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To write the poem,
The one that you'll be known for,
Even beyond the day you fade to Heaven.

It takes a lifetime,
So if I'm lucky,
I still have 86 years,
To make that poem happen.
Sometimes I think country music can read my mind, how does it know what to play for what I'm feeling?
If I had a time machine,
I'd go back in time,
To talk to ten year old me.
I'd tell him this,
The next four years of your life are going to be painful.
The next few years we be hard,
But don't let that distract you,
From giving life all you've got.
In the end, life is all we've got. Keep fighting. :)
Blessing Thabane Dec 2024
Country Roads, Dusty Towns

I.
Shifting skies paint my journey,
as I carry the me I’ve become.
Budapest, oh refuge of light,
tattoos your lessons into my skin—
wisdom etched deep, surrender tendered,
a new self rising, full of life.

But the roads turn dusty,
and the smoky windows of home
consume the tissue of my being.
The me I thought I’d carry back
is buried beneath the sorrowful weight,
dust smothering, airless.
Inside me, I am buried again.

II.
Sweet home, bitter walls,
where every stone has found me,
every wound still heals, still weeps.
A mother who never chose me.
A sister, favorite in her shadow.
A brother, his cries laced in poison.
No corner spared—
each breath a test of endurance.

Yet I learn again to survive,
for living belongs to Budapest.
Here, in all-year-winter-town,
I crawl to the surface,
stitch myself together with hope.
Goodbye to the me who couldn't stay whole.

III.
Budapest—Kay’s arms,
a borrowed peace,
his better house in town.
Yet cracks of betrayal whisper louder now.
Five years marked in shadows,
love fractured but familiar.
I switch my code, detach my soul,
find my peace in the spaces between.

Even as I know:
these roads will lead me back,
the cycle will return,
dust will cling to me again.

IV.
But this time,
hope is louder.
This time, I carry the dream:
a house that is mine,
walls free from echoes of hurt,
a life where survival steps aside
to let living take the stage.

Country roads, you know what to do—
take me back, for now.
But one day,
lead me to where
I’ll never have to return.
I'll never have to return.
Daniel Tucker Dec 2024
my friend came by the other day
as a leaf in the wind he has blown
from street to street
            town to town.

a wanderer he may be
but not at heart--
he longs to be attached
to a tree
                               any tree.

in spring and summer the leaves
     are green and
                              attached.

summer slowly dries them out as the tree
                    prepares for winter.

my friend the dry brown leaf
blows in his perpetual autumn.

we all grow in our own time
and season:

winter dormancy

         spring regeneration

                   summer fulfillment

                             fall  preparing for the
                                                  
          ­  inevitable
season of death.

these seasons of the soul
are the very essence of our existence.

     they teach us

        temper us

        fulfill us.

but there are those who do not see
the purpose of the seasons.
to them winter means only

                             cold

                                       snow

                       desolation.          

spring means only

                    rain

                mud

                            flooding.

summer means

                             beauty to mock
                                the heart in
                                     winter.

i trust in the wisdom of the seasons.
nature teaches us lessons in her cycles.

let the  l
                e
               a
                  f
fall to the ground.
let it rot into cold

    stark

                        winter

           desolation.

spring will come.

bleak gray will become bright colours
                  of spring.

the beauty will fade again but will
reappear in winter's own stark beauty
though it may be cold and gray.
then spring will come.

          spring-will-come !!!
Copyright ©2024
Daniel Tucker

A poem from the living of my life.
Oscar Similan Nov 2024
leaves bleed in the water
a small sip to check if it's
pleasing to taste
leave the cup alone
as I apply for jobs
Kundai N Nov 2024
We've cut the tree for warmth in winter's chill,
Only to lose its shade when summer's heat is still.
Cut only a branch, and let new life begin,
And you'll have fire and shade to cherish within.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2024
Encorporations, Liebling --
Weforms, y bubbles in being buvvles.
Ancient knowing, long sacred, hidden,
as with the legend of confused names,

Epimythiums accosting promethean bets,

day and night, eat  your heart out, free
from regrets, satisfied mind, okeh, free

to act as agent
for lady liberty, here post feudal self,

as discovered in a canyon, much the same
as Sha'gri La from story, Havasu Canyon,
as home of a boy I knew, whose grandfather

had made peace, with good intention,
to remain in Supai until the end of time,

then, there come the missionaries, guessing
Victory in Jesus would rouse the innocents
to repent for never having imagined Hell,

as sure as can be made believe,
by **** sapien innocents,

never led by setters free,
into known uses
of old Eber clan ever words,
otherwise, still, small, breather thinking ideas,

whims like what if this is that, and we ready,
readers like think as fast as we can write,
as if we have been taught to dance
as when we drum along and dance

in mindful memorizational motivational wills,
to live the story we form as our weform agrees,

these are the realms of spirits, these are words
enough for the wise in any situation, sent, willing

to breathe, and feel, the whole wind working bit,
the smoke you may use, indeed, see believing
work out a salve for that itching ear, feeling

we form on-demand, at hand, at touche', indeed,
doing done, done did get done, this away from that,

back to the future,
through common senses used,
globally translatable
with Google Translate, using

copy and paste
of encoded letting out of dogmen,
from another mindform mingled

with mine, shall we

imagine Ancestory.com as a technology needing a lie,
to make believers
in what DNA can prove today,

if we go back far enough,
we were masters or slaves, and masters knew,

what slaves were not at liberty
to know,

without former knowers telling, so

dystopia ontological negative hope,

the princess and the pea, and me,
the wildass idea,
in the vineyard,

as the a sunbeam purpled
in a cluster

carried me
in a reverie
of poetic grandeur

indeed, into the afterward, ward after last.
My deed for today. Done.
Stacey Nov 2024
...
Only when you are no longer preoccupied with living
can you begin to comprehend life
Sam Nov 2024
Suddenly you're 29 years old and you ve lost all your
friends from high school. You're sure they don't even remember you, but at the same time they ask your sister what you're up to and a friend's mum calls her by your name sometimes.

You dream of being 19 again, a backpack full of heavy books and stones you needed for art class that gave you back pain. You remember your teacher telling that you're not going to get far, but at the same time you remember your past successes and the teachers who believed in you.

you are reminded of being 9, being new to a country and learning its language. You feel made fun of, but at the same time you found two friends on the very first day of school and you still have the presents
they gave you 20 years ago.

You remember how you cried when your cousin was born two years after you because you did not want your grandfather to love anyone more than you, and how he's been gone for as long as you'd known him.

And you go on living.

You stay one morning longer, and you go on living.
You say your goodbyes and you go on living.

You go on living.
Jeremy Betts Nov 2024
I've run out of sheep to count
Leaving me wide awake through this living nightmare
Sowing a seed of doubt
Is life's refusal to even consider fighting fare
Each step taken while walkin' about
Feeds on the back of my mind, whispering, "do it if you dare"
Fueling despair
Instigating internal warfare
Causing excessive ware and tare
Resulting in a head of hair gone bare
And I'm forced to bite my tongue completely off
To keep from admitting I no longer care

©2024
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