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Feb 2014 · 851
Diamond Eyes
AntRedundAnt Feb 2014
Thine Eyes
Are Diamonds
That Shine
Feb 2014 · 599
AntRedundAnt Feb 2014
I do not know what drives me
That, in and of itself, drives me
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
When I come you go,
when I go you run.

Where did my energy go?
To some unnecessary place
in my mind, fueling my
wants more than my needs,
mockingly knowing I
very easily could never
reach any of them before
satisfying those pesky

No one rejoices at socks
on Christmas day. No
one rejoices at a cool
glass of water, until it's

                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                         gone.
Jan 2014 · 683
Mother's Son
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Constant worry.

Mothers know best,
and that is why their
unofficial motto is to
be in a state of constant
worry. My mother has
loved me from my very
inception. Through the
Caesarian section birth,
breast feeding, first words,
first steps. First mistakes.
First successes. My mother
has loved me.

My weight is the top concern,
my grades, nay my future,
is second.

But she believes in me.

She believes in me to do
what is right; not just for
me, but for others. She
believes in me and knows
I can do anything with
motivation. She believes in me
because my mother loves me.

She believes in me, and my
mother loves me, because of
constant worry.


                                              ­     I am my mother's son.
                                                     My mother loves me,
                                                   and I love my mother.

                        Because I am in a state
                             of constant worry.
I wrote this as a spoken word.
Jan 2014 · 734
Footsteps in Wonderland
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Water dripping into the grout,
deeper and deeper it goes.
My life is falling into the rabbit
hole, and Wonderland is a
nightmare. I wander,
a shadow of my former self,
thinking, "Where did my passion
go? Did my life escape me?
Am I free? Or just following
my own footsteps?"
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
"Not too short on the sides,
not too long on the top."
I've prepared my little speech,
dreading the inevitable small talk
as the hairdresser's fingers fly
across the jungle of my dome,
her scissors like mini machetes
cutting down the foliage to see
what is hiding in plain sight.

I love the Bob Marley shirt I'm
wearing, so it's bittersweet it'll
immediately be taken off when I
get up from the chair. "One love,
one heart, give thanks and praise
to The Lord," laughing as I type this,
autocorrect shows Siri's faith in
human invented religion and God.

Hair litters the floor, and I know my
turn is next. The beginning of the end

Jan 2014 · 94.7k
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
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times   dead   favorite   finally   minute   brain   hearts   getting   belly   far   rain   blue   knees   filled   stupid   woke   cream   fit   young   brown   se   fat   tan   cough   spoke   says   unlike   footprints   ******   rough   forward   buckle   blues   task   shoulder   grace   *******   reason   nostrils   firm   juice   palms   someday   mis   thumbs   screams   arguments   wobble   *****   elbows   *******   wrists   headaches   amo   pesky   ligaments   one-liners   thoughts   later   ash   clouds   lips   dreams   breath   mouth   hold   sense   taking   world   bit   speak   dance   gave   shall   ready   skin   air   single   breathe   button   peace   choices   hill   wrong   weak   close   use   quite   sky   phrase   darkness   justice   sound   unable   brave   holding   deep   grabbed   ****   try   building   paper   lunch   think   kind   stay   days   smooth   perfect   learned   care   fair   hard   grant   sweet   high   fruit   short   terms   kept   relationship   underneath   presence   water   looking   fool   sorrow   tree   second   delicate   nearly   happy   line   tall   tried   sad   satisfied   point   feels   falling   purpose   game   lazy   que   amor   agree   known   naught   loss   broke   failed   games   limp   grin   final   spring   act   south   flare   race   sake   car   large   wishes   neck   blink   knife   seeing   idea   steve   company   greens   spread   ship   lo   sally   sum   drowned   december   weep   sting   smiles   lessons   promises   successful   whistled   drowns   perfectly   pleasing   failure   brothers   cliche   harder   thirteen   ale   signs   limit   serenity   mundane   origin   chat   sapphires   handshakes   skinny   contagious   succeeding   super   refer   maturity   destination   civil   uncomfortable   collects   clack   liz   beatles   vez   attract   accomplishment   backside   throes   flaccid   audi   oneself   beastie   applesauce   naivete   bungalow   outie   there's   couldn't   isn't   they're   let's   'n   primos   primas   cantuta   fronton   redd's   mott's   innie   phallicly   tiny   fight   yo   para   walk   ****   hello   light   flash   silent   stone   does   forth   conversation   polite   green   minutes   ****   clear   flesh   couple   wake   anger   throw   torn   tangle   play   shattered   soldier   land   victim   carry   battlefield   came   darkest   blood   battle   warm   shine   reminds   lose   eye   dismay   hide   impossible   fast   earth   grab   stand   die   worse   year   people   white   story   hit   god   anxiety   realize   fall   asleep   dark   course   apart   morning   remain   beauty   ****   slowly   start   happen   remember   pray   past   easily   straight   mean   hand   driving   instant   thunder   messages   friends   old   coming   pen   seeds   shape   wasted   word   living   tore   shadows   knowing   bad   class   joy   trust   leaves   path   sun   ways   leave   meet   broken   head   weight   means   mountain   boys   true   stars   learn   sliced   naive   decided   player   actually   reality   ease   music   hood   desperate   promise   wishing   begin   miss   caressing   moan   thighs   heard   pretty   emotion   figure   floor   exotic   sand   hits   angel   awake   dreaming   probably   wins   seek   stretch   loved   tears   heartbreak   punk   walking   piece   furniture   unreachable   roots   near   deserve   simple   cats   tail   precious   lovers   loves   mother   tongues   clueless   share   taken   yesterday   faith   freedom   ripe   cursed   running   yes   unknown   feeling   going   stairs   opposite   wonder   afloat   packed   bones   acting   playing   wind   passions   dismissed   hourglass   reached   stares   mouths   singing   shaped   trapped   toll   dies   rock   trunk   discovered   especially   dull   choice   awful   patient   great   indoors   attached   thread   shoulders   warms   bright   bring   ending   drowning   sadness   winter   baby   looked   cute   beating   tight   kids   crying   ran   intoxicating   growing   saying   opposites   melancholy   gives   follow   clearly   dove   tu   soon   entwined   juicy   drown   laid   took   moved   bear   anyways   shirt   negative   clean   guide   sore   location   faux   nodded   glance   caught   chances   week   started   today   obvious   sweat   ***   quiet   laughed   worry   round   ladies   mama   smack   goodbye   rising   sides   wished   beds   infinite   positive   scared   admittedly   mistakes   meal   common   rises   toes   bullets   bound   suited   birth   clothes   belt   pounds   ground   barren   sitting   table   woe   swimming   stick   deepest   motion   cleared   sing   angry   action   sons   smiled   bedroom   wall   wiped   grins   mad   july   store   road   snow   pulse   important   adventure   exactly   foundation   trap   colors   floors   neon   outside   language   summer   north   fifty   served   wavy   kick   raw   thirty   row   changed   hanging   lied   drenched   companion   begins   strength   flies   direction   okay   stories   inky   stubborn   cloud   track   described   lover   replaced   pit   packs   circling   honest   wage   dinner   slave   paradox   faking   screamed   lightning   exterior   stopping   complete   deal   rifle   dependent   gifts   dancer   vision   students   horror   punch   anymore   pack   sagging   folk   honestly   tearing   prepared   creatures   listening   rhythm   unique   roar   card   glass   stage   desert   offered   fought   suffer   awoke   master   eating   furnace   glad   choir   graceful   *****   treasure   ships   bark   musical   strand   bee   finished   pink   slink   stronger   disclose   gravity   schedule   march   medicine   hates   weird   brush   laughs   helped   june   pitched   dumped   tense   sin   withdrawn   stem   proved   whispered   anew   amazing   louder   english   knocked   chilly   boots   false   mistake   toffee   whistle   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difficult   darlings   overcome   oranges   keys   newfound   fairly   occasions   stats   ponder   pools   ablaze   rushes   fret   quell   breads   progress   comfortable   settling   desks   tile   trails   rainy   homemade   stunned   cemetery   plus   ideas   avocados   bananas   apply   latch   rocky   digress   experiences   vacation   sanctuary   earlier   rocket   precise   various   author   pie   explosions   *******   lighter   matched   plunged   isaac   jefferson   abe   measured   saturday   claw   welcoming   gear   trained   suffocation   leapt   gap   lee   disturbed   es   thrill   alarming   grill   frankly   importantly   una   fray   candied   amalgamation   nasty   american   optimism   guns   craters   contracted   rampant   unattainable   spilled   courts   carrots   shuffled   combined   blonde   forgave   artillery   sandwich   comfier   limitation   personalities   friday   strongly   crude   banana   tennis   limits   quaking   recesses   loot   andromeda   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trashcan   papa   disarming   finalmente   clashed   rosie   smirks   snapshot   pug   songbird   spitfire   yanks   thankfully   mesa   flexing   virginia   effectively   variations   eclipses   tambien   outrun   incident   vitamin   willpower   underdog   hardboiled   miniscule   checkerboard   entrust   siento   heavyweight   davis   thyroid   foreshadowing   frances   heresy   starburst   deficiency   sawing   peruvian   leche   antithesis   villanelle   alliteration   hora   vivir   clacking   droopy   whizzed   britney   futbol   parameters   disney   mangos   disproportionate   orbiting   tanka   stubby   intro   listo   goldilocks   teamwork   pbj   exemplifies   rey   retainer   tenia   triples   espanol   estuvo   castillo   ferrying   suficiente   racecar   dorky   garganta   veo   julio   peripherals   labios   rojos   foreseeable   frito   groggily   venn   macbook   inanely   hubo   goofball   you've   she's   weren't   wasn't   we're   others'   you'll   should've   haven't   what's   you'd   they'd   man's   boys'   god's   woman's   fruit's   orion's   newton's   lincoln's   adam's   momma's   ******   jackson's   audis   dulces   disproportionately   charon's   deseos   avocadoes   hailey   eran   beatles'   ingles   he   she   it   rackets   --   hashtag   sixty-three   duct-tape   joysticks   sherman's   15   6th   32   500   7th   2013   extraño   barenaked   tamales   6-year-old   tierras   derpy   ewell   rom-com   themit's   adan   mudpits   puddlepits   war--hell   culp's   shitpits   completaron   chocolatada   levantanse   duraznos   n'sync   huevo   cholitos   levantaron   manzanas   endurece   wozniak's   dispara   nuez   open-endedness   innies   cankles   dunder-mifflin   tunks   buck-toothed   outies   grief-blown   a-gawking
I uploaded all of my past work onto the site already, so everything from here on out will be new and original. This is sort of an experimental idea of mine: take all the words hellopoetry has tracked for me, put it down as if it were a poem, and see how it flows. It actually kind of works sometimes, but I'm not sure. I'm sure it's mostly terrible, but I wanted to try it. Let me know what you think in the comments below!
Jan 2014 · 860
The former, or the latter?
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
What’s in a failed relationship?
Mistakes, or lessons learned?
Time wasted, or loss of naiveté?
Heartbreak, or maturity?

Likewise, what is in a successful one?
The opposite of failure, or something more?
Use of learned lessons, or the thrill of the new?
Loss of naiveté, or a newfound hope in love?
Maturity, or optimism?

I hope in all cases it is the latter
Jan 2014 · 492
The sum of its parts
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Love is not a thing
It is not complete
It is not instant
Love is not right there

Love is many things
It is memories
It is building blocks
Love is put together

Love is like a flower
It is not the stem
It is not the leaves
Love is like the petals

The petals on a flower
Are what attract us
They make the flower what it is
There are many petals in a flower

Just like the petals
Memories and experiences
Are what makes love what it is
Distinguishable, yes, but more importantly
Love is love, and memories make it so

The sum of its parts
Jan 2014 · 370
The Capacity of the Heart
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
There is no room in the heart for hate
For it is already filled with love
To say otherwise is like saying a glass of water
Is actually filled with ash, which can clearly be dismissed as false
Like the ash, hate only brings sorrow and death
While the water, like love, brings joy and life
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
There has to be more to life than ***
If our purpose was to multiply
Wouldn’t we feel satisfied after getting laid?
There is no accomplishment in pleasing oneself
For the sake of pleasing oneself

There has to be more to life than work
If our purpose was to be successful
Wouldn’t we feel satisfied after reaching the apex of our careers?
There is no accomplishment in succeeding
For the sake of succeeding

Life is more than what it seems
It is an amalgamation of it all
But underlying it all is love
Love of others in our hearts and in our duties
If there was no such thing as love
Then there wouldn’t be more to life
Jan 2014 · 1.6k
My bed
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
My bed is my home
It is my ship that I entrust my life to
I fight pirates and creatures from the deep
I loot treasure and seek adventure
With my bed

My bed is a thing of beauty
If I go, then my bed goes, too
I race around the track a few hundred times
I go left in my racecar until I can’t go left anymore
With my bed

My bed is my sanctuary
I am never alone when going out into the unknown
I go where no man has ever gone before
A piece of furniture has reached the final frontier
My bed

Above all else
Whether it’s a ship
A super fast car
Or an orbiting rocket
My bed is my bed
My bed is my own

I sleep in it
I dream with it
I love in it
I need it
My bed is my final destination
Home is where the heart is
My heart is in my dreams
My dreams are in
My bed
Jan 2014 · 588
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
It is a little alarming
And frankly quite disarming
To find yourself asleep
Without a friend, a peep

You see a couple walking
And you find yourself a-gawking
At that love you once found sappy
You wish you were that happy

Lunchtime comes and goes
Friends come in throes and throes
But none you find are yours
Thanks to a schedule one abhors

Alone, alone, alone
You seem so grief-blown
You soon begin to ponder
“What made me feel,” you wonder,
“So alone?”
Jan 2014 · 551
Faking It
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
I want to be right with you
I don’t know what to do

It’s time to put on my mask
The only way to face this task

I said that it would be like before

When we talk I try my best to smile
This pain I haven’t had in a while

It’s time to put on my mask
The only way to face this task

I lied so you’d miss my heart on the floor

It’s time to put on my mask
Jan 2014 · 18.6k
Intro to Stats & You
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Her hair was long, brown, and wavy, like homemade brownies.
Her eyes were different shaped blues, lighter than sapphires.
Whenever she blinks, I look forward to seeing those sapphires again.
Her teeth are perfect imperfections, retainer and all.
Her bite is one of love but packs a punch.
Her nostrils flare when angry but remain miniscule.
Her mouth a light pink, like Starburst, my favorite by far.
Her smile brings me back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
Her tongue is exotic and playful, and I long for it.
I have never heard her whistle, but I know it like the back of my hand.
Her laugh is intoxicating and contagious; I find myself acting the fool just to hear it.
Then she coughed and I patted her baby back.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we lie still, thus foreshadowing what will come.
Our arguments are stupid, but they happen nonetheless.
Her neck is thin and ripe for the taking.
Her *******, much like Goldilocks: not too big, not too small, but just right.
Her spaghetti arms flail about when I act the fool, and then that precious laugh again.
Her elbows are full of cream, and you will never find them itchy like mine.
Her wrists are disproportionately large for her size, which makes her all the more unique.
Her handshakes are delicate. Ladylike.
Her long and skinny fingers were weird to me once, but they have contracted and fit perfectly between mine.
Her palms tell the future, and she has great things in store for her.
Her thumbs have no story to tell, positive or negative.
Her shadow is smaller than hers, but no shadow can overcome her.
Her cats keep her company, but luckily we found each other.
Her heart is as big as her brain, and thankfully they mutually agree on most occasions.
Her ******* are stumpy and droopy; this is no Snow White fairytale.
Her shoulder blades are tense but minute.
Her belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) never collects ****.
Her private parts pulse like her heart above with passion.
Her backside is small and smooth. She has no hourglass figure, yet she does, too.
She has no stretchmarks in my mind, but I have enough for the both of us, anyways.
Her whole system is that of a heavyweight fighter; she’s a little spitfire.
Her legs are perfect and skinny; she has “the gap”, not that it matters.
Her knees buckle and wobble in my presence. I should know: mine do when she is near, too.
Her ligaments reinforce her, much like her willpower.
She has the calves of a dancer, but she has not trained in years.
The ***** of her feet are poised, ready to spring into action to tap tap tap away.
Her toes curl against mine, in an attempt to hold hands.
I have never seen her footprints, and I have no intention of ever seeing them. Ever.
Her promises elate me since I know she is good for her word.
Her one-liners are worse than mine, and I laugh all the harder for it.
Her grin, or rather her smirk, warms my heart like a furnace in the winter.
The last time we spoke, it was mumbled in bed, a hushed goodbye for that awful biology class.

She is my rock, ever leaning forwards
with nothing but my Dunder-Mifflin shirt to keep her warm for the foreseeable future.

I told her, Te amo,
well before she was ready to say that inane phrase back in English.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

But then she broke my heart.

My hair was tearing at the roots, unable to stay attached.
My eyes were set ablaze with passion anger, if it weren’t for my sorrow to drown it out.
Whenever I blink, I see a snapshot of what it was, what it cannot be, what it will never be again.
My teeth were her favorite: buck-toothed and all, but that was when I smiled. They hide from you.
My bite isn’t nearly as big as my bark, but do not tempt me.
My nostrils have hair creeping out; it’s hard to keep clean after something like that.
My mouth is louder than all my thoughts combined, but I still can’t find the right words to say.
And my smile would be what brought her back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
My tongue, like my private parts, is limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
I have never whistled, but why should I learn now? I keep quiet to quell the roar.
My laugh is contagious, or so they tell me. It’s high pitched. Effeminate.
I cough. I get stares. My cough makes you uncomfortable. Your infidelity makes me uncomfortable.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, I lie still, and for a minute, just a minute, I die. I’m at peace.
Our arguments were stupid, but now there’s nothing left to talk about.
My neck is fat and swollen. **** my thyroid. This vitamin D deficiency is taking its toll.
My ******* are fat, but a momma’s boy would be: too much in the trunk, not enough under the hood.
My arms are as big as her thighs. We measured. Maybe it gave her peace knowing she was small.
She tells me I have a black woman’s ***, and elbows, to boot. Not enough cream. Not enough carrots.
My wrists are the cankles of my life.
My handshake is firm, but is it firm enough?
My short and stubby fingers claw upwards, desperate for air. Her hands are nowhere to be seen.
My palms have no future, and I worry I’ll follow suit.
My thumbs tell all the best stories when joysticks are underneath them.
My shadow eclipses me. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you function.
I’ve never owned a pet. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel possessive.
My heart was full of love, but the love spilled out when you broke it on Friday, December 6th – Saturday, December 7th, 2013, 5:00 AM.
My ******* are tiny and ***** from the cold. I feel the cold indoors, too.
My shoulder blades are dull and sagging with the weight of my world on my shoulders.
My belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) collects all of the ****.
My private parts, like my tongue, are limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
My backside is large and rough. Are you getting the point?
I have all of the stretchmarks, for I am her antithesis.
My whole system is that of down and out former has been; I’m all out of gas.
My legs are thick and fat; I suffer friction with my tree tunks.
My knees buckle and wobble in her presence; I’m weak around her because I’m weak.
My ligaments are partially torn, which perfectly exemplifies me: hanging by a thread.
I have the calves of a soccer player out of shape. Hashtag truth.
The ***** of my feet sting -- unable to carry two hundred plus pounds of failure.
I have finally seen footprints; I’m just glad they were mine.
Her promises mean nothing. My trust is shattered. My faith withdrawn from this or any other world.
My one-liners make everyone laugh but me; I know I mask the pain. Do they?
My grin was effectively wiped off my face when you told me.
The last time we spoke, it was on good terms. But how good are those terms with this double size?

I was comfortable, lazy, ever dependent on her
with everything in my life, especially that which she didn’t need to deal with.

I told her, You deserve to be dumped.
She nodded slowly, crying, and whispered back, I know. My hate described by inane words.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

Then, it hit me.

Our hair is fairly short together, not unlike our time apart since the incident.
Our eyes well up, and the only drowning I hope we get is of love.
Whenever we blink, I want to make sure that I am in front of you, and you in front of me.
Our teeth, much like our personalities, are disparate, and that’s okay.
Our bite is one of teamwork: you can’t bite with one row of teeth.
Our nostrils could use some work. Hair and flare rhyme, but neither fits in our time.
Our mouths chat chat chatter away. We have nothing to talk about. We have so much to talk about.
Our smiles are the reason why people find us cute, and they’re the reason why they were shocked. Let’s give them another reason.
Our tongues dance across language barriers. Mi español no puede vivir sin tu ingles.
We have never whistled. Finally! Some common ground (opposites attract).
We’ve been told that our laughs are nearly identical, like a choir singing in different pitches. Sing.
We cough together, because we know we can take care of each other.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we take a deep breath, hold on tight, and move forward.
Our arguments ARE stupid. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Our necks are like the Happy Meal and the Super Size Me. I love to see us smile.
Our ******* are life; I don’t know what mine do, but I know yours will come in handy someday.
Our arms have their “things”; you have that birthmark, and I have unseemly hair growing everywhere.
Our elbows could be a rom-com: one smooth, one rough, but they can’t get enough.
Our wrists make sure our hands can keep us afloat.
Our handshakes are delicate but firm.
Our fingers latch onto each other, like a bear trap.
Our palms SMACK together when you high five me. Goofball.
Our thumbs are bound to get sore if we keep caressing our hands while holding onto each other. Raw.
Our shadows slink away when they see us shine so bright.
I hope to God that Rosie the pug is as derpy as your heart can take.
Our hearts have duct-tape all over them…it’s a work in progress, but bones get stronger when broken.
Our ******* are disproportionate. There, I said it.
Our shoulder blades dance across each other when we lie back to back.
Our belly buttons (innies, not outies, not Audis) keep us close to our moms; you’ll agree someday.
Our private parts tingle as we move in motion and rhythm. It’s been too long, mi amor.
Our backsides are like Venn diagrams: yours could easily fit in mine.
I have all the stretchmarks, but I hope you get them after birth someday. We share everything else.
Our systems are the underdog rising up, straight to the top; it took its time, and its chances.
Your legs could fit in one of my own. Please refer to the stretchmarks line.
Our knees buckle and wobble. Please refer to the private parts line.
Our ligaments have taken a beating, but somehow, there’s a strand holding us together.
We have calves of different passions, but we both know what the sweet sting of success feels like.
The ***** of our feet touch down as we’re back to reality. The honeymoon stage is over. Cloud 9.
Unfortunately, we’ve seen footprints, but I think they’re circling back around to meet up again.
This promise should be the last until the most important one comes up. This is it.
Our one-liners keep us close to our dorky sides. Honestly, something is probably wrong with us.
Our grins (or smirks) show that we can’t really stay mad at each other for TOO long.
The last time we spoke, it was yesterday night (or was it earlier today?), but I’m sure you woke up.

We ******* up. Admittedly you more than me,
but I digress: one mistake is not enough to throw away two years of work.

I forgave you.
You were elated. Let’s try this once more, with feeling!
I’ll inanely tell her again, *Te amo.
Jan 2014 · 560
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Red, like her hair.
Not a natural red,
but it suited her better
than blonde ever did.
She caught me at a bad time
with those red lips of hers.
I wasn’t in love with her.
I was in love with her.
I don’t know if I’m in love right now;
I don’t know if I’m in love with her still.
Those red freckles.
That faux punk look.
You loved me.
I didn’t say it back.
I should’ve.
But I couldn’t.
You were my best friend.
I wish we were more then…and now.
I ****** up, Red.
I ****** up.
That’s what red means to me:
I ****** up.
Jan 2014 · 616
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
How do I feel?
What do I do?
I know not what to say
When I’m around you

My words will tangle
My mind will race
And conversation
Becomes empty space

But at the same time
Whenever we speak
We’ve known each other forever
When we’ve really known each other a week

I know what I want
I know what I need
When I’m with you
I feel trapped, but free

I’m falling hard
I’m really scared
I care for you so
More than I prepared

I cannot breathe
I breathe anew
Cliché? It might be
But with you, it’s true

My thoughts you never leave
So my wish, my hope, my dream
If you would grant me serenity
If you would but be with me

If you would grant me serenity
If you would but be with me
Jan 2014 · 1.3k
Little Georgie Boy
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Little Georgie Boy
At the age of thirteen
Met a fair, young Sally
She was as sweet as a toffee
And as polite as can be
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left fair, young Sally
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of thirty three
Met a small, brave Grace
She was as graceful as a dove
And as pretty as she was naïve
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left small, brave Grace
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of fifty
Met a tall, thin Liz
She was as musical as a songbird
And was welcoming, never bleak
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left tall, thin Liz
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of eighty
Met a dark, creepy Death
She was as silent as shadow
And as stubborn as a worker bee
Little Georgie Boy
Tried to outrun her
But Death was a lover
That would not let Little Georgie Boy be
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Rain, rain
Go away
Come again
Some other day
For, you see
I cannot sleep
When all I hear
Are the tears you weep

The clouds, they moan
The thunder will groan
The lightning flash
Sleep makes a dash

The sad, sad sound
Of your rain
Only reminds me
Of my own pain
The love I knew
The love I long
Has left me empty
Forever gone

My heart doth cry
No emotion can lie
I feel no sleep
For now I, too, will weep
Jan 2014 · 872
Dear Ruth
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Dear Ruth

I did not know the fruit
That life gave us was love
Until I met you, dear Ruth
Like an angel from above

You spread your grace on me
At a time in my own life
When I could not by my own see
You changed the wrong to right

Your deepest, darkest truth
In me, you may disclose
I shall not spread them, dear Ruth
Until my last breath goes

Though I may be your friend
And together we will laugh and woe
I pray our relationship not end
For I will love you more than you will ever know

Dear Ruth, I swear with all I am
I speak new the same, old part
By myself, I cannot stand
Until you take me with all your heart

I will love you more than you will ever know
Nay, Dear Ruth, dear Ruth
I love you more than you already know
I say it for it is the truth

Dear Ruth
Jan 2014 · 2.1k
Sailing thru space
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
I am a meteorite,
sailing across the inky black space.
Alone, but unfeeling.
I know not my destination
nor my origin

I am a meteorite,
sailing thru space

I feel so cold.
If I could feel, that is.
My rocky craters home to none,
but welcome to any;
welcome, welcome all.
Welcome, welcome you.

Chrome future ships
and twinkling stars.
Orion’s belt, so far, so far.
No such thing
in this Andromeda

I am a meteorite,
sailing thru time.

I see Hailey every few decades or so.
But this year feels different.
An end is coming.
No origin, but an end;
a location,
my new home.

I am a meteorite,
sailing home.

I am a meteorite,
sailing home.
Jan 2014 · 3.6k
The colors of my mind
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
No one is here and I feel at ease;
I feel the recesses of my imagination
spring forward as ideas are at the
forefront of my mind,
yet I cannot put them down on paper.

I feel the neon pinks and blues and greens
that I know strongly resonate with me,
but to my dismay,
nothing ever comes to fruition
as much as I hope.

That cliché phrase of, “The sky is the limit,”
drowns me as I realize
parameters and prompts are what guide me
to what I truly want;
the idea of freedom gives me anxiety,
as I am a clueless ant on this plane.

As I look at a solitary trashcan
of impossible black,
this idea of suffocation
my mind, inescapable, unreachable, and unattainable.

Yet at the same time,
limits **** darlings.

With this seeming paradox
of open-endedness and limitation,
I set forth on my prompt,
however mundane it may seem now.
This task seemed at first simple,
but it proved difficult at times,
like most mundane looking venues.

My mind is not unlike
a checkerboard stone table:
cold and calculating;
I feel my imagination dies
when my fingers touch keys,
when pen hits paper.

“The sky is the limit,”
drowns me over
and over
and over again.

I look out of my peripherals
and glance at the red building signs,
wishing there was something
as obvious as that for a sense
of direction in my life.

My imagination truly hates me,
my imagination truly loves me;
it is an indecisive companion.

I wish I was alone, but my mind
wishes otherwise.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Fall has started.
Students pile into their desks
as teacher begins the lesson,
with 32 apple gifts in her bottom drawer.

Wake up in the morning.
Walk down the stairs.
Grab an apple
among the bananas and

Sitting under a tree, dreaming,
disturbed by a falling fruit.
The apple that knocked your head.
The apple that discovered gravity.

Lovers entwined in each others’ arms.
“I love you,” says one.
“I love you more,” says the other.
“You are the apple of my eye,” says the first.
The second smiles.

Kids running rampant,
touch football and tag.
Trading card games while eating lunch.
Lunch? PB&J;, a banana,
and Mott’s Apple Juice.

One of the largest computer companies: Apple.
The Beatles music company: Apple.
Apples are the foundation of everything.
Makes sense,

The Disney hotel room was tan all over.
Even my 6-year-old brain remembers that.
The green sheen of the apple skin was
more appealing than the tan, for sure.

Apples, apple juice, applesauce, apple pie,
apple cider, candied apples, Redd’s apple ale.
So many choices.
So many variations.
None quite as good as the first one listed.

The red on her lips matched the fruit’s skin
as she bit down into the juicy apple.
Within minutes she was down to its core
and mine.

Apply applesauce to the aforementioned area.
This isn’t a game, HeadOn.
It is just alliteration.

The stanzas in this poem
couldn’t be more different
than apples and oranges.

Mi corazón se dispara a mi garganta
cuando yo te veo. Siento mi nuez de Adán se endurece.
Tus labios, rojos como manzanas,
se ven tan dulces.
Te extraño, Red. Y, finalmente,
te amo.

This poem brought to you by:
Mott’s Apple Juice, Redd’s Apple Ale,
The Beatles’ Apple, Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak’s Apple
Sir Isaac Newton’s Apple, Adam’s Apple,
God’s apple, my apple, your apple, he/she/it apple,
It apple bit the apple.
The core of this poem, much like the core of an apple.
Seeds throughout.
This poem brought to you by:
My 15” Macbook Pro Apple laptop.
And the author, *moi
. From my heart. From my brain.
This poem brought to you by apples.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Sleep easy, child, your time is here;
Wish away, dream on, fantasy.
Go on, you have nothing to fear.

If times are rough, never fret.
Sadness, lo! it is heresy.
Sleep easy, child, your time is here.

You may find it yet
that one such as yourself will see:
Go on, you have nothing to fear.

Your path is clear, your choice is set,
There is no one else that you can be.
Sleep easy, child, your time is here.

If you wage a war and lose said bet,
Lo! I shall assist thee.
Go on, you have nothing to fear.

You are never alone, for a friend you’ve met,
as long as you stick with me.
Sleep easy child, your time is here.
Go on, you have nothing to fear.
Jan 2014 · 1.5k
La Cantuta
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
It was a chilly June day
when mamá woke me up.
I didn’t remember much
except getting helped into my clothes.

When next I awoke, we were in the car,
driving past dusty mountain trails.
The sand on the side of the road would
        kick up in the air beside us in clouds.

“¡Es hora de levantanse!” screeched my mother
        as I groggily woke up once more.
        The beige and brown of the desert was
        now replaced with greens and blues.
        I knew exactly where we were.

As we shuffled into the bungalow,
I tried to take in all that my young eyes could.
The red tile floors went well with
the cream and burgundy of the bungalow exterior,
and the bunk beds in every room but the master bedroom
made this home away from home all the comfier.

After settling in, mis primos y primas
raced me to the fronton courts —
they were mostly empty — as our rackets
kept clack clack clacking against our legs.
I looked up and marveled at the size of the playing wall
just as Julio served the first round.

For dinner, papá made us all triples —
a Peruvian sandwich made with tomatoes
hardboiled eggs, sliced avocadoes, and mayo
all between two or three breads — and we laughed
the night away while listening to some Beastie Boys.

Mis primos y primas
me levantaron a la misma vez
que el desayuno estuvo listo en la mesa.
Avocados, tamales, mangos, y duraznos
eran suficiente para mi, pero mi pan
                                        francés con huevo frito y leche
                                        chocolatada completaron mis deseos.

        Afterwards, my brothers decided to
start up a game of hearts next to the
                                                outside grill as the Beastie Boys’
Hello Nasty album would blare for the
                                                cholitos to hear. Sometimes they’d
                                                jokingly put on some Britney Spears
                                                or N'Sync, but Barenaked Ladies was
                                                another favorite; as well as the Beatles,
                                                of course.

Hubo una vez un gran rey
que tenia muchas tierras,
un castillo, y tambien un amor.

Later on, I’d go play some pickup
                                        games of futbol and basketball. Maybe
                                        tennis and fronton, too. Then again, I
                                        did frequent the various swimming
                                        pools offered. Too many choices for a
                                        little ****** with more than enough
                                        time on his hands.

Finally, when it was time for bed
I’d think about my amazing weekend.
How time flies when you’re a child,
but at the same time, lazy vacation
days could stretch on forever.
And they always did at home here
in *La Cantuta.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Letters come & go.
Messages from home: love lost.
Jefferson Davis
& “Honest” Abe Lincoln’s war…
…nothing more than flexing strength.

The sun rises up
above the barren Culp’s Hill
as Ewell kept them
back, & Jackson’s wishes were
lost on Cemetery Hill.

Gettysburg was filled
with mudpits, puddlepits, shitpits
& every kind of
pit. Not any kind that they
wished to see as guns moved up.

The barrage of shells
from the artillery was
never ending, not
unlike this cursed war, all
while brothers & sons were lost.

The second day came
with no signs of stopping, he
packed his gear, grabbed his
rifle, & marched out to the
sound of Charon’s ferrying.

The medic rushes
out onto the battlefield
hesitating not.
His crude instruments flailing
about in his pack, he works.

Medicine, horror,
they were synonyms to him
as he braced the man;
scraping against flesh, he screamed.
This Civil War--hell on Earth.

Sawing off a leg
was much harder than once thought,
the medic then knew.
In the thick of battle, screams
drowned out screams, & drowned out screams.

Bullets whizzed by him
as he cleaned up his patient.
Or was it victim?
These days it all seemed the same:
North, South, free, slave, dead, living.

What once was blue ‘n gray
was now brown & black & red.
Explosions tore up
the land around him as he
cleared his vision & finished.

Out of the brush, fear
overtook the medic as
a man in blue clashed
with a man in gray; blood ‘n sweat
drenched both as life was on balance.

The medic was stunned
& failed to bring himself to
act at first. He shook
himself awake, & grabbed his
knife, & leapt into the fray.

His knife plunged precise
into the blue man’s heart. No
soldier, but knew his
stuff. The gray man thanked him, &
the South fought another day.

All for naught, for on
that third day, Lee ran with his
tail betwixt his legs
all the way to Virginia.
Two years later, all for naught.

July fourth, eighteen
sixty-three, no cheers, no love,
no wins for us folk.
Only them **** Yanks get their love
from home: letters come & go.

Sherman’s March left him
quaking in his boots; gone was
his love. Gone was his
home. Gone were his letters. All
of it gone. Gone with the wind.

— The End —