When I was seventeen
I held onto the destiny,
But now see i’m eighteen
And where I’ve been.
All the mountains,
Seemed Nearby hills
But look I just tumbled down,
From the very top
All bruised and broken.
There’s this wide ocean to dive
But they don’t know
I drowned.
Oh I was just seventeen!
doing everything
I didn’t mean.
But see it’s late... for
Yesterday I turned eighteen
They say, it is summer that
the sun shines the brightest
but they don’t know
It burned too.
it all seemed
so small,
just like a hole
in the gigantic boat,
I overlooked for
I had just turned seventeen
And forgot that
someday I’ll be eighteen.
It was all just a fancy,
a teenage melody,
sweet to taste
but poison to my body.
The carefree vibrant soul
nourished my
seventeen and nothing
was left for the
soon to be eighteen.
Oh what I have been, just
while jumping to the eighteen.
A jump takes you upwards
but mine was directed
only downwards.
Down Down
down with him
they all shouted.
Shouts their faces didn’t shout
but ones only my backs could hear.
Ohh seventeen!!
Ooh eighteen!!
Wish I had a different
Ending to my teen.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 6:02 AM UTC
Summer fails,
Clouds disappear,
The winds drop,
The flowers don’t bloom,
All the leaves wither away, a fall in the mid-summer June.
And you are left wondering,
Of all that the summer promised
All that it offered,
All that was destined, but never happened
That summer,that sunshine
That never came but just went.
Went, far away, to cold distant lands
Never to return.
Never to sing of the songs we learnt.
But only to haunt us forever,
Forever, until this sun burns
Of all the things we couldn't overturn.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
A paper boat to an open sea
A world still separating you and me
I wish you could join me here
And sit with me on this pier
We don't have to talk or think
Just watch the sun as it sinks
To where all good must one day go
To a place nobody seems to know
That's where I go, I hope you do too
Until then, I will sit and wait for you
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
I love you but
I really wish I could but
I miss you but
I do care but
I didn’t want to hurt you but
All the buts you’ve ever said
Will turn to all the things
You’ll regret when you’re old and dying
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
trigger warning:
Hate long poems? move on.
Love words? pleasure your self
<=>
*drought and famine of the spirit,
over-staying summer
house guests in an overly sun blanched,
voided, white outed, mental abode.
faculties parched,
overly starched,
compositions lost in transition,
why can't they make it ashore?
It's after 2 AM, and though
ferries have stopped running,
mainland hangover hangerons are
working overtime to prevent
"author"izations, so all I get
when I press send is a whole lot of
"permission to cross," denied!
causes of vexation undisguised,
dual natured and manifold,
luxuriating and drowning in home grown,
city organic insipid,
makes one quick to blame
nobody in particular,
but yourself, repeatedly.
reasons many, the distractions of
rustling contradictions populate,
another life road fork looming,
a track record for choosing badly,
colors the blacktop even blacker and
ramps up desires for a janitorial,
but first do no harm, status quo.
Need a beer.
Need a distraction.
Need a homework assignment,
which I buy at the IGA market:
obey the eleventh commandment
which every writer knows;
you think you're Mr. Bigshot,
so pudding prove it,
write it,
one true sentence,
let it be a constitution for all,
with the lengthy consistency,
of a Hemingwayesque,
one true sentence.
dearth to riches occurs
as fast as a basketball
three second violation,
inspiration dripping like
windshield condensation,
got so many true sentences,
how ya gonna choose,
O sinner man?
sadly you don't hear or feel
my background music,
stringed surf sounds playing
Perlman's Mozart low to
the thunderous, sweltering,
swells of applause of
90+ degree heat
w/o a Crescent Beach breeze
to console the disowned
these superheated thoughts
now focused,
emerges a bill of sight,
lading my heart's many heresies,
staccato thoughts now,
rapid fire rebel,
a pre-discourse insurrection,
voices of words lash out -
pick me - immortalize me,
I wanna be,
a constitution for one,
one true sentence.
The Moment of Ownership.
Hillel did it,
standing on one leg,
a Sanskrit mantra,
not by me,
not for me,
not through me,
even more succinct.
full clarity unobtainable,
begin when fighting thru
the static of each nerve,
knowing that
each thought,
each emotion,
is a constitution
of sorts,
recognizing life is a series of
moments of ownership,
but that are truly ours
only when relinquished.
each one, a true sentence
when writ, spoke,
but only when disabused
of notions of possession
only true, when gifted away.
Lucian Freud painted those whom
he knew best, their portraits,
fully clothed but wholly naked,
a painter of revelation
thru the skin tones of the flesh.
exposeur of skins interior
displayer of old and ungainly,
left us eyesight more true
than an honest mirror,
with poetic brushstrokes overlay,
gained entry to what his
grandfather named id and ego,
artist's superego, his reflections,
a continuous judgment
on a pool of stretched canvas
that makes me despair that:
I will ere succeed
to cross the borderline
that modernity insists upon,
self preservation, neurotic fears,
impositions on my psyche and
that my moments of ownership
will be n'ere be stamped "transferred."
I take back my life,
by giving it away
this alphabetized self portrait,
a wrinkled sketch of me,
my ownings, undertakings
needs taking by you
so I can disown it.
these words are my own,
their conjunction is a
junction to you,
and a constitution for me.
once this expiation
is in your purview by the voted
election of Send,
bonded by a mutual
Moment of Ownership?
so net net,
bottom line,
these are my
one true sentences,
summarized, constitutionalized:
I am yours, for the taking,
so come by, for and through me,
in many moments of ownership.*
p.s. let us shelter together in place, an island growing
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
I had a dream
I am seven
Running through the fields
Catching butterflies
Though all I do now is running behind you
And only in dreams
I catch you
After seven years of running
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
how it would have been,if u could make someone fall in love with u
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC
Finally sat down
To write.
Write epilogue
To all that we were.
All those starring
And longing
Which I wanted
To end
And end just in each other.
My pen broke
Asking me
To stop
To wait
To give us another chance
But I knew ,
I know
That you won’t never know
And thus I complete it now
With an epilogue
With a book
Which I hope unlike others
Will go to my grave
Unpublished unread
Just with an epilogue
EPILOGUE that’s all
We were.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC