Humans

Scars and Blood

Scars and Blood

That’s what we are:

Scars and Blood.

Time makes the scars,

Experience draws the blood.

Scars and Blood 

Scars and Blood

That’s what we’re made of

Scars and Blood

Nails and Bones

Nails and Bones

That’s what we break:

Nails and Bones.

Nails do the scratching

Bones do the tapping.

Nails and Bones

Nails and Bones

That’s what we’re made of:

Nails and Bones

Tongues and Eyes

Tongues and Eyes

That’s we use:

Tongues and Eyes

Sharp are the Tongues

Blind are the Eyes

Tongues and Eyes

Tongues and Eyes

That’s what we use:

Tongues and Eyes.

Teeth and Hair

Teeth and Hair

That’s how we judge:

Teeth and Hair.

Teeth white as white

Hair bright as bright.

Teeth and Hair

Teeth and Hair

That’s what we’re made of:

Teeth and Hair.

Gut and Ears

Guts and Ears

That’s how we hear:

Guts and Ears.

Guts are the wise ones

Ears are the dull ones

Guts and Ears

Guts and Ears

That’s how we hear:

Guts and Ears.

Tears and Fear

Tears and Fear

We need to lose our

Tears and Fears

Tears do the excusing

Fears do the killing.

Tears and Fears

Tears and Fears

We must lose our

Tears and Fears.

The Heart

Lock it up,

Keep it close

Bar the door

But keep the window open.

Let it live

It needs air

It is easily broken

But protect it from harm

It’s a gentle thing

Yet it can be cold

It’s a giving thing

But it can be the cruelest of all.

It keeps a goal

It takes it’s time

It keeps a beat

But it’s quick to fall.

It moves life

Through our veins

It’s a part of us

But it has a mind of its own.

A hopeless romantic,

A match-maker,

A bubbly little thing

But it gives itself away without thinking twice.

It is the heart

Our hearts

My heart

But it’s really all the same.

Our hearts bind us

And bleeds and beats

And cries and laughs

But they can also be so indifferent.

It will drive you mad

To try and figure it out

It gives life a purpose

But you can’t predict its actions.

It’s more than just an organ

A pump of the body

It can make you insane

But its joys are incomparable.

So keep your heart close

Protect is from itself

But once it decides to fall

You’re going down with it.

The Writer

Standing back

Thinking, and seeing

Not speaking

Just looking.

Wandering, seeking

Both my eyes are open

Listening, hearing

Silently staring.

Sitting,

 blind to the joy

deaf to the laughter

dumb to the well-spoken

Thinking is fearing

Doing is reckless

Loving is damning

Hating is worse.

Just sit there

And finish your story.

My Basement

It is insane

By the end of everyday

I should stay

And lay

Always afraid

Of something unpaid

Something left undone

From which I wish to run,

Like a bullet from a gun.

Ahh! The gun

After it went off

My fate did change

It opened wide the gate

The door

Oh! No! Not the door!

Down the basement

When it hordes

A person once adored.

He was smitten,

Like a kitten

Not nearly as fit in

the society.

Pity I did take on him

But not long did it take

My soul to break

A clipping chipping,

Heart-less man.

My heart did sign

And like a useless

Tumor within me.

It did spread like a cancer

There was but one person to answer

For the numbness that is me.

Standing within the kitchen

Was the case of my affliction

To fulfill my intention was so easy.

Who would have thought freedom

Could come at so small an expense?

All I needed was the cheap pistol

Why by the handsome revolver when

The cheap thing will do the job?

Maybe once all is done

And all my cares are buried

And no more need me thought of

I shall learn to live before I die again.

Apples

A musician am I,

A player with words

Some say it’s the poet

But I put them all to shame.

I go down the dirt road

To see what I can find:

A vender selling apples

A not too common sight.

I stepped to a basket

And grabbed one for a bite

I know the sweeter insides

As it is my favorite part

But without the bitter skin

The sweetness has no more appeal.

I take a seat

To watch the afternoon

Pass me by.

Before long I nodded off

And I dream I did comprise.

I gazed upon an apple

Which landed in my lap.

Its mother, I knew not where she stood

All I know is her baby

Fell from the sky.

The smooth skin I knew so well,

Though yet easily broken

To press it in any place leaves a bruise.

Not unlike a heart

I thought as

 I rolled the fruit

Between my hands.

Like a heart, that’s troubled love

Did press until a mark,

Was all that was left behind.

The bruise is not immediate

Show the mark, but only

To be found by gentle touch.

The wounds are sensitive

And if not remedied

Shall poison all the rest.

With many shaped and tones

It has many personalities.

The small blackened spots are old injuries.

They are tough and hard

They show experience and past.

It is beneath the dark surface

The sweetest juice is found.

A little Too Different

Why do I stand off

to the side?

Why do I choose to

Break instead of abide?

Perhaps you’ll understand

 I’m not like this by choice

I couldn’t be any other way,

Unless I wish to lie.

I’ve been shoved out

Of the main frame

Stabbed in the front

Shoved into lockers and

Told to change

Because I’m

Just a little too different.

Because I’m

Not afraid to be me.

You see people

In their little cliques

They look

and act

and dress

All the same.

They are soulless

Their too damn scared

To be themselves.

I walk in a straight line

Not on the left

Not on the right.

I find my peace

somewhere between.

Some say I’m too free

Move along.

Others say

I’m too calm

I’m better off at home in bed.

Because I’m

Just a little too different.

Because I

Can’t be labeled.

I just can’t fit in anywhere.

I’m just a little too different.

I make everybody realize

They’re not happy

 With who they are.

They aren’t who they should be.

/so why can’t I

Just fall in line?

With one side or the other?

It’d make everyone else

Feel so much better.

But the only person

I need to make happy

Is me; not all of you.

Because I’m

Just a little too different.

Because I’m

Not okay with sacrificing my soul

Just to be like you.

I’m just a little too different to care.

That’s right,

I’m just a little too different to care.

My Tombstone

You’re the only tombstone in my yard.

The only one who will miss me

Is the same one who will betray me first.

You’re the only statue in my garden

Watching all that grows

And lives without a will

You’re the only pond in my valley

Reflecting destruction and pain

My world crumbles around you.

Cold, hard, still:

This is the way you are

You are just like me.

You’re the only loose stone in my path

The cause of the fall

To remind me I’m alive.

Not Even Hate

Keep your life,

The way you want it to be

Keep your life

Happiness is the key

Do what you want to

Act like no one sees you.

Just keep yourself

Away from me.

Once upon a time

A long time ago,

You walked into my life

And over my heart

Like I had no feelings

The only thing I have no feelings for

Is you.

You broke my life

You ruined my heart

You twisted my dreams.

I wanted to see you

Burn in Hell

Now guess I’m over it.

Don’t get me wrong

I haven’t forgiven you,

There are just some things

A woman can’t get over

I just have realized

You’re not worth the time

To wish you ill

(That’s the devil’s job,

I’ll let him deal with you.)

‘Cause once upon a time,

A long time ago

You walked into my life

And stomped on my heart

I have no feelings left

For you

Not even hate.

You broke my dreams,

You twisted my life

You ruined my heat

Now I guess I’m over it.

I had my cry

You had your say

Now just go away.

Kids

Running, jumping,

Kicking, screaming.

The noise is pounding in my head

In an uneven beat

Like the drummer is stoned and dying from the heat.

Skipping, struggling,

Lying on the floor

Climbing, ripping, tearing

Please don’t eat that please!

My nerves are fraying

My back is aching

I think I might fall over from thirst.

I don’t dare stop to rest,

For fear of what might happen lest

I take my eyes off of you.

Why do I concern myself?

Why do I care?

Because I would feel terrible

If they fell down the stair.

They’re not my kids,

Not even close

So do I let them do this to me?

The Fair

Black, white and yellow trash

And people of the middle class

Rush and crush

And brush past each other.

They see the same thing,

But they don’t do the same things

They don’t think the same things.

Wheels and deals

Noise and sales

Music and rides.

This is the county fair.



The Office

Stapling and taping

Stapling and taping

Try to connect the pieces

Which left in alone would stay separated.

Dialing and holding

Dialing an holding

Reaching out, only to wait

Until your message has no consequence.

Driving and stopping

Driving and stopping

Our destination is reached

Once we have been halted on our way.

Understanding life

Understanding work

Barring the arduousness of the repetition

We learn to revel in the insensibility of it at all.

About Us

Gazing into your eyes

It’s easy for me to believe

You’d never leave me

But I’ve already know

You’re a night wanderer

Keeping to the shadows

Keep away from me

You’re no good for me

I’m no good for you

But somehow

Neither one of us cares

I’m starring into a mirror

Wondering how things got this far

I go to work

I play the game

I pretend to know the rules

Thank God no one knows

About you.

Looking at me, look at you

With sparkling eyes

You know this will never last

But this infatuation that we feel

Can’t just be switched off

And we both wouldn’t if we could…

I’m standing in the light

The center of the public’s eyes

You know you can’t follow me there

May be that’s why

you’re still here.

You stare into the mirror

And wonder how things got this far

You go to work

You play the game

You act like you know the rules

And thank God no one knows

About me.

I’m a CPA,

you’re in a band

This mixed combination will never last

But we’re still here

With one another

There is no other to come between us.

We don’t know how long

we couldn’t last

Without the other.

Maybe

Not at all.

We stare into the mirror

And wonder how things got this far

We go to work

We play the game

We act like we know the rules

And thank God no one knows

About us.

About us.

Alone

As I lay here in bed

I wonder what it would be like

To have someone beside me instead

of being alone.

I awaken for the day

And I wonder why

Won’t the morning stay;

This is my time to be alone.

I sit at my desk

The chatter of the office small-talk

Intrude my ears like a pest

This is when I wish I was alone.

Lunch is an ordeal

Cheap company abounds

“No, fast food does not appeal”

There is no such thing as “alone”.

The work is over,

Now for the gym

Other’s sweat leaves a flavor

No one speaks; it is close to being alone.

I head for my home

I fix my dinner

I do not feel lonesome

Silence is worth the price of being alone.

I go to bed and sleep

But as the morning sneaks in my window

And my eyes open a peep

I wonder, what is it like not to be alone.

Meet the Writer

This week was very busy, which seems to be becoming my normal week, that’s fine with me, ever the shying violet, I realize that I need to develop social skills, including: small talk, introducing myself and the like.
So, on with my report, yesterday I somehow got the bright idea to bring one of my blog poems to my writers group last night. I thought it would be fun, after all I was growing confident in my poetic abilities, and the next step in my mind is to read it aloud. After some thought I decided to pick one of my favorites, I thought picking a poem that I’m confident in might make the new experience easier when the nervousness of doing something new brings. Then the moment came and I thought I had lost my sanity. The writer group is comprised of people who would never do something to hurt me, not terribly anyways, so it was not really the fear of the people saying something, just what they would think. Oh, my gosh: that was a terrible poem! She needs to stick with fiction, and thoughts along those lines were my fear, which might seem silly to you, dear reader, but what made it so terrible, would be that I would agree with them, I don’t consider myself a poet: so what am I doing bringing my therapeutic scribbling to them? I got through it though, and they enjoyed it. I actually read it twice because some of the people were not at the table and because it was so short no one minded me reading it again. So, it was scary, but I got it done!
The other thing that happened this week that I want to mention to the five people who read my blog (thank you for reading it by the way,) my Mama and I went to Starbucks to meet with a writer, not to read our work or anything, just a social thing, and it was very nice. We got to know each other a little better and it was great. During our writing group meetings we don’t really have time to talk, and even during the “socializing time” there are certain voices that tend to dominate over the others. It was a refreshing change and it’s just nice to know that I have a friend in a fellow writer.

Poetry Fuming

I didn’t realize until a little while ago that I vent when I write poetry. I know, I always vent when I write, but it seems to be especially so when I am attempting to be a poet, and it’s not an intentional fume, I just…fume. I let out whatever has been bothering me, or making me happy, or sad, or at peace. Whatever it is, I tend to keep true to what I’m truly feeling when I’m writing a poem. I don’t know why, maybe it’s because I’m so unoriginal all I can write about are my emotions in some form, even “Hostage” my last poem was addressing my feelings of being trapped and vulnerable.

  On the other hand, somewhere I heard that poets only write about their feelings in some form, well, if that’s true, I guess that I am a poet. I have always flirted with the art of poetry, but never have I ever pictured myself as welding the pen of poetry as an expert, I still don’t. I am first and foremost a writer, but I know that even ahead of that, I am a storyteller and I suppose if I think of being a poet as another way of telling a story, I guess I can accept the title of poet…nah.

Hostage

My phone says ding-a-ling-a

I stare, my heart, it skips a beat

In its frantic tarantella

I wonder what my captor

The reason for my hearts erratic rhythm

Will ask me to do now

Shall I answer?

What will I do? Lie? Act Normally?

What will he decide after the brief ponder?

He gestures with his armed hand.

Oh, terrifying firearm!

for me to stand.

I scramble to my feet

So I shall pick up

I walk with heavy feet

As I reach with my hand, I realize

One word, one frightened breath on the receiver

It will bring my certain demise.

This thought caused the plastic handle

To weigh a million pounds

My lips feel like wax from a candle.

How can I speak,

when I can’t taken in a breath of life?

Will my life be taken by this creep?

The worst was I could have done more,

To prevent this end

Why didn’t I lock the damned door!?

Nonsense

If this poem makes any sense to you, leave a comment for me and explain it for me please. I know I’m the writer, and I should know what it means, but I don’t.

If you’re looking a little pale,

Drink so ginger ale.

It’s bubbly and free

There is no better place to be

Than here with Ginger and me.

Rebecca

Standing by the edge of hope

Of the precipice divine

We two walk a tight rope

For love so hard to define.

 

My Becky grasps my hand

Through the ridicules that measures in hours

Never alone shall I stand

No one can break this love of ours.

 

They say we are unnatural

They declare us unclean

God’s word is factual

What we are is obscene.

 

Within my heart there lies

The ever growing truth

If this feeling for Becky I must despise

Than pardon me, for being uncouth,

 

But I’d rather be crucified

Then walk away from her

For there would be no way to justify

Walking away from her.

 

We’re not the true issue of your debate

I don’t think we’re that different

We feel pain, fear, and hate

All the joys of Earth we too appreciate,

 

So what is your hate in us

What is it that you fear?

If you’re reasons are true and just

You may speak plainly here.

 

You have no new answer?

No reason behind your claim

Well then my dear pastor

Who is it I should put the blame

 

Of all the stones thrown

And taunts yelled

For the feelings that are my own?

Who has taught all others that we shall be repelled?

 

Return the subject back to God

The unseen Father we must adore,

I do not believe it is the will of God

To give me this love, so I maybe hurt more.

Now my life is filled with sorrow

No epitaph shall cover the feelings abound

That I feel at never seeing Becky on the morrow

For she, a love so sweet, never another be found.

 

My heartaches for my Becky

To see her smile once more

None felt the pain, more than my Becky

Every shout and cry left her feeling sore.

 

Until the grief was too great

And she lost her sweet smile

The ill words left her in such a state

Yet she hid it from me all the while.

 

No one will tell me how she died

They say it’s not my business

For many an hour I have cried

For wondering how Becky called for Death’s kiss.

 

No one informed me of the funeral

I discovered it alone

So now I stand before you all

Here I stand alone

 

No one will take my hand

No one will dry my tears

Here alone I stand

As I will for coming years.