"sometime" poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and ****** and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.
94k
The first time I saw you it was in math class.
I didn't notice anything about you at first I just memorized the back of how your head was.
After all, I had an hour to ****
The second time I saw you were in English class.
You sat next to me but not by choice.
But I was happy about it.
It took me about four to five weeks to talk to you,
and I wasn't even the one to speak first.
You introduced yourself and then we worked together on an assignment.
It's been two weeks and I haven't said another word and I probably won't out of random.
My anxiety swallows me whole
and I'm sorry I can't even say hello.
But I have had time to notice you.
And let me just say
I'm in love with your taste in music
I'm in love with the way you hold your books
thinking that if you change the sound of your voice when the diagonal changes,
or if you struggle reading words you've never seen before and sit there for a few seconds trying to piece together what they mean.
I love how you can play the mandolin, you should show me sometime.
As I think about these things I also pick up how you would never even think of me.
I mean really,
you probably want some girl that's outgoing and can strum a guitar solo at midnight with you.
You probably want someone with long hair you can intertwine your fingers in,
or someone you can spend an afternoon together after church with.
I can't move mountains
and I can't even speak without looking like a fool,
but even if nothing will ever happen
It would be just as quite exciting being friends with you.
We could trade books and make each other mixtapes.
It hasn't even been a month yet and I'm already writing mediocre poetry about you.
I'm sorry about that by the way.
I'm not asking for a relationship but a friendship with someone like you would feel just the same.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
I never thought I would fall for you twice,
but here I am writing this poem.
I'm just a dandelion lost in this greenhouse
surrounded by these blooming beauties.
But hoping, hopefully
you would make a wish out of me.
You've got this look that makes me crave adventure.
You've got mountains in your eyes
and the northern wind in your soul.
I can't remember the last thing you said to me
and that's okay.
We never talked much thanks to my anxiety.
I'm not too far but my words have failed me so many moons
how am I suppose to talk to you?
You've got your future gripped tight by the wrist
and my hands are lost in all this space.
Maybe sometime in the years to come, I'll discover your footprints
and remember my high school crush all over again.
I'll stop and think if you're out in California making coffee for people,
like I overheard you say you wanted to do in math class that one time,
or strumming a guitar solo on stage somewhere in the city.
I just hope wherever you find yourself in time to come you're happy and smiling brighter than the stars.
I know not much will happen in these last eight months we have together,
but I want to thank you for the day you introduced yourself to me because you knew no one else in the class.
I know I'm just a dandelion in this great big greenhouse,
but I'm just really happy that you noticed me.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
and thats what it was all about
his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts.
that was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and he let them sing on the bus
and his little sister was born
with tiny nails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
and his father always tucked him in bed at night
and was always there to do it
once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of the new paint
and the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometime they would burn holes
that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see santaclaus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in bed at night
and his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it
once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
and he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
and thats what it was all about
and his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
that was the year Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of the Apostles's Creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much make up
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because it was the thing to do
and at 3 am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
because that's what it was really all about
and he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen----
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
Sun ached to rise,
above the jagged horizon.
It lit the shadow,
of stone work,
of your craftsmanship.
It stood high,
strong and everlasting.
A stone giant,
held together with assumption.
Assumption of him,
the prince that you seek.
Recently one has followed,
to the top where you lie.
He said the verse,
a promise, an assumption.
He would mend the holes,
patch the sides.
As time rhythmically passes,
the tower would stand,
strong and eager.
Until your assumption,
is not yet reality.
The one that followed,
sometime ago,
has left with the moon.
As your eye tears,
the tower leans,
crumbles.
The salty liquid,
corrodes your assumption,
that is often set in stone.
I watch from afar,
knowing the outcome.
I tread among the emotion,
overflowing and scattered around.
As your kin, your brother,
I help to pick up the pieces.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
shall i compare you to a pizza pie?
you are more cheesy and more temper-hot,
as overcooking turns the dough too dry,
so summer days cause dough to bubble-spot,
sometime too hot the flame of oven burns,
and often oven doors keep men away,
and pizza guys do wish the pizza'd turn,
to cook all 'round with much more even sway,
by chance or nature's changing course untrimmed,
men eat too much pizza and then gain weight,
and no diet can help to make them trim,
for they cannot return the slice they ate,
so long as men eat pizza, drink coffee,
so longer will they sit to crap and ***
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
somewhere between the fourth and fifth
load of laundry,
sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company
the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher
even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship
sheets
my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that I need a nap:
*“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”*
with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history
there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own
nap-ster master
<•>
p.s. and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
The roses aren't as pretty
The sun isn't quite as high
The birds don't sing as sweet of a lullaby
The stars are a little bit faded
The clouds are just a little more gray
And it feels like things won't ever be the same
Heaven got another angel the night you left this world behind
Heaven got a little better the day that it took you away from me
I'm missing you tonight
I'll see you again sometime
For now, I'll close my eyes
And dream of heaven tonight
The beaches aren't as lovely
The sky isn't quite as blue
Still, they're sweetened by the memory of you
The rain is a little bit colder
The fire is never quite as warm
Still, it seems that heaven isn't all that far
Heaven got another angel the night you left this world behind
Heaven got a little better the day that it took you away from me
I'm missing you tonight
I'll see you again sometime
For now, I'll close my eyes
And dream of heaven tonight
I'm spending a little more time now with the things that mean a little bit more
I'm noticing the wonders of this world
I love with a little more hope now
I live with a little more peace
Cause I understand how precious life can be
Heaven got another angel the night you left this world behind
Heaven got a little better the day that it took you away from me
I'm missing you tonight
I'll see you again sometime
For now, I'll close my eyes
And dream of Heaven tonight
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
We play holi with colours,
And soldiers play it with guns and rifles.
At the risk of their own life,
They give us comfortable sleep and life.
A soldier is never sure of his life ,
And will he ever meet his daughter, son and wife.
Hats off and a dozen of salute,
Is nothing above a soldier and his sacrifice.
Besides a soldier his family also compromises,
Children sometimes starve to spent time with their father,
Mother's sometime don't even get to see dead bodies of their only son.
And what to say about the love of a wife,
Her sacrifices and compromises are just priceless.
After death a soldier is only remembered for a month or two,
Media is told to stay away too.
Payment of his life is done by some amount of money,
Is that all our duty towards our indian army?
This often chills my spine,
And brings a million years in my eyes.
A great salute to the Indian Army,
From the bottom of my heart.
I would help them anytime if they need me,
With each and everything I have.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
Sadness touches the lines on her face.
A face that was once smooth with grace.
Age came visiting and left the trace,
Now she is searching to find her place.
Beauty did once belong to her,
She believed it would last forever.
But time has marked her like the weather,
She is now lost amongst the wild heather.
Once they used to call her the Celtic Queen.
For many her beauty was always seen,
Now faded like an actress on the silent screen.
She is wondering why life seems like a scene.
She sometime wishes that she could die,
Because for her faded beauty she will cry.
If to be beautiful again she would try,
Beauty has left her and she ponders why.
But if she opened her eyes to see,
That in my eyes she is always beauty.
Time come to us as it has to be.
My Celtic Queen always is beautiful to me.
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 11:29 PM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
9.8k
Loosing is not an option
its a choice
sucess is not permanent
it is a roller coaster ride
goes up and down
slide left and right
at the peak or at the bottom
sometimes high or sometime it clatters
someone cries at the end ,
someone got it a lot better
aftermath,they got wobbly legs
can't stand straight
or enjoys it before it ends.
thrill excites but never resides
fun is transitory but still entertaining
hardwork is persistant and challenging
Tears become companion in the journey
happy or sad eyes let them flow
choose as per your desire
because there is no turning back
never saw turns that left behind
chasing the speed
to overcome the distance readily
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
when I saw the eyes
of my first child
I knew that when I
die, someday
sometime, someplace
I knew then that I will die
staring right into his eyes
if I might be
so lucky
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 3:16 AM UTC
so like
i know this isn't the classiest way of doing things
and i apologize in advance for posting my proposal
on the bulletin board
of this skeezy coffee shop -
no offense to the owners
please don't throw this letter away -
but last week
you stole my bike
it was a great one
not shiny or fancy or anything, but it worked well for me
worked for the past four years
and the twenty years before that
when it was still my dad's
and he rode it to the post office every day to
help letters get where they belong
(maybe letters like this one, isn't that romantic
maybe he's guiding this
thanks dad, you're the best)
and passed it on when his knees froze up
and i rode it to this skeezy coffee shop every day -
sorry to the owners
(again)
but i buy your ****** lattes every day
least you can do is let me propose -
but then last week
i left it outside
and didn't lock it
(fate, see)
and you stole my bike
i think
you were probably walking by -
maybe about to come get a ****** latte
from this skeezy coffee shop
(sorry)
but then something caught your eye
i think you saw all the emotion invested in my bike.
two decades of getting letters where they belong.
four years of ****** lattes.
and well
who can resist so much meaning
spread out in the open for anyone to take?
and i mean
since you saw it there,
didn't just say 'oh'
'a bike'
like everyone else,
you were probably meant to have it.
it's a piece of my heart
(the bike i mean)
and now you have it
or maybe you just liked the color
and like
i do too
green is a great color
i like green
you like green
you wanna go out sometime
we could go on a bike ride
except
you stole my bike
anyway
i don't think the bulletins are supposed to be this long
but it's an important one
so maybe it's okay this time
so if you see someone with an old green bike
tell them i'm in the skeezy coffee shop
i'm the one drinking the ****** latte
and holding a jewelry box
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
I think I saw you sometime yesterday
You had your hand in the pocket of a man
Saying things that you don't understand
Like you do every single day
Maybe all the good girls got away
And the man's got a smile on his face
I don't think he truly understands
What he's done and what he's gonna face
Did I mention, that you may have your taste
You're still just an old disgrace
A perfect day on a Sunday afternoon
The cafe crowd and a quiet, calm monsoon
Reaches down into a bag colored like the sun
And pulls out a gold encrusted gun
I hope the man had his days of fun
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
I Am A Selfish Lover
I love you in my own selfish ways.
Like other guys I don't claim to love you unconditionally.
I love you on a condition that you're going love me back.
I want you to be happy.
But I want you to be happy with me.
Yeah I'm overprotective sometime.
Sometimes "irrational" too.
But that has got a reason.
I can't lose you.
Because mere thoughts of spending the rest of my life without you
Gives me nightmares.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
sitting on the window sill
watching as you lay
trying to be strong for all of us
my sister
leaving the room
because she could not handle the undeniable truth
that sometime soon
you will be gone
because you do not want the help being offered
because you do not want to watch us all
"being there for you"
when really we're there
for us
so we can right our wrongs.
but i have no wrongs with you,
so i sit
and listen as everyone
tells me how strong i am
to watch my grandfather die
and not shed a single tear.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
here's to a package of
Marlboro Reds
in the hands of
someone other than
the Marlboro Man
standing in
for those slack-jawed outlaws
my heroes now lack jaws
tongues
lungs
I swear it's been too long
since I inhaled manhood
The Great Darrell Winfield
rolled
packed
and filtered
into the only thing I know
that makes a man a man
the essence of
cowboy boots and farmer's tan
in every drag
see, I inhale my heroes
all the dusty red-necked
cowboys
Darrell Winfield
and my dad
men whose lives
went up in smoke
to coat my throat
in my own self-righteousness
I'm frightened this
is all that I'll have left
of him
lung cancer
and the lingering stench
of cigarettes
he always smelled
of cigarettes
he'd pull me into these
firm embraces
he held so long
that he'd suffocate me
in tacky business
and cigarette smoke
masked only
faintly
by a poor man's
cologne
still I breathed him in
until I'd start to choke
it was too much man to handle
my grandpa told me
“smoking doesn't send you
straight to Hell,
but it sure does make you smell
like you've already been there”
he was
a grown man
cursing
crying
lying
dying by himself
trying to drown out the inferno
with a case of beer
but sobriety finds you sometime
and I'd rather suffocate in cigarettes
than lose him altogether
and even if he smells like Hell
at least that means he made it back
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
A seashell
within a seashell
within a seashell
maybe i’m the pearl,
maybe i’m the grain of sand
how would you know
what i am?
layers upon layers
of calcified shine
years upon years
of soaking in the brine
till the scent of the sea
is in my blood
and the song of the whales
is my voice
hold me close to your ear
listen to me sometime
i’ll whisper to you secrets
in oceany rhyme
and if you feel my gentle heat
radiating in your palm
know that it is me
telling you who i am
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
17.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 6:52 AM UTC
Barn
A graveyard of empty whiskey bottles,
curled, browned labels coated with dust.
A farmer drank in this dirt basement, alone,
wind chapped face illuminated by a kerosene lantern,
swollen fingers forever clutching the
glass neck of his half drained bottles.
I drink ***** in the renovated kitchen,
lit by dimmed lights, gentle shadows
dancing across the glossy hardwood floor.
I look out at the dark bodies of trees
swaying, uneasy in the night breeze.
Sometime after midnight,
the farmer’s ghost
stumbles up the creaking staircase behind me,
to our bed.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
here is now
to what the
heck?
jump out of this year
with that old joint attitude
and leave a mark
like it's too hot for me.
so quickly
that burden ate.
loved the way
he operates.
won't let us help.
needed it.
sounded good.
man, what's wrong with less?
let's meet up again sometime soon.
after a few more questions.
let's meetup somewhere
between
two am
and
here.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
This is not a game.
I am not going to be controlled by some stupid,
Greedy,
Arrogant,
Manipulative
Player like yourself.
I am not a piece in your game,
So stop treating me like plastic.
Stop pretending you can use me to win,
Where you get all the benefits,
And I get absolutely nothing in return.
You use me to get what you want,
Then you push me to the side.
You figure:
*You don't need me anymore.
A winner deserves better.
But in my book you are not a winner.*
You may have learned how to control me once,
How to own me,
How to make me do whatever it takes for you to win.
But never again will I allow that to happen.
And now I'm just trapped in a box,
A dreadful box you placed me in.
You make it a point to play me again sometime,
But quite simply never get around to it.
You used me like a piece in a game.
And do you know how that feels?
I have never felt so unwanted,
Unneeded,
Undesirable
In my entire life.
But you don't care,
Because you are the game master,
And you will do whatever it takes to win.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC