#twelve
On this powerful day, God blessed me twice,
placing two miracles into my life.
My boys, you are my fire, my heartbeat,
my purpose and my joy, perfectly complete.
I often choose moments with you,
over parties or dancing the night through.
My truest delight, my soul’s gentle light,
is the quiet love we share each night.
I love lifting you, cheering your name,
guiding your steps, fueling your flame.
Nothing shines brighter, nothing feels right,
than watching you rise, your spirits in flight.
On 11/11, not just my babies came,
a mom was born, bold, fierce, untamed.
You shaped my courage, rebuilt my soul,
and made my world beautifully whole.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 10:15 PM UTC
The fourth day, the sun shines, a shadow of unseen Light
Of light and dark, day and night, revealed and yet hidden
That oceans are opaque and deepest earth yet hides
And know that eyes deceives and fear is wisdom
The fourth day, of mercy, now, and judgement to come
Adam lived, evenings and mornings, mercy daily recalled
Longsuffering for the oppressed and patience for their oppressors
A clarion call, of atonement and fulfillment, of now and not yet
The fourth day, time, times, and half a time, middle of seven
As seven is the middle of twelve, which is a hidden seven
Revealing Creation days and Natural days, wheel within wheel
As sun and moon, with same light, mark days in days
The fourth day, of revelation, of foreshadows and foreshadowings
Of mutual witnesses twice repeated, a fourfold symmetry
Of four horns and craftsmen, of four Jerusalems and Armageddons
Three have passed, and the last to echo the beginning
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 10:46 AM UTC
(**~for Stella Marie, a newly arrived poet here at HP"
who asks, "when does a poem truly end?"~**)
She's off,
to a fancy, long gown, dinner dance, with her dancing partner,
a relationship that predates my arrival, my tired song reminder,
"but don't forget who's taking you home" has aged out from repetition,
and now she slips in beside me 'round midnight, and more often than not
so smooth, so silently, I wake up to early morn poetry writing time
and there she is, a Britbox ****** mystery dissolving on the tv screen,
earpoded and still miraculously,
deeply asleep
before she departs, poses for a final inspection,
demonstrating my wonderful
ability to adorn her gorgeous jewlery,
and sardonically modest, critique her with, an
"as expected,
you looking gorgeous"
which evokes her soft smile, at my soft edged compliment
but earlier, whine like a grown man on a diet (so pathetic).
there is nothing
sweet to eat for my apres dinner just(ice) dessert,
and leaving me chicken soup salty and
aggravated...she in a neutral tone,
a child practiced tone,
"go check the fresh fruit drawer, there is fresh fruit aplenty,"
and I, mentally comparing my desire for a raisin scone,
or vanilla butterscotch swirl,
to the taste bud reaction unfufilled,
find the clear plastic box of fresh blackberries,
like Leornard's tea,
that comes all the way from Mexique,
and inelegantly stuff my face...
been writin poetry since early morn, pre~sunrise, through first daylight,
and now eventide, she's off, the apartment gone quiet, as I munch on twelve blackberries I have extracted to ease my sweetness lacking
but blackberries are **** ****** that won't quell my inner needs,
of course, the notion of twelve blackberries, says, mmmm, could
be a poem in there somewhere, and the muses whisper asides, clues,
hints and apparitions of trite not quite ripe lines and verses that might
be apropos to a poem so ilked and milked (sorry), AND that word hits me
tween and behind my blue gray eyes,
T A R T
----------
with its mulivariable shades of meaning,
which amuse. and I love,
but also accuse me of possibly be distracted intowriting
bad poetry,
and wonder how the tongue disassembles our food,
separating their essence into the varieties of taste sensations,
sweet, sour, salty, bitter and savory
and reflect how wise these tiny tatse buds know
just how we humans sort people into categories that
mimic
just how knowing, assess, categorize,
our fellows humans
along the same principles,
how can there not be a supreme intelligence,
that designed our bodies so similarly
and yet so differently,
and efficiently?
something if we thought about more,
might make us less inclined to blow each other up
with such genteel aplomb.
apologize for dragging you through this rambling essay,
**but it came about when Stella Marie
asks, "when does a poem truly end?"**
it ends here, when you captures the flows of the living currents
we surround ourselves with, reaching out to capture their
flowing parfume essences,
the sweet, the sour, the savory,
and connecting them to a larger envisioning,
which how we operate,
why we do not ignore spectacular sunrises, sunsets,
the "curve of a wrist"
how an ankle turns a leg into a finished sentence,
how tears confess true emotion and clarify,
even though they actually intefere with seeing,
and now its time to depart, end this long rhyme
about longing,
for something sweet
and the short answer is,
jumbling and humbling,
"you just know"
for she's back and read this poem,
and tartly replies directly,
and answers your question
nml
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
Twelve.
Such a wonderful age.
The human is still young, yet beginning to gain more knowledge.
But my twelve was different.
My twelve wasn't playing with toys
Or reading books all day
No.
It was about working a hard job under my stepfather's violent hand.
About crying out for help
Yet too quiet to be heard.
My twelve was about finding the power of
Turning mental pain into that of physical
About the box of pills in my drawer
And a bottle of water helping them get into my system
My twelve was about going to sleep
And hoping i'll never wake up
About my mother not knowing her child tried to end his life
At its very beginning.
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 4:37 PM UTC
A bad day away
From the end of things,
Cause not a person stays.
And everything remains the same,
Despite all the change.
An hour to twelve,
When the clock strikes.
I burn one down.
And the match reminds me of hell;
Of dark depths, lit by scorching light.
Most deepest of desires, and precious hopes
We are fond of holding you close,
Fearful we will share our thoughts
And be lost to ourselves
To understand, what we know we never can
Jul 18, 2023
Jul 18, 2023 at 6:26 PM UTC
I Remember, I was twelve.
It was the first time I stayed up the whole night.
Not because I could but because my friend said I couldn't.
Curled with a book, stifling yawn after yawn.
I watched the sun rise
So elated. So naive.
Afterall who'd willingly pass up on sleep if not a child.
I remember I was twelve
Escaping clutches of sweet sleep.
Six years later I lay in bed,
Struggling to call the sleep I pushed away.
Staring aimlessly, frustrated,
screaming into a pillow, clutching it tightly.
6:40am IST
My eyes sting and relentless tears stream from them falling like caresses on my cheek.
I twist, I turn.
I try and try some more,
Then slowly succumb to boredom,
Seeking the sleep I hid from.
Nov 12, 2021
Nov 12, 2021 at 8:18 PM UTC
and i fear when seasons
and anything in particular
changes
its rooted far from rational explanation
reason removed, because i know
change is good
and those things that come with it
i know, i know
twelve thousand fold
for how long have i been told
fearing of change
is folly
when life is change
odd and strange
as paintings by dali
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 2:14 PM UTC
ᗩ ᗷᑌTTEᖇᖴIᑎGEᖇEᗪ ᖴEᒪᒪOᗯᔕᕼIᑭ Oᖴ TᗯEᒪᐯE
ᑭᒪᗩYIᑎG ᑕᗩTᑕᕼ ᗯITᕼ ᗰY ᑕOᑎᔕᑕIOᑌᔕᑎEᔕᔕ.
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 3:46 PM UTC
We show the fatigue of Twelve hours
of duty, to care for those that
Cant even breath without our care..
When we leave those that we wish
could survive till our next shift.
We go to grocery stores to find
our next meal,
but shelfs stripped clean...
By those who don't need,
but horde more than there need,
for either greed or profit.
We weep,
for we are holding our hands out like Oliver!!
Sir, Madam do you have anymore,
As we weep with empty stomachs..
making do with the scraps left behind..
"Sorry not till our next delivery,
But ill be at work then..
A tear drops lonely down a cheek.
Yes I've seen eBay, or online selling sites...
They make me sick to my heart,
to think I may have to save these gluttons
on an empty stomach.
But I don't judge
I just drop a tear for those I lost the
night before.
I tried,
they tried
but this venom, sinks in fast..
I wear the scars on my face, the masks digging in,
the cracked skin that I don't have time
to moisturise as I know its been a twelve hour shift.
I only sleep a few,
my moments of peace and tranquillity woken
early...
My beeper goes off, were on call..
At least I got more than most,
I give myself a two minute stretch,
and a wake up call, then I'm in fresh gear,
sanitise my hands, and put gloves on.
I'm fearful of this virus, as many have fell like
warriors on the battle field, now breathing through
masks of life and death.
But my vow of care is strong and I shake off
this fear, and walk into the ward a warrior
of positively.
"I will care for the fallen,
I will hold a fearful hand,
never will I let anyone go.
But I'm only one in a sea of many.
If I can keep on breathing till they have strength
its a win..
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
We love the sea
For her deep impartial parts
Which demand respect and remember fear
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
We love the heart
For how it beats aloud
For none to see and only one to hear
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
We love the rain
We love the night
We love the heart
We love the sea
We love the snow
We love the sun
We love the quiet
We love the trees
We love the dawn
We love the song
We love the sands
We love the birds
We love the warmth
We love the cold
We love the girl
We love the earth
How we love and love
And for a short while, our world
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC
College is
A peaceful mind
Because it's years
And years
Of nonthinking
Thought
Free of judgement
And greatly
At a price
Often bought
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
Pain, no conscious name
Be known, but never the less
In present heaven
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
No coloring known
Is such as described by man
Ever seen alive
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC
You cannot see me
Hear aloud
Though here I am regardless
Consisting of the why in wind
Though I may howl
And crash upon the sudden leaves
I am still
The whispering in the hear and now
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:03 PM UTC
Inside every tree
Once grown, is a seed of life
And death yet to be
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
Twelve days of Christmas
Your true love should give to you
Twelve of their best traits
The Pear tree is going to have to be empty this year
For what is truly sincere
Excitement of items are so out of here
That something so special, so dear
Will be in
For the rest of times
Santa better skip this house
Because I'd hate for our time together to be interrupted
You have no idea how many times my heart has erupted
Out of endless joy
Being around you
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
My love
I love you
Today
Tomorrow
Always
Forever
Yours,
Alexa
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
In a room full of twelve
It felt like eleven
Lonely isn’t the word
I would use to describe it
People were there
But I couldn’t bring myself to use them
People were there
But I couldn’t let my walls away from me
People were there
But I couldn’t let myself lean on them
That’s why I can’t ever go back to that island
I cannot be alone again
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
I always love new beginnings, new year resolutions. I love change. I love how January made me feel that "Oh, another year to have fun". I quickly grabbed a chocolate and watched my parents having their own quality time.
They were talking about divorce, and I've always wondered how did divorce even became an option? I never thought he would end the fight with his own fist and her blood. And I hated February, ever since then.
I told my friends that I hated love and how ****** love made me felt last month. They wished love will knock at their door this March. I asked why, they just told me "love isn't always a bad thing, and it never will."
I saw her crying and cursing her boyfriend's name at the corner. The day after that, I hated my Mom for forgiving my Dad, right after what he did. She just told me that's how love works. I guess April was made for bitter people like me.
May is my birth month. It was also the month, when we first met. I never liked the idea of you. You were the kind of guy, everyone can love but not everyone can handle.
I saw you with your friends, you were having fun. You asked me if you can court and steal my heart, I said no, but you continued anyway. June gave me feelings I thought I will never have.
You hugged me tight and asked me to stay. I said, I can't not because I didn't want to, but because I have to. You held my hand and told me you love me. July ended well because of you.
August started with a fight. My Mom hated me. You started talking to other girls, just like how my Dad did. All I did was to cry like tomorrow doesn't exist. You told me how sorry you are, the next day.
I hated September. You told me you didn't love me anymore. I let go of you. I started writing poems since the day you left me. And I guess that was bitter and sweet at the same time.
October wasn't that fun. I drunk my love away and let alcohol control my body. The next day, I found out how I told you how much I love you. And I don't blame alcohol for that.
"You need to move on, it's November already." my friends told me. I remember what my Mom said, so I forgave you for leaving me. But I wished you would never forget about me.
December came with coldness and your warmth is all I craved. I asked your friends, how you were doing, they said, you're fine without me. I used to love change, but now I hate how change overwhelm you completely.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
A phantom came to me
One night,
And told me that I must
Repent for all
The lying I've
Done.
"Throw away the temptation,"
He'd say, "solve
Where you stand in the
Universe and
Tell the truth, for God's
Sake!"
By God as my holy witness,
I swore that I
Would.
The hurt in Mommy's eyes
Strengthened the guilt that
Ate away at my
Deceitful little
Heart.
Daddy was the smart one
In this tedious war
Erupting inside our
Family. He forged
Alliances first and
Managed to
Make Mom the
Enemy.
He turned his children
Into soldiers so he
Could master
Victory; his children
Were ****** and broken
On the battlefield, but
We still had one
Last battle.
I was the rebel force
That exposed the
Truth to the
Enemy, only now I
Realize the real enemy
Was my father.
As the cover was
Blown,
She was a whirlwind
Ready to destroy
Anything in her
Way.
Even after hearing
Their screams
From the comforts
Of a corner and
As they sang happy birthday
To me with one
Pitiful candle in an
Expired cake,
I knew that in this lifetime,
Turning twelve
Wasn't so great.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC