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n jacob Jan 8
Do whats you.

Don't overthink it.

If it makes the heart pound and the head ache, its not natural.

What's beautiful is natural. Natural as the waves meet the shore.

So when I begin to pound and ache, I stop.
Release and breathe, this isn't meant for me.

And what will be, will be. God has a plan for me.

And I'll just let it come to me.
I can't be it all, I can't be like y'all
So ill stand tall, and listen for my souls call.
n jacob Jan 8
Time is like sand.
Course here, smooth there.

Watching it slide down the choke point.
Don't slide so fast,

slow down...

I need it to slow so I can use it in my peace.  

But my peace is in
Taking time as it comes, taking time as it goes.

Passive; active in good time.

It was never about fighting, struggling, striving,
It was always about releasing, accepting, and allowing

So the spirit could do its good work in me.

Yet, simultaneously, it's all about fighting, struggling, striving,
Moving with the prods of the spirit.

This is what some call 'life'.
n jacob Nov 2019
Silence is an art, and agenda is a science.

That's why I paint pictures of life, from this lonesome knoll,
Think thoughts of privacy in this holy state,

And keep them

For the soul, and soul of those in the right time.
n jacob Nov 2019
What's best is what feels like home.

Stuck between two sides of the fence,
Like I wanna jump, but I can't.

Indecision has kept me here, posted.
Straddled between the heart and the head.
This picket fence appears to be the promises of good life.
But its just a stain of white deception, holding me...


Waiting to live.  

But I know what to do,
Choose the side that goes to my backyard.

Choose what feels like home.
My struggle with anxiety and indecision.
n jacob Sep 2019
Ragged, flimsy, thin, spotted card.
Creased with the tales of time.

Jaws equipped for a blow,
Ears higher than the mouth, just as God placed them.

Face structured like stone,
On the narrow shoulders of a boy, we lean.

And of all the 'siła' endowed to our name,
The windows gently lead to the soul inside.

Carry, drag, and crawl.
But never let an utter of hardship leave thy chest.  

Like a ‘Schnadel’,
More gold surfaces, as time does what it does.

"Spread your wings as I have told you,
God bless you, I love you."

Love from 'Polska' is different than words,
More doing than talking, build a house like the birds.

Stay true to 'Wiara' like a true ****** would,
John Paul set example, follow, do good.

"Fight like you’re dying, please lose the sad frown,
‘cause you can’t let the ******* get you down."

What a name you uphold,
Humble pride that is shown,
And like a good yellowhammer,
'Papcio' always returns home.
A poem written upon seeing an old photo of my Polish dad as a young child. Our last name, Trznadel, translates directly to 'yellowhammer' in Polish, which is a bird that gets more gold feathers as it ages.

siła-strength. Wiara- faith Papcio-papa
n jacob Sep 2019
Don’t give me another self-help book, please, I beg you.
I don’t need another ounce of “do this” or “think that”.

Life isn’t a **** formula, nor is it a perfectly organized, bound book.
The pages don’t turn easily from one to the next.

Give me something REAL.

Some say poetry is too flowery, distant, inaccessible.
But poetry is for those who have, and want to FEEL.
One thing is for **** sure,
We have heart, emotion, depth.

Give me something that says something
Without spelling it out;
Give me something that makes me feel something.
Igniting me to action.
I want to cry, laugh, shout, and jump because of what I read.
I want those deep chills you get, when something feels REAL.

I just want something on the page that’s real.
And we are bringing back authenticity.
Cuz young writers are here.
And we have, and want to FEEL something.

It’s been a long winter,
But the sun is shining over the horizon again.
A poem about the power of poetry to help me through life and how poetry is on the rise again through young writers with great things to say.
n jacob Sep 2019
Have you ever had that moment?
You’re standing on the mountain peak, for that one moment.

For that one moment, I can almost hear angels singing,
I can see the true beauty.

And it isn’t just the vast sky above me dotted with clouds,
It isn’t just a waterfall, or a desert scene of hot white rock,
Or majestic tress standing tall as to say, “I am”.
Or the stars coming together with their mother moon to almost dance in the twilight,
And say, “I am here, and so are you, and this is IT.”

It isn’t just as if I’m walking, down a long dirt path,
Lined with fireflies, and the sweet breeze accompanying me like
An old friend that I never met but somehow know.

It’s something to do with the birds chatter, and the child’s laugh,
The bliss of some sort of innocence, a lack of need for things
That I can have, but don’t bring me above the mortal, material, mundane.

No real understandable words, nothing really sets it off,
But it goes, as a shooting, pure assemblage
But its followed by deep chills, and some surrenderance upward.
Some serene, almost lonesomeness,
Yet accompanied by all the souls of the world.

I’m not self, but everything,
For one fraction of timelessness

and it’s almost like it all makes sense
It's set off by the scene of nature, and brings a split second of chills and unified peace.
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