Don't Leave at Sunrise
1) I’m a firm believer in karma
2) I only feel useful on paper
3) My self esteem is microphone powered
1) It didn’t really hit me until I was pulling out. This isn’t my fiancée. This isn’t right. This isn’t me. At the end of it all things had come full circle. I’m alone. The love of my life has moved on without hesitation. And the mistress awaits a real relationship. Despite everything that has happened between now and then I have no regrets at all what so ever. And it’s sick. All because I came out with some of the best poems I’ve written in a long time.
2) What does that say about me, when a handful of poems can make everything worth it? It says you’re a sick individual and take poetry way too seriously. Or maybe, poetry only takes me serious when I embrace these flaws, admit I’m human, and record the aftermath in poetic form. I know I’m not alone on this. I’ve seen and heard stories of many a poets, a few from the concrete generation, when you can’t write it’s like being stranded in the ocean. Just you and your insecurities floating along the surface, no destination, no purpose, just waiting for the finned ones down below to pull you down. As soon as anything horrible happens there’s always one thought that fires across my mind: I could use this for a new piece.
3) Writing it is only half of the battle. I want reassurance. I need to hear people tell me “You were awesome”
“That new piece is sick!”
“Let me buy you a drink”
It makes me feel like its all worth it. That I’m justified in these mistakes because they’ve produced art. That’s all I’m worth. Some props, a pat on the back, a drink or two, and a girl waiting to be Mrs. Muse who will wait until I’m drunk to make her move because she knows she’s guilty by association. And I’ll hold that against her instead of me.
Some nights I wonder if this is all worth it. I feel like poetry has low standards. When I’m happy, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. When I’m miserable, she hugs me harder than heroin knots. Like that’s all she’s worth. Like a broken man is all she deserves. Poetry, we both sell ourselves short. You don’t have to feel lonely for me to hold you. I don’t have to be out of love to love you. I have a big heart. We all do. Don’t leave at sunrise, watch it with me. I may not be as witty, but I’m still sincere when I’m sober. I love you unconditionally, I just wish you’d do the same.
-DCR
Yes Officer.
I have been having discussions (who am I kidding, arguments) over the last few days on the veritable facebook with police officers about the use of excessive force by the ‘boys in blue’.
Now, I must disclose that I am not a fan of the police regardless of where you are from.
I especially am not a fan of the law enforcement in the USA.
All that being said, I support them, even though I disagree idealistically with the ‘need for’ them.
The problem as I see it is that since the 1960’s there has been a growing body of evidence that the US police are becoming more and more military and less and less about the community. Their role and what they represent is jaded at best and insidious at worst.
The public trust in the police is at an all-time low whilst the crime rate is dropping. Why is that?
Again, my opinion is that as a member of the public I look upon the police as being an organization that I cannot trust for many reasons that are complex.
I will try to clarify though.
I believe that being in law enforcement ( as should teachers, firefighters, etc.) you should be paid more. There should be much better funding for police departments (thank you Republican and Libertarians for NOT doing this), for better training and better hiring standards.
This would improve and raise the skills and qualifications that have been so sadly in decline over the years.
In other words let’s get better people in there to do a better job.
When I see and hear reports of corruption, brutality, excessive force, I can only conclude that the case of ‘ a few bad apples’ turns more into bushels.
The influx of ex-military personnel into law enforcement has to my mind created a different kind of ‘policing’ where a shoot first policy is looked upon as being standard. For example in Germany in the whole country for 2011, the police shot 85 rounds…in total. Yes they did kill 6 people. Almost any mid-size and above police department conservatively shoots at least that many rounds in the US.
So pay them more, train them better and get better quality candidates as opposed to the trigger happy gun crazed yahoos who are currently there to protect and serve, who?
-TDB
Thankfulness to My Poets
This Thanksgiving, I wanted to
Send my gratitude across the
Waves of the cyberspace,
To Grandpa- I know you won’t
Be celebrating this Thanksgiving
With us physically,
But with every word, and
Every rhyme,
I celebrate you.
You are the poet that
I will always strive to become.
You wrote me into existence
Via my mother,
And now I am writing you
Into my poetry,
Keeping a memory alive
With my feeble ink pen
And blank pages.
You are my sky poet,
Always whispering
In dreams and clouds
And the universe is
Your blank canvas.
Thank you for sharing
Your eyes with me.
To Loretta-
You, my darling teacher,
Are fantastic.
You’re a warrior, a champion,
And a lover of words.
Without your gentle push,
I would not be the poet I am today,
Nor would I be the poet I will become
One day.
Your faith in me gave me the mind
I needed to create language
For one-day generations.
Wear your pink ribbon with pride,
Because I am grateful for the
Survivor that you are.
To Kat-
You’re my grandmother,
My advisor,
My favorite person to talk with
About school and poetry and politics
And linguistics.
You encouraged me when I was just
A musician (an harpist),
And I listened.
Oh, Kat, you gave me ears
To hear the sounds of the world,
Like a child, reborn into truth.
You told me it was possible
To write with the ears of an old soul,
Reborn into new earth.
I wrote all I heard,
And I’m still writing.
I hear the sounds of war,
And I know that I am a winner
Because I have you on my side.
To D-
You are the cloudy figure
From my childhood
That I admired so dearly,
But feared.
Getting to know you,
Even only for a short while,
Has been more than I could have
Ever known.
I know we aren’t close anymore,
But thank you for your passion.
You lit a fire in me,
Made me crave performance,
Crave better poetry,
A perfectionism that could only
Come from the heart.
You gave me a red, bloody
Heart.
You gave me a desire to
Steal and crush and dominate,
That only time could teach me
To control.
I am not your favorite person,
But I am a little flame,
Lit by your metaphors.
To West Texas Poets-
You gave me a starting point
To share my poetry.
You gave me a voice.
I opened my lungs and words
Floated out like music notes,
And I could not stop writing,
Spitting verses for you.
I am a part of you, and you
Are a part of me.
We were born from the same body:
Poetry.
I am a branch on our poet-tree.
And I watch you blossom
Every day,
In summer, winter, autumn, spring.
We intertwine, like vines,
Always searching for the sunlight
In our verses.
My voice is mute without your support.
This is my gratitude to poets.
You gave me two eyes, a mind, two ears,
A heart and a voice.
Thank you.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
-Seraphine The Poet
November 29, 2013
Somehow fate brings together a bond that can't be broken. An on and off again relationship. Let time teach lessons for the better, lets not waste the opportunity. Everything happens for a reason!! Time has made us stronger and wiser. Except my memory isn't all there, clinging to you in desperation to help remember us. We are opposites that attract. We're so different but now not so much. I've changed with time allowing me to mix/match with laid back personality but my mind still wonders but don't think I cant give you my all. I know it's hard for you to believe my words along with actions that reflect my short comings like keeping me at arms length. Faith is there b/c when I look into your eyes I feel a stronger connection that could be way more than physical attraction. We have a long ways to go but I'm not giving up on us. You're my true love please don't throw this away. I want to get to know you. By putting my heart on my sleeve with my hand reaching out. All you have to do is grab hold , let go, and believe in us.
-Jess