Reality captured in
these sullen eyes
that encompass the passing
Days of time, like petals on a flower.
Whittled people pass
through the assembly lines
one after another, whispering
sweet words about that green angel,
only but a devil in a papery disguise.
Those magical moments of suspense
and mystery, deconstructed into
the sciences of this world.
Life has not flavor anymore.
Perhaps the smoke that
ascends from your tiring joint
will imbibe these days
with a little wonder.
But once those molecules
lose their smoke curled smiles,
life turns back to grey.
saturates these dull days.
World peace is on the verge of now,
but what about the most important peace: that of the soul.
Some eyes have turned backwards,
but all need to see the escape.
Society is a masochist
that emanates fear,
and we conform to it.
Change comes at the disillusionment
of eternity. Love is synonymous
with melancholia. Or insanity.
But us poets play with words
to keep ourselves insane
because we discovered that
poetry kills the pain
I have had it all wrong,
I wonder if my grandfather
thought that, when on a steamer
he arrived a dreamer
of moving west from Montreal
single trying to find a life, better,
opened and tasted peanut butter,
and never did ever eat that again,
I have had it wrong, all of it
He kept dreaming and trying,
took the train to the northern Alberta,
saw his dreams take shape as he built
homes for other dreamers,
he met his wife, but that is a poem for another story,
he was a pacifist, he did not support, killing another,
but he sure had a temper,
for a peaceful man, he decided to retire, and that
let him get old, I admire for what he stood for and sit at
a desk he built with my dad.
I still have had it all wrong.
The desk is nothing special
other than the hands and
knowledge that built it
and something a father and a son
did together, one of the last things
of each other, that
would be remembered, they worked well with their hands.
Both men were dreamers.
My dad had his dreams, he mostly kept to himself,
but you just knew that they were to do with
things outside of the house.
Oh don't misunderstand, he loved working with wood,
he knew firearms, he recieved a Medal for Military Merit,
for dedication above and beyond what a militiaman was
to do, he wasn't a pacifist, in many ways he was different
from his dad and so many more he was exactly the same.
Shame, I have had it all wrong.
I was not an A student, but Gee, I tried hard,
my potential was palpable we just needed to resuscitate it from time to time,
I joined the CAF, married and had three who have amazed me,
with their strong beliefs, so different from one another, see?
I have worked twenty jobs and not one among them defined as a career...
oh and yes, I have spent time in an unemployment line.
I am not a carpenter, like the other two could, my grandfather as a career
my dad took it on as a hobby, I am a pacifist, yes, but don't push to hard,
I might write you into a poem...
I have written so many serious and sombre pieces,
There is already so much sadness in the world,
If planet Earth could cry a tear, standby with the tissue,
I deal with my stuff in words, I try not to hang onto them,
Rather free them like birds, Ravens and Crows with Hummingbirds and Eagles,
My soul is sore and
Animus would rather soar,
so I pour the toxins from my mind, my skin, from my day
you already know I am not perfect I sin, from my way of life,
so I pour the garbage I live and beauty as I see
it is around me for you all to read, shame on me
I have had it all wrong.
I don't have to get it right, I must write.
the same kind of rainclouds
roll in from the springtime horizon, to spread life,
here, where you are reading this poem
and there, most every other place on this globe
imagine that: we all live under the same kind of sky
the wise man was asked:
“do we, as men, follow your words and reach nirvana?”
“but for the raw material, this would be so”, was his reply
there is a ghost hovering above me at all times
youth kept him at bay; old age increases his presence
he hangs like a jellyfish alight in the air
wide eyes dark spaces mystery
a span of some sort
Ripped ribbons scattered aimlessly,
with fractured cups, dirt and dust
pink pearly acetone just won't be enough
to erase the evidence of you.
With forced confessions,
spilled out all past indiscretions,
and cursed vindications and blood
splattered like a musty revenge.
Hand print caresses that show
Polaroid prints all faded and jaded
like the illusion of us.
It was desperate fingers
that clung to the railings
but the force of gravity meant I had to let go.
Hope had revived me
Like water to my parched throat
my oasis is the desert
All my horrid words were revoked.
Yet nothing will ever be enough
to surgically remove
our open bleeding wounds.
I must tend to the injured,
Leave alone the wielder
Knife still in hand
How did it come to this?
I missed your voice
so much it made me cry
yet after I heard
it made everything worse
Mourning a loss that was not mine
I still love you
but it burns
until I have to take my hand off
the all consuming flame.
My teardrops cannot pay the price,
or eradicate the past in peoples minds
Will I forever be beholden to this guilt that now defines me?
Too many skin graphs to hide the scarred tissue underneath.
All paths lead me back to here.
I'm helpless to watch your ghost
Linger,you still linger.
What does it mean to write?
Are there fences?
Are there rules?
Is the clear blue sky the limit?
Is it endless or finite?
Should we follow a path?
Is it left?
Or is it right?
Do written words have restrictions?
Like arithmetic and math?
Do you have to be good?
If you are bad,
Should you quit?
Is there even fine a boundary?
Do we really think there should?
Are words upon a page,
A form of life?
Our hallowed kin?
Are the words that live within us,
Our own breath-restricting cage?
on our first date
you held my hand through the corn maze.
as we were getting lost in the stalks of corn
i was actually getting lost in you,
in the way your fingers felt curled next to mine,
in the deep bass of your voice,
in the way you could never remember which pocket your keys and phone were in.
i have never felt happier than i did when we made it out of the maze
and both agreed that it was too early to go home,
that we wanted to stay together a little longer,
and so we sat
for three hours just talking about everything.
i could sit and talk to you for hours
even if the topic is boring, it becomes endlessly fascinating
when the words are coming from your mouth.
i want to learn more about your uncle
and how he was called betty crocker as a kid because he baked so much,
i want to hear about the things you are building in robotics,
i want to know everything about you.
i feel happy and comfortable around you and
want nothing more than to be with you,
standing next to you,
our hands intertwined,
facing the world together,
Today, I can stop writing.
Yes, she took me back. Yes, I am all hers again. And she's all mine. :)
This letter will be a renewal of my promises. That I will commit the rest of my lifetime to prove to her that I have changed; that I have become a better person for myself, for her and for us. That we will not go through the same pain we did because of my previous mistakes; that she will never get hurt for the same reasons all over again... Better yet, I promise that I would do everything so that she will never get hurt. I may not be able to promise that we will never face any hardships, trials or challenges, but I can promise that we will face them together... and that we will hurdle and triumph through them hand in hand and come out stronger. I promise that we will always be transparent to each other, airing out our feelings, emotions, fears, joys and everything else in between... For we want every detail of our stories to be shared to one another. I promise to always be by her side; sometimes we may not be physically together but in my own ways, and in the best ways I can think of, she will never feel alone. I promise to be my very best for her, to always be inspired in everything I do because of her. I promise that both of us will be able to do what we want or we love, without judgments or restrictions... For I will respect and accept every detail and part of her. Yes, we may talk over things and compromise, but changes done in our lives will never be a sacrifice but rather a choice - that I choose to do or not to do something because she is more important and that she is valued more than my wants. I promise that we will both explore our greatest potentials, and that I will be her best ever supporter - that whatever career path or life decisions she may have, I am with her 100%. I promise to keep our imagined black, white and red themed house clean and orderly (once we finally afford and invest on one) because I know she wants it that way. I promise to always be beside her when she needs me, or be out of her sight if she needs her alone time or space... For real love is not just about the number of hours or days being physically beside each other, but rather, about every second that our heart beats in sync for each other wherever we may be.
And my list could go on and on... And maybe I won't be stopping writing for her. Because everyday, words spill out of my heart out of awe and happiness that yes, she has taken me back.
And I am never messing up this time.
Thank you, Anne. You will always be loved. :)
Yours, for the rest of your lifetime,
My silence spoke volumes,
That’s what they said.
But if you ever paid attention…
I wasn’t fucking silent.
I was talking, louder and louder,
Trying to make you listen.
What you saw wasn’t silence –
And you confused the two.
Back drinking lager out of a
I was listened to!
Because God knows I need him.
This metaphor is
Too much for someone
As small and stupid as me.
I know a lot,
But you’d never know it.
Like a lung in fall-out,
I’m so white,
I’m so fucking hot…
…have you ever put your hand
over a hose-pipe
at full blast?
Did you ever try to not get your
Stupid fucking hands wet?
I read books like I mean it,
And I come up with words
Round my mouth
And on my hands
Like cake -
And I’ll swallow you all and I
Know you all,
And I’m the king of you all
And I’m screaming for you,
I’m screaming for all of you,
You’re all so beautiful and terrible and you’re
Making me fucking scream…
….so loud! Coming from a thin boy in
a garden that may not even be,
so green that it’s almost black,
and so black that the grass eats the trees.
I burst the blood vessels in my eyes,
And when you remember madness
You’ll remember this.
Not the silence
But the screams, and the blood red
Holes in the middle of my
Like a head kicked in,
Like caves of red puppets,
Like a horror movie that
You once saw,
But can’t quite place.
Perpetual bliss bleeds down his skin. Bright eyes secrete a knowing glow. His aura produces a child's grin. His spirit soars above the fire below.
He takes on the bullets of angry words. Rueful laughter tries to shrink his heart. They rip his essence with claws like birds. Sturdy he stands when the pain starts to smart.
With a smile he side steps the herd. He turns to watch as they reach the cliff. Their different worlds separated by a line that's blurred. They plunge into darkness on a burning skiff.
I sing with salted lungs
I'm a bottle lost at sea