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I grew independently, totally alone
Forever wanting to just belong
But no one came to me, so I thought to myself
"One day, I'll prove them wrong"

And when I finally became successful
I had fame, I had wealth
No one showed up to my celebration
The only person I proved myself to was myself
this is my 78th poem, written on 1/23/24
Zywa Mar 7
Every day we are

celebrating without frills --


just being grateful.
Story "Het verhaal van Oosterhuis" ("Easthouse's story", 1946, Belcampo)

Collection "SoulSenseSun"
Nishu Mathur Feb 21
Don't wrap me in a hearse of gloom
When it's time for me to go 

Don't drape yourself in black or white 
But in the colours of a rainbow

Shed no tears of death in life 
Let your heart feel no  pain 

For I will be in a sky of blue
With sunshine in a frame 

Spread my ashes far in a river 
I'll flow and meet the sea 

On waves of moon bathed silver 
Sailing I shall be 

Leave me too with flowers 
With marigolds I will stay

A whim of floral frenzy 
Will touch the sombre  grey 

I, a part of earth and water 
Why mope and sigh and grieve  

Burned by flames of pure fire 
I'll float like a feather on a leaf 

Though with a cry we arrive 
There's laughter when we're born 

Let the smiles linger on
Why make it oh, forlorn 

No tears of death in life 
No crease, no sorrow's crinkle

Think of me with happiness 
And know me in a twinkle 

Don't wrap me in a hearse of gloom 
When it's time for me to go 

Don't drape me in black or white 
But in the colours of a rainbow
Old poem
Dec 2023
what a privilege it is
to celebrate with fireworks.

to hear thundering booms fill the air
and not simultaneously be full of fear.

to have the sky painted
with vibrant dazzling colours -
not the grounds stained
with new shades of red.

to hear the calming whistle
and anticipate a euphony -
not a cacophony of
cracks, bangs, screams and cries.

what a privilege it is
to have never heard the latter.

what a privilege it is
to associate explosion
with new beginnings -
not an impending end.

what a privilege it is
to celebrate with fireworks.
food for thought. thankful for the privilege i hold. wishing for better days across the world.
Jeremy Betts May 2022
The risk of takin' time to begin mendin' a broken and frozen heart is it could stop its natural rhythmic beatin' at any given moment, without adequate warnin'
Matter of fact it's bound to happen like global warmin', that's the only endin' found followin' right on the heels of drownin'
Any other prediction goin' 'round is only white noise background sound of them denyin' and rewritin' facts, specializin' in turnin' backs and bold face lyin'
I constantly find myself suffocatin' in my own skin like it's a plastic bag grippin' my face, compression at the neck, not lettin' air in
Debatin' whether or not to go all in and fight this overpowered and undefeated depression with persistence and medication, maybe some meditation and self reflection
Or should I just go ahead and give in again, puttin' in little to no effort to change the end into somethin' worth strivin' for, will there even be someone there lookin' forward to me arrivin'?
This is not pretend or manipulation, basically I'm forfeitin' due to exhaustion and frustration, handin' over the rains, just givin' my inner demon the win
I'm sick and tired of bein' tired and sick, gettin' beaten, pickin' myself up just to start takin' the walk of shame back to some new beginnin'
Plus, spoiler alert, I already know the final boss battle in this surreal engine is just gonna be against myself, once again
Same as its always been, it's not about to start changin' now, no amount of trainin' or preparation' will stop this from happenin'
Like the programer guy and I are playing a side game of chicken, he's got nothin' to lose, I've already lost everythin' holdin' out for a win that's never comin', never a celebration
I'll die if I don't keep moving 'cause I can see the next hardship comin', it's ******' gainin' on me quickly and I don't have a remedy or solution so, tail between legs, I start runnin'
I'm noticin' the **** selection, nothing good comes from either decision especially if you're plannin' on bringin' logic in as part of the equation, it should help but it's only a complication
And I'm forced to pick a direction without knowin' the destination or what I'll be facin' or what's waitin' for me at the finish lines location
Even without an imagination as dark as mine you can see its a risky expidition with low to no expectation of finishin'
Hope diminishin' past salvation, straight to damnation and a bitter end
Death awaits every person ever born, he's never missed one and I won't be the exception, it's the when I'm questionin', on my knees prayin', shiftin' seamlessly into beggin'
In one hand I could win the battle that's ragin' in between my ears, lord knows I'm tired of listenin'
On the other hand I lose the war, therefore there's no reason for even tryin', no goin' back to the beginnin', no rewindin'
I'm left nursin' a wound that's turned into an infection and its quickly spreadin', entertainin' the thought of idle hand amputation
Don't need to be an open heart surgeon, it's already been broken twice and put on ice, I'll just rip it out then hold it up for all to see before it completely stops pulsatin'
The fixation has never been on fixin' anythin' but rather dodgin' any situation that'll get me lookin' within
Possibly havin' to acknowledge I might not be worth savin', is that me speakin' or my shoulder devil at it again'?
It's gettin' harder and harder to tell the difference, both soundin' the same, the blurred line causes confusin'
I know the notion of what I'm sayin' isn't easy to comprehend much less believe in
And that's the reason why I've bottled every emotion and set them floatin' out in the vast ocean
To keep me from bein' a burden to anyone but one person, you're lookin' at him and I lie and say it's workin'
I don't know what I was thinkin' not takin' this more serious from the beginnin'
It's been ruinin' my life's mission, runnin' up a tab of bad karma that I'm gonna wind up payin'
Stoppin' all forward motion by keepin' me frightened to the point I've given up on fightin'
The results are in and it's unsettlin', I now only seem to be nothin' but a punchin' bag for Satan and his legion
I'm startin' to come undone at the seams and it seems like no one's carin' but I don't know what else I was expectin'
I could've predicted that with precision like I have the ability to be time travelin'
Knowin' for certain what the future is bringin' but I'm just goin' off of every previous lesson that left a lastin' impression
But still not seein' the big picture, fussin' over the small **** like somethin' on the roof of my mouth I can't stop tonguin'
Wastin' precious time that I could've been usin' to at least soften the blow I know is creepin' up, comin' 'round the bend with the collection plate to put my fate in
But again, I can't stop the regression long enough to gain traction, a continuation of my downward trend, market value crashin', free fallin' with no parachute or safety net to protect my noggin
I don't give myself permission to feel anythin' other than self derogation
Sleep deprivation has my dreams fadin', countin' one sheep, two sheep, ****, the rest have gone missin'
I'm left pickin' myself up and dustin' myself off, brushin' my own well bein' to the side, out of sight, out of mind, keep it hidden
All lefts, no right to weigh in even though it's my life my thoughts are playin' with, throwin' caution to the wind
And now that I'm broken beyond repair I get tossed into the compost bin lettin' somethin' else grow from me decomposin'
A form of reincarnation at worst, at best, a place to finally get some much needed rest in'
I'm no longer invested in livin', hell, I'll even sign my own death certificate, give me a pen

©2022
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2023
Your journey has come to an end
Mourning for a soul no longer here
Love slowly will help wounds mend
In heart presence will never disappear
Trying to write a poem for the program for my mom's celebration of life
Let's celebrate the success
And enjoy the moment
Let's recount the problems
And how we solved them
But let's live for another day to celebrate

Let's satisfy the hunger
And dance to that banger
Let's toast to the dangers
And how we survived them
But let's live for another day to celebrate

Another day to drink
Another day to sing
Another day to drive
Another day to thrive
Let's live for another day to celebrate
Anais Vionet Jul 2023
Lisa and I finally tested covid-free! When we saw our results, we began an impromptu dance that felt like levitation.

Although my covid case seemed much milder, Lisa’s been nothing but supportive. Why just yesterday morning, before we tested, Lisa said, “If you test covid-free before I do, I’ll **** you.” She was holding a spork which gave the threat a specific gravity it might otherwise have lacked.
“Back off, Sweeny,” I said.

We worked the next day, masked - just in case - and I’d swear that Rebecca, my surgeon, almost smiled when she saw me. As funny as Rebecca is, off-hours, once she puts on that white coat - forgetaboutit - she goes to some other, humor-free zone.

That night, we went out to our favorite bar to celebrate our Lazarus-like resurrections.

In the club, as we were walking to the bar, Lisa asked me, “What if we get carded?” I gasped. Never, have I EVER been carded. To even suggest the possibility is to risk breaking a spell that has lasted since I was fifteen years old and first walked in the adult-bar world.

It’s not that I look old, I’ve been told I don't look 21 (although I’m almost 20) - but in dark, bar-light - I just look “right,” like I belong. And let's face it, no bar turns away college girls or charges them a cover - we’re good for business.

I put a hand on Lisa’s shoulder and stopped us in our tracks. “Turn around three times,” I said.
“Why?” She asked. “To break the god-****, bad luck, vu doo you just put on us!” I said exasperatedly. She shrugged and started to turn in a circle. Again I took her by the shoulders, “Counter-clockwise,” I instructed, “don’t you know anything?!” Once she’d broken the jinx, we were free to go on.  The next part can only be poetry.

Behind the bar were shelves of bottles, brightly lit,
with pastel glows that shame the merely silver moon.
Red rums, golden bourbons, begging you to commit,
elixirs that dull every pain and brighten every mood.
Give us your tired, your lonely, and like Houdini
we’ll invoke fun with mystical treats like martinis.

We were basking in those lantern-like glows, like tourists, in heaven, when a bartender said, “What can I get you?” How generous those words were, how open and inviting.

“What’s your name?” I asked, he was wearing a name tag but I leaned in and gave him my friendliest smile. It’s important to establish a personal connection - but you can’t get carried away. He might be gay and decide you’re trailer.

“Brian,” he said. Brian was talking to me, but then he’d noticed Lisa and suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off her (Lisa’s an adriana). This bartender wasn’t gay at ALL.

I handed him my black, Centurion, American Express card “Can we set a tab for us?” I motioned to include Lisa, “and please include a 30% tip for yourself.” I smiled. He smiled.
“Oh, and there’ll be a gentleman joining us as well (Charles).”
“Sure.” he said, as he swiped the card on his iPad, adding, “now, what are you having?”

I’m a bit of a bon vivant, where cocktails are concerned but tonight, we’ll keep it vanilla.
“We’ll start with a Cherry coke (for Charles) and,” I looked at Lisa for approval, “Two American Martinis?” She smiled, “Please,” I added, putting my card away.
The coke is psychologically important; it gives the bartender what’s called 'plausible deniability.’
“Do you have a menu?” I said, as he turned to go. “Coming right up,” he said.

We were on a rooftop terrace that overlooked the Boston skyline. To the left, there were tables enclosed in glowing, geodesic bubbles that changed colors and off to the right, a dance space where couples were dancing, and a DJ was spinning ‘Sorja Smith’s - Little things.’

Our drinks arrived and Lisa and I laughingly toasted our covid survival.
At that moment, at least, everything seemed right with the world.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: A bon vivant:  a person with cultivated and refined tastes

slang…
sweeny = sweeny todd, the murderous demon barber of fleet street (Sondheim musical)
forgetaboutit = ‘forget about it,’ best said with a fake, somewhat racist, Italian accent.
trailer = as in trailer trash
adriana = a stunningly gorgeous girl
Anais Vionet Jul 2023
It’s a firework holiday,
so let’s light up the night,
wave the stars and stripes,
eat barbecue and drink bud light.

We’ll celebrate the liberties
that SCOTUS says we’ve got
it appears they’ve all been bought
and before their terms are over
they’ll resurrect Dred Scott.

Watermelon, hot wings
we’ve even added new things,
like smash & grab lootings
and frequent, random shootings.

Some Republicans want to break away
to form a less perfect union
can you form a successful nation
based on the politics of illusion?

There used to be parades
I’m told, that featured local
things, like firefighting brigades
I guess we’re just to fractured now,
to sashay in such displays.

I bet those were the days.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Sashay = proudly walk in confident display
Anais Vionet May 2023
Ever snorted *******?
I watched some partiers snort ******* last night,
in a dark, Manhattan nightclub corner celebration.
But I’ve never crossed that line. The white line.

When offered some, with unctuous camaraderie,
I shrugged and said, “No, sorry, I’m allergic.”
What are you supposed to say, “Crack is whack,”
or “I prefer my coke with *** and ice?”
The white line. I don’t cross the line.

It’s not the first time, of course, I saw more drugs
in high school than I have at Yale. I’ve mostly seen
“study drugs,” there, like provigil, adderall and alza (concerta).
Do they give students an advantage? I don’t know, maybe.
Call me a boxcut or a squarepants, but my parents are doctors,
and I just don’t cross those lines - those little white lines.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Unctuous: “an obvious, fake friendliness”

Slang: ‘boxcut’ ot ‘squarepants’ = a square, a no fun party-pooper

*I use artistic license for colors: for instance, adderall can be a blue, orange or yellow pill.
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