It was stepping into the Afterlife
With extraterrestrial angels
Singing the chorus of My Sweet Lord
In otherworldly harmonic unison
As George Harrison embraced me
Open arms, his face transforming
Between his and Jesus Christ's
And mind you, not the one you know
But the true Middle Easterner
Most Christians tend to forget

It was a segue into a golden palace
Where Krishna showered me
With korma flavored karma
For all deeds gone unnoticed
In a life of ego and suffering
It was a most revealing of times

It was a feeling of fearful dread
When Muhammad appeared
Before he gently let me know
Misrepresentation by extremism
Had plagued his holy message
And to just live for your neighbor

It was inside a bamboo house
That was set on a tropical land
I went in to simply find peace
And saw a golden glowing man
Meditate a couple feet in the air
With one eye open, he said
"I could **** you with one thought
Conversely, you could too
However, we sit in peace
And there is great power in that"

It was all the same

"I hate everyone",
I say,
As I hate myself more,

"I love you",
You say,
As you sell yourself; a *****.

"I understand",
They say,
They're  already bored.

You don’t want to read this.


I’m reading this poem and waiting for something to happen,
But so far nothing has been able to seize my attention.
I await to see which word will give rhythm to the rhyme,
But it is an expected disappointment; a lack of perfection.


Still onward I read, hoping for a change in the way it is structured,
But this is simple, not memorable; just words without thought.
Why can’t it be better?  So amateurish; so fractured.
Simply lame and without impact; clearly no talent at all.


I’ll give up on this poem; it is simply more of the same.
No story, no idea, not worth reading, I would say.
But I am here to read, so I shall continue once again
And remain unmoved, uninspired, unimpressed; bored I remain.


Where is the wit and the substance? (The killer without the filler).
Where is the dark side, the good life, the romance of death?
There is no image portrayed here, he certainly cannot deliver.
He is just wasting my time; there are no good lines left.


Someone whisper in his ear and tell him to change his ways.
Write a poem I want to read, you should write just like me.
The real you is boring, so lay back and be fake.
Read more poetry, write more poetry; see what I see!


I see sunshine and blue skies and rabbits bouncing by!
I see rivers flowing gently, people holding hands and love is in the air!
I see happiness and joy and a world where nobody needs to cry!
And all he talks about is depression and a life going nowhere.


Be more positive about love!  We have had enough of the heart break.
Write about lovers and marriage and a family that lasts.
But no, he continues to bore us, with nothing of interest to say.
I’m sorry I ever began to read this poem;
If I bought his book, I would take it back.


I’d like a refund please; he doesn’t write what I like.
He doesn’t talk about the outdoors and the colour of the leaves.
He doesn’t know about love and is no artist, he cannot write.
Why can’t he take a lesson and learn to write poetry?  Do it, please!


Poetry should be written this way, the way he writes is all wrong.
Poetry should sound like my favourite poets; nobody is unique.
Poetry should be written according to my idea of what is strong.
This is weak in its word usage; he bears no resemblance to my clique...


From time to time you need to expand your mind.
What’s yours is yours and what’s mine is fine.
I can never meet your expectations.
Realise I am being real when I disappoint you without explanation.


My poetry will never change the world intentionally if attempted,
But one mind at a time can be influenced if not rejected.
Take my words into your mind, if you have the time
And I will thank you for reaching the end of a poem,
That I know you just didn’t like.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

One day we’ll wake up and call each other.
Our voices will be monotone.
We won’t really have anything to talk about.
We’ll go through our photos.
Make ourselves see how good it was.
We’ll look at each other and see why we fit.
Determine the pros and cons of staying together.
It’s just not that good anymore.
It’ll all end that way.
Not because anything is dreadfully wrong.
We’ll just be bored.
Everything will go back to how it was before.
Except that we won’t be a couple.
Just two people who coexist.
I can talk to guys at bookstores and fall a little bit in love with a perfect stranger every day.
You can pick up girls at the baseball field that you always thought were better than me.
But we’ll always have us.
For now, let’s stay us and hold off until later.

Existence.


As the darkness falls, I feel the walls are closing in.
There is no chance of escape.
My mind, it calls.
A universe of all my thoughts are keeping me awake.


The fear is here, the dreaded time.
Half past midnight, no light,
Just frightened of the future ahead.
Lying in bed alone, in the altogether, thinking about the here and now.


Tomorrow is just another ordinary day, they say.
I think not; give it all you have got, or fail again,
To find my feet, my spot, my place, in this empty world.
I am an empty glass; I need a place to exist.
Money earned means nothing to me,
Because love is free if you give it your all.
Cash is only paper, metal works too.
I want for nothing, so nothing soothes.


My mind a mathematician, counting sheep.
I am currently at two thousand and seventeen
And I am bored of everything,
Because I have no one to count on, or entertain,
My vain brain that only thinks about me;
All I truly care about right now is sleep.


I took an early night to book an earlier flight,
But my dreams are all delayed…
I am sure they will arrive in due time,
But I have to wait with nothing on my mind,
Because there is nothing that interests me.


My hopes and wishes are all so boring,
That you do not need to see.
I will not mention, guess what;
I will simply carry on with this pointless tale I tell.
I reach into the well and find a day so sunny;
Wouldn’t it be funny if animals could talk…


Time to get up, stand up and take a walk.
I drag myself out of bed this morn
And spend all day yawning, when nothing is boring,
So people see a distorted truth, an illusion,
Hence the confusion that follows my soul.
They all watch me as I go; true heart remains unknown.


Then I leave them all behind, close my eyes
And climb into my bed alone.
I wrap the quilt around my heart to keep me warm,
Because my love…life is…so cold.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

There is nothing.
And the beats that I wanted to hear
go on too long.