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.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Addiction
You are my only vice.
Okay, "only" is a little dramatic;
I have other vices it's just...
*sigh*
you are the most troublesome
& tormenting of the lot.
Don't be dishearten;
while your radiance is pure torture,
the idea of giving you up
is laughable.
You see...
every blushing dawn I awake
without the taste of you,
only serves to remind me
I am flawed;
every lustrous moonbeam that shimmers
without the touch of you,
casts shadows about me that
I must negotiate;
every gust of wind I breathe
without the scent of you,
steals any hint of amazement until
I feel jaded.
What else is there for me to do,
but crave the taste, touch & scent
of you?
For without you, life
is a gnarled noiseless deafening
courtship with discontentment,
but with you, life
is a generous tranquil majestic
courtship with excitement;
for you
undress the worthless feelings
that impede me
& arouse a fearlessness
making me invulnerable.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 26. "For today’s prompt, take a word or two invented by William Shakespeare, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem." While the title indeed is one of the "invented" words, I also include a handful of them throughout this piece; totaling, with the title, 30 words.
Okay, "only" is a little dramatic;
I have other vices it's just...
*sigh*
you are the most troublesome
& tormenting of the lot.
Don't be dishearten;
while your radiance is pure torture,
the idea of giving you up
is laughable.
You see...
every blushing dawn I awake
without the taste of you,
only serves to remind me
I am flawed;
every lustrous moonbeam that shimmers
without the touch of you,
casts shadows about me that
I must negotiate;
every gust of wind I breathe
without the scent of you,
steals any hint of amazement until
I feel jaded.
What else is there for me to do,
but crave the taste, touch & scent
of you?
For without you, life
is a gnarled noiseless deafening
courtship with discontentment,
but with you, life
is a generous tranquil majestic
courtship with excitement;
for you
undress the worthless feelings
that impede me
& arouse a fearlessness
making me invulnerable.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 26. "For today’s prompt, take a word or two invented by William Shakespeare, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem." While the title indeed is one of the "invented" words, I also include a handful of them throughout this piece; totaling, with the title, 30 words.
Again, trying to step outside of myself for a bit. Sometimes when expelling evils it takes more of a toll than just letting them fester. Or maybe it is simply the fact that if done time after time it wears, especially when not balanced with more uplifting (hopeful), even if fictional, thoughts.
On a side note, this piece feels as though it was meant to be read aloud.
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Watching the Tides Turn
Across the sea of people he follows
an angel among mortals, pure as light;
she wades in and out of his vision,
his breath catching each time she disappears;
but such a tale could only end in woes.
Still he feels the flame within him ignite;
his eyes unable to tear away from
this angel among mortals, pure as light.
His heart beats out the rhythm of a drum
as she wades in and out of vision;
he knows there is no choice but to succumb,
for his breath stills each time she disappears.
He breathes in his resolve; the time has come
to brave the crowd and forget all his fears.
Who cares if this tale ends only in woes
and his is the only flame to ignite!
At last he wades in fixed on his vision;
as he braves the crowd forgetting his fears,
across the sea of people, she follows.
Decided it was time for me to get outside of myself for a bit. It hasn't been quite a happy place to reside in. Struggling through this little tale help a bit.
Friday, April 24, 2015
A Blessing and a Curse
Diary Entry
03/04/1991
(9th grade)
"Nicole tryed to kill herself.
I really mean it, she even
showed me the marks on her wrists.
...
she told me she wouldn't do it (again).
I know I should believe her, but
what if she gets really upset and
does it anyway."
I don't know
if in that moment
I truly understood the impact
this event had on me, even
nine days later.
Diary Entry
03/13/1991
"Life sucks. And there's only one
way out and Nicole knows that way.
I'd never do it though."
I can't say,
at what point in time
I realized
truly realized
the influence this moment had
on me.
I'd never do it though.
hmm...
I'd never do it though.
a simple statement, but
the implications...
To be truthful
I'm not sure if I am thankful
or annoyed at her
for taking this option
away from me.
I realize how that sounds
& more often than not
thankful wins out.
but still I wonder...
Poetic Verse: If I could, this would be my suicide note
08/21/2012
"How do I forget how to breathe?
If only I could, I might finally
leech myself of this hope(lessness)"
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 24. "For today’s prompt, write a moment poem."
03/04/1991
(9th grade)
"Nicole tryed to kill herself.
I really mean it, she even
showed me the marks on her wrists.
...
she told me she wouldn't do it (again).
I know I should believe her, but
what if she gets really upset and
does it anyway."
I don't know
if in that moment
I truly understood the impact
this event had on me, even
nine days later.
Diary Entry
03/13/1991
"Life sucks. And there's only one
way out and Nicole knows that way.
I'd never do it though."
I can't say,
at what point in time
I realized
truly realized
the influence this moment had
on me.
I'd never do it though.
hmm...
I'd never do it though.
a simple statement, but
the implications...
To be truthful
I'm not sure if I am thankful
or annoyed at her
for taking this option
away from me.
I realize how that sounds
& more often than not
thankful wins out.
but still I wonder...
Poetic Verse: If I could, this would be my suicide note
08/21/2012
"How do I forget how to breathe?
If only I could, I might finally
leech myself of this hope(lessness)"
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 24. "For today’s prompt, write a moment poem."
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Steeped in Rich Family Tradition
1967
two Italian immigrants
brothers
ten years after stepping off the boat
pre-teens
now in their early twenties
begin a legacy
what starts out as
a simple butcher shop
slowly expands
to mouthwatering
prepared food
each recipe tested
on the rigorous palettes
of family members
& finds a way into
the hearts of a community
2007
just 40 years later
two brothers
follow in the footsteps
of their father
committed to the same great
quality & service & flavors
instilled in them
expand the legacy
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 23. "For today’s prompt, write a historic poem." This is written from a place of personal history...
two Italian immigrants
brothers
ten years after stepping off the boat
pre-teens
now in their early twenties
begin a legacy
what starts out as
a simple butcher shop
slowly expands
to mouthwatering
prepared food
each recipe tested
on the rigorous palettes
of family members
& finds a way into
the hearts of a community
2007
just 40 years later
two brothers
follow in the footsteps
of their father
committed to the same great
quality & service & flavors
instilled in them
expand the legacy
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 23. "For today’s prompt, write a historic poem." This is written from a place of personal history...
I feel a bit as though this piece could be more than it is, but for now...
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
From the Tree
Is it I
who watches the owl
in his natural habitat
or is it he
who watches me
in mine?
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 22. "For today’s prompt, write a nature poem." This piece did not come so naturally...I honestly thought I had lost to it, but as I found my usual writing haunt I was bombarded with the image of an owl and thus this piece was born.
who watches the owl
in his natural habitat
or is it he
who watches me
in mine?
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 22. "For today’s prompt, write a nature poem." This piece did not come so naturally...I honestly thought I had lost to it, but as I found my usual writing haunt I was bombarded with the image of an owl and thus this piece was born.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Waiting on the Timer to Buzz
I am a poem, unfinished
rough & raw
waiting to serve some purpose
waiting to serve some greater good
I am a poem, uncooked
marinated in metaphors
meant to disguise
or perhaps
make me more acceptable
more palatable
I am a poem, ungarnished
adorned in alliteration
meant to abate appearances
or perhaps
to underscore
what's underneath
I am a poem, untasted
steeped in lies
seared in truths
& cut open raw
or rather rare or medium rare
but far from well-done
I am a poem, unfinished
waiting to be tasted
waiting to be savored
waiting to be
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 21. "For today’s prompt, we’re dealing with our third 'Two for Tuesday' prompt(s): Write a 'what you are' poem, or… Write a 'what you are not' poem."
rough & raw
waiting to serve some purpose
waiting to serve some greater good
I am a poem, uncooked
marinated in metaphors
meant to disguise
or perhaps
make me more acceptable
more palatable
I am a poem, ungarnished
adorned in alliteration
meant to abate appearances
or perhaps
to underscore
what's underneath
I am a poem, untasted
steeped in lies
seared in truths
& cut open raw
or rather rare or medium rare
but far from well-done
I am a poem, unfinished
waiting to be tasted
waiting to be savored
waiting to be
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 21. "For today’s prompt, we’re dealing with our third 'Two for Tuesday' prompt(s): Write a 'what you are' poem, or… Write a 'what you are not' poem."
Monday, April 20, 2015
My Left-Brain, the Right's Saving Grace (or is it the other way around?)
I think I've finally given up
on the Two-Brain Theory
where in the womb I consumed my twin
but not wishing to be completely a-part
(and maybe sensing as twins are known to do
that I wasn't really all "together,"
which could lead to serious harm)
my twin's brain grew and developed
- plum sized -
beside my own
intent on protection
of course, there is no evidence to substantiate
a double heart beat ever existed
and so it seems only logical to let this go.
I've also - for the most part -
given up on my Tumor Theory
mainly because if it were true
well, I'd be dead by now.
And so I've come to the most feasible answer
to my battling hemispheres
& why I feel like my creative half
more often than not
is stuffed inside an invisible box
pushing & shoving & kicking
just trying to get out.
why the battle?
why does my left brain insist on taking control?
For as long as I can remember
I've been plagued with irrational thoughts
whether a chemical imbalance
or perceptions of society's norms
interred & twisted within
I cannot say,
but they've always been there
forcing me into isolation
depression, anxiety, paranoia
'til breathing is like gulping water
that bleeds from the corners of my eyes.
And so, while I use to think
my "second" brain, in all of its infinite wisdom,
was there to counteract these detrimental thoughts
I've come to accept, that though born
with a dominate right hemisphere
my left has staged an uprising
to fight
logical against illogical.
& every once in awhile,
when the threat seems to subside
my right is allowed to roam free
and under the guidance of my left
expel these ills in a flow of words
allowing for but a moment
my left brain to finally breathe.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 20. "For today’s prompt, take the phrase “My (blank), the (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."
on the Two-Brain Theory
where in the womb I consumed my twin
but not wishing to be completely a-part
(and maybe sensing as twins are known to do
that I wasn't really all "together,"
which could lead to serious harm)
my twin's brain grew and developed
- plum sized -
beside my own
intent on protection
of course, there is no evidence to substantiate
a double heart beat ever existed
and so it seems only logical to let this go.
I've also - for the most part -
given up on my Tumor Theory
mainly because if it were true
well, I'd be dead by now.
And so I've come to the most feasible answer
to my battling hemispheres
& why I feel like my creative half
more often than not
is stuffed inside an invisible box
pushing & shoving & kicking
just trying to get out.
why the battle?
why does my left brain insist on taking control?
For as long as I can remember
I've been plagued with irrational thoughts
whether a chemical imbalance
or perceptions of society's norms
interred & twisted within
I cannot say,
but they've always been there
forcing me into isolation
depression, anxiety, paranoia
'til breathing is like gulping water
that bleeds from the corners of my eyes.
And so, while I use to think
my "second" brain, in all of its infinite wisdom,
was there to counteract these detrimental thoughts
I've come to accept, that though born
with a dominate right hemisphere
my left has staged an uprising
to fight
logical against illogical.
& every once in awhile,
when the threat seems to subside
my right is allowed to roam free
and under the guidance of my left
expel these ills in a flow of words
allowing for but a moment
my left brain to finally breathe.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 20. "For today’s prompt, take the phrase “My (blank), the (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."
Sunday, April 19, 2015
In a Tone of Absolutes
my father is the foremost authority of nothing
though he would have you believe otherwise.
ask him a question and you'll get a response sure & quick;
it matters not the topic - he has a knack
for spewing plausible fiction & occasional truths.
ask him how he does it for he has no qualms
about sharing his expertise (in truth) on this matter;
after all he's definitely the foremost
authority of absolutely nothing.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 19. "For today’s prompt, write an authority poem."
Lies Hidden in Certainty
Do not fall prey
to his quick words
spoken in a tone
of absolutes
for nestled deep
within his fast
reply lies truth-
less facts.
though he would have you believe otherwise.
ask him a question and you'll get a response sure & quick;
it matters not the topic - he has a knack
for spewing plausible fiction & occasional truths.
ask him how he does it for he has no qualms
about sharing his expertise (in truth) on this matter;
after all he's definitely the foremost
authority of absolutely nothing.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 19. "For today’s prompt, write an authority poem."
I couldn't help but write to this. Recently at a dinner, my father shared is insightful expertise on this matter. It also drudged up an old piece I had written back in 2012. This piece also helped me to unearth the title for this new piece.
Lies Hidden in Certainty
Do not fall prey
to his quick words
spoken in a tone
of absolutes
for nestled deep
within his fast
reply lies truth-
less facts.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Empty Shell & Wickedness
Empty Shell
hope holds strong
overwhelms
smothers
chokes
every moment
every second
hope presses down
exposes holes
born of hope
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 18. "For today’s prompt, pick 2 vowels and write a poem using words that only contain one or both of those vowels." In case you were wondering, my vowels of choice were o and e.
hope holds strong
overwhelms
smothers
chokes
every moment
every second
hope presses down
exposes holes
born of hope
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 18. "For today’s prompt, pick 2 vowels and write a poem using words that only contain one or both of those vowels." In case you were wondering, my vowels of choice were o and e.
For a moment, I thought to use i and e...but I felt the piece needed more than I could muster. (or maybe it's the order of the three couplets...hmm....)
Wickedness
desire flickers
in her sin-filled eyes
she licks
wine tinted lips
need prickles
deep within her being
Friday, April 17, 2015
Cluck Like a Chicken
Eyes move
left - right
back - n - forth
left - right
lulling the mind
left - right
into submission
snap
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 17. "For today’s prompt, write a swing poem."
left - right
back - n - forth
left - right
lulling the mind
left - right
into submission
snap
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 17. "For today’s prompt, write a swing poem."
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Earth's Organ System
water is the blood & breath
of the earth
with the sun & moon acting as
the controlling mind;
each organism an organ
sustained by
this life-giving flow.
Thought of like this,
would it not make sense
to ponder
if the human's role
is equivalent to that
of a virus?
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 16. "For today’s prompt, write a science poem." It took me awhile to unearth this piece, but I think it fits well enough.
of the earth
with the sun & moon acting as
the controlling mind;
each organism an organ
sustained by
this life-giving flow.
Thought of like this,
would it not make sense
to ponder
if the human's role
is equivalent to that
of a virus?
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 16. "For today’s prompt, write a science poem." It took me awhile to unearth this piece, but I think it fits well enough.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Vulnerable
I built a safe room around
my most precious
& fragile possession.
How else could I keep myself
from coming apart?
from unraveling?
Now here you stand
threatening my very existence
because though safely locked away
I can hear the steady beat
grow louder & louder
taunting my delicate mind
every time you are near.
I built a safe room around
my most precious
& fragile possession.
Who could have guessed
I'd still be susceptible
to heartache?
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 15. "For today’s prompt, pick an adjective, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."
So of course you're wondering how I selected my word. I thought about using the "word of the day" from my dictionary app, but it wasn't a adjective...and when I went backwards in days the first adjective I came across was from the 12th...caseous which means "of or like cheese"...yeah, that wasn't going to happen. So instead, I went to the section where you could see what words were trending as well as what words were recently search anywhere on the map. So I went ahead and zoomed in on my location and found someone nearby (even possibly in the same building - I zoomed in pretty close)...thus vulnerable.
An aside: It is day 15...that means I made it halfway through...even though I feel myself waning, I will continue to push on...hopefully....
my most precious
& fragile possession.
How else could I keep myself
from coming apart?
from unraveling?
Now here you stand
threatening my very existence
because though safely locked away
I can hear the steady beat
grow louder & louder
taunting my delicate mind
every time you are near.
I built a safe room around
my most precious
& fragile possession.
Who could have guessed
I'd still be susceptible
to heartache?
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 15. "For today’s prompt, pick an adjective, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."
So of course you're wondering how I selected my word. I thought about using the "word of the day" from my dictionary app, but it wasn't a adjective...and when I went backwards in days the first adjective I came across was from the 12th...caseous which means "of or like cheese"...yeah, that wasn't going to happen. So instead, I went to the section where you could see what words were trending as well as what words were recently search anywhere on the map. So I went ahead and zoomed in on my location and found someone nearby (even possibly in the same building - I zoomed in pretty close)...thus vulnerable.
An aside: It is day 15...that means I made it halfway through...even though I feel myself waning, I will continue to push on...hopefully....
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
I really want to get this right
I.
If the conversation never arises,
(Hey, I noticed you don't drink;
so, what's the deal?)
does not offering up the information
(Oh, just in case you were wondering,
I'm an alcoholic.)
count as a lie by omission?
II.
Does "honest to a fault"
(What do you think of my haircut?
Uh, do you look fat in those jeans?)
mean it's not always okay to be forthright
(Did you get your head stuck in a wood chipper?
Wow, your butt really looks huge in that dress!)
and little white lies are acceptable?
(That hair style is really you.
You look gorgeous in everything.)
III.
What does the line
between honesty & dishonesty
look like to you?
Is it a tightrope walk?
Is it a balance beam?
Is it a four-lane highway?
I like you & I'm weary of a misstep.
IV.
Oh, by the by,
I'm not really much of a drinker
never was - social or otherwise.
My aunt's a beautician, in case
you're looking to change things up.
I guarantee my ass looks big in this -
it looks big in everything.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 14. "Today is our second “Two for Tuesday” prompt(s), and here are your options: 1. Write an honest poem. Or… 2. Write a dishonest poem."
If the conversation never arises,
(Hey, I noticed you don't drink;
so, what's the deal?)
does not offering up the information
(Oh, just in case you were wondering,
I'm an alcoholic.)
count as a lie by omission?
II.
Does "honest to a fault"
(What do you think of my haircut?
Uh, do you look fat in those jeans?)
mean it's not always okay to be forthright
(Did you get your head stuck in a wood chipper?
Wow, your butt really looks huge in that dress!)
and little white lies are acceptable?
(That hair style is really you.
You look gorgeous in everything.)
III.
What does the line
between honesty & dishonesty
look like to you?
Is it a tightrope walk?
Is it a balance beam?
Is it a four-lane highway?
I like you & I'm weary of a misstep.
IV.
Oh, by the by,
I'm not really much of a drinker
never was - social or otherwise.
My aunt's a beautician, in case
you're looking to change things up.
I guarantee my ass looks big in this -
it looks big in everything.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 14. "Today is our second “Two for Tuesday” prompt(s), and here are your options: 1. Write an honest poem. Or… 2. Write a dishonest poem."
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