"insisted" poems
left my phone unlocked
on the taxi’s back seat,
won't be the last time
called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up
he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office
and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,
we met on the street,
he rolled down the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone
I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:
*"No sir, no no, not necessary!
Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"*
to which I replied,
*"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"*
and with an equally, beaming smile I continued,
*"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was*
Inshallah!" ^
something he could not dispute...
or my knowledge thereof and it’s
proper pronouncement,
nor
his amazement,
to disguise!
we parted ways
each believing,
each receiving,
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
Granny.took a switch to me.
But I insisted on raiding the big mango tree.
The big rainbow ones hung kinda low.
The sweet yelllow ones were close to the limb.
They would sometimes come down In a huge carribean gust.
And splatter.
The young unripe green ones. Were my favorite. Treat.
With crushed habaneros mixed in with some salt.
Or mango. Sweet mango ice cream.
Oh. Yeah let me dream.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
She was wild like skinny dipping at midnight, stars watching overhead and falling in love with moonlight. The way it lay upon her skin made the ocean envious of her depths within and sometimes between us. She was my sister, not in blood but in orbit. A Venus to my Earth, forged from the same collapsing star and if the universe was in fact to be infinite then this moment would happen again, and again, and again an immeasurable number of times. I found comfort in this thought, knowing though our existence was meaningless, it was still full of feeling, and this feeling, right now, it insisted on existing forever.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
There once was a friendship
A friendship that grew strong
One that was durable and could survive all that went wrong
The people in this friendship loved each other
through blood, tears, and depression
They stood by each others sides through
Spite, anger,and loss of affection
They fought for each others beliefs
Held each other when one felt weak
Trusted one another with everything
But eventually the day came
When their friendship wasn't the same
And they ran
Having each other to blame
For the once proud friendships decay
There once was a girl who yearned for what was lost
She wanted her friendship no matter the cost
So she gave up her pride
With a plead and a cry
She waited patiently for old friend to oblige
But to her surprise her friend still insisted she had lied
On the outside she shrugged and said at least I tried
But on the inside she knew the pain would not subside
That the friendship would be broken even after the day she died
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
I'm waiting for my mother
I twiddle my thumbs idlly
I'm trying to look away from
The chocolate bar that's staring at me
"Look at me!" It whispers softly
I'm struggling to avert my eyes
"You'll feel better when you eat me" it
says
With an effort, I ignore its lies
I walk around the chocolate shop
Like a predator circling it's prey
This temptation is just too great!
My feet can't seem to walk away
"Eat me! Eat me!" The chocolate chants
Someone save me from this torture!
"Don't leave me all alone" it says
I can't take this anymore
Suddenly, my phone rings
My mother has finally arrived!
I turn my my back on the chocolate
My face glows with pride
I didn't succumb to my desire
I did it! I resisted!
I held on, I stayed strong
Even when the chocolate insisted
I smile as I reach the car
I'll tell my mother about my ordeal
I think of how proud she'll be
And of how happy I will feel
But before I utter a single word,
She hands a packet, beaming wide
She says "look what I got for you!"
I can't wait to see what's inside!
A prize for resisting temptation?
Oooh! What could it be?
I open the packet and look inside
And a big fat chocolate stares back at me!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
i see the words floating on
message boards or perched
upon the lips of jocular hypocrites
double-standards that demand
sensual chastity and virginal sexuality
in endless iterations of irony
the concussive
monosyllabic words
slung like stones
cast like arrows
****
*****
*****
all labels for
women possessed of
the courage to pursue
their own passion
once upon a time a
Nazarene insisted a ********** had
more integrity than a rich
statesman throwing self-serving parties
so tell me why so
many Christian politicians
propagate patriarchal notions of depravity
in blanket attempts to regulate
the bodies of women
if being anti-choice was really
about preventing abortions
why do rich right-wing conservative
Republicans spend all their time
and money picketing free clinics
when the solution lies in comprehensive
****** education universal healthcare
complimentary birth control
and comprehensive child support
don't dare use the reprehensible
rhetoric of pro-life unless you're
at once anti-war
and anti-death penalty
riddle me this
what pray tell is the
difference between a jealous
religious misogynist
and a secular sexist
it's rather simple actually
while the former bases his
slut-shaming on the edicts of
a two thousand year old letter to
the Corinthians inconspicuously
sandwiched between a celebration of
love and a section on speaking in tongues
the latter’s learned behavior is
birthed by a hyper-masculine culture
grounded in dominance
either way we await the day
when wild women raze
these ideologies
with torches before
rising like phoenixes
from the ashes of
decimated passages
dismissed by intellectuals
as archaic and outmoded
deaf blind and dumb to
the vestiges of modernity
that sap unscientific
philosophies of their potency
and render them utterly obsolete
in their wake
these proud women
erase the hate
from words like
****
*****
*****
and reclaim equality
with a far more
comprehensive term
feminist
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods
deep in thought with a book
He licked a finger, turned a page
too engrossed to give me a look
I met a young lad named Solomon Woods
humming a gentle tune
He smiled and waved, shook my hand
and wished me a good afternoon
I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods
while he sang me one of his songs
What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal
and insisted I sang along
I sat with a man named Solomon Woods
glad of his still, gentle manner
His reliable smile and kind wise words
drowned out the usual clamour
I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods
glad of his confident stride
I knew for sure he faced the world
trusting God as his strength and guide
If you meet a man named Solomon Woods
he'll certainly stop for a while
If you have the time, he'll sing you a song
and leave you with a smile
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac
my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry.
Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case
means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that,
in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best.
But I was talking about the picture.
The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss
as a housewarming present.
It, the bowl I mean, came with salad tongs or forks,
depending on what it is that you call them,
made of water buffalo horn.
They sit in the bowl too and,
although she'd never admit it,
I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks...
lets just say.....
doesn't appeal to my wife.
Right, the picture....
It sits in on the buffet,
in the carved wooden bowl,
next to another wood bowl.
This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables,
which evidently, includes sugar cane.
When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility
the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move.
My wife was the last and dad insisted that
someone
"had" to take the fruit.
But, the picture....
It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks,
are surrounded by both faux and real glassware
and placemats
which all sit perched
on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees
and all of their belongings
on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat
chugging from their homeland
to some place that is hopefully better.
The picture...
It was painted by my father-in-law and,
of all the others we have in the house,
is one of my favorites.
It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks,
amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware,
and placemats,
unframed for some reason.
All of his other works came framed
but this is one he did not...
and did I mention that it is one of my favorites?
I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have,
but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame,
sitting in that carved African wooden bowl
with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn
on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables,
and wooden sugar cane,
in the butler's pantry.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
When you told me I was doing great for a woman my size, I passed you off and told myself that "compliment" had good intentions.
When you called me sweet cheeks I ignored you. A woman like me is used to men like you.
When you told me the stair master made my *** look bangin, I was both honored and appalled. My *** may be my greatest feature but ****** comments have their place and the gym is not one of them.
When you asked me for my number, you were rude, acting in a way in which no gentleman should act. I told you no. And I meant no.
When you called me a ***** loud enough for the whole gym to hear, you were only making yourself look bad.
When you came up and wrapped your arm around my shoulder and told me you were going to take me out for a good time on friday night, I was terrified and suddenly praying for a **** whistle.
When you insisted I promptly informed you I was lesbian, and to let you down gently, not my type.
When you called me a **** I took no offense, that word has become meaningless. Then you told me it must be a phase, that I just hadn't been with a man like you. That you could change me.
When you said "hop on this **** **** I was done with your games. I pushed you aside and when you ****** my shoulder back you were the one to end up with their *** on the ground.
Dear namless man at the gym,
When you said you could help me through my phase, you were wrong. Being gay is not my phase. Being straight was.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Tea Talk (or Taking Tea)
Jam comes first
And then the cream
Said the scone from Cornwall
To one ‘n’ all
Taking tea
Milk jug blinked.
The teaspoon gasped,
Who would have linked
The layers of bliss that sweetly kiss
With their order between the halves of a scone
From Cornwall
Where one ‘n’ all
Know that the milk is churned
Until it’s solid
Then we say the cream is clotted.
The teapot looked at the scone from Devon
Who knows that cream and jam is heaven
But only if the cream comes first
And then the jam . . . . .
My thoughts exactly said the ham
From between its sandwich fingers
Where it lingers
Until it’s time for tea.
‘Are you sure?’ the teacup said
To ham within its breaden bed.
Saucer asked the cucumber salad,
‘Should jam come first?’
‘But does it matter?’ said cucumber salad.
‘It’s a ballad
So red and white,
A symphony of taste
Into which to bite.
It is so right
For those who are taking tea,’
‘Jam then cream, is what you do,’
Insisted Cornwall’s scone who
As we know likes cream to be clotted.
But tomato blushed and quickly said,
‘With cream from Devon I am besotted
Because we know it’s clotted. . . . .
Too.
Onion, hearing Cornwall and Devon
Knows that cream and jam are heaven . . . . .
But jam and cream are bliss
Sealed with a kiss that is heaven . . . . .too.
The dilemma of order fuels onion’s frustration
And onion’s tears lead to prostration
For those who are taking tea.
What is to be done
To solve the question of order
Jam first . . . . . or cream?
The issue borders
On the ridiculous
As the layers sweetly intermingle
Like the lovers’ kiss
As those who are taking tea
Bite . . . . .
Ouch! said onion
The scone from Cornwall
And the scone from Devon
‘Either way is heaven.
David Applin
Copyright …David Applin (2015)
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
I'm six years old. I'm six years old and my favourite colour is green because it's the colour of my eyes and I think my eyes are the prettiest things I have ever seen.
I'm eight years old. I'm eight years old and I had a nightmare so bad I felt like my eyes were deceiving me. My favourite colour is now the same pale blue as my Mum's floral bedsheets because they make me feel safe.
I'm ten years old now. I'm ten years old and I'm a big girl because I'm allowed to walk to school with my friend instead of my Mum. We walk past fields of buttercups and other pretty flowers but my new favourite colour is the peach of the rose in my front garden.
I'm twelve years old. I'm twelve years old and I can't stand the colour green anymore because the meaner people in my school decided my self worth was less important than their jokes. I don't have a favourite colour anymore, but if you ask I'll say it's purple.
I'm fourteen years old. I'm fourteen which means I've been a teenager for a year and I still can't stand the colour green. My Mum let me dye my hair for the first time and now it is red and red is my favourite colour, but if you asked I would still tell you it's purple.
I'm sixteen now. I'm sixteen and I think I know everything, I met a boy that I like for the first time, my Mum doesn't know, but I think he makes the colour green a bit easier to look at because he told me he loves my eyes and that they are the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He gave me a pair of rose tinted glasses and I'm not quite sure why, but for now my favourite colour is the deep brown of his eyes but if anyone asks, my favourite colour is still purple.
I'm eighteen now. I'm eighteen and I can finally drink without it being illegal, and I have started drinking to forget everything except the colour of my Mum's pale blue floral bedsheets, the peach of the rose in my front garden, the bright red of my hair and the green of my eyes but most of all I'm drinking to forget the purple of the bruises that litter my skin, the purple that I always insisted was my favourite colour for reasons unknown to me.
I should be twenty years old now, and my favourite colour should be the orange of the sunset, the pink of the sunrise or maybe even the yellow of the buttercups in the fields I used to walk past on my way to school, but I did not make it to twenty years old. My favourite colour was never purple and I never asked for my skin to be constantly tainted that way, but you made sure I never healed and now my Mum is laying purple flowers on my grave and she's wishing she fought more to get my favourite colour to be green again like when I was six years old and in love with myself and the world around me, because if I still loved the innocent green then maybe I wouldn't be suffering my greatest nightmare as a child with the only comfort being tucked up in the seemingly endless sea of brown. I always tricked myself and everyone else into thinking things were perfect with rose tinted glasses but the lenses shattered and the last flower you laid on my grave was the peach coloured rose from my front garden, and now the petals have wilted and all of the colour has been drained from me but this new world has more hues than I could have ever dreamed of.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
it's been a day
since we last let our love seep through,
since you held me close
in that moment, now long gone.
then you shoved me away
once you'd had enough
of my then-green heart;
it's been a day.
your punches and kicks
have turned my heart black;
i will no longer feel.
i won't let myself.
"that didn't count,"
your worried soul insisted
never venturing beyond
your delicate bubble.
go after her then.
Leave me here,
a sinful
nothing.
go after her then.
go be
your father's
son.
love
is simply too elusive.
so you may as well
get comfortable.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 3:02 AM UTC
The princess who chose
To live in exile
Holding the hand of her husband
With a beautiful smile
Framed in a guile by Ravan
But she didn't fall in his wicked ways
Despite being held captive
And tortured for nights and days
She refused to go with Hanuman
When he came to rescue her
Insisted that Rama come openly to defeat her captor
In Rama's honor exile did she prefer
On the Ravan's defeat - to prove her purity
She had to walk through fire
But the flames neither touched her body
And nor her attire
The fire bowed in her honor
But that wasn't enough
For the clouds of gloom
Were towering above
The world has never been fair to women
Despite of proving her purity
Sita had to leave
It was the height of cruelty
Cause Rama was as weak
In the face of his men
As strong he was
In front of Ravan
Rama- the man
Sita loved enough to die for
Asked her to leave
To the path that led abhor
Just imagine the way Sita would be looking at Rama
With whom she had to part
For he was standing dumb like a statue
When her world was falling apart
Would she have accused or looked down at him
As she asked mother earth to swallow her
She was going back to where she came from
In order to save the last shred of her honor
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
Do you know the meaning of "stop and frisk"?
I'm sorry black brother, you do.
Have you ever had to change your voice in order to get a job?
I'm sorry black sister, you have.
Have you ever had to remove your hijab because you needed to take a flight?
I'm sorry brown girl, you have.
Has anyone ever insisted you have extensive knowledge on every school subject?
I'm sorry yellow friend, someone has.
Have you ever been told to go back to your country, despite the fact that you're already there?
I'm sorry red man, you have.
Have you ever been called and illegal immigrant, but you were born in the u.s?
I'm sorry Latino friend, you have.
Have you ever been told that racism doesn't exist and, by someone with pale skin?
I know I have.
So this is to the ones who have been told that they "aren't black enough" because they use proper grammar and their pants don't sag.
The brown boys with beards that get called "towel heads"
To the Asian kids that are just as smart as the next guy.
To the native Americans that still get called Indians.
To the brown girls that get told that they don't have to wear their scarves because "we're in America"
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
thus by prosecutor charg-ed, with this crime so heinous~ed,
the judge insisted on a super speedy trial, this, a special case-d
"can't wait to hang this ***** be~deviler,
got me a jail, second only to hell,
if he thinks his hifalutin lawyers will get him de-roped!"
I plead guilty to save the state some moola,
avoid the expense of all the attendant hoopla,
but in my tired defense, I said little but this,
it was god who cursed me with this word-ly power!
now I ain't saying I was naturally bad,
but who are you to judge me so harshly ,
when all I did, with a tool god~given, was,
tell people how beautiful they are, so close.
never far, from bringing them forth to their fruition
so my intentions were good, tho my goose is cooked,
loonily, this I truthfully willingly confess, though just as bad,
I was lazy, I was negligent, I am now hell-bent for many
infractions, the greatest, chiefest of them all, was all the times,
!!!!!
***read a poem much beloved by other's on this blue earth,
weak from jealousy jealous, I never...reposted it! for their way
much better than mine, and I was too selfish to praise them,
so I expect I won't be too lonely in perdition, just another poet***
!!!!!!!! addition
*so children, teach your children well
a poet's hell will slowly go by, if they
fail to repost them hundreds of poems
that mak'em gasp~laugh-just plain weep,
for that will really **** (sorry lord) the one
true judge wh gave us this wordy blessing,
and is eagerly awaiting us special*
sinners
and that just might be my one true name…
(Oh sinner~man!
where are you gonna run too)
[{(]})]
p.s. this poem readily available to be reposted ('jes a 'gestion)
even
plagiarized elsewhere, but remember, when you, who stole it,
somebody's a~watching whose
vision is unimpaired.
plus, I got new software invented by Ai trained teachers,
so so, easy to find ya...
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
The saga in her eyes converts into a
Constant downpour soon after
She realizes her freedom from the spell of the dark witch,
The curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body.
What land – what sea – what wind...
All my life now seems her story.
"Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me."
Her words reverberate throughout,
What wind - what land - what sea,
Everywhere is her presence as I can see,
The wind whispers her name in my ear,
Since a long long time now all I wear,
Is her scent in my immortalized memory.
***"Will you stay with me forever, or,
Will you go back to the heavens?"***
Though I really wanted her to stay,
I love her and realize what she felt,
I offered her freedom and a choice,
I was not binding her to me in turn,
Everything was instinctive from me.
She seemed in a serious dilemma,
Struggling hard she was in herself,
I again offered & insisted this time,
"It's better to go back to your world,"
But I knew that she loved me a lot,
She tried hard controlling but said,
"I am in love with you since long."
So I am quite right that she loves me,
I am sure even she can forget me not,
Beading all our memories together,
I now know how I can gain salvation,
Not being another self-centric tantric,
***"But you don't belong here, dear,
You shouldn't torture yourself for a mortal."***
After this, she now looks comfortable & composed,
Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone,
Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile,
Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness,
Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good,
***"You can't make me stay away because you love me too,
I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."***
But I wanted her in my real-world now,
I prevented her from vanishing again,
I said, ***"Please stay, now do not go away,
Because I really can not bear that pain,"***
She had almost vanished by then,
Listening to my words she chose to wait,
She said, "Even I want forever to stay."
Continuing with her divine dialogue she said,
"Say those golden words to make me stay,"
I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel,"
"Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel,"
She didn't wait for anything more to say it,
"I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor,"
Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
We took quiet steps down a lonely street
I had never stepped foot in before.
The air felt tense since it was
more than clear that you didn't feel
like talking, not anymore.
You stopped suddenly and backed me
against a wall.
We made out slowly whilst I felt
an old lady watching us from her
front steps, maybe I was just imagining her
since it was time for me to go,
I had to meet up with my friends.
Two steps forward and you stopped again
looking at me with a shy smile and
intertwined our hands.
My palms were sweaty and my rings
poked at your skin but you insisted that
you didn't care.
It was also the last time
we held hands.
- hand holding.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
I’ve been to the ledge,
looking into an abyss
certain that I
wouldn’t be missed
and even if one person did,
they’d be better off in a world
without me in it.
I’ve seen shadows creeping
while I was almost sleeping
halfway between
waking and a dream,
with a spiderlike scribble
crawling across my blanket
that I couldn’t smash
or even shake off.
I’ve been swept up
in a manic moment,
then began drowning
in an endless pit,
and almost died in it.
So many self-inflicted
near misses, electric,
pill bottle, and razor kisses
but my body insisted
on living when my mind
wanted a quiet end
to the painful buzzing.
Some say it gets better,
and for me it did,
some say all you got to do
is keep trying to live,
some day you will make it.
It’s one struggle at a time.
But sometimes people
go into those dark caverns
and never come back.
It’s not a beautiful death
just a tragic final act.
-2021
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 1:49 AM UTC
It's like a blind man leading a poor man
He sees the cliff coming but he doesn't mind
Grateful to have company on the way down
Thinks the cloud they'll fall through will be silver lined
It's like the teenager who just gave birth to a still born accident
It hurts real bad inside
But she's grateful that if she returns all the diapers everybody bought her
She might have enough money to buy a prom dress
Thinks the pain she feels will be silver lined
It's like the boyfriend of the young girl who just gave birth to the still born child
Grabs his cleats out the closet
Grateful he still has time to get a college scholarship
Dumped her over the phone
Said he didn't like the way her ***** *** whined
Thinks adding another drop to the bucket of pain he will never feel is silver lined
It's like a young man who works at a gas station
With dreams so big he'd have to run the world to accomplish them
Grows up, gets marrieds, gets settled, and settles
Knows the only way he'll make the TV is by beating his wife
Grateful that strangers know who he is
Thinks the jail time he's serving is silver lined
It's like the grown man who has everything the boy at the gas station ever wanted
Doesn't want it, wishes he could give it back, but can't
So he buys houses, clothes, and Cadillacs
Grateful to have enough
Thinks the silver lining on his silver Cadi is silver lined
It's like the overwhelmed twenty something year old who puts a lock on her own knife drawer
Too proud to get help
Grateful that she has a boyfriend willing to take the brunt
Of all the problems she can't see past
Thinks the inconvenience of the knife drawer is silver lined
It's like the boyfriend of the overwhelmed twenty something year old
Who takes the brunt of all the problems she can't see past
Grateful he has a key to the knife drawer
Thinks the blood on the floor will be enough
To show her there's more to the world than the problems she can't see past
Thinks his mama's heartache will be silver lined
It's like the staunch republican who got laid off last year
Now he's so broke he's on unemployment, food stamps, and TANF
Grateful the democrats were in control during the great depression
Still voted for John McCain
Thinks the bumper sticker on the back of his car is silver lined
It's like the young family started by a couple kids
Who insisted on having a couple of their own
Now they're too poor to afford but too rich for assistance
Begging their government to bail them out of something that nursery rhymes got them into
Grateful their truck didn't break down again this month
Thinking raising hungry babies is silver lined
It's like a poor man leading a blind man
Who knows the cliff is coming
Knows they're going over and doesn't really mind
Grateful to finally be in the company of someone just as blind as he is
Thinking the cloud they'll fall through is silver lined.
Aug 25, 2009
Aug 25, 2009 at 7:38 PM UTC
Do not get it twisted.
I only loved you
until I lost interest.
I insisted,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Now I’m gone and you’re left
wondering why I went missing.
#Lust
Timelessessence
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
I share the fault
with all the world
sheltered women who haven't heard
the division of society
more than young and old
the innocence of one
the truth of all
the escape that was mentioned
of life and love and thought
and the law who insisted
with no place to have undone
the time that's spent
blood shed as it went
no notice, nor crime
just warnings, every "this time..."
so society as a whole
each of their individual souls
made, to end, prescribed, then sent
along its path, too soon, too soon
a pre-destined night under a moon
and the lust of attraction
the haste of their actions
all death is meant to be
the hero is he, you see
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
I miss my cargo green canvas backpack
Shredded with the mass of three
science textbooks: biology,
classical history, chemistry.
Not like backpack was meant for
several colossal three hundred page
hardcover books.
When it was empty,
it was light,
barely anything, tugging
on my shoulders;
but I insisted the friend come with me.
But I used backpack
for study,
drudgery,
play.
The linen wore
with every use.
It was my safety blanket,
under loose cloth
that contained
sacarine
orange glucose
tablets that I hoped
to never need
Inside the main large pocket,
there was a secret
zipper, within held
a pack of cigarettes,
an excuse,
to pardon myself into a realm of aloneness-
with little questions asked
There were strings that adjusted
its position on my back that
I would pull down,
using tension to fling myself
terminal to terminal
More than fifteen times, I lost
count, of my partner traversing
across oceans, gently cradling my laptop and phone-
my trusted links
with the outside world
Nervousness alleviated by the tassels
in my mouth, I bite and chew
on the cloth, but it holds steadfast
as I ponder how to approach
what's next,
the bittersweet coffee they fell into
rehydrates with my salivating mouth,
hungry for adventure
but a stomach empty
knots itself
anxious
for what's to come
My backpack weighs
on my shoulders, empty or full,
but it's trained my body
to carry the load thoughts in my
head bring upon me
But it yielded to what was to come,
the seams at the bottom gave out.
Backpack let me know: I needed to
learn to carry on
without reliance.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
She did her happy dance
As she walked down the stairs
And that hug was the evidence for unconditional love
Like that fight between pomegranate seed and the teeth
Love burst at the right pressure
She did her happy dance
And visioned eternity
But I don't believe in unconditional love
So right before dawn I prepared to leave
As I do every time I sense love on the horizon, rising with the sunrise
Take me with you, she said - let's run
I've been choked before - I thought
And told her I'll be going for a spin
Spider webs were colonizing my bicycle
I find freedom as the air shapes my face into a smile
I am far now, in that shed were I hid myself
And I'm not intending to return
I will be watching the sunset alone
Her eyes were intending to nail the sun
On the wall of our destiny
I speak highly of the sunset
But she insisted to capture the light
She believed in unconditional love
I believe in unconditional positive regard
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC