Month: November 2022

Mittens dyed brown with chocolate stains,
a tiny pinecone tucked close to your heart.
A little boy smiles and kisses your cheek,
twirling your fingers around, a snowlake.
A dancing nutcracker, a wreath of holly,
A fairy of snow and frost
Like a statue of ice, magnificently carved
of the flourishes of winter,
brushing, swaying, breezes of cold.

Rosy twinkling lights
and benches crafted of ski poles,
white silvery logs gathered in piles high up.
A flutter of evergreen trees in the biting cold wind,
papers folded and passed like soaring cardinals,
Mittens dyed brown with chocolate stains.
a little boy smiling back at you, mirthful.

Blurred visions of pink and waves
The soothing aroma of sunday afternoon flower fields
Sugary ripe flavor dusting your tastebuds
Rose water pours out of its bottle
The rose water stream seeps into the grass

My deadly rose, you give a confusing sight.
How I hate the way you bite, poke, sway,
Pierce through my mind day and night,
You try too hard to go out and play.

You start to shrivel in November.
You are more evil, spiky, and intense.
Red frost nips the robins of December,
And thinking of wintertime makes you wince.

I dislike you for so many reasons.
I hate your powerful leaves, spine, and spikes.
Thinking of your shrivel spine in certain seasons
My hate for you goes til it strikes.

Now we must part til next spring,
Remember my dense words tho they may sting.

Ghosts represent our talents and potential
But on death’s bed, they sigh
With disapproval and deny
Knowing you didn’t comply with your note-worthy potential
Because like most people you chose the easy preferential
Instead of the rocky and steep road up high
The greater achievement when you eventually die
You chose the straight paved path
The seemingly obvious choice
The easiest way to possibly rejoice

But perhaps the main story of life
Isn’t your greatness or legacy
Or being the hawk instead of the crow
Triumphantly soaring in the air
But be the ordinary chicken
Or contempt pigeon
Fine with hanging on street wires

Once I went on a lonely road.
I was told not to go there,
But my stubborn self refused to listen,
And I knew no one who would care.

And off I went with tears arising,
No one to stop me, as I alight to the skies.
I wanted to see the world, so now I would.
To travel it all, bring tales of good.

Once I went on a lonely road,
No traveler to meet one’s eye.
My only provisions, I stocked what I could,
Too content to heave a sigh.

I traveled all alone, never meeting another soul,
But who am I to wonder? and take upon my toll?
So by and by, the years continued,
And I never regretted my choice.

Once I went on a lonely road,
And I,
I,
Walk from the fields that I sowed.

it always begins joyful,
never wanting it to end
end?
something about it makes the earth shake
its so contented what is forming,
this beautiful story,
never wanting it to conclude
conclude?
something about it shreds my heart
It’s happening right now
I don’t want it to finish
Finish?
something about this makes me sink deep down into the ground,
i hope the finale never comes.

Have you ever heard of spoken word?
I hadn’t.
The courage to step up, give a speech,
Make a declaration, preach?
I had.

That’s all it is, they said,
But now I see it’s more than that.
The ability to speak truly about your life,
Your own words,
In your own mouth.

It doesn’t have to be perfect, or free-flowing,
The words just need to come to you,
Not written on a sheet of paper by somebody else.
But even when we CAN do this step,
Does it matter if we don’t listen?

When they say open your eyes,
Do we do that?
What is True Courage?
It’s not just a man going to war because he was told to,
It’s starting something that you’ve already lost at,
Even if you know you’re not going to win.
Those with True Courage have the ability to be unstoppable,
And those who speak their psalms have unstoppable power.

I used to live in this world,
Blinded by lies told to me by everyone else.
But now I stay awake,
Waiting,
Listening.
I heard some words once, and now…

Have you ever heard of spoken word?
I hadn’t…

I read until the very text lines,
Blurred between my eyes
I spent twenty minutes
And thought I could finish,
But instead watched the time tick by.
I could cry. That one sentence
Refused to make sense, I won’t lie,
My brain doesn’t want to cooperate,
Perhaps I need a break, I’ll wait.
But not too long I hope,
I still need to write an essay
On some pope

Oh, how I wish I was a poet,
With a tongue so swift and sweet,
And words so soft and stoic
They would make even grown men weep

And oh, I wish I was a writer,
Who makes worlds just as they please,
In a copper mixing pot
Or a baker’s pan with grease

In that world beyond my grasp,
Where the noble flag flaps in the breeze
Inside the proud warrior’s clasp.

Yet those golden fields lie far away,
So far out of reach…

But oh, these things take practice,
And a person cannot slack,
So I guess I’ll have to pass this,
As those are qualities I lack

Yet the world waits for no one,
And the going is just as rough,
So I guess I’ll start tomorrow,
And try my hardest to be tough