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EL Borromeo Jun 22
carve your words on winds
and let the fleeting air
caress the wounds
you courageously cut open;
let them bleed again
and let the fresh scent
send the birds to singing;
forget about the inked papers —
no one reads anymore
and the world forgets anyway
In this day and age,
The mysterious ways
Of men and their money
Fill all of our days.

A hashtag,  an update,
A notification.
Just to remind me
Of my situation.

Three years on the streets
Meant nothing to me,
But it showed me a world
Few ever should see.

Now Texas takes notice,
Financial aid!
The catch is,  of course,
My ****** GPA.

They do this on purpose.
I'm ignorant? My ***!
"You've got seven hundred dollars
To spend before class."

"You can buy anything here,
No gift cards, of course. "
I said "this isn't a buffet;  
That's a smorgasbord! "

Give me three new shirts,
All the books for my classes,
A new backpack,  a hoodie,
Alumni- framed glasses.

Then,  send me an email,
At nine in the morning
That I'll be dropped
by four p.m. without warning!

So much for sleep.
It's time for *******.
Because these ****** people
Are pulling THIS **** again.

Loan counseling? What's that?
"In forty- eight hours
The approval will come back. "

Are you being serious?
I'm better off smoking crack!
Just give me my education,
And stay the hell off my back!
I HATE the financial aid institution! Good gods,  will someone FIX this broken ****?
Poetic T Jun 2019
Never let a pebble
       Become a boulder.

For troubles should never
     Accumulate to the point
          Where you are lighter


Than the weight of your woes.
shamamama Jun 2019
We weigh the ways of the woes

We woo the ways of the whys

We woo the wise with their ways

Why wait?
All these sounds, needed to be together, and perhaps there is some wisdom in the wise whys.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
What goes on in your glowing head
when you sit in front of your harp
eyes wide shut your fingers thread
and pluck, syncing with our heart

the way you majestically play
fills my ears with angelic tones
stunned, I can't look away
from your heavenly flowing bones

Harp forged from Hephaestus' gold
pluck and pick easy as a river's flow
soft harmonies of Philip Glass enfold
and just for a moment, forgotten woes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hV2-zFh3tAU
this middle aged rue stirring ******
   haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
   eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard

   in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
   brutally sub zero temperatures
   from an occasional nor'easter
   fiercely gripping hold

the majority years, sans this prolific
   recalcitrant scrivener lived
   in various and sundry abode
   housed within Southeastern
   Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
   with 19* zip code,

and during my boyhood recall,
   how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
   in preparation for planting time,

   where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
   many a green acre got tilled and hoed

despite feeling energized and refreshed
   with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric

   experiencing hearthstone nook
   designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
   and toes to make sure, i still got ten

soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
   and floral kaleidoscope of color
   aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
   drifted toward approaching spring,

the season revitalizing
   dormant natural inhabitants,
   whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.

This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
   12:15 PM Tuesday,
   March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
   inviolable hibernating animals

   and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
   whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),

   nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
   mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,

   and i breathe easy),
   who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
   (with tantalizing tail feathers)
   now (until she awakens)
   proscribing yours truly to wait

for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important ****
   consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
   of relics from age old meals
   transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
Braxton Reid Nov 2017
All things so morose
So many people speak of woes
When we're deep in throes
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