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Diana Sep 2018
While reading
A romance novel
Being inside the mind of a man
Listening to his thoughts
It makes me create my own
In wonder
Like
I wonder if any guy
Has ever thought of
Kissing my lips
Which he finds perfect
While he's stared at me

I wonder if any guy
Has ever thought of
What it would be like
To be my boyfriend
To be the only guy
In the world
That I could
Hold
Touch
Kiss
That I could trust
That I could love

I wonder if any guy
Has ever thought of me
Long after we've seen
Each other

I wonder if any guy
Has blatantly flirted with me
And grew frustrated
Because I didn't pick up on it

I wonder if any guy
Has found me intimidating
To the point
Where it makes them believe
That I'm out of their league

I wonder if any guy
Believed that I was
Beautiful
Perfect even
That I was the embodiment of everything
They craved for

I wonder if any guy
Made me the topic
Of endless conversations
He had
With his closest friends

I wonder if any guy
Believed that I made them a better person

I wonder if any guy
After briefly meeting me
Wanted to impress me
In order to feel worthy of me

I wonder if any guy
Became amused to the thought
Of how I had no clue on just how much I affected him
All while I was talking to him

I wonder if any guy
Wondered what it would feel like
To have our hands intertwined

I wonder if any guy
Wanted to pour out his heart to me
But thought that my small
Delicate hands
Wouldn't be able to contain
His unyielding proclamation

I wonder if any guy
Thinks that I'm the most perfect girl
They have ever met
And that whoever I end up with
Will be the "luckiest *******" in the world

I wonder if any guy
Spent hours
Over analyzing my response
Or actions
Hoping that they were more
Than just kindness

I wonder if any guy
Had an internal battle
About the words he spoke to me
Wondering if they were
Stupid or cheesy

I wonder if any guy
Has gotten nervous
Whenever I smiled or talked
To them

I wonder if any guy
Wished that I was his girl
That he could proudly proclaim
His
To the entire world
With bold confidence
In his actions and words

I wonder if any guy
Has ever been hyperaware of my
Every movement
Like you would with a huge crush
That's in the room

I wonder if any guy
Had to fight the strong urge
Of wrapping their arms
Around my body
In an all consuming embrace

I wonder if any guy
Snuck secret glances
In my direction
Without my knowledge
Just so he could admire me
From afar
Without me noticing

I wonder if any guy
Showed pictures of me
From social media
To his friends
To explain his infatuation

I wonder if any guy
Looked at me
And silently contemplated
If there was even a guy
On earth
Worthy enough
For me

I wonder if any guy
Wished he had the confidence
To go up me and strike a conversation
But felt too nervous to

I wonder if any guy
Has ever been
Overwhelmed or confused
By the unfamiliar emotions
That they receive
Whenever they see or think
About me

I wonder if any guy
Made me the muse
To an endless amount of romantic poems
That I'll never get to hear

I wonder if any guy
Misses the mundane conversations
That we would have
Because they meant
Everything
To him

I wonder if any guy
Daydreamed of interactions
Where I would fall
Madly in love with him
Because he felt more comfortable
In his imagination

I wonder if any guy
Has ever been turned on
By the brief
Contact of our bodies
Accidentally brushing against each other

I wonder if any guy
Was dying for me to just know his name
So he could be comforted with knowing
That I knew of him
So that when I saw him passing by
My face would light up with recognition
Instead of indifference

I wonder if any guy
Saw me in public
Didn't know me or my name
But hit his friends
Trying to get their attention
So that he could point me out
Because he found me beautiful

I wonder if any guy
Has ever purposely chosen an outfit
Hoping that it would catch my attention

I wonder if any guy
Purposely avoided me
Because he was too shy
To be near me

I wonder if any guy
Had dreams of me
That he wished would be
His reality

I wonder if any guy
Wanted to pursue me
But hesitated
Because he thought
That there was no way
I didn't already have a boyfriend

I wonder if any guy
Has ever been in awe
With everything that I've done
Just because it's me

I wonder if any guy
Decided not to ask me out
Because they thought
That they weren't good enough
For me

I wonder if any guy
Has looked at me
With eyes filled with unspoken love
But mine
Filled with so much innocence
Never truly saw theirs

I wonder if any guy
Admired my ****** features
As I spoke to him
Seconds before coming to to conclusion
That I was beautiful

I wonder if any guy's
Last thought
Before he went to bed
Was about me

I wonder if any guy
Was dying to tell me
That they were in love with me
But felt too scared to do so

I wonder what people think
Those that know
And don't know me
When they look at me

I wonder...
M Dec 2012
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You shed tears.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You curse out loud, give voice to your fears.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You think of all of the things you haven't done yet.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You ask Him if this is a safe bet.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You dream of the day you'll be free.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You just try to stay calm and breathe.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You're afraid of falling asleep.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You know what you want others to keep.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
There are people you want to forgive.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You wonder how long you're going to live.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You loathe what you can't control.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
No matter how many blankets you pile on, will you still feel cold?

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You remember your first kiss.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You understand you'll always be missed.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You struggle with regular tasks.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
Your face no longer resembles an emotionless mask.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You let your emotions show.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You think about the time you'll have to go.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You're satisfied with your life.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
Is there anything you'd be willing to sacrifice?

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You stare a yourself in the full length mirror.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You wonder when answers will become clearer.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You think of your loved ones.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You reminisce on hunting and guns.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
Your parents talk to you.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You just want to start anew.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You stay optimistic.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You let it all go and become ballistic.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You're tired of taking all the pills.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You feel death's constant chill.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You read like you always have.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
This all makes you ****** mad.

I wonder if behind closed doors,
You fall to your knees and pray.
I know that behind closed doors,
We're all happy you're here today.

When you go, open my closed doors,
And please watch over me.
Because when I'm behind a closed door,
I'll be waiting for you to comfort me.
This was written in April of 2011. My grandpa was sick with lung cancer, and my mom spent a lot of time down at his house taking care of him and taking him to appointments. He lived two hours away, so my mom basically lived there while he was sick. I would occasionally come and stay with them to keep them company.
My grandpa was a no-nonsense man. He was straightforward and generally unemotional from what I'd seen. He was so giving and handy, and he though I couldn't always tell he was so loving too.
My mom, her brother, my grandpa and I went to a check-up meeting at Kaiser and the doctor basically gave us more bad news. They affirmed that the cancer had spread, and my grandpa's chances of beating the cancer were slim. He didn't react much from what I remembered, and I thought to myself, "He can't always be so calm. He has to feel something. He has to be different behind closed doors." This thought created the idea for my poem.
He died about a month later, and I read this at his memorial. It was the hardest public speaking incident I have ever done to date, and the most rewarding.
Lefa Mzondi Apr 2017
I wonder I wonder I wonder
I wonder many things nowadays
I wonder if you miss me like I do
I wonder if you still care
I wonder if you ever think about me and just smile
I wonder if you share the same memories I have or was it just a dream I had alone
I wonder if you still blush when u hear my name or was it also just pretense
ι just ωση∂єя...

I wonder you still glow like I used to make you
I wonder if you ever think about what if things were different
I wonder if you ever regret the things we did
And I wonder if you are glad it happened
I just ωση∂єя...

I wonder if this was ever meant to be or if it was never
I wonder if this feeling is just temporary, just wonder if it will ever go away
I wonder if I'm the only one feeling this way
I wonder if yours hurts like mine does, or is it true when they say hearts don't break even
It got me ωση∂єяιηg...

I wonder if you still have that rose scent on your neck from your favorite perfume
I wonder if you still have twinkle in your eye
I wonder if your skin is still as soft silk
I wonder if your heartbeat still matches mine whenever you lay on my chest
I just ωση∂єя

I wonder if I ever had the choice to do anything different, would I have?
I wonder what if we met in a different place under different circumstances
I wonder then, would you still love me like you used to?
I wonder then, would you let me tell the whole world that I'm yours and you're mine?

ι ωση∂єя...ι נυѕт ωση∂єя...
VioletGreue Nov 2013
In life , im full of wonder . Im always wondering things and how it could've been . When i walk pass the hallway , i would look at the teachers or my friends or my juniors or my seniors or the school staffs and wondering whether one of them is having a tough problem , whether one of them is having a broken heart or whether one of them is having a problem to cope up with life and they all hide it with a smile on their face or with a cold personality that no one can ever could get close to them . When i looked at the person that most people usually hate , i always wonder what happened to them like they must have been through something a lot and i guess that it's not their choices to do things that make people hate them and maybe they just wants an attention . Then i look at the some people that i know they're fake , i feel sorry for them ( not in a mean way ) it must be so hard for them to be something that they're not , like pretending to be someone who's not theirself  and i wonder how many sigh or breath they take saying ' im tired of pretending ' and i wonder why did they try so hard to be someone they're not just to make people like them and why they're so scared to be who they are . When i looked at my bestfriends who's always laughing with me , i wonder whether they hide something from me , like they might have some problem and they don't want me to worry so they decided to hide it . I wonder whether the smile that they fake is real or fake . I wonder . I wonder whether some of my teachers breakdown at night crying and wishing their life to be end or they might have some dreams that didn't came true . I wonder whether they couldn't cope in their life so that they become cold and strict towards student . I wonder how many pain that most of my teachers have been through just to feel a little happiness . I wonder whether some of my teachers is actually happy with their marriages , i wonder how the staff workers in my school might not have something to eat at night or that they just gave up on their dreams for their childrens . When i looked at several people who's in past and they act like it's nothing , i wonder whether they're just pretending to be okay or whether they do it for real . Whether they still think of me sometimes or whether they just feel okay because i already gone . When i looked at  my parents , i wonder whether they might have some troubles to fulfill what me and my siblings need and maybe they just want to hide it . Im wondering whether my father is having a problem at his work place or whether he was happy with it or whether he have a dreams but he can't reach it because of us . I wonder , i really wonder . When i walked and pass random strangers , i wonder whether they have some kind of problem that just tears them apart . I wonder why some people let go and why some decided to hold on and why some decided to give up . I wonder it a lot . I wonder whether some people actually love what did they do  . I wonder whether the quietest girl in my class is actually battling some kind of wars that she decided to be quiet and didn't wanna talk to any of the people in my class . I wonder whether she have some brilliant ideas but she decided to stay quiet because she might have been through something that make her being like that . I wonder whether the most hillarious and funny people around me that always make me laugh is actually having a depression or they might cry in the middle of the night . I wonder things a lot and my conclusion is that everyone is broken and some of them just didn't want people to know that and that everyone is purely nice but something came and change it . I just hope some people would take their time to understand that people around is all broken and some of them survived while some of them is not . I hope that people will talk only about a good things 'cause we don't know how much hurt that person is when we talk bad about them . I just hope that what i wrote will somehow open some people's mind .
You wonder why I dwell in the dark,
You wonder why I never call back,
You wonder why I be a lost sane,
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again,

Evading the city flare,
Evading to the mellow lair,
Evading the caramelised routine,
Evading a contagious whine,

A thing of pity, years and hence,
A sweet  obsession, that only commence,
You wonder if I have lost every sense,
I wonder if I ever made any sense,

You wonder why I invest so much,
You wonder why I run on loss,
You wonder what became of us,
I wonder if it's fantasy or lust,

Come! Come! Sure let's reshape our maps,
What has been and maybe perhaps,
Swoosh! Whoosh! Be undone and done!
How awfully convenient, is it not, hon?!

Exuberant creatures they flatter me often,
Those lofty lot, enticing I find none,
Sure I shall allow an unbiased  trial!
Sheath the heart, her eyes a biased thrill!

Never mention my poached heart,
And we'll get along just fine, love,
And be forever entwined,
In that same old fairytale, concubine!

You wonder why I am a repugnant aristocrat,
You wonder why I am a narcissist in grave dearth,
You wonder why I am a deception to change,
I wonder how passionately I was never your gain...

Of course I am not an island of my own,
Of course I am but a mere fraction of the whole,
Oh! Tempting balms! they embrace me so,
Quite the way you wrapped me Cozy, long ago,

You wonder why I am stuck in a rut,
You wonder why I choose not to be smart,
You wonder why I wait without disgust,
I wonder where my rescue boat is lost….

You wonder why I let the years fly by,
You wonder why I live in the bygone and deny,
You wonder why I never forget your voice,
You wonder why I keep every memory alive,

I wonder if I'll ever see you again,
I wonder if it will all be the same.....
Zack Dec 2012
I’m writing this poem at 2:21 am on December 31st
Sunday night, or maybe you consider that a Monday morning
And a country song just came on the radio
And I couldn’t help but to think about how much I hate country music
I hate the stereotypical voice the singer always sings,
And the predictable pattern of strung guitar strings
So at 2:24 am, on December 31st, Sunday night/Monday morning…

I started to wonder if you liked country music
I started to wonder if you owned a pair of cowboy boots or believed boots were tacky
I wonder what your definition of “tacky” is
If “tacky” even exist in you vocabulary
I wondered where you get your vocabulary
Did your mom raise you to believe that words would be your greatest ally
Was she raised with more than one language
I wonder what your ancestor’s native language was
And if it was ripped out of their tongues from history books
What stories were told from those tongues that history could never tell
I wonder what kind of stories you’ve carved in lover’s mouths with just your tongue.
I wonder if you’ll ever paintings carved into your skin at tattoo parlors
If you’d get something tacky or a portrait of a loved one
I wondered if you’ve ever lost someone
I wonder if you’ve ever lost yourself
If you did, where did you find yourself?
Did you find yourself in your palms over bent knees
That kissed the ground that at one time kissed your feet.

I wonder when the next we’ll meet.
I wonder when I’ll meet your best friend. What stories she will tell me.
If she ever gets scared you’ll replace her with me
And if I’ll ever have to tell her she’s irreplaceable
I wonder what’s your favorite places you’ve been to
The places that made you smile to our human anatomy’s upmost potential
I wonder how much you know about your own human anatomy
I wonder if you know that an average heartbeats 100,00 times a day
Pumping almost 2,000 gallons of blood through it’s chambers
Over a 70 year life span, that adds up to about 2.5 billion heartbeats
And sitting here, just wondering about you– you made me skip a few

It’s now 3:07 am
And I’m wonderin’ if you ever wondered what it would be like to be loved by a poet
To have your body be put to words and your words be put up against my body
And have lips match figurative language to the figure of your body
And write love poems on your cheek
And I wonder, if you even consider me a poet

What are the events in life that you consider poetic?
If your life was a poem, what kind of poem would your
8th grade English teacher categorize it as?
I wonder if you asked her a lot of questions
I wonder if you were a curious child
If you’re ever curious about me
If you’ve ever wondered if I thought you were wonderful
If my mind ever wanders while I wonder about you
And if I could ever weaver it back

At 3:21 am, December 31st, Sunday night, Monday morning
I’m wondering if you’re wondering about me.
If I asked a lot of questions as a child
If I ever used poetry to make love
If I count my heartbeats in my sleep
Or wonder what kind of grades I got in my 11th grade human anatomy class
Or where my ancestors were lost in this world in history pages
Or if you ever wonder if I’ve ever lost myself, but more recently, if I’ve ever lost my mind

I wonder if you wonder if I consider myself a poet.
I wonder, if at 3:27 am, if you’re awake too,
Wondering if I like country music.
AAYARA ZAYN Jun 2019
What color is love I wonder
How does love looks like   I Wonder
Is it beautiful ?
Or is it ugly ?
Does it shine bright?
Or does it have dark side?
I wonder
I wonder
Does love happen  once?
Or
It happens twice?
SAY
Do we have a soulmate
Which we can love?
How does our  mate
Looks like  I wonder?
I wonder?
Is she beautiful?
Or is she ugly?
I don't care
But  
Sometimes I wonder
I wonder  
How will I find my mate?
Or
How will she find me?
How will out  first meeting be?
Will it be good?
Or
Will it be awkward?
I wonder
I wonder
Hey
I see
I feel
I can smell you
I can tell you are close
Will it be like this
Or
Opposite
I wonder
I wonder
About everything with you
Will my inner wolf
Try to claim you?
I really wonder
What you are
How am I
I wonder  
How
Love will happen between us ?
How will our first night be?
How will our first Kiss be?
I wonder
How will your body respond to me?
SAY
can  love sprout between us?
I wonder if love is like  this?
I wonder if love is a being?
I wonder if it speaks
If it talks to you
If it talks to me
If it tells you that I am  close
Tells you that it's love
That bound us
I wonder
I really  wonder  now
I really wonder now
I wonder if where you are you can see me here
I wonder if where you are you feel the wetness of my tears

I wonder
I wonder where you are

I wonder if where you are you can feel this ache inside
I wonder if where you are you hear my whispered prayers at night

I wonder
I wonder where you are

Where do their souls go when loved ones are gone
And who do the left behind have when lost and coming undone
I wonder...I wonder where you are


I wonder if where you are you hear me catch my breath
When thoughts of you take hold of me and won't loosen their grip

I wonder
I wonder where you are

I wonder if where you are you remember my name
And if somehow I could find you now...would it be the same

I wonder
I wonder where you are

Where do their souls go when loved ones are gone
And who do the left behind have when lost and coming undone
I wonder
I wonder where you are


*I reach out for you
But you're not there
And I wonder where you are
To my Mother, Father and sister Clara who now reside in Heaven. Much Love to you all.
Tina Marie Jan 2018
I wonder...
How you sleep at night...
Knowing what you did...
I wonder....
How do you feel...
Since,  you left me there...
There to die..
Without a tear in your eye....
I wonder...
What was going through ur head....
Was it I wasn't real???
I wonder...
Was I a trash bag u thought u ran over,
A rock,  a glass bottle???
I wonder...
If you know I was only 5...
Would have been 6 on Saturday...
I wonder....
What the rest of my life would be like....
Prom,  college,  having babies of my own...
I wonder....
What would my big sisters become???
How many babies they would have...
What life would have brought them...
I wonder...
Will my mommies heart ever heal???
From the void you left her??
The heart u left shattered...
The guilt u left her with..
That this is all her fault...
I wonder...
Will my daddy ever heal too...
You took away his little girl...
Left him with Guilt too..
I wonder...
What 1st grade would be like....
All the new things I would learn..
What new songs would I get to learn and sing???
What art projects would I make for mommy and daddy???
I wonder...
But,  you took that from me, my family,  my friends,  everyone who loved me...
Those who I haven't yet to meet..
I wonder...
Who I would have grown to be...
How I wonder...
These things I will never get to know..
You took this all from me...
From  my family...
From all those who loved me...
From those who have not yet met me...
I wonder...
Will u ever answer my questions...
Do even care you killed me??
How I wonder??
I wonder...
Wondering is all I have left...
I'm looking down from heaven wondering why you did this...
Wondering is all I can do..
I wonder...
What if I was your daughter??
Would you have walked away too??  
I wonder...
I wonder....

Write by Tina Marie 7/19/2017
I wrote this shortly after hearing the most devastating news anyone could hear. My best friends daughter was killed by a speeding SUV, that ran from the seen So, tiny, so many years of life ahead, such a beautiful girl, a smile so wide. RIP Delaney..
lorainne May 2018
i wonder where are you right now
i wonder what are you doing, watering the plants? harvesting vegetables? or doing the unfamiliar?

i wonder what do you look like,
i wonder if you still manage
to take care of your skin, your hair, or do you just keep your lifestyle simple?

i wonder who’s in your mind,
i wonder is it me? or is it someone else? or maybe, someone new? one way or another, it hurts to wonder why.

i wonder what music are you listening to, is it still from the local, or a foreign language song?
maybe korean? japanese? or even chinese?

i wonder what do you eat, what does it taste like?
i wonder if you eat the foods i want to try, do you eat ramen? mitarashi dangos? or even gyoza and sushi?

i wonder if you still get bad dreams ever since you got there,
i wonder who’s in your dream, is it someone that scares you? is it someone you love? or is it me?

i wonder what coffee tastes there,
i wonder if you prefer tea or coffee,
a green tea to cleanse your body,
or a strong coffee that will wake your senses up?

i wonder if you’re still going home,
i wonder if you’ll stay there, or stay here. maybe both? or maybe just stay inside my heart as i think of you endlessly inside my mind?

i wonder who do you miss,
i wonder is it me? is it someone else, or maybe her? i wish
you miss someone the way i miss you.

i wonder who do you love,
i wonder is it who or what? me or her? your home or my home? make up your mind. at this point,
i need answers.
i miss you, still. as much as i want you to get out of my mind, the questions inside my mind is still not answered. the words i want to hear from you are still not coming out.
Jey Blu May 2018
I used to wonder how people fell asleep in class
Now I wonder how they stay awake

I used to wonder how people failed their classes
Now I wonder how they pass

I used to wonder how people were alone
Now I wonder how they have so many friends

I used to wonder how people were sad
Now I wonder how to be happy

I used to wonder why people cut
Now I wonder how they live without self harm

I used to wonder what it's like to stay up late
Now I wonder what'd it be like to sleep enough

I used to wonder how they thought something was wrong with school
Now I wonder how somebody sees something right

I used to wonder how people want to die
Now I wonder how they stay alive
Amanda Newby Dec 2016
I feel like a creep.

It's been months since I kissed you,
And then you two got together,
And I swear, I'm happy for you...

But I can't help but wonder.

I wonder why
You kissed me back.
Why you held my face,
And slid on top of me.

I wonder why you kissed
Down my neck
Over and over.

It felt like hours.

I wonder why
I was so gentle.
Why your hair felt nice
On my fingertips,
And your hips felt nice
In my hands.
On my waist.

I wonder why
I tried to hold you afterwards.
Why you pushed me away,
And said we needed sleep.
I didn't get any.

I wonder why
I couldn't talk the morning after.
Why I felt so *****,
And you seemed so cold.

I wonder why
I couldn't look you in the eyes
Outside of the dark
Basement.

I wonder why
I was so mad.
Why you were dating him
And not me.

I wonder why
I felt sick
To my stomach.

I wonder why
I stopped being mad.
Why I just felt empty
And wanted to be slutty.

I wonder why
I was so worried
About you being the last person
I kissed...

But not being yours.

I wonder why
I kiss her
So gently.
Why I am so soft-lipped
When she asks for teeth.

I wonder why
I'm so shy around her
And can't look at her after.

I wonder why
I think of you.
Why her hips feel so light
In my hands
And my fingers reach for more...

They come up empty.

I swear, I am happy for you.

I swear, I am happy.

But...

*I wonder.
ShowYouLove Sep 2015
A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
And here we are: running in place

The miracle of a rainbow, the beauty of a blade of grass
Finding untold treasure where others see only trash
Listen. Here the thrum of wind on golden strings
The bells sounding clear and pure in the trees they sing

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
And here we are: running in place

Feel the complex dance around you come alive as you are filled
With a racing spirit and feet that won't be stilled
A song bursts forth just like the morning sun
And overflows and covers you until you and it are one

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
And here we are: running in place

We lose sight of what's important as we fight to survive
But if we stop to look through a child's eyes we learn to truly thrive

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
But here we are: running in place

A life of joy and wonder greets the sun in morning sky
A life of joy and wonder will run free and learn to fly
A life of joy and wonder finds gladness in the rain
A life of joy and wonder finds healing amidst the pain

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
But here we are running in place

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A child's eyes are bright and strong; they don't dull or dim
You might hear their quiet song if you stop and listen

There is a life of joy and wonder and grace
But here we are running in place
A life of joy and wonder takes patience, love, and care
It takes a long time, many years till we get there

But a life of joy and wonder is a precious thing I'm told...

Because a life of joy and wonder far surpasses the value of gold!
Zack Jan 2013
I just finished texting you on December 31st
Sunday night, or maybe you consider that a Monday morning
and a country song just came on the radio
I couldn't help but to think about how much I hate country music
I hate the stereotypical voice the singer always sings,
the predictable pattern of strung guitar strings
So, at 2:24 am, on a December 31st, Sunday night/Monday morning

I started to wonder if you liked country music
Or believed too that it's tacky
I wonder if "tacky" even exist in your vocabulary
Where did you get your vocabulary?
Did your mom raise you to believe words would be your greatest ally
Was she raised with more than one language
I wonder what your ancestor's native language sounds like
And if it was ripped out of their tongues
Like culture in our history books
what stories were told from those tongues that history books could never tell
I wonder, what kind of stories you've carved in lover's mouths
with just your, tongue.

I wondered if you've ever lost someone
I wonder if you've ever lost yourself
If you did, where did you find yourself?
Did you find yourself in your palms over bent knees
That kissed the ground that at one time
kissed your feet.

I wonder when we'll meet
I wonder if I'll meet your best friend. If shell ever get scared
You'll replace her with me
And if I'll have to tell her, she's irreplaceable.
I wonder what's your favorite places you've been to
The places that made you smile to your human anatomy's most potential
And I wonder how much you know about your own human anatomy
I wonder if you know that an average heart beats 100,000 times a day
Pumping almost 2,000 gallons of blood through its chambers
Over a 70 year lifespan, that adds up to about 2.5 billion heartbeat
And sitting here, just wondering about you- you made me skip a few.

It's now 3:07 a.m.
And I'm wonderin' if you've ever wondered what it would be like to be loved by a poet
To have your body be put words and your words be put against my body
To have lips match figurative language to the figure of your body
And write love poems on your cheek
And I wonder if you even consider me a poet.

What are the events in your life you consider poetic?
If your life was a poem, what kind of poem would your
8th grade English teacher categorize it as?
If you were a curious child and if now
You're ever curious about me
If my mind ever wanders while I wonder about you
And if I could ever weaver it back

At 3:21 a.m., December 31st, Sunday night, Monday morning
I'm wondering if you're wondering about me.
Or if you ever wonder if I've ever lost myself, but more recently, lost my mind writing poetry

I wonder if you wonder if I consider myself a poet.
I wonder, if at 3:27 am, if you're awake too,
Wondering if I like country music.
Spooky Babe Jan 2017
I wonder if your eyes still know me
I wonder if they'd recognize my face
I wonder if they'd water if they saw me
I wonder if I've even left a trace
I wonder if I'm in your veins
I wonder if you've gone insane
I wonder if you can still feel me
I wonder if you even miss me
I wonder if you wonder about me
I wonder if you wonder how I feel
I wonder if you even give a ****
I wonder if our love is even real
January 18, 2017 4:19pm for my love across the ******* world
Jazmine Moore May 2014
I wonder when people will stop falling in love through Instagram and twitter dms.
Having a false sense of acceptance through likes and retweets has become a norm for our world and I'm wondering when it'll stop.
I wonder when boys will stop being so afraid to love and girls will believe that men actually aren't all the same...
And I wonder when gays will have the rights they deserve and I wonder when women will stop being looked at as the white mans inferior
And I wonder when more women will actually believe that we don't have to be the white mans inferior
And I wonder when men will learn its okay to be a little vulnerable
And I wonder when **** victims everywhere will get the justice they seem to neglect to serve
And I wonder when double standards will seize to exist
And I wonder when people will get off social networks and go for more walks
And I wonder when dates become more common and one night stands will become extinct
I wonder when men will stop disrespecting our women and women will respect themselves more.
I wonder when I'll stop dreaming about all of these things.
But most of all, I wonder when we will decide we are the ones who control our own happiness
Jene'e Patitucci Dec 2012
Sometimes I wonder if you really think of me. You spend so much time in your own head I wonder if there is any room up there for some one like me, with all my insecurities. I’d spend all day inside your brain if you would let me.


Sometimes I wonder what you’re thinking when you laugh right out of nowhere - no relation to the present situation - and it’s usually a joke you have between you and yourself and no one else quite understands but I am trying.


     Sometimes I wonder who we are. Sometimes I wonder just how far you want to take me down  
     this path that we are making. And sometimes I wonder about not a thing at all; and other times I
     find myself trying my hardest to recall.


Sometimes I wonder if we’d be friends if we met when we were kids, both aging much more rapidly than all our friends. And by the time we grew up, crookedly, would you be sick and tired of me? We’d see the time each other started dying.


Sometimes I wonder what you dream when you’re asleep or if you have a fantasy world like I do but that’s my secret. And I wonder if someday you’ll store all your secrets inside me and I’ll hide them from this dark, depressing, dream ingesting world.


     Sometimes I wonder what we are. Right now I wonder if my car will make it to your house when
     it and I am shaking. Sometimes I wonder if someday I’ll be driving to our house; finally a place
     where we can maybe try to get some sleep.


Sometimes I wonder if you worry ‘bout things you say ‘round me. Do you feel stupid, do you feel crazy, do you think that you might scare me? Do I steal your breath away with each kiss like you do to me? Or am I mystifying, romanticizing this time?


Sometimes I wonder what you do when I’m not there or you’re not here, because you’re interesting, and I worry because I care. Sometimes I wonder ‘bout the spaces in-between your fingers where your soul begins and this world ends and I know my lips have been.


     Sometimes I wonder if we are. Sometimes I’m really ******* far away and I can’t say the
     meanings I am thinking. And sometimes you need your space and sometimes I need my space,
     too. We like alone but alone’s better when I’m with you.


     Sometimes I’m scared half to death. Just want to rest my spinning head upon your chest and
     listen softly to the rhythm and I hope you know I’m hopeful that things will be okay someday I
     hope you know that I mean every word I say.
© 2012 Jene'e Patitucci

https://soundcloud.com/jeneemusic/things-will-be-okay
*in the song i say "worry" instead of "wonder" at the end of the first chorus and i haven't decided yet whether or not i'm going to keep it like that.
I wonder
when soon really is
I wonder
if I could still see tomorrow
I wonder
if I could measure *'forever'


I wonder and wonder and wonder

I wonder
how this all began
I wonder
just how would it end
I wonder
who you were before

I still wonder and wonder and wonder

I wonder
if it was a blessing
I wonder
perhaps it's a curse
I wonder
to where I would go

*When I think of you, I wonder...
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2017

I wonder - a phrase I often say, used as much as possible
(coined from Mr. Bean) xD
madison Apr 2014
Sometimes I wonder if you'll leave me.
Sometimes I wonder if I never woke up again, what would you do?
Sometimes I wonder how you would feel if I left.
Sometimes I wonder if I actually would do it,
And you'd find me hanging from the ceiling by my neck.
How would you feel?
Sometimes I lay awake at night and think,
How many of my "friends" would genuinely miss me.
If I would be gone forever and never come back.
Sometimes I wonder if my mother has had enough and will do exactly that.
Sometimes I wonder if she wonders exactly that.
Sometimes I wonder if I will ever have a chance with you.
And sometimes I like to wonder if you think you will ever have a chance with me.
Sometimes I wonder about the stars.
Wishing that I could be one of them and get out of this town.
Sometimes  I wonder how many days until I am done with this meaningless life.
Ready to fly above the clouds and truly be free.
Sometimes I wonder how many pills it would take...
Sometimes I just like to wonder,
About anything and everything.
Just a couple things I think about a lot...
Alan McClure Mar 2011
Susi sees angels here and there
magical creatures are everywhere
I canny see them, I try and look twice
I kind of regret it, it must be nice

but I think
Why should I personify
my sense of wonder,
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit sky
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder

Ewan sees reason in everything
knows you can measure pieces of string
and he is my brother I love and respect
and proof of the other we've never found yet

but I think
Why should I categorize
my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit skies
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder

And I salute you, one and all
who've seen the light, who've heard the call
I'll not dispute what you have seen
I'm just not certain what you mean

Susi's a human, as sweet as can be
and magic or not she's amazing to me
and whether we're born here blessed or alone
I hope that her angels will see her home

but still think
Why should I personify my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit sky
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
sense of wonder
Nirvana Jun 2015
I wonder why i live
and add to my grieve
I wonder why i think of you
it always hurts & that i knew

I wonder if you remember me
as i remember about thee
I wonder if she ever notice me
here I'm dying can't you see

I wonder if she ever look for me
as i keep looking for thee
I wonder if for her i ever exist
yet she's the one for i persist

I wonder if the smile on her face
is only for me or it has got a constant pace
I wonder if she loves talking to me
here my cheek are aching when I talk to thee

I wonder if you will ever love me
but  i'll never forget thee
I wonder if she's happy with me nearby
or should i let her go for (a happy) life of thy

I wonder why i prove myself
I wonder why i hate myself
I wonder do i even respect myself
I feel I've lose myself
for someone who could never be mine…
I WONDER!!! That's simply me....
Kimberly Clemens Jul 2013
Like all days, I wonder.
I wonder what you're thinking.
If you're thinking of me.
If that's a stupid thing to think.

Like all days, I wonder.
I wonder if I stop you.
Stop you from whatever you're doing.
Because the thought of me gave you butterflies.

Like all days, I wonder.
I wonder if I frustrate you.
If you're frustrated that I haven't kept in touch lately.
Maybe we're both too stubborn to start the conversation.

Like all days, I wonder.
I wonder if I make you smile.
From a memory you don't want to forget.
There are so many of those that you could recall.

Like all days, I wonder.
I wonder if I haunt you.
Just as much as you've been haunting me.
We're both ghosts haunting what we hope is still there.

Like all days, you wonder.
You wonder if I wonder about you, too.
If I'm just as flustered with these thoughts as you are.
Maybe we've been sharing these feelings all along.

Like all days, we wonder.
Dahlia Feb 2014
I wonder if she ever appears in the sweetest of your dreams, kissing you softly;
I wonder if you think of her when dishonest words about your love for me splurge and leak from your mouth;
I wonder if the delicious taste of her mouth lingers on the tip of your tongue after we make love;
I wonder if the soft touch of her skin ever meets your hands when I'm not around;
I wonder if I'm there for the company, but she is there for your satisfaction;
I wonder if the curve of her smile is as crooked as your betrayal;

I wonder....

I wonder if I ever appear in your nightmares, ripping away at your flesh and devouring your vital organs;
I wonder if you think of me while her pleasured screams fill your ears as you're ******* her, and your mind tricks you to see my corpse as her body;
I wonder if the bitter taste of my broken heart ever lands on your taste buds when you taste blood;
I wonder if my cold, pale skin ever frightens you when I enter your nightmares and shackle you to death;
I wonder if the mutilated, crushed arc of your back is as wicked as my mind;


I wonder....
I think I'm too sadistic for this site.
Mercury Chap Dec 2014
I wonder why
I was ever gifted with
This life, and with a sigh,
I'd say whatever gift you give me
My mind will be shifted
Towards the dark side.

I wonder why
I ever made friends,
I am so shy
My friendship soon ends
Even with myself.

I wonder why
I want to escape
From this dark land
I want to scrape
All the scars I have
And start a new life
In a new place.

I wonder why
People say things
Which makes me want to cry.

I wonder why
I try to stay strong
When I know if I cry
I can make others think they are wrong,
Then they will pity me
And they will apologise
But I wonder why
I don't want a fake apology.

I wonder why
I like to be polite
To people
Even when I know about the harm they gave me
I wonder why
I like to help
Even when I know they don't deserve it.

I wonder why
I like to be different
I don't want to be the one
Who only thinks about oneself.

I wonder why
I want to show the world
What love could do,
Even if you're arch enemies
You can't love each other, says who?

I wonder why
I think so deep
Even when my friends tell me to stop
I walk down in my mind
In this road so steep
In which I never want myself to stop.

I wonder why**
I feel like exploring my own mind
There are so many places I've found in here
There are so many places to explore
There are so many discoveries I have shared
There are so many discoveries more
To share with all the one's who care
To read all my thoughts.
...And on those nights when the moon is as full as the sheets are empty,
I wonder if what he really felt was love.  
I wonder how the moon can be so completely filled with light
and never question whether it's really even light at all.  
I wonder if when he said it he meant it.  
Maybe he meant something else entirely.  
I wonder if the realization hit him years later
and I wonder if he thought I was worth telling.  
I wonder if my face popped into his mind
and I wonder if he thought about looking up my address
or if he'd ever driven past the old apartment.  
I wonder if I was worth the gas money,
if remnants of my body smothered in nostalgia
were worth those few extra dollars.  
I wonder if he ever thinks about it.  
I wonder if he questions what he didn't do .  
Did he realize what he meant
when his phone would buzz at three in the morning
and I'd be sitting on a sidewalk somewhere in the heart of the city
wanting him to take me home?  
Did he realize what he meant
when the candles were lit
and dinner was made
and I would plead with him
and my hair would be tangled in his hands,
but he was too tired to go further?  
Did he realize what he meant
when he couldn't say it back until the right time,
but the right time wasn't until warm mornings
when he'd still be half asleep
and my whispers wouldn't let him continue
so he said what he needed to?  
I wonder,
I wonder.  
I wonder why I didn't realize it
I wonder when he thinks of me.  
When the sheets are empty?  
When my old candles are finally burned down the wick?  
When the coffee *** collects dust in the cabinet?  
Does it make him wonder what I meant to him?  
Does he even realize?
Abbigail Jan 2014
I can’t help but wonder if you still have tucked away all the letters and the notes and the list of reasons why I loved you.
I wonder where you left the guitar strings that I gave you for your wrist
I thought I saw them in a picture of you,
the one with the girl.
I could be wrong.

I think about the things I wrote to you and wonder if you’ve ever looked at them again
And felt the warm singe of pain when you read the words that we meant
when we were naïve enough to think that we were different.

I wonder if I still cross your mind when you scoop ice cream
Because you know how I hate skimpy scoopers.
Or when you find a hair on your arm that's freakishly longer than the rest,
if you wish I was there to pull it out.

Sometimes I think of your mom
And I wonder if she kept my picture, the one she kept on the mantle right beside yours.
What did she do with my Christmas stocking?
I can’t help but wonder if it’s been passed on to your new girl
And I don’t know if they’ll watch West Side Story together,
If she’ll enjoy it the way I did.

I imagine you never thought twice
When you came across a hair still on your pillow, or the faintest of my scent
Or my bobby pins on your bedroom floor.

I remember finding the bobby pins and hair binders of other lovers
when I came back to you for the last time.
They were scattered across your carpet like cruel reminders of all the other heads
that lied in the bed that was always mine.
I wonder if she ever finds mine and feels the same.
Probably not.

I imagine you’ll reread that book someday,
The one I got you in high school when you went through your philosophical phase.
And I wonder if you’ll notice the inside cover where I wrote “I love you”.
I’d always thought there was something special about a book with an inscription.

I remember sitting there for a long while, trying to think of something heartfelt
to say to you,
But all I could manage was “I love you”.
Maybe that’s because I knew that anything else I felt for you would have an expiration date
And I’d wonder if you’d read it when I was gone, and those words wouldn’t be true anymore.
Or not to you.
But I think of you reading it now and it won’t seem silly because it will
always be true.
For both of us, I think.

I think about the time when I first moved to your big city
And I got lost in your neighborhood and I saw you from my car.
You were walking right towards me.
I drove away as fast as I could and I couldn’t breathe or talk or smile.
Did you see me too?
I looked in my rearview mirror, and you never looked back as I drove.
I wanted so badly for you to move away.

I can’t help but wonder if you wonder
About your drawings and your notes and the music you showed me and if I still listen to it.
I do.
If I still wear my black pants that made you go crazy
or if I refuse to listen to The Joker, despite my favorite song lyric of all time,
because it reminds me of the time on your uncle's dock
When we decided we needed a song but we were both too drunk to think of anything sentimental.

I wonder if you imagine a bittersweet feeling coming over me
when I hear the Bee Gees and think of you singing in your Elmo voice,
Or if i ever find myself recalling one of your "facts of the day" and wondering where I learned it.

******, I hope you wonder.
Cj Jan 2019
I wonder what you’d think of me
I wonder if you think of me
I wonder if you remember  me
I wonder if you want to remember  me
I wonder if you’ve cried over me

I miss you
I want you
I need you
I love you

I wonder if you miss me
I wonder if you want me
I wonder if you need me
I wonder if you love me

I imagine you
I see pictures of you
I wish for you
I beg for you

I wonder if you imagine me
I wonder if you see pictures of me
I wonder if you wish for me
I wonder if you beg for me

I wish you were mine.
Anonymous May 2018
The sky cried again today, it was sad and angry.
I wonder, if it was supposed to flood the earth and **** all living.
I wonder, if the raindrops are really tears of those, who cried today.
I wonder, how many must have cried today, to make the grass smell like it showered.
I wonder, if lightning is a photoshoot of the world, before it’s drowning.
I wonder, who is going to look at the pictures taken today.
I wonder, if thunder is the drumroll before the surprise.
I wonder, if everyone feels the beat in their veins.
I wonder, if the raindrops are afraid of landing on the leaves of the high trees.
I wonder, if the trees ever look down at us and think of all the better ways they could rule this world.
I wonder, if they ever scream at us, to stop ruining their earth.
I wonder, why we take this world for granted and call it ours.
I wonder, if we took this world from a better cause, to make the sky cry.
I wonder if I am the only one to see this broken world in the rain and,
I wonder, if I am the only one to hear the endless screams of pain, to see the tears of so many, covered up by an act of nature.
I wonder, if humanity has survived longer than it should have.
I wonder…
Danziel Sep 2014
I wonder what the world holds in store for me
The sky is the limit but who knows
Seems like the world has it in for me
Growing up, the world has produced a lot of enemies
I've been pushed to the limit
I wonder why

Its because I'm the nice guy
Who always tries to please
I wonder if someone would do the same for me
Going the distance to lend a helping hand
Giving good advice when no one else can
I wonder is there anyone true

Probably not
Because the way things are going
It's gonna be a dog eat dog world
Survival of the fittest
I wonder, will I make it?
Still, I'm undergoing training
I just wonder

Will the earth withstand bombardment
Shrapnel and fire
Murderous intentions
With some of the sickest desires
Is the end around the corner
I wonder

By using faith and prayer
Will it save us, I hope cause
We all took a dive into sin
I wonder, can we all be cleansed
I say that because some people are pure evil
Hatred has consumed them
I wonder

Where did peace go
I guess it fell up under war
It was stomped out by the people
Who is looking for a score
I wonder did it ever have a chance
All I can do is wonder

-V.v.V. Ds
Musicgurl97 Jan 2014
Sometimes I wonder about the girl in the back of the class with the Hogwarts shirt who knows everything.
Sometimes I wonder about the shy, new boy who is slightly bigger than the rest of our Psych class.
Sometimes I wonder about the varsity soccer player with a little sister who is a newcomer.  
Sometimes I wonder about how my math teacher and assistant director are dating.
Sometimes I wonder why the boy in my English class feels the need to argue everything.
Sometimes I wonder how the girls in my class do their makeup so precisely.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like without my siblings.
Sometimes I wonder what I would do if my best friend died.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I died.
Sometimes I wonder about my future.
Sometimes I wonder how we're all connected without really being connected at all.
PoetAnonymous Oct 2013
I wonder what you'd do if you saw these..

I wonder if you'd be creeped out..
I wonder if you'd think I'm crazy..
I wonder if you'd actually appreciate them..
I wonder if you'd finally appreciate me..
I wonder if you'd still talk to me..
I wonder if you'd understand me..
I wonder if you'd realize I actually do love you..
I wonder if you'd even accept my love..
I wonder if you'd enjoy them..
I wonder if you'd re-read them..

But most of all,
I wonder if you'd love me back.
Arwen Apr 2014
I wonder if you know how much
I still think about you?
You are one of the first thoughts
when I wake in the morning
and one of the last thoughts  
when I go to bed at night.

I wonder if you truly understand
how much I miss you?
How you would hold me
when our bodies were close.  
How I would catch you looking
at me, as if in amazement.
How your charcoal blue eyes
gazed into mine when we talked.  

I wonder if you realize that  
despite allowing you time and space,
that you still mean so much to me?
It does not matter to me how
long I have known you,
you were able to allow me to
feel things that I was not so  
sure I would be ever able to feel again.  

I wonder if you know how much
I yearn for us to try again?
That each day without you in it
has been harder than I realized
it could possibly be.
That each day I wonder how you
are you and what you are doing.

I wonder if you will ever get to
the point of accepting that  
I am exactly who I showed you?
That you believe my words.
That you believe my actions.
That you believe in me.    

I wonder if you will ever give
your heart to me fully?
To finally conquer your fears
and let me in.
To trust me enough    
to hold your hand through life.  
To become your best friend.

I wonder if you can have
faith in love again?  
To believe that someone truly
does care about you.
That someone wants to know everything
there is to know about you.  
That someone just wants  
a chance to walk around in your heart.  

I wonder if you think of me?
If you miss my embrace,
my eyes meeting yours.
The chemistry we felt.  
The laughs we shared.  
The support I gave you,
regardless of knowing how
precarious your situation is.

I wonder if you will ever see  
the good in me and just try  
to allow me to be a part of your life?
All these thoughts of wondering
are always on my mind.  
I wonder, I truly do wonder…  


Vicki A. Zinn

April 20, 2014
This poem is dedicated to a very special person who I just haven't been able to get out of my mind.  I wonder if I ever truly will??
ryn Mar 2015
Wonder if when constellations do align
And universe would finally see.
Would it be presumptious of me
To claim that then, finally you'd be mine.

Wonder if my sense would triumph over
So that my heart would be muted.
With all its contents looted...
Would I only seem sillier?

Wonder if I walked away
In due course.
You'd then take my hand in yours
So that a minute longer I'd stay...

Wonder if you'd understand
When if these feet
Should choose to retreat...
That they had to... It wasn't planned.

Wonder if it'd make a difference
If I said that I had to...
Not for me but more for you.
Would we still be able to love in silence?

Wonder if you'd wish that you made it all clear.
Before the gravity of reality would crush us,
Before the vastness of uncertainty swallows us,
Before my presence would diminish and inevitably disappear.

Wonder if you find my pessimism exhausting.
The volatile nature of my moods...
Especially when I dive deep in solitude
And resurface with a trove of words that are no less than exasperating.

Wonder if you loved me enough
In a day...
To stop me from walking away...
Or loved me too much to plainly say

That...

Future's days would see us apart...
Future's moon would glow but not for us...
Future's stars would sing but not of us...
Future's sun would dry out the passion in our hearts.
Andrew Tang Apr 2017
All great stories have a beginning , a middle & a end,
But not necessarily in that order.

I wonder what metaphor you should be,
Like I wonder if our story is just at the beginning  or just at the ending.
Or if there is a fairy tale ending.
THE END .
What is on the last page of a book was on
The first chapter of ours titled rejection.

I wonder why I had to laugh to the sound of no
Just to make this easier for you
I wonder is this the false face of a lover,
Simply to care.
I wonder am I allowed to use the  word love
When our story together never really began.

I wonder if there is an alternative to the two paths I can take,
Like I wonder do you realise my meaning behind how 'I want  to watch you grow',
If the two lesser roles you had offered to me is mine to pick  to be stranger or friends
For the lesser plot of our Middle,
Let me explain,
I wanted to be somone special in this story
If you allow me to.

But instead I'm probably going to be
Like a social therapist,
Like a guardian angel,
Like a hero who does not  wear capes.

But instead I'm probably going to be
Always listening and never fixing,
Always blessing  but never protecting,
Always  changing and never rescuing.

I wonder why you  can be so certain,
I wonder  was it easy for you to edit away at this life's story

I wonder if you Know why you re called  a baby chick?
You're like a baby chick who has yet to grow out feathers
Like a chick that does not give out hope,
Cause hope is a thing of feathers.

I wonder if this relationship is at the ending or  at the beginning?
P.S. you ****
Sometimes I let my mind wonder about the message I'll write to a girl I liked.
FIRST DAY

1.
Who wanted me
to go to Chicago
on January 6th?
I did!

The night before,
20 below zero
Fahrenheit
with the wind chill;
as the blizzard of 99
lay in mountains
of blackening snow.

I packed two coats,
two suits,
three sweaters,
multiple sets of long johns
and heavy white socks
for a two-day stay.

I left from Newark.
**** the denseness,
it confounds!

The 2nd City to whom?
2nd ain’t bad.
It’s pretty good.
If you consider
Peking and Prague,
Tokyo and Togo,
Manchester and Moscow,
Port Au Prince and Paris,
Athens and Amsterdam,
Buenos Aries and Johannesburg;
that’s pretty good.

What’s going on here today?
It’s friggin frozen.
To the bone!

But Chi Town is still cool.
Buddy Guy’s is open.
Bartenders mixing drinks,
cabbies jamming on their breaks,
honey dew waitresses serving sugar,
buildings swerving,
fire tongued preachers are preaching
and the farmers are measuring the moon.

The lake,
unlike Ontario
is in the midst of freezing.
Bones of ice
threaten to gel
into a solid mass
over the expanse
of the Michigan Lake.
If this keeps up,
you can walk
clear to Toronto
on a silver carpet.

Along the shore
the ice is permanent.
It’s the first big frost
of winter
after a long
Indian Summer.

Thank God
I caught a cab.
Outside I hear
The Hawk
nippin hard.
It’ll get your ear,
finger or toe.
Bite you on the nose too
if you ain’t careful.

Thank God,
I’m not walking
the Wabash tonight;
but if you do cover up,
wear layers.

Chicago,
could this be
Sandburg’s City?

I’m overwhelmed
and this is my tenth time here.

It’s almost better,
sometimes it is better,
a lot of times it is better
and denser then New York.

Ask any Bull’s fan.
I’m a Knickerbocker.
Yes Nueva York,
a city that has placed last
in the standings
for many years.
Except the last two.
Yanks are # 1!

But Chicago
is a dynasty,
as big as
Sammy Sosa’s heart,
rich and wide
as Michael Jordan’s grin.

Middle of a country,
center of a continent,
smack dab in the mean
of a hemisphere,
vortex to a world,
Chicago!

Kansas City,
Nashville,
St. Louis,
Detroit,
Cleveland,
Pittsburgh,
Denver,
New Orleans,
Dallas,
Cairo,
Singapore,
Auckland,
Baghdad,
Mexico City
and Montreal
salute her.



2.
Cities,
A collection of vanities?
Engineered complex utilitarianism?
The need for community a social necessity?
Ego one with the mass?
Civilization’s latest *******?
Chicago is more then that.

Jefferson’s yeoman farmer
is long gone
but this capitol
of the Great Plains
is still democratic.

The citizen’s of this city
would vote daily,
if they could.

Chicago,
Sandburg’s Chicago,
Could it be?

The namesake river
segments the city,
canals of commerce,
all perpendicular,
is rife throughout,
still guiding barges
to the Mississippi
and St. Laurence.

Now also
tourist attractions
for a cafe society.

Chicago is really jazzy,
swanky clubs,
big steaks,
juices and drinks.

You get the best
coffee from Seattle
and the finest teas
from China.

Great restaurants
serve liquid jazz
al la carte.

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they serve is Jazz
Rock me steady
Keep the beat
Keep it flowin
Feel the heat!

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they is, is Jazz
Fast cars will take ya
To the show
Round bout midnight
Where’d the time go?

Flows into the Mississippi,
the mother of America’s rivers,
an empires aorta.

Great Lakes wonder of water.
Niagara Falls
still her heart gushes forth.

Buffalo connected to this holy heart.
Finger Lakes and Adirondacks
are part of this watershed,
all the way down to the
Delaware and Chesapeake.

Sandburg’s Chicago?
Oh my my,
the wonder of him.
Who captured the imagination
of the wonders of rivers.

Down stream other holy cities
from the Mississippi delta
all mapped by him.

Its mouth our Dixie Trumpet
guarded by righteous Cajun brethren.

Midwest?
Midwest from where?
It’s north of Caracas and Los Angeles,
east of Fairbanks,
west of Dublin
and south of not much.

Him,
who spoke of honest men
and loving women.
Working men and mothers
bearing citizens to build a nation.
The New World’s
precocious adolescent
caught in a stream
of endless and exciting change,
much pain and sacrifice,
dedication and loss,
pride and tribulations.

From him we know
all the people’s faces.
All their stories are told.
Never defeating the
idea of Chicago.

Sandburg had the courage to say
what was in the heart of the people, who:

Defeated the Indians,
Mapped the terrain,
Aided slavers,
Fought a terrible civil war,
Hoisted the barges,
Grew the food,
Whacked the wheat,
Sang the songs,
Fought many wars of conquest,
Cleared the land,
Erected the bridges,
Trapped the game,
Netted the fish,
Mined the coal,
Forged the steel,
Laid the tracks,
Fired the tenders,
Cut the stone,
Mixed the mortar,
Plumbed the line,
And laid the bricks
Of this nation of cities!

Pardon the Marlboro Man shtick.
It’s a poor expostulation of
crass commercial symbolism.

Like I said, I’m a
Devil Fan from Jersey
and Madison Avenue
has done its work on me.

It’s a strange alchemy
that changes
a proud Nation of Blackhawks
into a merchandising bonanza
of hometown hockey shirts,
making the native seem alien,
and the interloper at home chillin out,
warming his feet atop a block of ice,
guzzling Old Style
with clicker in hand.

Give him his beer
and other diversions.
If he bowls with his buddy’s
on Tuesday night
I hope he bowls
a perfect game.

He’s earned it.
He works hard.
Hard work and faith
built this city.

And it’s not just the faith
that fills the cities
thousand churches,
temples and
mosques on the Sabbath.

3.
There is faith in everything in Chicago!

An alcoholic broker named Bill
lives the Twelve Steps
to banish fear and loathing
for one more day.
Bill believes in sobriety.

A tug captain named Moe
waits for the spring thaw
so he can get the barges up to Duluth.
Moe believes in the seasons.

A farmer named Tom
hopes he has reaped the last
of many bitter harvests.
Tom believes in a new start.

A homeless man named Earl
wills himself a cot and a hot
at the local shelter.
Earl believes in deliverance.

A Pullman porter
named George
works overtime
to get his first born
through medical school.
George believes in opportunity.

A folk singer named Woody
sings about his
countrymen inheritance
and implores them to take it.
Woody believes in people.

A Wobbly named Joe
organizes fellow steelworkers
to fight for a workers paradise
here on earth.
Joe believes in ideals.

A bookkeeper named Edith
is certain she’ll see the Cubs
win the World Series
in her lifetime.
Edith believes in miracles.

An electrician named ****
saves money
to bring his family over from Gdansk.
**** believes in America.

A banker named Leah
knows Ditka will return
and lead the Bears
to another Super Bowl.
Leah believes in nostalgia.

A cantor named Samuel
prays for another 20 years
so he can properly train
his Temple’s replacement.

Samuel believes in tradition.
A high school girl named Sally
refuses to get an abortion.
She knows she carries
something special within her.
Sally believes in life.

A city worker named Mazie
ceaselessly prays
for her incarcerated son
doing 10 years at Cook.
Mazie believes in redemption.

A jazzer named Bix
helps to invent a new art form
out of the mist.
Bix believes in creativity.

An architect named Frank
restores the Rookery.
Frank believes in space.

A soldier named Ike
fights wars for democracy.
Ike believes in peace.

A Rabbi named Jesse
sermonizes on Moses.
Jesse believes in liberation.

Somewhere in Chicago
a kid still believes in Shoeless Joe.
The kid believes in
the integrity of the game.

An Imam named Louis
is busy building a nation
within a nation.
Louis believes in
self-determination.

A teacher named Heidi
gives all she has to her students.
She has great expectations for them all.
Heidi believes in the future.

4.
Does Chicago have a future?

This city,
full of cowboys
and wildcatters
is predicated
on a future!

Bang, bang
Shoot em up
Stake the claim
It’s your terrain
Drill the hole
Strike it rich
Top it off
You’re the boss
Take a chance
Watch it wane
Try again
Heavenly gains

Chicago
city of futures
is a Holy Mecca
to all day traders.

Their skin is gray,
hair disheveled,
loud ties and
funny coats,
thumb through
slips of paper
held by nail
chewed hands.
Selling promises
with no derivative value
for out of the money calls
and in the money puts.
Strike is not a labor action
in this city of unionists,
but a speculators mark,
a capitalist wish,
a hedgers bet,
a public debt
and a farmers
fair return.

Indexes for everything.
Quantitative models
that could burst a kazoo.

You know the measure
of everything in Chicago.
But is it truly objective?
Have mathematics banished
subjective intentions,
routing it in fair practice
of market efficiencies,
a kind of scientific absolution?

I heard that there
is a dispute brewing
over the amount of snowfall
that fell on the 1st.

The mayor’s office,
using the official city ruler
measured 22”
of snow on the ground.

The National Weather Service
says it cannot detect more
then 17” of snow.

The mayor thinks
he’ll catch less heat
for the trains that don’t run
the buses that don’t arrive
and the schools that stand empty
with the addition of 5”.

The analysts say
it’s all about capturing liquidity.

Liquidity,
can you place a great lake
into an eyedropper?

Its 20 below
and all liquid things
are solid masses
or a gooey viscosity at best.

Water is frozen everywhere.
But Chi town is still liquid,
flowing faster
then the digital blips
flashing on the walls
of the CBOT.

Dreams
are never frozen in Chicago.
The exchanges trade
without missing a beat.

Trading wet dreams,
the crystallized vapor
of an IPO
pledging a billion points
of Internet access
or raiding the public treasuries
of a central bank’s
huge stores of gold
with currency swaps.

Using the tools
of butterfly spreads
and candlesticks
to achieve the goal.

Short the Russell
or buy the Dow,
go long the
CAC and DAX.
Are you trading in euro’s?
You better be
or soon will.
I know
you’re Chicago,
you’ll trade anything.
WEBS,
Spiders,
and Leaps
are traded here,
along with sweet crude,
North Sea Brent,
plywood and T-Bill futures;
and most importantly
the commodities,
the loam
that formed this city
of broad shoulders.

What about our wheat?
Still whacking and
breadbasket to the world.

Oil,
an important fossil fuel
denominated in
good ole greenbacks.

Porkbellies,
not just hogwash
on the Wabash,
but bacon, eggs
and flapjacks
are on the menu
of every diner in Jersey
as the “All American.”

Cotton,
our contribution
to the Golden Triangle,
once the global currency
used to enrich a
gentlemen class
of cultured
southern slavers,
now Tommy Hilfiger’s
preferred fabric.

I think he sends it
to Bangkok where
child slaves
spin it into
gold lame'.

Sorghum,
I think its hardy.

Soybeans,
the new age substitute
for hamburger
goes great with tofu lasagna.

Corn,
ADM creates ethanol,
they want us to drive cleaner cars.

Cattle,
once driven into this city’s
bloodhouses for slaughter,
now ground into
a billion Big Macs
every year.

When does a seed
become a commodity?
When does a commodity
become a future?
When does a future expire?

You can find the answers
to these questions in Chicago
and find a fortune in a hole in the floor.

Look down into the pits.
Hear the screams of anguish
and profitable delights.

Frenzied men
swarming like a mass
of epileptic ants
atop the worlds largest sugar cube
auger the worlds free markets.

The scene is
more chaotic then
100 Haymarket Square Riots
multiplied by 100
1968 Democratic Conventions.

Amidst inverted anthills,
they scurry forth and to
in distinguished
black and red coats.

Fighting each other
as counterparties
to a life and death transaction.

This is an efficient market
that crosses the globe.

Oil from the Sultan of Brunei,
Yen from the land of Hitachi,
Long Bonds from the Fed,
nickel from Quebec,
platinum and palladium
from Siberia,
FTSE’s from London
and crewel cane from Havana
circle these pits.

Tijuana,
Shanghai
and Istanbul's
best traders
are only half as good
as the average trader in Chicago.

Chicago,
this hog butcher to the world,
specializes in packaging and distribution.

Men in blood soaked smocks,
still count the heads
entering the gates of the city.

Their handiwork
is sent out on barges
and rail lines as frozen packages
of futures
waiting for delivery
to an anonymous counterparty
half a world away.

This nation’s hub
has grown into the
premier purveyor
to the world;
along all the rivers,
highways,
railways
and estuaries
it’s tentacles reach.

5.
Sandburg’s Chicago,
is a city of the world’s people.

Many striver rows compose
its many neighborhoods.

Nordic stoicism,
Eastern European orthodoxy
and Afro-American
calypso vibrations
are three of many cords
strumming the strings
of Chicago.

Sandburg’s Chicago,
if you wrote forever
you would only scratch its surface.

People wait for trains
to enter the city from O’Hare.
Frozen tears
lock their eyes
onto distant skyscrapers,
solid chunks
of snot blocks their nose
and green icicles of slime
crust mustaches.
They fight to breathe.

Sandburg’s Chicago
is The Land of Lincoln,
Savior of the Union,
protector of the Republic.
Sent armies
of sons and daughters,
barges, boxcars,
gunboats, foodstuffs,
cannon and shot
to raze the south
and stamp out succession.

Old Abe’s biography
are still unknown volumes to me.
I must see and read the great words.
You can never learn enough;
but I’ve been to Washington
and seen the man’s memorial.
The Free World’s 8th wonder,
guarded by General Grant,
who still keeps an eye on Richmond
and a hand on his sword.

Through this American winter
Abe ponders.
The vista he surveys is dire and tragic.

Our sitting President
impeached
for lying about a *******.

Party partisans
in the senate are sworn and seated.
Our Chief Justice,
adorned with golden bars
will adjudicate the proceedings.
It is the perfect counterpoint
to an ageless Abe thinking
with malice toward none
and charity towards all,
will heal the wounds
of the nation.

Abe our granite angel,
Chicago goes on,
The Union is strong!


SECOND DAY

1.
Out my window
the sun has risen.

According to
the local forecast
its minus 9
going up to
6 today.

The lake,
a golden pillow of clouds
is frozen in time.

I marvel
at the ancients ones
resourcefulness
and how
they mastered
these extreme elements.

Past, present and future
has no meaning
in the Citadel
of the Prairie today.

I set my watch
to Central Standard Time.

Stepping into
the hotel lobby
the concierge
with oil smooth hair,
perfect tie
and English lilt
impeccably asks,
“Do you know where you are going Sir?
Can I give you a map?”

He hands me one of Chicago.
I see he recently had his nails done.
He paints a green line
along Whacker Drive and says,
“turn on Jackson, LaSalle, Wabash or Madison
and you’ll get to where you want to go.”
A walk of 14 or 15 blocks from Streeterville-
(I start at The Chicago White House.
They call it that because Hillary Rodham
stays here when she’s in town.
Its’ also alleged that Stedman
eats his breakfast here
but Opra
has never been seen
on the premises.
I wonder how I gained entry
into this place of elite’s?)
-down into the center of The Loop.

Stepping out of the hotel,
The Doorman
sporting the epaulets of a colonel
on his corporate winter coat
and furry Cossack hat
swaddling his round black face
accosts me.

The skin of his face
is flaking from
the subzero windburn.

He asks me
with a gapped toothy grin,
“Can I get you a cab?”
“No I think I’ll walk,” I answer.
“Good woolen hat,
thick gloves you should be alright.”
He winks and lets me pass.

I step outside.
The Windy City
flings stabbing cold spears
flying on wings of 30-mph gusts.
My outside hardens.
I can feel the freeze
deepen
into my internalness.
I can’t be sure
but inside
my heart still feels warm.
For how long
I cannot say.

I commence
my walk
among the spires
of this great city,
the vertical leaps
that anchor the great lake,
holding its place
against the historic
frigid assault.

The buildings’ sway,
modulating to the blows
of natures wicked blasts.

It’s a hard imposition
on a city and its people.

The gloves,
skullcap,
long underwear,
sweater,
jacket
and overcoat
not enough
to keep the cold
from penetrating
the person.

Like discerning
the layers of this city,
even many layers,
still not enough
to understand
the depth of meaning
of the heart
of this heartland city.

Sandburg knew the city well.
Set amidst groves of suburbs
that extend outward in every direction.
Concentric circles
surround the city.
After the burbs come farms,
Great Plains, and mountains.
Appalachians and Rockies
are but mere molehills
in the city’s back yard.
It’s terra firma
stops only at the sea.
Pt. Barrow to the Horn,
many capes extended.

On the periphery
its appendages,
its extremities,
its outward extremes.
All connected by the idea,
blown by the incessant wind
of this great nation.
The Windy City’s message
is sent to the world’s four corners.
It is a message of power.
English the worlds
common language
is spoken here,
along with Ebonics,
Espanol,
Mandarin,
Czech,
Russian,
Korean,
Arabic,
Hindi­,
German,
French,
electronics,
steel,
cars,
cartoons,
rap,
sports­,
movies,
capital,
wheat
and more.

Always more.
Much much more
in Chicago.

2.
Sandburg
spoke all the dialects.

He heard them all,
he understood
with great precision
to the finest tolerances
of a lathe workers micrometer.

Sandburg understood
what it meant to laugh
and be happy.

He understood
the working mans day,
the learned treatises
of university chairs,
the endless tomes
of the city’s
great libraries,
the lost languages
of the ancient ones,
the secret codes
of abstract art,
the impact of architecture,
the street dialects and idioms
of everymans expression of life.

All fighting for life,
trying to build a life,
a new life
in this modern world.

Walking across
the Michigan Avenue Bridge
I see the Wrigley Building
is neatly carved,
catty cornered on the plaza.

I wonder if Old Man Wrigley
watched his barges
loaded with spearmint
and double-mint
move out onto the lake
from one of those Gothic windows
perched high above the street.

Would he open a window
and shout to the men below
to quit slaking and work harder
or would he
between the snapping sound
he made with his mouth
full of his chewing gum
offer them tickets
to a ballgame at Wrigley Field
that afternoon?

Would the men below
be able to understand
the man communing
from such a great height?

I listen to a man
and woman conversing.
They are one step behind me
as we meander along Wacker Drive.

"You are in Chicago now.”
The man states with profundity.
“If I let you go
you will soon find your level
in this city.
Do you know what I mean?”

No I don’t.
I think to myself.
What level are you I wonder?
Are you perched atop
the transmission spire
of the Hancock Tower?

I wouldn’t think so
or your ears would melt
from the windburn.

I’m thinking.
Is she a kept woman?
She is majestically clothed
in fur hat and coat.
In animal pelts
not trapped like her,
but slaughtered
from farms
I’m sure.

What level
is he speaking of?

Many levels
are evident in this city;
many layers of cobbled stone,
Pennsylvania iron,
Hoosier Granite
and vertical drops.

I wonder
if I detect
condensation
in his voice?

What is
his intention?
Is it a warning
of a broken affair?
A pending pink slip?
Advise to an addict
refusing to adhere
to a recovery regimen?

What is his level anyway?
Is he so high and mighty,
Higher and mightier
then this great city
which we are all a part of,
which we all helped to build,
which we all need
in order to keep this nation
the thriving democratic
empire it is?

This seditious talk!

3.
The Loop’s El
still courses through
the main thoroughfares of the city.

People are transported
above the din of the street,
looking down
on the common pedestrians
like me.

Super CEO’s
populating the upper floors
of Romanesque,
Greek Revivalist,
New Bauhaus,
Art Deco
and Post Nouveau
Neo-Modern
Avant-Garde towers
are too far up
to see me
shivering on the street.

The cars, busses,
trains and trucks
are all covered
with the film
of rock salt.

Salt covers
my bootless feet
and smudges
my cloths as well.

The salt,
the primal element
of the earth
covers everything
in Chicago.

It is the true level
of this city.

The layer
beneath
all layers,
on which
everything
rests,
is built,
grows,
thrives
then dies.
To be
returned again
to the lower
layers
where it can
take root
again
and grow
out onto
the great plains.

Splashing
the nation,
anointing
its people
with its
blessing.

A blessing,
Chicago?

All rivers
come here.

All things
found its way here
through the canals
and back bays
of the world’s
greatest lakes.

All roads,
rails and
air routes
begin and
end here.

Mrs. O’Leary’s cow
got a *** rap.
It did not start the fire,
we did.

We lit the torch
that flamed
the city to cinders.
From a pile of ash
Chicago rose again.

Forever Chicago!
Forever the lamp
that burns bright
on a Great Lake’s
western shore!

Chicago
the beacon
sends the
message to the world
with its windy blasts,
on chugging barges,
clapping trains,
flying tandems,
T1 circuits
and roaring jets.

Sandburg knew
a Chicago
I will never know.

He knew
the rhythm of life
the people walked to.
The tools they used,
the dreams they dreamed
the songs they sang,
the things they built,
the things they loved,
the pains that hurt,
the motives that grew,
the actions that destroyed
the prayers they prayed,
the food they ate
their moments of death.

Sandburg knew
the layers of the city
to the depths
and windy heights
I cannot fathom.

The Blues
came to this city,
on the wing
of a chirping bird,
on the taps
of a rickety train,
on the blast
of an angry sax
rushing on the wind,
on the Westend blitz
of Pop's brash coronet,
on the tink of
a twinkling piano
on a paddle-wheel boat
and on the strings
of a lonely man’s guitar.

Walk into the clubs,
tenements,
row houses,
speakeasies
and you’ll hear the Blues
whispered like
a quiet prayer.

Tidewater Blues
from Virginia,
Delta Blues
from the lower
Mississippi,
Boogie Woogie
from Appalachia,
Texas Blues
from some Lone Star,
Big Band Blues
from Kansas City,
Blues from
Beal Street,
Jelly Roll’s Blues
from the Latin Quarter.

Hell even Chicago
got its own brand
of Blues.

Its all here.
It ended up here
and was sent away
on the winds of westerly blows
to the ear of an eager world
on strong jet streams
of simple melodies
and hard truths.

A broad
shouldered woman,
a single mother stands
on the street
with three crying babes.
Their cloths
are covered
in salt.
She pleads
for a break,
praying
for a new start.
Poor and
under-clothed
against the torrent
of frigid weather
she begs for help.
Her blond hair
and ****** features
suggests her
Scandinavian heritage.
I wonder if
she is related to Sandburg
as I walk past
her on the street.
Her feet
are bleeding
through her
canvass sneakers.
Her babes mouths
are zipped shut
with frozen drivel
and mucous.

The Blues live
on in Chicago.

The Blues
will forever live in her.
As I turn the corner
to walk the Miracle Mile
I see her engulfed
in a funnel cloud of salt,
snow and bits
of white paper,
swirling around her
and her children
in an angry
unforgiving
maelstrom.

The family
begins to
dissolve
like a snail
sprinkled with salt;
and a mother
and her children
just disappear
into the pavement
at the corner
of Dearborn,
in Chicago.

Music:

Robert Johnson
Sweet Home Chicago


jbm
Chicago
1/7/99
Added today to commemorate the birthday of Carl Sandburg

— The End —