Posted in friendship, heartbroken, original

What’s Left Of Me

If I had known I was a mere passerby

I should not have over-stayed

I believed we could be great friends

And we did for a while

A taste of our little infinity

Just like in the book

 

At least I got a chance

A very little peek

The one that broke my heart

And how I fell apart

The memory will always be there

As I slowly move on

I’ll wait for my time to come

And I will give to him

Whatever is left of me

Because I can never be whole again

Posted in life, original

A Piece Of Advice

Hold your head up higher and higher

But keep your feet grounded

Never float

 

Be happy with where you’re at…

….What you’ve accomplished

You’ve earned them well

 

But do not boast

Never be bitter

Learn to listen, listen well and actively

 

Be busy if you must

Just don’t forget to take time off

And enjoy what really matters

 

Be happy, be content

Reach for your dreams

Get up when you stumble

 

It is never easy

But it does get better

Just keep these in mind

Posted in growing old, original

Coming of Age

and so everyone gets old,

hopefully becoming wiser, maybe a sage

why hold on to be young?

doesn’t beauty come with age?

or maybe that’s just cliché

 

I welcomed twenty-five like I did fifteen

was happy and excited

anticipated for it

and when it came, I was enlightened

happy to reach this age

 

now why fret at something

you should be thankful for?

others have had shorter time

you were given an extension, a gift

growing old is not a crime

be contented

 

I do not wish to live forever

I just wish to live

and I hope you do too

Posted in original

Confessions of a Big Fat Liar

It’s so weird to admit the things you normally deny

To in fact tell the whole world about it is a far cry

What would they gain by knowing what has been done?

It really just spoils all the fun

I’ve told them “stories”, there’s not much to know

I tell them what they want to hear and they just go with the flow

No questions asked, they really don’t care

As long as in the surface, it looks all fair

I’ve said too much already, I have to shut my mouth

Wherever this is heading, it’s sure to head down South

Don’t believe everything you see, don’t believe everything you hear

Keep close to your wits for I can be worse than your fears

Posted in love, original

When You Think Of Me

When you think of me, I hope you think of sunshine

Of rain on a land on drought

Or of the stars to light your dark night sky

 

When you think of me, I hope you remember your happiest moments

Your unforgettable experiences

And the dreams that you want to reach

 

When you think of me, I hope you think of your favorite food

Your favorite color, shirt, movie, cartoon

Sum up all your favorites and it will equal to one word…..me

 

When you think of me, I hope you remember the girl in college

The one you rarely noticed

The one who felt strongly for you

 

When you think of me, if you could even remember me

If by chance I cross your mind

I hope you remember my name, my face

and I hope you think of me often, until

Posted in original, sleep / insomnia

Wrong Side of the Bed

Hair is messy, eyebrows arched together

No trace of smile or laughter

As if the world is against them

Complaining about nothing

and everything

Grouchy, angry, upset

Distracted and disoriented

Can’t even take a joke

Or appreciate a good laugh

Some people act all crazy and annoying

when they wake up in the wrong side of the bed

Posted in miscellaneous, original

For The Love of Writing

The curse of writing is that you never come up

with anything good when you want to

A spur of the moment is ended with

a blank page

A writer’s block, you flip the coin

but no matter which side you end up with

the paper is still bare

You have an idea….and it escapes you

it is lost for good

The curse of writing is you want to write

but words don’t come at all

You are cornered into a space so tight

you can hardly breath

not knowing if your breathing air

It’s hard to come by

yet easy to lose

lost in the background

Get a paper and a pen and start all

over again

knock on your noggin for the hopes of getting

a good word or sentence or phrase

To entertain, to fascinate or bring laughter

OH! the curse of writing

Alas! my page is still blank

Posted in favorites

The Ghosts of the Buffaloes

Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry,

The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high,

The floor was a-tremble, the door was a-jar,

 White fires, crimson fires, shone from afar.

I rushed to the door yard. The city was gone.

My home was a hut without orchard or lawn.

It was mud-smear and logs near a whispering stream,

Nothing else built by man could I see in my dream… Then…

Ghost-kings came headlong, row upon row,

Gods of the Indians, torches aglow.

They mounted the bear and the elk and the deer,

And eagles gigantic, aged and sere,

They rode long-horn cattle, they cried “A-la-la.”

They lifted the knife, the bow, and the spear,

They lifted ghost-torches from dead fires below,

The midnight made grand with the cry “A-la-la.”

The midnight made grand with a red-god charge,

A red-god show, A red-god show, “A-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la.”

With bodies like bronze, and terrible eyes

 Came the rank and the file, with catamount cries,

 Gibbering, yipping, with hollow-skull clacks,

Riding white bronchos with skeleton backs,

Scalp-hunters, beaded and spangled and bad,

Naked and lustful and foaming and mad,

Flashing primeval demoniac scorn,

Blood-thirst and pomp amid darkness reborn,

Power and glory that sleep in the grass

While the winds and the snows and the great rains pass.

They crossed the gray river, thousands abreast,

They rode in infinite lines to the west,

Tide upon tide of strange fury and foam,

Spirits and wraiths, the blue was their home,

The sky was their goal where the star-flags are furled,

And on past those far golden splendors they whirled.

They burned to dim meteors, lost in the deep.

And I turned in dazed wonder, thinking of sleep.

And the wind crept by Alone, unkempt, unsatisfied,

The wind cried and cried —

Muttered of massacres long past,

Buffaloes in shambles vast…

An owl said: “Hark, what is a-wing?”

I heard a cricket carolling,

I heard a cricket carolling,

I heard a cricket carolling.

Then…

Snuffing the lightning that crashed from on high

Rose royal old buffaloes, row upon row.

The lords of the prairie came galloping by.

 And I cried in my heart “A-la-la, a-la-la,

A red-god show, A red-god show,

A-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la.”

Buffaloes, buffaloes, thousands abreast, A

 scourge and amazement, they swept to the west.

With black bobbing noses, with red rolling tongues,

 Coughing forth steam from their leather-wrapped lungs,

 Cows with their calves, bulls big and vain,

Goring the laggards, shaking the mane,

Stamping flint feet, flashing moon eyes,

Pompous and owlish, shaggy and wise.

Like sea-cliffs and caves resounded their ranks

With shoulders like waves, and undulant flanks.

Tide upon tide of strange fury and foam,

Spirits and wraiths, the blue was their home,

The sky was their goal where the star-flags are furled,

And on past those far golden splendors they whirled.

They burned to dim meteors, lost in the deep,

And I turned in dazed wonder, thinking of sleep.

I heard a cricket’s cymbals play, A scarecrow lightly flapped his rags,

And a pan that hung by his shoulder rang, Rattled and thumped in a listless way,

And now the wind in the chimney sang, The wind in the chimney,

 The wind in the chimney, The wind in the chimney, Seemed to say:

 — “Dream, boy, dream, If you anywise can. To dream is the work Of beast or man.

Life is the west-going dream-storm’s breath, Life is a dream, the sigh of the skies,

The breath of the stars, that nod on their pillows With their golden hair mussed over their eyes.”

 The locust played on his musical wing, Sang to his mate of love’s delight.

I heard the whippoorwill’s soft fret.

 I heard a cricket carolling,

I heard a cricket carolling,

 I heard a cricket say: “Good-night, good-night, Good-night, good-night,…good-night.”

– Vachel Lindsay