Who Would’a Thunk It?
Who would’a thunk it?
Sliding piecemeal into six…
Whose credit lists go on and on
In pages worn
By use unceasing.
Here sit I
Noon sun high,
Ablaze with phrase
That turns into (most likely will)
With rhyme and substance,
Probing, pressing cortex’ lobe
Gushing, pushing out the job.
Who would’a thunk, in any case,
That it would form the base of hours
Spent each day as child’s play?
(Except that I’m grown up!)
Who would’a thunk it?
Who Would’a Thunk It? 8.16.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Thunk; informal or humorous past a
Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered?
Who wouldn’t mind being remembered?
It’s not the same as wanting fame -
Naiveté’s vanity its other name.
Who wouldn’t mind some impact?
An itch to reach out
Maybe teach, knowing one knows so little –
Naught at all – We are so small.
But art is there,
And impulse wants from within wants out,
Shouts quietly with word
When you yourself have disappeared.
Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered? 8.16.2017
Birth, Death & In Between II;
I'm out here searching for something more
it's something that is in front of me
but it's something that I can't see
I'm trapped behind the chances I had
I'm stuck behind the dirty glass
peering through the broken cracks
because I'm stuck
in the past
thinking of what I could've had.
Words that cut heart but never heal. The sadness that over comes my soul
Left with only hope
I come back but with same ending
It just the same movie
You never understand me
My pain runs so deep
No love but negative outlook you see
I have break myself free rip apart those chains
Can you hear me or is my words so far gone.
By kenny diamond
there is something
about those wooden chairs
at the Jameson's Bar.
the way they consume the
yellow brights, I believe
they could have consumed the
sultry nights,the spilled whisky,
the cheap tips and the unspoken
it's like a polished reflective
demon,that asks me to sit on it
and begin the satanic act of
dissolution of liver.
the way it does so,
I might have lost a hundred stories
to it in the most painful nights
I saw and swallowed within, with only ice.
but I never regretted.
nor shall ever be,
for they have read my stories,
when no one ever could.
If the gods do will,
I shall create my own universe
my own earth for everyone
all your anguish and pains,
the cries and the vain,
shall be the red hot core,
that would burn from within,
untouched and unseen
forever for everyone
all the smiles and dreams of everyone
shall be the skies and stars
bright as ever be,
for we all shall fly once
to hold them close,
to embrace them in nights alone
no matter how far,
the memories and voices
of all our beautiful times
shall be the trees and the oceans
whose smells shall come to us,
when the breeze blows,
taking us to a time, we always wanted
and we shall live and die
within ourselves,with memories
with everyone and their lives
like we used to do,
and become memories or oceans,
stars or smiles
and be alive even after death
on this planet.
the fiery sun,
that sets the dichotomy
of the light and the darkness
has been veiled by the clouds
floating murderously grey
in the sky
In a final hope,
to embrace this winter
I wish for an end
for this bleakness,
for this monotonous silence,
the credulous hearts of people
are dying slowly in absence
of the lacking divinity in the sky
even the cracks in my windows
are thirsty to devour the lights,
as I lie within the blankets
staring the grey abode of the gods
my dog comes and sleeps next to me,
and I wait more seeing outside one last time,
it is beautiful though I realize
like all ends are,in the very beginning.
It is up to us to choose,
whether these times we have
are going to be long wasted
and forgotten years,rotten with bigotry
and stinking of nothingness
or whether they shall stand
as a testimony for others to see,
when we burned our minds and souls
as the bright embers on dark howling nights,
to achieve everything we ever wanted
and as the time when we decided
to never ever look up in the skies,
or anyone's eyes
in search of a false hope.