When she walked it was as though
the wind would move her
she would flow like summer breeze
one could barely behold
the perfection – oh the ease
with which she moved
Each step was like the ballet
like Swan Lake was set afoot
in the person of her womanhood
she, like no other could
Men fell in states of blunder
and ladies shapes of awe
for none could stand before her
not one resist her call
The Mona Lisa in the flesh
a living work of art
her subtlety betrayed her
a disguise she ill could wear
Her modesty set before her
a veil that through would shine
the loveliness of her countenance
the lady so sublime
I saw her once.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:00 PM UTC
Pull yourself up
never surrender
no pain no gain
get some
collapse
give up
stop the pain
leave it
crush it
win at all costs
may the best man win
no quit
loosen your grip
enjoy the journey
lose with grace
stop
destroy the day
seize the day
capture the victory
nothing is too much to give
relax
today
might be the last
day
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
The day flows on
even in the most basic ways
when we have the best of our days
there is still the pain
It radiates and rises from the pores
when we are uninjured
but who among us is ever truly
unhurt?
At my best I rise and fall
in various states of anger
angst
bitterness
I cannot recall the last peaceful day
a day without pain
be it the pain of the mind
or the ache of the body
the first because of the latter
Yet it doesn’t seem to matter
what is done
or undone
it remains and I remain
two enemies trapped together
my Pain and I
like two bitter foes who’ve been at struggle
so long
they couldn’t understand a day alone
without the other
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 2:35 PM UTC
there’s a tale in my head
I don’t know how it came to reside there
a tale in my head
that looks to stay a while there
it’s far too ugly to say
I dare not write it down here
this tale in my head
I can never seem to get clear
if I tell you this tale
you might not hang around me
you’d probably run off
thinking I am crazy
and you’d be right
I’m sure of that much
for what sane man could have
a tale as such
and not share it?
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 1:35 PM UTC
Don’t tell me the world is beautiful
when death and despair
hold court
abroad
Don’t tell me how lucky we are
in our comfy homes
when death and despair
strangle the outraged among us
Tell me the truth
that we are immensely fortunate
that death and despair
are a surprise
a shock
to some
but daily drivers for others
the world dies
but we cry
when the cell service is weak
how weak
how pathetic
how could we be as blind as we are
so humanely ignorant
and still be alive?
beautiful breathing madness
one breath shy of nothing
this is who we really are
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 9:40 PM UTC
I was going to lead the people
to higher things
to their victory
but I was busy
and I grew older
let the younger man lead
I had a desire
to author the greatest poems
and move hearts
but time went too fast
and I let the young man write them
I intended to live
the fullest life
and make a difference
but was working the hours
day after day
and it all passed me by
you are the young man
do it for me - for us
it is too late for me
all has passed me by
I am still too busy
time still passes me by
I am still working the hours
not you, though
let my intentions motivate you
where my actions fell short
you are the young man
do it
Please do it
do it today; young man
for tomorrows soon you will be me too
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 9:25 PM UTC
There is a place where nobody asks questions
and nobody judges
where you can be yourself, without fear of the barking majority
or even the angry minority
no matter which you belong to out here
where you can say what you are thinking
instead of what you should
and there are no jurors or judges
just you and the really you
where the façade is lifted
the drapes are wide open
and the raw being of you is on display
but nobody cares – nobody is there to like it, or dislike it – or even notice it
what good would that be?
a place where you are you – and I am me – and there are no witnesses?
no one saying that’s wrong… or that’s right?
no indignation, no empathy, no willful disregard?
Yes, there is a place where nobody asks questions
and nobody judges
how horrible that place must be
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 11:44 AM UTC
When the sun rests
and the moon takes flight
and the dawn of day fades
to dark of night
you will find me
though I strain against the hold
and tell myself that I am not alone
and convince myself that I will be fine
I will hear your haunting tone
you always find me
even before I lay to rest
and fool only myself in blunder
and pretend my bravado will hold you at bay
you lurk, waiting to tear my pride asunder
you find me, waiting not to wait
once I shut an eye
and the day rewinds like an ugly play
and the mind’s critics line up to give review
with me, already knowing what they’ll say
you are there
with the greatest voice of all my mind
and the loudest, so fur sure
and you drown out any hope I'd have
that you’d enter here no more
because you never really leave
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 11:34 AM UTC
They don't care
nobody cares about your sorrow
they say I'm sorry to hear it, or
that's too bad
but as soon as the words stop sounding they celebrate
that it is not them
they care only so much
Some might care
the first time they hear of it
empathy is as real as stone
but doesn't last nearly as long
and turns to mist that blows away quickly
they care only so long
You know it
because you do the same
after hearing it a few times you wonder
why don't they just accept their lot?
the stone becomes mist
and blows away
you only care so much, for so long
when it is your sorrow
your pain
your injustice
It hurts. It aches. It isn't fair. It shouldn't have happened
they don't care
You might as well tell a wall
or sing it to a passing sparrow
or tell your dog, who will surely care longer
than any of your fellow man
You know it
because you do the same
and the mist blows away and you move on
leaving sorrow and pain it's victim to have
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC
Bukowski had it
the writing shoots from my soul
I don't care about babies or puppies
or rhyming anymore
Give me a fat cigar
and a deep whiskey
and I can write you a sonnet
of ******** and
write you a love poem
I do not mean
I smoke
I drink
I type what comes out
and I'm tired of hearing about tulips and butterflies
If you think you've got it all figured out
but you're working a job you hate
then the only thing you've figured out
is that you don't know what to do
You don't know that life is about living
that money is necessary, but awful
and that truly living is actually about living
Do you thing the trees give half a ****
do you think that the flowing rivers care about internet speed?
do you think that your facebook friends would show up at your funeral
If only the world would shut down
if the digital, virtual world would stop
I'd grab a number 2 pencil and write
and jab a hole in the brain of modern society
and it would bleed money
it would bleed greed
it would bleed capitalism and success
and it would die
instead of my worn out soul
trying to swim in a sea of useless information
and overload
a sea of virtual *****
and then I would truly live
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC