"replaces" poems
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful --
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
17k
Its easy to call someone beautiful when they have spent an hour doing there hair and make up, when they are wearing a skin tight cocktail dress and a push up bra
Its more difficult to say it when the hair gets tied up and the make up is smudged by tears the dress replaces with a stained t- shirt
Because as I'm looking in the mirror right now the last word that comes to my mind is beautiful...
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
You shine so bright,
Blessing us with your light,
Around the sun so insignificant,
As he shadows your magnificence,
But night will cone with no electricity,
And people will flock to the city,
Begging you to flicker for them please,
But you're not at ease,
Because of the times you were forgotten in the dark,
When people didn't notice your spark,
You don't need them they need you,
Until the moon kills your mood as she replaces you.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
"Over here"...
but nothing.
The scene continues
unabated by my presence.
Plastic smiles and lustful eyes
bountiful but not for me..never me.
In the mirror' s unforgiving gaze
I am unrecognizable
Replaced with a crude rendering
of my previous likeness
fashioned by children
with lumpy imperfect clay.
Silence replaces loving laughter
that used to follow my witty banter.
Silence and stares. Sympathetic stares
tinged with smugness and fear.
"Over here...over here..."
still nothing.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
you check on me many times a day
with my antique ears
I hear your squeaking shoes
on these vinyl floors
someone laid for those who came before
like passengers on a stalled bus
with windows that allowed only one view
I know you and I wait for the same thing
for you to check on the passenger who replaces me
he will be no different
a few more hairs, perhaps a few less stares
you will gently place your hand on his wrist
write in his chart, and maybe
glance at the date of birth,
do the mindless math
and wonder without wonder
if my replacement will have a bigger number than I
but I am still here
gazing at your angled eyes
while you count the beats
which slow a little each day
waiting for you to say
how long will this one last?
don’t worry, squeaking vinyl floor walker
when my drum stops pounding
I will try to make sure it happens
while I am asleep
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
i am not your ******
nor your sister.
i do not know the meaning
of these words, mister.
except
in instances where
i hate us
like
they hate us.
a putrid loathing
sprouting from different
colored grounds
but a dangerous flower
nonetheless.
they are not just words,
they are drops of blood
spilled from the lashed backs
of our enslaved
triple grandfathers
and mothers.
our slang replaces
hoses
pushing us back
during marches
and righteous riots.
aggression
equals regression
equals deppression.
and now,
it's all our fault.
now it's
black on black assault.
now it's
fly shoes and ghetto booties.
poppin' bottles and
poppin' caps,
running through nights like
street ******* rats.
what would
W.E.B. DuBois say if
he'd seen this
backstep taken
after we'd come this far,
after reaching for stars
and dropping
the ball?
now
i love this color.
i love this color
and prefer no other.
all i'm saying is,
let us pick one day
when we put the negroidian away
put ****** back in it's roots.
no, not the movie,
don't me toby.
let us get the dream rollin'
Mister King style,
not Master P style.
no big rims, or leather seats.
none of that ****
for awhile.
i'm saying takeover.
i'm saying african-america makeover.
i'm saying,
let's take
our pride back,
like our
homeland lions.
let us make black
a taste not so sour.
i'm saying,
Black Power.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
Thick skin falls in pieces
To reveal a molten liquid center
A beauty never gazed upon by another
A glow of heat and pain and ...love
Hidden from prying eyes
Kept safe from strangers and "loved ones" alike
Permanent fists grip tightly
As the center boils hot upon its release
And a trickle becomes a flood
In the right hands...
In the right heart
The stiff grip loosens
And new skin, soft and supple
Replaces the old
Stronger than one could have imagined
Sweeter than one could hope
A butterfly against the odds
And a struggle ends in .....love
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Hey dad,
I will be turning eightteen next week.
You probably don't know that.
I'm doing good you know.
I found a house and a study I like.
And a boy who maybe likes me.
I got used to my anxiety attacks,
so the last few times I wasn't terrified.
I have a man in my life,
who replaces you.
And he makes me a happier girl.
I think I even know how to deal with mom.
Everything's great, dad.
But still I wonder if you think about me
as much as I hurt by you.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
She chases homeostasis,
with assorted frantic faces.
She is home when her heart races
as she desperate fills the spaces.
Replaces
missing graces
with far places
dreamed in cases;
displaces
taken paces,
just retraces
lost embraces.
Baseless
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
Every battle of a warrior
is riddled with confused
noise!
The garment of a warrior
is rolled in blood!
When the bricks are falling
down, a warrior builds
with hewn trees
When the sycamore are cut
down, a warrior replaces
them with cedar
In the lifting of the smoke he
burns down wickedness
and its fire with stout heart
Certain in certainty, the trees
in the wood bow to the
warring winds in the battle of a
warrior!
Warrior sings upfront in
victory and for victory,
standing determined on
the mountain of courage
and faith, dutifully
worshipping on the altar
of fearlessness and glory.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 4:27 AM UTC
When my inner self and my outer self disagree
I tend to let my inner self free
I will not be repressed by society.
I am labeled straight forward
abrasive
Some say it with respect and admiration
Others, like I have a disorder
They can call me abrasive
I'm prepared for it to continue
until my inner self fully replaces
judgement with Love
I am determined to seek empathy
I will continue to let my inner self free
I will not be repressed by society.
I have a long way to go
but, I trust me.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
Go choke on your delusional idea of love. No does not mean “change my mind” No does not mean liquor me up, get me good and drunk till I can no longer verbally reject you. My slurs of terror and anguish as I try to shove you off of me. Did it make you feel good? Did you feel like a real man- To take what was mine. Did it boost your ego? You had no right to sneak into my bedroom and steal my girlhood. I was 13. Chaos seeped into what was a serene life. The torturous and endless cycle continued for 3 god **** years. What man is so weak? So weak that he has to take what he feels he’s entitled to, from a little girl. I can never get back what you stole from me. They couldn’t find any evidence to prove the assault even happened, but the trauma can never be erased from my mind. The skin replaces itself every 7 to 15 years, so scientifically speaking your hand prints are still eminent on my skin. This flesh and bone is no longer mine. That home I took my first steps in, was no longer mine from the moment you creeped in. But you do not own me. I can still recall the first time I frantically searched for a sharp object in all the clutter, just trying to make myself distasteful to you. But you ignored the blood dripping from my thighs, dismissed the warning signs as if you were colorblind. Nothing could stop your calloused hands and feeble mind. Years later, your pressure still stands heavy on my heart. I labeled myself as damaged goods. But I am a ******* work of art. And I can’t undo what you did but I can use my voice to speak on the pain you’ve caused me. To raise awareness for those still suffering. You did not stunt my growth because I am in full bloom. I will not let you define a single part of me. I will grow as you regress. As you destruct everything you come in contact with. I will touch people and I will make jaws drop. I will be someone. Just watch me.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
You are a guardian of the law
Your duty is to keep crime at bay
And bring the criminals to justice
But, as I watch you,
Wearing a khaki uniform
And swinging your baton around
As you go about on your daily rounds
I am filled with such a rage
That I hold my hand up in prayer
And desperately wish that thoughts could ****
Because you would then be dead
Before anyone could even say "police"
You are a guardian of the law
Your duty is to keep crime at bay
And bring the criminals to justice
But instead, you abuse the immense power
That you wield in your iron fist
As people come out in hordes
To protest on various issues
You swing your baton around
As wood clashes against flesh
Democracy dies a thousand deaths
However, your lust is unsatiated
A pistol replaces the baton
As it rains bullets
Bundles of cash change hands
As you quietly pocket them
You yell to the world
That justice has been served
Even as the bodies pile up
And Humanity waves a white flag
As she bows to your iron fist
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
In the night,
my demons come to life.
In the night,
I lose my will to fight.
Joy replaces by fear,
laughter becomes tears.
No light to be seen.
No warmth to be felt.
Hiding under the covers,
praying for the morning to come.
I lost my mind,
My body feels numb.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
I only love you
at night
when loneliness
fuels desire
and
desperation
replaces
rational thought
Your value is reflected
in an empty whiskey bottle
sideways
on the stained carpet
Funny how everything
is eventually
neglected
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
People come
People go
We get so close to people
we don't ever really know
We're all avatars
in this
the real world
Private self
Public self
Virtual self
We're all avatars
in this world
As real as the real world
As if it didn't have a delete
re-set re-post twelve more lives
power-off button
Real worlds converge
Real hurts
Real drama
Unfriend Block
When the virtual world
replaces the real world
which is the "real" world?
Real money for virtual tools
People fall in real love with people
they don't even know
People come and go
The real world
The world that really matters
The real world is real to me.
Take your pick in the real world,
which is really real
Private self
Dream self
Public self
Virtual self
Real pain in the real world
Are we all really avatars
in the real world?
One day the AI robots
are coming with skin
3d printed
speaking your language,
real relationships
going the way of cigarettes
outside
better done in the garden.
The AI's will be singing every night
"Happy trails to you "
When they know they are the
new real.
A virtual
real relationship
in the real world
Imagine that
Are we all avatars
in this world,
the real
real
world?
And which is that?
One day when we have dream machines,
is anyone gonna want to wake up?
We're all avatars in this world
the real world.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
As your reflection stares back at you, through the misty window pane,
Against the glass the silver rain comes tapping, only weak,
It masks your woe and sorrow -- perhaps it's just the rain?
And not the ballerina tears, that flow and dance upon your cheek.
You feel you live a loveless life, alone, with no one by your side,
A lonely loner, ever scared, no hand to hold or arm to grip,
With nothing to be late for, no ear in which you can confide,
You stand upon an icy peak, but no longer take care not to slip.
Suddenly the image stirs, it blinks and shows it's gentle eyes,
Life has many sides, it says, try looking from a different place,
Sad feelings can't be fought alone -- find happiness and sadness dies,
Stare into my eyes -- look your flaws and demons in the face.
You feel you're not quite normal, you've been different from the start,
Self-conscious of your looks, perhaps you dislike who you are,
But to focus on the negatives is an insult to your heart,
The depth of which is limitless, a loving, glowing, beating star.
You do yourself injustice; desire love, but can't love yourself?
Remember that your differences, are not a flaw or fault,
You're custom made, a work of art, not picked out from the shelf,
Embrace the fact that you're unique, a trait that can't be taught.
Suddenly the image shakes, another face replaces yours,
This person likes you as you are - who'll love you and embrace your fate,
Hold your hand through pain and storms, and follow you to distant shores,
I'll meet you in the future - forever yours, your one soul mate.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt
Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.
From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive. But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.
His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.
Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words, confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Flavored hukkas are passed around,
Alcohol and paan bring the mehfil alive,
The Ustad ji sits down and flexes his fingers,
He knows he’ll be working all night.
Dha dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha
Na tin tin ta
Ta dhin dhin dha,
Move the Ustad ji’s fingers on the tabla.
While with a veil on her face,
And feet dipped in and henna-colored,
Lips in cheap red lipstick covered,
She unfalteringly, gracefully enters.
Her steps are matched by the chhan chhan
of the ghungroos tied around her ankles so slender.
Eyes set on her, feast on her youth,
Just right for the taste of all her customers.
Bejeweled hands placed on waist,
She stands at the centre of attention,
She lifts a foot, readies to dance,
And begins the nightly convention.
Skillfully, perfectly, sensuously move
Feet well-trained since childhood days,
Harmonizing with the timbre
That the Ustad ji creates.
Tin tin na dhin na dhin na
On the tabla, experienced fingers beat.
Chhan chhan chhan chhan,
She dances, repeating the rhythm with her feet.
Metal bells strike against one another
And chhan chhan chhan-a chhan she goes,
Making breaths prance and jump,
As she strikes on the ground her heels and toes.
Then suddenly she stops and gasps,
Over disgruntled, impatient groans she tries
to hear the sound that flows in, only to her ears.
Several rooms away, a baby cries.
Naach! A voice booms,
Arey naach! More join in.
A glass of wine is shattered by an irritated one.
But she stands still, clutching her chest, frozen.
One sways up to where she stands,
For the veil covering her face, his hands dive.
He uncovers her, but is blinded by the sight of her beauty
And her tears that fill her kajal-smeared eyes.
She’s shaken back to reality as she looks all around.
Her sparkling pall is off her face.
She sees all those drunk men who’ve paid to watch her dance.
She knows she has to make the sound of the cries fade away.
So she stomps her feet on the ground till it hurts.
Hair flying out of braid, bangles clanging,
Anguish replaces her innocent loveliness,
The music in the air is now shrill, jarring.
Her steps match with the tabla’s rhythm no more.
But she dances, planting her feet so hard they weep.
She silences every sound with the noise of her ghungroos,
Praying that the night will lull her wailing son to sleep.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
When the white bird flies,
the sky catches on fire.
Then the fire bleeds to the village
and the village burns.
Do not be mistaken,
this is how you catch the bad guys.
We must catch the bad guys.
Don’t you know?
When the white bird flies,
she purifies in flame.
Replaces evil with ash
and ash cannot stop the oil flow.
But wait, there was a mistake.
backspace, backspace.
Control alt delete.
It is too late, the sky already burns.
And when the sky burns,
so does the village.
These were children,
Where were the bad guys?
When the white bird fails
It flies a thousand homes to its mother.
“We will try again, tomorrow,” she says
and then she turns the screen black.
Still the village burns
and children become orphans,
but the oils keeps flowing,
it always keeps flowing.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
~~~
The unsung heroes
They work every day
Without complaint
At a job with low pay.
There are not many are out there
Who place their laurels
On the person who's right
But ends a quarrel.
It takes a person
Internally strong
To accept a defeat
And say they were wrong!
Those little things matter!
But don't get much ink
Like the husband who shaves
And cleans up the sink!
The mother who picks up
The toys from the stairs
The wife who cleans drains
And removes the hair.
The child who sees
That grandma is old
And therefore replaces
The toilet roll!
The boyfriend who remembers
The day of first date
A girl who pays dutch
To help out her mate.
Remember that you
Are needed and wanted!
So many small tasks
Are taken for granted.
At last the bell
Is taken and rung
For the persons who do this...
... the heroes unsung.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
I walk alone, out in the vastness
of space, heavens vaults, darkness
leavened by the brilliance of
unknown galaxies, and the far off
light of distant stars.
I am alone. lost in this eternal
field, of dark and light, black
and white, and all between,
shining, eternal light, to shine
forever, and bathe heaven, radiant,
in its undying light.
I wander, lost. Am I a spirit,
to wander so, sad and lonely,
cut off from the roiling, chaotic,
masses of humanity, and set to
wander, adrift in a brilliant sea,
vivid colors clashing always,
with the ever present void of
infinity?
But why, if I am here, are not others?
Where are they? Is space so vast, am
I to wander endlessly, lost in the void of
eternity, to be at last at peace, but to have
none others to share it with, none to join me
in my wanderings, none to acompany me
in my eternal journey, none to make it "our"
instead?
And what of Katerina? What of her? Is she here
wandering also, lost and alone even as I am,
enduring the silence of space, alone unto eternity
and beyond?
Or is she some other place, doomed to
eternal pain, locked away, to scream
unheard, save by her tormentor, some
thing of darkness, created from
the blackness of infinity, immortal,
set to guard the way to heavens bliss
the angels dying, falling?
Or is this all, this vast infinity, souls
doomed to wander forever, never
meeting, never crossing, alone
in solitude, forever and for all
the infinite centuries of eternity,
alone?
I wander here, lost for countless
years, stars vanish in heat and
light, whilst I wander, spirit
cast off, set adrift to wander,
centuries come and go,
while I stop to listen for
some imagined sound,
some human voice,
heard but unheard,
the darkness eats my mind,
while light replaces it,
with thoughts of
eternity, solitude and
bliss, together forever,
I and eternity, set to tread
alone through space, from now
until the end of Time.
I am alone, and I wonder,
perhaps, I am not
alone, perhaps I do not wander,
but instead set my feet to the path
appointed me. For perhaps those
stars were not always stars,
those nebulae not always so,
gaseous and vast, but instead were
souls like me, journeying only
to meet their ends as light and
gas and rocky spheres?
Perhaps, I shall know,
perhaps I shall see,
later amidst eternity.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
I take a deep breath to staunch
That constant clang and clatter
Be still and follow the hunch
Before it’s too late to matter
I need a quiet place
A shift in space, a change in stealth
My next breath can create
Some room to gaze at something else
Soon I must take a break
I can’t settle down or think straight
Wrestling with those demons
I know not the time or the date
Looking back looks so abnormal
Deadly games of Red Rover
Spawning pages from my journals
Replaying over and over
I know not steps to take
On pathways for planting the seed
Peace, her elusive face
Turns away whenever I plead
Time to build that Safe House
Only I have the key to the door
Where peace and bliss abounds
I meet each holy moment and soar
Seek a new vision there
And learn to think more about others
Let go my tormented memories
Seeing All-my Sisters and Brothers
I find that peaceful space
Just to release what I don’t need
Harmony-Beauty-Love
Replaces all my soul has freed
Filling up my Heart Space
As soft as a sweet baby’s kiss
Some name the feeling Grace
I feel a sense of peace and bliss
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC