"worldview" poems
Perhaps, We have a worldview, that has turned a bit myopic.
Perhaps, We need a checkup from a doctor for Our optics,
Perhaps, We need for them to write Us out a new prescription, then
Perhaps, We'd see the truth in life that's written in inscription,
Perhaps, the Earth is weeping somberly, but We don't care to listen,
Perhaps, it warns us of Our doom when global profits are our mission
Perhaps, the World is run by men, whose only drive is for themselves
Perhaps, the few will **** the many, just for monetary wealth,
Perhaps, We're all too blind to understand the implications,
Perhaps, a future fraught with poverty and war is what We're facing
Perhaps, a different train of thought, is faintly running by adjacent,
Perhaps, it's one that wrests its life from the stagnation of complacence
Perhaps, We're living forms of life that have been cast inside a mold
Perhaps, estrangement from each other causes Our Hearts to grow cold
Perhaps, all concentrated power's an illusion, We behold,
Perhaps, We all could take it back, if We'd stop doing what We're told
Perhaps, Our Being is unique, and isn't something predefined,
Perhaps, Our priorities in life should they themselves be redefined,
Perhaps, Our voices are of import, and should not be undermined,
Perhaps, We all should organize, and build a world of new design
Perhaps, it is the Media that keeps Us all divided,
Perhaps, We should act neighborly and strive to be united,
Perhaps, in living as a People, We would find Ourselves delighted, and
Perhaps, We'd change the status quo, if We would only try to fight it.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
But that's not true!
Look at Trostky and Lenin,
Michael Myers and Lennon,
The other Lennon.
It's hard to differentiate in name and legacy,
Because both Lennon's were revolutionaries,
Marching around like the freshman from heaven.
But neither believed they were the result of divine intervention in the affairs of man,
Because this convention would threaten their worldview and beckon away their sanity...
In the same way that the Pope or ****** let their divine vanity commit greater blasphemy and bring them future agony.
Now neither Lennon nor Lenin came anywhere close to being men from Galilee,
In fact they were more the men of the galaxy,
Or at least, John was, with his peach fuzz beard and his belief that love is greater than fear.
The other Lenin implemented the New Economic Policy, to starve the proletariat and start his revolution on an already hypocritical trend that would continue quite the same until the very end.
And it proves something, does it not?
Violence sends a message to no one but the instigator,
Changing them to justify, and claim is wasn't misbehavior;
But that's a lie, no idea of mine is worth the death of a human mind,
And to pretend otherwise makes one delude themselves that they aren't an instigator, but an illustrator,
Painting in the blood as if ****** makes an innovator.
And for ****** there is no vindicator,
Violence is an image breaker,
Indulged in by poor imitators who think they're right, and the world is wrong.
Unaware this makes them weak, not strong.
Now John Lennon was the true revolutionary;
Although he succumbed to violence, he veered away from it, even when it was necessary.
He fought the war, and yes, the war did win,
But at least he didn't cover his scars with artificial skin,
Or deny his implicit wrongs as a result of all original sin.
John Lennon used the word 'nigger' to the opposite effect.
He used the word to trigger something bigger and correct,
The wrong that seemed so propagated by the last colonial tide,
Of which the other Lenin defected and took colonialism's side.
John Lennon was Utopian and told us of a better world;
He interjected definition, and caused old thoughts to curl away in fright,
And bite the dust despite their might and past dominion of industrialism,
It was a schism, and it still plagues us to this day.
John Lennon understood we over-complicate way
To
Often.
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
"Some body" is something,
And some body can change the world.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
I'm in a bad perspective
Selfish in my worldview
I apolpgize for judging everyone
I'm just as messed up as you.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial. On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death.
Open sky annulled
to bordered lines of
uptown edges,
worldview momentarily
forcibly redefined by
memories of buildings and sadder days,
recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising
A photograph
makes me look up,
and sit down historically,
need to catch a breath,
to rest mentally,
upon a storied small bridge's steps,
that I well recall,
a disappeared street stoop.
all were rubble then and once
upon that day.
Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective,
but the hardy heart is hardly stilled
by the recognizable gray upon
bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of
memories of buildings and sadder days
So today, on a reborn street,
I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone,
the city's lowered down ledges,
the city's lowered down-town boundaries,
constantly redrawn, but
nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own
regenerated stony compost,
and the NY passersby doesn't even notice
a man, head in hands,
silently weeping, thinking that:
We throw away so much we should have kept.
We keep so much we should have thrown away.
Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses
locked away in compartments that open only to
benedictions uttered in ancient tongues.
Make your own list,
be your own curator,
catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs,
museum mile pile
those early poetic drafts,
be unafraid of memories
raw and ungentrified,
overlaid, buried underneath
postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques
Finally went downtown to see
where the blessed water falls
into catacomb pits that once
were the foundations
of buildings that ruled the cityscape,
downtown anchors
for a modern city that exists
only because it was built on
million year old granite bedrock
Stone monuments are stolid, discrete.
Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency.
Negatives resurrected that survive digitally,
all blend synthetically, layer upon layer,
essence distilled in a single,
black and white photograph
that serves to
disturb complacency,
awaken stilled pain,
reflections suppressed,
are restored
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
I don't wear makeup.
I don't want to.
I don't want a pretty face,
Smiling and nodding,
Lulling you into a false sense of security.
Children are being ****** out by their own parents!
People are being murdered by the officials meant to protect them!
There are people so scared of their emotions they would rather die than confront them!
And you're ****** because I don't meet the beauty standards you adopted from our society?
Everyone is being forced to say sorry
And smile
And giggle
To make themselves and others believe that the superficial problems they face are dire
And that when they solve that they've accomplished something
And that everyone is just swell.
Not me.
I'm more blessed than I'll ever know
More fortunate than I'll ever appreciate and I'll do my best to save everyone,
To fix what is wrong.
So if I become over zealous
And ***** up my face
And disturb you
And force you to reconstruct your worldview
I'm not apologizing
And if you hope to take solace on beauty afterwards
To seek comfort on the familiar
My face still won't be made up
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
basic arithmetic in terms of punctuation, otherwise? simply the arithmetic of punctuation: what does (,) equal? what does (.) equal? what does (:) equal? what does (-) equal? what does (;) equal? come on, quick! quick! give me a number!
to think, is to not narrate,
much of what is regarded as
"thinking", simply becomes as art
of narration
that is sofa-bound, i.e. so comfortable
that it feels it has no inclination
toward the use of hands as ever
being idle, it simply replaces
hands with a tongue...
hence: idle speech,
hence political speech;
so if the "devil" has work for idle hands,
then "god" has work for the idle zunge
(tongue)...
but most people don't think,
because their thinkling is solely about
narrating,
their day-to-day...
and i appreciate this custom,
in the cognitive realm...
i really do...
how many jokes ushered into
the void of one's silence, neither whisphers,
nor hummings, nor whistling...
wiser still, essentially unchanged...
but heidegger's aphorism no. 285
really bothers me...
the reader looking into the narrator
given the existentialist inverted commas
(iberian inverted questioning
¿ ? that's the first step toward
an iberian existentialism)
said the third person,
with third party sources, the middle man,
the second person, and then the reader
of the writer's original testimony?
if northern existentialism (french / german...
the english were too reactionary, and
too easily bored by the continental drift)
encompasses the tool that's " "
then the iberian tool has to be the inverted
question mark, i.e. ¿ ?,
sitting comfortably? no? how about a wheelchair...
let me just break your legs and your spine.
but aphorism 285: "worldview",
"grounding", "configuring"...
i don't understand this allocation of ambiguity,
and an italic stress on da-sein / da-sein...
aren't all the three descriptive elements /
adjectives the purposive sentiments for
originating the concept of dasein?
i had to counter with an iberian existential tool...
after all i said, 'he said', "we said"...
it's a third party medium
of supposed ambiguity...
if there's a santa claus (satan's clause),
then there's pontius pilate's clause,
found in the existential tool of double-ditto " "
or as the english like to say: inverted commas;
or the ritual: of washing your hands clean
from passing the judgement...
they're citation marks to be honest, come on,
let's be pompous, they donned 19th top-hats
at ascot's horse races! who's fooling who?
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
What's a perfect date?
It could be:
Fancy dinner,
Pretty partner,
Roses and lilies,
Weak at the knees,
Holding hands,
Sharing an umbrella in the rain,
Catching you from falling down the drain,
Eyes locked,
Kissing in the rain.
Or maybe it’s:
Spilling your coffee,
A comedy,
No filter,
Matching humour,
Eyes locked,
"Call me daddy,"
You called me crazy,
Talking **** books and movies,
Eyes lit and laughing free,
Then switch to:
Learning something new,
Expanding worldview,
And before we knew,
Time disappears -
Silence,
No words,
Just your breath,
And my heartbeat,
Tears,
And more tears,
Feeling weak yet safe,
Smiling on my own,
I'm home,
In your embrace.
Aug 23, 2023
Aug 23, 2023 at 11:16 AM UTC
There is nothing insignificant in walking past someone.
A whole universe just strolled by,
their anxiety caused by that test coming up,
their worldview that differs from yours,
their moments of joy
pure adrenaline
depression
monotony,
their troubles that may trump yours
their Aunt with that terminal disease
or the Dad that's never home,
their mental to-do lists that grow and grow and grow,
their images of reading on that comfy chair,
their time spent by the bonfire,
and their favorite quote that's always in their head.
But we just keep walking despite all there is to see,
and we're thankful for the people that walk by our side,
and share in our moments,
our troubles,
our images,
our time.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
The world rolls along like an antelope
with a tiger latched on at the hip,
Hungry with no thought of food.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 11:02 PM UTC
They have institutions which are to reveal to us information, for a price.
Information, as if it is hidden; secret.
Inquisitive minds will always seek deeper understanding;
they will use the available resources to seek out accurate and unbiased information
so as to formulate a personally relevant worldview and thereby,
Philosophy.
They have institutions to reveal to us what it is that is already known
as opposed to kindling the spark of curiosity that got us here in the first place.
Information is our birthright as Humans in an era of interconnection such as this.
Intellectual Inurement Institutions are Abominations to such a creature of Reason.
To solve this perpetual problem;
Learn how to teach yourself
then educate yourself about your curiosities.
Follow the spiral; go where no one has been.
Come back with something.
Share it. Profess it.
Then delve back again into the unknown.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
lead me far from the mainland:
i have need no more for their custom.
gore these umbilical cords i share:
i no longer need their worldview,
i have forsaken them
they have, me
writhing akrobatics!
i whip my flagellated tail
and prance defiantly
into the danger zone,
where the crispness leeches
onto my body
and i shudder in view
of the sincerity i have
forsaken for this
my life has terribly been choked,
ab ovo
in principio,
nothing, was i, but a mere ghost.
caged-in oneirataxia:
i cannot distinguish
( i was a saddened victim of kalopsia )
these prefab worlds:
one, real
the other, an illusion
my life has captured me and
coerced me - prisoner
with blackened post 'round my neck
wrenching exposure
and blemish me.
but there,
there is a light
past corridor's end
and i see it, theoretically,
finally
and i remember the one good thing
to come from Pandora's folly:
hope.
i no longer need their choices
which have guided me past with harm
i can fight alone without their armor
which never did fit right, to start
rummaging for the undertow
in this ocean
to take me far from home
where i am embraced
by my prime
their volition:
no more
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
Need
to step
back.
Wound
tight
we are.
spun up
from birth.
Force fed
all we know.
Everything
we know
from one
tiny place.
One mote
of
spacetime.
Self important
are we.
Self important
we think.
Controlling,
manipulating
changing the
world.
Other ways
exists in
different
places.
Perspective
need more
perspective.
Much to
learn.
Infancy still.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
I once was a Person far too set in my ways
to realize how much what I didn't do
hurt the person I love.
I one was a Person too consumed by Self
to see past it's Illusion
and into the beautiful Truth of my life.
I once was a Person lucky enough to be close to you;
and though you say I didn't fail, I sure feel like I did.
I may not have failed you, but I sure failed myself in the process.
Maybe I didn't, but it sure made me think
about how I could change;
and Change has been made.
I'm sorry for the things I did that I shouldn't have
and for the things I didn't that I should have.
I'm terribly sorry my actions and inactions
made you seek your course of recourse.
I hope you can find it in your heart to give me another chance,
I know you may well not want to, and I don't blame you;
Time can be good.
To quote another poem of mine; Age:
"It does take Time
to find and travel your Path,
but it can begin at any Time,
and one can stray at any Time."
I'm sorry I strayed.
I think it can begin anew.
More beautiful.
We had something.
What's gone is gone.
We have potential.
We can begin anew;
begin something new
and more wondrous
than either of us can imagine:
I think we can grow together,
You nourish me.
I want to do the same for you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I adore you.
I miss you so much.
You complete me.
I know it sounds cheesy.. but it's true.
Last weekend at the wedding
when I laid down with you sobbing
about the things I was sobbing about
I had a realization:
I can see myself marrying you;
perhaps not quite yet, but I'd be down.
Normally thinking of marriage freaks me out,
but with you it doesn't.
It would be an honor.
You push me towards a better me
even if I've unintentionally resisted:
(That's part of what's changed
I see how I've been resisting now.
Sorry it took so ******* long ><)
You got me to write things down and share them.
You got me to try new things and to push my comfort zone.
You inspire me to pursue my passions;
to not be ashamed to get in front of People and share them.
You think in ways that the Ordinary can't even imagine.
You make me feel like I belong and that I am loved..
Something so very precious is being lost;
within me
and between us
I really hope we haven't thrown all hope out the window.
I think we have something far too dear to just toss out.
We both need to change, for ourselves and each other,
but I feel that we can do that together. Perhaps better.
I'm really truly sorry it took me losing you
to make me realize what I already had in you.
I'm really sorry it took what it took:
I'm really sorry it took so much Time.
-
I was stubborn and stupid.
I strayed.
We all can.
I value things differently now.
We all should.
My Shadow and Ego had been puppeteering my Mind,
but I've felt the metamorphosis, the renewal, the cleansing;
the Change has crept up and consumed me.
My Worldview has shifted, from the inside turning out.
The World is more beautiful now;
and so are you.
You are the full Moon
in the night of my Mind.
I know I truly love you.
[Please, Forgive me.]
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
I am not a dumb girl. I will never be a dumb girl. In fact, I don't think there's even such thing as a dumb girl, just girls pretending to be dumb. Pretending because they were told that boys don't like girls that are "too smart" or who use big words to explain complex ideas. No, boys like "pretty girls". So that's what girls do, they focus on becoming pretty. They focus more on their hair and makeup than they do on their potential and aspirations. They foster a diverse nail polish collection rather than a diverse worldview. And I am not one of these girls. I embrace my feminist, but not at the cost of my intellect. I make room for my makeup addiction, but I'll never use that makeup to cover up my brilliance. Yes, I like to be noticed for being pretty, but more than that I like to be noticed for my intelligence. I have a fire in my should that could burn down cities, and a kindness that could rebuild nations. So do you. We all do. We all have a greatness inside of us waiting to be released. To stifle that greatness is an immense injustice. To dumb yourself down, or expect someone to dumb themself down to protect your ego, is an enormous disservice to the world. So girls, don't simplify yourselves to being merely pretty, be great. And boys, don't expect us to be pretty, expect us to push you to be greater than you already are. Never accept the role of a "dumb girl", and never perpetuate it.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
I’m taking you off your pedestal.
You aren’t some knight in shining armor,
You are so faraway from being a charmer.
You constantly make up petty little excuses,
Which leave imprints of dark black and blue bruises.
You keep asking me for your trust,
But that’s hard to do when it’s in another girl you ******
I’ve forgiven you one too many times,
It’s sad to think that all I can remember are your countless crimes.
But for some reason or another,
I’m crazy about you,
Hoping I’ll push through,
Change your worldview,
I want my dew to no longer be blue,
So with that I must say adieu.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 4:43 AM UTC
soft-bodied succulents
dutifully separating the perennials
organization crisis, preservative induced
chemically altered worldview
shaped largely by food reconstructed
and the public’s inability to unite against imperialism –
daily newscasts give rise to propaganda
water-cooler hype fest
breaking information
leading with bleeding
enveloping the country in irrational fear
unsafe, even with children
constant threat from every direction
insanity has become the home
of Ward and June Cleaver –
glowing exhaust pipe
as all roads lead back
beginnings resemble endings
all things circular
revolving Revolutionary revolted
remembers regurgitating rancid raspberries
aluminum spray from the sky
coated pesticide residue from below
only the hate left is organic
and pure –
immeasurable, time slides away
plastic incorporated into new organisms
freshly evolved bacteria eat the remains
of humanity and its greatness
traceless epoch forever eroded
undiscovered pockets of micro cilium
dine on the fat reserves
stored in the soil
like oil –
returning gods survey creation version Earth
emotionless and stationary
the process is repeated
as it has been for billions of years
single manipulation
recoding the genetic structure
life begins this journey
one more time –
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart
But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?
They are rooted within:
your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices
Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us
Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand
And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)
Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum
If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?
I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling
As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?
Let me attempt to describe mine:
Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi
Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology
For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 8:25 PM UTC
Alright, alright...
Let's me be honest when I call myself out for being a narcissist.
Because I am a narcissist when it comes to things like music, or poetry, or worldview.
In short, I'm pretty terrible.
But in my narcissism, there is a bit of a God complex.
Feeling like I am invincible and unshakable. Like no one is above me and like nobody can possibly be in my way.
Like I am in control of everything.
Like God.
But definitely not like God.
I try to pull myself away from that kind of thinking because it dehumanizes me. It makes me something I don't want people to see.
It doesn't matter if I enjoy the insanity while it overtakes my body because eventually I will come to realize that this is not the life I want.
That I am better than this.
I mean...
Am I not better?
I don't know.
God?
Can you tell me?
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
The benefit
of challenging anything
too comfortably established
isn’t so much
some clichéd grand expansion
of one’s worldview, but rather
a well-warranted reminder
that anyone claiming to have found
any conclusions is very likely
full of ****
I love you dearly, humanity, but
you discover the world
like a toddler discovers his own foot,
and cling
to obsolete sensibilities
like trying to justify your belief in Santa Claus.
And you hate what you find
when you look too long,
because
you say that you discover the world
but what you so stupidly, so humanly
overlook is that the world bears herself
with no inhibitions, and even though
you can’t see everything immediately,
it’s all there; she has
nothing to prove to you. Yet the mystery
you so excruciatingly choose to maintain
is that even though the earth bares her skin
unashamed, you find her ****** absurd and
clothe her blatant body
in preconception, tragically dedicating
the decoding of your existence
to finding out
what truly lies beneath.
So perhaps, humanity, you should
embrace those who **** you off,
because you cushion your soul
with every reason to distance yourself
from any realization
that there is no inherent parallel
between every finite question
and the eternal answer,
unsatisfied with
the tantalizing ellipsis
the universe leaves you, and that the very fact
I even formed a sentence
is punctuated
by my mortality.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
It is night
Nasrudin walks
in the moonlight
He hears horses
Thieves! Murderers!
thinks Nasrudin
and jumps over the wall
and hides in an open, unused grave
The horsemen stop;
they have seen
a man jump into the grave
and they are concerned:
*Are you all right, Sir?
Why are you in the grave?*
And Nasrudin answers as quickly:
*Why am I in the grave?
That depends on your worldview.
I am here because of you
and you are here because of me!*
Sep 8, 2011
Sep 8, 2011 at 3:47 AM UTC
I’m not much of a poet.
I’m not much of a poet because
Whenever I speak my words, they come tumbling out
Like some amateur circus
I’m not much of a poet because
When I write, it all sounds better in my head.
And I’m not much of a poet because
When I see a rose, that’s all I see
A simple little flower.
I don’t get inspired.
But when I look at you,
When I look at you I see so much more than just a girl.
You inspire me.
I’m not much of a poet but
When I think of you the words they come rushing out
I cannot keep them from escaping my fingertips and
Keating said language was meant to woo
And I don’t know if that’s a lie but
One thing I know is true
Lately, it seems all my language is for you.
When we’re together, I see everything anew, and
I guess that’s just to say
You’ve changed my worldview.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Your shingled roof keeps the sunbeams out of your head
Greasy grime-stained glass windows tint your cracked worldview
Spite dripping from the meaningless words you said
Time and again it rears its ugly head anew
Tiles misaligned by the slow shaking of years past
Rusted doorknob yielding to splintered wooden door
Vestiges of reason leave your mind all too fast
Eaten by insecurities, razed to the floor
Graffiti and dirt lie intertwined on your walls
Fractured wallpaper peels away in strips and flakes
The answering machine inside holds no more calls
The dusty mould on the tabletop swells and cakes
Broken pipes and tangled wires climb up your side
As varicose veins snaking up your wizened spine
All your flaws leak out and there's nowhere left to hide
Groaning in the wind, your voice hissing "They're not mine!"
Your boarded-up middlesection is always torn
Wind-ripped by desolating gusts of delusion
The flight of fancy, the gloried facade you've worn
Hangs from bitten brick, a decomposed illusion
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
My thoughts are all jumbled and my head remains spinning
Another round is over with neither side winning
It always seems to come from the blind side without warning
And causes an uneasy silence until later the next morning.
Two people who years ago gave life to me
Watch as I regress to a toddler when we disagree
Never physically or intentionally, let me quickly point out
But my voice and pitch grows exponentially as I begin to shout.
They have been there in times of sadness and will continue without fail
No matter how choppy the water gets as I try to set my own sail
I was raised to be independent; to decide what’s right for me
But sometimes it’s hard to tell; is it the chair or me they see?
Independence is what they say like it’s the endpoint on a map
But sometimes I feel stuck, like a golfer’s ball in a sand trap
Decades of difference affect our worldview
They think I am too negative, and yes that might be true.
Oftentimes when these different ideas are spoken aloud
It feels like my perspective is lost and never truly found
Close friends and others understand how my feelings rise
But exclaiming them in every instance really isn’t wise.
In fairness to them, I haven’t made things a snap
My time under their roof really should be at a wrap
These are supposed to be empty nest years
Not for overreacting to everything that I hear.
And in most ways things are good; better than they have ever been
Aides come and assist me; the situation is win-win
We celebrate each other’s success, laugh and joke when we can
Each continuously vowing not to let the whirlpool start again.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
If Superman was really real
We'd be in lots of trouble
Killing folks in other lands
And leaving them in rubble
He wouldn't stand for secret prisons
Or torturing young men
Or all the little girls and boys
We'll never see again
He wouldn't let us starve a nation
Because they might have arms
Or change a nations government
To make it more like ours
He wouldn't let us steal our oil
From those with no defense
Or let us start another war
On some ******** pretense
He'd be disgruntled with the lies
We tell ourselves each day
And how we never really strive
To find another way
He'd wag his finger mighty hard
At how we run our nation
We'd feel bad for a day or two
Absorbing his frustration
But on day three
We would arise
To meet his gaze
With steely eyes
And without fear
We would proclaim
That for him it's simply
Not the same
He doesn't have
To live in fear
Of terrorists
Abroad or here
He needs no gas, no job
No money
In his worldview
It's always sunny
Yes, Superman has
Super powers
And all we have are
Drones and cowards.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 5:55 AM UTC