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  Oct 2020 Julian Caleb
Traveler
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
.


Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

Vanity
All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
Julian Caleb Aug 2019
running into the ancient stone,
going straight with every curves.
obfuscating thy own desired path,
look straight forward—
there’s no going back.

blinded by the beddazling darkness,
as it striked my body and soul,
no escape, just let it go!

trapped.
tangled.
emmeshed.
labyrinth
Julian Caleb Aug 2019
I remember when I texted you, hastily heading home with Nikki,
In the busy streets of a lively city.
Standing in the façade of a high-end mall,
Constantly texting the number whom I thought was Grab.
A notification popped,
battery critically low
I frantically borrowed Nikki’s phone,
Sent my last text, instructing him to shout “Lily” when he arrives.
As Nikki bids goodbye, my heart started beating unbelievably brisk.

I remember when I met you, in the middle of the night,
under the bright light of the moonlight.
A matte black Corvette lit up my whole face,
Still processing the thought of a Corvette being Grab,
The debonairly-dressed man stepped out, and shouted, “Lily?”
His words, ringing in my ears, deep as an underlying tone in my favorite song.
His illuminating beauty syncopates with the moon’s aesthetics,
Left me freezing, unable to utter any word.
He shouted once again, “Lily?!”
But this time, it was full of annoyance.
The exasperated tone struck my reflexes, causing to raise my hand,
neurons fire without purpose.
“Get in.” his expression was bland and unreadable.

I remember when you told me, words of regret you feed me,
Words you thought would destruct me, but I found it atypically addictive.
The pain you inflicted sensualizes my wounded psyche.
Subconsciously, I was craving more.
I tried to converse with you, but all I receive was hatred.
You discharged bullets of abhor,
But I threw them into the stream,
and persevered to alter your feelings.

I remember the first time you laughed,
Science was your forte, and mine was in the comical aspect.
I kept bombarding you with science-inclined humor, hoping to connect,
And later on, you found yourself battling in the arena of emotions.
You taught yourself you can’t be in love with me,
But it was contrary to your actions.
You started replying to my nonsensical chitchats,
You started talking about me.
Everything seemed perfect until my eyes became clear of what you were doing,
and reality hit me.

I remember when you broke my heart,
Did you deserve all the romantic thoughts I have of you?
Maybe we don't belong together, maybe I'm just desperate and delusional.
The imaginary love was so sweet, it makes me sad to see it crumble away.
But maybe all you are is a boy, who wants her girl back.
And all I am is a girl.
And maybe we are just people,
Searching, searching for something we have yet to find within ourselves.
So I will let go, I will let it sail into the wind
All that poetry, all those thoughts.
And I will learn to love myself,
First.

I remember the time you came back,
We were about to get lunch, when you shouted my name amidst the crowd.
Reluctant, I declined and proceeded to walk past you,
But you were different that time.
You held my hand tight, with certainty,
As I look upon you, your eyes were filled with solitude.
Your face painted a peculiar type of persona,
And with that, I have depicted the real you.

By Mistake, I found the love, the best I could have, until the end of time.
a spoken poetry
—j.c.
Julian Caleb Jul 2019
maybe we weren’t for each other,
maybe we we’re just like group of stars—
desperately refracting light in the darkness.

maybe we’re just bunch of atoms—
aligned in a specific pattern,
ready to be dispersed,
to be a new cluster of atoms.

maybe we weren’t a compound,
maybe we weren’t like the other elements,
that were made for each other,
to create an inseparable bond.

maybe we’re just an element itself—
constantly waiting to be discovered,
constantly waiting to be classified,
to be put in a particular group,
contantly waiting for the chemical reaction to take place,
but time stopped,
so as our reaction.

#
a poem i made after reading our chemical hearts by kathy sutherland
Julian Caleb Nov 2018
5
As a drenched, drowned bee
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower,
So clings to me
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears
And laid against her cheek;
Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm
Swinging heavily to my movements as I walk.
My sleeping baby hangs upon my life,
Like a burden she hangs on me.
She has always seemed so light,
But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain
Even her floating hair sinks heavily,
Reaching downwards;
As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee
Are a heaviness, and a weariness.
Julian Caleb Nov 2018
4
There is a pain within this heart,
My pain within my sadness through my eyes,
My eyes are like a burden that you can see right through me,
No pain I ever felt was that one single broken heart that had been left behind and never got a chance to be healed,
There is way out of this pain but somehow I can’t see it,
See the light, the hope, the happiness I once wanted to feel,
Now I ever feel is this sadness, this pain, this heartache,
A pain within these wall I can hear it say,
There is no way out,
No way to wash away the pain,
The pain I feel.
Julian Caleb Nov 2018
3
After great pain, a formal feeling comes--
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round--
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone--

This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow--
First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--
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