Lot: Favorites

Jan 2019 Lot

Ideas

Jan 2019 Lot

Mmkay

Ideas

Ideas are better than reality.
In your mind,
Things are so much more,
Colorful and glossy.
With your expectations raised high,
And a brightness in your eye,
All for harsh reality
To splash cold water in your face.
And turn everything
Into dull blues, blacks, and grays.

It always seems like in my mind, things are so much more in focus, and lively, but when reality kicks in, it just doesn't compare to my imagination.

Jan 2019 Lot

You.

Jan 2019 Lot

Cempaka El

You.

Your blue eyes,
Look deep inside me,
Can't breathe no more;

In this haze and flame,
Burn bright,
Slowly **** all of me;

Your evil is hiding behind all of the white,
Amaze everyone,
Definitely not me.

Jan 2019 Lot

fingers

Jan 2019 Lot

A

fingers

I'll give you my fingers,
If I get your bones,
You can have my arms,
If I can take your skull.

You can take my heart, beating, from my chest,
I'll have yours in return,
If it isn't the best.

I'll give you my thoughts, wrapped up in saran,
If I can have your dreams,
The fastest in your clan.

It'll be a trade-off,
So easy you'll see,
So take me and I'll take you,
We'll fill in those empty spots,
That just won't do.

#loneliness #emptiness #empty #bones #poem

Jan 2019 Lot

The Gene

Jan 2019 Lot

Kurt Philip Behm

The Gene

There’s a gene embedded in every parent
  to recreate
  what their parents had done

Sometimes good, and sometimes bad,
  passing it down
  from father to son

To repeat family history through memories past
  the circle
  a lingering fate

Excuses come early with reasons
  too late
  DNA always proffered as bait

The young and the old both prisoners of time
  their footsteps in sequence
  to fall

And when questions are posed why they acted this way,
   they’re too busy passing it on
      —to recall

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Dec 2018 Lot

Sleep Eludes

Dec 2018 Lot

Star BG

Sleep Eludes

I can't sleep so I write releasing what’s in heart.
Poetry speaks
Angry, sometimes, echoing tones loud
to wake sleeping reader eyes.

While other times its light and airy
like drifting rainbow clouds that tickle senses.

Ever so often it rhymes inside song,
as if a nightingale whispering in ears.

It may be long like a saga that needs to be said,
as one floats in visions grand.
Or short like a Haiku that makes point fast
so clarity lingers.

I can’t sleep so I burn the night oil which these days becomes the lightbulb that matches moon.

Perhaps one will gander on my hills of phase
below their field of stars
or maybe reader be in slumber readied
in morning light to open my gate title.

Either way Its way past my bedtime and my dreams they do await... Farewell

#sleeplessness