"dependable" poems
I’ve been told that I am thoughtful,
that my feet are on the ground.
Some say that I am likeable
and fun to be around.
It’s been said that to my principles
I stand firm and true.
That I’m dependable and honest
In the things I say and do.
But the single greatest compliment
that I have ever had,
Is when somebody told me,
“You remind me of your dad.”
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
No food
No sleep
I can't let these things reach out and speak sweet lies
I can't let food call my name
I can't let sleep drown my thoughts
I shouldn't eat
I can't sleep
This is me
I am broken girl
Who can't eat
In fear I weigh too much
I am a broken girl who can't sleep
For my thoughts and memories
Haunt me too much
I am a broken girl who answers 'how are you?'
With 'I'm alright' even when I'm not even close
Because I don't want you to worry
I don't want you to fret
Over a broken soul
I am a broken girl who says 'I have been busy'
when someone asks me why I haven't done something
I have been busy just not in the way they think
I have been busy trying not to give into hunger
I have been busy fixating on how I'm broken
I have been busy
But not in the way they think
I am a broken girl who has let her demons
creep up on her too much
I am a broken girl who has surrendered
her soul
I am a broken girl who dates so she feels
worth something because I don't when I'm alone
I date because I need to depend on someone
Because I am not dependable for anyone
Let alone myself
I date so I can hear someone say I love you
So I can hear someone call me beautiful
Cute
Amazing
And so many other things
Even if I don't believe it
I am a broken girl who has lost so many relationships
Five to death
And so many others just because they left
I was no longer good enough
No longer happy enough
No longer
PRETENDING
I am a broken girl who pretends
And when I stop people leave
Because I am too broken
I am too clingy
I am too demanding
I'm just not enough
Or I'm too much
THIS IS ME
But no one sees
Until I let them
And when I do they worry
But please don't worry
Because you didn't when you didn't know
So why worry now?
I'm still the same me
You just couldn't see all the flaws that my eyes do
You don't see the way I do
I see a girl who's eyes are too big
I see a girl who isn't thin enough
I see a girl who's hair doesn't suit her no matter what
I see a girl with too many scars
I see a girl
But I don't
For all I can see now is a walking flaw
And no one knows that
THIS IS ME
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
Every girl like me dreamed to have a prince charming,
Who will treat me as his princess.
I want my prince charming to be -
Handsome,
With really cute smile;
And when I'm walking with him in the mall
Other girls couldn't stop staring at us,
Wishing they have a prince like mine.
I want someone who sings well,
He'll write songs for me
And keeps on serenading me,
Making my me blush all the time.
I'm quite a tall girl,
So he must be at least 4 inches taller than me.
So that even though I'm on my stilettos,
He would still stand tall.
But as I grew older,
I realized that my childish imagination of my prince charming has changed;
Just a decent-looking guy is enough,
I no longer care if he sings well;
I'm no longer too particular of his physical appearance
'Coz I realized
That what's inside his heart is what matters most.
Now, what I want is a sweet guy,
Who will turn ordinary days to special ones,
Keep on surprising me
Making me always happy.
I want to have someone who -
Will genuinely love me;
Is trustworthy;
Will get my family's approval and respect them;
Is a God-loving one;
Will truly care for me;
Is dependable;
Will be true to me;
Will accept me for who I am really;
Will always be there for me.
Whoever he will be,
I will love him for eternity.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
Dear Mom,
You are awake when everyone are sleeping.
You are working when everyone are having a break.
And yet you are standing there with the brightest smile
Without the slightest hint of tiredness
I look up to you,
I adore you,
I love you.
Dear Mom,
Can i be like you?
So strong in body and will,
So caring for others,
So dependable to your family
Dear Mom,
Once again i tell you,
I love you.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
*"A working man
that's what you are
a young, dependable
not entirely punctual
working man
and you can do anything
with your working hands
fix a tap, wire a circuit,
build a garden wall
or fell a tree
you can do
whatever you put your hands to
you can be whatever you want to be"*
Something breaks
*"with working hands
I'll try to fix it but
it takes time to learn
it takes time
to be good at something
for me
everything takes time
I'm not bad they say
just learning
in my frustration I wonder
what if I'm at full capacity
when there's more to come?
what if I'm just incapable?
destined to be an idle man
with rough, callused
soon to be soft
and useless
working hands"*
. . .
Well I want tomorrow today
so what good are these
working hands anyway?
I work and work and work away
pay my bills
I'm always late with rent
yes, work is overrated and
my pay doesn't make a dent
can't replace all the time I've spent
working with my hands
Isn't it funny
trading something so precious
for something as trivial as money
my brain works over time
day and night
when I get to work
it's like turning out a light
I think less and do more
it's kind of nice
so I think I'll sit tight
and stay on the tools
reject the office jobs
I can have it all
white finger
back problems
an RSI
bad knees
asbestosis
and arc eye
I can get all of them
so long as I try
work really hard and graft away
working man and all that!
who wants tomorrow today
when you can wear a hard hat?
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
Papers are flimsy, fragile
so susceptible to time
and harsher climates.
Scissors cut and divide
thriving on irreparable separation
to leave us in pieces and scattered.
Rocks are rough and tough
facing--and looking--the worst
while enduring every day and night to come.
My choice resides amongst the stones
constant, long-lasting, dependable
in the challenges that may have others call
for support when they can't stand alone
for maybe the times they lived were too much, too long
after facing the blades which cut them into small, segregated fragments.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
I exist in a world of careful structure
Taken out of Chaos and made habitable
By strict planning and strict ruling—
Structure is imperative
Order keeps us going
Deviations are not allowed
If you wish to live in my world
You must learn to follow rules
Reliability is key
Being dependable as the rising sun
Predictable as a new moon
Always infallible
Disappointments are not tolerated
Insufficient will be cast away
Deviations are not allowed
So if you can’t be trusted
Then you don’t belong here
There will be order in my house
For in games of two, there can be no others
There
Are
Rules
And they exist to keep us out of Chaos
They exist because structure
Ensures that we don’t collapse
So when your eyes are wandering
You are marking yourself as inconstant
Dangerous
Unacceptable
And I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve suffered for every sweetness you’ve laid at another’s feet
I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve learned that you must always choose me
I will burn you for every betrayal
And some will call me jealous
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 5:41 PM UTC
it was the Cubist who created the space and color that
everywhere today assails our eyes
in uniform architecture and monotonous
design; the various branches of modern art
through tedious & exhaustive experiment
& research creating a massive cultural sinkhole
whose banal discoveries unveil for all the sameness
of form, line and color;
Quote from Gorky's 'Camouflage', 1942: I like the heat;
the tenderness; the edible; the lusciousness;
the song of a single person
in a bathtub full of water.
I like Ucello, Grunewald, Ingres,
the drawings and sketches for paintings
of Seurat and that man Pablo Picasso;
I measure all things by weight.
In text for MoMA, describing the 'Garden in Sochi' - series,
26 June 1942
I love Mougouch, Gorky's wife. What about papa Cézanne;
I like the wheat fields, the plow, the apricots,
those flirts of the sun. And bread above all.
My lever is the purple; About 194 feet away
from our house in Armenia on the road to the
spring my father had a little garden with
a few apple trees which had retired
from giving fruit;
this garden was identified as the _'Garden of Wish Fulfillment'_
often I had seen my mother and the other village women
exposing their naked bosoms, taking the soft,
dependable ******* in their hands &
rubbing them on the rocks; above all this
standing an enormous tree all bleached
under the sun, rain & cold, deprived of leaves.
This was the Holy Tree [quoted in 1942]
In text for MoMA, describing the 'Garden in Sochi' - series,
26 June 1942
I don't like that word 'finished'.
When something is finished,
that means it's dead, doesn't it?
I believe in everlastingness;
I never finish a painting – I just stop
working on it for a while.
I like painting because it's something
I can never come to the end of;
sometimes I paint a picture,
then I paint it all out. Sometimes
I'm working on fifteen or twenty
pictures at the same time; I do that
b/c I want to – b/c I change my
mind so often; The thing to do is
always to keep starting to paint;
never finishing the painting [quoted in 1948]
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
Old fashioned girls with indifference in their eyes.
a will to be different.
a desire to be unique, but an emptiness fit for the farthest reaches of space.
a pathetic excuse for an individual are you.
the exact copy to that of a ghost of nothing... vain fantasy, as inconstant as the sea.
but dependable are your downfalls, everyone see's your issues.
if you were smart, you'd take it off.
you'd shed your skin and be yourself.
deny the paint on your face and the fact that we can all see it, we know you think you're above it.
you may think what you say doesn't reach my ears, but your ridiculous calls and impunitive voice are what I hear above all else.
it'll escape your mind, and I'm the one who will remind you of what it once was.
I'll get in your head, you're thinner than you think, your being is nothing, and your demise I will be.
your downfall is on a platter dear, take heed and be smart or behind your back is where you'll find the MOST disappointment of your life.
wish all you want, wishes are nothing.
especially to the undeserving.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
Caged in a prison, high on a hill, actions ensued but didn’t quite fit the bill
Words of not-always transformed promises to forever,
Side by side, naught to hide,
despite the cloudy weather
A friend, a rock, a ship almost wrecked was looking to dock
Alone in the harbour, under the moonlight,
Ashamed,
The half-wreck shone bright for what it was famed.
Tough stains were covered, remains left undiscovered to be smothered by another
Heart still full of what was before, keen, loveful pursuers already knocking at the door
Cabin wide open: “Ahoy mateys! Ahoy!”
She soon set sail with the innocent boy.
Tides were rolling on peacefully by, some of them were low tides but mainly they were high,
When in need there was a shoulder upon which to cry
And the girl thought the boy would help her get by.
Way out at sea on a tropical isle the boy showed the girl daemons not seen in a while
Opened her up and dove right in, illustrated the flaws of reacting to whims
Open
Broken
Alone at sea,
the boy turned his back as she fell to her knees
Floundering, drowning, thrashing in the waves
The girl succumbed to what her daemon craves
Underwater tears remain unobserved
A not-so-sly Fox spoke of acts undeserved
An unsure girl, curled up, abashed
Covered up the act and watched her daemon be tamed
A ship in the darkness, a ship under the stars
Saved the girl and craved the girl and hoped she knew right
And Oh! How she flourished in this dependable new light
“Love and peace, me mateys!”: a new reason to fight
The boy on his island, soon to return,
Will see that the shipwreck upon which they met, though
not
yet
quite
perfect
Trawls the coast to find an isle of its own
And though different to first-envisaged, Bristol shall be its home.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
street cred makes a boy a man
able to take care of business declares manhood
then why are they actin fools around women
playen, traden and, braken hearts
forgetting that is someones daughter, sister, mother, etc
women give birth to men and are trampled on by men
humiliated, disrespected, disregarded, mistreated, abused and, neglected
all with a smile and honey coated words
sweat melting int he mouth bitter swallowing
disturbing to the stomach, difficult to ***** out
trapping women desperate for safety
proudly declaring: "i am man"
sealed with appalling behaviour
this is how i see the generation, from which i have to choose my mate from
party,high maintenance girls chosen
dependable good women ignored
this begs the question what is a real man
lots declare publicly, i am a good man
bias and subjected words to safe faded honor
honor
a word created to make ego taste better
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
I went to the ice cream shop today.
A dollar in my hand and excited for
my first scoop.
51 Flavors to pick from.
I stood over the counter and handed the Man
my quarter.
He handed me a scoop of vanilla.
"Excuse me." "Don't I get to pick the flavor I want?"
"No," the Man stated. "This is the flavor you want."
Vanilla may not be pretty, but its the flavor that everyone
should be. No surprises and predictable. Wont cause
you any harm. It's dependable.
He pointed to the other flavos and began to describe them.
As to warn me of them like they were a calamity.
Mint Chocolate. Sure it gives you a pleasant feeling in your mouth.
But the feeling fades after some time.
Rocky Road. Yes it promises you greatness and a salvation of flavor.
But then it just disappoints after you see whats inside.
Cookie Dough. It reminds you of your childhood.
But it can make you sick if you eat too much of it.
Coffee. It give you a jolt of energy and focus.
But soon you realize its bitter and soon its just not enough.
I looked at the man as he described other flavors.
Rainbow sherbet threatened the norm of society.
Strawberry was too ******
Chocolate was acceptable just recently.
I asked of him, "Why have these flavors
If we should not partake of them?"
He looked at me with a straight face and stated,
"So you know what to avoid when you come in here again."
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Abigail, Abigail, keeps haunting me
I don’t remember when it started
Has to be the first seed of love
That planted Abigail in my heart
And etched it there for good….
In Martha I saw Abigail, in Ethel
In them all I chased Abigail
They were good, all of them
Flawless, spotless, free from blame
Lovable, dependable, transparent….
Yet I kept seeking Abigail
With a hallucinatory torment!
Did ever my eyes touch her once?
In a dream woven with fleeting romance
Or her face shone once in the moon
And melted as dew drops in the dazed dark!
Abigail my perpetual phantom
I neither get her nor fathom
I age, Abigail is ageless
Always there, but beyond embrace!
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
Look at a map.
North is always up
on a map,
dependable,
forward,
north is an upward direction
regardless of how you turn the map.
Look at a compass.
Spin in a circle,
watch as north moves,
sometimes down,
left,
front,
up,
down,
right,
sometimes spinning on its own.
Compass Logic:
it's not infallible.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
Solitary silence he seeks
Away from the celebration of him
Kerfuffle and commotion
He does not covet
He retreats to the tree’s shady veil
Respite and relief silently welcomed
Detached and almost concealed
The wooden pony his dependable friend
Dappled light playfully dancing
Seclusion does not disappoint
Sanctuary, Shelter
Stay safe, oh beautiful child
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC
A dream came true today
But was shattered just the same
And I can see it now
A room of pastels
A long line of stern faces
A delicate, submissive vase
Ma's in her curlers
Putting her head down
Pretending to sleep
Pa's reassuring quiet
His slippers tidy by the bedside
Putting on a mask of peace
A crease has grown in the mattress
Cause symmetry is strong and clean
I saw this image even clearer
When I set down my wreath
Even more so than when I
Was scrambling for words to speak
Twilight's glow of life
Was upon the snow that night
And never before have I
Fused so fully with such still silence
I watched my mute shadow
As I glided through the rooms
A vacuous face, but beaming heart
Guided me to a cerebral place
That suddenly paled in comparison
To any word, rhyme, or thought of mine
I lost my sense of touch
As I fondled the key and turned the lock
It was right where it's always been
Unused, dependable, like clockwork
Unlike me
I sat down in a firm chair that fit like a glove
But I wouldn't be its heir
Instead I went above to where
Sparks of light shoot and drift
Like a darting pen in the hands
Of a boy who's yet to learn to write
Here I can't be picked apart
While there, not a creature stirred
Not even my heart
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 8:45 PM UTC
Each step is taken
for granted.
Confident that the terrain will remain
unchanged, solid and dependable beneath
our feet, beaten down by the ones
who have walked before us,
we forget to think about
our destination, and when the
path inevitably betrays our trust,
our arrogant stride falters
as the world shifts beneath our soles.
It is no wonder that we stumble when
trying to blaze our own trail.
So, remember to be wary about
where you step on your quest
for answers.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 8:56 PM UTC
Producers are making films
On the decades of my life.
I'm sitting there, and
I think out loud:
I remember that!
At the Henry Ford Museum
They've displayed my Radio Flyer
And wooden Yo-Yo.
I lost them long ago.
Flea Markets sell postcards
Of Grand Bend Beach and Casino.
I bet my life there.
I've been told
My steel tubular kitchen set
Is retro.
I didn't know.
Classic Car Shows
Put barrier ropes
Around VWs.
They were cheap,
Dependable.
And everything's back in vogue,
'cept me.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
I stand and wobbily make way to the door
Night fallen so quickly again
Afraid of dark
Shut the door and turn around
Not before flipping the lock
Instead of going to move amongst glowing lights and the odor of *****
Slip into pajamas and slide under the covers of my dependable bed
If patient
Sleep will find my skull eventually
So once more I am left in the space between dreams and reality
Aug 12, 2022
Aug 12, 2022 at 11:16 AM UTC
*You say you're moving forward?*
But how can that be
When clinging to the past
How can the future be seen?
You frown and glare
And yes, it's your choice
You rant and rave
Well, at least you've found your voice
Convinced you are entitled
You sit and fume
Wearing your lovely crown of righteousness
In your cold damp tomb
With new fervor, you seek those
Who'll never change their minds
The dependable, the scrupulous and virtuous
Those who never cross the line
Well I'm sorry to say...
They simply don't exist
Except for those found on
Imagination's list
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
You were one of the first to teach me about value.
You helped me gain independence, little by little.
I shared my desires with you and you helped me to fulfill them.
Sometimes I needed just that little bit more and there you were,
Ready to pitch in and help out.
I remember a smile breaking onto my face with the very glimpse of you,
Your shining face gleaming at me from afar.
Sometimes those you thought were your friends would just toss you away,
But not me, not ever.
I cherish you for everything you are worth and then some.
You have always been unique, different than all the rest I would come across.
You have your own look.
Yes, you may look similar to others in one way,
But with a quick flip you are shining again like only you can.
Time may tarnish your gleam, but no matter how rugged you get you will always be of worth.
Special childhood moments come back to me now.
Holding you in my sweaty little palm, I would fill with excitement
Knowing you were about to deliver to me the sweetness of my dreams.
All I needed was you and maybe a few more of your friends.
And off we’d go to spend a Saturday afternoon in delightful company.
Seniors would push you away, unwanted, undervalued.
They would take one quick glance to see if they recognized you.
Then they would pass you on to a youngster,
As if they had far too much of you to care for more.
But not me, I would swoop you up and run off, delighted.
Now you are to be no more. No replacements.
You will be allowed to discolour and erode with age as so many of your ancestors have done.
But to me, you will always be the highly valued shining copper penny
Who taught me to count, to value goals and how to use money to attain some of them.
And most importantly, how to take the first steps towards my independence.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
The distant surf
crashes against the old
Spanish wall.
Sounding like slow
volleys of gunfire
ricocheting off
the jagged cliffs
above.
The sea side stillness
of the night is
disturbed by
my footsteps.
They crunch a
million grains
of sand with
every step
I take along
this jaded
asphalt.
At this hour
all of this is
closed,they put
hours and gates
around
whats free.
Wet feral cats
chase giant
wharf rats all
through the
cavernous
crevasses
between the
break walls
giant stones.
Across the Harbor
on the calm side.
Lights shine bright
from the
giant cranes
and the
deep green
Span dressed in
strands of
Blue.
The lights
reflected off
the still water
and danced
along small wakes
left by
passing boats.
The fumes
of sweet
scented fuel
hides just
beneath the
smell of
salt water and
the rotting
bait fish left
behind by
hopeful
fisherman in
chunks along
the rocks.
A quarter mile
out on the breakwalls end
the Gateway to
the Angels sits
as still and proud
as an ancient Oak.
Its dependable
Lighthouse
vigilance and wisdom
washes over me
as I pass this
night counting
the seconds
between
the shine.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
The cloud are reflecting off my computer screen
Moving at a rapid pace
They have somewhere to be
They have to move on
Fading into my shadow
They’re like daggers
My head is like daggers
And my smile is like a rifle
Loops one more time
Just picking the achy strings
I think he’s exhausted
Really just ******* tired
And the way he sings
Just wants to speak
And pour all of his heart
Thoughts
Emotions
Pain
Pain
Pain
These pitches, John, they aren’t real
They aren’t right
You aren’t right
I’m listening to this for you
Because last night was the night I took your life
I was tired too
I was tired and used your insecurities
As an excuse
To blow you off
Bryce come back please
I love you
I CAN’T SEE WHAT I’m typing anymore
It’s waterwashed
I love you I love you
I lov you please
Please trust me
My tears are ocean currents
My calves are the sand
Pull me to La Jolla please now
Hold my hand Bryce
You’ll be unconscience in 5 minutes
Fiberglass isn’t all that dependable
Fiberglass will float on
You’re heart is lead
Let it sink
Hold my hand
Let it sink
They’ll find our bodies
Eaten decayed by algae
You look just as fine with your
Skin pruned and ribcage exposed
I would kiss you all the same with your
Toes consumed by fishes
4 times over John
4 times you don’t sound anymore like an answer
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
I do not love you because you are a beautiful flower,
Fragile, tender and soft.
I love you because you are a plant,
Sturdy, dependable and medicinal,
With deep roots and strong limbs
to hold on to.
Let me be your gardener and age together over the years forever.
6/2/2019
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC