"residency" poems
Dear Miss ********,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we do not have space for you at our company.
Yours,
Xxxx xxxxxxxx
Dear Miss *******,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we cannot offer you a place with our company as you are under qualified.
Yours ** xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. We regret to inform you that you are over-qualified for the position.
Yours, xxxxxxx ***
Dear Miss ******,
I don’t think so love. This isn’t even a letter, this is my managerial position on you handing me your cv.
Cheers, bahbye now
Dear Miss *******,
This isn’t really a letter either, but despite how un-pc this is, we can’t hire you due to your gender.
Thanks anyway, save your paper.
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application, unfortunately we had stronger applicants.
Yours, etc., aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately we are not hiring at the moment even though we had advertised the job you applied for.
Yours, xxxxxxxxx xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
We had left it between you and another applicant, and couldn’t decide so we flipped a coin, and she won. You’re a lovely girl though.
Yours, fffffff ffff fffff
Dear Miss ********,
I refer to your claim for Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance at VVVVVV’s CCCCCC local office. Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance claims are subject to periodic review, consequently, I would appreciate if you would attend this office for interview on the 31/17/78 and bring the following :
1. Proof of Identity (i.e. Passport or Driving Licence or Long version of your Birth Certificate)
2. Proof of Residency (e.g. Letter from landlord/ Rent Book/ Lease/ Mortgage Receipt/ Letter from Parents + Household Bill)
3. Written Proof of recent job applications and replies.
4. Proof of job applications made through FAS
5. FAS courses applied for.
6. A copy of your Curriculum Vitae (CV): unemployed from
7. If your spouse/partner is an adult dependent on your claim, please bring his/her GNIB and Passport/Travel Documents.
Failure to respond to this letter may lead to suspension or disallowance of claim.
Yours sincerely,
**** *****
Local Officer
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
I will take this. I have to.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again.
And it has.
It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as
“damaged goods”
Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again.
Normal is a thing of the past.
This is what’s happening now.
Broken pieces.
Everywhere.
Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time.
It’s like screaming without a voice.
They said there’d be waves.
They essentially promised.
They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in.
Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart.
But there haven’t been any waves.
They were wrong.
Instead the pain is dull. It is constant.
But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time.
The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire.
It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through.
They get out.
This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop.
It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go.
It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically.
I. Am. Too. Weak.
Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well.
But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”.
And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me.
There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time.
There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up.
And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop.
In hopes that one day, I can go on without him.
So I’ll pray.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
“and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
Walt Whitman
<>
having recently been on standby for a permanent-entry residency visa
to over & just beyond death’s door, Walt’s prescient prescription strikes my broken breastbone even harder much, than the persistent
periodic pains confirming the breaking and the healing
of this man’s mending of the human centric poetic *****
for this warped heart mine, now rejoicingly rejiggered with some threads and wires to deliver a new but fresh bloodied wisdom,
begs me, eggs me to torrent word streams, but Whitman’s wisdom cautions a new slowness, the wisdom of mortality’s hot breath urges careful consideration of every letter that my second chance, consignment shop flesh, eagerly embraces, to both prescribe and proscribe inside-insights tween the deafening sounds of eyelashes beating synchronized to the revived heart rates rapid renewal and
last second-chances….
torn tween minute torso sensations and the running silence of
a new battery’s internal rapid intervals, the silent timing gaps tween beats leaves-just-enough-space to ask over and over again,
from whence will come my richest fluency? (1)
at 300am, I lay carefully caressing and chewing well each transitory
thought, absent the former energetic ability to just spill,
though highly desired,
now requires, like me,
steady re-piecing together
the steady drumbeat of now-nearer-my-god-than-thee Titanic reflections
demands a slowing rapidity
this I thought before and now ken, even and ever better, that our primary endeavor shall always be the giving, the disbursement of the act of love…for therein lies the healing of each, and wet eyes,
make necessarily concluding this poem about nothing and everything
and I comprehend Walt’s dictum:
my very flesh is a poem,
every sensation a lyric,
every breath taken and returned to the atmosphere
so unconsciously
are my oldest
and newest
3:00 AM poetry companions
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:41 PM UTC
So back again
Walking the shadows of sleeplisness
This time
Tablet in hand
An answer maybe
But not the one you may assume
If only you could read my mind
Probably best not to
Confusion has taken up residency of late
Such a strange moment
When technology astounds us once more
And words change their meanings
Ok I'm waffling
Sleep comes not fast
As the wind hounds bark
And the silver moon plays havoc
With my instincts
I would walk the moors
But there are no moors around here
So in dreaming I must excape I guess
First to down this tablet
Technology
And I don't even need water
Infact I'll just place it on the bedside table
That's all there is to it
Once I've switch it off that is.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
Broken Needles and rusted gates,
Treading over thorns and crushing glass in an apathetic state.
At best toss the thrown rock will crash,
Not without aggravating a storm of Asbestos.
Iron-lacking in socially acceptable art etiquette.
Climbing neglected buildings.
One hand gripping a rusted ladder,
The other, spray paint wielding.
Battling for space between the wall and the vine.
First time I don't feel misplaced, struggling for lines.
My minds at ease, I have everything I need.
A place to sit and think,
A place where the space is occupied by two high school kids.
Lighting candles that have merged
With the unstable rotting wood of the table.
Scratching their heart's words through bleeding pen nibs.
Loose leaf pages scatter the ground,
Not worthy of residency in my note book.
Reunited with the fallen leaves.
Reconciliation with my mind hook or by crook.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
The truth is turning plastic
And politicians spastic
As they dream up fantastic
Ways to be bombastic.
The anti-intellectuals,
Their rhetoric effectual,
Demand a perpetual
And lucrative processional
To a place they know the score
Where they can amass more
Of money and stores
In disregarding the mores
They were elected for
And continue waging war
Like high-priced political ******
The truth has no chance
In this genocidal dance
Of unfortunate circumstance
Created to enhance
Resultant happenstance
When, by the seat of his pants
When we happened to glance
Away for a particular moment
And were swamped by the foment
Of eight long years of torment;
Freedoms arteries turned to cement
And any chance of sanity
For American humanity
Got buried in some inanity
About hanging chads and counts
Giving a fool a chance to pounce;
To squeeze the last pure ounce
Of dignity out of the Presidency
By merely taking up residency.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
Oh how I'd love that
and from a San Francisco organization no less
a month in the Santa Cruz mountains, no less
the most liberal city in America no less
and last year's winner has his picture displayed
and it is not innovative or interesting or shocking but all too predictable
Like something I saw how long now has it been? twenty five years ago...
how many times have I seen this picture
a white guy, looking very much the suffering, creating artiste
handsome, like an actor, but not an actor, a creator of meaning
of art, and he can't smile, but looks away from the camera
mimicking an ad for J. Crew
it's amazing how only white men can write about the important things in the world
and the background, how many times before have I seen it
a graffiti sprinkled nowhere in an urban jungle
somewhere where preppy white guys never go
street art, street communication created by people
who don't see this concrete as an exotic backdrop for their egoistic posing
but as a part of their lives, as part of their meaning, their world
and he stands there, in front of it,
Mr. Screenwriter, the gulf of culture separating him from that background
spans the entire country, or an entire universe
but the implication of the picture is: he is home here
this is who he is and he can emcompass everything, since white men
as we know, have a magic ability to understand and synthesize everyone
all genders, all races, all religions
the rest of us are merely stuck in our own myopic little worlds
of gender, race, socio-economic status
but these spanner of time and space and human difference, they can be anyone
they can understand and represent anyone
So I look at the picture
and think, I could apply, but I'm busy during the blissful month of the residency
but how dissapointing, that I feel looking at this picture, now online of course
that it is the same picture that I looked at over twenty five years ago
pinned to a film school wall
in Los Angeles, in New York, in those edgy more conservative places
and it is the same guy. the white screenwriter artist who will write about me
and others and it will be a lie
and we are excluded. all the rest of the human race.
but what he writes will be exalted as truth
when I know, that no matter how time he spends wandering
the foriegn worlds of ghettos and genders
the one thing he knows, the only thing he knows how to write about is
white guys, because he is no superhuman
he is like us. He will write about white guys and there will be
more films about white guys, who are supposed to represent all of us
but they don't, because they are only human,
and can only represent themselves.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
You and I were introduced as the wheels left the ground
And we angled towards the heavens.
Hundreds of miles per hour,
South bound, towards the Florida Keys
And you mentioned the unusual serenity
That lies at forty thousand feet.
I memorized a trusting face while turbulence
Interrupted our peaceful flight
And you found your first opportunity
As you played in on my fear of heights.
You ended up following me, something I never expected
And like an unwelcome pest,
Like a moth or a spider,
You took up residency in the cold dark corners I neglected.
You so intricately spun your web of lies outside my home
And when you introduced your bait,
You let it dangle above my doorframe,
And I didn't hesitate.
I sunk my teeth into your tragedy and you wove me in
Leaving me tangled in the silk you manufactured,
All along that's how I let you win.
I let you tear open my stitched up wounds
And peel back my flesh and expose my interior
I let you examine how my brain functions during REM sleep
I let you study my neurological system,
And I gave you a private screening of my dreams.
While I was busy over analyzing your past
You were rerouting my neurons
And creating malfunctions within the synapse.
You rewired my entire nervous system
While I let you research the functions of my cells.
You're nothing more than the insects and the pests
With too many legs that crawl along my cellar walls.
Like a daddy long leg spider, I never saw you as a threat
Until you tangled me in false intentions
And left me for dead.
I learned the daddy long leg spider
Has a poisonous venom, lethal if injected
But it was cursed with a mouth and teeth too small
To leave any human the slightest bit affected.
But I was the one who allowed you
To shrink me down and make us the same
So your tiny teeth could penetrate my skin
And leave venom in my veins.
And it was only in that moment, finally standing eye to eye
That I noticed the lack of conscience in your irises
For the first time in my life.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more.
There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again.
I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free.
I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions.
It's hard to quash tremors of impatience.
I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity.
I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever.
I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy.
There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021."
I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses?
I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve.
I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught.
My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety.
My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags.
"Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried."
I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring.
"No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped.
But that's a later worry =]
Jun 13, 2021
Jun 13, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC
Mankind’s obsession with wealth is what created the mass destruction of the natural world.
The greed of mankind,
leading to inhumane acts against the world,
in which we all live.
Our eager appetite for wealth,
unable to contain itself,
loses control of our greedy hands,
that do nothing but take and never give.
We chop down trees,
stealing the homes of innocent creatures.
We tear into the Earth like a one year old into a birthday cake,
and we expect no consequence in return.
We throw garbage on to flowers that once flourished,
and let the creatures choke on it to their demise.
We force the Earth to relinquish its beauty,
so that we may build our shopping malls and highways upon it.
We confiscate anything natural about this world and destroy it.
Doing so,
with the carelessness of a hand brushing away spilled grains of salt,
off the edge of a table at a truck stop.
Our destructive actions do not come without consequence,
no matter how hard we ignore it.
As horrific as it sounds,
it’s not the greatest challenge mankind has had to face.
No,
that trophy is reserved for mankind’s violence.
For centuries we have waged wars on our neighbors,
slaughtering anyone who does not agree with our way of life.
We have taken women and children captive,
making them our prisoners of war.
We have brutally murdered husbands,
brothers and sons,
and sent ours to do so.
Our only "improvement" made,
is now sending the mothers,
sisters and daughters with them.
All while our nations relish in the glory of their chance-medley.
But now,
school shootings take residency in,
what used to be vacant fears.
Nobody can truly understand why humanity lacks so much humanity.
Why humans are the only creature that can be so inhumane.
No one can explain why these terrible and God awful acts of violence continue to occur.
That is why if you ask,
the only response you’ll ever find is
“they have a twisted mentality.”
But tell that to the hunter keeping populations steady.
Tell that to men destroying the Earth with more destruction for man’s construction.
Tell that to the politicians who think taking away our right to bare arms and protect our families,
will protect our families from being taken from us while they’re at school or a concert.
Tell that to the former president who negotiated with terrorists to save a few American men.
You can’t,
because some inhumane acts have a slightly humane justification. Whether we agree with them or not,
it’s only human.
Being a little inhumane and still humane,
is only human.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC
as late as it gets,
this would make the
fifth or fiftieth orbit in the cycle
a closer pattern; you know
i can't help but
keep trackmarks of these things,
the collective foolishnesses
we stock up and hold
ourselves like hostages at the
hand of-
of course:
it ain't your fault,
life like this just
aches a little too much,
a life of ingratiated and
incapitulating desperation always
suited me just fine but,
sugar,
right now,
i need something more to
keep me from
wanting to breathe less,
like i've been doing,
the past however-long
you've taken up residency
inside of me.
in a small town,
i'm too caught up in transit
to ever be able to
light fires, like you could be.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
That glow of a smile
Stunning and resilient like the perfection she embodied
Lost in the images of that fabled romance
That gleaming ray of hope
Longing for its yearning, subtle return
Feeling the warmth and aura of its haunting beauty
Now I lay here awake
Every second without you an eternity
Those sweet nothings forever boarded a permanent residency in my heart
Turning over to see nothing more than the forgotten place where my love once laid
Looking at the empty spaces between my fingers where her's are supposed to be
Feeling the twilight eclipse upon my crippled mind
Wishing nothing more than to spend just another second with you
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
Yes. I wielded the knife.
Coated with my word poison, I plunged it into your soul and the dagger spread like cancer through you, I could see it metastasizing every time you tilted your head to let your hair cover your face.
If I could take that blade and plunge it into my own heart now, I would before my next beat.
I would take back the cancer and smile as the tumors fought for residency inside of me, if I knew that you would be in remission from my cruelty.
Sometimes it takes three months for the recoil of punches thrown to take its effect. When it does, laying on your basement couch, trawling through an online poetry forum, your knuckles will fracture and your finger bones will cleave in two like firewood.
I doused you with the lighter fluid I spit and set you ablaze with the words I wrote. I watched your tears turn to ash.
And then I lit another match.
I turned my back as you smoldered, now your anger fed the flames I sparked.
Now my bones are brittle and dry, my marrow now tinder for you to set aflame.
Burn me with the hellfire I put you through, I need this self-assigned penance, and you deserve to watch me burn.
Take the charcoal that remains and draw yourself in perfect mirrors, sketch out the picture of yourself that I should have showed for you.
I once promised you that I would, remember?
I am so sorry.
I stood there, the whole time, with a water bucket in my hand.
I had your reflection, and I spilled it on the floor.
Set me on fire, let the crackling of my bones beneath the weight of the flame be the lullaby as you sleep.
Ten thousand apologies are nowhere near enough.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
we could have danced upon
the levee with the tips
of our bare
toes
for many ages
& still not be rid of
the bitter taste of anxiety
& horror that at any
misfortune-filled moment
the river would swell and swallow
us whole
the feeling of fear is like nothing
in this world
& sometimes I don't think
I can shake it
his eyes are resting on my
collarbone
jesus christ, man
I can't take it
make-believe misgivings
cigarette sweet
took residency in my ribcage
& I swear they'll never
leave
so if we got all we
came for
its best we take to the
unforgiving streets
while I silently observe
as you practice
& you
preach
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
I long to discover
Your favorite jokes
And ticklish spots
Because the sound
Of your laughter
Rings in my ears
Caresses my brain
Its tender reverberation
Establishes permanent residency
Your laughter, I urge
To make itself
At home
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
a simple mistake, typing
e when it shouldn’t be so.
changed the word, the meaning,
the shape of the final text.
it was some time, way back, i met
the theatre, ardudwy. now it is
named harlech, while i start
my residency today.
provided with two cabinets.
sbm.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
I feel dry and
empty
like a dried up well
I can feel the black thoughts
taking over my mind
Whispering
sweet evil nothings
in my ear
dripping with honey laced poison
I feel the depression
sinking into my bones
taking root in my blood stream
and poisoning my mind
I feel the hatred
slowly infecting my soul
like cancer
it never goes away
I feel the cracks forming
slowly, subtly
spreading across my skin
like spider webs
just waiting until I break
I feel myself start to shatter
the darkness within
leaking out
infecting those around me
and at the same time
******* in the world's evil shadows
my body now a host for
the dark light I always adored
Madness
taking residency in my eyes
Hatred
poisoned my soul
Depression
made my flesh and blood
overtook my mind
lives in my bones
and now I see only red
all I know is the bitter taste of life
and the sweet honey of poison
I live with the dark light
it thrives inside me
and soothes the burning of my heart
I no longer know myself
I love the moon
the chaos she brings
and the innocent screams
of her victims
as the madness takes over
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
the beings who float around in outer space
will never come to reside in this place
they've observed our warring ways
and from them they wish to stay away
they seek a residency of peacefulness
not a planet of ugliness and cruelness
their craft keep whizzing past here
our planet is so wet with so many tears
their way of life is founded on harmony
they are beings who live for amiability
our weaponry would make them so so sad
as they know that they are so very bad
they are ever watching us killing each other
and they'd never do this to their brothers
they believe in the power of dialogue
not of conflict and deadly catalogues
so fear not earthlings about space beings
they are steering clear of all human beings
war fare shall not assail us from space
the beings from space are a placid race
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
I'd be deemed a liar if I suggested you leave me with no breath... Now, I find myself weightless... elated, drifting in that anti gravity that is the dream space of a carefree soul, but by a glance at your design. Never has any desire been a pleasant torture until now, I wish for nothing during these stretched out days but the visits you grace me with in my rest, the only thing I might want more, if time allows...is to convey to you through eyes connected, that I could never find words that would suffice in expressing to you the residency I've allowed you in my heart... I am and have always been untamed,wild and free in spirit, but I cannot deny that your outstretched hand will be the only call to turn my tracks around.. It is a warmth carried in your song that has cleared a heavy mist relentlessly restricting, suffocating... what is left of the rhythm of my own life...? I hear your song... My heart is still beating
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
the beings who float around in outer space
will never come to reside in this place
they've observed our warring ways
and from them they wish to stay away
they seek a residency of peacefulness
not a planet of ugliness and cruelness
their craft keep whizzing past here
our planet so wet with so many tears
their way of life is founded on harmony
they are beings who live for amiability
our weaponry makes them ever so sad
as they know that it is so very bad
they're ever watching us killing each other
and they'd never do this to their brothers
they believe in the power of dialogue
not of conflict and deathly catalogues
so fear not Earthlings about space beings
they're steering well clear of all human beings
war fare shall not assail us from space
the beings from space are a placid race
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
New start, you said, We can try again
Opened my curtains and showed me the light
of a brand new day, with hope and power
I want to stay asleep, but even in my half aware state I am wondering
how you are here after last night?
When I said all those words, flung them at you violently
showed you my scars, and opened your eyes to what I'm doing
Why are you back?
I have never believed in unconditional love
I can't understand it
never questioning what slams it down
always rising above life and flaws
I can't believe in an eternity of caring
a permanent residency in your head and heart
And it's only a fraction of eternity, 16 tiny years
but that's a a lifetime to us and
a long time to keep proving me wrong
Because when I push you away and lock you out
hurting me, hurting you
with harsh words and angry screams
hospital visits and cold sweats
I think you're gone
and I fall against my wall (that keeps you out) in relief
I can breathe
I am free of ties to this earth, constricting me
and if in a moment of blind stupidity
I cease to exist- then you can't be pulled down with me
But you just won't let it go- let me go
You keep arriving back on my doorstep, with a new plan
new opportunities to keep me going
more tactics to keep my 'issues' under control
Every time I abuse this relationship it chips at some of my ***** soul
but I really want you to be alright, absolved of me
I don't have the energy to keep shoving you away
or keep up this facade so please, could you at least
build your own brick wall?
stop me from relying on your immovable presence
and your rock solid love
stop me from feeding off your hope
please
because I have these ugly raging
fault lines far beneath my exterior
Quakes I am no longer in control of
and if these cracks begin to surface
I'm scared you will bear the brunt of my storm
and I will hurt you more than 'i ever have before
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC
We’re off to New Haven - hurry, hurry -
we’re jammin, crammin, slappin'
and slammin' everything into our bags.
“Fifteen minutes to take-off,”
Michael announced, “the chopper's waiting.”
with hugs all around we separated.
Our roommates too, are all catching flights
vectoring in from various sites -
our motley group will reassemble tonight.
Pew rated Yale one of the hardest universities
to get into in '23 - so is it really a certainty
that our cardkeys will let us into our residency?
Fall grades came out yesterday - Lisa and I are all grins
- we’ll have thirteen days to visit and settle in
and reorganize things before Spring semester begins.
I hope that your vacations were as fun as ours
but the New Year’s begun and in a matter of hours
we’ll resume the school grind, our holidays devoured.
Jan 5, 2023
Jan 5, 2023 at 1:12 PM UTC
The Train whistles and sounds
Into the early morning:
while the cricket’s chirps frantically
at the clicking sound of rusty old tracks;
my heart beat faster than ever,
I had to park my new car;
under the old train bridge
and board the 6:25 to
Bridgton
The homeless drug addicts
Seem quite content with their long term residency
Car 59
I looked to my left, then to my right
The foul-smelling car made the morning gloomy
Should I sit, or should I stand
Something about the early morning commutes
That really annoys this Staten Island's South Shore commuters
the stench in car 59
The sunlight slowly made its way into the day close to seven am
But somehow the addict and his partner didn’t seem to care
who broad car 59
so many dialects , so many nationalities
my heart beat faster , than ever
Why the hell doesn’t Metro North clean up the
this train line…
,
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
smoke escaped from your parted lips,
intoxicating the room with its stench
and your hands shaking with the syringe,
aiming for a lesser bruised area in your arm;
"this is the last hit, I swear..."
before she had kicked you out,
you had stolen over a hundred-fifty dollars
from your very own mother's wallet
to fuel this cruel addiction of yours;
"I'm not addicted..."
just look at you:
rotten teeth like those of maybe a rat's,
face all wrinkled as though you're older than 16,
bits and pieces of your skin picked and dug deep,
and only some patches of hair remain.
"I won't be like her..."
no one else will be attracted to you
like she is, your drug dealer and girlfriend;
together you'll live in isolation somewhere,
with lack of sleep and a high dose of euphoria.
"the only harm being done is to myself..."
tell that to the cops as they bring a warrant
to search your current place of residency
and discover your kitchen for making more,
tell that to the cops as they drag you to jail
to force you into rehabilitation for help
and keep you there until you're all better.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
See her as she walks,
Even The manner in which she talks.
She walks boldy with confidence.
She walks awoken with consciousness.
She walks with her head held high as she looks upon Her Father in the heavenly sky.
As she walks by they get one glance into her eyes.
Something that is so unexplainable that they can't began to Identify.
Something that they cant seem to recognize
Its something thats catches them by surprise.
No man can touch the flourishing fruit her of tree.
Its something in her that even a blind man can see.
How is it that she walks and smiles with such glee?
She walks humbly and gracefully.
She walks shamelessly and Courageously.
For She walks Daily faithfully and gratefully with the Almighty.
It happened the day He waited for her so patiently
She came to him on her bending knee to taste The greatness of thee.
His prescence became so contagious
That In her life she made many of changes.
She sought his face Tenaciously
Now In her heart is his place of residency.
Thats why when she walks its as if shes floating so heavenly.
You are seeing the Glowing of Her fathers Spirit overflowing from her majestically.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC