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His wails put a knife to my chest
He can't comprehend the world
Where his mother went
Why his father is never to be seen
Why his family is struggling
Why strangers are so mean
Why school is frustrating
Why danger is obscene

His smile jammed the knife deep down
His mother is trying to get back up
But the only thing coming back up
Is her delayed dinner
He can't express himself
Without making a scene
He just wants to be normal
His normality is aware to me

His struggle pulled the knife out
I tell him that I love him
I laugh at his jokes
I pull his legs into bed at night
I check on his medication
I-I-I
How self centered I am
I need to try harder, stop his confused cries

His future helped me close my eyes
Say good night to the helpless
This strange little boy
That I describe in this rhyme
He is my brother
Can't even tell the time
But he can stand tall
When the world decides to fall
 Jul 2014 Andrew Parker
Shiv-man
I stare at the stars through the murky skies,
like jewels shimmering at the bottom of an endless sea,
their treasures tempt me to take a dive

Their messages sail across the infinite ocean to reach their shores,
they carry the words of a forgotten lore-
the lore of gods, the lore of time,
the story which is yours and mine.

I want you to guide me to the mythical continent on the other side,
I know I can reach there on your cosmic tides.

I know that one day you will answer me and give me a call
because we know that even I am just stardust, after all.
i was just sitting in my balcony and felt a deep connect to the stars above me,because we all are just made of the same mass and energy created at the big bang,we are all the same and will ultimately dissolve into each other.The light emitted by the stars  also intrigues me because the light travels billions of years to reach us.I see them as messengers
Because it's the only way
to find some release...
to write down the words...

Life is simple,
but the human mind,
our heart
and our hormones (usually raging)
make it seem complex
and confusing.

And this society we have built for ourselves?
To help us progress...
It doesn't help either.
It merely adds another variable
to the logarithm called life
we're already breaking our heads on.

Writing poems,
penning down your thoughts
or even just labelling your confusion
by giving them words...
it's all writing,
it all means 'to create something'.
Depending on what one wishes to create,
they write a poem or a passage or an essay or prose,
or even a book.
It's an individual's choice.
It's that person's choice.

The words come.
Even we writers do not know where they come from,
but they do.

And when they do, we write. On paper or tissues or newspapers or any means available to us, like desperate beings, finding an outlet, we write...

People write about a lot of things,
feelings,
things they're attached to,
about people as well,
when the only way they can bear the words to flow is rhythmic,
maybe because if those intense words came out raw,
they'd devour the speaker
or the speaker would eat them up.

It's confusing even to us...why do we write?


Just remember,
if you've ever been a muse in someone's work
(be it a poem or prose or a song
or a photograph or a drawn/painted picture),
know that you've been adored and cherished
and you've touched that person's life
and left an imprint.

One he or she wants to immortalize
in the one way they know how to.

Do not take that lightly.

*Words mean something to us writers
and blank pages make us ache,
and even we don't know why that is...
Although she didn’t use these exact words,
What it got down to was:
“My **** hurts!”
Your age-appropriate **** buddy
Experiencing a profound lubrication deficit.
Vaginal dryness:
A legitimate topic these days for
Baby-Boom conversation.
“65: the New 30,” the slogan rings.
A Mel Brooks clarion call,
Harvey Corman doing Count Da Money:
"Don't get saucy with me, Bearnaise!"
For all our good friends at
KY, Vaseline & Astroglide--
As recommended by female OB/GYNs,
(Should there be any other kind?)
Sales projections are rosy for
Ottmar’s Coconut Cooch Oil,
Despite the economic downturn,
So, naturally, you commence your
Search for a young, wet—sopping wet—co-ed,
Running the risk of bumping into
Some UC Berkeley ****
Who digs older gentlemen, and
Knows your daughter, Gwendolyn.
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