He has no breath and he takes it slow,
it frustrates him because he so wants to go.
He’s always played hard and was a ladies man,
his charms are not gone, someday he’ll understand.
He packs his air and works to breathe,
So young of heart he still wants to speed.
For one “born ready” this is a bitter pill,
these golden years suck and are going to take some skill.
Change has come to the one I love,
he’s out of breath and his lungs are done.
The virile man he fears has gone,
but I assure him he is very, very wrong.
Sometimes he fears this breath will be his last,
those player days are catching up from his checkered past.
It worries him that he might hear death,
still he says “fuck you” and catches his breath.
He’s watched the others who’ve gone before,
he’s seen the future and the prognosis can be poor.
Enjoy this day, its a gift to you
Waste it away at your own peril, fool.
Tag Archives: poem
The Fear Effect
Fear is a familiar friend,
it sucks my life without end.
Fear of what I don’t always know,
it’s always there, a common foe.
As I write these words I have my doubts.
Don’t write, it’s crap. Will fear win out?
Is fear my excuse or why I fail
or why I don’t make the attempt and chase my tail?
Everyone gets scared at times, of this I’m fairly certain,
but the ones who win the game are those who show fear a hurtin!
Awhile back I wrote a post about my Nagging Omission with my husband. Well recently I pulled off that bandage, faced my fear and went all in with a quick rip. First I showed my blog to my husband, letting him read several of the stories. And then I emailed most of my family about my writing and gave them a link to my site.
The good news is my world did not crash in, my husband didn’t ask for a divorce and now knows I do not have an internet lover. I haven’t had any irate calls from family or friends, yet. My husband has shown a tentative curiosity about what I’ve been writing and said he admired my ability to express myself and tell a story, but at first didn’t realize that my blog was open to anyone to see. That part I don’t think he is completely comfortable with and has some fears of his own that we will have to work through.
The only other person to comment about my blog has been my dad(technically my step-dad to those who read my blog and are confused) and he commented on a few of the posts and recited a couple of the poems he has written that are very good. He has one about fishing that is amazing and he has sold some copies of it, but he recited two others I didn’t remember. Maybe we will write a father-daughter poetry book some day.
But now that my husband and my family are aware of this blog and some of my writing; I find that a different type of fear is at work now; I am self-censoring and self-conscience about what I am writing. Because if there are any people I “people-please” for its these people. This is going to be tough!
Do you share your writing with your friends and family? Is there anything you keep just for your self for just this reason?
A Writer’s Pen
A wilting dream and a damning thought,
my soul is broken and black is the pot.
With a crush that occurs one day at a time,
my life isn’t my own because I’m earning a dime.
Why do I work at a job I can’t stand,
because my possessions own me and my wallet demands.
A disingenuous smile and a polite hello,
I’m faking this dance to make some dough.
Desires for things are too instantly gratified,
while this writer’s pen lays still and petrified.
A stunted potential and an untrodden path.
Why do I shrink from risk? Because I fear the crash.
Bird by bird and step by step,
I keep on writing, but feel out of my depth.
I’ve lived with regret and fought for too long,
so I’m keeping my pen and will write a tome.
Strive to be ourselves is Hunter’s advice to a friend,
I better figure it out, because it up to me in the end.
Circumstance has made my choice to this point,
now I search for my destiny and it’s making my life disjoint.
The Lost Brother
Step-by-step and one-by-one,
he was always a very methodical son.
As a boy so very sweet, funny and kind,
a better brother, I doubt, you’ll rarely find.
He left the state to make his fate,
to a school in New York, he took their bait.
A teacher of children, a lover of life,
he works out everyday, but doesn’t have a wife.
Nothing in common and very little to say,
he’s on his journey and we are in his way.
He doesn’t write, email or call,
he’s doing his thing and it’s not at the mall.
We try to connect and share a laugh,
but nothing crosses over and he has to dash.
He lives a life of anarchy and rage,
he wants to play on a much bigger stage.
A three-year absence, it feels like much more,
I think and think about how to open that door.
My brother’s been lost, some day he’ll be found
Can’t wait too long, soon we’ll all be in the ground.
Obligation Moon
Another sleepless night for me,
why won’t my mind set me free?
Awfulized and analyzed,
chewed over and magnified.
A fear of failure or a desire to win,
what drives my brain to these sins?
I turn things over and over in my head,
when sleep is really what I need in my bed.
The pups are up and in my seat,
looking concerned, but still wanting a treat.
My husbands asleep and snoring away,
he’ll wake refreshed to start his day.
I stress, worry and fret
about things of little importance, albeit.
Calm eludes me, no bliss to be found,
believe me I’ve been looking around.
I stare at the moon and what do I see,
another obligation looking back at me.
A wasted life will be my fate,
if I don’t get some of these things off my plate.
Drink some tea and pop a pill,
these anxieties even they aren’t able to kill.
Sleeps elusive for a worried mind,
tomorrows another chance to turn this tide.
Why do I brood, worry and stew,
with my lust for control I guess it’s my due.
It’s another sleepless night for me,
so I write this poem while I sip my tea.
Maya
Maya Angelou passed away yesterday and sadness fell over my soul. I wanted to write something or offer a poem to honor her but all my drafts seemed unworthy. She was such a singular human being with an amazing voice and a full life lived.
A friend of mine shared this from author James Baldwin’s Facebook page and it blew me away.
Photo: Maya Angelou and James Baldwin in the 1960s (From James Baldwin Facebook Page)
Maya wrote the poem “When Great Trees Fall” when James Baldwin died, and read the poem at his funeral.
Photo: Amiri Baraka, Maya Angelou, and Toni Morrison at James Baldwin’s funeral, December 1987
“When Great Trees Fall” by Maya Angelou
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
She existed and we can be and be better for she existed.
Thank you to Random House for maintaining a Facebook Page for the wonderful James Baldwin.
Melting
The rind of brie is so bitter,
the tang of sharp cheddar I like better.
Oh there is blue and gorgonzola,
but gouda is best to console you.
Feta, camembert and romano
have nothing on the best asiago.
A double G or havarti,
they’re just what’s needed to start the party.
On the counter to age and ripen,
they’ll pair nicely with that pear and melon.
So raise your glass of Chablis and taste that stilton,
because this ode to cheese is now melting.
A Wasted Day, What Can I Say
A wasted day, what can I say,
to be productive was not my way.
A rest, a stop, a nap, a talk,
a glance at the clock, but no where to walk.
A wasted day, what can I say,
with no energy, no not even to play.
A drift to the kitchen for a cup of tea
and a glance out the window to see.
A wasted day, what can I say,
I’m ready to go, but just want to stay.
Up, then down, and around and around,
to and fro and no where to go.
A wasted day, what can I say,
I am feeling so sad, but wish to be gay.
A sigh, a slump and a shrug,
but still there’s no one to hug.
A wasted day, what can I say,
my mood it just can’t be swayed.
But if I’m lucky, tomorrow will come
and my wasted day will be all done.
My Brother’s Pride
I travel to my brothers party,
ready to laugh loud and hearty.
His daughter today has made the grade,
and now it’s time to throw her parade.
He brings her friend since second grade,
to grow the fun that they have made.
A suit and tie he does not wear,
for a picture made with flair.
She slips away from the family she knows,
bold and beautiful with a heart of gold.
He stands near his girl with pride,
thinking of the day she’ll be a bride.
The girls a woman now so smart and brave,
my brother’s pride he cannot hide at what he’s made.
$600 Well Spent
The repetition begins at an early age,
with competition to make the grades.
It’s early to rise, to knot the ties,
sip your coffee and monetize.
The work is hard, but still we strive,
because a new toy is in our eyes.
Do we love the work we do,
so often only the lucky few.
To pay for the life that we live,
our sweat we must give.
I have gotten on a rhyming bent these last couple weeks. It seems to happen to me when I start reminiscing and thinking about life in a more reflective way. I think the return of my grandfather to Washington, a visit with my parents and sister and then my nieces graduation this weekend all had me thinking more slowly and reflecting on how quickly time passes. Life truly does go by in a blink of an eye and I seem to miss so much of it.
I need to quit working to pay for “things” and rather work to pay for the experiences of life. This week was a great example of what I would like to do more of; I spend time with my beautiful, sweet, talented niece Hailey and her family. I was able to hear her sing in a performance, meet her new college roommate, finally meet her step-dad(who has been in her life for nearly 13 years) and hang out and laugh with my little brother. The four day with airfare, rental car, food, etc cost me $600, for me that was money well spent.
What do you work for and how do you spend money well?
Random & Rhyme 