"growed" poems
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
My hooded head casts a shadow
across the overflowing ashtray.
My exhaled smoke is silhouetted on the
handcrafted clay.
In the shape of an oyster,
painted with the colors of
rebellious 21st century youth:
Red. Gold. Green.
With a flare of "originality."
Breeze, light, cold
escorts winter across my
aged face and I see all that my life is:
Tar. Work. Tar. Tar. Sleep.
Work. Tar. Eat. Work. Tar.
Tar. Work. Eat. Work.
Drink coffee.
Tar.
Sleep.
Die.
Is this equation what I am
reduced to?
Simple formula, obsessive compulsive
DREAM.
The exponents of my life,
variables and names:
Tar. to the power of X.
Tar. to the power of M.
But exponents and powers
mean little to drowning men.
Can a man suffocate on
his own routine?
Can a man fashion a noose
from the fibers of his
"adult life?"
Look, Ma!
I'm all growed-up.
I have murdered adventure
and the youth that lives
inside it.
I snapped one too many thin branches,
fell through the thin ice,
and now I am addicted to solid ground.
I will stand on the banks,
watching the children
ice-skate around my ashtray
that overflows with
every "yesterday" and
half-smoked "this one time"
that comprise my
former life.
I am a grown-up now.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
an ahsen'd sea
falling down the ceiling like rain
in cold I can't sleep
and tears have been bled again
i wish I could see
all the faces that change
pick one for me
so I can hide my pain
hope i can still feel
if ever things go back the same
these wounds must heal
or I will drive myself insane
in the moments that were killed
by the memories I once had
an abyss slowly and calmly filled
until even the sunlight growed black
i see an Apocalyptic
tale weaved in my dreams
a cryptic voice
that now and then screams
while I sit so naked
in the dark so alone
all this time I've waited
for someone to find home
ashes falling on my skin
hiding me somewhere in this room
as when the lights go dim
you can almost see my gloom
you can touch them scars
and you can find it in my eyes
in there you'll find no heart
it has been eaten by them lies
I have a pen to speak my curse
but no one here to hear my song
for all that I say in my every word
so much silence has come and gone
I must not let myself disappear
in the hollow of my own cage
be consumed by my fear
and burnt alive by my rage
but these chains won't leave
until I become who I have to be
all these other faces I keep
someday I've to set them free
chanting those names
I think I'm finally falling asleep
I'm not here to play no games
a point end can cut deep
i will spill this rain on them
and feed them the burnt embers
only one way this will end
'cause the north always remembers
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Where art thou?
Come hither unto me
And take me somewhere right now
I need a change of scenery,
snap snap, take me there
I need a different memory,
Who, what, where?
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Thou hast my heart
Approach upon me carrying
My new start
I require your assistance,
My demons are close behind
They follow with persistence,
How I wish they were blind
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Taketh mine own heart
If thou cannot save me
At least let me restart
Rubber onto road,
quick before they see
For my demons, they have growed,
and are still chasing me
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Thou hast the only escape
To be or not to be,
Breaks the image agape
Barreling down the alley,
faster please, oh dear
this may be my death valley,
the reaper, he is near
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Thine hast tried so hard
"Here, buy yourself some new wheels"
I say and give my card
I'm cowering upon the horde,
they're towering up above
Oh my, what I would reward,
to my peace dove
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Run while thy has the chance
Pitter patter down the road
Don't give me another glance
They dive unto me,
I wretch and scream
The scene plays out violently,
Sadly, not a dream
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
'
*as a child once, to a favoured toy,
countless hours of pristine joy;
but specifications of 'all growed-up' ploy,
memories of past pleasures, now destroy*
_______✒
●○
°
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 5:16 AM UTC
inspired by“Blame It on Kristofferson” written by Byron Hill and John Wilken,
released 2010
(lyrics below)
<•>
A young teen listens to the
folk/rock during the Sixties,
five few years later,
now all growed up and living, crazy,
on Bleecker Street, the very same,
where these songs were being sung live,
by the artists, songwriters & friends
on the streets’s bars ‘n cafes
And Judy sings a ballad, mysterious,
‘bout a Marianne and all the tea in China,
words written like it was a poem,
and the infection was silent transferred,
still ‘fected, even now, in days sooner to
be reporting to heaven’s door, this blessed
curse will be unrelenting coming along,
we blame it on
Leonard Cohen
Knew the words, learned the secret chords,
which was easy, a-direct line between us,
knew where he got them holy tunes, and the
words he stole stealthy from our prayerbook,
went to Montreal, visited his home,
it was no accident, just the hand of god,
but don't blame the divine mystery being,
nah~nope, half~century, later, this dope
still blames it on,
yeah that’s right, on
Leonard Cohen
And here we are, the two of us, probably
smiling, gesticulating and gesturing, who
in fact is truly responsible for our crazy gene,
that pursues us, to create,
to mate words with
music of the deep soul, and here me be,
I am,
grateful grasping for each latter day to birth a new creation,
going out smiley & feeling kindly and fulfilled, now more than ever, and
zero doubts that the person at fault, fully blaming it all on my Canadian soul brother,
Leonard Cohen
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 9:36 AM UTC
The darkness in my soul, never left.
It was always there
It was suppressed when you where here
And filled me up when you left
The darkness in my soul
Plagued what I hold most dear
Infected my heart
Infected my brain
It growed into a tumor, and latched untill it became a part of me.
You see my dear, you where the sun in my sky. The angel of me.
And I? Hehehe.... I was just the demon in you, killing what you wanted to be...
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Living a stellar life is easy,
grab some boredom and hang on,
gripping the life out of it.
Being an active parent of three kids,
all growed up, and mostly on their own,
well not quite, some day... a change.
What is there left to discover,
reacquaint myself with my lover,
pour my soul into my muse.
So turn myself inside out,
upside down, and *cut my
teeth* doing verse
don't rehearse,
one day I'll edit,
but that shadow of doubt,
but that shadow of fear,
creeps in to the corner of
the room, is it the edit or
the boogeyman, but
I'll continue to cut my teeth
as to chew through this
I need a whole set.
©DWE092013
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
Story like a flower...
When her stalk was broke and died...
Her pollen will fall and wandering with the wind:
Growed beautiful new story--
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 12:07 AM UTC
They say that the twenty first day is the worst,
I thought the first was and the second and third,
word on the street is
' no one can beat this '
I never believed them boyz in the 'hood,
always up to no good, never giving a ****
I growed me a while and word is,
I'm a man.
On the fourteenth day when they say that the curse hits you hard
I was reading a sonnet penned by the 'Bard' wondering if his life was as hard as the times that he lived in, wonder if he ever gave in,
a saving grace here is that stupid dies and has no respect or fear of fear.
I survey the wreckage and yet I survive, a
high five to the gods of the day.
And Santa is coming they say, but that's on the twenty fifth day, they're auditioning wise men who are all in disguise, men freed from the nine to five, men who are on their way home.
Anyway the twenty first day ain't too bad,
I ain't as crazy, it's the World that's gone mad.
It only takes a miracle and the rest is passé
except for today and word is
twenty one is
lucky for some.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
Love was the seed which I sowed
Heart was the fertile land
Where i ploughed
You deforested the land
Where the saplings growed
Leaving me lonely
With the pain you endowed.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 12:31 AM UTC
Khepera rose from her couch of snow—lonely woe washing over her like a persistent crow.
as the night struck her face with its gleaming light.
she tied her hair and walked into the night, smiling at strangers with reluctant delight. walking upon the bumpy path—her thoughts mislaid, lost within the loudness of the parade, her eyes roaming the leering unfamiliar eyes
—
Khonsu sat in the back of his cold sedan. curses hurled from his father like a shattered romance. the night sky laid gentle comfort along his skin—a silence soft where screams had been.
Khonsu treaded down the crowded lane, his cold fingers clutching at his blouse like hushed whispers of pain—his thoughts casted about, his gaze sondering upon people.
Within the crowd—their eyes both knew, a silent connection as if a secret rendezvous.
Khepera’s gaze softened as her steps slowed, sighed softy and smiled with a gentle familiarity—hands sewed together as both of their smiles growed
Khonsu tensely brushed Khepera’s autumn draped hair away from her pale moonlit cheek, and with unpracticed ease—laying a kiss as holy as mary onto her cheek.
Khepera smiled and in silent victory—reached up her jittery hand to cradle his cheek of rose kissed ivory, her lips inching closer, laying a kiss onto his cheek. “You have my heart” she whispered.
“you have all of me.”
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
The occasion's a mathematical equation
you and I
thee and me
make not a number
it makes
We.
many a smile has walked down the aisle
and many a smile more to come.
Sigmund
expects me to mention my Mum.
But I'm growed up now.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC