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Monthly Archives: March 2017
Some of us need kids or find God.
Some of us need kids,
or find God,
to straighten out our lives.
Empowerment comes
in many forms,
shapes, and rituals.
The world is full
of newly rich people,
though right now I am not one of them.
And your optimism
that chokes up my thought
is to blame.
Success can’t be found
on the discount rack,
when everyone is buying it.
You can believe
in anything you want, yes
but that doesn’t make it so.
Self help comes in many forms,
all of which are from within,
without a price tag.
Open your fucking eyes Tulip,
and figure it out…
It’s natural for the bough to bend before it breaks.
Nothing ever is that cut and dry.
Take me with a grain of salt
then throw me over your shoulder.
It’s the only way I know,
self taught and still figuring it out.
Just a pinch is enough though.
Nobody wants high blood pressure.
Oh, but we’re all so practiced
in the art of innocence.
I hear you when you give thanks
but that doesn’t mean I believe you.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t too.
Nothing ever is that cut and dry.
Is it?
Now, this is the part
where you throw me over your shoulder.
A momentary peace.
Quietly
seated
at rest
with desire
though
still
desirous,
he knows
better
than to
chase
the wind.
No longer
a girl
not yet
a woman
she will
find
her way,
at rest
by the
phases
of
the moon.
Together
they
are bound
by
foolish
pride
in one another,
backstroking
in tune
to the
ever-changing
tide.
You can try but you just can’t fool kids.
You see,
the kid doesn’t forget.
Forgive, yes
but forget, never.
Kids don’t make the rules,
but they’re a product of them.
And no matter what you say
after the fact,
the fact,
is still a fact.
No matter how old you get,
respect isn’t due
remember,
it’s earned.
You see,
enforced respect holds no weight.
Power, yes
but honor, none.
Kids don’t make the rules,
but they abide.
They see,
and survive
no matter the so called times
that they’re raised in.
You can try, but
you just can’t fool kids.
No matter how old you get,
right is right
and wrong is wrong,
things never change.
Except for the kid,
you see.
A last glance upon leaving.
Once filled empty space
Packed boxes and scratched wood floor
Dust bunnies waiting
A Birthday Poem.
Twenty nine
years young
and the kid’s
still got it,
today is a good day
still breathing,
knocking on wood.
Something to consider.
The
yes-man
ladies and gentlemen
is almost
always
saying
no.
The words I’d say to an unborn son.
If you’re not ready to let go,
then don’t.
Hold on as long as you need,
and then some.
These are words I’d say,
to an unborn son.
If it seems repetitive,
that’s good.
If it hurts in a hundred different ways,
it’s supposed to.
If you don’t want to smile,
let them see you frown.
These are the words,
I’d say.
Does it get easier,
at times.
Should you forget,
never.
Is it your fault,
no.
The words I’d say are these.
Life will kick your ass.
Love will break your heart.
Death will drug your senses.
With the strength of a mother’s love,
I would say.
You are your father’s child,
but make no mistake,
you are not your father.
I think I’m literally starting to get it.
I could say
I’m hunched
though
I’m seated kind of
lazily – leg on couch
neck bent, ankle
sprain elevated
on green and white pillowcase –
typing
methodically
with a headache
from late payments
unpaid bills
and paranoia,
that could all sound
so sweet, so elegant
like the sound of a typing machine,
if only I was still a romantic
perhaps
I’d use big words to describe my feelings
but
for today
the clouds literally fill the sky,
there’s no check in the mail,
and I’ve got more work to do
at the finish
of this
poem.
Words Of An Average White Male 