shambling simulacrum
is not me.
Perhaps my Nobel prize
is just a might-have-been,
my endowments only imagined.
But I am who I want me to be.
All aboard for the unguided tour!
Already begun, pre-planned
by an unknown administrator,
its detailed itinerary remains unpublished.
The last stage is, they say, less delightful than the others.
It passes through the poorer districts;
one sees industrial squalor and boarded-up lives.
I can leave the tour at any time.
I am who I want me to be.
Discomfort and dissolution do not belong in my world.
I am not the kind of person to ever be distraught.
So oblivion shall not swallow my love's soul.
Not all at once,
not piece by piece.
Not even a little.
Her identity must not be corrupted.
We are who I want us to be.
When Goodbye We All Must Say
Today I saw my mother
She seemed so tired and grey
She knows that she is sick
Still she says it's all okay
She says now dont worry
We all have a time to go
She talks about the plans she's made
And the things that we shoud know
We tell her to keep fighting
Dont give up on her life
Still inside we know her journey
Must have an end in sight
She says when the fight is over
And she has given all she can
She knows she'll then be ready
To meet her journeys end
I dont know really what to do
For this woman I so love
She has raised five children on her own
And never once did she gave up
We tell her that we love her
And pretend that we dont see
The disease that has taken her
And dropped her to her knees
I love this woman so very much
And I want to take from her the pain
For I dread that day I know will come
When good bye we all must say
Carl Joseph Roberts
there’s something about those tiny teeth
decorating that infinite black canvas
drawn like a curtain at the day’s end
that enhance the chemical persuasions
I give into when yesterday calls itself today
Moonlight breeds a fleeting, false clarity
that the Sun devours ravenously by mid-day
& so my hands often hold nothing but a
pouding headache and throbbing regrets
But I can’t say I know what remorse feels like
I had my heart broken
By a boy who likes to pretend
That he never liked me
-- except my heart didn't really break,
because it was never his.
It was more like I was lonely, and he was there
so I let him hold me and, he let me hold him
-- and explained to others that
"this is my way of showing I care, but I don't really, truly care,
I don't love her"
"I don't have feelings for you" --
he told me after he had picked up the phone
this girl called (maybe another me)
I just said I didn't care and stared at the ugliest leaf I've ever seen
So I didn't really have my heart broken
But it's easier to say I did
and more exciting, tragic
more romantic to say I did
