10 Poems | Warning: Delusion below. Some of these poems are cringe inducing, tragically embarrassing poems. I have accepted the shame of writing these and will allow a dose of self induced humility by making fun of myself while sharing it with others. Others poems are just about growing into an adult. There were lots of growing pains along the way. I really can not fathom writing anymore love poetry again. But it did help at the time.
First Crush
The urge grips me as before.
For long has it been.
So long, I have willingly forgotten.
Not of the, but of why.
Of the reasons:
Your beauty.
Your friendship.
Your allure – a lovely and interesting soul.
Everything is the same as it was before – even the how hard my heart goes “whoa!”
My heart beats faster now.
Reopened to what was never fully closed because no words of mine were said.
I never guessed your mind on the matter.
Doubtfully I ever hinted, either, for I was shy.
This time:
I shall stitch the seams for good.
Pronounce my heart.
Let it be softly heard.
Hopefully your heart will answer when I do.
Whether accepted or denied, tis okay with me
but
I will say that which I never said.
Simple as can be:
“I like you”
Another Crush to Replace the Last
This life remains vexing woe
as my heart wrenches so.
A dreary storm drowns my mind
without a touch that heals staggered souls left behind.
Yearning for a euphoric connection.
That warmth of understanding affection.
Timing ticks without regard, this is true
and this moment it points to you.
I naught understand all of why, but it is due.
Faster than wonderlight.
Unexpected as death’s veil’s night.
Does this feeling grow with further sight.
A magic dances in the air around you
of course it’s only but a spell, I knew
yet love’s lenses are still tinted with such rosy hue.
Only a stranger yet ago,
now a friend to cherish lighting my day aglow.
A span of second equals a blaze of the sun’s flow.
Fonder do I see you, but perhaps your eyes gaze differently.
If so, life continues indifferent as before.
Except, I take solace with you as a friend evermore.
The Moments that You Let Go
Timing tangles all sorts of events.
Normal as normal as next follows former.
A lucky surprise is but destiny’s magic.
When the mind wishes for that shooting star,
it’s only an unexpected whim that one actually falls near.
I do not wish to see anyone I say.
Not with this particular moment of being.
No serenity.
No wellness of thoughts to be.
Yet, with my head ascending up
I am proven wrong.
I do see one for whom I wish to see.
An unexpected welcome, an interlude now be.
My cheer arose, accompanied equally by a dreadful doubt.
A tension of mine
always true about me.
In this current world, that certain answer of
Maybe?
Could be?
but probably, not meant to be.
This one now sat, playfully, very close to me.
A greeting and a chat, it seemed to be.
It was quick, like a turn of a key.
This meeting was over you see.
No time for fancy delusions for those right words to say.
Such a swift change in pace
upright, and on foot that one moved.
To stay, it was not the case, not that one’s groove.
Then, a dotting stare before a wave goodbye.
Gone was that one, yet those words, did I clutch, still trying to classify.
Any remark, semblance between the lines, of what I want it to be.
Wonder winds like these come and go.
Person by person, place by place, time by time.
Precarious and tempting to follow flow.
Just wait, and let the sun finally set behind that hill’s rind
and I bet such yearnings will fade.
Until you match a heart with a true time’s braid.
Midnight Drive
Passerby glow of lights
blurred around the corners of my eyes
speeding one by one, out of sight.
Sleepy city scenes blink along
bumps, up and down, as the mind flies
rushing air slips into dreamy songs.
This thoughtless drive
this meaningless ride
to what arrival, I have yet to decide.
Timeless inconsideration this car hides
fleeing feelings empty, what’s tucked inside.
Maturing Through Time
Maturity takes time.
You’re not mature for your age.
You mature as you age.
Emotions take time to grow and time to control.
You probably won’t even understand these feelings until you know them.
Truly know them
not know about them
but actually experience them for what they are.
Maturity never stops either.
Time rolls by and all the more is learned.
Adults will never stop learning.
That will be an age old proverb that is felt in wisdom’s bone
after each fraction and error that needs to be healed.
You become more stupid as time goes on
yet the true fool is the only one who does not accept this.
Confidence comes from learning.
Maturity comes from being stupid.
I Learned to Fail
I sat at my desk much in thought.
I tried to learn lessons of war, love, and dreams of peace that were once sought.
I witnessed, but did not understand centuries of logic problems solved in chalk.
I read loosely of bonds, vectors, and tectonic aftershocks.
Yet, everything was about grades and points.
Nothing about epiphanies in knowledge and dreams in disjoint.
How do I use this to survive in this world?
How to get on with life without any molds or maps, something, even if truth is curtailed.
What use are ideas and thoughts in a universe of death and probability?
School didn’t teach me how to live – of financial, job mobility.
It’s not the job of the teacher to do this as I hope for an impossible endeavor.
I am a fastidious ingrate who got hit by personal missteps
however –
So it is so, I demand that failure not be wrong.
We still need a place to get things even if it takes a time too long.
To really learn is to live
to live is to fail
while school is just a place to scrape along.
Binding Links
The links that bind us all.
Each chain is forged in similar,
same spirit of celestial flame.
Minds as one, a collective consciousness yearning for life.
Passion, dreams, happiness, and to counterbalance
hate, anger, and vitriol exempt from no one.
Every link has deviations.
Every link has imperfections.
The Universe beckons with infinite chains of momentum.
Explore countless webs of space-time and we find optimism creating inspiration
to overcome pain too well to speak.
Resulting with spectacular imagination fusing with brutal reality
and
unfair reality fusing with unbelievable imagination.
The ultimate answer to the brightest galaxy that defines all is
to those who look, discovering more, knowing less and asking more.
Search may we for it, I find one particular answer suffice.
Because it is what I know that guides me.
As to those who already hold to their conviction on such believe
The linking value of love that it must be!
A burning Idea, that dies bright and dims ever most slowly as a shiny dwarf star.
A galaxy may drift with no notice and certainly no announcement.
Gone with a blink.
Still wandering eyes of the sky gaze upon the lights of old
the voices the story of what was
willed into the cosmic fate
and linked to the Universe.
For my love is to all.
There, here, known or unknown.
It exists somewhere.
It existed as a link.
Coveted in a dream.
Bubble Memories
I see the bubble in the air.
I see it floating, till the end of summer’s care.
Orange light bounces from the soapy rainbow glare.
Drift does it, wispy barrel rolls atop my town.
Seeing streets filled with bikes, toys, and shoes thrown around
and kids in play, shouting, and laughing as the sun comes down.
It was but a bubble of breath blown away.
Flying high as it could, then I know it popped at some place, perhaps the bay.
Life grows, childhood ends, but I will forever remember those days in the driveway.
Jobwise
Resume after resume after resume
It’s hard to keep the depression at bay
not when the subjective is hard to weigh.
You ask why I choose to apply
that should be quite apparent why.
I only want money so that I don’t die.
Rejection after rejection emailed to me.
I don’t think entry level is what you mean in any reality.
You lack good measurement and somehow believe we need a bachelor’s degree.
When all we need is a cheap place to be a skill trade enrollee
With an apprenticeship appointee.
Employers know naught of what they want
if that was the case then every job would be filled in every restaurant.
To choose a wider selection and then train them rather than expecting a savant.
All you do is make a Standard in a good readable font.
Create Methods and Procedures instead of being so nonchalant.
Top to bottom, train us with decision making confidence.
Continuous improvement at every storefront.
To understand there is no allegiance or buy in
for those who walk over us with low wages because of arrogant managerial kingpins.
Respect comes from passion within.
Great works come from those who want us to find valuable meaning therein.
To find a job that you love takes more than a report card.
Finding a job that is nice to do is also very hard.
Business is a contract connected to our bank card.
Treat it like it is and give us a fair trade for labor and not leave us scarred.
There is potential in every job, yet so many companies ignorantly disregard.
(Many poems are just ways for me to vent and pretty much are summed up in complaints.)
Saturday Mornings
Saturday mornings were such a great glee.
When I heard the buzz of the t.v. that tuned to hours of cartoons to see.
A press of button made a childhood wonder.
Each show lit my imagination aglow with a warm blanket to be under.
I crunched my sunrise breakfast cereal while my eyes were locked on a cliffhanger.
Waiting week to week, day to day, my excitement was put on hold, stuffed on a coat hanger.
Finally when a Friday hailed, my clothes came off and pajamas back on.
I impatiently leap to the bed, waiting, not sleeping for dawn.
As old as I could remember, those were the good ole years for my generation members.
I still reminisce with my bothers “yeah that old cartoon, I loved that like all the others”.
We all grew – so did TV- as the times will always change.
I stopped watching those cartoons without so much of an adieu, since life drifted in disarrange.
I was sad when I heard that there were no more Saturday morning lineup cartoons.
My legendary days in which were so special, even the cheesy infomercials, were now completely pruned.
But that is how life goes and it is not so bad.
I can now stream cartoons on the net, better yet, at anytime I want, although I stick to a fad.
Like it used to be, I got up Saturday mornings with cereal, blanket, and fun to be had.
This time, I got up with my kids, watching adventures in frame, hoping to do this even as a grandad.
(I don’t have kids, but for the sake of the poem the natural extension of kids felt right to use for the story.)
Off Beat Off Kilter 