"alluding" poems
Love is a rare and dangerous creature
That only shows face when the time is right now
Lust is a complimentary feature
Which keeps lovers guessing til both settle down
Not to say everyone settles for less
Love doesn't lie, but it leaves room for choice
Those who are willing to give it their best
Keep Lust in its place and let Love be the voice
Love is adaptable, constantly changing
It morphs and it breathes like a woman or man
Lust is impassible, always deranging
It puts up a wall and masks what it can
Nobody knows what happens to Love
When distance requires the mind to have faith
And stare at the images Lust conjures up
Alluding ideas of mistrust and distaste
Isn't it better to let Love be free?
To keep it confined would just let it die
Allowing the chains for which Lust has the key
To govern the feelings of comfort and pride
Be free, my love, to run through the brush
But always remember where you were at peace
And hurry on back when you've had enough
For I may not be here when your venture has ceased
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
You remind me of Chai tea.
You're warm, and sweet, and you make me want to curl up with you on a rainy day, tangled in bedsheets and watching the rain pitter patter on the window, in my pajamas and my hair piled up atop my head, listening to soft music that speak of lazy love and croon of kisses.
You make me think of tan sweaters and unrecognizable spices, alluding to all the mystery I don't know and want to know, devouring you like I would a good book on a crisp autumn day. You make me want to take a road trip to a forest where the fog comes meandering in, and I sit in the backseat, talking about life-to me, to you, or my non-metaphorical, quite literal, tea.
You make me want to slow down, and sit in a coffee shop and work on a book, or admire the chipped mug that you came in.
You remind me of Chai tea, and all that we could be.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
we are the stories between the armpit
and the hand
between the whisper and the sigh
forged by galaxies of wounds
in the fragility of light
of spaces crushed
by the acceleration of time
our irises boundless
sometimes
we are the stories that tell
our soles when to stop
our bones when to sing
that put sunflowers
in our haze
cranberries in our waitings
delight in our might
skyscrappers of thought in our deeds
promises in our hands full of mud
over caskets
we are the stories of love's failure
(aren't we asking too much from love?)
of decay of pretend of parasitic laughter
of the violence of bodies without minds
without singing in the hearts
stories of fists strife and toil,
the boredom of dawn
repetition of self-deception
circles not round
triangles full of hurt
of the rigidity of one plus one
equals two
the rest is wonder
so many stories exchanging nouns, verbs
attributes just to capture
what is forever escaping alluding flowing
naturally undisturbed in the exchange of
vowels
like dark matter that escapes iself
only in dreams
was it the awe of vowels that invented the world?
incessantly on the edge
of chaos of blindness of knowing
of loss of void of grief & joy
of floating to the unknown
or pausing into certainty
hard working minds and eager souls
errect citadels of meaning
in dialogue sometimes
or as oppressive as
the denial of slippery roads
of sad guitars or
maddening violins
our shadows sit closely next to us
precisely when
we're stepping into the light
Jan 8, 2023
Jan 8, 2023 at 6:28 AM UTC
I am a caged bird, my song is calm
my master lets me sleep in his palm
I am a caged bird, my song is weak
my master likes to kiss my beak
I am a caged bird, my wings are useless, they're clipped
my master thinks I'll leave with every drink he sipped
I am a caged bird, my eyes are dark and brooding
my master thinks its his fate to which I'm alluding
I am a caged bird, my master broke my cage
Because my song changed after seeing his rage
I am an injured bird, my song is calm
my master lets me sleep in his palm
I am an injured bird, my song is weak
my Master likes to kiss my beak
I am an injured bird, my wing is pierced
my Master only hurt me because I hurt him first
I am an injured bird, my eyes are hopeless
my Master says he misses my caress
I am a happy bird, I cannot fly
but with my Master I need not try
I am a Happy bird, I cannot sing
for my Master, my sweet king
I am a Happy Bird, I laid an egg one day
it seems like master will let me stay
Master doesn't want another bird, he says
I am a content bird, I take my egg and part ways.
Master is looking for me, he looks insane
I hold my egg and cry, I need not explain
I am a hiding bird, I do not sing
for fear that through the forest my song will ring
I am a hiding bird, I dropped my egg and it died
for fear that this baby would know the reasons I cried
I am an injured bird, wont you please come see?
I won't even take off the ring he put on me
I am an injured bird, wont you **** me now?
He's hurt me too much to break my vow
I am an injured bird, I miss my Master
the one before his blows came faster
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
Can I show you how beautiful you are? Can I take out the old photo albums and push my index finger into the faces, the places, and seas? I want to peel back the plastic and remove the square photographs from their sticky setting. I'm alluding to ideas that exist more formidably on the internet- there are no paper photographs, no sticky settings, there aren't even faces in the numbers; it's only ever been you or me.
Some of my things are crooked. The strings don't work, the wires are twisted and make the sounds all come out funny. There's a strange buzzing everywhere, it's like Mickey's gray cloud, a cloud Koopa throwing spiked shells from Park Avenue beach to Montrose street. Everything is quiet, consuming, unassuming and still recalcitrant. I'm showing nothing to nobody. Coaxing storm systems and netting foul play and ***** tricks, with my pants around my ankles or my fly unzipped.
I'm stinking of this stuff. These sudorific crevices on the insides of my thighs. I'm more or less always pacing. Rocking. Rolling. Small room I'm living room, cadavers I stuff my skinny fingers inside of- cold, wet hollow places I'm seeking skin covered gods in. I'm craving tastes and flavors. I'm looking at these pictures of me, of my face and the clothes I wore, the people that knew me. Where have I disappeared to? Every place that I went, every condition of my humanness has gone. Five minutes past my certainty, squirting hot molten magma from my **** my lips, and my fingertips. Hysterical thoughts and homily. I want just a hello. I want just a hello.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Foggy morrows alluding to the rest of day,
a grand mystery of what will be,
enshrouded in mists mans mystery motivates,
it calls upon our curiosity to investigate
and pursue misty shadows lurking and lingering.
What new mysteries shall be in this new day?
What marvels may be obliged to see?
Ah, this fabulous foggy morrow holds such marvellous,
deeply seeded, and enshrouded in curiosity, mysteries.
Oh the Foggy Morrows such relevance to life
I see in you, despite the foggy nature of your being.
Tho’ only temporary, your mystery shall reveal things
later becoming old, that is what you do,
Oh dearest Foggy morrows.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Lyrical—
like poetry in motion.
Rhythmic—
like the motion of the ocean.
Fluid like a breeze
passin with great ease,
Movin through the branches
Dancin through the leaves.
Flowin like my mind,
Going over time,
puffin on some trees,
Like truth I’m bout to find.
Stayin on my grind.
Leavin fear behind.
Blastin through the cosmos
like my stars are all aligned.
Quantum physics redefined,
The beauty of being kind.
Travel thru dimensions,
A universal mastermind.
This illusory time
alluding to retain us-
Yet the conscious mind
refuses to contain us.
Recondition of the masses,
Before time comes to pass us.
before it’s all too late
Start movement to change
Let’s wake each other up
Let’s take control over our fate.
Again and again,
Love it till it’s over,
live it till it’s fin.
A reflection of your life spent,
a vessel that you’ve been lent,
so go forth with intent.
Gratitude for all worth
Know you are important
Every breath, and all birth.
Your light that resides true
In the poetry inside you.
The vibration stays fluid,
Like the love that is intuit.
You’re a medium— a conduit.
Yeah, now you’re catchin onto it.
High frequency—-
Waves of love
True vibrancy,
Bonds—-
you are free of.
Faith in self,
No need for vaunt,
lovin what you have
not havin what you want.
Give it all you got
till you got nothin left,
Then take the deepest breath
And give it once again.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
Love
is excitement and the lack thereof
Sensuality
developing across
a bed of thoughts
Effervescent
Droning
Bending to your will and
guiding it
Alluding you entirely
Compatible in all ways but one,
or one way but none
Love is whatever you make it to be
defined only by the realization of it's existence
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 12:47 AM UTC
you wrote the book on being an *******
i read it twice.
and i find myself alluding to it
all the time.
you told me the definition of high art was broke.
if i wanted to succeed,
i needed to trash my collection of huxley
and memorize
every action sequence
in every jerry bruckheimer film.
you based the last six years of your life
on a ghandi misquote,
you ripped from wikipedia.
you told me love was just mankind kidding himself.
only trust in what you can feel,
"like *******
i wrote an article about you,
i asked if you believed in god.
your reply,
"god is a concept
by which we measure our pain."
i thought that was clever.
it took me 3 months to remember
that's off lennon's Plastic Ono Band.
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
This is not my home,
Blame narcissism; what I bring to the table is balance and I’m not alluding to table salt,
Credited Shiva when fables taught;
So why am I alone?
To the left are the people I left,
I can even summarize as past,
Their decisions were based off right removing rights,
This is an act of freedom;
Feeling obligated to honor a name,
The illusion is last,
As of right now,
I exist in between,
It’s during the experience, that I wonder…
Sooo, why am I alone?
When I lay eyes on a female, I want her to feel disrespected,
It’s important that a female is aware of her insecurities,
It’s important that she sees the disconnection, impurities, her own reflection,
Buddy want his hotdog wet; thought ejects*,
Natural selection,
Buddy want the Top Dog vest,
I’m baffled, I only guide a confession,
I’m eliciting the potential,
Pushing a resurrection,
Sharing; passing lessons,
Sparking questions,
My love you’re in the box, I want you to be free; Change of perception,
They fed you food for regressions and impressions,
Polarity rings; I’m attracted to the curves, the body’s expression,
That musty smell of oppression/depression,
How could you blame me for wanting to interfere,
I hate MEN; I’m calling progressive…
FLO here,
For lovers only,
Love is what I’ve been giving since birth, and I don’t expect a return,
People show hate; universe translation (twenty years later),
“Tough love”; discerned,
I laugh daily, that is the outcome of pain,
Me wearing colors was the outcome of being plain,
I made a choice; no longer was the same,
I can honestly relate to Jane,
Feminism is misconceived these days; point was a healthy balance of both carries no shame,
It’s unknown, separate from the game,
Adiyogi Shiva; Transcendental if omming the name…
I always wonder if I’m narcissistic; I love people unconditionally, there’s no reason why I should ever feel alone.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
Open face of demonstration, demanding a new declaration
by excreting exclamations to explain to them
that there is no place for them to lay their head.
You want to erase them, and just replace them again
with a new generation that will provide the revelation
that will spark the alleviation of the victims of trade that had been played by those trained
to wrap chains around them, no longer locked to the ground but running in place nonetheless,
circling around at whatever pace has been set.
Playing house in the devil’s play-set.
Always alluding to what you wanna play next.
It’s time to resign from the contract you signed, pay all of the cancellation fines,
so you can start your own design.
The one that makes you inclined to put time into that
which will impact the things that you blame for losing your mind.
The things, you complain, are a waste of your time,
While you sit around and just hate and drink up a glass of whine.
Open innovation can transform into inspirational collaboration,
which will then send out invitations to the world
to take their own aboriginal exploration which would in turn destroy all awol nations,
thus, breaking the boundaries of potential imagination.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Today's my birthday
and it's I, me, mine.
My ego's not in check
and this is a sign.
I'm liking fine whiskey
in my ice tea,
it gives me a jolt.
Makes this yesterday's
stallion feel like a colt.
I'm giving some thought
to what my Mother
went through,
I wish I could say
I was a good son
but it wasn't always true.
Just like the death of infatuation
kills the manners,
I want hats and *******
and mile long banners.
Today is my birthday,
it's not like it's my first.
Give me more whiskey
to quench my thirst.
I'm partial to all that
makes my skin crawl,
I'm not talking about morphine,
no not at all.
I'm alluding to a blank canvas
that I can't quite right,
no paint to splatter,
I'm feeling uptight...
Please bake me a cake
and sing me the tune,
another one will be here all too soon.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
i woke up all solidified and my eyes strong
fixated on Matthyon you are grotesque dream
alike rosé cheeks the sour cream kind
dusted with finger prints we parade
in cities sick in dust cities in
parchment we remain fragile
they get fingered
i had to ask for Matthyon's
name your spelt-out request you
came to me held a finger up for
every letter carefully, mysteriously
my new alphabet
Matthyon we fought each other for bread
in white rooms i dusted my cheeks with
yeast; saw you bore the mark
drawn on pages the male curiosity in dust
makes me cough
the pride i have slumbers
you waved and smiled with rosé fever
Matthyon alluding to how my dreams may express feelings and love
how the question was cut out of my flesh
i want this to be well done
Matthyon the clouds do not often agree on the psyche of the human being
untransparant down there
it slips through their fingers; blood stains appear in the sky
on those evenings only
and i'm finding part of it
in the pages of parchment bibles
make me dust off my puffed
embarrassed cheekbones
i look up
i split meat from bone
i want this to be well done
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
I've been swimming for days.
That land's still crystal clear.
Bold/Dark line won't erase.
It's your name that I hear.
Wish I never had learned it.
Your blood's too fast for me.
That pink bookmark? I burned it.
Hope your head rolls off from leprosy.
I've got a case of the greys.
Yeah, it's all your fault.
I choked on a bone (frozen gaze),
When you poked my iris out.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 5:05 PM UTC
Ghosting in the window pane
This stranger gazes back at me
Identical in all regard
Except for his transparency.
With judgmental hollow eyes
alluding dissaproval's glint
And sulphur lips so thin and pale,
No brother's touch across the vale.
This spectre in the window pane
Familiarity's warmth has flown
To shadow in the darkest night,
A vapour in the way of right.
Marshalg
20 September 2013
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
I know love not as an arm around a waist,
nor fingers teasing hair and running down a neck--
but as a temporary tattoo,
and the fleeting taste of Zebra Fruit Stripe Gum.
And just like Da Vinci never slept,
but took several naps a day--
So do I fall in love daily,
but tenfold!
The deep yearning that wells within my soul
and sits as the lump lodged within my aching throat,
I stumble through the day tripping over my enamoredness
towards any kind soul who dares to look my way,
or speak my name,
or touch my hand--
and I want to set up a kissing booth
in the middle of a shopping center
or my college campus,
and solicit others to grant me a taste of their humanity
in the holiest of ways,
man or woman,
young or old,
to but press their lips against mine for a second
and I would become illuminated,
rejuvenated,
and I would leap from my weary mental confines
like a grasshopper springing out of tall grass,
and love would well up within me--
Not as a transient fix,
but an anchor in these uncharted waters,
a cool glass of milk to a parched throat in a late night hour,
outlasting any cheap ****** or content stomach,
and shying away the facade of complacency.
I would burst forth like a battering ram
through the prison cell doors I weep and wallow behind,
and I'd have a skip in my step
that would ferry me across every pond and great lake.
For these hands do not pray,
but they tremble, and they ache.
And these lips do as hands do,
as they rest upon a placid face
that looks in the mirror and reads
of the anguish seeping out of inflamed pores
and burrowing between the creases
alluding a furrowed brow,
and if but a kiss could render one free
from such odious palpations,
then I'll gladly set mine to the liberator,
whomever it may be--
And how many lips does it take
to get to the center of my frozen aching heart?
The world may never know.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
As I wander in, the path ahead unfolding
I'm forced to reassess the playing cards I'm holding
Conquer and divide the uncertainties,
only to find they're alive, they've multiplied
And though my days wandering down the wrong path have ended
Its set for the aimless wandering to begin
Most days are unsurprising
I can see the sun arising
Illuminating the things I've learned thusfar
Though still leaving me with a tin can for a heart
It's like looking in the rear view mirror,
objects no more nearer, rather farther
And it's only getting harder seeing, believing that my intuition's not deceiving,
That the feeling that's haunting me
Isn't just because of where I want to be,
That what I see is what I see,
That I haven't shrouded my head in rose colored glasses,
Not clouding myself with whatever flight of fancy
Passes me from midnight to midmorning, warning me
That morning light dancing across my bed isn't the harbinger of another day of medioctiry,
But the bringer of the life I swear I see.
That I haven't deluded myself concluding,
Reading signs alluding to some moment frozen inside my head subconsciously
That I swear has been there all my life,
That I'm fated like I thought, not condemned to waiting,
Not believing without reason, not deceiving,
But seeing the redeeming that I've seen,
Just believing what I've seen.
Just believing.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 2:36 PM UTC
Man nestles further in his falsehoods and fabrications
The subdued hues alluding to something...Lesser
Rough yet rigid, in pillars frigid and
Stone.
Barely fitting, barely standing
Hardly loving, hardly meaning to go
Choked like an asthmatic child in the smog
We are the snow in a blizzard after the world prayed for sun
The wolf at the door with teeth gone dull
Don't worry of the time
You've plenty to mull
It over.
In the face of the storm we comprise
The sun to bright in our losing eyes
We must go.
Lest the scars of our past strangle us like a partridge for dinner
With loss there's no winner at all.
Meet my eyes even if you don't love me with your heart
Don't be
Harsh.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
in history, when hen and then again, east and west become alike, the h and h of what's current, and when science encompasses trigonometry of the threes, with waving doubles of the u, and the chance graphic of x, y, z expansion; sometimes it's not what's about to be lived, but rather what's to be understood.
i'm alluding to, i'm not deluded by,
but then what's sanity
if a haystack rather than a pitchfork is,
with the concept of reincarnation appropriated
for educational purposes?
don't look at me to manage the immortals'
puppet strings; if his highness would
kindly like to stop hanging
on the four winds
and re-enter the tetragrammaton
from his holy tetracursus
ambitions - another day
brought into night with a flick of the hand -
yes, down from the cross;
expanding as he has no wonder
the Indians and the Chinese
are unconvinced crafting a likeness not akin
to lions but to ants - thus they number
happily without existential concerns -
not a single number partaking in ambivalent
sales of a hundred years like it was eternity;
it's just a t-shirt, i was just
a ****** tourist, look,
i'm wearing umbro jogging trousers,
a dressing-gown, and a t-shirt
with a Maltese cross of the Hospitallers
on it... that's all;
and if the Eiffel tower was the first
structure to topple the height of the pyramids
of Giza... i'm not surprised by the dark ages...
imagine building a skyscraper with
only two rooms in it... i've stood under
the Eiffel tower... it's scary to think
of the pyramids and the glorification of
man about to be buried
with a reverse anatomy of
being ****** out dry and not become
an ***** donor, when a simple engraving would
suffice - you know, the more human
you become (i.e. age), the more bewildered
you become by the body you're stored in
rather than the things outside of you
in what's called the universe paradoxically
to no known unity among man.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
Sometimes I find myself lost
In your eyes
My thoughts speeding away
As I attempt to comprehend
Your smile
So hypnotic you are,
That every breath I take
Is one less than before
Until the whole world halts,
And existence begins to skip
Like a record stuck in a groove
That attempts to do your beauty
Justice...
To no avail
And there are no words to describe,
Or define,
Every intricate feature
Which so captivates my mind
Body and soul
So completely
As to make me wonder if time
Was ever really real
Or if it was just an illusion
Alluding to your alluring
Eyes
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
About a year ago,
Some man with an ulterior motive called,
Took it upon himself to take advantage
Of your orchestrated guilt, and you
Allowed him to intimidate and manipulate you
Slow in catching on to his surreptitious tactics,
Would have been slower if it weren't for two,
You know who I'm alluding to,
You felt that all your crown
Needed was a dunce cap.
Heed to the lesson: never surrender to
Anyone or anything out of intimidation.
Originally written 10/31/13
Revised 11/16/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Let us commerate this tragedy.
Soil our hearts with fascist taunts and pointed fingers.
Let us put our hands together and bow.
Good, everyone is still standing.
Praise be to nothing.
There can only be one.
And none of these heathens shall strip me of what's due.
For having lived a tough life.
Or fallen from loves favor.
Search yourself for justification.
Another excuse.
To make the day go by a little faster.
With a world filled with sinners.
What.
Can one person really do.
Change.
Anything at all?
For even the previous days.
Turned a blind eye.
Consuming.
Alluding..
Resuming
Right when the ground became solid again.
Regret just bellow the aching mealstrom.
Even as we embark on that familiar road.
And then all that's left to do.
Is to look towards the furture.
As we blink for the past.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
An anxious amortal
archnemesis
affectionately
allowing an amoral
animosity
achieve an attitudal
agressive and aversion against
any and all
annoying,
aggravating,
afflicting,
and almost annihilating
alliterations,
although all
aforementioned actions
are absolutely
artificial.
An amiable
abomination
and architectural abuse
at an alphabet achieved
after aesthetically
arranging ample
arbitrary
alternatives alone,
amounting an acclamation.
An affinity at
awkward avante-garde arts
arising at
an astronomical acceleration,
aside an archaic
argumentum ad
antiquitatem argument
awfully appraising
an atheistic and agnostic
apparition,
anthrophomorphically
alive and apparently
alright after asphyxiation,
alluding an astral authority
absolving accusations
and all allegations.
An advantageously
astute and adroit assassin
always actively
acting and assaulting
alone, ain't assisted
anyhow,
already
antiquating auxillaries
altogether.
An alliteratious afterfocus:
Aborting all anticipations.
Anticipating affirmative antagonizations.
All are alright.
Already airtight.
Adios, amigos.
Author: anonymous,
an acorn-afflicted,
assassinatrix affiliate.
attributed as Agent Argent.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Quit it! Stop being hypocritical about freedom
What type or what kind that you are talking about?
Be serious! Keep on talking about freedom
Until you drive me to boredom
Until I am strong enough to eat a live trout
Keep on yelling freedom, freedom
Until you lose your kingdom
In Galatians 5: 1,13-15: we found these words, not in error
"You shall love as yourself your neighbor"
"But through love become slaves to one another"
"If, however, you bite and devour one another,
Take care that you are not consumed by one another"
Go read the Bible yourselves, ‘because we are free'
We are brothers and sisters, we should love one another
Yes, Christ died for our freedom, for our liberty
We want freedom in America
We want freedom in Cuba
We want freedom in Columbia
We want freedom in Haiti
Which is poor because of exploitation
Corruption, violence, hatred, pollution
Lies, extortion, racism, theft, distortion
Misery, slavery, crimes and discrimination
Stop, stop being hypocritical about freedom
Let's finish elaborating and talking about freedom
Before alluding to or commenting on democracy
Which is more twisted, complex, convoluted or mazy
Big brother is supposed to protect the little one
In this world, we should fight for freedom for everyone
For the rich, the poor, the underprivileged and the elderly
The strong must protect the weak one. Oh! Miss Liberty
Stands for something noble and divine for all
"For freedom Christ has set us free", so we can walk tall
So we can think freely
So we can wink freely
So we can talk freely
So we can walk freely
So we can laugh freely
So we can clap freely
So we can write freely
So we can chat freely
So we can dream freely
So we can invent freely
So we can yell freely
So we can enjoy life freely
While respecting each other
And protecting one another
Oh! Freedom, Freedom. Too many humans have senselessly
And falsely die in your name. Oh! Freedom. Oh! Liberty.
Copyright © July 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 4:59 AM UTC
On the other side
of my over
thinking
I’ve come to realize I still have
more questions
than answers
The future feels just the same as
it did ten years ago when my now
was my future
then
Friends are more often
thought about
than visited
when later today turns into tomorrow
and tomorrow turns
into this weekend
and then next weekend
once a month
whenever you can
because time pushes us all into
this strange thing
called Life
and it’s full of all kinds of ********
designed to rob you of
your money
your sanity
your time
but don’t let this discourage you
from greeting tomorrow
with open arms
and a head full of more questions
than answers
The magic doesn’t seem
to happen as often,
but on the days it does
You have a good day at work,
you pay all the monthly bills on time,
your schedule syncs with an old
college friend and you meet for
coffee, or street tacos from a
local food trailer, or you shoot
pool and whiskey at a dive bar
early Saturday evening
and it feels like the old times again,
and you learn the things you did
were your first stumblings into
adulthood and even though they
sometimes change the way you walk
forever, it’s those times you discover
again when you start your third game
and the songs you queued on the jukebox
start playing and now that you can enjoy
the taste of good whiskey more than the
quantity of well, and all the loose fragments
of the memories we carry every day, left open
on the table in a journal with more strikeout
lines than unmolested phrases all become
complete with each corner pocket called
shot, each memory recalled and retold with
language alluding Greek Epics and Shakespearean
Tragedies,
It all starts to make more sense in ways
and stops making sense in others,
and the future is the same as it always was
some things
you can change,
some people
you can keep
some days
turn into weeks,
months, and years
trying to make sense
of what’s coming,
of what’s gone,
of just what, exactly,
we have now.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC