Sit with me in silence.
Hold my hand with the hand
Of your mind.
I'll be your shadow; you be mine.
We'll rest in two dimensions.
Watch ourselves in 3D.
Safe in the warmth of
Our common intentions. A womb,
A room for you and me.
Let's communicate like mountains;
Be like solid, silent giants.
Sit with me in silence.
A river dug into purest stone after
Uncountable years reflecting
Sunlight, moonlight, stars and blue
Skies unrejecting. Dark clouds too,
In some divine alliance.
And deep within it's deepest deep,
Two single, uncut diamonds.
Until we're ground to grains of sand,
Sit with me in silence.
this is where i sit like stone,
knowing soon it shall be over,
all balled up and all alone,
wreathed in sickly crimson clover;
in a corner cold and stark,
where the pressure chokes my chest,
my mind's eye fizzles into dark,
i cannot eat nor find sweet rest.
i no longer see the pathways,
where i have strolled past fields of pain,
cloaked in shadowed sunless days,
walking weary in the chilling rains;
of torrid teardrops that always fail to fall,
stuck inside behind my bloodshot eyes,
between sight and dreams i scarce recall,
haunted by the sounds of ghostly cries.
i no longer feel the passions,
i had once did cling,
for there no longer comes a need to rise,
or open my mouth to sing.
well, first Mae West died
and then George Raft,
and Eddie G. Robinson's
a long time,
and Bogart and Gable
and Laurel and
and the Marx Brothers,
all those Saturday
at the movies
as a boy
are gone now
and I look
around this room
and it looks back at me
and then out through
time hangs helpless
from the doorknob
as a gold
of an owl
looks up at me
(an old man now)
who must sit and endure
these many empty
I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
shall be kill’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
See, hear, and am silent.
And I sit here once more,
Sun beginning to fade over the makeshift
Horizon of wooden plank fences and shingle
Roofs, glued to the homes with tar whose
Invading smell has long since passed.
On the shore I sit, a shore made of
Overgrown weeds whose leaves look no different
From the eruption of water that juts out
Of the center of the lake,
The ripples seeming to roll over themselves,
As if they are trampling over each other to
Reach me, and looking away from the metallic
Distraction in the center of this pool of wonders,
It's as if a river is to be flowing in place of the lake,
Lapping across rocks and echoing splash of ducks and
Geese dismounting their current of air,
Swiftly gliding along the filmy surface,
Like a mirror smeared with lubricant,
For the reflections this lake cast cannot
Easily be told apart.
Dark beckons the lights' full departure,
And with it the warm is swept solemnly from
The land, and my bare hands burn like the
Approaching summer's heat.
I thankfully clutch my leather coat against
Myself, and I gaze upon the lake, wishing
Its limited stretch could further.
As I trace my eyes across its
Waves, a young woman in a pink sweat
Coughs roughly and spits in the water,
As if it's beauty must be destroyed along
With that miserable soul of hers.
The willow tree I sit under,
Oh how massive it seems, its coarse bark
Digging through my jacket and on the verge
Of penitrating my skin, but, it is worth it.
Its vines hang down wearily,
Like an old man, reaching to grasp the
Water, leaning so close, its reflection can
Be seen from shore, and its desperate vines,
Swaying in the wind ask me to come closer.
I shall not, of course, for it needs to
Grow on its own, and needs to rid of
Its reluctance if it ever wishes to achieve
This, somewhat reminds me of myself,
But, this is only yet another wonder,
Collection of thoughts,
From under the willow tree.
We've all got time to
But everybody's time is different.
Sometimes we use our time to
The truth is, whether we make our time to fit either third category,
We all still have time to do them.
Time to sit down and wait for the time that pondering
Just becomes a figment
Of our imagination.
Oh beautiful rosy shade tree
Do you touch the spirit of me?
Which way will you fall?
I will wait and cogitate for you,
My love, just for me too
A family of giants
That we are;
A body hunched over
With precious shards;
To know so simply the touch
As I sleep alone
In my broken world;
The molasses air
Slowly shroud in mists
Across the straits
To hear our echoes cry,
As I sit beneath the tree branch and ponder
About you, just you;
Sitting there waiting and looking for
Hopefully the spirit heals with time
Oh gentle waters
Bring my heart home to you.
And sitting beneath a branch
As I sit and pounder
About the shores with my favored eye,
And your kiss of past times;
As my mysteries past stir
And arise to thee my love.
Oh sweet spirit
Spirit of mine
Keep me safe for thee
As I sit beneath the branch and ponder
About my love for you and me;
So my darling hold me close
Let me feel your love to me
Touch my hair so gently
Tell me of your lasting love
So wrap your limbs around my form
Tell me sweet things
Before I hear the news
Of the goodbye of long ago;
As I sit and ponder
As I sit and wonder
As I sit and dream of the love of you.
Debbie Brooks 2014
I would rather travel the world,
than sit in an office.
I would rather sail the seas,
than sit in traffic.
I would rather climb mountains,
than sit in a seminar.
I would rather explore the seven wonders,
than sit in a meeting.
I would rather live life being happy,
than sit to make money.
resist every urge
the urge to fight back
the urge to be complacent
the urge to get fucked up
the urge to be sober
the urge to stop sniffing,
stop smoking, stop slipping,
the urge to be better
the urge to be awful
the urge to fuck everyone
the urge to fuck no one
find balance, find balance, find balance
tell me one more time, tell me once more, go ahead, tell me
i'm not blind and i haven't forgotten
what it means to listen,
and actually hear,
and actually process,
and actually understand
you can be as brilliant as you
are beautiful, as beautiful as you
are bold, as bold as you
it doesn't mean anything if you
haven't got the means to mean
what you say and say what you mean
somewhere along this long road
i missed the lesson of self control
and jesus christ, if it isn't true
what they say about teaching an
old dog new tricks
When I feel tired in life,
Come sit with me dear,
Hold my hand in yours,
Swing your other arm,
Around my waistline, and,
Tickle me hard to shrieks.
Right when I need you to,
I relax myself in your lap,
I'll blow in your hair,
You will let me do it,
Slowly & close to ear,
Holding you closest.