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Monday, November 23, 2015

What You Do

What's it to really live?
I mean, it's so small time,
Assuming you don't die before you're old,
Don't know the finish line,

Don't know what the prize is, because there's none,
Some say it's legacy,
Those things you leave that the living can keep,
It's your example of how one should be,

How you balance living with letting live,
Happy with who you are,
Which is determined by what is inside,
How you doing so far?
You consistent?
Will people one day say,
"She was who she was always meant to be,
May everyone try to live life that way.

Sunday, November 22, 2015


I need to do this fast,
I don't really know why,
Sometimes what you have on your mind to say's,
Not really worth the time,

It takes from you moments that you could use,
Doing something you love,
So that it's e'en drenched in anxiety,
Which for a poem, might just be enough.

So, can you feel the pulsing in my brain,
Begging me to finish?
My fingers shoot the immediacy,
Through the keys with vi'lence,
Not even rhyme,
And a pang in my side,
Thank god I'm at the end of this stanza,
Lest my words start to anger and deride.


That's just the way it is,
Some things will never change,
Like the way you feel when you're all alone,
Always within one's range,

'Least lonely's something ev'ryone should feel,
To get to know oneself,
Look 'neath the water, leave not undug depth,
Unexplored, like the Russian arctic shelf,

Make sure to be lonely among others,
Th'only way to do it,
And if you can fend off interaction,
Show me how to do it,
No, never mind,
Without that, you can't live,
E'en being told you're prob'ly an asshole,
Is more insight than aloneness will give. 

Friday, November 20, 2015

In This World

They all say life's funny,
That it's a journey, too,
A box of chocolates and a mystery,
It doesn't matter who,

That you are born into this world naked,
And naked you will go,
It's ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Then at the end, there's no more that you know,

You're gone and all trace of you disappears,
All of this is not trite,
It's as true as god, if you believe 'nthat.
In essence, this is life.
But you live, too,
There's no denying this,
Ev'ry moment is as real as if real,
And pain is the apex of evilness.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Poor Leaf

There's a leaf on the floor,
Brown, deformed and alone,
It blew in with the door or underfoot,
Its origins unknown,

Probably fell from a tree is my guess,
Was fed an empty cup,
Which prevented it from absorbing light,
Because its chlorophyll just all dried up,

It lost its hold on its home and took off,
Flitting about briefly,
Then lay on the ground forgotten, useless,
That do be a leaf, free.
Yes, it may rot,
Return and feed the dirt,
What will happen to this one on the floor?
He, who's inflected no distress or hurt.

Monday, November 16, 2015

My Heart Breaks At The Endless Death

One hundred, twenty-eight,
Two hundred more were hurt,
Some bearing injuries irreparable,
The whole world on alert,

At least anyone who consumes the news,
All struck by the cruelness,
Everyone attacked, just living that night,
Hollande saying, "we will be merciless,"

Seeking revenge, justice for french people,
Raids then executed,
Fresh bombs for Syrian Islamic foes,
Refugees refuted,
Neither flinching,
Sounds like a war to me,
Just in time to overlap the last one.
Humans've been killing for an etern'ty.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Wind in the Sky

The clouds are moving fast,
In uniform, like trains,
Grey, thick, a sheet mottled with white and light,
Hinting rescue from rains,

Showing a clear, brighter world up above,
The clouds just a cover,
But one as real as the virtues behind,
Like the foreboding face of a lover,

One who holds within her all that you need,
If you can soar above,
Ignoring the shadow on all you see,
That's the secret to love,
Ignore your eyes,
Live only for the sun,
E'en when the horizon's clouds're only grey,
With no hint of a breeze to shunt them on.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

The Unfamiliar Word

Letters are like faces,
Like faces lose their form,
Like when you stare long enough at either,
And recognition's shorn,

Like you've used a diff'rent part of your brain,
To comprehend a thing,
That for years has been close to you and dear,
Then loses all familiarity.

The ties of life like this are tenuous,
Resting just on one's flesh,
As formidable as a brain's synapse,
Less a link, more a cleft.
Or more a feel,
Like the bond people share,
Some say stronger than the thickest metals,
A contradiction to all I've just bared.