"journies" poems
We are all here today
Courtesy of yesterday.
So fear not tomorrow,
It's a gift from God to borrow.
Take a look at everything,
Do you miss anything?
Everything, everyone here today,
Began their journies yesterday.
Fear not what tomorrow brings,
It could be some good or bad things.
Things allowed by yesterday
Just to manifest themselves today.
Yesterday is the same as today,
It's just a day that has passed away.
Though it takes a part of us with it,
Tomorrow is what we all await.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
Her name is Chandney
In Punjabi it means the Moon
The thing about the moon is
It's not always appreciated
as much as it should be
The Sun steals all the glory
The Moon merely awaits its time
To come and reflect on the days
the Sun has left behind
The Moon picks up the pieces.
Chandney is my best friend
for a time she was my only friend
The only person I would call a friend
Not because I'd known her for so long
But because of all the things she'd done
Like coming to my door everyday
after school when I'd dropped out
and wasn't leaving the house,
tellin me about her day through the
intercom when she was young
and had the time to do that
The Moon kept me in touch
with the world of the Sun,
gave me a little bit of light left over
in the days when I saw none
And that's something that I will never forget
Like the first time I saw the moon cry
This moon is strong, this moon has pride
That hurt me inside
And every time since when I've seen
a sad face etched on your surface
I've cried with you, side by side
As you were Beside yourself
Day I realised that love comes
In many different forms
Cause I'd go above and beyond
anything I could ever do for myself
To reach out to you, lift you up
make you Smile, offer help
As long as I'm around
I want you to know
That the Moon is never truly alone
You have a sky full of stars
to keep you company
Consider the closest one to You as Me
We've shared some memorable nights
You and I
From first sleep overs
To gettin waved for the first time
Unlike so many The Moon
doesn't change with the tides
Loyal friend to this lunatic
The Moon changes the tides
When I was left alone
Crying night after night
The Moon watched over me
The Moon kept me company
Even in silence when
I didn't want to speak
The Moon was there
The constant silver lining
Reminding me that a new
day was gonna come
And I'd see the dark times through
Moon by my side goin through
the dark times too
We met as kids
And together we grew
I believe life for me is like
Those late night car journies
I'm Lucky, It's True
That No matter where you go
When you look out the window
The Moon is always with you
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
speak easies and sunsets
the rip roaring tide
of each season
plucked from
a particular
map of heart
a wilted plant
brought to
fruition
through
journies posted
reconciled and branded
out of their
terrain of gloom
with terrain too soon
the hardy way
of blues
‘infidel rider
of the box car
whiskey sunrise
alarm clock for BBC
snowy icy white lot
sky feasting
on schizoids
orchestrating
the busses
the pistols
silenced
and silent
the train
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
Life is crazy isn't it?
You go through many different things in a journey to find yourself.
Some have easy lives that lead on to success.
Some have hard lives that lead on to failure.
But let's take a look at the ones that are in between their journies.
The ones that are going through pain and healing.
Day in, day out just trying to survive and not willing to give up on their existence.
Time is a healer as they say, but time can take a while to work its powers.
One minute the pain in your chest is dulled and you feel fine.
The next minute it hits you in the chest like a thousand bricks beating you down.
But as they say time is a healer.
And in order for someone to fully heal from their past, that's good or bad.
That person has to understand that life is just a ride.
A roller-coaster with its ups and downs and no matter how much you want to get off sometimes... You still can't help, but enjoy the thrill that you get from being alive.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 12:15 PM UTC
What do you suppose
would happen
if **** Scotland
and Bald **** Arkansaw
hooked up
in ******* Austria?
Perhaps they would
stop in ***** Canada
for toys and then
pound hard through
*********** Pennsylvania
and go down to
****** Lick, Kentucky
before coming together
in ****** Michigan.
Hopefully, they
would avoid
Conception, Missouri.
The geography
of the absurdly
possible makes
for titillating
journies of fancy.
Let's all meet up in
Eros, Louisiana.
See you there...
mce
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
warm blood from wounds, it pours
to stain the floor in blending red
a fragrant pool where my sins reflect
flow endless to painful seconds passing
slow, i whispered prayers to a cross
though faith is lost.
falling paralyzed i closed my eyes
drawn to the luring
tunnel light
here below where all journies end
the ****** extend their reach skywards
to touch the unreachable paradise
chained and hopeless - as angels
cast stones from above,
i payed the last price
two silvers for the ferryman that sails
through the plains of despair
where my soul shall forever drift
seeking for its rest
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
Take my hand,
Show me,
All the places we haven't seen,
Let us go make memories,
Just you and me,
Let me explore life with you,
Lets go on journies,
Pick a destination,
I will follow,
Lets explore everything,
Our everything,
You are everything,
Let me explore you,
I want to know who your heart is,
I want to know who it is gonna be,
I want to be with you through it all,
I'm here,
Right here,
Just wake up,
Open your eyes and heart,
Let me in,
I will show you love,
Love like never before,
Love worth waiting for,
Just let me near.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
Silence, I'd want all of it.
Running so fast after that button was missed
Too anxious to really make it a hit
Among everyone, there'd be admiration
A sun, or two.
But the work wasn't up to par for you
At least that's what I heard
I don't write for anyone, as blunt as that may seem
I still find myself looking for approval
For the work already created
I'm not looking for validation
To create and be creative
But often too afraid to strike out
In dissassaproval
Of work, I'm most vulnerable of.
I don't ever want to create a piece that has no resolution
To just leave an open wound or thought
Left to be just that
I feel obligated to share a brightening shade to my darkest moments
In order for someone to truly benefit from my shared work
That is why the pieces in my drafts, stay in draft.
But what I can tell you is,
I'm still not always ok.
I feel like my life is kept in the drafts folder.
Yeah, I'm always progressing in life, in the journey
Even in what seem like standstill moments
Of solitude and suffering.
But that's the thing,
I'm progressing
So isn't all work, published or not in life, still a "draft"?
None of our journies are over yet.
Let's share our drafts
And create our finished work, together
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Masks are faces in which people hide their fear, pain, and heart.
In fears and pain most of us are dramatic play-writes
Finishing a Shakespearean drama with laughter masking the tears of pain as we struggle, in life, with it's beasts of torment...With our sword of strength we use in the fights.
The ****** after being
the remains of our broken souls
Upon finding that trustworthy partner, in life, friend or lover...
We show our true faces and bear all.
Together...
Sharing the burdens, laughter, pains, and drama that comes from being
"Cast into our drama and our life's stages.."
We, in turn, start writing our life's memoirs, together.
Happy to bear the wages...
Sometimes lost to the battles won after our "Play Bill" is filled as with each act in our "Scripts."
Our families...
We are made up of fellow play writes who can, in front of such people, take off our masks and allow the illusions in which we have created, to dissipate and clear like smog...
We can allow our hair to fall down...Like "Rapunzel..."
and leave our "Protective sheltered towers"
and bear life's played out tragedies, together.
As friends and people in relations of sharing equal support and interest in roaming where our "act" tours....
We remain true and bonded, together, as such beautiful sights are to be taken in....
We skip down the remained of "The Yellow Bricked Road"
as we finally reached the "Emerald City.."
as we passed through the acres of colorful flowers.
Alike Dorthy and her new found friends....
We enjoy the journies, in one another's existances and roles in our plays of life, retiring only when our souls also reach their true found ends.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
The upbeat tune backs a million journies
It comes from a battered piano and
The fingers of an old eccentric man
Who's smile lights the biggest room
Passersby share this magic with him
Their business paused for just a moment
They let the rhythm dance inside of them
Lit up from the happy notes
Tonight they will share folk tales
Of the smiling silver wonder
Tommorow he will return
To again colour the keys of the piano
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
What is so wrong with what I've got?
Why do I so badly want to go running back?
So she is holding up her walls.
So she hasn't given it up yet.
Does that even matter?
One of the most awesome girls I have ever met.
Only problem happens to be is
She is fighting another of that elite crowd,
And by virtue of the fact I haven't known
Her as long nor as intimately,
She is losing the battle.
Her smell lingers in my nose.
Her taste hangs on my taste buds.
Her touch makes my shiver caress the air.
I love them both boldly as God loves his children,
And yet I can love neither for not being able to decide.
Where does this sudden weakness stem from?
How come my resolve on this path
Has suddenly dissolved beneath me?
My life had seemed ready to settle out
And ready to settle in.
Now I'm not sure where to begin
Trying to sort out the chaos
That has been born again in my head.
Life and Love turned upside down.
My brain has been spun around
And I can't pick myself off the ground.
I can't believe what I've just done,
but what's done is gone.
Now lets deal with the consequences
As a man, not a boy,
And hope that my heart in
The process does not get destroyed.
Babe, I don't know if you could see this coming.
Baby, I wish you didn't seem like you're waiting.
Babe, what to us is becoming?
Baby, will you take me back in the end?
Babe, let's make our time count for something.
Baby, when does our time get starting?
I love you both dearly for the world,
But in all honesty, I don't know which
Is for me.
I do not want to waylay either of your journies,
But that is all I seem to be doing.
Can nothing come of something?
I know nothing will come of something here.
I'll miss you dearly.
I miss you clearly.
I want you near me.
I love you always.
Believe me.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
Strong you are
I do sense you
A mighty will
Despite the tears
You are a soul
Separated from hearts
The hearts you left
On that vast island
Of trivial lives
You keep asking
Will they follow?
And join you
Searching for
The meaning of strive?
You keep asking
What will happen?
Will I continue
Wrestling with fear?
I don’t know for now!
But I do know,
That at the end
Hearts long
For their soul
They will seek it
Beyond the seas
And obstacles
Beyond the fears
They will ask
Very soon
And when they do
The journies begin
No storm and no fire
Can hold them back
For hearts belong
To the soul
Just like children
To their mother
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
Today i clacked my shoe heels on the bench
paced the piece like a pommel horse with a fire in my eye
and words that hurled spears of love to the stary eyed sky
Today we let the smoke penetrate more deeply--
the oxygen osmosis contained hydraulic thought
And for once we tore the masks off and screamed TRUTH
to nobody but ourselves
I refill my gas tank with the petrififed remains of ancient mistakes
that died to an uncaring genocidal
time
feasting on borrowed bones
Today the heavens sing with every sunset
eyes glued to our utilitarian hand-
held
hand device, we dont even bother to look up
that bothered me immensely
Today I spoke with a woman who recommended the stars as a good starting point to our astral projection journies
and i wondered if our particulae had ever reverberated this strong
in the aeons before
Tonight I will watch the stars
try to figure out if i had ever loved death more or less,
until now.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC
I keep my stones in my mouth
so I can shine when I spit em out
and give em out to the people
that make my dividends
feel equal
I only stutter when I speak
and these days
I've been speaking like a freak
who's seen things you won't believe
I need to get these dreams off my chest
and into the realm of thoughts redeemed
I sought your steam
rising steadily
and I know the waters clean
but I never thought this
cycle would be able to
show you what I mean
When I say
I've been down this road before baby
and theres nothing you could say to me
to make me change my mind
Either you're mine
or there's something else
you need to find
And I've climbed my mental mountains
and I've drained all of my lakes
Looking for you,
Queen among the fakes
I've laid down with the snakes
that say its not worth
the trouble it takes
To get to better seas
Still, I enjoy the journies
for the memories they make
and all the sins I commit
for heavens sake
seem to bring me here to you
It must have something to do with the stars
or the stones or the time spent alone
Telling myself, I know my soul is
in here somewhere
Somehow, I'll know it when I see it
and recognize myself in someone else
[You]
Myself in someone else
[You]
Myself in someone else
[You]
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
11/6/12
Sleep takes over you
Warped versions of your life appear
It's been 9 or 10 hours
Why can't I wake?
Why am I still dreaming?
It's ok. I've been teckking on this journey
I should be tired
I must be
I keep turning because I'm cold
Because I slept in my clothes
The light outside gently wakes me up
My lids unveil
I check the time
It says 7 something, maybe 7:50
I dance around the house to not disturb anyone else from their journies
Hazily, I try focusing my vision, looking for something
Looking for something recognizable
I subtly walk across the first round of tiles
The clock says 6:59
I quickly go outside in order to meet the painter
Maybe He just started
I open my exit to outside
Cold and damp roads meet me
Rain or shine, I could use the fresh air
But the cold reminds me of the night
The night where I passed through the greatest desert
The grains flying in my face and blinding me
When it was hard to take even one step
When my circumstances told me that they were so great, it's best to fade away
To fade away with the wind
Into the red grains
To cover me from others
To let the desert bring them in like they once did me
To gleam in their eyes but to cover the outcome of choices
But I didn't go with the wind
Instead I was like the wind
Going everywhere but not having a specific place to call home
To use as my shelter from the world
Or from it all
Should I go back to my journies
Befriending them would mean I had somewhere to go
But I didn't want to be praised as an Olympian who crossed that desert and swam that ocean..
I wanted to be myself
I wanted to hide..
I didn't want to exist to the world
-ro
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
Hath I cry
When mystery rain showers upon me
Dew stuck in malevolent red
Slowly dropping from feet to head
May my crimson be the shade of immortality!
I have seen the orange skies cry
I have seen the mid summer bird
I have seen frost when it flies
I have seen my petal crumble in days
When love broke from its shackle
I have seen my seeds fly endless journies!
Flurry of wind, flurry of skies!
Oh fly to some distant land
May you grow a new pair of crimson wings
Where there are others
Blooming and smiling in the spring!
I have lost my self alone
In this bitter darkness dear one
Become my red, become my love,
Become me!
Hath I cry with strong desire
Become my unfulfilled thee
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
If Home is where the heart is then i am cynically homeless . I have no idea where this heart belongs. It seems that whatever beats in this chest was repossessed long ago. By what or by whom I do not know, but it is gone.
And if home is these streets I grew up in then I'd better set up a cardboard box and start begging. Cause these days I wander familiar paths aimlessly, a dreamer that cannot sleep, wondering where it is I should be; because it is not here.
Taking endless bus journies to escape the monotony, seeking a beginning out of the ends. Knowing this place is the death of me but I'll only ever reach purgatory, cause I always cross over and end up back here.
Sometimes I feel like I'm haunted by this place called home.
And if home is this family, then I'm an orphan surely? This family has forgotten itself. Strangers in silence that hoard emotions on shelves, call it store rage as it simmers in stealth. Daily reminder that I'm just mad at myself cause at this age being so dependent is proving bad for my health.
But maybe I say this all unfairly, cause it's a bad day, so let me re evaluate this place I call home.
Home is this pen I take with me, the thoughts and feelings it sets free.
Home is the memories.
Home is any place I feel at ease, the people I want to come back to when I leave, the comfort food I eat.
Home is the arms that hold me, keep me connected when I'm lonely.
Home is that reciprocated intimacy, knowing that when I'm gone you miss me, that smile that only he could give me.
Home is knowing you love me even when i'm angry.
Home is where I can just let it be, those moments of inner peace, the tranquillity.
Home is being care free, laughing uncontrollably making jokes somewhat inappropriately but all in good humour and company.
Home is knowing who I be despite what you see or think of me, singing loudly in public and not self consciously cause fear's been overtaken by curiousity but love mostly.
And maybe I say all this because it's a good day, either way this has got me thinking. Home isn't really a place a person or a thing, it's a feeling. So don't you see? I'll always be homeward bound because it begins and ends with me.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
It takes tales to run along
past the mast of the unseen flag
the one that comes and flies along
after decades of the lost light
flights and unending ghostly journies
the freedom recovers the day
wrapped up on the winter cruise
bruised by the western winds
on the gravel country lanes
where soil is the only savior
upon amber- brown rusty folds
past reason why the sun rises
beyond the cradle of the waning moon
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
i have been with you my life. but what i have said some day u will see me again.
you have been my life but my road never ends of journies and stories of the untold.
i promised you i would find you. when your cryes have reached the full moon and water rivers. your crys have benn there to my promise
we have drifted to long and when i see the roses in your hair i dont even know what t say.
we both have words we havent even spoke of exept your arms around me
your wisper i have found my savior
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Only in the greatest injustice
The greatest martyrs have arisen
To rid the world of the greatest demons
The greatest gods have awoken
The greatest discoveries
Have come after the greatest journies
The greatest joys
Have sometimes come from the greatest mournings
The greatest creations
Came from the greatest toils
The greatest marvels
Have always been the greatest spoils
The greatest war
Has always brought the greatest justice
Only the greatest suffering
Has given the world, the greatest peace
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 10:36 AM UTC
Like a poet... He sings through the sun.
Resting a knowing...
On this ever centered moment.
The existing answer is we.
Lifted chests of love, we breathe.
And like an artist... He paints his way.
Resting a knowing...
On the ever changing moment.
Journies to original truths.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
High above the world's hectic tumult
Emigrating doves tore breeze in solitude
Gleaming ***** paused and then resumed
No one to bother or worst intrude
Embracing the gulp of dust and vapour
And riding on their tantalising bubbles
A crass crow came candid with croak
And bashed and entangled with one of those
The collision followed a cat fight
Only during their unison flight
A crass crow and doves and doves
Those doves were weirdly enough
The spectacle highlighted with the impressive shower
Of the feathers of the one that couldn't empower
Gleaming ***** resumed with the cult
Of curses and gloomy ******
Fly high as they with their sarcastic grins
Cracking jokes of the ****** and assassin
"The innocous crow soul rest in peace
This's what we can pray for thee"
Reached they their destination
Without any guilt and confession
The morning kissed their eyes
As they began again flying high
One of them entangled with a crow
This time both breeds were equal though
Lest the history repeats itself
Or there'll be pleads and requests
But the former often occurs
And a cat fight had begun
The croaky crows were the winners
The doves flew away in tension
The next morning embraced the eyes
Of both the groups for their regular journies to skies
History repeated itself
One of both again entangled
Lest the history repeats itself
Or there will be pleads and requests
The former often occurs you know
But not every time on show
A round of pleads and requests followed
And all reached their respective homes..
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC
I always wanted to marry a beautiful girl
Nighttime wedding under the stars
I love the stars so much
The way they shine so brightly
Even though they have died
I love to lay outside in the summer
Spring or fall and look up
At the stars shining above me
Wondering how far are they all
It would be a dream to be married underneath them
It would be a dream to visit Ireland for a honey moon
See my ancestors home
Irish through and through
That would a dream come true
To see the world with my wife by my side
To take my baby on journies far away
Watch as my child grows up with two moms
And know they have seen a variety of cultures
I want a life worth living
I dream of being okay
Craving to be happy
Dreaming of "One Day"
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC