"wouldas" poems
I stopped
inside a light house
on a dark and foggy night
and in the beacon
in the fog
I saw far too many sights.
Lovers lost in their pasts
uncompleted tasks
of shoulda coulda wouldas
"If only's"
blocking their
paths.
The ferrel human beings
with eyes of gold
but no money
to buy a room
running to nowhere soon.
The poetry outlaws
with no words
left to sing
lost within their prisons
and know one knows
what they mean.
The beacon flashed
and in the light
I saw those
trapped in drudgery
and fading dreams
of being free.
And lonely souls
in darkened rooms
of four white walls
with no where to go
and no one coming that they know.
The beacon flashed
in that fog
the horn it rang
to no one listening
but the ships lost at sea
heard something
but asked themselves
was it really meant for me?
It
Spotlighted lovers
on the far sides
of the bed
their love lost
in what is now
misery and dread.
Wage slaves breathing toxic air
and what's this life for
their breath asks
captured in the foggy air.
Stopped at that lighthouse
to look out at that foggy sea
was all about the poetry
and what it means to me
a light
on a foggy
populated sea
and
life told in scenes
about
those who struggle to be free.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
Presently living in a
Past that never was;
Dwelling on the
Wouldas Couldas and
Probably shouldn'ta beens;
Reliving old sins and
Reinventing new ones while
Repeating the same old formula
Over and over again.
The cellar dweller feeds on
Fantasies and nostalgia;
Only accepting food that tastes
Relatively similar to something he
Enjoyed when he was happy
Once upon a time.
A slave to the good old days...
And so long as he eats,
Any resemblance of future happiness
Remains locked away
Deep in the cellar-
Guarded fervently-
By the dweller.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
I stare out of my window at the midnight street:
Desperate lovers roam back alleys, hoping one day they’ll meet.
Creeping shadows cast from dimming street lamps haunt the pathways;
Yawning teens sit awake typing up long overdue essays;
The dreams of the unsuccessful hang in the sky with the stars;
Drunken mugs trip over their own feet outside the city bars
A lone tree stands to attention in the middle of a frost bitten field
Fear ridden walkers use recycling bins and garden walls as shields
Workaholics typing themselves into oblivion
Athletes run laps hoping to become an Olympian
Stray cats and the heart wrenching cries of the homeless haunt the alleys
Holiday goers walk by torchlight through hundred year old valleys
Hopeful wannabes sing their shoulda coulda wouldas by the crack in the kerb
Whilst I sit… staring at the wall thinking of a perfect verb
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
I sit and I query
Analyzing past mistakes
Until my eyes are to weary
Over and over
In my mind they play out
The couldas, shouldas,wouldas
What if I just went homes
Instead of stayed outs
The past is like your shadow
Beside you when you're high
Over you when you're low
Learn from it what you must
Have it guide your future
Teach you what to trust
Live for what matters
Not for what you lust
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC