Lost work found and shared

Poem 11

Robbed me

Young mutha fucka robbed me.

Not far from my home in an afternoon.

Little mutha fucka pulled out a piece.

Coward ass little bitch decided to burn down my day.

Out of greed?

Either it was out of necessities?

Or fiendish things dreamed up by hip hop dreams?

Little fools don’t know what’s right.

Funny.

You’d think the world will remember you.

Your foolish acts.

The small moments that will never make you great.

Poem 12

In sitting here, watching ducks glide across the lake water.

While people walked past me.

I knew what the world wanted to hear.

About love.

Holding each other at the waist.

Loving our loved ones.

Ripples of waves across the water.

And what does the world want to hear about?

Smiles.

Happy endings of poor storytelling jumped to elaborate fantasy.

The world wants to hear singing.

It wants to hear voices over piano keys.

Soothing out their problems.

Only time will tell.

Only time can change.

Only thirty minutes for a break.

Employment was too long.

Eating baked fish leftovers,

Lucky like four-leaf clovers were I to have a job.

Was it me that choice?

Was it me that soften my voice?

Was I the one who discovered inner love.

Poem 13

Wonder put the darkness.

Strive for light.

Search for some glimmer.

Some moment within my body.

The muck of my sin shall not have me.

Poem 14

I was young once.

Now I’m young today.

Another year that passes along.

Another time that moves me.

Gets me to my next day.

Blowing out birthday candles.

Giving me only hypothetical wishes.

Hope can only feel this.

But he’s so cute.

Staring at me.

Knowing how I think.

I’m lost in being young.

Good moments seems empty all over again.

Poem 15

Freewriting.

Something I’m doing for the first time.

Classical music and caffeine to mix out my old rhymes.

Today was a lazy song sung out on Mars.

Sitting in my home feeling good and grown.

This is who I am.

Solider of love.

Damn.

Time slows for no man.

Time only goes forward.

Fleeting from my sights.

I've simply torn out the fabric of reality.

Soulfully deserted in the wilderness of self-loathing.

Feeling empty some nights.

Feeling alone.

Freewriting.

Never let me write in such nature before.

Never seeing the levels of intellect.

I have to be scorned.

Yet, I love all things.

All things can change.

With clocks ticking across the Sun fading away.

Poem 16

Chocolate cake and coffee charmed by half and half

Sweet sugar on my tongue.

Smooth feeling for my soul.

Love me again the inspiration.

My muse to my dedication.

My moment has arrived once again.

My song has to be heard.

Listen to it.

My soul is full of smiles.

Full of smiles with crooked teeth.

Brushed and cleaned.

Smiles.

Only me to be responsible for it.

Lost Work Found and Shared

Poem 10

The story of a Dreamer.

Where do dreams go to be reborn?
Where can he find them?
For I sing to thee of Douglas.
Who fell at the hands of all injustice.
Who knew no blue skies,  only bruised black eyes.
But now those days are gone.
He thereafter held a part of himself with guilt.
Guilty as wrong.
So He walked by with such honesty.
So He walked by with such pain.
Running through the streets.
Trying to outsmart the rain.
So he failed.
As the heart swelled.
He grew rebellious.
Knowing nothing passed his own mind.
He searched subconsciously for memories he struggled to find.
Nickles and dimes mattered not.
Nor did credit or any amount of financial stock.
His wallet had been empty.
Empty as broken piggy banks and overdrawn accounts.
Dreams were all he had
It was his craft.
The only half that refused to die.
Refused to stay dead.
He'd never abandoned his dreams
So it seems.
Not forgotten, not thrown in a hole
like damage goods that has rotten.
Many things go through his logical brain.
His only claim to wealth was that he'd had no blame
for dreams had been kept safe.
The dreams had survived the fall.
The story of Douglas, his dreams I present to you all.

Lost work found and shared

Poem 9

This Hole

See I made myself this hole you see.

This hole where I.

Where I throw my problems down.

Throw my pain down, my sorrow down.

My coldness with boldness I threw that down.

Depression with no hesitation to toss with all intentions.

No regret for my conciseness.

Hope and bliss are all I want as a result.

See, I thought that if I place the negative and the hatred down this hole.

They could no longer hold me.

Who sees me?

Like tossing a coin in a well and making a wish.

With each quarter I kiss like it was my last.

Except this is me hoping it’s my last visit.

I throw my regret.

Not a spec left in me.

Drop it off my shoulder, grant me release.

Feelings of grief fell in all too easy.

That itch was destined to go.

Like blonds on horror picture shows.

My load will unfold and roll down the cylinder design before my eyes.

Tears that are cried.

Drip drop and won’t stop pouring down a cup with no bottom.

They just flowing past each other.

In this hole.

My feelings were null and numb.

That habit of sucking thumbs in panic.

Logically, I asked to be free of the load.

I hold.

I roll.

I tuck.

Hating the fear of being trapped behind bars.

Destination to the stars happens every full moon.

With you who follows my advice, don’t think twice.

Tell it to each other.

Tell another.

Let the world be passed amongst you.

I dropped it in the hole.

Lost Work found and shared

Poem 6

Death is no beginning to spinning tires screeching

Across the “Do Not Enter” signs

Death isn’t no lighting striking trees

Over local family houses.

It isn’t the day we would wonder our whole lives about.

But would fear true knowledge of the same day.

It isn’t a day when families grieve nor have yet to know

In bliss of a passing member.

It’s that moment before we hear it.

They stand still, long enough to cry before the apologies

And hugs of support come to catch me in my sorrow.

Broken heart’s hold each other in broken sorrows and despair.

Poem 7

Why does the moon show during the day

but during the night the Sun is now where to be found?

Is it too bright?

Or is it too big?

Is the moon just a shining rock?

Orbiting across the sky, flying high, looking back at us with gloom.

Showing all it’s faces, full, half and quarter and sometimes not at all.

And then the stars.

Poem 8

Mother of the project homes on section A

Living in buildings made of crumbling bricks,stone, and clay.

With screen doors that slammed

Harder than the life that Gina lived.

Mother of two, One more on the way.

Depressed by sounds of a phone call from the school.