Do not listen to the beating of my heart;
listen , instead, to the hearts of others.
Do not feel the passion in my hands;
feel, instead, the passion in your lover's palms.
Do not absolve all my misgivings;
forgive, instead, the wrongs of all others.
Do not see the beauty in my mirror;
see it, instead, in 8,000,000,000 others.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 11:03 PM UTC
If you wish the world a better place,
then gather hearts and hands and hope.
If you yearn for love and peace,
then feed a starving child. If you wish
to live a loving life, then open your
eyes and watch yourself hold out
your open hand to a stranger whose
skin is a color different from yours.
And if you wish a better Earth,
take your guns and bombs and
pray to God to turn all of them
into hospitals and hopes for a
world of one.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 4:39 PM UTC
I'm all alone--but better put--
I'm by myself. It's 1:04 at night
and I'm thinking things over.
She's beside me, but then again,
it just feels that way--just another
memory. Phone's no longer
ringing, but I like it that way,
just me and my memories.
But memories are never just a memory.
A paradox, you say?--I don't think so.
Let's say, memories are a scrapbook.
The most recent memories, whether
they are a photo of your making a
great catch in the end zone that wins
the game, or another one of you
having been elected president of the
Sophomore Class. As one grows
older, so do your memories: your
first girlfriend; photos of your best
buddies; college graduation ceremonies.
Your wedding, of course; the births
of your children; the day your father
won his first legal case. Then there
are traumas, which don't make your
scrapbook, but may stay with you
for the rest of your life. All events
of your life become memories, but
memories are never just a memory.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 4:51 AM UTC
Golden rivulets flowing over milking *******
my lips ******* on swollen pink *******
moans emanating from one then the other,
farther down I kiss your silky middle,
my eyes are lost in a ***** brown mound.
I seek out magical miracles that bring you
to heights of unending ecstasy that let me
taste Beethoven's adagio composed for
you and me. The moon, you, and I provide
for all three of us a trilogy of **********
as robins greet the morning sky.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:19 AM UTC
I will keep you from dying
by caressing your heart
and letting night's moonlight
brighten your being,
and letting night's moonlight
brighten your being.
I will keep you from crying
by drying your tears
and letting night's moonlight
brighten your being,
and letting night's moonlight
brighten your being.
I will keep you from sighing
by kissing your lips
and letting night's moonlight
brighten your being,
and letting night's moonlight
brighten your being.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 9:11 PM UTC
If only one man
walked across a barren field
and with each step
a bloom of hope arose,
then all who had the courage
would walk behind him
leaving fields of fortitude
and forgiveness and love.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 11:36 PM UTC
Writing poetry is like making love:
if you have to force it, stop.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 2:24 AM UTC
It matters not what others think of you,
but it matters greatly what you think
of your real self.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 5:52 AM UTC
Breeze, blow me please into her arms,
her eyes, I try to see in them her love for me
to understand her majesty and mystery,
her candor and her kindness, hoping
winds would whip her kisses to my lips.
Morning sunlight shines upon her, *******
beckoning my mouth closer. Her golden hair
I spread on white pillows, a silhouette
against pink walls, calls crying
for another ****** must you ever
leave me in this paradise of love?
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 6:18 PM UTC
I grew up in Kansas.
I graduated from Phillips Andover.
I matriculated at Colunbia over Yale.
I dropped out of law school because I couldn't sleep.
I spent a year at Menninger's that saved my life.
I wrote a poem to my parents. As my father walked by me,
he said "Go buy a rental property." That was the moment
I gained my independence. I was no longer his
"good little boy." I would no longer be his son to live out
his unconscious dreams through me, dreams of becoming
megawealthy, famous, powerful. I was free to be
my real self. I would write "the intellect sees that all
are different, wisdom that all are one." I came to
understand that wealth is not worth. Love is.
I took my dog, Shepard, to the banks of the Yampa River
where the two of us lived with the animals and birds,
our friends. I wrote over a thousand poems. I even
wrote a novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH. I was at
one with all around me. I live a bucolic life now.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 11:41 PM UTC