"drudging" poems
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
The nakedness of winter lies heavy upon
the tolling Sunday quietude
Shed leaves perish into yesterday
and the dream of another
dawning someday wanes
The sun ― lay low
the drudging ashen skyline
Barerd emerald moss scaffolds
draw much more distantness
to the pallid shadowed horizon
The evergreens step forth,
roots grasping sacred heart,
soil and rock
In the swelling aloneness
you can feel the grain
of the heartwood
rooted in your soul
There are no hard feelings
but there's an enduring ache,
like a tree with a rotting limb
languishing within
its blackened bark sacrifice
It's not just the grinding time
that slips away begrudgingly;
more of the same takes a toll
as if another unrung belfry hour
in an empty bell tower
without a song rang out in vain,
peeling reflections
of reluctant hours c r a w l by
in the insensible apathy
A so called holiday passes ―
its footprint bears down
hard and deep
as if a paling winter rose
grieves its own passing
A dry wishbone unbroken
lay bare the poignant
truth it holds;
it takes two to make
this wish come true
.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
the strain of labor
the pain of toil
the ache of legs and arms
the sweating brow
drudging farmer curse the soil
mutely chide the milkless cow
the demon waits for no man.
he rages forth
renders furrows charred
the fields so dry
the rocky ground so hard
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Ten years ago it seemed impossible
That she should ever grow so calm as this,
With self-remembrance in her warmest kiss
And dim dried eyes like an exhausted well.
Slow-speaking when she has some fact to tell,
Silent with long-unbroken silences,
Centred in self yet not unpleased to please,
Gravely monotonous like a passing bell.
Mindful of drudging daily common things,
Patient at pastime, patient at her work,
Wearied perhaps but strenuous certainly.
Sometimes I fancy we may one day see
Her head shoot forth seven stars from where they lurk
And her eyes lightnings and her shoulders wings.
5.5k
if she had asked me, then
"Do we all die?"
i would have answered in a solemn sigh:
"Of course we do."
the realism impenetrable, the grounded logistics.
she asks me now
"Can we exist in other dimensions?"
and i reply, with a taxed, drudging honesty:
"I have."
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
On the days I hate music,
I entertain silence,
in a sense.
I stifle one music and greet another:
Silence accompanied by the soundscape.
In my car, windows rolled up.
The world outside my vessel becomes dulled.
The silence I sing ain't so quiet;
tempo'd to the turn signal's metronome,
the droning hum of the engine,
the screaming world seeping through cracks and crevices
within the assemblymen's exquisite craftsmanship.
I hear these songs.
I roll down the window;
I hear the staccato shrieks of impatient cars.
I hear the bombinations of the road worker and his jackhammer.
I hear the droll of the cement truck drudging down the highway.
I hear the light treading of the jogger
making her way down the eternal sidewalk.
I hear coffee poured and pondered over in the coffee shops.
I hear grocer boys bag absentmindedly in the supermarket
(where Allen and Walt linger).
I hear silverware jingle in the busboy's bustling trays.
I hear dog's elation leaning out their master's passenger window.
I hear tires groaning over the hot sticky pavement.
I hear the wind carry the sunny tune like the steady conductor
guiding their orchestra across the threshold to the enthralled audience.
The wind carries the tune to me,
and I hum along.
The days I hate music
are the days I remember
why we make it in the first place.
I escape to and from the soundscape.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
I could tell you how to write a poem
Playful phrasing, not too quick, not too strong,
Be graphic and persuasive, appealing to us all,
The want for supposed meaning and a silver tongue
Is the truth beneath our fall
Heartfelt sentiment, articulation,
Let’s entice some Pharisees to avoid any tribulation
For the bouts and shouts of living out
And extravagantly exhibiting oneself to all and everyone—
Clichéd, now it may be,
There’s truth in that I see
Can we find apparent happiness
All appearance and accreditation,
Let’s be certain we’re (clandestinely) drudging for recognition,
Yet, I can never tell you what is true in writing,
The slow path? That’s what I long for,
Or profess, in the world of colorful mosaics,
I am the truth! The way and the light!
I’ll set you free! The God of Wonders!
Can’t you see?
I’m God, I’ve always meant to be!
*Heaven help me,
I didn’t mean to pretend
But I believed beyond
What even I could comprehend..
I’m not God, this I know,
But is this—
The way I'll go?*
It is my end…
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
"That's it! I'll take it to the scissors myself!"
Mangled, wrangled, tangled mess,
meandering tendrils coil and cross, clump.
Split ends,
knots so impossibly tied the eagle scout is left bewildered,
sun damage: fried, frizzled, frazzled, frayed.
Broken teeth in a gasping comb,
choking brushes enveloped in the furling mess,
hairspray, fruitless, face it:
(Another) Bad Hair Day.
"That's it! Today's the day!"
The call is made, the appointment scheduled,
you sit and wait.
X's mark the calendar, the day is nigh,
your do's judgement day is at hand.
It's time to settle this.
The day before, you wake up,
absentmindedly getting dressed, drudging through routine,
mirror's the last thing you see.
Crusty eyes suddenly open wide,
as split ends seal and knots unfurl,
sun damage heals and combs sing ceaselessly.
The day is met with a new life,
and the dark days of yore seem like a past life,
as this sunny day seems like all there is.
You laugh at what now appears to be such trivialities,
"Twas a bad hair day! And merely so!"
You allow yourself such a shallow deception.
Your hand grabs the phone, your fingers make the call,
your voice makes the cancellation--
"How could I have been so foolish to resort to such measures?!"
You hang up and scoff at yourself,
a hearty laugh in jest at such hastiness,
tossing and swishing your luscious mane to and fro.
You allow it to slip through your fingers,
on the cusp of the cure,
as the bad hair days truly outnumber the good (you know it to be so).
For the next day will come--
You'll greet the mirror with that heart-wrenching sigh,
in visible anguish at the chaotic mess that encroaches upon your head.
Don't let a good hair day fool you;
make the call.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot
with the force of a lion after its prey
and with the lethargy of one whom had not eaten in weeks
drudging up that last ounce of strength to obtain survival
my eyelashes had mascara from the night before
and my hair was thick with day-old hairspray
hiding behind sunglasses, I shifted my weight for relief
from the flip-flops rubbing unpleasantly between my toes
keenly aware of the headache above my eyes
I got my coffee and was prepared to flee back to my den
where I could devour it, keeping a wary eye on would be thieves
as my fatigue and I walked hastily towards the exit
Life happened. To my left, sat a couple side by side
they wore the casual clothes of confidence and serenity
he sat by the fireplace, his glasses sat at the end of his nose
her body leaned close to the man she loved, and forward to see
the book that was laid open on the table in front of them
curious minds swallowed the words that were offered there
under gray hair, hands holding, faint smiles formed on their lips
I had never seen such a portrait of true contentment
outside, the image kept speaking to my brain, despite my preoccupation
and I saw you. and I saw me. in thirty years, a virtual lifetime
our aging together; maturing, evolving, creating
side by side, ever content, with books, love and coffee.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
Sometimes I long to cut
the heart out from your chest
I feel yearning to know
What’s truly inside of you
Curious to even know if
We really do share the same blood
Of what’s inside of us
As an apricot has sprightful seeds
We know not to eat too much
Just as the drudging dark blood
We drink only to find in time we want
More of what’s inside of others knowing I can’t **** you maybe only to maim you longer
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 12:57 AM UTC
In the midst of nothingness
Searching through darkness
Embracing loneliness
Comprehending vagueness
Befriending uncertainties
Playing with vulnerabilities
Absorbing obscurities
Appreciating difficulties
Drudging malfunctions
Living with illusions
Addicted to intrusions
Slave of temptations
Colors of dark grey and black fill the world in which I live
No other feeling could possibly be worse than this
Where once was a room filled with laughter & Cheer
Now stands loneliness, emptiness and despair.
Memories of you seem to creep around the corners of my mind
Endless haunting images of your face that won't decline
An overwhelming of emotion that my body can't contain
Fills my soul with unbearable grief, sorrow, and pain
Oh, How I long to hold you in my arms just once more
And tell you that things will be again, as they were before
But, as reality sinks in, I know that will never be
For the choices that I've made in my life have sealed our destiny
No one could ever fathom how wretchedly my heart aches
And how I greatly regret that you've had to pay for my mistakes
If I could go back in time, and change only one wrong that I've done
I'd go back to the Hour, to the second, on the day I lost you.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
he sat with fingers interlaced
pondering on just, what to say
lucky they, it was their day
to briefly miss, this grand foray
he held back, since broken May
now had come his, chance to play
with eyes so striking, deep and gray
and fingers gnarled, from decay
he the actor, this his play,
plotting as they, walked away
blood unmoving, through his veins
but smiling deeper, so they say
it was dark out, in a way
footfalls fell he, found the way
mangled hair so, in the way
he kept drudging, found a way
they were closer, he in shade
shadows deeper, gripping day
leaves blew by, one fell away
no-one noticed, or didn't say
this was now the, time to play
fear so taking, words away
in that moment, shades of gray
as he knew not, what to say
smiling deeply, his voice did say
now that your it, count away
you are lucky, so they say
effort given, so hooray
I'll go hide now,you can play
count fast, just as you may
but you'll not find me,
I'll be gone away
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
*As photographers we see the world differently
We look around and see a beautiful picture
As a “regular” person we see drudging task of life
Photographers see a glistening meadow full of white
“Regular” people see a biter cold with biting wind
Photographers see the world through lenses that act as eyes
“Regular” people think all philosophically and scientifically
Photographers think what would look best
A black and white photograph
Or
A sketch that looks like a picture
Photographers are artist and nothing less
So don’t mistake them for “regular” people*
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
variegated dreams
overturning the ashened night
wake, wake
branch and twist
to the music
of the tide
escapism of this world engulfed
with itineraries and haste
leaving fragments of vivacity in its wake
like riding a comet through life
stop, stop
smell the roses
make shapes out of clouds
within the starry night
rest, rest
blooming minds
drudging through the snow
whilst in drought
turning page after page
within this infancy
of human kind
sleep
and read but a line
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
Marching on thru our circuital seas:
A moat lurking beneath tremendous Facebook walls,
delineating our impalpable fortress of solitude (irony).
We slog through the trenches like Lee's troops,
drudging on a fatal course
to an awaiting Grant in Appomattox (destiny?).
Soldiers falling at the wayside,
from wounds, starvation, disease,
hashtags for dog tags draped around cadaverous necks--
Perhaps you can identify us by what's trending.
Had we the strength to shout,
and tear down the walls of Digital Jericho,
would we have been able to do it,
in 140 characters or less?
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
in blue depths beyond our sight
day or night, you flagellate flawlessly
as if you had not a care
dare I say you're fleeing
a predator we're not seeing?
or perhaps just at play
in a world Verne created,
a space ahead of its drudging time
perilous, yet sublime
loligo forbesii, I can only imagine
what watery waves you whipped before I had you,
deep fried calamari, on my plate
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
Cold and drifting,
nothingness and floating,
swimming through zero gravity,
the radio-active rays of the sun
glisten and brighten ocean-bound eyes.
A thought.
Small, but significant.
It emerges slowly,
drudging through the whale's mind.
"What is this..?"
The whale said, suddenly self-aware.
"I am of need.. I need something. What I'm suddenly
going to call my 'lungs' hurt.. What does it need?
I think I'll call it.. air?"
The whale becomes even more aware of its existence.
"I'm.. I.. ..."
The whale suffocates in deep space
and dies.
The End.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
Opposite spin
Smiling chagrin
Drudging eyeballs
Standing so tall
Feelin' ******
Livin' gritty
New 'ork City
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
I've had the same view
here in the city
for awhile now
the banks of the schuylkill
the art museum
rocky balboa himself
its been 6 months
the same window
the same view
so many lights
always on
occasional cars
I can hardly see
last nights snow
littering the ground
7 stories downward
one hell of a fall
the glass is too thick
don't worry
no cleanup today
only me
watching the snow melt
and the cars pass
and the life
of everything
drudging slowly onwards
as it has for six months now
here on the banks
of the schuylkill
the tempo is all off
a terrible pace
in a terrible place
Kerouac did a year
up in New York
6 months more
then maybe I'm out
of here
on the road
to mexico
cheap liquor
and cheaper love
the heart beats
quicker there
stooped up in
some backwards
bordello
paying dime a dollar
for another round
then off to san francisco
where the beat stomps
and stutters under that
spotlight
or maybe the blood red mesas
of el paso
where the young broads
dark as honey
can taste just as sweet
but only just a while
its that thrill
you long to have
one more time
breaking a sweat in
the backyards
sneaking love
under fences
and desert floors
just to be anywhere else
where the beat is quicker
than here
I'm growing deaf to it
here in the doldrums
here in the city
of brotherly love
on the banks of the schuylkill
watching the same view
from the same window
as rocky balboa stands tall
moving faster than me in
that forever celebration
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.
Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.
Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.
A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ********** of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
Happiness lands softly when it comes,
wrapped in a friend’s “I miss you” text,
or a photo on the internet that makes you smile
for the first time in what feels like days.
Happiness, that fleeting feeling of contentment,
ever chased and ever elusive
dancing on the breeze of a perfect day
towards oblivion in the sun’s hot rays.
We do the best we can
while we wait for happiness to visit.
Drudging through the bad times
with the faint hope and promise of joy someday.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
And pew by pew, they shuffle up
In stoic homage, cane in hand
Or awkward reverence, drudging forth
I dare not rise to join the train
Of human need, of appetites
That crave the air, that lust the sun
That knock on wood to trap a nymph
That find a god within a waif.
And others, likewise, stay as well
A few old-maids who cannot walk
Yet others more than capable
I think, “Maybe the night before…
They ****** their sister’s married friend
Perhaps they stole their neighbor’s TIMES
Or sabotaged their best-friend’s plan
Got drunk and cursed and fought their dad
Or maybe even killed a man…”
And yet they’re sober enough now
Beneath the stained-glassed reddened light
That slants before the multitudes
Sober enough to fear what’s done
To touch, to taste, the burning bread
With sweaty palms, or slobbering tongues
And all at once a feeling swells
A kinship for those left behind
Who gaze upon these rising rows
Yet still remain for all to see
Just how deprived they truly are
Now those who’ve fed and drunk return
Crossing themselves, they kneel to pray
The holy hymnal spreads its wings.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
I've been reduced to a fraction of who I thought I was
realizing who I had become, by the screens
portraying images and spouting words I thought were true
one day you wake up, wake up from a false reality
you were a child once, playing, wishing, wanting
never thinking about the world you inhabited
the mothers and fathers drudging along everyday
unhappy and ashamed their lives turned into a choreographed dance
now here you are, of age, in college, getting a job
unimpressed with the way society has molded you
to become just another game piece like your parents in their dance
using you and abusing you, you're just a means to an end
Dare you falter, dare you, they indoctrinate you, brainwash you
so if you dare, you fret and stress and don't want to live
you beg for an escape from the harsh world surrounding you
but be brave, do it, jump off the metaphorical cliff
fill your soul with the passion and desire a human being deserves
rather then the futile toils of rote mechanicism they have made your world
feel something more raw and powerful then they could ever give you
because they are nervous and scared that if you wake up they will tumble
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
As darkest night seizes light of day,
a soft breeze whispers
to me through the trees
As I lay here on the cold harsh ground the concrete is my pillow
in which I lay my weary head ever so aware of the slightest sound
as blackness lingers all around me judgment once clouded
but now my mind is bright and clear,
thinking back to days of old
so much I did fear and a single tear dose fall as I'm chained to
this ******* wall for the rest of my days to remind me of a pain so strong
what did we hope to gain by drudging up past blames we both made
loves been broken now pains my token I've paid my dues as darkness
falls upon me and entered to raid my soul words unspoken
my heart is broken and turned to ice
no fire can ever melt body,
soul and mind tattered a lifetime of dreams shattered
I sit here in this dungeon you put me in over thinking
my mind bludgeoned when once deceived you feel your heart may
never be retrieved from the blackness that has taken over
and you are shaken to your very core by a pain so strong
all in life is wrong and in my head plays the saddest song
I longed for a love so divine for one I could call mine
and in a fleeting moment you realize you will never be fine again
everything was a fabricated fantasy a deluded truth for me to
believe a love that strong and true is real
it dose not exist
dreaming of it makes your insides blue a dark hue surrounds me
as I sit confined behind these walls closing in on me
more and more each day I once thought if only I would pray
for you every night I'd be found and rescued
but to my dismay you did not come broken dreams it seems
all will remain the same just as yesterday and the day before
it tore at my being, now I'm seeing the truth
I will forever remain a prisoner in this cold dark dungeon
you put my heart in for an eternity
as I hear the sound of my breath leaving my body
and carried away on the wings of a dove in a lightly falling snow
at last I know my destiny
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC