will-martin
American
' started writing poetry in the mid 60s .. whew, long time ago .. nearly half a century? Have i been around that long..? ;-) I don't even know what 67 is supposed to feel like .. i never act my age .. i refuse to grow up, at least not all the way. ' very few things i have *not* made a poem about. All generic, only places in the heart and mind .. that could have existed at any time .. all natural .. never force written .. like penmanship lessons, or writing on the blackboard .. My poetry is about love, nature, and sarcasm/cynicism about things that are just plain wrong with the world, but not the planet .. except when the world messes up the planet .. not the planet's fault. ;-) / / If I've provoked a thought or struck the hidden chord, I feel I've made a genuine connection. / / My poet author influences .. Robert Louis Stevenson, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, E. E. Cummings, Edgar Allen Poe, and all the ladies and gentlemen coffee-house and slam poets i've met. / / ;-)
You've held my heart in your hands
many times
And yet, you've never known it
But you're like that you know
Because
You treat a person's heart better than an heirloom
Not 'handle with care', but
stroke gently with caring
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
Is there a substance
that as a result of continually applied force
becomes so hardened
so as to become no longer malleable..?
immovable..?
Lately i am feeling
much like that substance
Becoming tired of being forced
for no good point
Becoming weary of being pushed
into a grotesque shape
not of my choosing
Toward directions
i care not to go in
And you can find this stuf anywhere
it's everywhere
Leftover human ****
over-hammered
beat down by the establishment
You might call it
white trash metal
Or inner city old grey steel
50 gallon drum fireplace
ghetto hubcap with no wheel
Left with worth
less than a tin cup
Used humanity
used up
Beware waste artisans
it's waste recycle time
it's become too late
the purged waste you've created
Returns and rises from the ashes
to make you suffocated ...
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
Isn't it funny..?
The things we fancy
Sometimes starting
just as a small warm glow
Way deep down inside
Then building to a tide
Those waves pretty nearly
washed my heart away today
And while clinging to reality
losing my fight against the ebb
The saddening choke held in my throat
began to turn to mist
I thought that surely i saw
the love behind your eyes
But i guessed this another fancy
another fairy tale .. just lies
I fancied me in love with you
but i hadn't fancied that we'd part
I fancied that you loved me too
And so .. my broken heart ...
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
You're like a gentle little rascal breeze
lightly tapping .. softly rapping ..
At the door to my heart ..
Soon .. i can bear it no longer
and i run to the door .. just a peek,
To see who or what it might be
But it's too late
because you've already
Gotten inside ...
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
You've held my heart in your hands
.. many times ..
and yet you've never known it
But you're like that you know
.. because ..
You treat a person's heart
better than an heirloom
Not 'handle with care'
but .. stroke gently with caring ...
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC