Posts Tagged ‘past’

i dredge you up

take a look at your Facebook feed

God, i’m so stupid

i fall for faces

and only faces

i fall not in love

just feel and reel because

my pulse picks up

but you’re voting for Trump

you’re so stupid

brain fried by California sunshine

drunk on forty’s you find on the street

or get from a guy with a shaved head

who you give head in a port-a-potty

That last bit is semi-speculation

but i can’t help but feel bad

because you don’t know what you’re doing

as you grab glowsticks

and hit up a pride parade

hang out with your frat boy bros

and blow each other cuz there’s nothing else to do

since there’s a drought

And i hate that i actually felt

something for you

It’s only because of the way you look

Everybody makes mistakes.

I wish I could get away

from all the distress,

all the pressure,

all the uncertainty.

I wish I had the means to

simply leave

and find a quiet place

where I could stop and look,

not think, just observe,

leaving all familiar faces behind me.

I wish I could find a place

where I wouldn’t have to worry

about being found

becauseĀ I wouldn’t be lost, anyway.

I just want to find a place

where I have no past

and no future

to worry about.

Status of Humanity

be diminished by

Past questioned, Look, Voice-

and- Expression- thereby-

The Steps

Posted: April 10, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Memorize the steps

you took, the Path left

will help as you move

forward, while you Journey yet.

 

O stuck Heart of mine,

you pine for the past-

can you not let go

of what was not meant to last?

 

There is no excuse, now,

not to pump Red to my cheeks-

I have grown cold, with you

behaving thus for weeks.

Today’s date

attached to four names

I don’t recognize.

And I wonder

about names

attached to headstones,

about futures

attached to children

along with memories.

And these are people

who will only be remembered if

they fall under these circumstances-

if they had children,

if they are a character in someone’s story.

We remember historical figures

and celebrities

because of their national renown,

but who remembers

the little people

with their names printed

small

in newsprint?

Gulls are Harbingers-

as much as Robins, yet,

not appreciatedĀ as part

of Spring’s welcoming Quartet.

Once I cried from my powder blue room

my wails rising from my crib

like awful birds- beaks targeting ears

at which to peck.

 

Once I reached inside myself

and found the nerve to kick off the training wheels

and form my own path, unencumbered.

 

Once I found myself in a four square court

and the ball bounced between me

and people who introduced themselves

as they held that yellow rubber sphere.

 

Once I looked at the monochrome clock

that crouched, always in the same place,

on the mocha-brown walls of a building

that always smelled of new shoes and Lysol.

 

Once I found myself in a room-

painted a darker blue, the same

room where that doll-sized impression of myself

used its voice to rouse people from slumber.

Now I can use my voice to do the same,

but in spite of everything,

I take my own initiative

and set forth, out of the crib, onto the street, into the halls

on my own.

Moving on is a funny thing.

At times it seems impossible,

but then you come to a place

where you can look back

and laugh. And you may not

be happy, but

you’re getting there.

And another realization

hits-

that it’s time to move forward

and stop looking back.

Put on a brave face for the new day.

Try to forget about the past

and ignore what people will say,

even though words

become weapons

so easily,

and all of the pain

remains part of your history.

You put on a brave face

for the new day.