#sunday
Early morning,
A chilled Sunday.
No alarm stress,
No rushing out the door.
You are all that matters.
Just us
Love birds, no bird flu.
Cuddled under the sheets,
Cold winds outside the window,
Our love still bearing fruit.
Love is TNG loudly echoing,
Netflix glowing on the wall,
Rain drops falling like scattered galaxies
Beyond our window.
We eat each other after breakfast,
Drink each other after the wine.
Ashing the blunt between kisses,
No fighting—only pillow wars.
No arguments, only tongues wrestling,
Laughter shaking walls from east to west.
Wifey, baby mama. The vision is lucid.
Inside the cozy shower,
We’re fish beneath a waterfall,
Drowning in each other’s skin.
Your body on mine,
I’m out of body
I guess you own me.
The day ends
With laughter spilling everywhere,
With kisses refusing to die,
Like unlimited gasoline.
With our bodies
Soaked in summer rain,
No trauma—only good times.
My love is your love.
My story is your story.
Foot on my neck,
Your love kills me softly.
You deserve a bounty
For taking me to heaven.
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 6:09 AM UTC
You watched me walk away
Blowing kisses from the line at security
Wearing the necklace you gave me
Wide eyed and in love
And on the drive home you gave up
You collapsed in on yourself
Totally broke the idea of us
Destroyed the future we hadn't even imagined
You let me cry myself to sleep
Ripped my heart out on a Sunday
Walking away as if I was easy to leave behind
All of the memories left by the wayside
You left me at that airport like I never mattered
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 7:26 PM UTC
The silence of this very morning
leaves me in a sweet bliss.
I can say that today
that a place called heaven exists!
Undisturbed by the people,
their quarrels and fights,
I see an angel-like halo
in the still and blue sky.
Maybe I’m only dreaming;
and I'll wake up to the nightmare.
And I will be shouting and screaming,
like a child who just lost its mother.
So let me enjoy this moment,
even if it’s just a dream.
Today I'm not going to the church;
the church has just come to me.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 7:37 AM UTC
In the beginng,
she meant well
Seeing the beauty
in everything
trying to believe
in loving meant
herself always 2nd
100% 0.7 lead
breaking under
pressure who
uses this ****
to write the past
forgetting you
would mean
leaving pain for
later, let's die now
to love or live
again but better
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 8:52 PM UTC
My friends call to tell me they love me
And that it'll be ok with time
That you couldn't be the love of my life
If you could leave me like that
On a random Sunday night
And I want to believe them
I want it so badly to be true
But I feel too old be mending a broken heart
With another bottle of wine
And talking about how there is always another guy
They tell me you didn't deserve my love
Or my trust
And honestly that ***** me up
Because I thought you were the one
I nod and agree because what else can I do
You don't want me
And I can't change you
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 12:05 PM UTC
Sunday morning
tastes like coffee gone cold and almond joy creamer
smells like breakfast cooking
sounds like the Sims 3 theme music
looks like gentle snowfall and sun covered clouds
feels like nostalgia
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 4:24 PM UTC
I woke up this autumn Sunday morning
with papier-mâché clouds performing
like a ticker-tape parade from left to right
a strong breeze doodling fall leaves to flight
The birds are just gliding, no flapping in sight.
Today’s a free day, a don’t mess with me day.
I’ve no homework, or assignments
it’s like I’ve escaped from confinement
even my coffee tasted like creamy freedom.
What do you do when you don’t have to do
anything? Why, I could write a play, like Mozart,
or an opera, like Shakespeare - if I were THAT smart -
but don’t those sound like academic effort to you?
I want to hold hands in the park and promenade,
Peter loves strolling the flower markets by the Seine,
a gelato at Amorino after lunch at the Saint James cafe,
and the rain or shine street art at Rue Saint-Rustique.
Isn’t boyfriend-time the best way to spend a Sunday?
.
.
Songs for this:
Waterguns (feat. Tom Bailey) by Caravan Palace
Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz
Dreamin' by G. Love & Special Sauce
Oct 13, 2025
Oct 13, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
-----
Sketch a make believe
what could never be believed
never was,
anything, make it unreal real
as any imaginable other time space
at this point when we find words full
with perceptions taken from precepts,
first steps, first hold tight right firm fact,
left hand superior, feel the heft, either way
solidified affirmative positive right now, swing
feel the fabled crack of the bat… and know
in ever, in sequence, since gods oughta known
this one day, this was bound to happen just so.
You wake up, and find you are woke, no joke,
you wake up and become woke, no joke,
you wake up an anti-facist and ANTIFA
today, at temple, antifa
is the enemy within,
Trump is after us, anti fascists,
woe is us, we got no poets
with prophets gifts,
we got shepherds,
ordained in their long forgotten
right use robes and chants encountered
while seeking riches
with no sorrows added.
Is what serious? Curio use? Science-use
Con fidentia philosophia con science used
the art of the deal, we accumulate yeses,
enough yesses, we agree, we think like one…
mind
nothing is funny, ha ha,
it 's all funny smelling,
everything is rotting, as fruit never picked rots,
but first ferments, ferry me away, permit me
to say, fer reference inferred suffered to be
-- you got to carry this weight a long time
-- you get to classify uses of idle words, as true
-- you get to sign your own Common Form
and fight, fight, fight,
just four more, years,
you'll never have to take the bait again,
You Christians of the militant sort, you,
he addressed, promising, as his sort do,
get out and vote, you'll never need to do it again…
fades, news today
Madness has settled in Washington…
just so, at the instance cousin John, bore witness,
and declared the message has been delivered,
as prayed, as was his wont, as the peace
authority announces
at his arrival,
Peace from above
on Earth goodwill landed, whole
the truth and nothing but the truth
foretold, preinfant sentience…
Sister cousin close kin, counsel
the ***** pregnant Mary,
she goes to the hills,
to tell the mom,
of her unborn miracle
Cousin John, back then
The hill billies knew it first, Mary
was ***** and with child, do tell,
the child's name was always John…
Mary's unborn's cousin,
the babe leapt
in Lizzies womb,
in the presence
of the soon coming king,
in child Mary's unempty womb
===
For lack of a leader the followers fail to flourish.
Those who knew Pelagius,
found him well versed in pre Catholic thought,
we met him when Augustine called him
shrewd,
mysterious,
for knowing there was no sin, we had to know.
Oct 12, 2025
Oct 12, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
I often walk to the beach — just ten minutes away from my home.
It’s the place where I’ve written all my poems —
each one inspired by the rhythm of the waves.
The ocean, with its endless song,
teaches me that no matter who comes or goes,
we must remain steady, just like the sea.
Yes, sometimes storms appear —
just as you once entered my life,
stirring everything within me, and then leaving.
It hurt, deeply.
But I learned to rise again,
strong and calm — like the ocean itself.
Now I know — life is not about what you lose,
but about how deeply you stay grounded within yourself.
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
you, yes, you!
Reveal despite attempts to conceal, the state of your status, the qualities of the quality of your life, the poetry, the joy,
The wonderment, and to be sure, the painal, sometimes wild, sometimes precious, but always plentiful
It's Sun~Day,
And the calendar is
Colander clear,
Life's busyness
Drained awsy
Your brief file/BIO,
(look at my picture!)'
the picture you select
To demonstrate your being or
not to be~ing;
Full volume up,
even the de~sguise skies,
no surprise, reveals more and more and more
Than you could never hope for
did not awake to script this script to write
this writ, lead you here to
buy/by another poem,
that questions,
Our, less less wild, and
More than
Precious life, cursed those who must obligatory remind
us to stop and smell the flowers,
**** them for their irritant reminder,
the things that are simpler,
Even then, a stolen kiss
Boil myself in the hottest bath to make,
When I step out dizzy, reddened,, I remain
blemished vy the absence of
wild and precious
It is so very difficult to disguise, revise, our misanthropic lives,
we give it away, not always easily,
but with self deprecation that seems
to be our undivided nations chief
Preoccupancy
***Here and there we stash our deepest details,
our longest longings.
our need for near instant gratification, when satisfied,
return to the top of the to do list, naturally***
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 5:17 PM UTC
{three brief acts on thinking and doing at once}
Sunday, August 17, 2025
9:31 AM
An exercise in the art of word smithing
proud prodding from a know it all to another,
persuading one the other of the best and greatest
people can pertain to, aspire to artifice goodness,
per se
this way
simple
plain step by step, processionally, professing
experience
in living many ways,
in working, functioning usefully to those paid in
bread and drink and circuses to think about, clowns
slap plays to allow the lowliest to laugh at pain,
pie in the face, shock and awe, to laugh at payback,
and gasp at the daring Wallendas, did you see that,
the fall at Detroit,
in 1962,
Did it stick with you, the awe at the folly, asking
why do performers perfect their act, and do it
and do it
and do it
until some one dies trying, first time or last, falls
and dies to emphasize the possibility, imagine
the mirror neuron rush at the crushing fall,
the vicarious oh no
the unforgettable day at the circus
bubbles up in therapy prep for dementia,
we all recall the fall…
------------------------------------------
Words alone, in context,
in your head said as read,
by whomever you imaging saying,
look,
listen, can you hear birds singing?
If you can, do you know what kind
of song, is it signaling safety, certainly,
birds of so tiny a song fret not, clearly,
I can imagine a world so quiet, nearly
any day, I can remember winter quiet,
and think of where others are preparing
cord wood to feed stoves, chain saws,
dangerous as any ax, imaginably worse,
gameland killings projected on silvered screen,
daring immersion in the projects, home alone,
adapted to the syndrome, latch key kid,
in a small desert town
on any main cartage route, welcoming
passers through to spend the night
indoors, at the Loma Vista Motel
or the White Rock Motor Court,
as listed in the Green Book, in 1954
------------------------------
Suffering Socrates
requires trusting Plato
One must, you know
suffer so, to say you know,
quid pro quo, all you know,
bet against all you call unknown,
as if for the sake of innocense,
shunned, to maintain purity,
burn the heresy, defined
blasphemous and disrespectful…
think again, mimic the ritual reenactment,
let this mind be in you, you were there,
you saw Cassavetes suffer in agony, the shame,
the shame that rightly is yours, and yours alone,
the price Christ paid, if that story were ever true,
that suffering is your just dessert, persuasion
insists, you must accept the premis, Christmas,
the whole message, Peace on Earth, Greetings,
lowly mortal sufferers under lying leader rules,
Goodwill, and final judgement, last prayer,
fear not, fret for nothing,
forgive all who have no clue what they do,
living and breathing and having being on Earth,
so far from the nearest life supporting star system,
fitted anthropomorphically perfectly as patient
in the active agency of truth freed life on Earth.
This is life. We can imagine it ending suddenly,
and we can bet it only does that at the me level,
the we I was in lives on in all the good seed my fruit has in it.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
Sunday is a day of rest
when you work at home to make it the best
Sunday is a day of peace
but in pointless wars killing does not cease
Sunday is a day to recover
from one too many drinks plus another
Sunday is laying late in bed
but the kids ned to be washed and fed
Sunday is a walk in the park
with thousands of others, it's best after dark
Sunday is family time
that you spend in the company of partners in crime
Sunday what more can I say
a day of rest before another working day
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 5:31 AM UTC
Palm Sunday
Voices bellow loud hosannas; palms wave vibrantly
The gentle humble King rides through the city gate,
The crowd extolls, not knowing what will come.
Holy Monday
He casts the merchants from the temple's court,
Coins clatter like thunder in the dust,
A sacred grief ignites within His soul.
Holy Tuesday
He teaches truth where traps are slyly laid,
With kind eyes and a steady, gentle voice,
He sows the seeds of justice, sharp as blades.
Spy Wednesday
He is touched by shadowed, silvered hands,
One kiss is weighed against the world’s regret,
The hush that falls before the hammer strikes.
Maundy Thursday
He breaks the bread and offers up the cup,
A basin, towel—He stoops to serve them all,
The garden waits beneath a sleepless moon.
Good Friday
The sky goes black at His forsaken cry,
The nails resound where silence should have been,
His cross stands rooted in sacred holy ground.
Holy Saturday
The grave is sealed beneath a silent hill,
No word breaks through the stillness of the dark,
All heaven holds its breath beneath the weight.
Easter Sunday
The earth exhales as angels roll the dawn,
He rises, bearing everything broken,
Joy bursts forth—exalt Jesus! Christ is risen indeed.!
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 11:22 PM UTC
Sunday, the lads are on the pitch
they were ****** the night before
the other side look just as bad
not sure any are fit to score
The whistles blown, the ball is kicked
three players chase concentration on their faces
The keepers are leaning on goalposts
and seventeen are tying their laces
Number nine is running at goal
He must score, it's in the bag
the ball soars past the goalie
and hits the corner flag
By the half time wistle
there was one red card and four yellow
players were crawling off the pitch
the supporters were less than mellow
The full time score was a one all draw
the Ref blew for full time
the players headed for the bar
Twenty one pints and a lager and lime
Match clebrations went on for hours
though neither side had won
next Sunday they would play again
only to draw again, one, one
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
They called it ruin, wreck, and waste – my life that was…
But I was walking into grace.
The smoke they saw was burning lies,
While I looked upward, I cleared my eyes
I walked through the smoke, the heat, and the ash – but not alone…
Christ met me where the flames had grown.
He didn’t flinch, With outstretched hand He pulled me free,
And rewrote all my history.
So let them talk – I serve the King,
Not bound by guilt or suffering.
My life is His, made clean, made new,
Flames of mercy burning through.
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 7:45 PM UTC
Your mutt got too hot
so you hosed him down.
I lay on the deck chair
scanning the Nietzsche reader
smoking a cigarette.
Your daughter sunbathed
on a spread out towel.
You lay beside her
enjoying the afternoon sun.
I put the book aside
too hot to read
and closed my eyes.
Off somewhere
a transistor radio
played some music
I forget what kind it was
that filled the air
that Sunday afternoon.
Times go
and are lost
all too soon
Jun 28, 2025
Jun 28, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
This time was too much,
We argued, argued,
We're both sick of it,
So we should take a break,
The next time I hear from her will be Sunday,
I didn't want to ***** things up,
We were angry,
I was scared,
We were low,
I was immature,
But I hope this is good for us,
Please don't leave for someone else,
When we're taking our breather,
I can't afford to lose you,
Please say,
Tty Sunday
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 10:07 PM UTC
what is our purpose, if not to help,
why do we say these things, when they're not felt,
so focused on our next big break,
we've forgotten everyone it takes.
not meant to sit alone, meant to stand & test,
for those who refuse, for those who can't,
our helping hands only help so much,
set up against social norms & Picassos,
left to bludgeon, burgeon & bargain,
still only to be second best,
what Einstein life is this,
not one we lose to win.
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 4:09 PM UTC
And, on the third day, He rose again,
not because we earned it,
or even deserved it,
after all betrayals and sin,
unconditional love remained within.
For these things were always the key,
to letting it be.
Sin will never win,
in the end of the world,
my friend.
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 9:48 PM UTC
We all want to be U n I q u e,
while still following the crowd,
don't be afraid to stand out,
don't be afraid to get LOUD.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 1:22 PM UTC
Am I really a good person?
I have a moral voice, but is it mine?
Was it forced upon me or given as a gift?
Am I just Objectively good and emotionally bad?
Or the other way around?
Was it simply the song I grew up hearing in my head and never forgot?
Was I simply brain washed into being moral?
Am I really that moral or have I just been around it my whole life?
Or - was no one around me truly moral and I was the opposite?
Is that why I've never understood their morals?
What if I'm so good at lying to myself that I don't even know it?
What if I die, and my soul is the bad part of me?
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 5:51 PM UTC
If your eyes rest upon these words, trust that they were meant for you. You are loved—fiercely, endlessly, beyond measure. The universe does not turn away; it moves with you, for you, shaping itself around the weight of your longing, the depth of your worth. Hold this close. Even in the silence, even in the dark, you are never unseen.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 2:36 PM UTC
when you are alone
and you ve got more time
in your hands
minute stretches to hour
Dreaded weekends
time enhances loneliness
and you face infinity
on your own
when the Sunday sun sets
from loneliness
in your house you hide
but it creeps in with the dark
it setlles on your bed
a silent partner
who connects us all
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 3:43 PM UTC
sunday on a saturday afternoon
fills my lungs with soda taste longing
flinging through words never said
to spit out of my head
here i lie on the bedding
sunday comes around
to feed me to the ground
silence waits til i turn to say ‘i found you’
saturday sun on a sweet afternoon
week full, ate up my work til i threw up on you
what was that last thing we spoke about?
like,
just wait til it ends
just wait til it ends
sun sat day to wait til it ends
and then you know like
it starts on a friday night
we’ll tie our hands together
over our new tv
we’ll watch the stories as they play
of a life worth living past sunday
life worth living past sunday
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 12:17 AM UTC