"maybes" poems
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn
rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette
resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by
the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
that true quiet
is not the absence of noise
I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve
the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion
this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity
here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Maybe some day we will dance
Holding hands in disbelief
As tears of joy
flow from our eyes
While the field of flowers
will cheer in salute
Maybe our eternity
will come to an end
And our day will come
to begin . . . just maybe
Just maybe I hope
beyond my dreams
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.
I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
Emerging economies.
What they’re emerging from I don’t know.
My guess, the depths of hell.
From the frying pan, right into the fire, or worse; a well.
A deep hole stronger than gravity, the force.
To be forever under the thumb of remorse.
A modern era of endless acts, policies and bla bla bla.
Shut up with all your platitudes.
I see what’s really going on. Aha!
You speak of sustainable development.
Nice to know that you’ve led by example.
Carried the mantle for all these years.
Centuries of ruthlessness, now veiled in sheep’s clothing.
But you won’t shut up. Because you don’t speak.
You never have. You just do.
Each day that goes by, you carry on anew.
Behind all the talk of hope, equality and more progress,
it seems the wolves are lurking.
Cooking up the next tool to subdue countless.
This time, not behind closed doors. But in plain sight.
It’s scary to imagine such spite.
Each year that goes by it becomes clearer that you never cared.
You sold guns, drugs and all kinds of war.
And each time, you kept coming back for more.
You’ve built up antibodies that ensure your survival.
But sometimes I wonder if you’re alive at all.
But what do I know?
Maybe you’re more alive than ever.
Doing what you do best but always more clever.
That not even the most stable of geniuses can evade your pressure.
A strong enough foundation that each break makes you stronger,
So strong that not even the Gremlin can take you under.
Against this dreary background, foregrounded is nothing short of magical.
Beyond hope, prayers or a thoughtless radical.
Or maybe this is all just fake outrage.
An attempt to evade the boredom of this endless monotony and baggage.
Or maybe, the term is out of date.
Like every other, that makes me increasingly more irate.
In which case, this poem is at least ten years late.
Or maybe there are too many maybes’.
And I’m perfectly suited for this time of vague uneasiness and indifference.
In which case, my imagination probably needs more sociology and less a lesson in rhymes.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
She is, quite thoroughly, a mess.
You knew this, you know this.
And she comes back now
Like a drowned rat.
All maybes and I dunnos
And not a hint of why.
She’s just a disaster.
You were ten, just a child
In the scouts, newly moved.
You’d no one
No one save her, the wild child
Always causing a fuss,
Always making a row,
But you had her.
Even if she was a disaster.
There was a fight,
You were poked fun at by…
What was her name?
Sally? Sally, yes.
That Sally Walkens poked and prodded.
She laughed and pushed you.
You fell, fell right over
Off that rock, and you cried
Because you were fighting about…
What was the fight about?
And there she was
Your knight in shining armor, the disaster.
Sally went off the rock
Right into the river, not the floor.
Screaming, pleading, shouting,
Floating and drifting by so fast,
And she stood triumphant
Arms raised, howling “Justice! Justice!”
And for that moment she was so cool.
Even if it was all a disaster.
You laughed at it,
Standing up and feeling safe,
Feeling wanted. Here was a friend.
Here was a good person,
Even when she was scolded,
Held inside by the mother,
Badges stripped away,
There was a good person.
But now you know it.
Know that Sally could’ve died
And that’d be a disaster.
Now she is back and you know
Still know as you did,
Know so much more now,
Just what a mess she is.
What a mess she was, always.
But for one moment
Back when you were a child
Standing on that rock, shouting
Shouting for you
She was a hero,
She was your disaster.
And she still is.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
I shake and people worry
I pretend I'm normal and okay
but inside I'm dead
and while I have my normal mask on
they treat me like I am a person
not some depressed, psychopath
when I am normal to them
they hug me and this feels like ants
they touch my shoulder i shutter
it all fuels my anxiety
my leg begins to shake
my mind begins to race
I hear every noise in the crowed
it fuels it from
the sniffle to
the bobby pin that fell out of her hair
the world is so loud
the words in the world come to me so negatively
maybes gives me no hope
when people tell me I'm alright
**** when I tell myself I'm okay and I'm not
laughter makes me want to give up on every thing
its the one thing I would give the world to do again
is real laughter
a smile that is not fake
because I know that I'm broken
when people think I'm normal it scares me
and i don't know how normal people do it
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
The monotony of adolescence is a laughable oxymoron.
My mom keeps saying to me,
"Caitlin, you're in a state of flux. Just wait."
Little does she know
I'm waiting for anything
to ebb.
Flow.
Twinge.
Any lurch of impulse of life
in this constant static lullaby.
Maybe I'm just itching to slough off my skin of content
and breathe in a fresh new disposition.
Become intoxicated in the maybes,
and the possibly's.
Embracing the oh-wells
and the never-enough-times.
Eschewing the feeling of everything I've missed
by having it near.
Having him here.
Getting trapped in the crinkles of his smile
and the freckles on his shoulders
that navigate me to the spots I feel most comfy.
Losing regard for the world as I become transfixed
in us
and our patterns on his couch.
Tumble into elation.
Quirks transpire the me's and you's
into the us's and we's.
To think... I was so scared to hold his hand.
Not knowing at the time
how great his waffles would taste
after a night of holding him.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
Why are librarians always mean?
They act like they are the queen
of the library scene
They are in charge, that is true
they make that clear when shushing you
if only they actually knew
people only go to the library to pass through
they ***** and fuss all day
and treat children like their prey
they all turn into a cliche
if only there was another way
they are lonely crotchety old ladies
who took their dreams and turned them into maybes
some of them had wished to write
or edit famous books into the night
but alas here they are in old schools
screamin' and yellin' all day about the rules
I think that's probably why
they take pleasure in making children cry
Forever they'll sit at their desk
growing in old age grotesque
when you see a librarian make sure to scurry
unless you want to feel her wrath and fury
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
I fell out of time
into wavery scarves of seconds
glittering of snowflake anticipation, and
minutes of quiet purring joy.
Tonguing thickening clouds of breathsteam
he has always been a familiar stranger;
every joint is a champagne cork, white
marble smile that bubbled
over wooden lips. Tell a story
in ten words or less, tap fingers pointed like guns
twice against her hot temple, smile
and half a tooth still ****** Tell a story with one
word, bang, and sock away the other nine.
Turn to a cat and say, I’ve got your tongue.
We sat together on our heels in the smoke
and snowfall, the plumed weapon of breath
melting. Cars slide into the lot, ice over easy.
The alcohol tasted like soap. It is not enough
for maybes and not-know-hows---grating
cheepcheap common sense, fail me now.
Maybe you didn’t write LOVE on her
battered wrist but LIVE instead,
maybe you stole all the magnetic a’s
off the fridge, you’re not the one
who highlighted instructions on a macaroni
box, so you broke all the chalk and wrote
the name of your childhood dog above the sink.
Maybe “hostile” is a fuzzed blue comforter
three months past laundry day, every lint
ball sharp as the word “cut”, the word *****
the word “scream”. Maybe I’m naive, sentimental, but
I believe in a common kindness
like the common cold running thin
in threads of worn-out heart chambers.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
We all have done something
That we feel bad about
That we feel sorry about
That we regret the most.
We all have done something
That we don’t wanna do again
That we don’t wanna see happen again
That we regret the most.
We all have looked back
On our actions
And we have decided
That what we have done
Have harmed our images
In the eyes of our friends and our peers.
Don’t live in the past.
Don’t yearn to live in the future.
Don’t look back on your past events.
Don’t look back on your past experiences.
Don’t plan for the future.
Don’t prepare for what ifs.
Don’t prepare for maybes.
Live with no regrets.
Don’t get mad at what you have done.
Don’t get mad at what you could’ve done.
Don’t get mad at what you would’ve done.
Don’t get sad at what you messed up on.
Don’t get sad at what you didn’t get to do.
Don’t get sad at what you have caused.
Live with no regrets.
Use these bad experiences
Use these bad events
As fuel for what you want to do now.
Focus on what you will do this morning.
Focus on what you will do this afternoon.
Focus on what you will do this evening.
Don’t look back.
Don’t look forward.
Live in the present times.
Live your life with no regrets.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 1:51 PM UTC
I miss you like sadness.
I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python
with a desire for suicide blondes.
Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice.
Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction.
Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt.
Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes!
I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no.
Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower.
I'm a ****
And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave.
You make me want to go to church.
I was baptised once, I forget as what.
I honestly don't even know what religion is,
but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies.
Lie with me.
Caress my sins.
My body is world war three,
I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones
and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies
are bullet holes.
Save your prose for someone who gives a ****
Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here.
Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead?
Let's try it baby, suicide pact?
Let's dance with the dead darling.
You always said the devil was our best friend.
My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over.
You said that I was hard to read.
I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar.
And now it's my turn to ring it.
You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers.
I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale.
I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body.
I want to be lost.
Lose me baby.
I'll lose myself in your lies.
Lie with me.
I just want to be held.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
i have so many thorns in my body, that i forgot all the places i've been bleeding. you bleed me out, you can. and that's okay.
i'm aching. i ached to taste you and i still ache,
but the question is, would you
even wait long enough to let me have the chance?
to be waiting and being disappointed by a bitter fruit
or waiting and never finding out the sting.
i'm not sure what is worse.
is it possible to drown before
you take a dive into the
deep end of the pool?
or is the self pity the pool itself?
does weakness constitute
as a fabrication for other people's flaws or
is it simply a plan that failed to start?
i know my blind sides, but i've had so many
bittersweet "almosts" and close enough "maybes"
that heartbreak has become my favorite flavor.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
We live in a world
Where people have doubts
About what their governments are doing
About what they will be doing
About their health and well-being
We live in a world
Where trust isn’t a right
It is something we all want
But we can never have
We live in a world
Where we fight in endless wars
To see which nation is the strongest
And which nation is the weakest
We live in a world
Where people are crying from pain
People are suffering from hunger
Little children are without parents
We live in a world
Where little children have no food
Where they have no toys
Where they have no hope
Of living the lives of normal children
We live in a world
Where discrimination
Where racism
Where hatred rule our lives
We live in a world
Full of what ifs and maybes
Full of doubts of what the future holds
Full of fear of we have done
To cause all these problems
We live in a world
Where we hide ourselves from ourselves
We hide our true identities as nations
We hide our true identities as people
We hide our true identities from the world
We live in a world
Where we fear for our lives
Because bombs are bursting everywhere
Because we live our lives in our shadows
This is the world that we live in
And it’s time to break free
Break free from the chains
That is holding us down
Break free from the world that we live in
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
You can honk,,honk if you want to.. It won't make her come to the door any sooner,,,She'll keep you waitin,,Just you wait and see,,you might as well join the congregatiuon..Sit right there and wait,You know She RULES the nation..She's a Real Tall,,,Honeysuckle Baby!! Thats why she wears only,,Yellow,Red and White..Her fragrant style turns heads with each and every step,..She's a Real Tall,,,Honeysuckle Baby...When it comes to action,,There ain't NO Maybes.....I Know this Lass,,and,,,She's my Baby,,...It's a SECRET where we met,,,but I'll tell you this Much....**She's a Real--Tall--"HONEYSUCKLE BABY"!! By ;barnoahMike
Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC
> if the world was ending of course I’d tell you I loved you, I loved you with all of my heart, so much that I couldn’t bear to tell you because even if you loved me a little (i know you do but do you?) I would’ve run into your arms, I’d be happy for a thousand lives over, of course
> and maybe I would tell you that I was never able to think about the love I had for you in the present tense, I loved you and I will love you but I do not love you, if it’s in the past or in the future it’s less of a part of me and that is okay
> if the world was ending maybe I’d tell you that I could never decipher whether the love I had for you was platonic or romantic or something in between and that sometimes I wondered if I only held onto the feelings so I could write more poetry
> maybe I’d admit that I wrote the most beautiful words for you, that sometimes even my own words evoked tears in the corners of my eyes because such a crude emotion was poured into that writing
> maybe I would tell you that recently i wasn’t able to think of you apart from love
> and maybe I would tell you that apart from staying awake at night and seeing you in my dreams I wouldn’t admit that you lived in my heart
> maybe i would tell you that i couldn't look at your face for too long because what if i ended up staring at you and (worse) what if i ended up gazing at you, that would not be good
> if the world was ending i'd reveal that the only way i kept a lid on my feelings was limiting how i felt to 'maybes' and 'what ifs', anything more was embarrassing
> maybe i'd tell you that you're my soulmate and i've never met anyone more alike to me who could at the same time be so different
> and so i'd probably admit i think i love you in a friend way but i've never had a friend that i couldn't bear to let go as much as you
i would tell you that you're my person, and i wouldn't care if i was yours
> (though right now i really hope i am, probably because the world is not ending; everything changes when there will be no tomorrow, everything changes when all we have is the past)
> i would tell you that i've rarely experienced such an intense emotion, much less for a friend, i would tell you that there's something different about you (is there something different about me?) that makes me dread the day that we part
> i would tell you how much i feared that we would drift apart, if i could i would hold your hand and never let go (would you let me or would you pull away?)
Mar 9, 2022
Mar 9, 2022 at 7:27 PM UTC
i.
A ventriloquist
When we were one
Putting words in my mouth
I didn’t mind
ii.
A mad ventriloquist
When we were some
Somedays, What Ifs and Maybes
Camo clad ventriloquist
A kid with a gun
We shared a sugar sack baby
iii.
Tired, sad ventriloquist
Even when we had fun
You spoke of days long after
Such a bad ventriloquist
When we were almost done
Mismatched lips, silence, and forced laughter
He doesn’t deserve all the power he has
Yet he remains my
Puppetmaster
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
I saw you at the bus stop yesterday,
I didn’t have the chance to even say,
That you looked the same as you did last year,
Instead I just turned and dried my tears,
At the boy who didn’t even recognise me,
I’m the girl who lives on our maybes and could be’s
I saw you at the bus stop yesterday
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
Head in the mountains
Heart in the seas
Feet in the rivers, in bays, in streams
Head in the logic
Heart in the dreams
Hands in the tension sew stitches and seams
Head in the skies
Heart in the breeze
Eyes in the stars chart new galaxies
Head in the wild
Heart in the free
You in my want, but not in my need.
Head in the clouds
Heart in the trees
Hair in the wind, like grasses and greens
Head in the known
Heart in myst'ries
Wishes in whispers waiting on maybes.
Head in the wander
Heart in the journey
Faith in the Author of my living story
Head in the mountains
Heart in the sea
Yet, Soul in the prayer of you finding me.
|b.g.|
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
Ambitious Girl:
Consider this my reiteration.
I wanna read your books, and not just your looks.
Knowing what you look like ; I wanna be in your space - but not so much that I interfere with your education.
Let me say this,
Congratulations on being the very best you could ever be.
Putting priorities over everything, Miss couldn't get that coach cause tuition was due.
& sallie was nagging for a payback.
Sallie was nagging for a payback.
And you paid that, plus tax.
Miss made so many friends stepping with the sisters.
whatever it is, I hope you pledge an existence that'll make your existence, persistent.
Forever my queen, say you're listening...
Look, I'm still talking .
You love school but you're sick of Sally maybes .
No *** , you're the lucky one because all your friends have babies.
And you ain't slept , up thinking , tomorrow's that big test .
Few of your friends stripping you don't judge em' though.
You're insecure with your body so you like "forget it yo!"
So, I put you on that pedestal,
Girl I'm just saying your work ethic makes you edible.
Me a freak? That's something that they will never know.
Look, you're something they can never see;
You overpower anything them other girls could ever be.
Go ahead and prepare for class, hit me when you finish up.
It's never too late, we'll celebrate soon as the grades come.
Shout to them girls in the club with no relations between their professors .
Yes sir, I propose a toast to them girls - that you offer them ones but they never let you.
I love your ambition.
Okay, shout out to them 4.0s and even 2.5s ; who signed up & failed but say "whatever , I tried."
It's nothing to deny for having a strong mind, I'll make sure to keep you in mind.
You're still someone I can ride with; dress up & get fly with.
It's still something you provide , you never hide , that makes me wanna get inside .
Look, ambition will define you, never worry about them hating chicks that wish to be just like you.
My goal is to serenade you everyday with these verses until you no longer insecure, obscure and hurting .
They gon know you;
Chasing your dreams, instead of chasing what's in a dudes' jeans.
And God blessed me with a lot of patience , but I ain't had none in a while - I need your AS(S)pirations .
I love your aspirations!
Ambitious Girl...
Fourth generation.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
Overthinking
Isn’t that what we all do?
Pretending
We’re okay but we don’t think so
Minds getting hazy
A little bit crazy
Should we ask maybes
Or should we just stop talking?
Funny
I’ve been having a lot of arguments
In my head
I don’t know whose currently winning
It’s lame
A big joke that we make
We act we’re okay
But inside our soul is dead
How?
Do we really heal or do we conceal?
Does time really heal or we get better at faking?
Are we really here or were just asleep dreaming?
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
Funny how easy
Loves appears to be, until
It laughs with the other easily
Reconcilable "maybes"
That devalue your first "hello".
First, it began as "hello".
Little did you know how
Interested he would be in you, but
Reflecting on it now, you see how those
Tender tendencies weren't exclusive.
Finally, all you have left is "hello",
Like every other girl he knows.
Inevitably, you're one of many
Recycled pretties that thought
They were more than another "maybe".
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
i was drowning in your galaxies of blue.
blue so pale- like your e y e s
when i swore i could feel them on me but
you weren't there.
i was drowning in your galaxies
in which the stars would shine
shine bright / bright light / bright white light / pale bright white light-
not like printer paper in the sun
more like the pigment of your skin
in the moonlight.
i didn't mind. drowning didn't seem
so bad.
because even though i felt awful and sad, i
also felt loved,
and that was so very pretty to me
as a poet. as a lonely star amidst
constellations.
you almost said the "l" word
a total of (probably) seven times in the five
long-short months that
we were almost lovers.
i actually said the "l" word
a total of five times.
twice as a half joke, hoping you'd pick up
where i slacked in clarity but never
in sincerity
and three times (thrice) in my goodbye
in which i beheld these self-evident truths:
that the almost (always almost) meant
that we could never be lovers
and i thought that i'd prefer us to be nothing to each
other but maybe friends.
(maybe, maybe, maybes make me want to wish on stars
but not the ones in your eyes)
and although time flies
i'm still somehow drowning in your galaxies
of blue.
and i wonder if its killing me
slowly
as your stars blink
and i'm gone
when they open their eyes.
almost.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
so tell me,
what are we?
black or white?
yes or no?
living or dead?
we can't get stuck in between
not in grays,
in maybes
or in hell
a.t.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
i wish i knew how to put some pretty words together;
in a way that you could read me and cry without realizing it,
in a way that you don't know how it all suddenly made sense
but it all fell together - so right - till the end.
with the steady hand of a seamstress and the persistence of a theorist,
i would string together wispy letters, carefully taking away
and holding all the guilty, lukewarm feelings of self-romanticized nostalgia,
with those hollow, deep pangs of shamelessly missing you
from the somewheres and over theres beneath my ribs.
sometimes, i really miss you - and all of those times, i hate it.
sometimes i stare back at you longer than i should,
but i'm beginning to think that even looking your way
is much worse than a waste of sweet time at this point.
i don't want you inside of my mind anymore.
my wants and needs and maybes of tomorrow are foggy and furiously blinded with
what you used to make me feel. will i ever want anything that much again?
i see you a lot in my mind, smiling handsomely in a way that kind of ****** me off.
in some way, i am overwhelmingly upset in a way i can't describe, in such a strange dialect that
i've maybe only begun to understand when you spoke it to me with watery eyes and an offkey tone:
"i can't do it." i think i know what you mean now.
you were trying to say something deep, i had thought all along,
but i think you were just trying, just simply trying to go along
with something that was safe; you know, i forgive you for playing it safe.
we're just trying to protect what little good we think is left.
i wish i could have tried just as hard; tried harder/ to be with you
because i'm just so tired
(i need to rub my eyes clear)
that i will exasperatingly admit that i am lost after you.
i'm so ruthlessly childish, in a curious way that i refuse to let these warm,
painful feelings for you go.
ruthlessly, still into you, i'm so hardheaded that i will even ignore myself
to forget you
over
(this is the last time i'll look back on you)
and over
(i swear his name won't come to me tomorrow)
again.
you replay in my mind;
maybe one day i will
forget that you ever really meant everything to me once
anyways.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC