"reservation" poems
Umm, the presence and scent of a man
Magnetic attraction where his feet stands
His natural body charismatic aroma
Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma
Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries
Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history
It is his nose that smells out my charms
An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on
Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent
Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content
The strength in his biceps
His triceps
Strong, yet such comforting arms
An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms
In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth
His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears
Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears
His intellectual mind to think as a man
A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam
His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars
Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars
His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth
Erected compass of his wand now pointing North
A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke
His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind
**** I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins
From the first taste of honey dipped Butter *** me
As his giving oral fixation is traveling free
Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee
His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight
In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate
Hooking my twerking bait
His physique in general…Oh, God thank you
Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do
Your presence to a woman is our earthly food
Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood
Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down
The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around
My Dream Weaver
My distance heartbeat receiver
His dripping sweat
Droplets to my skin have been met
The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
When gentle breezes turn into gale,
remember that you will prevail.
You may tear at these pages daily,
in search of peace and tranquillity.
Planting hope and scattering wishes,
Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...
Flying out of the dark on
wings of birds.
Bridging the rippling void through
severed words.
***Seeking...
Reaching...
Imploring...
Writing...***
Be not wary of eyes that speak.
Be not afraid of mouths that leak.
Know that our scribbles are only
sacred to us.
Emotions and thoughts we
bind and truss.
What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...
Bits of us we've kept hidden in the
darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves.
You...
are wielder of your mighty pen.
You...
determine how far or long your
words would span.
Your words... They're precious gold.
Many or little; be them new or old.
So let drip your ink with little reservation...
Let us grow from strength to strength
as life teaches its lessons.
Rise up and live on in these here pages,
For here exist only
freedom;
not cages.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:53 AM UTC
Life is a test
A series of choices
Your time here is measured
By the venom in your voices
Give unto others without reservation
Help your neighbor
With no hesitation
Feed the hungry
Remove discrimination
Offer a hand
Become an inspiration
Open your mind
Start a revolution
Inspire a change
To create the solution
With our eyes cast downward
We pretend not to see
The misery and demise
In the wake of our greed
If someone is hungry...
Cold or unloved
Offer your heart
Give them a hug
What you share
Will return tenfold
So offer a hand
Help carry the load
Offer a smile
Share your bliss
Inspire others
Change what is
Share your joy
Inspire others to love
Together
We can change the world.
Namaste
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Oh you a gangsta now?
Let me guess cause you got those "hard" tattoos
Jordans as shoes
And blow more green in your in between time
Oh you a gangsta now?
Cause you fight a little bit
Stay on that corner and quick to pollute your nation
With the wicked ways of degredation
Oh you a gangster now?
Cause you roll with a clique
To weak to stand on your own
But there validation gives you the courage
To steal without hesitation
Peddle drugs with no reservation
Take life as quick as a minute passes...
Well I hope those tats come with teflon
Cause while you out here playing the don
There's plenty associates that'll aim at your head
For your place just to save face with a few so called good men
I hope that corner has insurance or at least comes with benefits
Cause as past gangstas before you predicts there are only two outcomes present
Lifetime in a 6x8
Or 6 feet under while your soul patiently waits the outcome of where it will spend eternity
I guess this is what our forefathers gave their lives for
For this ignorance of the so called gangasta
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
What is it about this chase that eludes me
That runs away from me
That seeks to experience and then flee me
Until I get hijacked by another
Consenting to my own free fall into ignorance and bliss
Conditioning myself to transmit
Abundance without reservation
Until shot at the knee
But dragged along for a while longer
By the chains I so genuinely let bind me
And even before the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets me
I do so unconditionally
But you can't hijack my senses
I am not an experience or experiment worth having
I am not a temporary treat to be improperly digested and defecated
I am not an amber that ignites upon initial contact
To then be mediated or extinguished if the temperate is not right
I am not the holy water that you colonize
And shower with to cleanse you
To then invalidate that sanctity
When it falls down the drain
I am not a barometer that reliefs the labor
Needed to challenge the aberrations
Of your colonized and colonizing tendencies
I exist
Physically insignificant
As the earth that birthed me and will bury me
But eternal in essence
I am a permanent presence
I am an unforgettable imprint
I am your equal, no less, no more
The moment that we mutually acknowledge
Each other's existence
I have bound myself to you
From that moment...loved you unconditionally and eternally
And expect no lesser commitment
From you to me, or any other person you meet
And even after the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets us
We must unleash our abundance unconditionally
And when we leave
We will have given
Absolutely everything
That we had to give
During that time of our existence
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
I feel every emotion too deeply; they're a dagger to my heart,
and I'm too sensitive - it only takes one tiny trigger for me to fall apart.
Sometimes it feels as though I'm not a real being;
convinced reality is a figment of my imagination that I'm seeing.
I started to litter my body with scars from the innocent age of ten,
I haven't stopped although I am nineteen now - things just haven't changed since then.
I made my first attempt at the tender age of just twelve years old,
and to this day another fourteen have occurred; by this inner demon I'm controlled.
A patient in a psychiatric hospital 6 days after my eighteenth birthday,
after swallowing a cocktail of pills and alcohol wanting to die away.
But...
I am someone with raw passion that flows through my veins
and my curiosity and adoration for the world around me remains.
I have mastered the art of living in the moment and doing the things that matter to me;
and I'm full of devotion and determination to be the person I'm destined to be.
I use poetry as an expression of all that I feel and I am made of linguistic creativity,
and I love deeply without reservation everything and everyone around me.
So although I may have borderline personality disorder as a part of me,
I am still a kind-hearted and passionate person who wants to be the best she can be.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
My best friend tells me that she was born in the wrong time.
That her viking ancestors would be ashamed of how much
she can't handle. How she's no warrior.
So I take her to a powwow that my sister's dancing at
and let her feel the vibrations of the drums
pound through her feet.
I tell her maybe our war drums are our heartbeats.
She's fighting herself and using razors as her soldiers.
I say, if you need sharp things let's use arrows to figure
out where east is so we can run towards the rising sun
like my ancestors did.
We can use words as our shield walls in battle
and I can be the dragon head on your ship
to scare off the enemy in dark and foggy times.
If you want to get a little pagan I'll burn all my sage for you
and we can pray to all the gods we've heard stories of.
I'll teach you all the tricks my shima’ sani taught me.
We are warriors. But is it selfish of me to hope that you
never go to Valhalla? I want you to live long after
the fighting ends.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
while there at 26 other people present in this room,
i feel alone;
or at least my mind has convinced me that i am.
either way,
it's nice i suppose.
and i can't really focus on anything
but do i really want to?
i could honestly not care less
whether Graph B
is steeper than Graph A
and how it has an equation of -2x-2.
i don't care if it's a
linear
quadratic
exponential
or cubic root equation
all i can seem to care about
at this moment in time
is you
you keep trying to bust your way
into my head
and make a reservation
like i have extra room.
NEWSFLASH:
i don't.
but somehow,
someway,
you have made your way in.
and i don't think you don't plan on leaving.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
What's your name?
Abubakar salim bin jahedee
sorry sir you will have to step back,
****** hypocrites,
how does my religion connect to terrorism,
I'm just a tourist in your territory,
no doubt,
my fellow brothers who dress like me,
act upon their anger due to ignorance,
and the quest for freedom ,peace& justice,
Just see,
What a curious coincides that is,
-but does that make me a terrorist?
Islam's a religion of peace,
yet they propagate islam with bad image,
Which is a huge damage,
Who's involved in horrendous crimes,
Who oppresses mere harmless civilians?
When we retaliate the world begins to hate and
start generalizing,
without realizing what conspired,
-does that make me a terrorist?
Its we muslims who suffer from terrorism,
all around the globe,
Terrorizing and vandalising isn't islam heritage,
Impressed and obsessed you are with your TV,
believing the twisted storys as it gets to you with
no atom of truth,
Corrupted by silly illusions,
Apportioning blame on hopeless islamist
seeking for peace,
Do you still think i'm a terrorist?
Develop some form of reservation when you
call us terrorists,
I need not to speak through my nose,
before you know islam is against all kinds of
injustice,
-How can I be a terrorist then?
Innocent muslims die everyday,
In the hands of american soldiers
yet we are never part of the mainstream news.
No one cares,
Take a soul of an american citizen,
Then the whole world will point at muslims as
terrorist,
how tragic,
-does that make me a terrorist?
As a Reflection & manifestation,
Of an expression to the element of truth,
My Quran says,
you with your religion & me with my religion,
-does that sound like words of a terrorist?
I dress in the most noblest of form,
Yet you criticize me while you breed monsters
in your country,
Man to woman, woman to man all in the name
of civilization,
All these leaves me spellbound,speechless &
riveted
In loneliness and seclusion,
Reflect over the word terrorism,
And you will see it has no connection with
islam,
i'm a muslim not a terrorist.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
मै गरीब क्य खाना खाऊँ !!
मै गरीब क्या खाना खाऊँ
सोच रहा यह दो दिन से !
घर कि चुल्हा टूटी है !
किस्मत भी अपनी फूटी है !!
जो गिरा मिला रोटी मुझको
वो भी कुत्ते की जुठी है !!
मै क्रोधित हूँ ।
मै भूखा हूँ ।
किस्मत से अपनी रुठा हूँ !!
पर हँसता हूँ । मै मानव हूँ
मैं मनव हूँ ??
हाँ हूँ शायद
यह सोच-सोच हीं रोता हूँ ॥
मेरी मईया भी भूखी है ,
पापा भी भूखे दो दिन से !
भैया कि नौकरी छुटी है ,
ये आरक्षण की तोफा है!!
वो पढे लिखे है काविल है !!
आरक्षण उनके मित्रो को
हम जातिवाद मे शामिल है !!
वो रोते है पर छिप-छिप कर
लोगो का ताना सहते है ।
पर गले लगा कर वो मुझको
बस एक बात ही कहते है,
हम ऊची जति के वारीश है ??
ईसीलिये तो भूखे सोते है !!
क्या ?? जतिवाद ही करण है
हूँ सोच रहा मै दो दिन से
मैं गरीब क्या खाना खाऊँ
सोच रहा हूँ दो दिन से ॥
खाने की खुशबु आती है
तब भूख और बढ़ जाती है !
पर चुप है, अपने घर मे हम
गम का पकवान बनाते है !!
पर भूख अभी भी बाकी है
क्या गरीब खाना खाते है
सोच रहा मैं दो दिन से ॥
- सूरज कुमार सिँह
दिनांक :- 16 / 06 /14
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Mitakuyapi,
My name is Standing Elk of the Yankton Sioux Reservation. This is my formal apology to all The Elders of Turtle Island. I accept full responsibility for my words and actions in the future concerning the Spiritual Knowledge we are about to share with the People of the Americas and the World. My actions and words are none other than my own based upon the Spiritual Teachings of the Tunjkaśila and the Spiritual Knowledge of the Star Nations. If any Elder of the Red Nation feels that I am wrong in my actions or in any verbal statement, feel free to correct me according to the Laws of the Kit Fox Society that we spiritual human beings have chosen to live by. "If it be necessary to punish a child, do so in such a way that will improve his spirit or mind, but do not lay a hand on him for you may damage the possession of the Great Spirit, His gift of life to you."
As a Red Nation we have lived through dreams and vision of our Spiritual Tunjkaśila, and we have chosen not to stray beyond our limits of the power of our spirit. My personal dream has directed me to contact certain Ikċé Wiċaśa to greatly increase the spiritual awareness that is to be shared with our Brothers and Sisters of the Four Directions. Through my personal contacts, I know some medicine men have agreed 'it is time' because of the closeness of the fullfillment of the prophecies that are vital for our existence as a human race. This sharing of dreams and vision of the Tunjkaśila will strengthen the Foundation of Nations that are sincerely interested in being that element that will be the foundation of the "Thousand Years of Peace."
My hand is open to all those Elders of Turtle Island who wish to share their message, dream and vision with the People of the World; for, I cannot do it alone. Through our teachings, we know that not one individual holds the Knowledge and Mysteries of Life. We were all given a piece of the puzzle. We are all a part of The Sacred Hoop that needs to be mended, and we must make a humble effort in this task if the Seventh Generation, our grandchildren and unborn, are to survive this next awareness. My life was molded around the teachings of the Tunjkaśila that they instilled in our spirit as children. My spirit has directed me in this effort to help our Brothers and Sisters of the Four Directions. I have already chosen not to fail the Tunjkaśila.
*Mitakuyé Oyasiŋ
Héhaka Inaziŋ*, Standing Elk
Ihuŋktoŋwaŋ Oyaté (Dakota Nation)
February 1996
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Know this—I am well acquainted with the wolf,
Well versed in his ways, his demeanor,
His dispassionate relentlessness,
His pitiless focus on hunt and hunted,
His workaday disdain of pity.
There are those who would laud the mythical Spartan lad
Who hid the wolf beneath his cloak,
Affecting some gallant stoicism
As the beast consumed him without restraint,
But I say to you that is a mere romantic fallacy,
A wanton failure to apprehend the true moral.
I have learned that there is no accommodation,
No covenant to be reached with the wolf,
And any attempt to do so is merely to invite destruction,
And so I choose to engage him openly, without reservation,
Rolling tail-over-teacup in the streets,
Attempting to hold his jaws open with bare hands
While those who find such battle unseemly and uncouth
Jeer and hoot from porch and portico.
No matter, for I will continue to meet the cur on my terms,
For staid suffering in the hopes
Of reaching some accord with the beast
Is the not the act of the noble sage:
It is the mock heroics of the coward,
The sad acquiescence of the simpering fool.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
Today
go outside
after you've had
all the turkey,
stuffing,
cranberry sauce.
After you fill
your belly
with
a cornucopia
of food.
Go out there
and thank god
that those
Indians
died off so quickly.
Thank god
for giving us this land,
because we own it,
we can own
it.
It is ours
because God
said it should be ours,
not because
we took part
in one of the greatest
genocides
in history.
Breathe in
all that good air,
and thank god
that you don't have to be
on a reservation.
A refugee
on the motherland.
Our bad.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:58 PM UTC
There isn't a place for us
to exist in the day.
The magnanimous sun reveals too much
for common eyes to see.
But come night,
dimmed lamps be our aide.
We sink into each other
with little reservation.
We overlap, intertwine
and merge.
Inadvertently blending
into darkened backdrops,
we get absorbed in our very own
shadowplay.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
there is a camping trip planned and preserved
on the reservation of our hopes and dreams and summer sweet nothings. we
retreat upon an open-toed weekend, cooler gemmed
& ready.
there is a place in the mountains
& on that wooded ridge it is waiting to be seen and witnessed. lived
upon, lit upon,
seedling.
sure, i love you.
& sure, i’ll die. and that is forever.
& forever is -
no worry. no bluffs. no sweat.
because this life is right, and right now is everything.
yolk.
to become a bloom of love more than just words and digits and plays of
time. this time
is ours.
is good beer. great beer. &
the heat. the her. her soothes and sovereigns
on this land in which we live with the whole tribe and fun days.
we are our own dreams.
good dreams.
meet her on the shore of a river.
& she is listening and speaking and sung.
with an urge
to love and let begin.
take precedent. take my nettled little heart
and crackle like fire from it the nutrient of lonesome ode.
& from the strum of that
we begin.
we end.
we cog back into the existence of small time
small town nobodies. worked little we.
service and cinema.
thus
busting gut toward town and more weekends and more movement.
there is motion to this curve of time, kids.
curve of pages expressed
& exposed here in wayward traveled poems.
truths of some sort or hallucination. here
we daydream.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
As if the it is not the leopard
That has forepaw herculean
In the game of hunting and preying,
With reservation the leopard eats
Saving for tomorrow with punctiliosity
In the wary of wisdom about plundering,
That is not all about physical mighty
Not shrewdness of the mind
Nor flexibility of the heels
But respect for frugality as a virtue of the strong.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Friends, family, foes, and those of woe,
I invite you to dance this delicate tango with me,
right on the line of reality and fantasy.
It is here, that,
I invite you to the mad tea party.
Now, let us get one or two,
three or four,
maybe ten, one hundred, zero things straight,
you are not to be late to the mad tea party,
you are to set your time straight and do not stray,
but rather show up without delay at the time that serves your mental estate,
at a time that feels right with your bones,
now, now don't miss that time and don't be late.
We are of strict dress code here at the mad tea party.
You are not to wear what you saw on him and she and her and we unless it is of,
suitable expression to your situation,
you are to dress accordingly with your mentality,
nothing else will pass the test.
You are to act accordingly.
Do not laugh when not appropriate, and sit up straight when your spine tells you.
Do not speak when your mind is forced to be spoken.
Now, have we all straight.
I cordially invite you to the mad tea party.
Where we dine and wine and tell tales of time,
and rejoice on the words those delicately spoke,
and dance on the lines theatrically strewn across the room,
and sail across every last tale from you and he and yeah her over there too.
I invite you to the mad tea party.
I invite you tell of when you first saw the earth breath,
when the trees and the leaves set to dancing,
when you first heard the wind laugh at your grin,
and when the raindrops ran fearfully from the erupting sky.
I demand of you to tell nothing but that of truth,
and watch as the molecules in the air take to vibrating.
Take notice to musical clinking of the entities amidst you,
and take pride in the gentle stride of the clouds overhead.
Did you notice the flowers laughing at you,
in between the birth, death and rebirth in accordance with the sun?
Did you notice the flowers pull in their petals as they shyed from your step?
Take notice to the music and laughter around you at the mad tea party,
take great care with the feelings floating about the air, vulnerably buzzing from mind to mind,
before their decline and descent to rest their heads.
You see, it is here at the great mad tea party,
that we do not devoid you of the ability to do as your energy demands,
with the issues of time and dress and proper behavior.
It is here that we tend to focus on the earth and the breathing of the molecules and atoms around you,
it is here that we go mad.
and it is here that I cordially invite you,
but before you make your reservation, please eliminate all hesitation.
You see the mad tea party is not readily accepted,
by the constraints of society and the binds of reality.
You see the mad tea party is misconstrued by masses more than just a few.
Those who long buried their soul look down on the guests,
for they are different than the rest, in that, they're welcoming,
into their soul the ability to go mad which is taught to be bad.
So before you make your reservation be inexplicably sure,
that you are in fact,
ready, for the mad tea party.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
It without reservation can be said
Light on their indistinct feet these apparitions
Having no physical form
Cavorting of course with analogous kinds
Ravenous
On human emotions, they dine
Waltzing with elegance and ease
Disappearing as they please
Showcasing their unearthly skills
Rattling their chains
And moaning with glee
Ah yes it can most assuredly be said
I enjoy
Dancing with ghosts of the dead
It is the event of a lifetime
And is a rare phenomenon amongst the living
But not be envious of their steps
For throughout their existence they may never rest
It is a clandestine situation at best
Though they frolic gaily
Imprisoned between two worlds
Ignoring their dilemma
Nebulous phantoms
Continuing to whirl
Still, in good conscience, I cannot deny
Even with their trickery and constant cries
And disregarding the fact they are dead
What a delightful experience it truly is
Dancing with ghosts of the dead
All Right Reserved @ Tammy M Darby Nov. 3, 2018.
Re-Write Feb. 11, 2019
All Material Stored in Author Base.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Hold onto me,
Don't turn and run.
Give all of yourself to me,
And I will give myself to you.
Give ourselves completely without reservation, without excuses.
Entrust ourselves in each other's hands for
I am the place to lose your fears.
Here with me you'll never have to be alone,
Devotion with me is guaranteed.
My love is strong,
An unbreakable bond.
Together is right were we belong.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
•••
Was a lucky coincidence, when i first met you
Was a pure sweet innocence, when i first talked with you
Started with a simple conversation
Flowing effortlessly without thoughts of any reservation
Never wanting to walk away
Felt like i wanted you, in every single way
Was such memories that never blemish
Made me unconsciously started to wish
For you to always stay by my side
Because the fondness is engraved deep inside
•••
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 7:49 PM UTC
1. If it doesn't take place at 4 in the morning, immediately change the setting.
2. You should center all your work. Centering makes the piece unique and improves readability.
3. You should invoke the idea of The Mask. Paul Laurence Dunbar didn't do it well enough.
4. One word lines improve readability and do a great job of making emphasis. Use them a lot.
5. On the other hand, really long lines explain points wonderfully. Feel free to be essentially prosaic.
6. The subject should be obvious and everyday, that way everyone can easily understand what you're trying to say. Subtext is dated.
7. Confessions and heartbreak are unique to you.
8. Not editing makes the work extremely human and relatable.
9. Emoticons and the ilk are the cutting edge of the English language. Feel free to use them without reservation.
10. Rhyme scheme doesn't need meter.
11. Making a word into waterfall letters tells the reader you're falling apart (See #3).
12. Journals, diaries, blogs and Tumblr are old news when it comes to venting. Write an angry poem about your day instead.
13. You're probably going mad according to the DSM-5. Definitely write about that.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
I’ve finally broken the arrow…
left the reservation..
as the sayings go.
Not without some hesitation…
not without some reservations..
I’m going to walk the White Man’s road.
Broken arrows from my quiver…
left behind like White Man’s litter..
all along this dusty road.
The road that follows the river…
where I use to play and shiver..
catching fish without a pole.
I’ll stop one more time by the water…
wash away the tears and dust and sorrow..
break my bow upon a boulder.
My people have lost their way…
nothing left for me to say..
cut my hair above my shoulder.
I’ll follow the White Man’s way…
Maybe Albuquerque or Santa Fe..
only my dusty boots will know the way.
Broken arrows from my quiver…
left behind like White Man’s litter..
all along this dusty road.
r August 2012
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
"These days
I'll sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Don't confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them"
Jackson Browne
<>
these days,
you can come by tween
the mostly soft warming cracking of Dawn,
and the early born-ing of
the first peek of a full grown
but yet
sleepy sunrise,
you'll find me siting on a
asshard dock,
two seagulls staring at the
human interloper,
alone with the threads in my
hardened head,
beating time in casual rhyme,
because that's what poets do,
to warm up their
tongues & toes,
clear their eyes
and
sniffling nose,
their partly opened,
party closed,
throats, eyes and
give up, sacrifice
the longest list of little lies,
that makes (forces) us to get up in the undimming earlies,
when it's just me, the gulls,
& the minnows poking around,
the fluke,
smarter but not wiser,
further out in deep water,
waiting to be caught
and
the cool blood barely flows,
until the rising orb warms
our fragility,
and we review the stories old,
that make us cold at night promising ourselves that
today you'll do that thing(s)
you've been putting off for years,
"Don't confront me with my failures"
Jackson pleads, but I concede,
thinking tell me them
one
mo' time,
make me unrighteous,
make me whole,
then take me,
holy displayed fully,
and the
first poem of the day,
will be my
confession total,
without reservation
and yet muse on
honor
something I thought I knew,
but needing a
closer examination
it might've been
dishonor
that was what
I was truly
knew
<>
Sunrise
July 5
'25
*sitting on the dock
by the bay,
would I*
lay down with a lie?
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 2:52 PM UTC