"simpleness" poems
'Thats true self harm' she said
proud and self announced
like she could comprehend the universe
and that it left her no challenges
that in her 50 years, she had learnt all people
all feelings
all possibilities
and could now group us all like colours in a jar
i left, because it hurt
to think that after everything i go through to explain
the simpleness of 'some people'
discounts all the effort
there is no wrong and right way to hurt yourself
there is only a future
which we endeavour to make hurt less
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
0
< >
><
< >
:::::
Embrace
It's all a simpleness
We are truth
•
In this the ONLY WAR
We MUST win
••
What is love
If no child can be born again ?
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
For those we love
we daily bless
with the gift of simpleness.
i daily weave
your importance like a wreath.
Hang it on
the door of my ribs.
Sweep the worn
boundaries of my limitations.
For in my veins
your lips touching
floods like cranes
in the empty skies
turning back toward
their homes
as raindrops erupt
the pools
with the
eruptions of rings
and patterns.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Hundreds of tiny people sit behind their perfect shutter speeds trying to capture love
I guess it could be easy.
A held hand here. A forehead kiss there. Maybe an engagement band or two.
Maybe if you captured a swoony eyed gaze.
That's love, right?
That's love?
That's what a 14 yearold girl makes the wallpaper on her disposable cell phone.
The same one she uses to plan her disposable relationships.
Anyone can capture that.
What about like?
Have you ever seen a photo of the nervous silent smiles, after a simple conversation?
Where's the picture of movie theather wishful yet sweaty unheld hands?
What exposure would be best for the simpleness of sharing a soda?
I dont know, but I'd sure like to see.
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
*Gentle child sleeping in my chair,
Stay sweet your dreams, free from care,
Rest your head from weary day,
Exhaustion borne from adventurous play.
Gentle child with breath so soft,
Into deep slumber, you have been lost,
Knowing nothing of years to come,
A dreamy smile, you're rarely glum.
Gentle child resting free,
Cast adrift on your dream filled sea,
I wonder what thoughts fill your head,
Tho' I know your imagination is well fed.
Gentle child I hear you snore,
A man as child, yet only four,
You stir from slumber, look of surprise,
Confusion and beauty I see in your eyes.
Gentle child drifts back to sleep,
Your dreams they call you from the deep,
An uncomplicated life, youthful simpleness,
The greatest time, the age of innocence.
Cinco Espiritus Creation
October 2017
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
From the other room
I listen as you explain the many, many, many
reasons, things, times, and appointments
that necessarily mean
the end
of us
The otherness and incidentals
of the often forgotten
details and to-dos
of lives
better
and happier lived
From the other room
I listen as you describe your life in words of
painful regret, missed opportunities and hopeless futures
that don’t exist
so very much
for me
The pain and ingratitude
of a poor life
disrespect and disregard
becoming the
ante
of daily living
From the other room
I listen as you check emails and vmails and texts
of agreement, refreshment, and immediate joy
that shower down
from new confidantes
not me
The pleasure of escaping
from the marital mundane
dancing and drinking
re-becoming
the woman
admired
From the other room
I remember the choices we made
when agreement was agreeable and available
that made lives
worth
living well
The simpleness of a look
the knowing confidence
day in and day out
when someone,
You,
cared.
10.iii.10
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
I was conscious the moment her hand touched mine.
It felt as if I was sleep waking in a beautiful dream.
I had no insight to anything before that. No remembrance of if I dreamed or not.
There was no grogginess no want to close my eyes.
I felt at peace laying there watching her stare back at me.
The simpleness of it all.
The experience of something so precious shrewd in nature
To be perfectly honest there is no place I'd rather be.
Her voice assured a deep well that cured need for thirst,
the sheer depth of a look shared from eye to eye.
I told myself it was just a dream,
But when she touched me; I refused to wake
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
Simple questions deserve simple answers.
For that is the way life runs,
The simpleness of a subject is complemented by something much more simpler.
So why is it,
When this question surfaces in the minds of every writer,
There is nothing simple to it.
The reason for writing is as simple as it can be.
It is like painting on a canvas board,
For every stroke of the paintbrush is a stroke of words
Painting vivid images in the minds of every boy and girl.
We as writers are giving life to the lifeless lines of paper.
For even when it's blank,
There is still an image painted through words.
The greatest invention mankind could ever think of is words.
For without them,
Nothing could ever exist.
Without the simpleness of screaming out how blue the sky is
Or how soft those clouds look,
Or even how beautiful a starry night sky can be,
How can we
Ever appreciate the beauty writers create on canvas boards.
For every written word on a blank sheet of paper,
Is a stroke of paint,
Creating magnificence inside a dull mind
My good sir,
When asking a writer their reason for writing should be as simple as this
But
If its too complex for your mind to comprehend,
Then, let me simplify it further.
When you ask an artist their reason for creating art,
You are merely asking their reason for existing
Asking why they are deluding themselves on such strange fantasies
But you have yet to realize the true nature of us artists
We find many ways to escape harsh realities
Creating picture perfect paradises
Or even amplifying how gruesome society can be.
The reason for writing should be as simple as this.
For the simpleness of a subject should be complemented with something much more simpler.
But if it's too complex for you,
The reason why writers write is as simple as this,
Writers are artists and therefore write to create art,
Like taking a single paintbrush and painting on a canvas board
We as writers take a single pencil and write on blank sheets of paper.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
She asked: "if your personality was a beverage, what would it be?"
"Well..." I said.
"it'd be smoothe going down. Or at least I like to think so.
It'd be sweet. But,
You know how there's like two types of sweet?
There's like the fruity sour, tangy, bright, sugar sweet?
And there's the malty, caramelly, chocolate, foggy sweet?
It'd be later kind of sweet.
It has a certain childish joy too it.
An optimisim, a simpleness,
like... chocolate milk.
But it has a punch.
And it isn't all, childish, it's also
Responsible,
Protective,
Passionate,
Bold,
Loving,
Hard,
Strong hearted,
Mature, like...
...Whiskey.
I'm like... Whiskey Chocolate Milk."
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
when I was in Japan,
I reached in my bag for yen,
I drew a coin with the Zia on it
given to me by a gem
as I stared at the cold breezy mountains of Japan holding this, I was reminded of
The deep Roots of cracked hot concrete I would work out on
The smell of albondigas Nana would be making
The bright yellow and blue tile mismatched on the lining of the kitchen
The simpleness of living in a "this'll work" architecture
the tumbleweeds, the dry cacti landscape, vast dirt reaching to the dark amber mountains, painted with fading perfect blend from the sunset, homemade meals, la raza, tias and tios, the stray cats and dogs (and family pet names)
My Arizona desert was so hot that everything did its best to share being in the Cool casted shadows.
yet here I was in the complete opposite wishing for that sun
holding this coin brought be back to when you thought I would Judge where you were from
but your "Land of Enchantment" will always remind me of being one step closer to home...
May 10, 2024
May 10, 2024 at 9:56 PM UTC
ah childhood
the beginning of all humanity
and the motherhood of all thought
the wide eyes
on a smiling faces
missing teeth
but lacking shame
in that flaw
look out upon the world
and see only what is
without the haze
of arbitrary thought
each flower is just a flower
and if it is beautiful
it is beautiful
and if it is ugly
it is ugly
but if the flower is a ****
it is still a flower, ugly or beautiful.
and if the flower is a animal
it is still a flower, ugly or beautiful.
and the child accepts this
without a thought or lingering
doubt
the child looks out upon the world
and sees it
the trees and birds
the buildings and cars
the societies and peoples
they see it
and with a crayon in hand
they can recreate it
to the point where they are
satisfied
now can I do that?
no
if the trees are the wrong green
or the buildings not square or leaning
or the societies lopsided and unjust
I cannot stand for it!
but the child can
the child is pleased
only with the creation
not the quality or
quantity of it
and as they take their creation
on pieces of white nine and half
by eleven
they smile that wide smile
missing teeth
and they are truly happy
with what they have
they do not think of their missing teeth
they do not think of their miss-matched clothes
they do not think that their picture is best
they do not think of anything but happiness
that moment for them
is as blissful as one will
ever be
and the tragedy of it all
is that very few seem to
realize it
ah, childhood
looking back now we all remorse
and yet as we look on those who
have your gifts now, we all smile
and think
enjoy it kid
while things are
simple
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 6:30 AM UTC
The crimson garment has fallen away,
Revealing a cover that's white and sheer.
A simpleness replacing undeserved shame,
A rebirth replacing muddled with clear.
Affected no more by past regrets,
Obscurity abounds no more,
Transformation of wayward self,
Into a soul, authentic and pure.
Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 10:19 PM UTC
Two choices. Two Roads
Stay Or GO
Failure Or Opportunity
IT is Unknown
I dont Create Fate
I certainly do not predict failure
IF I only I was a psychic of the future.
IF I stay-
MY unsuburban thrilled life might just be blessed with the simpleness that you bring -
But that is just Part time
However
If I GO-
MY life will be unknown, exciting and destined for failure or blessed for success - Perhaps it is the road less traveled that I should travel by
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 1:07 AM UTC
We sit in a comfortable silence.
He is preoccupied with something
in his hands and I sit watching him
and smiling. He looks up at me.
What is it? he asks.
You're just so goofy. I answer.
I do not tell him how amusing and childlike
his laughter is or how adorable his simpleness is to me.
Yeah, that's just me, he answers back.
Another comfortable silence.
He looks at me with a smile in his eyes.
What are you thinking of? he asks.
*Why didn't we work?
What did I do wrong?
Would we have lasted?
Did you mean all the things you said
once upon a time or was I just a moment
of weakness and blind want for you?
Want me.
Miss me.
Hug me.
Hold me.
Need me.
Love me.
I've missed this comfortable silence,
these meaningful yet insignificant conversations,
your presence and your essence and your everything.
I don't know what I want anymore
but I know it's not you.
It's just something about you that I can't
seem to let go of easily.
I miss you. Please stay.*
But reality steps in
and I am back again.
He looks at me with a smile in his eyes.
What are you thinking of? he asks.
Nothing, I'm just so tired, I answer.
He begins to sing and his voice is heaven.
*I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink.
I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink.
I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink.*
I consider singing along, but I just want to listen and smile.
You know that one, right? I nod and he grins.
Another comfortable silence.
I begin to realize that the next time we meet
he will probably have forgotten all about this conversation
and he may not speak to me at all.
So I sit there and decide to make the moment last,
lingering in my laughter and reveling in the moment.
Yet another comfortable silence.
What am I thinking of?
He doesn't need to know.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
*The concept is an Illustration. That defining moment, when you
realize, you can do no more. Nor allow the heart to ever again
take a walk without our mind. My perception co exists with the
fearless barbarians, sent to make amends with the monsters.
The night, is a lonely bandit, stealing away our precious meddling.
Yet here I am. Taking this stroll upon a floor of stars & at free moments,
I skip, and whistle. For I have learned where to go when the rain pours
like milk. When the higher ground is below water. When love descends.
To the mountains for nourishment, by carriage, along the way
cutting trees, to give to the whitest of lights. I desire nothing more then
simpleness. A way of life forgotten, because of unfairness & injustice.
I desire this condemned future, a contaminated element, that our
souls, refuse to show us. I can no longer tell good or bad apart. My
weary eyes, sleepless, toss & turn like cars on the moon.*
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Itd be nice
To be a kid again
to not have to worry about anything
to have all the simpleness back
The inncoence
I miss being a ki
running on the playground
swinging on the swings
playing tag
Boys still had cooties
and the only things that could be broken were my crayons
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
You smell like grade six
The grade I hated the most.
The year that tarnished my simpleness.
The year I asked all the wrong questions,
and got all the right answers.
The year of lies and fake friends.
The year I thought would be the best for me,
but turned out so wrong.
The year the darkness started.
Man, you remind me of grade six
in more ways than one.
Thankfully that year is history
and I've long since graduated.
Graduated to something much better
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
There's a simpleness to Saturn, as it shines into night.
Dancing all through Virgo, bouncing off the light.
I viewed it through a telescope, hidden in the stars.
Then I turned to the west, and saw the red man Mars.
After which I looked for the man on the moon, sitting in his glow.
But sadly though he did not show.
Then with a sigh I realized, that tonight there was no moonrise.
And all there was, was darkness, burning in my black eyes.
So I moved into a field of green.
To get the view of what's unseen.
I saw the north west sky beyond the trees.
My curiosity had reached at it's peak.
For there lay the bright and glorious Venus.
And all the land that lay between us.
She shined and put the stars to shame.
As if she won the cosmic game.
But when I looked I gave a shiver.
Because her brightness, was just a sliver.
And so I stood there in a daze.
Caught between her crescent phase.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
To speak honestly, I have never seen a deeper shade of green than your eyes hold
They take a hold of me with that ever present green as their simple poetries unfold
But you would say I lie and then try to deny whatever it is I do see
So I will say so true the truth I find in you and the eyes the constantly stare at me
Dearest girl I must say this world pales to grey when I think every day of your eyes
The wonder of it all as your eyes quietly call and my heart leaps and falls each time
And I hope you'll understand the words of a brown eyed man as he tries to understand just why
You yourself do not see the jaded waves of green that I forever see in your eyes
Some would protest that they have seen areas in lands where grass is green, but in comparing them to your hue and shine
A gift that God gave from himself and meant simply for no one else to show how true green should be defined
And here I stand with eyes on you looking humbly at your hue with eyes of brown that pale in memory
Trying to show you the loveliness that it seems you cannot confess that is in the simpleness of your green
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 12:08 PM UTC
Remember before the
Days of darkness
Rise, there used
To be brighter times?
The days of
Skinned knees and
Dancing in the
Autumn leaves
Haunt my teenage
Dreams.
Back to when
Sesame Street played
Endlessly on the
Family T.V. and
If Daddy watched it
One more time,
He'd **** near
Scream.
When Mama had
Her Canon in my face
And I'd hide in
The tiny spaces;
Appreciating the simpleness
Of my childhood
Resting place.
Before reality set
In and rattled
My toddler brain;
Before the world
Would turn
Cold and "how
Big the sky was" would
Just become
Another midnight
Thought.
How could I refrain
From such beautiful
Memories when
They're still
Haunting my
Teenage dreams?
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
*Who am I to say what I know,
When what we see, and are taught to believe,
Is who we are.
Complex, yet somehow it is Simpleness that we learn.
The screech, and yell, our fates, broken,
Unchained.
So many I have seen,
Some walking free, arrow in the heart,
Some forget others even exist.
Carefree, Rebellious.
But we accept guilt all the same.
A daring blood winked rose,
Shattered in dark pieces of night.
Who am I to speak my mind and be open,
Because what we can't see,
and won't believe,
Is who we become.*
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
In this
world of progress
I miss
the personal simpleness
of hand-written letters.
The physical connection
of unfolding and holding
the very paper
another mulled over
and touched.
I miss
the discret indentation
left by a weighted pen
as if to add subconscious emphasis
to inked words in a message
of which
I was worth the efford.
And some held
the sender's scent
by design
or accident.
Honest words
written and meant
from one to me.
An intimate thing,
a relic of time
folded and stored,
hidden away safely
those
cherrished memories.
Sealed
With
A
Loving
Kiss
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
There is a beauty in the simpleness
Of waking up every day
And seeing you again
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
When I said it know I meant it and now your touch is like 600 degrees
I feel the weight of the world swimming laps in my arteries
and one day I'll learn to speak like it's coming from some artillery
hiding underneath the simpleness of someone else's symmetry
The world could pardon me but that's such a giant part of me and I fear losing myself or losing who I'm thought to be, before you were living blind and I'm feeling like I can't speak but this is the moment that you can see, before you even find yourself you're paying a finder's fee
But how else are you to be free if under the skin is where you find the key, and you've never been 6 feet deep or felt 6 inches in your chest burning to the 3rd degree
Sometimes it's only fear and all you know is how to flee but I carved an anthem about you on the side of a cherry tree, it grew one hundred feet tall and another hundred deep
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC