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Posts published in “Year: 2012

To a son

The one you love
Will be with you
Or someone else.
Do not waste on
Those you fawn
The love for they
Who will return.

They will be with someone else,
Or they’ll remain with you. That
Pain you feel is like a bandaid,
Ripped off, but only to let your
Wounds be opened to healing.
I see my wife as a painter sees his craft:
Essential to who I am, defining my life.
The same is true of all you do, but only
Your spouse can love you through the rest.
Time is pulsating scrapings of old sand:
Meant to shine through grime removal,
But wasting what cannot otherwise be used.

Hipsters

And, lo, in the halls and on the grazing grounds
Of corporate America, the hipsters meander about,
Oblivious to the judgements made on their choice of fads

Beautiful

Nothing is quite so beautiful
As a glistening green scene
Stilled by a slow, cold rain.

mode

i fought hard to be who i am
greatest opponent was me
but that’s not to say i’m a loser or a winner,
just another person trying to leave the ring
and start a family, start soemthing more.

i’ve fallen while running and been running while falling,
trying to catch myself now, but neither’s that easy to quit
when the hill is steep and i’m on the decline.

now’s my time to say that i’ve been more of a man than my father was,
but i don’t think that matters much when i’m who i am
and he’s not who he was. times, they change without needing our say–
and i can’t help but keep quiet today, now that i know that fact
and know my words matter much more to the breeze than the ease
of life, lived to be someone i forgot existed a long time ago.
i wanted to be president, an officer, a gentleman and a benefactor to the world at large–
can’t say i’m not, can’t say i will. can’t say i’m not,
can’t say i will.

sad music about someone else makes me want to change the song. it’s like listening to a fisherman lament not catching any fish while staying in the same shallow waters.

we traveled the globe, hoping getting away together would bring us closer to who we want to be. i felt we could, too, until we got to each place we were going and realized we just changed the scene, but the players and the lines remained the same. it’s hard to change when you’ve not saved in a while– we’re always fearful of forgetting everything we knew, even though we always do and make up for it in other ways.

i fell flat on my face
to the softness of our bed,
lifted a tired arm around
you, the warmth waking me
to sleep with eyes closed
while you breathe into me
and i held up my lids just
enough to take you in again.

blahblah

yo, i
haven’t lost a good friend in a long while
to violence or anything that would be permanent,
but, damn, i feel like i’ve outgrown a few
of my good friends from when we would play war
like death was a distant concern– man, how fast
we grow up when put into a social situation
perpetuated by others and not ourselves, or
maybe i did it myself by not being a bit more
transparent.

it is written

i spit wit-out a care if da final product is da best n da world, or if i’m leaving a stream of consciousness that leaves you wondering, “da fuq did i just read?”– nah, i’ll keep goin’ regardless– not goin’ let my life be metered or kept back by a thought of nothin’ more than negativity. my style is positive, but like osmosis, i tend to absorb what’s around me– try not to be permeable, but can’t help it when cats talkin’ about entropy without knowin’ me. can’t cap me at an arbitrary limit set by assumption and not observation, but they’ tryin’ anyway.–

i hope these words find you

i hope these words find you,
years later,
when you’ve been able to live a life
otherwise reserved for the deserv’ed.

me

I write poetry because I like psychoanalysis more than strict observation and research.

left field

so, i gave up on love
to be with myself/
not something new, no, but
something i owed myself
after being in it for everyone else.

then,
without much warning,
but with all the reasons in the world,
you found me.
i was one smooth dude,
acting like i wasn’t the
most lonely man without you;
you, the most beautiful
of God’s creations, gave me
reason to be happy.

i said, “I love you,”
in a discussion on dinner;
specifically,
you stated you would
ask my Mom
how i like spaghetti prepared.

the way to a man’s heart is
through two things:
the respect of his mother,
and an appreciation for his appetite.

to be sad, to be frustrated,
to be angry, to be reserved
through it all.

a sentence

the world once stopped to ask me if i’d continue through or sit there, standing by while every petal fell and the seasons changed. i answered with a step and a camera shot; grabbed on to the beauty and kept moving.

musings & scribbles