My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: poem

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Morning Coffee-Poem

I wake up,
stretch and yawn.
It’s dark outside.
I can hear distant
cars already whizzing by.
I force myself to get out of bed
like Lazarus’
suddenly interrupted
eternal sleep.

I fumble downstairs,
steadied by the
smooth banister.
I fill the tea kettle
with cold tap water
click the gas burner
on high
and patiently wait.

The whistle startles my
morning thoughts
I turn them both off
counter clockwise.
The dry coffee grounds
anticipate their
steaming hot libation.

The aroma of morning pierces
the shroud of dawn’s darkness
As I pour the ancient concoction
into my mug.

The hot liquid
rises to the top.
It’s mesmerizing.
An aesthetic contrast
between two opposing colors
Black coffee and white cup.
I add milk,
sugar,
and stir
the liquid turns
to caramel—its
ready to partake, so
I raise it to my lips
close my eyes
and swallow.

Like Glue—Poem

My wife is a rock
She works so hard to make ends meet.

Her concern is for our safety
to make sure we’re not faltering,
emotionally, financially, morally.
When she’s troubled she calls me
on the phone;
If there’s good news,
I’m the first one she shares it with.
I reciprocate her affection,
with flowers, poems, and tender touches.

We’re best friends.
Our most important trait is
communicating.
Let me clarify:
No marriage is without bumps.
It’s not always love, love, love.
We bicker over many things.
Sometimes it’s trivial, even though
It always seems “important” at the time.

Yet, we never give up on each other,
instead we compromise:
we say, “I’m sorry.”
and try to rectify our behavior.
It’s a marital dance—
a passionate tango
at times its jolting,
often times its smooth.
a relationship between
two strong-willed humans,
works only
if there’s commitment:
love and sacrifice,
and plenty of laughter
which acts like glue.

What Is Youth? Poem

What is youth?

Life moves quickly.
Moments elapse into
songs that helps me reminisce;
but, it’s fleeting—
like clouds on a sunny day,
the ones that disappear
into the blue infinite
depth.
That same depth that
circumnavigates our
magnificent earth.
I hold onto my thoughts like picture albums,
as I stand with skinned knees
and a happy smile.
Little did I know
like the cumulus shade that
skips through the pregnant sky.
That the sun I love would not stop counting my days.
Where did my youth go?
It’s the same sky, sun, and Earth;
but now my joints ache
and my smile is etched
by a life filled with plenty of
happiness and
twice the hardships;
a little older,
a bit wiser.
I’m toughened by tragic loss.
I wish I could be young again.
I wish I could go out and play;
to be back by dusk without care
as I sit down with my family,
while laughingly
recounting my escapades.

Youth is a warm familiar blanket I rest under.
Youth is the memory of days gone by that I cherish
like a baby Lark cherishes its mother’s cozy nest.

Sharpened And Oiled-Poem

Got myself a Barlow.
Who knows where it’s been?
I found her unkept,
rusted,
marked by neglect—

A forgotten scrap of metal,
left in a tool-box
that’d become a crypt.

I recall the history—

A trusted companion of
West-ward seeking pioneers
and American boys.

I set out to clean,
and polish
so that it
could be put
back to work.

My “sure-enough” Barlow,
sharpened and oiled,
cuts again.

EDC—Every Day Carry

I carry my soul on my back,
I carry the memory of my father’s untimely death.
I carry the love of my children’s laugh.
I carry the weight of my next rent that’s due.
I carry the moves made to Texas, Oregon, Kentucky, and Georgia, then making my way back.
I carry the memory of good times and hard times.
I carry the manifold wrinkles of age under my eyes.
I carry the reality of what’s wrong with this world.
So I sharpen my knives slowly methodically—each stroke wet stone soaked with fears.
The memory of brothers-in-arms lost overseas, burdens laden with tears—
Everyday I carry things.
Everyday a new burden is laid on my scared back.

Changing The Tires-Poem

I have a tire that keeps losing air;
back left tire deflates on its own.
It sends an electrical signal to my
dash and it reminds me I have a flat.

I have to drive to the service station
ask the attendant to turn on the air pump.
I take off the black plastic valve cap,
pull on the air house and insert the air valve and press until I hear a hiss. The tire slowly inflates and when I’m done, I release the pressure, put the black plastic valve cover on and leave.

After a few days of this, I make a decision to contact tire replacement stores in my area. The tires are worn from the constant driving. I’m looking for the best deal. I’ve been:

Going to work.
Going to the grocery store.
Taking my kids to school.
Picking them up from school.
Going to see my dying brother-in-law
out of state numerous times.
Going out on dates movies.
Dinners, concerts.

The back tires are worn
from all the driving
rubber on pavement
day-in—day-out.

I find a set of tires for a good price.
I walk in and patiently wait.
The room is stifling, I’m sweating.
The men sitting are talking
about sports, carbon fiber bikes,
the Golden State Warriors recent loss.

I’m uncomfortable, the air is hot and stale with a strong stench of brand new rubber.
It’s over 100 degrees and miserable.

I walk outside, the cool breeze hits my face. I find solace in the shadow of a sidewalk tree. Those inconsequential trees some city landscape architect decided to plant. Today, that tree brings me relief from the rays of the central California sun.

I see my car being parked up front.
I go back in pay the cashier get my
keys and head back out towards my car. It has two shiny back tires and they even spritzed the front ones to match. Done.