"luxuries" poems
nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added
my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)
132k
It's 3:09am
I'm im the library
Desperately trying to write a research paper:
'LGBT Familes'
How fitting.
Caffeine courses through my veins
Coffee overloads my bladder
Bathroom.
I hate bathrooms.
When you have no gender
The simple act of relieving yourself becomes a chore
The heavy weight of that key decision
Chokes your lungs as you stand outside the doors
Two doors.
Men.
Women.
Not me.
The choice becomes simplified:
While I sometimes pass as a man
I often do not.
I can choose the men's bathroom
The consequence of which could end in physical violence
The same hate I explain through my essay.
The same fear that plagues my community.
The women's restroom is also an option
The consequences likely less dire than the former:
Heavy side eye and the potential of yelling.
A much safer choice.
Obviously.
Per usual, I walk into the women's room.
I take three strides inside.
Then I stop.
I've never used the men's room.
My fear of violent reactions has always won.
Yet at a time like this
How likely is it that someone is inside the men's room?
Now is my chance to face my fears.
Now I have a safe chance at peeing in peace.
In a bathroom potentially more suiting
Of my gender identity
So I turn around.
Let the door slam behind me.
Half a step into the men's room
The smell of rancid ***** hits my senses
Toilet paper liters the stalls
I have missed absolutely nothing in my years in the women's room
Women have nicer facilities
A significantly more advanced hand dryer
Cleanliness
Air freshener
Men do not have these luxuries
Now I question,
Do men not take as good of care of their bathrooms as women do?
Do the workers intentionally prioritize women's sanitation?
What causes this undeniable divide?
Is the messiness of the men's room a result of their conscious decisions?
Or simply a response to societal expectation?
Regardless,
I think I'll stick to the women's room
While I add bathrooms to my compilation
Of more discrete gender inequality
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
What can win against time, someone asked me
reminiscing the journey which started eighteen months ago
with me and him philosophizing intricacies of life
and human emotion
relishing the daily luxuries of satisfying debates
when little did I know that we would walk all along
fighting demons in our own being
surviving closed ends of fate
and loneliness
The man I got to learn of
his real, gentle and calm soul
comforted with the truth of a warm heart
eventually knocking out the dread
of long distances between us
relinquishing the storms in our minds
embracing sparkles of different weathers
Shall it really last forever
self-contained
or burst out with emotion
believing
it really is us
together
and our love fueled by faith in search of its way
which outlasts time
a shining beacon
in midst of an ocean of crowded wilderness.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
If there are infinite worlds,
there must be one where umbrellas never close-
hinges locked open like stubborn jaws,
gape-mouthed against walls in patient herds.
No one in their twenties owns one,
their hamster-cage apartments
too small for such luxuries.
They ask for rain jackets on birthdays.
Mary Poppins still drifts down Cherry Tree Lane,
her umbrella never folding,
only floating.
Children carry slips home
for violating umbrella laws,
forging signatures in loopy ink.
The Morton Salt girl wears a slicker,
yellow as a warning flare before the flood.
My mother walking me to kindergarten in rain,
transparent vinyl dome above our heads-
I, the opposite of a fish in its tank.
Her hair plastered to her forehead
by the time we reached the door.
Everyone looks most beautiful
with rainwater running down their face.
In the open-umbrella reality,
time can walk backward-
you can unwater a plant,
unpeel a clementine,
un-kiss someone.
Endings lift again,
fabric billowing, as if the story
had been left open in the wind.
Heather and Mike find the road out.
Rosemary tips the bassinet.
There, perhaps, neither of us was born.
What lay between us
stays open too long,
collecting rain until it sags,
slow and certain, like sugar
in the first storm.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.
Daffodil bulbs instead of *****
Stared from the sockets of the eyes!
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts and luxuries.
Donne, I suppose, was such another
Who found no substitute for sense,
To seize and clutch and penetrate;
Expert beyond experience,
He knew the anguish of the marrow
The ague of the skeleton;
No contact possible to flesh
Allayed the fever of the bone.
. . . . .
Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye
Is underlined for emphasis;
Uncorseted, her friendly bust
Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.
The couched Brazilian jaguar
Compels the scampering marmoset
With subtle effluence of cat;
Grishkin has a maisonette;
The sleek Brazilian jaguar
Does not in its arboreal gloom
Distil so rank a feline smell
As Grishkin in a drawing-room.
And even the Abstract Entities
Circumambulate her charm;
But our lot crawls between dry ribs
To keep our metaphysics warm.
7.2k
Fine living . . . a la carte?
Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
new Waldorf-Astoria:
"All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
has turned you down this winter?
Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
enough?)
ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:
GUMBO CREOLE
CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
WATERCRESS SALAD
PEACH MELBA
Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed gar-
ments, poured steel to let other people draw dividends
and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bit-
ter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.
5.7k
You strip and scream in the pillow of your king size bed.
Something about life being too hard
or your girlfriend's unfaithfulness.
Somoene's outside your door
or maybe under the tree.
They know what their future is
and their prospects are bleak.
'I don't want to eat because I am so depressed. '
Well, how about handing over that food to someone who has been going hungry to bed.
You are never thankful for what you have.
Let's solve this without any animosity
We all have days which are bad.
I have seen the citylights
I have seen the people cringe with the pain
You and I know that this system is to be blamed.
It's time that the government has shown their true face.
Those schemes are probably gonna fail.
Unclean water, improper waste disposal
it's time we return back to our own morals.
I don't mean to be abrasive
but it's time we face it.
The rich are getting richer
watching poor men die
You get the picture
Divided by an imaginary line.
Some charities are a scam
'*Please help us fund the education of the kids affected by the floods.
We have no proof where the money goes.
Our logic is ****** '
Traffic lights changing colours
Wait? Did someone break that one again?
That's a ******
No one knows where they are going
as long as the cash is flowing
So many around the world starve to death
'What the hell did you put in this lasagna? A rotten egg?'
Your emotional security us important
and so is your money.
You can enjoy as many luxuries
but remember to think of the less fortunate.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
The words are a playground,
no bell to call me in.
And wander I must
past fences, over grasses verdant
finding trees that take words
and split them like branches.
I eat the apples
leaving some of me behind along the way.
I am a constant poet.
If every morning that began with words in mind prompted a new poem, then I'd be a constant poet. Like this morning, would have been a bit about gerunds and how you just shouldn't gerundize some nouns because it isn't right. And then some are right but not because the connotation of the word or context remains the same. Take pan and paning, for example. One is breakfast and the other in film. But anyway, if I'm allowed to not make sense often then perhaps I am a constant poet. I asked the question, "Why is the expression take a **** Taking isn't what we do..." Perhaps the language affords us many luxuries of interpretation that forgive literal correctness and rules. Like writing a paragraph of prose for Hello Poetry. But maybe we are here because we question the limits and take the license and more. The words become a playground, not a chore. Yes that's it! My morning meandering leads to a single poetic thought.
The words are a playground,
no bell to call me in.
And wander I must
past fences, over grasses verdant
finding trees that take words
and split them like branches.
I eat the apples
leaving some of me behind along the way.
I am a constant poet.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
We are afraid of tying knots.
Now, my brothers weren't fond of Boy Scouts, but those aren't the kinds of knots I'm talking about.
Our parents got us velcro shoes growing up (something about not wanting us to be overwhelmed with tennis shoes)
And that, perhaps, was the moment that started everything.
We could no longer trip on loose laces as we ran our races,
Our parents couldn't see our disappointed faces as we fumbled getting ready for school.
It was the perfect contribution to the flawed illusion that the human institution should be prevented from failing.
Oh, yes.
In my lifetime, cordless telephones were placed in every house because we did not want to untangle our own messes anymore.
Failure doesn't hurt as much when it is invisible.
We wanted wireless, no-strings-attached luxuries with no side effects.
But there were effects that couldn't be seen
(how could they until we were older than teens)
Because the end effect was this:
a generation that shirks responsibility
we have anxiety
because our parents didn't let us face our fears when we were young
we are jobless, loveless, purposeless
because we still haven't realized that everything has its opposite
love - lust
success - failure
happiness - sadness
peace - anger and commotion
you see?
there are full-grown adults living in the basements of their parents
watching **** from an illuminated screen
a no-strings-attached commitment to a video that will never require a vow or a promise;
so many see the term "settling down" as "kicking up dust" of a dull life "confined to a four-inch screen."
we've seen our own parents cut the ties
now living separate lives
better that way, but millennials can't fight
for love or for kids or for dreams
because their caretakers' examples couldn't teach
the right way to do a marriage
the right way to commit
we are shirking responsibility--
because we don't want to fail.
still as afraid of tying knots
as we were in kindergarten.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
We want options but hate making choices.
Looking up to others waiting for their voices.
Easily swayed when someone claims.
This is the right one, no one to blame.
Dating, living, food it is all the same.
The abundance just makes it a game.
Who, what, where fits us best.
Giving up on the original moving onto the rest.
How to pick one and be happy.
When you are just another fish in the sea.
Not hunting for what you need.
Clouded by objects, luxuries.
They say lovebirds only need each other.
Fluff their feathers and stay together forever.
We are no different, no need for royalty.
Just make a decision and keep some loyalty.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 8:11 PM UTC
A Common man with wisdom,
A rich man with luxuries,
An intelligent student with extra knowledge,
A girl with beauty,
And a boy with looks,
Are all hated secretly
By those who flatter.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Contemplating life
over a hot bowl of soup,
my mindful mentor
passed me
the pleasure of oyster
to mix in with
the pain of chilies
stirred together by
chopsticks held in my hands.
There he taught me
the lesson of humanity
and the person's potential,
pointing at me
and then back at the bean sprout,
fiddling it in his chopsticks
as if he were God,
mentioning to me
"This sprout and you have plenty alike..."
"What do you mean?
How am I like a vegetable?"
He smiled and nodded to disagree,
"Life is not always physical.
Think for a second,
open your fragile closed mind.
Imagine this soup not just a bowl
but instead a cauldron,
the mixing of different elements,
sensations seared by heat
to create the luxuries we call
the world where you
are a mere bean sprout."
Looking at the small, colorless
tasteless, inferior plant,
I wondered, confused and asked:
"Am I so inferior in this world
that I cannot compare
to the rich flavor of beef,
to the nurturing noodles,
to the accenting spices,
but instead am no more
than a flavorless root?"
Yet my mentor laughed,
and patiently passed:
"You worry too much young one,
too much on yourself you blame.
Instead, take upon consideration
that the bean sprout is small,
fragile, tasteless like water;
there is nothing you can change
other than size and color,
but lower it into the soup
and patiently stir,
allow it to soak up the world
and obtain its potential."
I repeated his actions,
placed myself in the world,
sat patient and absorbed its essence,
and then removed it,
placed it to my lips.
Surprised that what I later discovered
was not a bland taste of disappointment arose
but instead what lingered to the tongue
was the sweet taste of near perfection.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
I got the job
It was the logical thing to do
Sweet sweat dripping down from face to chest, from chest to groin
From groin to thigh, from thigh to toe
I can consolidate this liquid in a jar and trade it for nighttime pleasures
The things we were told never to do are now the luxuries that keep us going
Something green, something brown, something resulting in the "stench" that the neighbors complain about
But I got the job so I can indulge in such cruelties
Silly financial problems creating stress resulting in overindulgence thus causing more financial problems
I can see the cycle emerge and I feel helpless and vulnerable
But no, no, no! Life is what you make it! A paradise, a jail cell, a flower, a hole...
I'll go with the flower, I shall feed it water even if it appears withered and dry
It may take a year, it may take a decade, it may take a lifetime, but you will bloom, my dear flower,
YOU WILL BLOOM! bloom, bloom, and blossom! BLOSSOM!
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
delicate and limp
they lie between the spaces
amongst hard print on factual papers;
occasionally unrealistic figments
of self deluding fantasy.
“they’re luxuries”, you mumbled,
a lament towards their rare materialization
in your few hours of slumber;
the soft impression leading souls
up the garden path,
misleading for they were
not all that pleasant.
midway after sunset
your heavy breathing is the
silence i hear; your silhouette
limp against the amber lights.
they came once again,
desperation had come
once again.
you squinted into the distant darkness,
“oddities veiled by a coat of blur,
though a fantasy felt as tangible
as the touch of skin;
i’d fall endlessly down the pit.
most of all, pathetically i had no one to
catch me.”
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
I am feeling very small
Like I don't need to feel at all
But numbness doesn't last
Only a step in my emotional fall
Give me the luxuries of a queen
And shower me with everything I could've wanted
And I still will not find my happiness
Because everything is as black as coal
As cold as a blizzard
That leaves 11 inches of snow
You can try
With material things
Buy me diamond necklaces and a ring
But it won't mean a thing
If you don't treat me as rare as the accessories and jewels
Money can't buy me love just materials
They have no heart
So you ask me if I'm happy
I reply with a thank you for all you have given
But I've been deprived of love
So my final answer is I'd rather have love than diamond rings
Because to me love is rarer than the most expensive items you can buy
Love is a jewel itself
Show me with actions not a stone
Because my heart is breaking
Due to feeling alone
It's only me and loads of cash
Wishing I had what I needed the most looking back
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
Heat & hate of Sirius-
Shun his baneful brilliance!
Let us dance beneath the palm
Moving in the moonlight, frond
Wooing frond above the calm
Of the ocean diamond
Sparkling to the sky beyond
The enchantment of our psalm.
Let us dance, my mirror of
Perfect passion won to peace,
Let us dance, my treasure trove,
On the marble terraces
Carved in pallid embroeideries
For the vestal veil of Love.
Heaven awakes to encompass us,
Hell awakes its jubilance
In our hearts mysterious
Marriage of the azure expanse,
With the scarlet brilliance
Of the Moon with Sirius.
Velvet swatches our lissome limbs
Languid lapped by sky & sea
Soul through sense & spirit swims
Through the pregnant porphyry
Dome of lapiz-lazuli:-
Heart of silence, hush our hymns.
Come my darling; let us dance
Through the golden galaxies
Rhythmic swell of circumstance
Beaming passion’s argosies:
Ecstacy entwined with ease,
Terrene joy transcending trance!
Thou my scarlet concubine
Draining heart’s blood to the lees
To empurple those divine
Lips with living luxuries
Life importunate to appease
Drought insatiable of wine!
Tunis in the tremendous trance
Rests from day’s incestuous
Traffic with the radiance
Of her sire-& over us
Gleams the intoxicating glance
Of the Moon & Sirius.
Take the ardour of my impearled
Essence that my shoulders seek
To intensify the curled
Candour of the eyes oblique,
Eyes that see the seraphic sleek
Lust bewitch the wanton world.
Come, my love, my dove, & pour
From thy cup the serpent wine
Brimmed & breathless -secret store
Of my crimson concubine
Surfeit spirit in the shrine-
Devil -Goddess ****** *****
Afric sands ensorcel us,
Afric seas & skies entrance
Velvet, lewd & luminous
Night surveys our soul askance!
Come my love, & let us dance
To the Moon and Sirius!
2.9k
Starfish are versatile
Humans are weak
Starfish have such a placid lifestyle
One of which we never speak
They are free to do as they please
Without rhyme or reason
Drifting through the seven seas
Never suffering such ****** treason
What kills us so violently
They survive
Our minds, traitors, stalking silently
They have none; so they thrive
What leaves us so broken
To the starfish is a game
But they don’t end up unbroken
For this they gain their fame
Like a little modern hydra
Of a less vicious sort
Loosing just a little paraphernalia
It’s arms the starfish must abort
A part of it that it that it looses
So that it could be free
All we humans are left with at bruises
Left by insecurity
Every day the starfish stars anew
Free from worry, free from woe
To such luxuries we bid adieu
And so we lead ourselves to the gallows
Yet not for one moment can we regret
Our greatest curse; our most beautiful blessing
We pay to this world a hight debt
A price we pay for all of our guessing
We claim to be free
But it's almost lie
In the harsh reality
We are free to live or die
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
I’ll never forget to love you,
So long as you’re gone,
But once you’re home
There are no guarantees;
Daily luxuries
And nightly TV
Pray the devil in me.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Scared, to let the words die, he hid, amid the languid luxuries of solitary structuring, lavished of the jaded and anguished lines, for lines melodrama, of the deviled days, of state, of mind, in fate, in kind, of the nether commas, devoid in honest ignorance of written words, dying on the caterpillars, cocooned, in all that's assumed, lost, in metamorphosis, never knowing this, is a dream, within a dream, of hope, clinging with stinging fingertips, ears ringing in the ripplits of a synesthesic pulse of visual signals, subliminally sounding the sirens, of solidarity, in the silent screams, of the sun rising, writhing in wanton seduction of my functions laying the heartened words of dead birds, falling from the sky, hardened in sloven cries, to justify, the means, tapping out on the screens, of a misnomer, a loner, in a coma, phoning you from the corner to warn ya, of the storm, in words prone to patience, in imaginit immaculance of the limitless limits, of livid lovers loving each-others lullabies, lolly-gagging in the illegibility, of our lucidity in the pity of leveled lofts, lovely-ly, levitating in elevating thought, fraught with passionate poetry, of ghostly words, blurred in the debilitating reasoning of reasonable reason, seasonally.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
Pencils are opportunities, it dulls as you write,
mistakes slowly burns the red rubber ****
and sharpeners are luxuries or government help or socialism.
But what about cheap pencils,
whose lead dulls or breaks easily.
Pencils are all equal if you look it in the outside
but what you can't see is that these cheap pencils
does not have a solid strip of lead inside,
it has some small quantities of opportunities to write.
I need to sharpen it once in a while
so I can clearly write.
But not everyone has sharpeners nor extra pencils,
some even bought this kind of pencil
with all the money they have
and they cannot write their stories
and their happy endings,
when the luster of their leads are constantly fading
into white, swallowed by the open
free-market place of ideas blank paper.
And I can't blame the poor vendor who sold me
these substandard opportunities.
However,
I am blaming the owners of factories,
for making such lousy imitations,
for exploiting my hunger to write.
I am blaming the government,
for allowing such pencils to ever exist!
Their lust for power, their greed takes away
my opportunities to write clearly and continuously,
I am blaming them for assuming that all of us have sharpeners!
We should not pay for social sharpening services!
Sharpeners and pencils should be free!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
i tried to prove my worth to you, show you i was a good choice, a good mate
i took care of you when you were sick, when you had a bad case of the flu
i pulled my weight, cleaning the house, doing laundry, grocery shopping
i provided, making sure you never wanted for essentials, little luxuries
i protected, getting into a fight, when a guy harassed you
i did all these things to show you i cared and loved you, but it wasn’t enough
it’s been a year, i still find myself, missing, hating, loving you
my heart was broken, it’s slowly mending, still painful to certain memories
i am angry, you let me live in hope, in bliss, you knew you were leaving, that you were going to break my heart, destroy my world, my life, my soul
of all the women that i have loved, met, you are the one i wish i hadn’t
your actions shouted louder than words ever could, but i was deaf
you made other plans, building a new life, in another land, rekindling an old flame
like the phoenix, you destroyed everything in our lives, so you could rise, to love another
i am still in shock, still grieving, slowly recovering
you are no longer mine to nurture, love, take care of
like a passing training, no longer visible, i can still hear it’s whistle
my love has faded, but you left a mark, on my heart, that will never disappear
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC
A loving father and husband
To provide for your family
Heading to office
When birds greet
Dawn with chorus
Hark, hark and hark
Back home, sitting
Over a computer till
It gets pitch dark
Bearing a workload
That could cause
ED if not a heart attack,
You make sure luxuries
Your wife and
Off springs never lack,
To indirectly ram home
Your love for
Your better half
As a broad day light
Is stark.
But when your marriage
Lost its ****** spark
Her resolution shattered
She sought love
Behind your back.
You failed to sensitize
Her about her beauty
Your number one duty,
Also sometimes making
A paradigm shift
You were not
A bit naughty.
Out of line from a
Henpecked husband,
You failed to defamiliarize
That do not you realize?
You should have made her
Feel an object of desire
That was what could have
Rekindled the flame
And the fire.
When you make
Love to her
Think not what
Makes you buckle
Under depression
Such as lack of promotion,
Ego-rocking feelings
Must not distract
Your attention.
You should ever try
To scale ****** new height
Every night.
Workaholic, unless
You jog, jog and jog
When you go to bed
For her you will be
No better than a log.
To the dump yard
She could throw you
A broken toy
Unless you afford her
A joy
Cuckolded by a man
On the wrong side of a boy.
With someone else
When a woman gets into bed
She deletes you
Out of her soul, heart and head
That is why,
As her husband, she denied
You a go ahead!
Mindful of this fact
It is not too late
To fix a date
Stop your
Fate to lament!
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
money from my hands like rain from clouds
copper suns and zinc moons and dead grass green presidents
pitter patter, flitter flutter
falling from the spaces between my good sense and my fingers
into cashboxes and registers.
and what are these heavenly satellites and stars spent on?
what are those famous dead men buying me?
tiny luxuries that vanish like morning dew
trivial things, unneeded and wasteful
a month’s supply spent in a day
by some lazy, jobless child
with little common sense and no self-control.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
When I was younger
Life was sheer brilliance
When I was wiser
I was in another body
When I was totally absorbed
I was diving deep depths
When I was beautiful to myself
I was a complete child free mind
When I was amazing
You thought I
Was inspired by beatniks
When in fact I
Was drunk on Moonbeams,
Candlelight pleasure streams
When I was yours
I was charmed by The Divine
Luxuries~from sweet sweat aglow~our
Lyrical Muses were asleep whispering Lyrics
Murmuring, palms kneading, loving. . .
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
I was disappointed when the electricity came back.
The magic of flicking a switch and Lo! There is light! was doubly
triply
exponentially
more magic than it had ever been.
To watch television, to cook on the stove, to turn on a heater - magic, marvellous, miraculous.
Yet I was disappointed.
That's the end of the apocalypse camping, I thought, sadly. I will miss these days.
Do you appreciate the wonder of a switch that makes all the luxuries you consider necessities work?
Do you understand the glory that is a tap that turns on and provides clean drinking water? Or even more glorious, that allows your toilet to flush?
Appreciate these things. They are not little, they are significant.
Without them life is different.
Have you ever walked to a well and returned with water, to drink, to clean yourself with, to wash your clothes?
Do you know how much water it takes to wash clothes, or how HEAVY water is?
I spent a mere two weeks without electricity, and perhaps
another week with no running water
and each day was consumed with those tasks
I normally considered arduous
but which took so little effort, I came to realise,
when compared to a more third world lifestyle.
"I want a drink of water - I shall turn on a tap."
versus
"I want a drink of water. Are the water bottles full? Has the water truck been yet? Or must I walk to the well? Where is a clean vessel? There are none, and no hot water to wash them in."
Without a thought I turned on switches, ran water from the tap, and consumed all the niceties of a life so **** rich
in luxury I took for granted.
Two short weeks without taught me to appreciate what I have.
Some days, now, I forget to marvel
at my easy, privileged life, but I make myself remember
apocalypse camping,
which was challenging and difficult, but satisfying in a way my life no longer is.
I miss those days, I value their lessons.
I would mutter and complain at carrying water back to my house, at cooking over the open fire - this was my life for two weeks.
Not forever, not always,
two weeks only.
Appreciate what you have, for many live a life without, and your own life, already so wealthy,
will be richer for your gratitude.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC