"declined" poems
(from my hospital bed – Nov. 14 2017)
Over the bridge of friendship
How many time I've gone
Sometimes I'm met in the middle
Sometimes there is no one
Sometimes I am too weak to cross
Sometimes I am too strong
But crossing the bridge of friendship
That never can be wrong
Over the bridge of friendship
I've learned to heal two hearts
I've been the one most giving
And I've played the other part
I've been rude and selfish
And I've been loving and kind
But the bridge always reminds me
That I'm not alone this time
Over the bridge of friendship
I've travelled many times
Sometimes I am accepted
Sometimes I am declined
I'm not saying that I am perfect
I've had my share of pride
But I never would refuse you
On this bridge of yours and mine
So when you feel too sad or lonely
Just stop and turn around
And cross the bridge of friendship
Where you know I can be found
And I know the bridge of friendship
Will outlast me in the end
But when you take that last walk
I'll be waiting for you my friend
James H. Webb
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
I heard that he was insane
That his feelings were uncontrollable
I heard he committed suicide
It sounds so incredibly horrible
I heard he was seeing a shrink
I heard he thought he was fine
I heard he told him,
told him he could call anytime
but when he really needed him
He was declined.
I heard his father
he told him to be a man
He told him he couldn’t
and would never understand
I wonder has the guilt
swallowed him whole
I wonder will anything
fill his now empty soul
I heard his girlfriend she said goodbye
she was sick of the whines and all his cries
he said he didn’t need her
he needed no one
but in the end we all know he needed someone
I heard he did it with a gun
I wonder if it hurt
I heard he couldn't take it
All the pain and all the hurt
I heard he had a brother
a mother and a dad
I saw them at the funeral
they were bitter sweetly sad
I wonder does a tiger cry
when a brother loses his life
I wonder can you catch a tiger with a tear in its eye?
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 4:16 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
It is the 30th day of the months in Kenya
State and corporate capitalist have now paid their workers
Wages or salaries or stipends or emoluments all being remunerations
While the rural bourgeoisie and urban bourgeoisie have also paid ex-gratia
To relatives come over-aged workers who have declined retiring
For the fear of looming starvation if at all they go home, where they were born,
Nonetheless; proceed they receive will do nothing whatsoever
As it will be stifled by the monster of desperate consumerism;
So fat and gullible in this tiger of land in the region called Kenya;
The terror peddling rent, courtesy of ruthlessness of the landlord
Bills of electric power in their full monopolistic gear
Bills of water devoid of quality, indifferent dysentery monger
Wages for maid who keep on usurping the food of my child; milk
Bills for gas, all of it redolent of comprador bourgeoisie in fashion,
Hotel and bar bill - a surreptious one, as the bar girl only knows
Airtime and renewal, TV channels and other screen capitalistic ploys
Family trip to local resort in a feat of foolish consumerist venture,
Money to the old mother at home and, sometimes depraved but patient father
ARV’s money to my *** aids stricken sister at the village, my aunt also
Tuition fees for my son at the kindergarten, who goes to schools but learns nothing
fees balance which my wife has to pay at the tailor to ransom out her dress,
M-Pesa and M-Swari loan repayment, this only for Kenyan 30th dayers
They know the agony of dealing with Kenyan mega-capitalist safaricom ltd.
This consumerism and **** consumerism,
It is the menacing bane of the Kenyan poor
It is the avaricious tube which siphons back
The hard earned money from pockets of the poor
Back to despotic account of the pitiless world pigshotry.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
MIST CREEPING SLOWLY
The morning found
only blood & feathers.
The fox leaving
only Death
& its presence
& the gossip of the frightened chickens.
My uncle swearing
‘til the sky was blue
(early morning clouds that the sun shone through) .
An embarrassed ****
like a mad alarm clock
crying like a cartoon “cock-a-doodle-do! ”
My uncle dispatching him
with a quick kick.
“Oh yeah, and where the hell were you? ”
I take in the scene of the massacre
& whisper:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a chicken! ”
* * *
All that next week
my uncle stalked the chicken coup
waiting for the fox
who was clever enough
not to turn up
until the eight day
driven by his hunger & his nature
she stared into my uncle’s cold metallic sight
& the evil acrid smell of a cartridge caught in flight
as both it & the fox(shot through the head)
fell dead
at my uncle’s muddied boot.
My gentle uncle delirious with Death
the frosted air
stained with his breath.
His voice almost transformed
into an animalistic hoot:
“Hey boy, betcha didn’t know I
could shoot! ”
The good side of the fox’s face
seemed to still laugh
at the very idea of Death.
I whimpered:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a fox! ”
The countryside
brutal & Biblical
demanding
a life for a life
Yet all I could see
was Death...Death.
Priest-like...
I knelt & whispered
a quick act of contrition
to the fox’s carcase.
My uncle probably thought
I was barmy.
That night in celebration
my uncle wrung a chicken’s neck
(the chicken’s name was Patricia)
& I declined the clean
white breast
still haunted
by the chicken & the fox’s
death.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...
He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all
He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all
He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo
He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang
He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all
He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song
He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.
r ~ 4/12/14
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
trouble is our destiny
only two can play this game but
who will get hurt first?
who will love first?
these calls which i declined
these text which i just read
i love to tease you
i love to see you angry
you keep shouting at me
you keep calling me names
i thought you could keep up but
i just can laugh at you
there are no rules
and there will never be
but how can you win a serious game
with a funny player?
let that sink for a while sweatheart
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
They say a dog chooses it’s Master
and i believe a submissive does too.
Because just moments within meeting him,
i swear I already knew.
Set aside any criteria
and any particular credentials.
That something you can’t quite put your finger on,
Is one of my fundamentals.
I let him look inside my soul,
i show him I’m a dreamer.
Already he’s controlling me
and has altered my demeanour.
My logic screams inside me NO!
-Don’t sell your soul to the devil.
But my senses scream inside me YES...
“In his presence you will revel! “
The more we talk, the more I feared
as he changed my personality.
Yet further i delve into his aura,
although anticipating fatality.
Throwing caution to the wind,
i ignored my logic mind,
Ready to give him all of me,
til he suddenly declined.
Confusion strikes, I feel a loss.
Not knowing what I’ve done.
He tells me you’re not serious
and only seeking bedroom fun.
I don’t know how to prove myself,
wondering if this is just a test.
One day he’s here, the next he’s not.
I feel so... Dispossessed? !
I’d usually give up once rejected
but I know I must persist.
My inner sub is telling me
she needs him to exist.
You see jus moments within meeting him,
something was oh so very prominent.
I’m sure he doesn’t know it yet,
but he’s destined to be my
DOMINANT.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Rainy nights thinking about Rwanda,
fog seeps out of the woods.
Like smoke, it crawls across the fields.
My head lights attempt to cut through it,
as it intensifies, inhibiting my drive,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.
I arrive at the Mobil,
wait five minutes for the cashier to notice I’m here.
When she does, she hobbles over.
I attempt to buy a pack of backwoods,
my card gets declined,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.
I get in my car,
and have a fit when I can’t find my keys,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.
I begin to drive,
get cut off and curse fellow man,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.
I ***** and I moan,
an entitled little ****
but I’m alive,
which many can’t say after Rwanda.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
It is a lovely day here at my hometown
Going to do my routine. Running everything down
Decided to stop, in this lovely cafe
Ordered coffee and get back on my way
Bump to a stranger, dropped my belongings
I stared at his eyes, full of longings
Started to stand up, he offered his hands
I accepted it, and told him my apologies
He offered a drink but I declined
I decided to go
But he grabbed my arms
He said what's your name beautiful?
I said my name.
We talked and talked
We forgot everything that we had to do
It's like a spur in the moment
He sadly had to go
I saw his back turned to me walking
Suddenly he looked back
He yelled "Lovely scarf"
That's when I know
He'll be back
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
I pile up twenty years worth of
Publisher-declined
Collections.
They reach me to my knees.
Little towers of Poetic
Injustice;
Mini-monuments to the years
Of mailbox disappointments
And cursing the arts.
Now I thank for every manuscript
Returned with their polite regrets.
Another volume of *"Unpublished
Works"* for the future.
They are my Twelve Monkeys.
My Poetry of Gold at the
Rainbow's End.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
But we could be a family.
We could be a whole.
We could be together.
But no one could be cold.
If we could live on an island,
no hate,
no guns,
no war.
We'd look back and wonder,
what was it all for?
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
Gangs,
tempts,
nudes,
exempts.
We sit at desk,
eating or eaten.
we laughed at or laughing.
beating or bleedin'.
We know the truth, but call it cruel.
The cruel one is we, the blind fool.
People diein' on the streets
****** puddles at our feets.
Who shot the most guns?
Who then killed them all?
Who didn't mind a casualty?
Who could be responsible?
"Not me!" we cry,
"I'm a good soul."
But even if we declined,
can I be told where they go?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
I dreamt of you the other day
Such sweet resonance with your presence, it echoed a calm I only experience with you; awoken, and sound
You caught me in a time of plight, pulled me forth in valiant fervor
Your smile shined upon me, and I felt safe; feverishly exposing your excitement to explore the horizon
We drove into the fog; your warmth was tangible, even in my subconscious dwelling
Next to you, I simply felt good; a place I can not substitute
I felt calm, as if all qualms and scores of darkness simply melted away; you seemed happier than I had ever seen when I had not declined your beckoning
I felt home, and you seemed content to feel the same with me by you
If ever that could be true when I awake for this, life would forever be a dream
I dreamt for peace, and you were there; simplicity, two threads cut from the same cloth, bound together
I hope to bring you the same light
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
It's two in the morning & I can't fall asleep
My mind is feeling restless
From all these thoughts that never leave
I remember simpler days
Wishing I could move away
Five years down the line
Now look at where I stay
Sleeping in my homies truck
In a sketchy parking lot
Up & early before dawn
Plug my headphones
Music on
Off to work that 9 to 5
Putting in that over time
Cash my check then realize
IRS took every dime
**** this government of mine
Take our checks & say it's right
Swipe my card & get declined
They make it hard to stay alive
**** I'm tired of this life
But I ain't thinking suicide
For if I do they satisfied
Much rather fight for what is mine
Is there a way for this to change
If there is then lead the way
Living bumy day to day
Tell me how the **** can one maintain
When they come up on your pay
A fallen victim to their game
I now start to contemplate
Faster routes like
Slang some dope & push that yay
Pass me the yak I popp the cap
Take a swig & I knock it back
Lord forgive me for my sins
Might just bust my first break in
- Abraham Avalos
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
I was molded by his own hand
sculpted to perfection and eager to please
who else other than my husband
for without Adam, there is no Eve
at least, that was before he slithered into our perfect life
pounding our perfect garden into the ground with his slick feet
conniving and a brute,
he convinced me to take a bite
and share my fruit with man
for what is mine is his
my knowledge is his
I am his
together we ate
snacking and licking our fingers with glee
wiping the secretions of the fruit of mankind
against the tree we tore it from
until our Paradise's pastures declined
the wildflowers overtrodded with weeds
the singing waterfall vanished
only to be replaced by an evil, magmatic spout
and our tree,
our once bountiful, glorious, fruitful tree
decayed from the inside out
Adam's burning glare rotted my fruit and my seeds
until they and I dropped to the burning embers on the ground
like nicks off of a pebble that was thrown too hard
or like hairs from the back of a matted mother cat
that has spent far too many heatless winters hunting
for a different life,
for any life
with no more than a curse from Him,
I became the failed experiment of humanity
tossed into God's own graveyard
left to rot with my stolen seed
Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 1:16 PM UTC
Don't you ever tire of being in my dreams?
Don't you ever sleep?
You're there every night, it seems.
Don't you ever tire of running through my head?
Don't you ever ache?
Sometimes I dream you're dead.
Don't you ever tire of sitting in my brain?
Don't you feel guilt?
You're putting me through pain.
Don't you ever tire of being on my mind?
Don't you ever share?
My energy has declined.
Don't you ever tire of cracking on my skull?
Don't you ever go away?
This joke is getting dull.
Don't you ever tire of being my delusion?
Don't you understand?
You're the cause of my confusion.
Don't you ever tire of being in my dreams?
Don't you ever want peace?
You're with me every night, it seems.
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 6:19 PM UTC
On the day Liz Taylor died,
CNN called Larry King
out of retirement to
eulogize her during
the mornings
breakfast segment.
Tears were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
TEPCO stated that one
of the Fukushima nuclear
reactors was on fire.
Tears of cataclysm
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
government officials warned
that Tokyo's water was
contaminated with
radiation and was not fit
for infants to drink.
Tears of anguish
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
the crew of the
USS Ronald Reagan
scrubbed the deck
clean of TEPCO
radiation.
Tears of worry
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
Oregonians rushed out to
buy potassium iodine
tablets to counteract
radiation poisoning.
Tears of affliction
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
NATO forces continued
to fire missiles and drop
bombs on Libya.
Tears of agony
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
a terrorist bomb exploded
in Jerusalem, killing one
and injuring many.
Tears of vengeance
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
the Syrian Army fired on
demonstrators
calling for reforms.
Tears of hostility
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
The USA Today reported
that during the past decade
the population of Detroit
declined by 25%.
Tears of loss
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
a dilapidated brownstone
in Philadelphia collapsed;
city officials expect
many more to occur.
Tears of distress
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
President Obama cut
short his Latin American
trip by skipping a tour of
Mayan ruins.
Tears of dismay
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died
the Dow Jones Industrial
Average closed
up 67.39 points.
Tears of joy
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
Elton John dedicated the song,
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
to the memory of his departed friend.
Tears were shed.
You Tube Music Video:
Elton John,
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
Lewes DE
3/23/11
jbm
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
dreams help us to accept what happens in life
some dream of monsters or falling from great heights
I dream of not boxing
despite what you may think
I'm not violent
I'm kind
I'm just declined
the chance of my dream
I don't like teams
I like the extremes
teams let you down
but when you box
the only one that can let you down is you
and I don't lose
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
When my mind is full
I watch my thoughts
I realise crosses
are really the same as noughts.
I watch my breath
fill up space in my chest
and pacify my ego's need to protest.
Control is not a prerequisite
of a happy soul.
The same way your 'other half'
is not a prerequisite to your whole.
So once in a while let it all go
receive yourself,
the highs and lows.
Don't 'empty' your mind
in attempts to unbind
unwind, rewind, or realign
for how can you?
When you've no idea
what you've just declined.
So when your mind is full
and paints your heart grey,
become mindful of the fact
your thoughts make you that way.
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 5:18 AM UTC
The chilling nature who stood still,
Once decided to dance her way,
Inflicting a stir around as she moved,
Causing the world a great loss.
Thousands took their last breath,
While countless lost their shelters and families.
Rescuers sweat day and night,
Holding on to a fading hope.
The city that was once smiling,
Turned to a mass of shattered rubble.
Homes that were once full of laughter,
Declined to a mass of ****** dust.
The nature stopped her dance and left,
Leaving behind a cracked dance floor,
Leaving an air of cold death,
Leaving the whole earth mourning.
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 1:23 AM UTC
Lately your belly laughs and dry humor are flooding my mind. The only times we make eye contact are over volleyball nets and ice cream sales. Once the most important man in my life, you no longer fill the position. I fired you.
But then again, it’s like you quit. Instead of asking me about my day, you tell me about your new girlfriend. I’m beginning to forget the directions in which the wrinkles around your eyes move. I can’t exactly pinpoint your gray hairs anymore. You once embraced me with a father’s love but now pat your hand on my back.
Despite the frigid weather when you left, it didn’t seem so cold. But nine months has now felt like nine years and the temperature has only declined. It’s no surprise considering communication has never been your strong suit. Every time you speak is a cliffhanger. I am dangling from heights unknown, waiting for an answer that may not come. I want to submerge myself in your company and harmonize our voices in conversation. How are you?
My eyes do not reflect the chocolate brown in yours but instead radiate blue like the ocean. Unfortunately this is not our only contrast. Funny how years ago our faces were so similar but now that things have changed our only mutual feature is our height.
You’re half my original chromosomes but I don’t even know half of your day. Where do you go when it’s dark and the moon is shining down over you? What do you call home? Your absence is a mystery I cannot solve. The position I once promised you has been filled by a more qualified candidate; you wonder why I’m always with my boyfriend.
Although I am angry, I am sure this is unintentional. My hope is that this is only temporary. The only question is, how long will you be gone; when will you re-apply?
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Time went by as it's wont to do
It passed by without a trace
But, as the years transpired
He could not forget her face
He met her in the park one night
An offer from her lips
She could make his whole night special
She would use her woman's hips
She burned a mark onto his heart
A face he'd not forget
But, he sent her on her way again
Like others that he'd met
A ticket back to Georgia
To the home from where she came
He declined all of her offers
He didn't even know her name
Since then he'd had more offers
Fed more girls and brought them home
Many left before redemption
They would rather fight alone
But, she...somehow remembered
Not for her actions left undone
But, for the fact she took his offer
Left before they saw the sun
He never knew how long she'd
Been residing in the night
Never knew just what her reason
For leaving home and taking flight
To him she was a question
Left unanswered to this day
Did she use the one bus ticket ?
Did she venture on her way ?
He took her to the station
Left her waiting by herself
Never saw her board the Greyhound
No luggage for the shelf
He'd been back to the town park
Hadn't seen her since that night
Not that he'd been looking
For he knew he'd set her right
But, without proof of her leaving
The question gnawed at his insides
Did she take the chance he gave her?
Did she board the bus and ride ?
He was often at the diner
Eating meals with those he picked
Those he felt would take his offer
would try to heal the wounds he nicked
He'd get them all to open up
A mental knife slice to their brains
Make them see that they were worthy
Try to release them from their pain
Some would go and some would not
Still, he would venture back
To the park so full of vices
Where so many were off track
One day while he was waiting
For his dinner to be served
He saw across the table
A face that left him quite un-nerved
He swore he'd seen the girl child
The one whose name he did not know
She was in the diner with another
Inside, protected from the snow
He caught a glance, and that was all
He looked again, she was not there
He looked around the diner
Where she went he knew not where
He really wasn't certain,
If it was her he saw that night
But, it raised that certain question
Or was it just a trick of light
Did she go home back to Georgia?
Or was she still there in the park?
Was she at home with her parents?
Or was she hooking after dark?
I guess he'll never know the answer
Nor, will we without much fuss
Is she still waiting for redemption?
Did she get upon the bus ?.....
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
The Rav
of Northern White Russia declined,
in his youth, to learn the
language of birds, because
the extraneous did not interest him; nevertheless
when he grew old it was found
he understood them anyway, having
listened well, and as it is said, 'prayed
with the bench and the floor.' He used
what was at hand--as did
Angel Jones of Mold, whose meditations
were sewn into coats and britches.
Well, I would like to make,
thinking some line still taut between me and them,
poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with his needle in the air.
2.9k
1706
When we have ceased to care
The Gift is given
For which we gave the Earth
And mortgaged Heaven
But so declined in worth
’Tis ignominy now
To look upon—
2.7k