I stopped by your place today
& you were gone
I knocked - not once, not twice, but
four times just to be sure
& I shouldn't be upset, nor standing here
watering your lawn
but I realize it's been over two weeks
& I didn't even notice
& I know you haven't really been here
not completely
not for a while
but still there was also a sense of security
in hoping today
you might show
& now there is this finality &
I can't help myself
stupid, I know
when I myself had thoughts
of doing just this
disappearing
erasing myself from existence
& at the same time I feel the need
to thank you
yes, thank you
words haven't flowed like this in awhile
at least not the way
I've needed them to
& so here I sit writing this half-assed letter
like so many before
that I've never sent
but just threw out into the ether hoping
you would know
& understand
I was speaking of you...to you...with you
& maybe now I'll take pause and rethink
disappearing
fading away
erasing my presences from existence
Don't get me wrong
I'm still standing here
hoping it's not real
and upset
after all, I had at least intended
to say goodbye
Odd really
when there are dozens of people
who would wish that word from you
& I would only garner...
well I'm guessing not even you.
So stupid really
to be effected so
but seeing the world through my eyes
has always been blurred with tears
while seeing the world through yours
was like gazing into a kaleidoscope
& so though it matters not,
not really,
goodbye.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Hope Is a Double-Edged Sword (& an update)
Hope Is a Double-Edged Sword
"Well I know it gets harder every single day
And I know my darkness will never go away
It's hard when you're living and you don't feel much
And you're down and you're hoping that things are gonna change"
–We Don't Know
The Strumbellas
Every night I close my eyes to see the road ahead
and my mind wages war on itself;
fear of what lies ahead or rather what doesn't
torments every corner of my mind – killing me.
I struggle to breathe as I wait for sleep to take hold
and I feel hope begin to fray
with every step I've taken
with every step that lies ahead;
and what have I learned along the way?
Well, I know it get harder, every single day.
Every day I navigate through life blindly
and my heart wages war on itself;
fear of not being loved or rather being loved
vibrates across my heart strings – killing me.
I struggle to find my way as I grasp for something to hold
and I feel nothing but dismay
with the possibility of losing myself
with the possibility of finding myself;
still I continue along this pathway
and I know my darkness will never go away.
Every night I close my eyes and dream of feeling home
and my heart wages war on itself;
fear of feeling too much or rather feeling nothing
echos through the chambers of my heart – killing me.
I struggle to find peace as I wait for slumber's embrace
and I feel life's wicked clutch
with so much inside overwhelming
with so much outside begging;
how do I allow myself to feel home with me along with their touch?
It's hard when you're living and you don't feel much.
Every day I cling uncharacteristically to hope
and my mind wages war on itself;
fear of not truly living or rather of living
sears the edges of my mind – killing me.
I struggle with every breath as I cling to hope's embrace
and I feel life and I estranged
with each wish I make
with each wish life forsakes;
how do I continue when this existence is so strange
and you're down and you're hoping that things are gonna change.
Update (well sort of): This is the first legit poem I've written in ages. Okay, so that is not entirely true...to force myself to exit this state of silence, I have been using a daily planner since the start of July and posting via twitter (@rmpWritings) each day. There is just something a little different about this piece. Anywho...
A note on form: This is a glosa...my fourth. There is something about this form I kind of like. It's an interesting form meant to pay tribute to a poet by incorporating/quoting four lines from a piece of their work. It then is followed by four stanza of 10 lines where the tenth sequentially comes from the original quote. For more detail, check out the Pub's FormForAll: Paying Tribute, Page and the Glosa. Thus far, I find my "poet" of choice tends toward the musical kind. While my first three pieces were all from the same group (O.A.R.). This one found inspiration elsewhere.
Inspiration for this piece: Yesterday, while browsing through iTunes, I stumbled across a song from a musical group I had only been briefly introduced to during the previous month. (I apologize for the unintended pun that is about to follow.) And it really struck a chord with me. So much so, that the idea of writing a glosa came to my mind straight away. So, I bought the album and wrote the glosa.
Update #2 (hopeful): As I mentioned earlier, there is something about this form that I just like. So, along with continuing my #poeming365 through my daily planner. I am hoping to begin to continue to toy with the glosa; even started a new notebook (though my current is still not full) that is meant to house the glosas yet to come. And yes, I'll probably stick to songs for my opening cabeza.
"Well I know it gets harder every single day
And I know my darkness will never go away
It's hard when you're living and you don't feel much
And you're down and you're hoping that things are gonna change"
–We Don't Know
The Strumbellas
Every night I close my eyes to see the road ahead
and my mind wages war on itself;
fear of what lies ahead or rather what doesn't
torments every corner of my mind – killing me.
I struggle to breathe as I wait for sleep to take hold
and I feel hope begin to fray
with every step I've taken
with every step that lies ahead;
and what have I learned along the way?
Well, I know it get harder, every single day.
Every day I navigate through life blindly
and my heart wages war on itself;
fear of not being loved or rather being loved
vibrates across my heart strings – killing me.
I struggle to find my way as I grasp for something to hold
and I feel nothing but dismay
with the possibility of losing myself
with the possibility of finding myself;
still I continue along this pathway
and I know my darkness will never go away.
Every night I close my eyes and dream of feeling home
and my heart wages war on itself;
fear of feeling too much or rather feeling nothing
echos through the chambers of my heart – killing me.
I struggle to find peace as I wait for slumber's embrace
and I feel life's wicked clutch
with so much inside overwhelming
with so much outside begging;
how do I allow myself to feel home with me along with their touch?
It's hard when you're living and you don't feel much.
Every day I cling uncharacteristically to hope
and my mind wages war on itself;
fear of not truly living or rather of living
sears the edges of my mind – killing me.
I struggle with every breath as I cling to hope's embrace
and I feel life and I estranged
with each wish I make
with each wish life forsakes;
how do I continue when this existence is so strange
and you're down and you're hoping that things are gonna change.
Update (well sort of): This is the first legit poem I've written in ages. Okay, so that is not entirely true...to force myself to exit this state of silence, I have been using a daily planner since the start of July and posting via twitter (@rmpWritings) each day. There is just something a little different about this piece. Anywho...
A note on form: This is a glosa...my fourth. There is something about this form I kind of like. It's an interesting form meant to pay tribute to a poet by incorporating/quoting four lines from a piece of their work. It then is followed by four stanza of 10 lines where the tenth sequentially comes from the original quote. For more detail, check out the Pub's FormForAll: Paying Tribute, Page and the Glosa. Thus far, I find my "poet" of choice tends toward the musical kind. While my first three pieces were all from the same group (O.A.R.). This one found inspiration elsewhere.
Inspiration for this piece: Yesterday, while browsing through iTunes, I stumbled across a song from a musical group I had only been briefly introduced to during the previous month. (I apologize for the unintended pun that is about to follow.) And it really struck a chord with me. So much so, that the idea of writing a glosa came to my mind straight away. So, I bought the album and wrote the glosa.
Update #2 (hopeful): As I mentioned earlier, there is something about this form that I just like. So, along with continuing my #poeming365 through my daily planner. I am hoping to begin to continue to toy with the glosa; even started a new notebook (though my current is still not full) that is meant to house the glosas yet to come. And yes, I'll probably stick to songs for my opening cabeza.
Friday, April 1, 2016
One Day Never Comes
I need to believe
my silence
echoes
echoes
echoes
To believe such
means my words
[[[captured in each reverberation]]]
have worth
That I
I
I
echo
It's been almost a year...30 days shy actually...but it's National Poetry Month...it seemed only right to write.
on unearthing titles: this piece is a response of sorts to a previous piece...it begins "one day / my silence / will echo" & for some reason, as I think of this opening, a song that has always kind of reverberated in my head came to mind "someday never comes" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. I guess in this case it kind of encapsulates my fear that "one day" too will never come.
my silence
echoes
echoes
echoes
To believe such
means my words
[[[captured in each reverberation]]]
have worth
That I
I
I
echo
It's been almost a year...30 days shy actually...but it's National Poetry Month...it seemed only right to write.
on unearthing titles: this piece is a response of sorts to a previous piece...it begins "one day / my silence / will echo" & for some reason, as I think of this opening, a song that has always kind of reverberated in my head came to mind "someday never comes" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. I guess in this case it kind of encapsulates my fear that "one day" too will never come.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Bury the Truth
She was an artist,
her paints composed of
concealer
foundation
face powder
rouge
lipstick
eye shadow
eyeliner
eyebrow powder;
but when makeup would not suffice,
she borrowed truths.
"I slammed my hand in the car door."
"I tripped over the laundry basket."
"I was in such a rush I didn't realize I'd
closed the door & BAM!"
"My heal broke and I couldn't catch
myself in time."
words came easily;
she'd never known anything else.
but they were her truths to bear -
hers, not her daughters;
& so the first time
her daughter felt the sting
of those truths,
she made sure it was the last -
burying the truths
beneath the lush pink roses.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 30. "For today’s prompt, take the phrase 'Bury the (blank),' replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."
her paints composed of
concealer
foundation
face powder
rouge
lipstick
eye shadow
eyeliner
eyebrow powder;
but when makeup would not suffice,
she borrowed truths.
"I slammed my hand in the car door."
"I tripped over the laundry basket."
"I was in such a rush I didn't realize I'd
closed the door & BAM!"
"My heal broke and I couldn't catch
myself in time."
words came easily;
she'd never known anything else.
but they were her truths to bear -
hers, not her daughters;
& so the first time
her daughter felt the sting
of those truths,
she made sure it was the last -
burying the truths
beneath the lush pink roses.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 30. "For today’s prompt, take the phrase 'Bury the (blank),' replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."
Alas, it is day 30! While there were definitely moments I struggled, I knew I would make it to the end. It definitely feels good. Hopefully with the end of this challenge, I will not crawl back into hibernation mode. I'm not sure I'll maintain the insane pace of this past month, but hopefully I will find inspiration to continue to write.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Paradox (What's on Your List?)
At first I thought,
a list of what nobody knows
would stay perpetually empty
for to add something to the list
you'd first need to know about it,
but once known it no longer belongs
on such a list.
At second thought
the list had far more potential;
all there is to do is ask questions,
to delve beyond the obvious.
There are plenty of things that we
know we don't know.
The fun part
(along with simply contriving such a list
like "is there such a thing as a Sasquatch?"
or "are we, as Seuss depicted, simply a Who?")
is getting to cross them off.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 29. "For today’s prompt, write a what nobody knows poem."
a list of what nobody knows
would stay perpetually empty
for to add something to the list
you'd first need to know about it,
but once known it no longer belongs
on such a list.
At second thought
the list had far more potential;
all there is to do is ask questions,
to delve beyond the obvious.
There are plenty of things that we
know we don't know.
The fun part
(along with simply contriving such a list
like "is there such a thing as a Sasquatch?"
or "are we, as Seuss depicted, simply a Who?")
is getting to cross them off.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 29. "For today’s prompt, write a what nobody knows poem."
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Atomic Neurons
90% (if not more)
of the thought particles
pinging around in my head
are anti-matter or
at least they should be, but I
give them weight
allowing them to matter.
If I keep splitting atoms
I'm bound to ex-PLO-de.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 28. "Here’s the final 'Two for Tuesday' prompt of the month: Write a matter poem. Matter is what things are made of. Write an anti-matter poem. The opposite of a matter poem."
of the thought particles
pinging around in my head
are anti-matter or
at least they should be, but I
give them weight
allowing them to matter.
If I keep splitting atoms
I'm bound to ex-PLO-de.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 28. "Here’s the final 'Two for Tuesday' prompt of the month: Write a matter poem. Matter is what things are made of. Write an anti-matter poem. The opposite of a matter poem."
Monday, April 27, 2015
Objects in the Mirror Are Not as They Appear
3 friends ride beside me
on this journey through life -
anxiety, depression, & paranoia.
each take their turn up front;
I cringe with each "shotgun."
At times all is peaceful,
eyes focused up ahead -
hope, possibilities, promise & happiness.
but it's all so fleeting,
passing by without care.
Inevitably,
one of them takes control.
& suddenly it's like passing an accident;
everything just slows down
& I can't help but stare.
If only that was all,
but there are three of them -
anxiety, depression, & paranoia -
all seeking attention,
blurring what lies ahead.
The biggest problem are
the side and rear mirrors -
perpetually playing every transgression -
constantly there in my
peripheral vision.
With each new incident,
the reel repeats itself;
hope, possibilities, promise & happiness
diminish because I
can't help except look back.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 27. "For today’s prompt, write a looking back poem."
on this journey through life -
anxiety, depression, & paranoia.
each take their turn up front;
I cringe with each "shotgun."
At times all is peaceful,
eyes focused up ahead -
hope, possibilities, promise & happiness.
but it's all so fleeting,
passing by without care.
Inevitably,
one of them takes control.
& suddenly it's like passing an accident;
everything just slows down
& I can't help but stare.
If only that was all,
but there are three of them -
anxiety, depression, & paranoia -
all seeking attention,
blurring what lies ahead.
The biggest problem are
the side and rear mirrors -
perpetually playing every transgression -
constantly there in my
peripheral vision.
With each new incident,
the reel repeats itself;
hope, possibilities, promise & happiness
diminish because I
can't help except look back.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 27. "For today’s prompt, write a looking back poem."
Just three more days to go.... I'm amazed I haven't pulled all my hair out yet.
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