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"ohara" poems
Awaiting the arrival of a new day, emotions fluctuating ceaselessly. Cross legged on my fortress, I smile and stretch as my mind is full of linguistically witty poetry of Mr. Ohara. Perhaps tomorrow shall be a brighter day with new promises and feelings that will bring me temporary relief. Temporary relief seeing as nothing is ever permanent. It's the darnedest thing, isn't it? The uncertainty of it all. We learn to accept. We learn to keep going on.
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Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
cindyme
uncertain mr. Ohara
Awaiting the arrival of a new day, emotions fluctuating ceaselessly. Cross legged on my fortress, I smile and stretch as my mind is full of linguistically witty poetry of Mr. Ohara. Perhaps tomorrow shall be a brighter day with new promises and feelings that will bring me temporary relief. Temporary relief seeing as nothing is ever permanent. It's the darnedest thing, isn't it? The uncertainty of it all. We learn to accept. We learn to keep going on.
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7/14/2015 "I mean I just don't get excited anymore, you know?" but even that statement drains all the life out of me, grabs a spot in my ribs, twists it, pulls it out like a dandelion **** I decide walking on 3rd avenue in a Brooklyn neighborhood that I don't need energy anymore or, I've been doing well with the scant supplies I have of it. The day before, blow dried hair sticking to my neck because the windows are locked, I had listened to the radio Billie Holliday: oh lover man where can you be? I know **** well where mine is, unfortunately across the hudson but I think I am happy for him because any sane person would be otherwise in princeton after a while I count and recount the oaks and pines outside my house and the cardinals and bluejays and mocking birds, try to find something, don't find it, Read a book, and I yell to myself: "'That’s funny! there’s blood on me.' - Frank Ohara."
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Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
kdmills
a sad Billie Holliday song plays on the radio
7/14/2015 "I mean I just don't get excited anymore, you know?" but even that statement drains all the life out of me, grabs a spot in my ribs, twists it, pulls it out like a dandelion **** I decide walking on 3rd avenue in a Brooklyn neighborhood that I don't need energy anymore or, I've been doing well with the scant supplies I have of it. The day before, blow dried hair sticking to my neck because the windows are locked, I had listened to the radio Billie Holliday: oh lover man where can you be? I know **** well where mine is, unfortunately across the hudson but I think I am happy for him because any sane person would be otherwise in princeton after a while I count and recount the oaks and pines outside my house and the cardinals and bluejays and mocking birds, try to find something, don't find it, Read a book, and I yell to myself: "'That’s funny! there’s blood on me.' - Frank Ohara."
Continue reading...
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