My Words

Understanding the World through words

Month: January, 2016

Lullaby-poem

I hear the distant morning horn as it approaches—

My pre-alarm-train

that rolls to town around three.

Letting me know that dawn will creep into my room

through the slits of my blind.

I roll over, adjust my pillow,

I find the area that is cool to the touch.

I scratch my knee, and move my feet and

inhale the cold air swirling lazily in my room.

I need to go back to sleep.

The train’s vibration as it speeds away

is my lullaby—

I wonder what it is carrying?

Are there hobo’s catching a ride?

Traveling to a new town, starting fresh, seeing new sights…

Then my alarm sounds and jars my sleepy thoughts.

I stagger to the shower

and silently listen to the water fall

waiting for the cloudy mist that clouds my mirrors.

My thoughts stop drifting,

they’re concentrated on more prosaic things—

in between wishing I was on that train heading north.

Best Apple In The Bunch-Poem

Apple in the basket

all I do is stare and

enjoy your form.

You have perfect complexion—

Tempting, mouthwatering

soft skinned and plump.

I know you’re wet inside.

My eyes are measuring

your perfect curves.

I anticipate

the moment,

when I take you into my mouth.

I’ll savor you

my fair one.

From the tree you were picked

out of all your siblings,

just for me.

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The Man Who Sold The World—David Bowie

We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn’t there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You’re face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed

I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died alone, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You’re face to face
With the Man who Sold the World
—David Bowie

Be a Samurai—Aphorism

In a room full of woman
be a Samurai.

I Like-Poem

I like people who are quirky and fun;
while waiting for the universe to decide whether
or not to be bloated or cry.

Emerald Green Moss-Poem

The weather was dreary and cold, the way winter feels midway.
It’s chilly and a bit windy, all I could think is, “I should of just stayed in bed.”
“At least it was warm and toasty, sleepy,” Now I’m outdoors and the leaves have been
dead, swept and picked up by those huge revolving street cleaning trucks. Instead of seeing beauty, all the trees are bare, naked, branchy silhouettes. They have a nightmarish quality, something Tim Burton would appreciate. And the sky is full of grey claustrophobic clouds, moist, not letting the sun peak through. The streets are wet from a mixture of dew and rain, they’re shiny, glistening, slick. I’m needing the comfort of caffeine, something warm and caramelly, soothing. Something that will perk me up, something that will make my headache go away. The cold seeps in through my pants right around my knees and my converse sneakers are feeling the dampness of the street. I’m feeling underdressed, sluggish, cold as I walk towards the coffeeshop. I walk with my head down trying not to expose my bare neck to the elements, that’s when I see the crack in the pavement, it’s deep and long, it runs all the way through the parking lot. In between the crack, there’s a filament of emerald green moss, resplendent, alive.
My thought turns to poetry:
Like moss that grows in between blackened cracks in the road—
you need to see beauty in the ordinary.
Beauty is everywhere, hidden sometimes from plain view,
from the uninitiated, but it’s there…
Beauty, life, love
surrounds us,
shows up in unexpected places and sometimes if we’re lucky, we catch a glimpse of it.
As I walked into the coffeeshop, the sun finally peaked through the clouds that had formed in mind,
It felt reassuring, warm like a shamanistic dance of gratitude, even though my feet were still cold, my heart was aflame–I smiled at the barista and ordered my hot caramel topped libation to go.

On Savoring-Poem

When you read a poem
taste the words:
A poet spends time—searching
like a chef who goes around
a market feeling the ripe tomatoes,
smelling the fresh cilantro,
and poking
the Chilean fish,
he knows
that the right
combination of ingredients
will be magic,
mouth watering,
delicate.
Swirl the adjectives and lively verbs
around your tongue
the way you savor
California coast Pinot—
sometimes you can taste the oak,
hints of raspberry
and fine chocolate.
Poetic words
are not swallowed; but
savored,
making you come
back
for more.

Repentance And Love—Poem

I’m very sorry that I upset you because
seeing you laugh makes me glow,
I’m fighting for time to be with you
for moments that we can be alone—

Having joy instead of being
at our throats—

I wish it wasn’t so,
that our time together
would be fond:
That patience
would reign and oversee slights— and that
prayer would overcome frustration and hurt.

That a loving embrace between us
would ignite flames
chasing away the darkness
in our lives.

I’m here to support you
The way you support me,
please
open you eyes to see
how much I care for you and the soft words
I speak towards your heart with love.

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