"responder" poems
0 followers?
Dear New Poet:
Then I'm your man,
your very own
Northern star,
one leg up of a
3 legged stool,
upon which all,
we, enthroned poets,
the world-over,
do rule
the honor you
bequeath me
to be,
a first follower,
your very own
first responder,
it, cannot be
disdained
nor
diminished
this instance,
this birth,
a novice revival,
heart transplant,
makes it
the sweetest blessing
to be the first—
let us be
the quencher
of a desert thirst so long
in the parching,
the throat burning,
by a desert sojourning,
of a now ending
forty times
four hundred years
so come to me!
message me a message,
find me a find,
your poem fine,
so now we vow,
our embrace will
ne’er be broken
give me this
honorific!
let us together
be terrific,
raise our glasses,
with arms entwined
toasting you and
all that mind and
breasted chest of yours,
full bursting from
its future~contains,
of which,
its full release,
brings a fuller life
for us both
I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
and a First Responder,
for all who needs a leg up,
so step upon my heart,
it be but a first step upon a
ladder with no top, no end ensighted
my legs are as old as time, but,
measure me not by the rings and
the metered scales of gray hair aging,
shock of white, a cain mark, wizard-wizened
but
by the muscles
of my deep affection,
the solemnity of this,
my irrevocable promise
this,
the blessing
we both make and earn,
when you write,
and while we wait,
in quiet attendance -
for all of your good works,
your kept promises
Blessed
are You Lord our God,
Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life,
sustained us until now,
***allowing, allying, and
alloying***
the treader of treacherous waters,
reader, writer, swimmer,
to reach, meet, embrace
and greet this day,
this new born poem,
with hallelujahs
whispering and shoutings
together,
as one
in one, of one,
one
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
We come before you Almighty God,
Policeman, Fireman and EMT
to say a prayer before we go
Our ways to each his own Duty
Together now we've come to pray
In case we forget to
During our busy day
The Policeman steps forth,
“Dear God above
Keep us save
and also those we love.
We pray for your unending favor
that we never need use
the rounds we chamber
Our Vests that we wear
for our own protection
please keep 'em bullet proof
and our safety never question”
The Fireman steps up, and then takes a knee
“Dear God above I need you now
I know you're always watching me
In the Fires of our Hell
or on the highway to there
Please keep us from hurt
and not singe a single hair
Give us the strength to lift a wall
or tenderness to pick up a tiny child
give us peace when others are losing it
and peace if the scene starts getting wild”
The EMT takes his stand
“God I guess it's my turn
Not really safety out there
or the protection from a burn
But rather Lord I need your help
let me make the right decision
on every patient that I care for
Their lives in my hands I've been given”
Then all Three stand together
with their heads all bowed low
Dear God above, to all of us
please your mercy would you endow
Keep us safe and bring us home
to our wives and our children
And each time a truck roles out
let it come back safely to it's building
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
Last night Gary Facebooked me:
11:03 PM
"Can I ask you to be crazy with me?"
Gary said he had been flirting with this girl, May
for six months.
She wanted to see him in person tonight,
And he needed a ride.
Gary and I met 11 days ago.
Strangers brought together in the streets of Freeport by pokemon GO.
he spotted me holding my phone out from a mile away.
"Team Instinct?
TEAM INSTINCT!"
Lightning cracked above us
as we cryed in harmony:
"THERE IS NO SHELTER FROM THE STORM!"
My knowledge of him consists of three things.
1. He works as a security guard
Is first responder for medical emergency
Tackles felons and escorts people with restraining orders.
plays it up like he's a security guard for something mysterious
He is a security guard for Wal-mart.
2. Gary buys peoples affection.
Throws his money aimlessly
Pointing at his trophies
Prooving he too is expensive
3. To Gary,
there is nothing better to do
from 12 - 5am
Than wander Looking for pikachu.
With me.
besides visiting this May.
"A taxi would be $80
but I'd rather pay that to you, Bro."
On the drive there,
He is Squeeing, Singing,
Flipping out.
"I've got knots in my stomach Bro."
Upon arrival,
He readily jumps from my car
"Go catch 'em Brock" I say.
When I get back to Freeport
he sends me a messege.
1:04 AM
"Dude.
I think she fell asleep waiting
I'm not inside yet."
I park my car in Freeport,
Finish catching a Weedle.
"I'm on my way, stay safe."
"Man I'm so down."
"She's not coming to the door Nick."
"I'm just gonna curl up on the ground and cry."
"I've called her 24 times"
He heavily thumps his backpack into my backseat
Slumps down into my car.
"There is"
"no shelter"
"From"
"the storm"
"In my heart."
We stare out the window.
At the two homeless men
With no teeth
That he didn't beat.
He's holding night vision binoculars
And a clean Knife.
"I'm sorry I got you involved, Nick
I asked you to be crazy with me."
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
"Here,take this Gift I give to you!! Cooly, he responded,,Yeah-Sure,,What's the catch? The Giver announced,,YES,there must be this certain reliance and confidence and trust.. the *Giver continued,,"do You have a desire for a gift such as this?" The responder,with caution,said "Yeah,there are certain things that I Hope for,,BUT How can I know you're giving this gift Freely?" The *Giver replied ," You'll not be able to touch or see this *Gift I give to You... BUT,,,, You;ll have Confidence in knowing that you;ve Received it...and it comes with a "BUILT-IN-NUDGER"...that when things seem Dull and Gray,,"The-Nudger" WILL BRING SOME BRIGHTNESS TO YOUR DAY!!! OR,,,,YOU may stomp on the Nudger,with the very heel of your foot, like the Ugliest of Bugs.. If you're still feeling this Tugging ,,Like the BIG-SHIPS .Being guided carefully by so many TUG-BOATS... NO ONE else can accept this Gift for You!!!! A HANDSOME PRICE WAS PAID FOR THIS GIFT .....and the GIFTOR DESIRES THAT "NONE" SHOULD PERISH!!!
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:07 AM UTC
Sunny day in June, the tenth to be exact
The horrible day my sister was attacked
Beth was in the house, her friend Mark outside
She was cleaning,he in the yard kept with pride
Beth Anne was on hands and knees scrubbing the floor
When she heard real gunshots, at least she swore
Snuck to the window and peered out with care
On the rocky driveway, saw Mark sprawled out there
Been shot three times in his back,lay in his blood
Beth saw her ex...with a .38 he stood
While terrified, behind the aquarium she ducked
Brad blundered in dressed in hunters camouflage- ****
Her heart hammering in her ears, bursts of short breaths
Saw him through the murky water, planning two deaths
Beth Anne cowered down praying to her dear Lord
He found her, pulled her up by the hair, fired once more
The bullet blew off her ear and traveled on down
Collapsed her lungs, in her blood she would drown
Brad disappeared and the firing just stopped
For Mexico he fled, red ranger with white top
Beth dragged herself the complete length of the rug
Called 911, shed been shot...head ringing from slug
She was determined to live, wouldn't give up the fight
But then she passed out endangering her plight
Came the Greeley police, fire trucks, EMT's
Assessed the situation, perp further he flees
They all worked on Mark, too late he was dead
One smart responder....woman shot in the head
They spreading out rushed the house, found my sis
Beth was unresponsive, victim almost missed
Speeding to Weld County General, sirens blaring
Got her in the ER cut off what she was wearing
O.R. She went with damage extensive
Not much hope, docs and staff apprehensive
For many hours they sawed, pinned, stitched and closed
The ICU threat of infection posed
Her body and face were unrecognizable
Family stood believing the impossible
Appeared an Adonis with blonde hair and blue eyes
Talk of afterlife evidently not lies
Her guardian angel told Beth he was there
Would appear much later, in death they would share
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
The different hats I wear:
I'm a teacher
I'm a yard supervisor
I'm a nurse
I'm a first responder
I'm a gardener
I'm a part time mommy
I'm a chef
I'm a waiter
I'm a musician
I'm a singer
I'm a actress
I'm a story teller
I'm a repair person
I'm a counselor
I'm a couch
I'm a pillow
I'm a tissue
I'm an art easel
I am a teacher and so much more!
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
Cuando has bebido tanto y juras que se puede ver su nombre en la parte inferior de la botella, de repente estás perforando tu puño a través de la pared seca y hablando en voz alta, tal vez ella podria responder, tal vez va a traerla de vuelta. ¿Cómo se puede creer que los sueños son al azar?, te levantas pensando que todavía puedes oler en sus hojas su recuerdo y tu almohada aun contiene cabellos, y que tal vez el lugar donde ella vuelva no es el sueño, tal vez el sueño es la parte en la que ella llegó por primera vez. Sigues mirando sus manos y no puedes recordar cómo temblaban, por que lo hacian, y por qué siempre lo hicieron por ti y ahora no está temblando, porque ahora no está, pero debido a que su sonrisa no dejará tu mente y cada vez esa canción regresa a ti, debes volver a escuchar su risa de nuevo y esta vez uedarte perplejo en esos tonos para siempre. Caminas por la calle y piensas que puedes ver su cabello rizado y su piel pálida pero recuerdas que se ha ido, pero ella no se ha ido porque todavía le puedes degustar cada vez que bebes whisky, vino tinto o nada. En realidad, no puedes recordar nada más que ella. Puedes saborearla en los labios como si estuviera todavía aquí contigo pero sin ella. Siempre se arruina por el recuerdo de su abandono y los brazos se sienten vacíos, aunque ella se había ido antes de que realmente se fuera para pregúntarse, como puedes leer en los libros más de lo que dices. No es porque mis ojos sólo ven su nombre, no es porque cada palabra en la página me recuerda a decir a mí mismo, a la razón, que nunca se podrá escribir más, y su nombre dejará de ser recordado. La forma en que él se aferró a sus caderas con tanta fuerza como si estuviera asustado. Iban a volar lejos y tal vez debió ser así, siempre quiso volar con ella, pero ella era demasiado frágil y el viento, por envidia, les hizo tomar su distancia. Fué la forma más difícil de separarse de ella. Ha intentado hacer lo que hiciste, y el viento pudo mas que tu, de ésta manera quedaste triste y ella por fin se fue a la luz.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Ahora que me acuerdo, fue así:
Hecho de fiebre, atravesé ciudades hermafroditas
donde las mujeres y los hombres recibían los cuerpos de los vagabundos
y los lavaban en las fuentes,
con el manto de fuego que no cesa.
Una noche saturada de invierno, bebiendo la sopa de la eternidad,
gané mi virginidad y fui otro yo en mí mismo,
porque olvidé cómo responder sobre el misterio de las cosas.
De silencio me armé y salí hacia campo abierto
a traficar imágenes junto a las constelaciones.
Fue entonces cuando indagué la pulpa del mestizaje,
cuando probé la sangre metafísica derramada en Tebas
-es que esa mañana liquidé a la esfinge
Cerca de una Wasserfall contaminada.-
Pies desarmados, peregriné mi jornada intuitiva,
saludé a las moléculas del fruto y a las sombras de la adivinación,
en un árbol vi la doble cifra de mi vida,
y grité, siendo montaña, la genealogía de mi conciencia.
Cuando la purificación se había ya extinguido
troqué el umbral de hueso por el marfil brillante
y así fue que entré en Coroico, urbe flotante,
cual símbolo, por material de sueño ungido.
Ahora miro con estos ojos destruidos
donde la sal del delirio antes tuvo morada,
(intuyo en esa forma liminar, la espada,
el camino que me arrastró al divino Omphalos).
Escucho, a veces, con saturnal resignación,
la crónica de mi negligencia.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Esu, the scared child of heaven
Esu, a reviled, respected,
Yet misunderstood being.
Esu, all creations dance to your best of life
Esu Dagunro
Esu Lukuluku
Esu Apagbe
Esu, the quickest and fastest one
Esu, confuser of many
Esu, the disruptor of order
Esu, the iconic one
Esu, the master of linguistics
Esu, the conciliatory peacemaker
Esu, the divine alchemist
Esu, the trickster
Esu, the pusher of those,
Who doesn't carry Olodumare's wishes.
Esu, the inseparable friend of Orunmila
Esu,
Papa Legba
Legba Atibon
Kalfou
Papa La Bas
Esu, divine messenger of transformation
Esu, ebora to luti la nbo
Esu, Okunrin ori ita
Esu, a quick responder when consulted
Esu, divine messenger of the gods
Esu Odara, the divine one of Ose Otura
Esu, carrier of the ase of sensuality and fertility
Esu Lanlu, king of dance
Esu, keeper and imparter of ase
Esu, the fundamental Orisa
Esu, the manifest of greatness
Esu, the one who is as hard as Rock
Esu Akeregbaye
Esu, the shedder of blood who knows no one's tears
Esu, the controller of earth
Esu, the special middle man between heaven and Earth
Esu, the anointed rope to success and wealth
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
For Steve Yocum
~~~
an old marine called me the other night
a poet from the left coast,
a correspondent and a first responder
to my messy essays
we both, vintners of men,
compared notes on our progeny's
full bodied temperament,
and our own full body's aches and miscreants
bemoaning our losses,
of earnest poets,
of friends, even foes,
and favored football teams,
and ne'er forgetting to tally up
our occasional victories
he authors books,
he authors life,
with grainy portraits,
that try to be peepholes
to clarity
me, a periodic poetist,
more confessional blogger shootist,
than artful-words-to-please dodger,
in a vainglorious futile insanely repeating attempts
to better separate
life's wheat from the chafe of its chaff
perhaps,
we shall someday meet,
a twosome of codgers,
walk the saddened-today, blood-reddened Oregon soil,
armed with each other's comforting wisdom,
tasting grapes,
acknowledging
but for the grace of god,
we go
*together, to gather,
each other closer,
walk the vineyards and the cellars
to clarify
the wine from the sediment,
getting uproariously drunk
on friendship*
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
tired of my drooping Hanes,
my slept-in choice for greeting
a new morning tad overexposed,
my weekend breakfast table
body's accoutrement,
"coverup" she deemed accurately
as in-suffice,
my nighttime slept-in choice for
welcoming the new morning
as a single continuum,
exposing my true colors,
thus declaring biblically,
"Let there be night, let there be day,"
in a manner of speak
she-woman wryly declares
over her slim sizing
yogurt Greek and half of a laugh
of a banana downsized,
"You need some loungewear"
pondering this ponderosa-sized ponderosity,
grasping its monstrosity insulting me,
coffee pouring, Eye, a
first responder
contemplate irresponsibly,
thinking to reply with bravado,
that on said day,
when Eye accrete
such a class of clothing
so nomenclatured as
"loungewear"
upon my person,
or in my ward-so-unrobed found,
unasked for,
Eye will require transgendering
but my tongue bites me,
so instead
draw down on my John Donne,
on the subject of
food, good taste
and being unclothed,
and instead
He-poet
bequeath the she-woman
this riposte...
*"Full nakedness!
All joys are due to thee;
as souls unbodied,
bodies unclothed must be
to taste whole joys.*
wisely retreating than be
defeating,
not wanting
a world war conflicting,
with coffee mugged, Eye return/hide,
under the bed's blanketing comforter,
thinking of the taste of whole joys
of her body unclothed,
when later, she creeps in next to me,
to practice the serious art of
lounging...
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Me viene, hay días, una gana ubérrima, política,
de querer, de besar al cariño en sus dos rostros,
y me viene de lejos un querer
demostrativo, otro querer amar, de grado o fuerza,
al que me odia, al que rasga su papel, al muchachito,
a la que llora por el que lloraba,
al rey del vino, al esclavo del agua,
al que ocultóse en su ira,
al que suda, al que pasa, al que sacude su persona en mi alma.
Y quiero, por lo tanto, acomodarle
al que me habla, su trenza; sus cabellos, al soldado;
su luz, al grande; su grandeza, al chico.
Quiero planchar directamente
un pañuelo al que no puede llorar
y, cuando estoy triste o me duele la dicha,
remendar a los niños y a los genios.
Quiero ayudar al bueno a ser su poquillo de malo
y me urge estar sentado
a la diestra del zurdo, y responder al mundo,
tratando de serle útil en
lo que puedo, y también quiero muchísimo
lavarle al cojo el pie,
y ayudarle a dormir al tuerto próximo.
¡Ah querer, éste, el mío, éste, el mundial,
interhumano y parroquial, proyecto!
Me viene a pelo
desde el cimiento, desde la ingle pública,
y, viniendo de lejos, da ganas de besarle
la bufanda al cantor,
y al que sufre, besarle en su sartén,
al sordo, en su rumor craneano, impávido;
al que me da lo que olvidé en mi seno,
en su Dante, en su Chaplin, en sus hombros.
Quiero, para terminar,
cuando estoy al borde célebre de la violencia
o lleno de pecho el corazón, querría
ayudar a reír al que sonríe,
ponerle un pajarillo al malvado en plena nuca,
cuidar a los enfermos enfadándolos,
comprarle al vendedor,
ayudar a matar al matador -cosa terrible-
y quisiera yo ser bueno conmigo
en todo.
1k
Mais um dia cansativo
Com a tarde inteira para dormir
Um pouco de descanso seria o remédio
Numa fusão de tudo da-se o tédio
Daí algo fica estranho
Você sabe que não está normal
Uma movimentação, um chororô
Uma energia ruim cobre o meu ciclo
E então, alguns baques na minha janela
Algo de ruim teria acontecido
Não sabia que com ela
Então levanto de um cochilo pela tarde
E alguns amigos me avisam
Que a pessoa mais amada corria perigo
Numa aventura jovem
O perigo vem
Não olha para quem, mas bate com força
Numa aventura jovem
Um sonho se vai
E sem olhar para trás
Se transforma numa forca
Cada erro uma consequência
Mas a esperança não acaba
Positivo deve-se pensar
Com um acerto forma-se a palavra
Uma moto, uma estrada, um acidente
E tudo vira de ponta a cabeça
E agora? O que será?
Só o tempo pode nos responder
Se depender da minha torcida
Ela irá viver.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Sólo quiero que ya sean las tres de la mañana
Es lo que estoy pensando y más ansío
En días como estos cuando me siento vacío
Tengo tantos pensamientos que me matan
Sólo quiero que ya sean las tres de la mañana
Porque así todo estará en silencio
No quiero responder preguntas
Sólo quiero ahogarme en la calma
Sólo quiero que ya sean las tres de la mañana
Porque así sólo oiré mi propia voz
Porque en medio de una canción
Encontraré las palabras que tanto me faltan
Sólo quiero que ya sean las tres de la mañana
Porque ya no me queda privacidad
Estoy harto de compartir mi lugar
Siento que quiero golpear hasta no sentir nada
Sólo quiero que ya sean las tres de la mañana
Porque por el día mis ojos se secan
Mi voz calla y la felicidad me deja
Veo los días vacíos, ya no siento mi alma
Sólo quiero que ya sean las tres de la mañana
Concentrarme en mi pena y desahogarla
Es difícil sostener el nudo en mi garganta
Estoy lleno de odio y lágrimas
Ya me estoy olvidando de quién soy
Pero a las tres de la mañana se abre mi corazón
Entonces me encuentro de nuevo
Al menos por un breve momento
Siento que valgo algo
Siento que ya no tengo que callarlo
Siento que la angustia puede fluir e irse
Comienzo a ver que ya serán las cuatro
Y aunque mi voz no haya sonado
Pude sacar este dolor
Pude lavar mi corazón
Y sentirme vivo y con fuerzas
Por eso es que quiero que sean
Las tres de la mañana en mi pieza
Ya sólo faltan tres horas
Sólo debo esperar eso
Para ya no hacer esfuerzo
Y dejar que este sollozo
Se fugue en silencio
Mientras contemplo mi techo
Vestido de ***** para acompañarme
En este luto de sentimientos
De los cuales quiero alejarme
Sólo quiero que ya sean las jodidas tres de la mañana, maldición...
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
Mañanita de San Juan, mañanita de primor,
cuando damas y galanes van a oír misa mayor.
Allá va la mi señora, entre todas la mejor;
viste saya sobre saya, mantellín de tornasol,
camisa con oro y perlas bordada en el cabezón.
En la su boca muy linda lleva un poco de dulzor;
en la su cara tan blanca, un poquito de arrebol,
y en los sus ojuelos garzos lleva un poco de alcohol;
así entraba por la iglesia relumbrando como el sol.
Las damas mueren de envidia, y los galanes de amor.
El que cantaba en el coro, en el credo se perdió;
el abad que dice misa, ha trocado la lición;
monacillos que le ayudan, no aciertan responder, non,
por decir amén, amén, decían amor, amor.
904
Niño, vamos a cantar
una bonita canción;
yo te voy a preguntar,
tu me vas a responder:
Los ojos, ¿para qué son?
-Los ojos son para ver.
-¿Y el tacto? -Para tocar.
-¿Y el oído? -Para oír.
-¿y el gusto? -Para gustar.
-¿Y el olfato? -Para oler.
-¿El alma? -Para sentir,
para querer y pensar.
860
The first lesson they teach us in EMT class
Is to never lose our compassion,
Never forget that every patient is
A human being with a story, a family, a life.
They tell us to keep our emotions in check
But to never lose our respect,
The trust in the competency and freedom of choice,
For we are the link of survival
On the worst day of their lives.
We were not there to know the reason that led
Up to the call,
But we are there to get them through the danger that followed.
Why then does the text book instruct us to abandon our respect,
Abandon the presumption of humanity
At the mere thought of the words 'developmental disability?'
Why do the words Autism and Down Syndrome suddenly
Make it okay to condescend and patronize as if to a child,
To infantilize an adult whose intelligence we are not qualified to assume?
Why is it my duty to respect a neurotypical patient
And my job to abandon it for the developmentally disabled?
I wonder if they would encourage my peers to treat me the same?
After all, who cares that I am top of the class and squad leader to boot?
Who cares that I answer the most questions or scored highest on the test?
I am autistic. I am considered less than human.
No.
The textbook is wrong,
Primitive despite being updated in 2018.
Respect every patient means Respect ALL,
No exceptions,
No diagnostic caveats.
'First, do no harm.'
Treat with empathy and compassion.
It is their own inhumanity that prevents them
From recognizing the humanity inside us,
The developmentally challenged.
I live on planet Autism,
Population 1 in 59,
No less of a person than any other,
Perhaps more human really.
That humanity is the force behind my First Responder drive.
Do not deign to treat me as small child or foreign planet inhabitant.
Forget the basis in the archaic.
Respect and compassion for all cannot be checked at the door.
I am not less than.
My struggles have, if anything,
Forced me to become more.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
1.
The rain is falling on the neighbourhood,
Our garden takes its share, and my good hat;
Out of the border shelter of its brood
A snail creeps in the wet across the path
Leaving the soaking flowerbed for the grass
Seeking continuation of its good,
Slow through the time a timeless quest for food
Elaborates the beating of its heart.
The creep is me, a wierdo what I am.
What am I doing here? I don’t belong here,
Enchained upon the dirt, constrained responder
Bellyfoot, headfoot mollusc, unmoving clam
I try to stir from where I first began,
Make in the gulf’s depths one thing new appear.
2.
A drought within my throat, an aching head,
Stoically for this world’s shock wave I brace.
The life which thus far has my spirit fed
Despairs, yet faithfully girds itself to face
The waste and rapine of this nightmare place
Where theft under coercion’s always bred
Mass victims all unjustly ***** and fled,
Violated to their utmost inner space.
What is the soul to do with this its life?
Awakened from the nothing of a sleep
One time? To local manners keep?
Or for some travel, hard to purpose drive
By that for longer to at least survive?
It’s wet again. The snails are on the creep.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm
This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in
Apparently the lease expired and your time has come
Driven by grievance more than strategy
It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion
In one dizzying morning into afternoon
I'm searching for who to blame
Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk
It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war
give a centimeter, take a centimeter
And the fraying of longstanding ties
Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you
As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do
Absolutely nothing about it but push
In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment
The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments
Is central to what is going on
Something is breaking
That something is me!
Our world is on edge
Looking for a sign of what to do next
The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain
Peace is found, it's proportional
And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!
This offsets the damage of a messy exit
The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief
In our opening act you're already moving
away from me
While the female body is a powerful tool
It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle
Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am
For that I'm grateful to my Creator
The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain
We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
You need minds like me
I've bent over backwards to sculpt a vision of a human being
Some 3D model of a stained glass church window
I see that you've turned me into numbers
How thick and how tall?
How much time did I spend in the library?
But you missed the golden numbers
The ratio of the bones in my fingers which I have so carefully crafted for you
You overlooked the seventy hour work weeks (I was a first responder at a climbing site)
And I'm sure you failed to notice the pictures of my therapy dog on the website I built for you
I keep asking myself what went wrong
What about this wasn't good enough?
You.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
Like a wind that blows my sails
Or a smell that melts my mind
We drift like shells that crash in the waves as the ocean wails
The sun on my skin as a reminder,
With the warmth of a body near my side.
That electric shock given to me by the responder
Could never make my heart beat back to the pattern that hit so hard I would have to hide.
My hands in front of my face and I tell our time.
I only know a few words but I know how to call you mine.
No direct possession of that breeze I feel,
But in my skin I begin to heal.
A claim to love, a claim to see.
It's not a claim to own even though that's what the words read.
I can't own a sound or the wavelength you're on,
But how else can I learn to appreciate the love before it's gone?
The air is too strong and too free
To ever belong to a human like me.
With wings to pass my sails and carry my soul,
You could never be mine or make me whole.
There's more to be in our sky above,
The world will revolve around love.
I won't ask you to be mine.
I won't ask to be yours.
We have so much time
And have opened so many doors.
The ocean can drown me and the wind can drive me.
I love my journey, the sky behind me.
I can't make the Angel mine,
But the love of the world will be just fine.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Sonhar um sonho impossível
levar a tristeza da partida
escaldar de uma possível febre
partir para onde ninguém parte
amar até
amar, mesmo demasiado, mesmo mal,
tentar, sem forças e sem armadura,
aguardar o céu
pouco me importa as minhas chances
pouco me importa o tempo
ou a minha desesperança
e depois lutar todos os dias
sem questionar nem responder
e amaldiçoar
por agora uma palavra de amor
eu não sei se serei esse herói
mas o meu coração será tranquilo
se as vilas se encherem de azul.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
If I'm an emotional train wreck,
would you be a first responder?
If I die and lay in rest,
would you love me any longer?
I question myself constantly
wondering what I could become.
Should I be more than this,
or finally will I say that I'm done.
I want to quit
I want to stop
But I can't
I have a debt to pay
and a price that will not drop
So I'll keep at it
Until someone want me shot, dead
someone other than me.
I seem to be the only who can see beyond the ******** and lies that I tell
to myself
Every day
You can do it.
Just keep going.
You got this
So like I said,
I'm an emotional train wreck,
but are you my first responder?
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 8:01 PM UTC
Some of my heroes wear
a cowl or a cape,
they might wield a shield,
swing from a web
or swing a big hammer.
Some of my heroes wear
a smile in the face
of foaming anger
and throw a mean hug
that will make you stagger.
I know who I'd rather
be my first responder.
Feb 19, 2024
Feb 19, 2024 at 5:05 PM UTC