"devoting" poems
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.
Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.
The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.
Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.
When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.
Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.
This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC
The scuff of sneakers, boots and flats form the solid and stable beat.
Add in the chuckles, silences and brief interruptions to create the varying and rhythm.
All that remains is what goes unsaid but is speeding around in your mind.
That man from Uzbekistan,
He was telling us how peace and non-violence starts with us,
With middle-schools, with teens, with future leaders
To all those who laugh, when I say violence is never the answer,
You're the ones I worry about
That man from Uzbekistan,
He was speaking to us about how the kids had a parliament in Uzbekistan
Those kids had a say in what their fate would be
Believe it or not,
But adults are not the only things to make up our society...
Infants, toddlers, 5th graders, 8th graders, 11th graders, seniors, the diseases make up us, us..
So maybe parents shelter us too much, or not at all.
And kids throw fits in the grocery store
While teenagers attempt to jump off the nearest bridge
This is our society..
But we're like those kids in Uzbekistan
We have a say in what our fate will be
That man from Uzbekistan,
He was sharing out how blessed he was to be living here in the United States
Even though he could live in a much more peaceful and welcoming society.
I have no idea how many years i will be,
Or what has to happen before we get the message across..
That's what's played out isn't acceptable
The American people,
Were baffled, devastated, overwhelmed
That all those stereotypes really were mixed within us.
Obama stood up in that room
With a shaky camera man, staring while he slumped and grieved
He addressed our nation,
Homeland,
Country
Community
Family
About Newtown,
Clackamas Town Center
No leader should ever be forced to speak about children dying long before there time was up
Or about average people ducking and diving from bullets
Gun Control is only a little layer
And that's the start of our restoration to end up being a peaceful, safe country
It begins with how youth are shown how to solve problems.
I'm willing to reach my hand out to every single state in this country
And if that means devoting everything I've got to making our restoration successful,
Then so be it..
No leader or person should be raising candles to the sky for little kids to see that they are missed.
And I took all of this in at a Lebanese Luncheon
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
A devoting father will all struggles
working 12 hour shifts without a juggle
Sacrifices all his time
just to work and earn a dime
Never a thanks or a smile
nobody thinks of all the miles and miles
The entire time he walks to hike
with all the sweat it brings to strikes
His put everyday to work under pressure
working 3-4 jobs to earn a little amount of treasure
His ungreatful children brings unwanted tears
nobody can hear his silent fears
Nothing will ever be enough and he knows
but he tries his best not to show
He sits and pray behind the closed door
hearing his family screams and he cries more
His outstanding performance of hard work bloodshot eyes
completely wasted on his family disgusts of lies
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Seek that you do not fear your Mortality;
for it seems rather foolish to fear anything
but especially so such an inevitability;
fear not Mortality;
Mortality is a question
and the answer is Life;
many fail to respond;
they may indeed live
but they have no lives;
they sacrifice their time
to Pantheons external
rather than devoting their fleeting time
to the one internal;
fear not ephemerality;
it is an opportunity
but like any other,
it can be, and often is,
overlooked- ignored- misused-
squandered.
Fear not your Mortality
for it is an opportunity
to transcend this reality;
life is a sacred and holy opportunity;
(and these words, from an atheist!)
it's up to you to make the most of it.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Like dried leaves fluttering
With trembling stems
From an earthly passage, She took
The high road when Winter called
Her back to the elements,
Back to the spiritual vent that yawns with souls.
In her gentleness remained memory – legacy;
A smirk – that fun, secretive thought
Whispering across bloodlines.
I could never know her as well as you --
That tight, heavy knot at the back of your throat.
That dull thud of a monotone ache perched in your gut.
That knowledge that she was two in the same:
Throwing the bread and serving it, too –
Spreading around discipline with comfort to follow.
She was The Maker; The One –
Now faded to brooches, to photographs, to stories.
I felt the muscles in your arm tense (As mine
did, too)
I felt the surge of tears beckon the realities of grief
Like the smoke curling ‘round the swinging censor
I know why you ignored the Holy Man; sermonizing
Her Life as if she were familiar.
His discourse as bitter, acrid tastes upon breathing morning.
His fabricated familiarity – the pinching, twitching nerve between your neck and shoulder.
Holy Man -- Bone Man –
We could proclaim the mysteries of Faith
But She taught us the permanence of Love.
She knew more; what she taught was
Tangible
Alive
Her Lesson more forgiving than any Act of Contrition.
Her Body more sustaining than any wafer of Christ.
Two side of the same blade –
The Love she taught us taught us Grief as well.
When she followed the Holy Man out – the Bone Man -
You, Her Son –
You knew.
You flew out like a sin to forgiveness
And staked your devotion, character, and eternal Love
Upon her dwelling.
One more tangible reckoning of her attendance here;
One more connection that grounded her presence on this plane.
We followed Her – We followed You
Blind to your seeded bond that will never grace any words on a page
Yet drawn to the Lesson she taught
And the Lesson you maintain.
We followed you
Like trails in water : molecules bound and devoting the leader we call Mother.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
*Like fairy dust caught in dappled sunlight they dance.
Swirling gracefully like a ballerina pirouetting
on a child's music box.
Graceful specks of fine dirt engrossed in cloaking
surfaces smooth and coarse.
Like petticoats caught in a summer breeze
rippling, and dipping, causing a sneeze.
Dust motes like a kilt swirling,
whirling in the kaleidoscope of daylight,
engross you in devoting a poem to their dance.
Those molecules, atoms of time passed.*
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
tumbling around, just outside of society’s idea of normalcy, he walks for miles on end.
with a golden notion, he dreams of love, life and truth.
he lives these dreams and always has.
he creates love around him, by devoting himself to truth in life.
woken by a stampede of angry cattle, he laughs.
his vow to never injustice these animals is so very solid and they don’t even know it.
with a washboard on his back, he’ll scream for wonder as he wanders, and it will ring out with purity and beauty.
i will hear it and so will the people that truly love him.
adventure is on his soles and he will track it all across the nation.
a bold child of the rebirth.
he is simple, he is free.
he is ***** gold.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:44 PM UTC
The day blister as the sun followed 'er.
No shade nor a parasol as she goeth an' hope for evanescent heat
A basket in 'er hand, one way to marketplace
'Alt! A mad horse kicked thro'
Dropped on earth, dirt in 'er sleeves
"Gawd o' all horses keep yer eyes open to see!"
A fine young man bowed down for repent about his detriment ride.
O! Poor little thing!
A thorough water in the basket she offered for 'er long little journey.
** The vigor horse galloped an' circle round she.
'twas a good thing an' he proffers honourable ride.
There goes the curtsy 'off in the marketplace' says she.
Alt! The creature pause. Where is this? "thy big heart shalt hail for I, present thankfulness. Devoting thy fortune." the prince rendered his throne bounteously.
O! Applause how majestic upclose a palace could be.
'tis she wish e'er since. To seek for a lost playmate, hoping for camaraderie. Remembering in that small village where the little prince sneaked. Oh dear! 'Twas he!
Aye! The prince hoped the same an' knew all of a sudden. He made 'er his wife!
(An' they live happily e'er after. Bow)
-A
8/11/14
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
i shook hands with my priest and he told me god would listen to me
after years of talking to myself, i gave up
if this is the result of a benevolent lord, i want no part in such cruelty
every day spent suffering in this godless existence is another flirtation with the devil's temptations;
he hands me independence and assurance that this universe has no explanations
and in exchange i lose the love i might've had for myself
for a god or for life or for anyone
it's not that i need a god to explain it or to comfort me
it's that they lied when they told me a ghost was worth devoting my life to
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
It was like all the windows in the world were opened,
and the curtains made that lovely snap of a sound they make as they billow out-of-doors.
And everybody in New York was out on their fire escape watching Fourth of July fireworks tint the night sky.
And from the streets of New York rose a cacophony of city sound that was somehow pleasant,
devoting itself entirely to a sort of refined sincerity that was gentle to the touch and sweet tasting as it resonated.
It was so loud a deaf person would have heard it, but so quiet that only I could.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
I am a writer.
One who can close myself away into a small dimly lit space and gush life onto an insubstantial substance of fibrous material..in hopes that once finished..reads of something that makes sense and releases a tad of this confined fury..that whirls in my ever churning mind.
I am a Dreamer.
A human born into disparaging circumstances, that grasped for anything tangible, as early as I can possibly recollect. With a never ending desire to find truth and love beyond the abuse that I endured throughout all of my childhood..Determined to view life..clear of the filters embedded over my eyes, attempting to force my mind to function through the inherited dysfunction.
I am a Lover.
Believing in a Love so genuine, that it literally heals all human afflictions .
Investing in a hope in all things soulful and lucid.
Craving to Love free of the bounds thought fathomable, truly devoting to other souls..the most valuable asset - Time - and desirous to Lead with Love in every moment.
I am a Writer.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC
When days to wilds became
Bright song of spring so real,
We gifted selves shameless,
Blooms laden in sunny fields.
Kisses grew whisperings airy,
Whizzing round us like bees,
O when we loved true dearly,
Gusts blew breathy thru trees.
Our touch devoting like rings,
Golden in grasses rung green
And eyes glazed over singing,
Wet and sleepy as ***** dream.
O how inmost times passed,
Winsome wee flowers in grass.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
Wake up tear faced
Wet and soggy pillow
Thoughts of yesterday flood my head
Mind wrenching messages
True or untrue?
Shake off the hurt along with my covers
Lost in a book to escape the realness of life
The last page's turn brings back reality
Sneak away from the ache and into the shower
Mind buzzy busy
Dry off to get clothed
Close the drawer and stop
Just like that
Pause.....
And it all floods back to drown me in my own guilt
Completely unannounced
Hot tears stain my cheeks
Break down and a mind ****
Doing fine I told myself
How dare Thought be rude and burst in uninvited
Unaware of how much I've ignored
It makes things better
Until hurt sneaks up on you again
All the time
Never ending
Once a day
To all day
No one to honestly talk to
Serious matters
Everything on the chest must come off
They say it will feel better
You'll walk away with light feet and postured shoulders
But....
I know
For some reason
Difference calls my outcome
Mind games whisper failure to my heart
Slouched my shoulders stay and brick by brick my steps
Every day gets heavier
More stress and more panic
Across my message will not go
No one to hear me out
Always the factor of skipping out on my feelings
Listen instead of ducking into a battle
Wishing I could say all the words rioting in my mind
It drives me crazy in there
Desire to scream lungs out
Craving fixed hearts
Hungry for your lips
Devoting all my sorrow
Encouraging accepted apologies
My battle never won
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
What a mistake I made
Investing my love
Devoting my time
Into someone so incapable of loving another
You don't even love yourself
So depressed, you want to die
It happens to the best of us
But that's no reason to give up
I shouldn't have been selfish
I should have just been the friend you needed
But instead I pursued something more than just friendship
And it's led me to being so hurt and alone
You're much younger than me
You're not really committed to me
I'm such a fool
For almost falling for you
I need to step back now
Before the damage grows
You're not ready for this
You can't give me what I want
I want your all
Every little piece of you
Emotional and physical
But you're not ready for that
And now I must take a step back
I love you and always will
But you're not ready for this
And it's all going downhill
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
...How kaleidoscopes and me align...
Neither of us cannot fathom how you see.
Perhaps it's our eyes and their 60 degree tilt,
our heart and it's colorful coating,
or our mind all together
blending them both
to try to let you see it too,
but with lost cause,
still devoting.
We know your like the wind and time.
Different too,
but a different different.
You can't even look through our eye,
because you have such simple,
unchangeable sight.
Still I sit and smile,
for the glasses to blind time's eyes.
The logic and the heart,
the most odd part,
we cannot say hello.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
if it does not leave me bewitched
terrified to the bone
give me that sensation of unease
right before a fall
if my skin does not live its seasons
the chill of winters twilight
the warmth of its embers
of homecoming during a storm
if it’s not like the crash of waves
against bare rocks its devoting mark
full of trembles its withholding
before the bursting ******
Love, you ask?
if love isn’t all that, I don’t want it
oh, I don’t want it at all.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
A kiss is a millisecond, or hour, (or whatever other period of time that you escape reality and become one with another person) through touching their lips with yours. But, as we know from Flight of the Conchords, a kiss is not a contract. It's a promise. A promise that you're sharing that moment with only them, and that you are willing to spend that increment of time devoting yourself to the only thing that matters to you in the present: them. A kiss is cherished so much that a small chocolate candy was dedicated to the universal verb of love itself: to kiss. To smooch. A Hershey Kiss is sweet, small, and traditional. Just as the action is. A kiss is vulnerability. Naked, without anything fake holding you from the other person. The real you is summoned from behind the front you put up for everyone else to make you seem stronger, only to wisp through the soft pink lips that have whispered so many secrets, said so many words, and bit themselves so many times in a blushing moment when they said you were beautiful, into the others lips where they have done the same. Kissing has no rules. It's who you are in a peck. A movement. An open smile, a nibble, a bite, a tickle. No wonder why it's a special thing. Kissing is melting into the very place you are standing or sitting or laying and melding to the person's soul. The most innocent way to become one with another, risque enough to be special. Kissing can mean nothing, as well. It can be so over used that the meaning and spark has gone from it. Melding to the other person, mashing the color of your skin and the smell of your hair and the warmth of your breath into a pool of indifferent gray. Kissing needs to be used wisely. People often overlook the most beautiful thing in the world, so I decided to give it some recognition. Love, Frances.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
You’ve read the words a million times
Seen it from novel to novel
You read about the daughters
And those they love
The ones who got sick
They hope
And hope and hope
then things go bad
And the only one who can still hope are the daughters
I’ve read their words from all across the decades
Sympathized with their pain
With their grief
With their internal struggles
But I never empathized with them
And in the past
I had this thought
In my head like a sticky note adhered to the fridge
Stuck there right next to the grocery list and the kindergarten artwork
It read
I would never be a daughter
Then the words leapt off the pages
Of the hundreds of novels
Inserted themselves into my narrative
Gluing themselves to my skin,
I tried to rip them off myself
But they peeled off my skin with their literary fingers
Taking some of my skin with them as they launched and
Ripped the sticky note off my cerebral refrigerator
I became a daughter
Sometimes I still can’t believe that word is a part of my life now
Cancer
And I understand what these daughters have felt
That it feels wrong that I should be the one feeling hurt
It is those I love that are sick and I am healthy with no physical ailment on me
No tumors or scars under my skin
But I feel as if they are in my heart
There is a tumor there and it won’t be removed
Because how could one ever remove a metaphorical tumor
Why does it hurt?
Is it because of the chemo
Cherishing the Hope that Everyone is Mostly Optimistic
Devoting myself to keeping everyone else in balance
Holding the weight of the world even though I could easily just let it go and crush
Every horrible thing in this life
But it became a part of me when that word entered my life
I can’t make it separate, make it leave, can’t stop being who I was born to be
Someone to hold the weight
Except one
One weight that ain’t no metaphorical tumor
The person I love is sick
The novels have inserted their words into my narrative
I just hope I can revise their endings
And move cancer into the index
The credits
anything
instead of having the last page read
the end
But, then I see the one I love stand strong
As everyone says this is the end
She won’t pretend that this it
Because it isn’t
She takes the pen into her own hand and erased what the world had written
And writes the end of part one
The end to this chapter in a long happy saga called
life
And she writes to the daughter
I'll see again
when you finish part one
In your wonderful fairy tale book
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC
You're not created only to write epistles of sad poetry and use too many metaphors,
Devoting them all to an address that won't write you back.
You're not made to be here to be held back.
Or to wait around for a call of your name from a voice that'll never bother to come around.
But you're made to love and to be loved,
To see things and to be seen.
To capture beauty in every way that is possible.
You were made to be.
And this is your call,
So be it.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
V1:
Love makes the world go round,
More than money or TV,
Love makes the world go round,
It matters like gravity,
Chorus:
All hands in unison,
Steeped in prayer,
Devoting homilies filled,
With perfect care.
Middle Eighth:
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To see what life can truly be,
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To be one together and to be free.
V2:
Love makes the heart beat,
More than lust or wealth,
Love makes the heart beat,
Puts us in good health,
Chorus:
All hands in unison,
Steeped in prayer,
Devoting homilies filled,
With perfect care.
Middle Eighth:
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To see what life can truly be,
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To be one together and to be free.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
Avoid to analyze the brighter side and devoting the time to sheer demise does reprise the roll of shine in any eyes
yet appointing the energy towards the level of degree dancing against the apathy shall decree your presence is gliding into a free sea of unity. Combustion from duality, divinity through unity in reality it's impossible because dimensionally we eventually consciously know it's not here. It won't ever be here. Bridge it over and disappear. From 3 to 4 then onto 12 unless you prefer to see a realm such as hell. Purgatory, or whatever it may be called is not only your mind with walls, but a body whose physics residing in limits denying the finish and a spirit within the disharmonious limbs of reflections so grim from falsifying hymns.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 3:53 AM UTC
Why Life Is Worth Living
March 29, 2012
easter egg hunting looking up and seeing the sky
opening your eyes underwater burning candles
drinking water when you’re thirsty watching the snow fall
seeing fireworks explode laying in bed
dipping your toes into a river intertwining your fingers with another’s
feeling the sun on your skin painting what you imagine
singing along to songs having bonfires sitting by a fireplace
riding horses in the fall chocolate milk
watching lightning split the sky the way you feel after workouts
fishing on a calm day knowing you are worth something
swimming in the summer watching the sun rise
backrubs that ‘new baby smell’ smiling
proving to others that you can do anything having family dinners
falling hopelessly in love skipping rocks
helping others who need you laying with the one you love
writing because you want to sipping hot cocoa in the winter
feeling strong capturing time through photographs
holding a new baby breathing after it rains trampolines
playing sports expressing yourself building things
listening to the ‘peepers’ chirp learning every day
creating new life making dinner for fun planting a garden
seeing old friends staying up late reading feeling accomplished
suddenly understanding a math problem experimenting
falling asleep without any time between when you climb in and sleeping
seeing your family picking daisies
getting sand between your toes devoting yourself to something you <3
saving lives hearing the melody of a piano
sharpening a pencil because you’ve worn it down creating something beautiful
realizing life is better than in the movies running
making shapes with sparklers curling up in a blanket
movie nights cutting the grass observing the stars
thanksgiving dinners ice cream on a hot summer day popsicles
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC
In August you told me you would be home in a few weeks
I had hoped it would be sooner than that
It's a lot later now and I am still waiting
The chill of mid December has arrived
January is approaching quickly
You are completely out of sight
But not out of mind
It has been close to six months
And your ghost still talks me to sleep every night
It's hard for me to believe that I ever believed you
But I did
You said you were coming back for me
It's almost the new year
And I wonder how it is that I am still thinking about you
I am still thinking about you
Wondering if you ever think of me too
I am still holding on to your promise like it wasn't built of string
It broke the second you gave it to me
But I held on like my loyal hands could fix it
I know I should let go now
Maybe that will be my new years resolution
To forget you
For real this time
Maybe my new years resolution
Will have less to do with hoping
And more to do with changing
Cleaning out the contents in my box of future
Most things in it have reached their expiration date
Maybe my new years resolution
Will be to wipe your name from my vocabulary
To make it into a word I am unfamiliar with
Maybe my new years resolution will be
To stop checking your page to see if you are happy
I want to be the one who is happy
I know you still follow me
The past months have been spent showcasing my life
In hopes that you'll see it
And wish you were a part of it
Maybe my new years resolution should be
To stop wishing you were a part of it
Placing dreams on stars that have already burnt out
I am devoting myself to that task
And training myself to not love you anymore
But it's only Christmas eve.
So I've still got some time.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
i joined a poetry site so i could write a rhyme
to help to ease my mind while passing on the time
there a lots of people here who do the same as me
devoting there free time to share there poetry
there are different poems that the people write
some are full of sadness others with delight
but each and every poet has a different way
they put down in words what they want to say
so god bless all the poets who give there time so free
without all these people this site it would not be
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
A wonderful evening I spent, trying in vain
(Wonderful, for I was alone with the sound of rain)
To find a word that would describe you,
And by some luck rhyme with 'pain' (that’s my pain) too.
Though I had my doubts about what I stood to gain,
Devoting my precious loneliness to your memory;
I understand now it was a hope that you'd someday see
That we could have been happy, if for once you believed me.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC