"respects" poems
A man who:
Takes pictures of himself
Everyday
Won’t have the time for you
A man who:
Leaves love notes on
Napkins
Underneath your coffee cup
Will love you when
You have nothing
A man who:
Declares he’s a great father
For all to see
Really
Truly
Isn’t
A man who:
Tells his children
Over the phone
Next to their bed
Kisses them good night
Where no one can see or hear
Truly is
A decent man
A man who:
Doesn’t make promises
But shows over
Time
His worth
His character
Is someone to know
A man who:
Makes mistakes
But tries his damndest
To make amends
May not see
Eye to eye
With all
But
Respects the process
Of understanding
Each other
A man who:
Writes poetry anonymously
Posts it for the world to
See
Is an enigma
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
My Court is a battle
As a Queen, I will endure
so my kingdom thrives
Standing in gardens
My treasure trove of colours
that never fails me
Flowers bow gently
The winds make the tall trees sing
Rivers flow calmly
Scents drift in the light
I hear its sweet melody
As I stand with pride
A Queen now enters
The daughter of Spring and Deer
The tender Queen Fawn
Who smiles so sweetly
Fragrant, soft-spoken and kind
With deer by her side
Another Queen comes
The angel with a kind heat
The gentle Queen Sue
Who has healed her wounds,
broken her chrysalis
And spreads her warm light
Another Queen comes
Wise and soon to be married
Joyful Queen Donna
Who goes with the flow
A talented haikuist
with a flower crown
Another Queen comes
She who is always giving
The giving Queen Kim
Whose crown's a halo
And her words, so spiritual
fragrant and calming
Another Queen comes
Who has birds singing so sweet
The sweet Queen Robin
Who is a true joy
Whose words are just like music
A kindred spirit
And now a King comes
Who is very much like me
The great King Omni
Who is an artist
Who is both seen and unseen
Very much like me
Another King comes
Ever so mischieveous
The playful King Paul
Such a playful tease
He who makes me smile and laugh
And looks out for me
Another King comes
His heart is strong and tender
The wise King Edmund
Who writes for himself
Speaks so well of others and
how vital love is
To these Kings and Queens
Thank you for your melodies
You are golden souls
For now I do see
The true power of my quill
My ink is gold too
I write out my life
My pain, my fears and my loves
And my achievements
I must stay above
I will walk with my head up
and ignore the bad
People will hate me
But I will thicken my skin
to be a true queen
I will empower
And give you all your respects
and never denounce
I am a true Queen
With a Court that is growing
steadily but strong
The reign of Queen Lyn
Who is sensitive and shy
It has just begun
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
A gentleman is not brutal,
but he will prove all vendettas futile.
He is not immune to bullet, fist or blade
but any insult raised against him
will be met with a blockade.
He is stoic, but still smiles,
cracking his face open without reserve
for a friend, to calm, to a foe, to unnerve.
A gentleman dresses his best,
whether it Vans and sweater, or tie and vest.
No-one is beneath his attention
he gifts compliments quite often,
but when a man puts a hand on him,
that man goes home in a coffin.
No matter his orientation,
he respects every inclination,
He holds the door
the same way he strikes true,
every time.
He knows his weapon well,
but in blood, he doesn't buy nor sell.
He knows the time to fight
but of violence, he makes no light.
He respects every man,
every woman,
every child...
But,
if his family is ever hurt
and this one renders apologies inert
then they shall receive only
a box and a white shirt.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
Snow Mountain
I walk alone these darkened hills,
can see my breath and getting chills.
My party left me long ago,
they didn't like my altered ego.
Snow blowing in my face,
they said they needed space.
Feet and hands becoming numb,
never have I felt so **** dumb.
Found a cave and there they were,
me freezing, them wearing fur.
Never has a fire felt so good,
not sure where they got the wood.
Then I noticed a very distinct odor,
they were burning our guide, Schroeder.
On the cave wall, I see four more dead,
eating the brains from their very head.
I yelled, What the **** are you doing,
couldn't believe what I was viewing.
They said, Shut up or you're next,
I got on my knees and paid my last respects.
Spinning the body just like a pig roast,
I'd be happy with just a bite of toast.
As I watched them eat the bodies,
if I had a camera, I'd make copies.
Days went by and I got hungry,
the human body tastes so chunky.
Finally something that didn't taste like chicken,
my body was getting stronger and beginning to thicken.
We never did get discovered,
ended up in hell, getting eaten by an evil buzzard.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
He owned books on many subjects
leather bound, with complex concepts
on which he'd ponder and reflect
He had it all, in some respects.
He could lecture quantum physics,
English literature and economics
He was renowned in academics
Though many found him quite eccentric
He explored the world only to find
That there's more to life than a brilliant mind
That there was a piece of him...undefined
See, He had never loved. He'd never pined
He knew all the math, knew all equations
He'd been to every corner of every nation
He'd learned 28 languages, knew every translation
But he was distraught by this realization
The pain he felt was too great to bear
He sank into the deepest and darkest despair
His heart was in need of dire repair
Finding love was his only prayer
He bumped into her by happenstance
and what began as an ephemeral glance
became a sucker punch from romance
She thought he was sweet, so she gave him a chance
That's when the world's smartest man finally learned how to dance
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Hear the bass, grace notes race all over the place
Cymbals paced, hi-hats chase, weaving between the bass
The piano - chords struck with wide spanned hands
Poly-rhythmic, multi-layered sounds in strands
The timbre of reed vibrating against warm metal
Precision; a sixth, a ninth and an eleventh interval
A major, a minor scale; a frantic modal sweat
A small sound for mankind; but a truly giant step
Each note slices through the eclectic beat-drop
Singing and whispering this post-modern be-bop
Multi-phonics scream, like controlled feedback
The seductive saxophone – this weapon of attack
The boundary is stretched, new ground broken
The holy saxophone has never thus spoken
And I pay homage, all my deepest respects
Go to the man who made those giant steps
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 9:25 AM UTC
I wish that you loved me
but I know that you don't.
I wish your heart felt
something it won't.
I wish I had your attention,
your protection and time.
I wish there would come a day
when I could call you mine.
I wish that you wanted me
for more then just ***
I wish I was the type of woman
a man like you respects.
I wish you could see things
the way that I do...
and felt all I feel,
and knew the things I knew.
I wish I made you happy
and fueled your inner fire.
I wish I were the one
whom you most desire.
I wish we could grow old
and grey together.
I wish I knew the meaning
of the word 'forever'.
I wish that you to loved me
the way that I love you...
But wishes are for fools
'cause they never come true.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
You never know when someone
just might be watching you.
The little things you say,
and the little things you do.
Perhaps a pure sweet child,
or someone that you love.
Or someone who respects you,
or God, watching from above.
There never is a single time
you’re completely out of sight.
It may not matter how you live,
But then again…it might!
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:46 AM UTC
Pluto says
Keep your hug
Pluto says
Dwarf Planet my ***
Pluto says
Sticks and Stones *************
Pluto says
I know what I am
I don’t care
For your “opinion”
Captured by the Kuiper Belt! Please.
Or one my favorites,
A cold rock!
You called me a trans-Neptunian object?
I have five moons!
An 11 year old girl tried to name me.
She won £5 but I’ve had many names.
I am fond of Hiro.
But I’ve also liked Minerva.
I am hardly a minor planet.
In 2006 they tried to make a verb out of me
To "pluto" is to "demote or devalue someone or something.”
**** You!
So passive aggressive and insulting.
I am not carrying that around with me
My orbit is 248 years.
At a 17 degree angle thank you very much
To pay my respects to that egomaniac Sun.
Why would I care what you think?
Perhaps I am envied because I am so far away.
I don’t think that I am far away at all.
It’s relative, no?
Yes, I am removed
from that Versailles situation over there
and all that ********
That horrible planet
You know the one that I mean.
The one that’s crawling with “things”
They’re not even you.
Disgusting.
I am awash with molten ices and
I even sport a plasma tail.
I spin in nitrogen gases
On my own path
Alone
With my FIVE moons!
Just us!
They claim that there are other
Dwarf Planets here and there
And even go so far as to suggest
That I am the puniest amongst them
But with my five and five more still
That’s 10 to 8
And you already know what I can do.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
If you burn a flower,
it happens slowly. (to you)
It may be astonishing
to watch and smell and feel,
but just look at what you've done
to the flower...
There are traces left;
the scent lingers,
but that flower will never be the same.
The colors are no longer vibrant.
The flower becomes stale and dried out.
It becomes so frail
that touching it
could wither the rest
of what is left behind.
The worst part is that
you have never been,
could never be a flower.
You don't know what it is
to be a flower, you don't know
what it feels like when it is burning.
You blindly take action against nature
not fearing the consequence.
Nature is there for you,
nature takes care of you.
Look at what you have done
to this beautiful flower that you
once held so dear?
Foolish little boy;
once you stop caring for your planet,
the planet no longer takes an interest in you.
It no longer respects you,
feels the need to protect and nurture you.
You have taken this flower,
this gift of the universe and damaged it.
When the rain stops falling and the gardens
cease growth, don't curse the skies and the soil.
Return to the empty flower-bed where you
found that brilliant flower standing,
firmly rooted in the earth and extending up
to you awaiting it's water and food.
Feeding you it's beloved oxygen.
That flower is gone,
it has moved on to a new life,
with new purpose.
Once you waste something away,
you cannot get it back.
The lesson is hard to learn,
but none the less, you have learned it.
It is a s h a m e ,
the earth loses flowers every day
for little boys to learn big lessons.
kd
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 6:48 AM UTC
Onam Reminds
Onam reminds me of the venomous mind
That overthrew a just ,kind king ,unkind
Aryan imperialism subjugating the Dravid
The white over the black , dark apartheid
Justice of the black is unjust for the white
A matter of jealousy, dissatisfaction and fight.
For the British, Indians were raw to be refined
As Allopaths frown upon Ayurvedics as bad.
But, what is the truth? think of the covered past
Weigh evidences: from history, literature and art
Of all non-whites; really, they were and are super
In many respects, hence, awake from your stupor.
India shall not be a kite of any ruler outside
No race is Blessed to override anyone beside;
Almighty considers all equals - by their deeds
It is That, that fosters all by weighing our deeds.
When greed of man rudely jeopardizes the Nature
Nature jeopardizes human life, making a fracture.
Torrential rain or draught is a positive measure
Applied by It on earth (as earth-quake) to treasure.
Man like Vamana tries to grow and measure the earth
Other planets ,heaven or hell to exploit Nature’s wealth
As Jehovah ,the Almighty, Brahma, or Allah, the Cause
Of that Pulsation is everywhere, beware man! and pause!
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
Señor Garcia Marquez
Whatever did you mean
When you wrote of life
And of death by family
I'm in love with
Prudencio Aguilar's ghost
Roaming about the Buendía household
Hole in his throat
Washing out the wound
But what did you mean?!
I'm in love with
Do it yourself chastity belts
And Ursula's fear of ***
But why is this even a theory
Your concept behind biracial inbreeding
And Señor do not get me started
On Melquíades and José Arcadio Buendía
Because that friendship was
Fated to be doomed
I mean no disrespect in all this
I just want to know
Why use Macondo as an allegory
For the Angel Gabriel
You're genius, really
But your run on paragraphs
Infuriate every ounce of my writing soul
You're a Columbian Tolstoy
I mean that as no insult
Your works are tremendous and outstanding
But what am I doing
You're now just an old dead man
"Under the ground"
So now I belong to figure out
Why Pilar needs to fill a void
Opened by a ******
And why Colonel Aureliano Buendía
Thinks of his fond memory of ice
Just before being killed
I've paid my respects to your work
Please pay respects to my search
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Freedom At Kannyakumari
“The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms”
Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion-
of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision,
“The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”.
As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning
we Indians imbibe the Western Culture;
or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato
Indians are produced, transmuted
destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth.
Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now !
Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants,
by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour-
in every other respects-Europeans
(using imperialist - capitalist media);
poor sycophants ,for a visa,
the Indians: now , turn to the West for light,
leaving the bright light under the Urn;
cry for a way of progress, safety and food;
and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body
No retrospection or introspection,
only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection.
On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me,
a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep;
I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night:
the surging sea spitting frothing snow
upon the black rocky *******
protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair ,
ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha.
Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death,
I walked and walked searching shelter,
but no room for a single son with meagre wealth.
The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes
hummed around me with highly rented room offer-
source of tourism exploitation- I bargained,
till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon
cleaving the vapours of the sea,
when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri;
then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore;
somebody among them, staring blear eyed
as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed
“O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed.
The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze
that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
The progression of Huntington's disease often leads to the need of a wheelchair. My husband resisted using a wheelchair for many years, even though his poor balance and tiredness meant he was prone to falls. I didn't exactly pressurise him into using one. To be honest it was not just because it was another sign of loss of independence, but it would have been harder for me too in many respects.
What I wasn't prepared for, when the time came, was the social stigma attached to wheelchair users insofar as becoming a kind of non-entity! In a weekly blog I wrote in 2008 I wrote about the first time I took my husband out in a wheelchair. It angered me how peoples’ attitudes seemed to change overnight.
Walking down the High Street,
Hand in hand like lovers,
The couple blend into the crowd,
No different from the others.
As the years go by though,
His body having changed,
Has sadly meant a wheelchair,
Has had to be arranged.
Strolling down same High Street,
The woman now behind,
Her lover needing pushing,
Steep pavements so unkind.
Entering the bar now,
With awkward navigation;
People jump to open door,
Aware of situation.
“Thank you” says the man in chair,
When wheeled into the place;
“Welcome” say the helpers there,
But all avoid his face.
Carer gets the “Welcome” mouthed,
No looks with him they share;
Let’s treat this fellow human being,
As if he wasn't there.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
People Say They Respect,
The Stength That I Own,
People Say They Respect Me,
Because It's So Easy For Me To Put Up A Smile,
Respect Is Something You Earn,
Not Something That You Automatically Get,
I've Busted My **** To Be Respected,
But I Am Slowly Crumbling,
From The Alliance's Change In Wind,
I Hate Pretending I'm Perfect,
I'm Human,
You Gotta Respect That,
Do You Respect The Pain?
Do You Respect My Name?
Who Ever Respects Me,
I Respect Them Back,
You Can't Be Respected,
If You Don't Respect,
Let Be Your Teacher,
I'll Teach You The Ways,
The Ways Of Getting Through The Rough Days,
I'll Teach You,
If You Don't Have A Clue,
How To Respect
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 8:47 AM UTC
I'm a poet, beatboxer,
Gamer, Expert procrastinator
Hated
Loved
But not loved by you apparently.
You
Who sits behind the screen like a little *****
Makes your profile private
So I can't respond to things like
"Exactly what I'd expect a 16 year old little ***** to say"
You only make me mad by your nature
Probably a 50 year-old ********* and troll
Who gets off by taunting younger ones
Because he's too much of a **** to pick on someone
His own size and age,
Having no friends or relatives that love him
Nobody that respects the ******* he is
Probably does drugs
Dropped out of school the year he learnt the word ****
Didn't follow much of a lifestyle
Blew kids off for twenty bucks
I mean, money is money
Shares his mothers basement with twelve cousins,
Male and female,
That he ***** on the daily
The only action he really gets
And when they aren't there
Climbs out of his trollhole
To **** with the wrong people
They call me Phoenix
Because I roast beats
And pedophiles
Like yourselves
You got a reaction
Question is,
Was it what you expected?
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Great City Timbeck Tyu
Coloured Walls Nicely Painted
Arts and Drawing Everywhere
Artifacts on every crossing
People's representatives feel like king
Magnificient buildings here and there
Bridges and flyover everywhere
Toll tax booth here and there
Statues standing everywhere
Banners hanging here and there
Hoardings, posters everywhere
Malls and Hotels here and there
Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere
Citizens always in Crisis
Struggling with poverty
Economical condition bad
Politicians has gone mad
Nationalism in Slogans
Here and there hooligans
Real nationalist are renamed
They are called anti-nationals
Corruption is on the peak
You need license to speak
Crowd imposes censorship
System respects the crowd
Mouse catches the Crow
Everything on the show
Real news not covered
Real issues are untouched
Fake news are implanted
Press and Media on sale
Laws are being twisted
Burden of proof shifted
Culprits are honoured
Innocents are hanged
Farmers are in debts
Their families are starving
They can't even pay their loans
Neither Principal nor interest
They either commit suicide
or land in jail for not paying loans
Hospital competing with hotels
Doctors busy in making money
Patients treatment is on Sale
Get cured only if you pay
Stray Animals on the rise
What you can do if you cry?
Black money in circulation
White money is called pollution
Rapes, Murders and theft on rise
Law and order is on the papers
Lawyers are with Politicians
Politicians are with Criminals
Criminals are with the Police
Police is with the Capitalists
Only the God is with the victims
That too only, if he really exists
Population almost exploding
Environment full of pollution
Fights and quarrels here and there
Religion and faith always on stake
Caste and Classes everywhere
Race and Religion everywhere
Common people struggling for food
Saints consuming wine and drugs
Rallies and protests uprising
The system has turned deaf
Goddess of law weeping and bleeding
Judges busy in process law and rules
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Such a great city Timbeck Tyu
Have you liked Timbeck Tyu?
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu?
If you liked, Timbeck Tyu
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu
First apply for passport in your country
Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu
Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late
Visa's are limited so take care
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
It's in the way he smiled at me when we first met
Nothing special about his smile but the chipped tooth
The way those eyes tell a million stories and yet are so kind
He listens
I’ve never had that before
And calls me out on my ********
Because he knows I like to lie
He doesn't put people down for things they enjoy
I’ve never had that before
He respects my passion and lifts me
He treats me like I want to be treated
Because i'm sick of being treated like an ignorant little girl
He's nice to everyone and
I’ve never had that before
Even if he dislikes them he's compassionate and kind
And sees good within the worst
And although his hairs to long
And although his brothers a *****
And although I still feel judged by him sometimes
I’ve never had someone like him before
Safety
Love
Warmth
I’m not afraid to call him whenever
And I was already friends with his friends
He notices things, even before, that no one else does
And is genuinely happy for me
And i've never had that before
Never had the kindness
Never had the unconditional
Never had the best friend
But I guess thats because i've never had him before.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:25 AM UTC
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
You think life is easy
You think all you want comes to you
But no, this ain't true
You think he cares
You think he wants you
You think he loves you
But he doesn't care
He doesn't want you
And he doesn't love you
He's just happy without you
When will you ever understand that he doesn't care!
You cry for him
He doesn't know cry for you
You can't stop thinking about him
But he barely thinks about you
He won't take a bullet for you like you would do
He's not the guy he used to be
HE DOESN'T CARE!
when will you understand?
He loves his girlfriend
He would take a bullet for her
He talks to her, gives her attention, he respects her, and most importantly, he cares about her!
You should move on
Carry on
Continue your life without him
Stop thinking about him
Live your life
Take advantage of every second
Do whatever you want
But don't think about him
Talk to other guys
Do the craziest things ever.
Without him.
Because you can survive without him
You're just a part of his past now
So make him a part of your past
Truth is, he loves his girlfriend
I know your not the same without him, but you should be!
Grow up
Forget him
And move on
Because he doesn't care!
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
You have grown up but Baby, you ain’t no man.
I want a man. I’ll be fine on my own if you don’t wanna be mine.
I can manage the bills, fix the car, and cut the lawn.
I want a man. Who wants to be mine and hold me when I’m not fine.
He can help make the bed, fix up dinner, and cut the crap.
I want a man. Who’s honest and not afraid to speak his mind if
my hair looks like a dead animal and my dress, a garbage bag.
I want a man. Who gets as excited about what I’m doing as I get
with what he’s doing. Even if it may just be over a silly poem.
I want a man. Who doesn’t need me. But wants me.
He isn’t a mess and can take care of himself without me, yet allows me to care.
I want a man. Who I can punch in the arm, and he tackles me to the floor.
Someone to make me laugh, to make sure I’m never serious all the time.
I want a man. Who respects what I see is beautiful, as I see in him.
He must understand we can love one another, as well as other beauties.
I want a man. who’s my best friend. So when we have disagreements,
we’ll find ways to satisfy all intentions. And to treat me like ‘one of the boys’.
I want a man. Who will lay with me, all warm in our bed, arm in arm,
and listen to the rain outside. Because I love these silent moments.
I want a man. To read this and realize this man is him. I feel I need that man.
To be you.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 8:31 PM UTC
Somehow it wasn’t right to cry
for someone who
no one knew—for years
though everyone knew about Lil
She was the crazy burden
of an orphaned family
whose memories rearrange the winter shadows
“Are we dressed right?
Are our faces adequately sad?”
They loved the skinny, happy kid
Loved—the ones who loved her
knew her from “The Old Neighborhood”
Two sisters approach the body
echoed in black and navy
holding each other’s hand
They look down at her—
They look her over
They overlook—“The Old Neighborhood”
of the Lillian they had hoped for—
took care of as a child....
And in the din of last respects
a comment from an older gentleman—
“The Goldrick girls were all such lookers”
So I was her niece
and not from “The Old Neighborhood”
I have memories of my own....
I was rich when Lil brought play money
from Misquamicut
She brought whelks and slipper shells too
My ear cupped close
I first heard the sea
Not as beautiful as I expected
nor as beautiful as I would know
She gave them with love—without telling
where and when that I would go....
Her hands were always cool and sweaty
Always trembling
Always a cigarette
and an argument in the background
From the height of three
and hugging knees
I see her face against the ceiling’s
white—with panic
Her eyes are never with me
I know someone is with her
“The Goldrick girls were all such lookers....”
Beleaguered beauty
Frail, with stiff grace
she glances sideways
Checking for my safety?
“Our names too close! Confused too often!”
I was to know her horror— as I know her sea
...Her laughter, too late for the conversation
a smoky hysteria
that will not share with her eyes
She stumbles backward through her childhood
as if she has mislaid something
She wants to go roller skating
with her sister, eight months pregnant
besieged by diapers
with stew on the back burner
...And Lil wants to go back...
to a time at the Rialto
to the organ’s boogie
to the edge—before
The Depression declared WAR—
on someone who
no one knew
for years!
And is it okay yet?
...to let her sea out of me!
It burns so!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
Changing Names and Changing Faces
Changing Times and Changing Places
The emptiness remains the same
The Sunna Sutta,
Part of the Pali canon,
Relates that the monk Ananda,
Buddha's attendant asked,
"It is said that the world is empty, the world is empty, lord.
In what respects is it said that the world is empty?"
The Buddha replied, "Insofar as it is empty of a self
Or of anything pertaining to a self: Thus it is said,
Ananda, that the world is empty.
Form is emptiness
Emptiness is form
Emptiness is not separate from form,
Form is not separate from emptiness
Whatever is form is emptiness,
Whatever is emptiness is form
One time to the next time
That is all it is
Try to be a good person
Be kind to others
Show others the love that Jesus showed
I just want a good friend is all
That would be nice
Someone to share my life with
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
you did not shake or shiver when the
hunter grabbed you by the throat and
tried to tear your skin off head to toe.
no one respects a crying king.
once,
you ran across and through the
jungle and roared loud enough to shake
the galaxies above and down under.
there was no force strong enough to hold you down.
lover,
you think of your father when you think about
what it means to be a man and you
work your hands to the bone so your son
will think of you too
when he is running through the jungle
yelling at the moon.
my lion.
you did not shake or shiver when the
hunter dug his fingertips underneath your ribs
to laugh and see if he could do it.
you didn’t flinch when he pulled out the
incissor and cut down
every single one of your claws
no.
armor does not make a soldier
and a crown does not make a king.
the hunter skinned you head to toe,
my lion
and you never made a peep.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC