"mentors" poems
(a tribute; if mere words could be enough)
~
the life of this River,
'tis an unending stream;
is an unpublished book,
its current fast at flood;
a flow that washes clean,
all the gathered debris;
its words like diamonds,
sparkling neath its lapping
waters at its river bank;
a sound refreshing,
hushes the rush in my mind,
calling to my soul.
where does the river go at night,
and whence flows its waters
when hidden, out of sight?
its flow is eternal to the sea;
a place of waters gathering,
of floods heaping,
of reflection's seeking,
where still waters lie,
where the hand of friendship
holds and lifts all who venture
to its depth where feet
can touch no longer
the point where most
would flounder
become a place of calm
of peaceable retreat without
and deep within
a flow of tears for thee!
~
*post script.
a heart on sleeve composure,
for he who knows the River best!
who's breath is water deep,...
who's heart beat its very current!
added 12-13-16
my dearest HP friends, i want to thank you for this Daily and for your generous words, though i cannot truly claim this credit for my own. those of you who have walked these halls with me for a few years will read between the lines and will know precisely for whom this tribute is written. he is become to me one of a small handful of poetry mentors and it was a moment of great appreciation for his artistic talent that inspired these words... words that tumbled from this pen as a rush, and in mere minutes. such is he, that he inspired this spill of words; a flood that i would not claim for my own. to he who knows, thank you, my friend... this River... these and this belongs to you!!*
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Delayed response to ground control, oh how I was crying.
In retrospect, I was just shallow; like an astronaut only watching
himself as the rest of the world kept steadily spinning.
Impersonal up here, never caring about winning or losing.
The star charts that mentors showed lost to what my mind followed,
A winding path through this sacred space which I unhallowed.
I didn't flinch at blastoff; it wasn't bravery, it was me being a coward.
Sweating in a far away bed, steel round walls with no decoration,
Straining my mind fighting the moments of suffocation.
Spots in my vision, distortion and discoloration.
Seeing stars I glimpsed my comet on exhibition.
I would have to come back around. It was just a matter of my rotation.
Retrospect from ages back and to beyond where we will have gone.
Black holes made that can never be filled, endless they came, endless they will come. To touch down in glory, or stay on the run. Life is just a rocket that departs from the sun. The rest isn't lost, it just hasn't been done.
So as we eventually drift into deep space and age becomes our dawn, remember to look out the window and wave to the passerby's.
They will cheer you on.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
Like taking a deep breath
Clean cold oxygen
Clear of pollution
Where before you had known only
CO2 and smoke
Like smiling for the first time
Not for any person
Not for friends or family
Not for teachers or mentors
but for yourself
Like opening your eyes
For where before
You had known only darkness
You realize there had
Always been light
Like spreading your arms
Feeling nothing but cool wind
Crisp against tender skin
But rising off the ground
And taking flight
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Attended by old friends and mentors
the Great Bear's name is set in stone.
Protected by the roof of his architectural cave
his undying lines resound
in the celebrated corner of words.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 6:04 AM UTC
**Last I read, the Alpha said Jesus gave us Wine, Bread and Fish. The Way, Light and Truth was spread for nothing in return, a moving Church made wide, stead for each. Today I see business in Church all made part of some tradition, no valid permission...just a twisted perception of the less in the lurch and the rich in the mission. All due respect, I've seen Priests get lured by church female adolescence, truth. Priests are mentors especially to juvenescence, no wonder now church feels like a fashion parade courtesy of young essence, youth. Our Kids are now spiritually weak, they think going to church cleanses the sins for the following week. Adults say they've tried, but I see God holding a cane...whoever rebuked my Aunt's burial, pray you're not first in the lane. Where do we run to when Holy places are not such an Oasis? When white man doesn't travel to the moon with you? I don't know your faces...just mine, Black Jesus and Yahweh as basis...**
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC
sara left me on the 14th of may,
while my mentor laid dying,
while my debt went unpaid.
over routine coffee and cigarette,
she watched the flimsy fabric
of my flesh
catch flame.
she floated away
to ricochet off summer lions,
whose pride lies between their
worn thighs.
i planted heavy.
aged a century in a week of
wine, infomercials, and hospital
calls.
every mutual friend i asked
about sara's condition,
told me to leave her be,
cast me in creep status.
my beard grows gnarly.
my smoldered remnants
held together by cobwebs.
and everything i ever loved
is on its deathbed.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
With a blistered heart
From unnumbered breaks,
A cloud of unshed tears
From untold betrayals,
I reenter the world
After an eternity or more
Of self imposed asylum
From a world of superficial bliss.
A world unchanged!
A cruel untended garden
Of deceptive beauty
And unkind thorny roses.
Lovelorn shadows,
Masquerading venomous claws
With beauteous flamboyance
And undesirable attraction.
Lethargic feelings,
Dousing my desires
With drowsing memoirs
Of countless emotional abuse,
Causing momentary spasms
In cerebral regions
Parading nocuous images
In the plenitude of projected beauty.
Scarred beyond immediate cure,
I recede from said world-
Too adverse for tender hearts
Back to hibernating moods
To nurse evergreen cuts
Cuts so deep, so lethal
Only the indolent strides of time
Can attempt to stitch!
Awaiting prophetic moments
Moments with mirage qualities
When in-love I can fall again
When a damsel I can trust again
When my heart can beat again
For one with pure intentions
Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors
*But virtuous in biblical ways*...
© Raphael Uzor
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Blazed is the trail made by their mistakes
The high road created for all our sakes
Explorers of lands that were once uncharted
Now the cartographers of the paths they started
We are the proverbial parchment upon which they sketch
Vicariously imbuing their wisdom within each etch
The end of their journey is where we begin
For the trail ahead must be blazed again
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 12:02 PM UTC
I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space
A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face.
A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream,
Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.
It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory,
Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary.
Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle,
I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.
With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet,
I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit.
Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose
Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe
As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes
And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly.
I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this",
As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.
And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack,
Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack.
Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago",
And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
*Some of my best friends are
The tiny grey cells in my head
For, without these tireless givers
I should sorely want*.....
For I've had.....
The power to recognise the nurturer
Who saved me countless times
Who sewed my confidence at valedictory
Gratitude to Mother...granting me first wings.
The help of a few friends with proffered lifts
Not many, but enough to light the way
Takes but one spark to lead the lost
Cannot discount the value of true goodwill.
The sweet taste of that first, deep love
Who showed the path to discovered delights
Easy mem'ries...looking back, but ****** ahead
Sighs painted on the ceiling in dreamy webs.
The awkward trip down that rabbit hole
Blue lady hanging pretty in the corner
Flies trapped flimsy, on some terylene
Many padlocks loom....to get gasping to you!
The chance to slough off onerous habits
Dive wholehearted into the universe's sea
Gaps to kickstart joy and spearhead cheer
Mentors pass the torch and believe in me!
Yes, some of my best friends are NOT seen
Most reliably spun inside this osseous shell
They answer things and help me find my truth
Thank heavens....selfless amity equals mercy.
S T, 29 June
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
They say facebook is a crime
For people who a have lot of time
But I’ll say I don’t have lot of time
Does that mean for me it is not crime?
You can’t learn to cook,
If you got facebook.
But if you cook
You share it on facebook
Fun wall,
Super wall,
You write everything that happened in the shopping mall
But why can’t you just say it ,by giving me a call
Chit, chat, chit, chat
You talk about what happen to that little brat
In the end, they can do nothing
All you can do, is keep on chatting
Uploading photos
Thinking maybe should add a few more logos
You post, they comment
Still you won’t be content
Update your status
Will not make famous
Sometimes you will feel hapless
Forget it,but just don’t be careless
So much notification
But it’s not the place to find real motivation
It’s the mentors’ with great education
So it’s not too late to reach a better destination
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 4:04 AM UTC
Are we the sum of our experiences?
We are not the sum of our experiences
When we live in the moment, we become that moment
It’s in the now; in flow
Where our authentic selves are found
Past eddies, riffles, or undulations
Of our lives have as much meaning as we choose to give them
Meaningful or meaningless is moot
If we’ve found our authentic selves
And are willing to let that Self drive
To be in tune with Tao or Source
Or whatever you want to call it
Find your authenticity and live it out fully
My guiding virtue and vice is to
Remember that I am always accountable for my actions
We live in a realm created by our actions
Creation can be tumultuous
Spring storms are balanced with spring flowers
Remain calm while in the storm
Step into the third eye
Stand next to those who steady you
There are others who gather in the eye of the storm
These are good people (usually); mentors and friends and peers
How do you find these gatherings?
In my experience, you have to come in through the out door
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
I am wearing a floor length white gown.
It seems to be made of the finest materials.
I am walking, down a path which has no end.
I see people around me and I realize that this pathway is my life,
I intersect paths with many and vice versa.
Although I look down and notice that the bottom of my dress is covered in dirt.
Oh well I thought, It happens.
I came across certain people in my life, They threw red mud and dirt at me, staining my beautiful white dress.
These people were supposed to be friends, mentors, people I could count on.
I guess not, I tried to wipe the mud and dirt off, but it just made it worse.
Oh well, It happens.
I continued on in my journey,
And I met the most wonderful person,
He took my dirt and my mud away, and made me feel whole again,
I twirled in my now restored dress, and felt beautiful.
He and I walked together for sometime, but for some reason,
I walked ahead of him, I still knew he was there, however.
And as I walked on in my adventure,
I met more people and these people didn't throw mud at me,
they instead gave me flowers and words of wisdom.
Yet somewhere on my path, I made a wrong turn a wrong choice.
I began to collect dust and dirt, had people throw mud at me,
I even began to think that I wasn't worthy of this white dress and began to purposely run into people who would throw mud and dirt at me.
By the end of what seemed like my road, I collapsed,
from pain, guilt, worry, and tones of other things.
I glanced down at my white dress, the one that was fit for a bride, was now covered in dirt and mud, so much that you couldn't even tell that it was white originally.
He walked toward me and I cowered,
"No" I said. "Don't come closer, You shouldn't see me like this, I'm not worthy."
He laughed, "Caitlin, I've been with you since the beginning, I've seen you at your best and at your worst. Don't fear what I think of you. To me you will always be beautiful. No matter what."
I still wasn't sure, yet as he reached he hand out to me, I grasped it and he pulled me to my feet.
He said "You accepted my help, that's the first step."
And at his words, my white dress was restored yet again.
"But it will just get ***** again" I stated, somewhat confused.
He shook his head, "Now you need to believe in me. That's step two."
"Believe? What you mean?"
"Believe. That's all you have to do. Open your heart and let me in."
I closed my eyes, Opened my heart, and smiled.
"I believe."
We started our journey after that.
He always walked beside me, I never ran ahead.
The best part?
No dirt caught on my dress, no mud either.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
As I sit in pure delight
At my mentors desk I write.
Haven’t had but a handful of words
Together we shared in the past few weeks.
I been afraid I had rubbed his feathers the wrong way
But today I found out everything is ok
Because he asked me to stay
Looking out from the office and through the hall
I peer out the front double door.
Getting a true sense of what my life
Can become if I stay on the path
And I follow the heavenly one.
Patiently I wait left all alone
Waiting for the lady to make her rounds with the green slips
And to show her face, the one with the butterfly
On the nap of her neck she will bring two slips today.
In this motel today we have two new guests
They slept together in there cold room all weekend long
One zipped shut in a bag, the other wrapped up
In a ***** fitted sheet wearing a hospital gown
How sad it looked as it was stretched over his face and then his feet
Exposing his left hand and his lower legs like being in a cotton canoe
This was the second time I saw two at once
My first guest I got to meet had an odd name
And today there’s another with just the same
On a first name basis I want to know them all
These works are for them when they fall.
How honored I feel sitting in this home
As if it were one of my own
I love the trust for I feel I am a lucky one
I am learning things faster than the speed of light
And I’ll always carry them all long into the night
After the final exam and a node of the head it is check out time.
Tonight I will make myself a cotton canoe
(CARSr. 7-02-12)
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
Invite me to a masquerade held in a large hall
Most guests would be in suits, those you can see
Almost all are dark males, all quite are tall
All can't dance , because all of them are me
Few in this hall are some of my peers
One of me in a mask basks in their wonder
To them this mask is wise,and one without fear
The face behind though is foolish a coward and a blunder
Few in this hall are some of my enemies
One of me in a mask delights in their distaste
To them this mask promises violence with energy
Behind is the face of exhaustion and no anger to trace
Few in this hall are some of my mentors
One of me in a mask indulges in their praise
To them this mask is one of potential and future
Beneath lies the face marred by failure and laze
Few in this hall are some past lovers
One of me in a mask savors their longing
To them this mask is a story with a knight and a tower
But beneath Is the face of a lier gifted with talking
Few in this hall are my fellow Christians
One of me in a mask flaunts his humility
To them this mask is of true religious commissions
The face behind long faced spiritual sterility
The last in this hall are my family
I face them with half a mask of strength
To them the strong half mask, and the true half face of apathy
The half mask hides a face exhausted with it's life's long length
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 3:00 PM UTC
Sleepless nights I dream of things
that seems to be, initially
fantasies of a boy
These dreams tend to focus me
on what I want and who I am
Role models and mentors help to shape
who you see so casually
So casual I seem to be
but my mind races frantically
Suave and cool are not my descriptors
although my shell tends to be
That shell hides me from view
to show a more likeable me
But hides the true me
Behind a wall of ********
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 5:17 AM UTC
Flashbacks of a juvenile burning curiosity like the charm of a snake, outside looking in...And all the setbacks between the two sides luring the tediosity to take some straight on the side while school is in.
Big ups, the cotton wool is pulled over our eyes, how do you shape-shift between freedom and destruction?? I pick you up through the rotten like a fool even though I know inside I can't escape a stiff one, while you lead them down that path of destruction. The comfort of Noah being a drunk is naive, I delve in your chemical name called Spirits. That's why you're a demon drug like how Eve and Adam were beguiled into this subliminal game and lost the Sphinx. Master of inebriation, you're probably the cause of an Old Man's flaws or the reason why we lost our Love for...The Answer to Liberation, seeing Old Timers and Mentors slip and fall on odour tavern floors...
Excuse me and watch your step, tomorrow they might think I'm on drugs coz' of your transgressions. Exclude me and watch you're back, you never know...they might just think I'm a **** coz' of your aggression. Exorcise in solitude and stop disturbing the peace between families and friends. Our Sisters are now exercising fortitude in the fog, curbing their dreams by imbibing in fantasies and trends.
Pains to see Good Men possessed out of success and in denial...
But then again Real Men will profess out of such stress and be the Lion.
Hear that...craziness cunning hard for a kiss of ***
"You wanna forget your troubles?"
I say Cheers to that blaziness coming hard...you can kiss my ***
"Give me another double".
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
PALLAS,
a Titan,
and
STYX,
an Oceanid,
begat
ZELUS,
--a companion of
ZEUS--
who, in turn,
begat human zeal.
NYX,
the night,
(who many
do fear)
begat
ERIS,
--a companion of
ARES--
who, in turn,
begat human discord.
Closely related in theory
to the good in
DISCORD,
the competitive creator
that drives human development,
ZELUS
and
ERIS
are mentors of
GRAFFITI.
I tell you this
to spell out
what message
is missed in
GRAFFITI
--
WHY
ARTISTS
STRIVE.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
if i write a million billion zillion words a day
will some sound nice?
will they work out right?
will my mind create a masterpiece some night?
or will brilliance elude me
like camoflauged prey?
can greatness be chanced upon
or do i have to beg for it?
do i have to pray?
can statistical likelihood produce
from sheer quantitative mass
some lyrical combination
to surpass mere mediocrity
rise straight to first class?
or do i gotta go back and ask
the teachers and mentors
i left in the past?
i took off too fast
ignored their words and advice
bout how to think
how to write
how to talk
how to act
how to not be enticed
by distractions in life
how to not roll the dice
when the odds are too stacked
how to work **** hard
to stay on track
how to make smart goals
if you're itching to rise
by hitchin your ride
to the business of guys
and girls with vision
that's what i was taught
what i heard
what i learned
what i forgot (then recalled)
what i once spurned
to spark my downfall
but i have returned
and rediscovered myself
remembered the others
who raised me
who made me
my parents
my brothers
all those who inspired
all those who required
daily sacrifice
to feed the fire
to push me higher
to bring on success
to make me my best
which proves to the rest
if you don't perspire
chance don't mean ****
now we gotta admit
we all need an assist
but if you want greatness
you gotta work for it
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
I study her withering hands every time I'm around her
they are becoming so thin... all her veins stick out like snakes
her fingers are all crooked--
broken tree branches fighting against the wind
eighty years of working her flower beds and scrubbing floors and
baking the best meals and desserts that only a grandmother can prepare
and my grandpa, I have never loved a person as deep and as securely as I love him
saying you have a hero borders on icon-worshipping but in this case he's solid
he is the absolute best and absolute most loyal man I have ever had the pleasure
of knowing
he married my grandma at eighteen, and
eighty eight years of wars and he never took one sick day off of work
he sleds down his long, winding driveway to pick up his mail in the snow
he used to pour water in my hands and tell me that if I could catch it,
I could catch the entire universe right there in my palms
I tried for years
I study their hands because I want to remember their greatest parts
arguably, that could be every inch, but their hands have shown
such strength, boldness, fight, hard work, dedication, love, and tenderness
maybe this is wrong but every day I practice saying goodbye in my mind
so that when they pass, I am not so crushed that I cannot move on
they have been my saving grace too many times for me to thank them for
so I just say I love you, you're my reason for existing, and then I
carefully etch their hands in my mind so that never for a second
will I forget the great work they have done here
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Behind the glamour and blinding light
of the vast entertainment industry.
With these so called beautiful happy folk
is there a sordid and bleak underworld?
As each one thinks they are certainly the best
surely time is the true quality test.
Vast sums spent to create the perfect image
the creators shown as almost godly figures.
All trying to grab the money and true fame
how many fall by the wayside in this quest?
In hard times the public have so little cash
to splash out on an even bigger bash.
Television pushing the seekers of their fortune
while the mentors strive for their own goals.
A false image is created for these large audiences
who need a focas and images to contemplate.
Performances that for some take a high cost
as the hopefuls fail the dreams lost.
There are of course winners and losers.
but as you watch and read the news.
Filled with the exploits of these artists
spending and living lavish lives.
That most of us can only ever visualize
what really lays behind the lies?
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 2:42 AM UTC
I don't know why
I have felt so discouraged recently.
Thinking about it,
I have done the unimaginable.
I have conquered this eating disorder monster
By myself, essentially.
No help from my family,
All I get from them are trenchant comments and pernicious jabs
About my weight and my habits.
Friends and mentors who should have been there
Left much to be desired.
With a little bit of therapy
I have chosen a better life for myself.
So why weep now?
I have overcome the unthinkable
But my race is not over yet.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
There is a voice of comfort,
a poet of the truth
chords interwoven in every crack,
to lighten and to sooth.
Silken syllables singing
like distant thunders' clouds
to the lonely, humble ones
whose candles soon burn out.
A blessing from a being,
bestowed between the bad
who sat upon his whispered throne;
beaten, black and ironclad.
The boon from a saint of satin tongue
to those humanity fit;
humble thinkers, meek and strong
of kindest hearts and fathers' wit.
There is a voice of comfort,
for all who soon pass on.
When the darkness closes in
to where you thought you belonged.
It will pass you on with dignity,
mirror mentors of the Minoan
"Hineini, Hineini. Here I am,"
sings the ghost of Leonard Cohen
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
jump, skip, hop, then POP!
August 2, 2011
So here's a playful tune
to make your body swoon.
Shake and bake those hips
pucker up and lick your lips.
Because tonight, we're dancing!
da lada dee da daaa laaa la laa ohhhh
I love the way you move like that
jumpin' 'n jivin', you're one cool kat.
So now we're getting down
laughing so much, are you a clown?
In our serene meadow, together, we're prancing!
Lemme catch you off guard, sweep you off your feet
this is the most romantic way I could think of for us to meet.
Now don't get me wrong, I mean I dress to impress
but girl, for you, I'd much rather wear less.
If you know what I mean, hiding my eyes glancing!
Excuse me mam, but I don't mean to be rude
or have you think my humor is too crude.
But for a special lady, lady, lady, oh so cute
I'll give it my my all, gotta take aim, then shoot.
Gotta get, gotta gotta, give you my all, all my romancing.
Boop boop be doop buh bahhh tra lalalahhh
Baby, so I've got you now forever maybe.
Squeeze you so freaking tight, 'till your soul leaves.
Enters my body and we intertwine, as it mentors.
Me and teaches how to be we.
koo koo cuh cahhh shoop doop la lahhh
Jump, Skip, Hop, then POP!
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Salvation means different things to many people
Reared by a single mother
Abandoned by a deadbeat absentee dad
I am confused and angry
Now am I supposed to feel them
I have no mentors
Or anyone in my life
That cares enough to teach me
How to be a woman
My life didn't come equipped
With an automatic pilot
For a successful life
What I had growing up was
Religion
Not beliefs but principles
1Kings
2Kings
James
Ecclesiastics
From Genesis to Revelation
To the 1 and 2 Chronicles
Corinthians, Peter, John
From sunrise service
To afternoon fellowship
To young to realize
That mother's salvation
Isn't mine
Sitting in church
8 hours each Sunday
Praising the Lord
At the top of my lungs
To the top of my voice
Being baptized at the age of 5
Well before I even understood why
Didn't make me a saint
No amount of bible study
Ushering or participation in church
Could save me
Or the congregation
From sin and all evil
The chasing of the wind
Repentance
What was the point in asking
Seeking and praying
For forgiveness
Yet not changing ones ways
Or taking on bad habits
That were sinful
There was no point
Everything is meaningless
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC