"gatherings" poems - Hello Poetry

"gatherings" poems

The era of social media and virtual interaction Where it is so important to keep your reputation And yet indeed it'll take you nowhere Because you're just another particle in their atmosphere No matter how hard you try to seem kind They just can't bother to reply, they seem to be blind No matter how many thousands of follows you've got Your friends are still the same old scattered lot Selfies galore, plenty of them Show yourself to yourself, feel like a gem You go with your friends riding a bike Post a picture on FB and it gets many a like You're all content about it, it feels so nice After which, conversation turns to ice At gatherings telephones sound Ringing all day, a new friend was found Introduce yourself, one more time again And fall into oblivion, it's starting to rain

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Jan 11, 2015

Jan 11, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC

Social media rant

The era of social media and virtual interaction Where it is so important to keep your reputation And yet indeed it'll take you nowhere Because you're just another particle in their atmosphere No matter how hard you try to seem kind They just can't bother to reply, they seem to be blind No matter how many thousands of follows you've got Your friends are still the same old scattered lot Selfies galore, plenty of them Show yourself to yourself, feel like a gem You go with your friends riding a bike Post a picture on FB and it gets many a like You're all content about it, it feels so nice After which, conversation turns to ice At gatherings telephones sound Ringing all day, a new friend was found Introduce yourself, one more time again And fall into oblivion, it's starting to rain

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To the deadbeat I hate to call my father, I can’t say I hate you, for I would be hating myself. You walked out of my life when I was four, Yet came back a decade later asking me to ignore what you put me through, Asking me to put the past on the highest shelf Of my metaphorical closet. I did as you asked, thinking this time around things would be different. For a year I was overjoyed, you put me before yourself But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down, And your façade began to crumble. Slowly but surely my calls went to voicemail, My texts were never received, Our plans rain checked for another day that never came. I told you it was okay. I was afraid telling you my feelings would make you runaway. My anger was taken out on the woman that you hurt My anger was taken out on the woman you cheated on and abused. All the horrible things I wanted to say to you, I said to her instead. My mother, the only parent I truly have, began to call you too. Everyday, her and I would fight, trying to figure out what to do. Well I’ve decided I’ve had enough. You are not a man. You are unfit to be a father. You choose your own happiness over mine. You say I asked for a lot- When all I wanted was to catch up. Ten years is a large gap. I know I’ll see you at family gatherings, I know I’ll have to deal with you eventually. But I refuse to be fooled by you again. You are a coward. You have three daughters that need their father. Two of them refer to their step-dad as their only dad. I unfortunately do not have that luxury for my step father is a lot like you. They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the case. You’ve hurt me too many times and there is no one to blame but myself. I let you back in. I listened to your lies. From now on, I will not hide this problem on that metaphorical shelf. You are the issue. I am done with you. I cannot hate you, as I said before. Half of me is you. But half of me is my mother. The half that is kind and strong and knows when to move on. I know you’ll want to be a part of my life again, but you’ll be too late. I thought I needed my father, but I have enough people in my life to fill that role. You are irrelevant to me. I do not need you now. I will not need you later.

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Dec 19, 2014

Dec 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC

To the deadbeat I hate to call my father, I can’t say I hate you, for I would be hating myself. You walked out of my life when I was four, Yet came back a decade later asking me to ignore what you put me through, Asking me to put the past on the highest shelf Of my metaphorical closet. I did as you asked, thinking this time around things would be different. For a year I was overjoyed, you put me before yourself But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down, And your façade began to crumble. Slowly but surely my calls went to voicemail, My texts were never received, Our plans rain checked for another day that never came. I told you it was okay. I was afraid telling you my feelings would make you runaway. My anger was taken out on the woman that you hurt My anger was taken out on the woman you cheated on and abused. All the horrible things I wanted to say to you, I said to her instead. My mother, the only parent I truly have, began to call you too. Everyday, her and I would fight, trying to figure out what to do. Well I’ve decided I’ve had enough. You are not a man. You are unfit to be a father. You choose your own happiness over mine. You say I asked for a lot- When all I wanted was to catch up. Ten years is a large gap. I know I’ll see you at family gatherings, I know I’ll have to deal with you eventually. But I refuse to be fooled by you again. You are a coward. You have three daughters that need their father. Two of them refer to their step-dad as their only dad. I unfortunately do not have that luxury for my step father is a lot like you. They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the case. You’ve hurt me too many times and there is no one to blame but myself. I let you back in. I listened to your lies. From now on, I will not hide this problem on that metaphorical shelf. You are the issue. I am done with you. I cannot hate you, as I said before. Half of me is you. But half of me is my mother. The half that is kind and strong and knows when to move on. I know you’ll want to be a part of my life again, but you’ll be too late. I thought I needed my father, but I have enough people in my life to fill that role. You are irrelevant to me. I do not need you now. I will not need you later.

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I am from VapoRub, From Goya And morisoñando. I am from the traffic And loud horns, From the Caribbean heat, And the city lights, From the buildings And the towers. I am from the palm trees And the coconut trees, Dancing bachata And merengue In the beach, From yaniqueque Y plátano, From tostones And fish. I am from Sunday gatherings And loud family members, From Jose, Maria, and Primos, And the hardworking Payamps clan. I am from the Madera’s baseball team, From Canó, Sosa, y Ortiz, From the long summer rides To ***** Cana And Samana’s beach. From “work hard Cause life is not easy” And “family before friends.” From Christianity And Saturday morning sermons, From God is good And He brings joy. I am from Santo Domingo And Monción, From Santiago And Spanish ancestors, From mangú con salami, From rice and beans. From the grandpa Who owns the village Surrounded by Chickens, cows, and bulls, From the business owner And the well known uncles In my hometown. I am from the only flag With a bible. From the red, blue And white. From the most beautiful Island in the Caribbean, From Quisqueya y Libertad. I am from the Dominican Republic, The country that holds The people I love and Miss the most. I am from the Little Paris box I keep next to my bed, Filled with precious Gifts and letters That make me feel A little closer To them.

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Aug 18, 2017

Aug 18, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC

"Where I'm From"

I am from VapoRub, From Goya And morisoñando. I am from the traffic And loud horns, From the Caribbean heat, And the city lights, From the buildings And the towers. I am from the palm trees And the coconut trees, Dancing bachata And merengue In the beach, From yaniqueque Y plátano, From tostones And fish. I am from Sunday gatherings And loud family members, From Jose, Maria, and Primos, And the hardworking Payamps clan. I am from the Madera’s baseball team, From Canó, Sosa, y Ortiz, From the long summer rides To ***** Cana And Samana’s beach. From “work hard Cause life is not easy” And “family before friends.” From Christianity And Saturday morning sermons, From God is good And He brings joy. I am from Santo Domingo And Monción, From Santiago And Spanish ancestors, From mangú con salami, From rice and beans. From the grandpa Who owns the village Surrounded by Chickens, cows, and bulls, From the business owner And the well known uncles In my hometown. I am from the only flag With a bible. From the red, blue And white. From the most beautiful Island in the Caribbean, From Quisqueya y Libertad. I am from the Dominican Republic, The country that holds The people I love and Miss the most. I am from the Little Paris box I keep next to my bed, Filled with precious Gifts and letters That make me feel A little closer To them.

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prom itself is just an overglorified dance the after party is where the real fun begins sitting at the kitchen table of my best friend's house sipping strawberry margaritas her mom made then progressing to shots of tequila and playing shots uno, steadily getting more and more dizzy until i'm trying to twerk on a wall and calling my friends to tell them i love them pretending to be a koala on an armrest updating my snapchat story so people at other gatherings can be jealous forgetting how to pull my pants back up in the bathroom talking to my ex boyfriend for an hour on the phone, telling him exactly why i didn't dance with him at prom and that i fingered myself for a boy and i wanted to tell him and everyone, for that matter, about her but i didn't because rejection and rumors are my worst enemies he stays quiet and the only sound left is my frantic whispering that i hope i stay this happy in the morning because sober me lays in the deep end of the spectrum of sadness

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May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC

prom itself is just an overglorified dance the after party is where the real fun begins sitting at the kitchen table of my best friend's house sipping strawberry margaritas her mom made then progressing to shots of tequila and playing shots uno, steadily getting more and more dizzy until i'm trying to twerk on a wall and calling my friends to tell them i love them pretending to be a koala on an armrest updating my snapchat story so people at other gatherings can be jealous forgetting how to pull my pants back up in the bathroom talking to my ex boyfriend for an hour on the phone, telling him exactly why i didn't dance with him at prom and that i fingered myself for a boy and i wanted to tell him and everyone, for that matter, about her but i didn't because rejection and rumors are my worst enemies he stays quiet and the only sound left is my frantic whispering that i hope i stay this happy in the morning because sober me lays in the deep end of the spectrum of sadness

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When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few. Baubles of stolen kisses. Trinkets of borrowed loves. Trunks of secret words, I cry.

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9.3k

When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few. Baubles of stolen kisses. Trinkets of borrowed loves. Trunks of secret words, I cry.

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I am anti-social, I choke at social gatherings, My breath feels nothing more than lies , The lies when people's words, Sublime into air. While everyone brags about, The last time the Sapiens Had a good time, I comfortablly drift off, Into my little Pluto, Of words, poetry and music. I am there, Yet I am not there. People think I'm a snob, The Sapiens think I'm lazy, But what do they know, The happiness in solitude. I am anti social, And the last thing, I could care about, Is You.

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Aug 25, 2016

Aug 25, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC

I am Anti Social

I am anti-social, I choke at social gatherings, My breath feels nothing more than lies , The lies when people's words, Sublime into air. While everyone brags about, The last time the Sapiens Had a good time, I comfortablly drift off, Into my little Pluto, Of words, poetry and music. I am there, Yet I am not there. People think I'm a snob, The Sapiens think I'm lazy, But what do they know, The happiness in solitude. I am anti social, And the last thing, I could care about, Is You.

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poetry readings have to be some of the saddest ****** things ever, the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies, week after week, month after month, year after year, getting old together, reading on to tiny gatherings, still hoping their genius will be discovered, making tapes together, discs together, sweating for applause they read basically to and for each other, they can't find a New York publisher or one within miles, but they read on and on in the poetry holes of America, never daunted, never considering the possibility that their talent might be thin, almost invisible, they read on and on before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands, their wives, their friends, the other poets and the handful of idiots who have wandered in from nowhere. I am ashamed for them, I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other, I am ashamed for their lisping egos, their lack of guts. if these are our creators, please, please give me something else: a drunken plumber at a bowling alley, a prelim boy in a four rounder, a **** guiding his horse through along the rail, a bartender on last call, a waitress pouring me a coffee, a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway, a dog munching a dry bone, an elephant's **** in a circus tent, a 6 p.m. freeway crush, the mailman telling a ***** joke anything anything but these.

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7.7k

Charles Bukowski

poetry readings

poetry readings have to be some of the saddest ****** things ever, the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies, week after week, month after month, year after year, getting old together, reading on to tiny gatherings, still hoping their genius will be discovered, making tapes together, discs together, sweating for applause they read basically to and for each other, they can't find a New York publisher or one within miles, but they read on and on in the poetry holes of America, never daunted, never considering the possibility that their talent might be thin, almost invisible, they read on and on before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands, their wives, their friends, the other poets and the handful of idiots who have wandered in from nowhere. I am ashamed for them, I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other, I am ashamed for their lisping egos, their lack of guts. if these are our creators, please, please give me something else: a drunken plumber at a bowling alley, a prelim boy in a four rounder, a **** guiding his horse through along the rail, a bartender on last call, a waitress pouring me a coffee, a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway, a dog munching a dry bone, an elephant's **** in a circus tent, a 6 p.m. freeway crush, the mailman telling a ***** joke anything anything but these.

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Two soldiers as they walk Lamenting with much despair Far away from that deadly grip Of fear and deprivation For every person everywhere In every country tribe and nation. Disposing of those clothes they wore Casting away without hesitation Removing reminders of that deadly war Making mends and new relations Building a world like never before With tears of joy on this special occasion. Two soldiers whose lives were on the line Head towards a brand new day They raise their hopes for the very first time Since they were detained so far away Behind those enemy lines Celebrating better times and future days . Two soldiers together in company Telling tales of those fearsome times Happy now they are safe and free With parties and gatherings in the street Time now to raise a glass of wine Alive and standing on there feet . So long you guns and bombs Upon this earth you did not belong You created a world of fear But now those days are dead and gone And peace time now is here Let's hope one day the world will stand as one.

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Apr 4, 2017

Apr 4, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC

christopher-victor-russon

After the storm the Calm.

Two soldiers as they walk Lamenting with much despair Far away from that deadly grip Of fear and deprivation For every person everywhere In every country tribe and nation. Disposing of those clothes they wore Casting away without hesitation Removing reminders of that deadly war Making mends and new relations Building a world like never before With tears of joy on this special occasion. Two soldiers whose lives were on the line Head towards a brand new day They raise their hopes for the very first time Since they were detained so far away Behind those enemy lines Celebrating better times and future days . Two soldiers together in company Telling tales of those fearsome times Happy now they are safe and free With parties and gatherings in the street Time now to raise a glass of wine Alive and standing on there feet . So long you guns and bombs Upon this earth you did not belong You created a world of fear But now those days are dead and gone And peace time now is here Let's hope one day the world will stand as one.

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"Write what you know." I want to write about beautiful things, but I only know ugly. Ugly hearts and stone blood. Fetid loyalty. I want to write about a love as pure as honey, but all I know are the poison-tipped thorns of betrayal. If I could put the right words in the right order at the right time and explain what it means to lose you, nobody would care. I'd like to write about my happy family, laugh filled birthdays and joyous gatherings, but I only know fractious, secretive, ******** I want to touch another soul make a connection with my words share a part of my self and help someone in the process, but all I have been taught is taking keeping lying hiding running ruining. I would love to write like Pablo, of wheat and bread and fields that don't weep, but all I know are desperate fumblings in ****** beer soaked bathrooms, back alley drunken ******** by black barely passable trannys, diseases and barely consensual bloodstains. I cannot speak of such things. It's bad enough I think about them, even worse I write about them. I write what I know.

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Feb 27, 2013

Feb 27, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC

Touching the Great Nothing

"Write what you know." I want to write about beautiful things, but I only know ugly. Ugly hearts and stone blood. Fetid loyalty. I want to write about a love as pure as honey, but all I know are the poison-tipped thorns of betrayal. If I could put the right words in the right order at the right time and explain what it means to lose you, nobody would care. I'd like to write about my happy family, laugh filled birthdays and joyous gatherings, but I only know fractious, secretive, ******** I want to touch another soul make a connection with my words share a part of my self and help someone in the process, but all I have been taught is taking keeping lying hiding running ruining. I would love to write like Pablo, of wheat and bread and fields that don't weep, but all I know are desperate fumblings in ****** beer soaked bathrooms, back alley drunken ******** by black barely passable trannys, diseases and barely consensual bloodstains. I cannot speak of such things. It's bad enough I think about them, even worse I write about them. I write what I know.

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i used to only love women and it felt like being so alone, like not bringing your date to family gatherings by fear of seeing the disapproval in their eyes, in their mouths, in their words, felt like being both the predator and the prey, looking at hands and wanting to hold them and fearing that the world would swallow me whole if i did. and now i love you, probably, and what am i, if not lost, unable to be contained in F or Ms, unfit for any of your definitions, ready to change my body just so i can stand to walk past mirrors and live my truth. and loving a man feels much the same after all, dangerous and real, like craving different hands but knowing the world still has its mouth grand open, just for me.

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Dec 4, 2020

Dec 4, 2020 at 6:33 PM UTC

Genderless Love

i used to only love women and it felt like being so alone, like not bringing your date to family gatherings by fear of seeing the disapproval in their eyes, in their mouths, in their words, felt like being both the predator and the prey, looking at hands and wanting to hold them and fearing that the world would swallow me whole if i did. and now i love you, probably, and what am i, if not lost, unable to be contained in F or Ms, unfit for any of your definitions, ready to change my body just so i can stand to walk past mirrors and live my truth. and loving a man feels much the same after all, dangerous and real, like craving different hands but knowing the world still has its mouth grand open, just for me.

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Like so many Lemmings they rush to southern climes for greener pastures year round golf a Slower pace Cheaper prices and Tropical temperatures Leathery Tanned Unnaturally taut and Sun-spotted they crowd the local haunts and Clog the highways. At best they tolerate whoever is not Pensioned or Privileged At worst they ban the Underage Unfortunates from their gated communities and social gatherings The pendulum has swung from a time when the Old were at the Mercy of the Young to the present when Youth is Oppressed by Senescence Once democracy’s backbone they now wax Conservative having obtained their Slice of the pie Now there is no pie Mother Earth has been trampled to death and the Toiling hands of those who Stoke the fires of industry are Blistered and discouraged

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Feb 26, 2017

Feb 26, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC

The Culture of Old

Like so many Lemmings they rush to southern climes for greener pastures year round golf a Slower pace Cheaper prices and Tropical temperatures Leathery Tanned Unnaturally taut and Sun-spotted they crowd the local haunts and Clog the highways. At best they tolerate whoever is not Pensioned or Privileged At worst they ban the Underage Unfortunates from their gated communities and social gatherings The pendulum has swung from a time when the Old were at the Mercy of the Young to the present when Youth is Oppressed by Senescence Once democracy’s backbone they now wax Conservative having obtained their Slice of the pie Now there is no pie Mother Earth has been trampled to death and the Toiling hands of those who Stoke the fires of industry are Blistered and discouraged

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Marinate me in sterling serendipity; a lace handkerchief blowing in electric blue Chinook. Howl and twist your obsidian spit down her leather throat until she reproduces glass golem. Clang & the brass of the thunder, muffled underneath a Reith that was last lathered in hathgraven gatherings. **** him with your sour tongue & rag water whistle . Cut him down from that arugula suspension & let gravity fold into him, like an aluminum foil gargoyle, crush to the core.

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Sep 28, 2014

Sep 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC

Marinate me in sterling serendipity; a lace handkerchief blowing in electric blue Chinook. Howl and twist your obsidian spit down her leather throat until she reproduces glass golem. Clang & the brass of the thunder, muffled underneath a Reith that was last lathered in hathgraven gatherings. **** him with your sour tongue & rag water whistle . Cut him down from that arugula suspension & let gravity fold into him, like an aluminum foil gargoyle, crush to the core.

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merely breadcrums of cognitions produced during *realities open ended coma a world full of never ending twisted visions, imagine, imaginations experience constant states of nonexistence. would letters rejoice with one another, would they celebrate the specifics of the meanings re veiled by their gatherings? or would each become a victim? could each have a new home, found sixfeet deep, causing the destruction or any bit of lingering sanity left lurking.. would colors be conceivable? would delusions actually delude, if no trace of reality or its oppisite was remaining to place firmly in ones grasp?

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May 11, 2010

May 11, 2010 at 10:25 AM UTC

merely breadcrums of cognitions produced during *realities open ended coma a world full of never ending twisted visions, imagine, imaginations experience constant states of nonexistence. would letters rejoice with one another, would they celebrate the specifics of the meanings re veiled by their gatherings? or would each become a victim? could each have a new home, found sixfeet deep, causing the destruction or any bit of lingering sanity left lurking.. would colors be conceivable? would delusions actually delude, if no trace of reality or its oppisite was remaining to place firmly in ones grasp?

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Elven Heritage Purity Healing Sphere Carriged In Sacred Mystical Kin Hint Of A Faerie Mist Purified Language In Telepathy With All Interdimesnonal Beings Love Hugging The Trees Its Where We Peace Its Where We Eat Dance & Sing Healing Passion Fullfiling Gatherings Fairys Swing One Touch From Us Is A Rush Enough To Make An Angel Blush All Disease Crushed Into Dust Whipped Up Into Thus Purified Trust Declair Clean Air Is A Must Our Eyes Are Idolized Pure Manners Inside Anything Less Than Love It Flys Where Its Free From Disguise Vibrations Rise Then Dies I Am Elven Folk My Dearest Heart Wheeps When You Leave Until Your Return I'll Be Gentle When Bleeding Screams We Are Here To Heal Call Up Elders Silver Will

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May 24, 2016

May 24, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC

Elven Heritage Purity Healing Sphere Carriged In Sacred Mystical Kin Hint Of A Faerie Mist Purified Language In Telepathy With All Interdimesnonal Beings Love Hugging The Trees Its Where We Peace Its Where We Eat Dance & Sing Healing Passion Fullfiling Gatherings Fairys Swing One Touch From Us Is A Rush Enough To Make An Angel Blush All Disease Crushed Into Dust Whipped Up Into Thus Purified Trust Declair Clean Air Is A Must Our Eyes Are Idolized Pure Manners Inside Anything Less Than Love It Flys Where Its Free From Disguise Vibrations Rise Then Dies I Am Elven Folk My Dearest Heart Wheeps When You Leave Until Your Return I'll Be Gentle When Bleeding Screams We Are Here To Heal Call Up Elders Silver Will

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A road of palest lime fluttering Sycamore trees Some almost leafless, others coronets still there Through the golden branches colbalt blue skies Lilac bushes, the garden daisies, flower in rows. Thinning Robinna casts shadows of dim shade Contrasting the red Acer’s lace leaf with green The trunk arch of handkerchief laden Foxglove Holds open its beautiful boughs to be admired. For Autumn spreads my walk in glorious glitter Though the evening pulls in the coldness of year Making the best of these last savages of seasons Gathering leavings, the birdtable spills its seeds. Love Mary ***

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Oct 20, 2018

Oct 20, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC

mary-gay-kearns

A road of palest lime fluttering Sycamore trees Some almost leafless, others coronets still there Through the golden branches colbalt blue skies Lilac bushes, the garden daisies, flower in rows. Thinning Robinna casts shadows of dim shade Contrasting the red Acer’s lace leaf with green The trunk arch of handkerchief laden Foxglove Holds open its beautiful boughs to be admired. For Autumn spreads my walk in glorious glitter Though the evening pulls in the coldness of year Making the best of these last savages of seasons Gathering leavings, the birdtable spills its seeds. Love Mary ***

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A perfectly linear shape painted in gold Is what you see Through Instagram pictures Facebook posts Snapchat videos The tacit life I lead in the virtual stairway I am living the life! So you say You painted my life in the most shimmering color Turn on every light in the room to make it brighter Gazing with admiration Sometimes Most of the time With jealousy Seduced by the lure of the blue light dependency Turning this perfect lie into some meditation And make it my definition An image I’ve built to cover the within A perfect fragmented me I post on social media A habit I borrow for social gatherings A behavior forced into me For the sake of society! An illusion so fragile made out of eggshell A shell covering the true essence of ME Uncovering myself for the world to see The egg wall and make believes shattering To life unpredictable burdens That perfect golden shell cannot bare life’s hurdles Holding something beautiful that doesn’t curdle I am more of what you see More of what I let you believe More of society’s standards More of you More of me I contained beauty and imperfections I contained colors and bricks Strengths and weaknesses Enough to **** in all life’s miseries And to also reflect confidence and vulnerabilities I am not just one color I am every shades Every undertones Every hues that follow the changes I am the intense The neon The eclectic The iridescent From the lightest to the darkest The contrasting The complementing The chromatic I am in nature in art in paintings Everywhere I am every northern lights dancing to my own ballet Don’t just paint me with your own palettes Crack me open And see what’s inside For there you will see My true colors

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Jan 22, 2018

Jan 22, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC

A perfectly linear shape painted in gold Is what you see Through Instagram pictures Facebook posts Snapchat videos The tacit life I lead in the virtual stairway I am living the life! So you say You painted my life in the most shimmering color Turn on every light in the room to make it brighter Gazing with admiration Sometimes Most of the time With jealousy Seduced by the lure of the blue light dependency Turning this perfect lie into some meditation And make it my definition An image I’ve built to cover the within A perfect fragmented me I post on social media A habit I borrow for social gatherings A behavior forced into me For the sake of society! An illusion so fragile made out of eggshell A shell covering the true essence of ME Uncovering myself for the world to see The egg wall and make believes shattering To life unpredictable burdens That perfect golden shell cannot bare life’s hurdles Holding something beautiful that doesn’t curdle I am more of what you see More of what I let you believe More of society’s standards More of you More of me I contained beauty and imperfections I contained colors and bricks Strengths and weaknesses Enough to **** in all life’s miseries And to also reflect confidence and vulnerabilities I am not just one color I am every shades Every undertones Every hues that follow the changes I am the intense The neon The eclectic The iridescent From the lightest to the darkest The contrasting The complementing The chromatic I am in nature in art in paintings Everywhere I am every northern lights dancing to my own ballet Don’t just paint me with your own palettes Crack me open And see what’s inside For there you will see My true colors

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~ *Springtime sings of wondrous things Of warmer days and robin’s wings Of daffodils and playground swings Of sunny morning wanderings Of fishing poles and wedding rings Of family picnic gatherings Of arbors blooming jasmine clings Of sweetly scented offerings Of firefly meanderings Of stardust moonlit ponderings Of all the happiness it brings Yes springtime sings of wondrous things*

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Apr 29, 2016

Apr 29, 2016 at 10:06 AM UTC

Springtime Sings

~ *Springtime sings of wondrous things Of warmer days and robin’s wings Of daffodils and playground swings Of sunny morning wanderings Of fishing poles and wedding rings Of family picnic gatherings Of arbors blooming jasmine clings Of sweetly scented offerings Of firefly meanderings Of stardust moonlit ponderings Of all the happiness it brings Yes springtime sings of wondrous things*

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Behind all his smiles and silly gestures He longs to walk a thousand miles away He desires to escape from everyday No more small talk Or large gatherings The curtain has CLOSED A contemporary task. **In the eyes of the crowd All they see is the proud facade Entertainment is important And all they care about Forgetting the person behind the PERSONA a temporary mask.** As his mask fades Rabbits shift into sparrows No light at the end Only cued applauds Some flowers And skewed imagery An exemplary stage. **Disappearing into the night Unmasking the illusions he conjured. The sinking reality comes back As Lingering Silence echoes his longing… A price to pay of the famed gift Hoping this will be his last...** ~FINALE~ Justin G / Pax

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Sep 23, 2015

Sep 23, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC

Behind all his smiles and silly gestures He longs to walk a thousand miles away He desires to escape from everyday No more small talk Or large gatherings The curtain has CLOSED A contemporary task. **In the eyes of the crowd All they see is the proud facade Entertainment is important And all they care about Forgetting the person behind the PERSONA a temporary mask.** As his mask fades Rabbits shift into sparrows No light at the end Only cued applauds Some flowers And skewed imagery An exemplary stage. **Disappearing into the night Unmasking the illusions he conjured. The sinking reality comes back As Lingering Silence echoes his longing… A price to pay of the famed gift Hoping this will be his last...** ~FINALE~ Justin G / Pax

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Often alone I think of you rolling mountains covered in a purple haze both in highlands and lowlands too running water so pure sparkling bright making our whisky a natural delight Caledonia - the land of my dreams I hear music played from the heart oh' the sound of pipes and drums heart racing hairs standing on end poetry filling my eyes with tears recited at suppers year after year in celebration of bards no longer here Caledonia - the land of my dreams Men wearing tartan skirts with nothing underneath dancing between swords at highland gatherings playing games testing their manhood eating haggis a pudding often misunderstood porridge,shortbread, salmon and oatcakes quality food that is for sure Caledonia - the land of my dreams History remembered with pride Mary Stuart, Bonnie Prince Charlie Wallace, Culloden and Nessie too some myths, some true castles, lochs, bridges and glens places where lassies are called hen where houses are often **** un bens people answering with ah' ken Celtic blood running through my veins makes me glad I am alive and living here Caledonia - the land of my dreams

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Nov 30, 2010

Nov 30, 2010 at 5:44 AM UTC

CALEDONIA - THE LAND OF MY DREAMS!!!!!

Often alone I think of you rolling mountains covered in a purple haze both in highlands and lowlands too running water so pure sparkling bright making our whisky a natural delight Caledonia - the land of my dreams I hear music played from the heart oh' the sound of pipes and drums heart racing hairs standing on end poetry filling my eyes with tears recited at suppers year after year in celebration of bards no longer here Caledonia - the land of my dreams Men wearing tartan skirts with nothing underneath dancing between swords at highland gatherings playing games testing their manhood eating haggis a pudding often misunderstood porridge,shortbread, salmon and oatcakes quality food that is for sure Caledonia - the land of my dreams History remembered with pride Mary Stuart, Bonnie Prince Charlie Wallace, Culloden and Nessie too some myths, some true castles, lochs, bridges and glens places where lassies are called hen where houses are often **** un bens people answering with ah' ken Celtic blood running through my veins makes me glad I am alive and living here Caledonia - the land of my dreams

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Looking back, we never saw this coming. Our roller blades had a relationship with the warm summer ground on Friday nights when our parents would gather over margaritas and wine; an escape hatch from the 9 to 5 work week. We killed fireflies the way we chew on hearts of the ones we love, rubbing their luminescent bulbs on the toes of our shoes so that our steps might light up the night for just a little bit longer and maybe, just maybe, we could hold off on growing up. Looking back, we all wish we could have stayed. But bare foot soccer on concrete turned into binge drinking, and alcohol poisoning and neighborhood gatherings stopped being kind. We swapped Air Heads and Pokemon cards for flavored condoms and a drivers license, only to find that everything we threw away was worth so much more than the high school bullies, and boys with roofies, and the girls with tears running down into their tissue stuffed chests. We gave up our golden years, and to make up for it we stuff Prozac down our throats with a desperate belief that childhood happiness can be found in an orange pharmacy bottle. Hoping, I think, that someone will come along and tell us we've done everything right, and would we, for our reward, like our innocence returned. Looking back, I guess we just couldn't comprehend. We never knew that every day the pages turned and we were slowly losing our love of fun dip and cheap private-school valentines. We were starting to forget the pride that came with the title of King in foursquare, or the way it felt to let go and jump from the highest point of the swing. Instead we staked out cafeteria seats and tried to figure out why having blonde highlights, or contacts instead of glasses suddenly made you better than everyone else. Looking back, it all seems so sweet. Then again, they say hindsight is 20/20.

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Feb 17, 2013

Feb 17, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC

lauren-christina-pearson

Looking back, we never saw this coming. Our roller blades had a relationship with the warm summer ground on Friday nights when our parents would gather over margaritas and wine; an escape hatch from the 9 to 5 work week. We killed fireflies the way we chew on hearts of the ones we love, rubbing their luminescent bulbs on the toes of our shoes so that our steps might light up the night for just a little bit longer and maybe, just maybe, we could hold off on growing up. Looking back, we all wish we could have stayed. But bare foot soccer on concrete turned into binge drinking, and alcohol poisoning and neighborhood gatherings stopped being kind. We swapped Air Heads and Pokemon cards for flavored condoms and a drivers license, only to find that everything we threw away was worth so much more than the high school bullies, and boys with roofies, and the girls with tears running down into their tissue stuffed chests. We gave up our golden years, and to make up for it we stuff Prozac down our throats with a desperate belief that childhood happiness can be found in an orange pharmacy bottle. Hoping, I think, that someone will come along and tell us we've done everything right, and would we, for our reward, like our innocence returned. Looking back, I guess we just couldn't comprehend. We never knew that every day the pages turned and we were slowly losing our love of fun dip and cheap private-school valentines. We were starting to forget the pride that came with the title of King in foursquare, or the way it felt to let go and jump from the highest point of the swing. Instead we staked out cafeteria seats and tried to figure out why having blonde highlights, or contacts instead of glasses suddenly made you better than everyone else. Looking back, it all seems so sweet. Then again, they say hindsight is 20/20.

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*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read…donkey as I am, I can read Where did I learn to read? they taught me at home, they taught me at school they taught me at the camps and retreats and at all the Assemblies and Gatherings and at various Thought Adjustment Programs *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read…donkey as I am, I can read and I can recite They trained me well to recite and to memorize and to regurgitate and to repeat and repeat and repeat at the Houses of Prayer the Holy Ones stood before us and they trained us, they drilled us thousands and thousands of us and millions and millions of us and through years and years and centuries and centuries *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* No variation, no change, just - *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read, I can recite, I can repeat they trained us well at Animal Farm – word for word, repeat and repeat and repeat and when in doubt, we have our Great Leaders Pigs for Pigs, Goats for Goats, Turkeys for Turkeys and Donkeys for Donkeys who will speak for us *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read, I can recite, I can repeat so must you, if you should be pure, if you should be saved if you should see the Truth *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read, I can recite, I can repeat *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*

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Jul 25, 2012

Jul 25, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC

Goya’s donkey

*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read…donkey as I am, I can read Where did I learn to read? they taught me at home, they taught me at school they taught me at the camps and retreats and at all the Assemblies and Gatherings and at various Thought Adjustment Programs *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read…donkey as I am, I can read and I can recite They trained me well to recite and to memorize and to regurgitate and to repeat and repeat and repeat at the Houses of Prayer the Holy Ones stood before us and they trained us, they drilled us thousands and thousands of us and millions and millions of us and through years and years and centuries and centuries *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* No variation, no change, just - *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read, I can recite, I can repeat they trained us well at Animal Farm – word for word, repeat and repeat and repeat and when in doubt, we have our Great Leaders Pigs for Pigs, Goats for Goats, Turkeys for Turkeys and Donkeys for Donkeys who will speak for us *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read, I can recite, I can repeat so must you, if you should be pure, if you should be saved if you should see the Truth *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw* I can read, I can recite, I can repeat *Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*

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I've experienced the exuberance of youth. Through endless summer days, of blissful childhood ignorance. I have drempt the most glorious dreams. The ability to soar with the eagles was mine, most any night. I was to live, forever. I have know the delirious intoxication, of boyish infatuation. And to such a degree, I have tasted the bitterness of rejection. I have lived amid nonconformists. I shared in their ideological beliefs. Old Guard be ****** I have witnessed the gatherings of idealists, who's main purpose was to spread their premise of the brotherhood of man. I have seen them chained and gagged. Beaten for their beliefs. Shot down in their youth, by those who's superficial dogmas kept them from the truth. I have been among the ranks of the tens of thousands, shouting my incensement's against a failing war. And I have been to the "wall" and wept for my fallen brothers.I have seen the rise of iconic performers. Some who would pay the ultimate price for their notoriety. I have felt the power of their karma and reveled in their idioms'. I have witnessed the miraculous wonder of birth. I've had the privilege to hold the embodiment of purity, God's ultimate creation, in the hollow of my arms. I have walked among the Angels. And I have delved into the pit of my own iniquity's. I have loved the un-loved, and scoffed at those who would be cherished. I have lived as if, there were no tomorrow. I have learned there is just today. I have lived to be a better man than I was. I live to be a better man than I am.

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Nov 9, 2012

Nov 9, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC

I've experienced the exuberance of youth. Through endless summer days, of blissful childhood ignorance. I have drempt the most glorious dreams. The ability to soar with the eagles was mine, most any night. I was to live, forever. I have know the delirious intoxication, of boyish infatuation. And to such a degree, I have tasted the bitterness of rejection. I have lived amid nonconformists. I shared in their ideological beliefs. Old Guard be ****** I have witnessed the gatherings of idealists, who's main purpose was to spread their premise of the brotherhood of man. I have seen them chained and gagged. Beaten for their beliefs. Shot down in their youth, by those who's superficial dogmas kept them from the truth. I have been among the ranks of the tens of thousands, shouting my incensement's against a failing war. And I have been to the "wall" and wept for my fallen brothers.I have seen the rise of iconic performers. Some who would pay the ultimate price for their notoriety. I have felt the power of their karma and reveled in their idioms'. I have witnessed the miraculous wonder of birth. I've had the privilege to hold the embodiment of purity, God's ultimate creation, in the hollow of my arms. I have walked among the Angels. And I have delved into the pit of my own iniquity's. I have loved the un-loved, and scoffed at those who would be cherished. I have lived as if, there were no tomorrow. I have learned there is just today. I have lived to be a better man than I was. I live to be a better man than I am.

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Convince him to get a new hair cut and when he does, notice the way it doesn't frame his face the way it used to and how his shaved head reminds you of your cousin who, as your mom said, enlisted too young. Listen to him, really listen to him when he talks and watch the way his mouth automatically turns to a smile after every single sentence he utters. Make note of every time he laughs at his own joke. When he tosses you a compliment picture his last person and how they must have felt when he tossed the same line to them. As you're lying in bed try to recall the time before he called you his and consider how long you wanted him. Remember the way you memorized his drink orders and the sweater he always wore on Tuesday. Realize that you stopped memorizing him the day he confessed to memorizing you. Bring him to social gatherings and become annoyed with the way he clings to you. Catch him staring at you at least three times in one day and when the day is over compare that number to the zero amount of times you found yourself gazing his way. His voice will come to annoy you and it is important that instead of shutting it out, you let it in. Eventually this annoyance will turn into hatred so you have to let every word sink in. Don't listen to your friends tell you how nice he is and ignore the voice in your head telling you that you have to be happy because he treats you right, unlike the last one. Let it finally hit you that you no longer like him, when you find yourself at 2am crying, in a dark room illuminated only by the light of a computer screen displaying the last picture you have of the man you actually love.

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Feb 25, 2015

Feb 25, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC

How to stop liking him

Convince him to get a new hair cut and when he does, notice the way it doesn't frame his face the way it used to and how his shaved head reminds you of your cousin who, as your mom said, enlisted too young. Listen to him, really listen to him when he talks and watch the way his mouth automatically turns to a smile after every single sentence he utters. Make note of every time he laughs at his own joke. When he tosses you a compliment picture his last person and how they must have felt when he tossed the same line to them. As you're lying in bed try to recall the time before he called you his and consider how long you wanted him. Remember the way you memorized his drink orders and the sweater he always wore on Tuesday. Realize that you stopped memorizing him the day he confessed to memorizing you. Bring him to social gatherings and become annoyed with the way he clings to you. Catch him staring at you at least three times in one day and when the day is over compare that number to the zero amount of times you found yourself gazing his way. His voice will come to annoy you and it is important that instead of shutting it out, you let it in. Eventually this annoyance will turn into hatred so you have to let every word sink in. Don't listen to your friends tell you how nice he is and ignore the voice in your head telling you that you have to be happy because he treats you right, unlike the last one. Let it finally hit you that you no longer like him, when you find yourself at 2am crying, in a dark room illuminated only by the light of a computer screen displaying the last picture you have of the man you actually love.

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