This way again.
But I can say it…
Even then,
Again…
When it becomes a ‘maybe’,
Baby!
And maybe…
When ‘then’ should happen
To appear,
It will be clear to us
That we’re endearing,
More than just a ‘maybe’…
Maybe?
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What has been done…
Thinking of myself too much at times.Wanting more to give…With less I have prejudged,That you will from me accept.And not caring at all,If you need sometimes to step away.Not only from me.But all the chaos, confusion and hypocrisy.It’s all over the place.And I find myself wishing I could erase it!What has been done…I took it…
The things I said,
But expressed from my heart.And you received.Not to believe the depth,Of my love felt for you.I wish right now I could white out!Erase and/or replace,My committed devotion.Since you would never come to know,What it took to expose myself.You would never come to know,That kind of love…You keep hidden inside.You have too much pride.And I…Well,I am…
Most of their lives they have degraded themselves.
And desrespected their children…By offering them a life deplete of discipline.Today these same people,Share grief and sorrow!All claiming to have faith.These same people pray in their temples…To come out of them,With nothing positive to say.And yet…With their ‘down-to-Earth’ outlooks,Most of their lives they have degraded themselves.Believing such ignorance,Would produce floral bouquets from garbage they discard.And…
Those cream puffs and their stuffed muffins…
Their silver goblets and golden cups…Are no longer being lifted,By the decorated plume of charading plumped fingers…Sparkling with jewels seen glittering,As a sipping of sweet juices to fill fattened guts…Exaggerates a pampered taste.Someone has closed those gluttonous cupboards!Chained and locked them,To keep them shut!The ride that kept them deceitfully in glee…Has come to the end…
You may moan about these times we live.
Attempt to do those very same things done,You did yesterday!And the day before that and got the same results.But today…If your eyes have not been open all the way,Without tunnel visionAs a means to satisfy your existence.You ‘may’ discover a more enriched life,When it has been discovered…An evolution of drastic change is upon us!Those delusioned…
Whatever It is that I am thanking…
I am grateful to have It know my existence!Grateful that It enters my heart and my soul,Grateful that It knows!Whatever It is that forgets and forgives…And removes stumbling blocks from my life as I live.Whatever It is before language came to be,In my mind I carry It…And in ‘It’ It carries me!Whatever It is that…
Sometimes like a religion can,
But poetry’s prayers are better,
Because they include every man.
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Give me a pen
Piece of paper,I will tryTo give back,As literary lover,Much more,Than I’ve takenSimply loving,Poetry’s,Living act,In the theaterOf wordsThat so expressFeelings,Better than allOther thingsEver heard.
Life is strange
Where do we come fromWhere do we goWhy can’t we stay?But Love,Please don’t ever,Go Away!
I haven’t forgotten you,
How could I?Love is not justA temporary waveThat after a whileYou no longer craveOr stall.I still carry,You’re vivid presenceIn my whole existenceAnd in all that is you,Your beloved presenceAnd charm, were alwaysSo totally inspiring,I remember us sharingSo many beautiful thingsEspecially, poetryAnd our hearts would singFor as we had, each other,We had more, than everything.
When thinking and feeling,
What can that produce?A World that works out better?Or just a pleasant poem,Which assembles and resembles,Just a temporary truce.
What does inspire us to Write?
A sudden scene, a sudden fright,Or just imagination’s flight?Love’s always good, the best of all,But is not always there, on call,And then there’s sadness and there’s pain,When Love is gone, creations wane,You feel you’ll Never write Again!
They say,
For body to stay healthy.I ask,How many steps a day,For Thinking to start up,And thru Life, never stop?
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We can be what we want to be,
But here and now,
Dreams are made of sadness,
And impossibilities,
What should be, cannot be,
Like this love,
Between you and me.
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We are made of mystery
Know, thy selfBut can we?
The Lying political bunch,
Nothing is good, were governed by hoods,No wonder we haven’t got punch!
The Intensity of Feeling,
Nor does it flower,Just at a bid.
Present, Past or Future,
Nor totally foreseen,Time is a special Trap!Reality or Dream?
My Grandfather told me long ago,
To know a person Well,Who you may have thought was Paradise,Was truly Devil’s Hell!
Poet, you’d better hope
That you keep on looking for Heaven,Even though it’s never found.