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Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

charles bukowski on individuality

This is what I watch when suffering from Allergies and Insomnia.

I tagged along with a friend recently to the docs office. So the long wait would be bearable, she let me read one of her poetry books. A scrapbook of many of her favorite reads. Read a lot of Charles Bulowski.. When I got home, I had to look him up. Now, I'm hooked on his writings. Check out Genius of the Crowd, if you don't know who Charles is. 

Here he is talking individuality.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

happy st. patty's day

Drinking from my green mug the Irish Joe. 
Cranberries. House of Pain. Blast. All Day..
Shamrocks and Shenanigans. 
This was supposed to be a Haiku.

Friday, November 11, 2011

i reminisce, i reminisce...

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

dream seller dream

I had a dream of dream seller last night.. It inspired the following...

Last night I had a dream of a dream seller.
Gave me cash. Lashed out a sash.
She told me I wanted her hand. I told her I wanted to be in a band.
Sing a love song like Lionel. Long and loud. 
She gave me her hand to hold. I folded my fingers on the back of her hand.
Held tight. Never fight again. Not speaking, man. 
She asked. I replied. I can't lie. I couldn't stand not speaking, man.
Last night I had a dream of a dream seller.
She gave me hope. We coped. Through it all.
Till one of us falls. Always caught. Superman shirt we wear.
For each other. Yes, man. We're there for each other, man.
I can't stop loving you man. Hello? As Lionel sung and she replied.
Yes. I'm there. My dream is a reality. Of a dream seller. 

Friday, October 28, 2011

we can take them.

Working hard today. Not hardly working. Head hurts. Need lunch. Break. Back for round 2 later this afternoon. Pound for pound, we can do it. Putting up the fists. Blow for Blow. We can take them. Break. Search. Find. Research. Type. Do it all over again. Putting up the fists. We can take them. Break. So close to give up. Erase it all. Don't care. Eff moving forward. Let's just be complacent. Easier that way. But we gotta go. Move forward. Never complacent. Fist up. Let's do this. We're taking them. Round over. We win. Break.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

blake's book..

As a web junkie and avid Google user, I know I should've known about Google Books before. I just started using it today. Granted, they need more selection for the cheap readers who don't want to spend a buck to buy a virtual book, but what I found I'm content with. Classics are always worth another whirl. The first e-book I read while having my tomato soup lunch (which was excellent, by the way, especially with my whole grain bread slices), was Songs of Innocence and Experience With Other Poems by .. In his manner, Blake delighted me with a few great poems that had me both laughing, tearing and a bit of both for a couple. Thought I'd share a couple of dandies with you..


A Little Boy Lost

``Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to Thought
A greater than itself to know:
``And Father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.''
The Priest sat by and heard the child,
In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair:
He led him by his little coat,
And all admir'd the Priestly care.
And standing on the altar high,
``Lo! what a fiend is here!'' said he,
``One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy Mystery.''
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain;
They strip'd him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain;
And burn'd him in a holy place,
Where many had been burn'd before:
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion's shore?




The Little Girl Lost

In futurity
I prophetic see
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise and seek
For her maker meek;
And in the desart wild
Become a garden mild.
* * *
In the southern clime,
Where the summer's prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told;
She had wander'd long
Hearing wild birds' song.
``Sweet sleep, come to me
Underneath this tree.
Do father, mother weep,
Where can Lyca sleep?
``Lost in desart wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?
``If her heart does ake
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
``Frowning, frowning night,
O'er this desart bright
Let thy moon arise
While I close my eyes.''
Sleeping Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
View'd the maid asleep.
The kingly lion stood
And the virgin view'd,
Then he gamboll'd round
O'er the hollow'd ground.
Leopards, tygers, play
Round her as she lay,
While the lion old
Bow'd his mane of gold.
And her bosom lick,
And upon her neck
From his eyes of flame
Ruby tears there came;
While the lioness
Loos'd her slender dress,
And naked they convey'd
To caves the sleeping maid.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

words to go along..

Beat in my head. Thinking of words to go along.
Hand in hand. Side by side. Words with a song.
No music. Just words. Words positioned like they belong.
Together. Jot down. Lick the end of the feather. Ink to paper.
One more hit from the bong.
Open mind. Creativity inspires. Chai by side. I really hope you don't mind.
Me. Finding the perfect words. To go along with the beat in my head.
Thinking of words to go along.

Friday, February 11, 2011

thinking together.



Black, blue, yellow. Green or Olive.
Thinking of what colors match. Together.
Together he thinks she's thinking.
Thinking. They are. A lot.
A lot of thinking. Of future endeavorers? Possible kindling?
Kindling. Two lights. Making one flame.
Flame burning in the night.
At night is when both they think.
Thinking of what colors match. Together.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

and our story: inspired by her.

People ask me why I write poetry all the time. It's because of you. Inspired by you. Always have. Something about you. That little thing. Eyes? The neck? The way you play with you hair when you get nervous? That little thing you do when you are high? I don't know. Just you. I tend to get nervous, too. When around you. Blurred speach. Scattered thoughts. Messed up vision. Star struck but you don't live in Hollywood. Star struck because I know who you can be. Will be. People ask me why I listen to a lot of 90s RnB. It's because of you. Every beat. Lyric. Chorus. Bar. Loop. Sample. Remix. Reminds me of you. Sad song. Happy song. Tearjerker. Beat bumper. Something about it. Reminds me of us. Our Story. The story that is. Was. Could've been. Will be. Hopefully a happy song. Happy ending. A beat bumper that the girls will run to and buy the single because it would inspire them in love. True love. All this from a little nudge. Poke. Smile. Wink. Hair twirl. Glimpse. Being inspired by you is a good thing. Brightens my day. Makes it worthwhile. Makes me hungrier to succeed. Excel. Get the dough and feed you and our future fam. Good days. Only because I'm inspired by you. And Our Story.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

more in me?

Sometimes I look at myself and wonder if I have anymore in me.
Sitting under a willow tree.
Trying to jot down a note.
Only If I can see.
What's inside me.
Physically drained.
Mentally awake.
Digging deep.
Looking for something meaningful.
Nothing too cheap.
Nothing to lose the power of the word.
Otherwise, it would be absurd to be known
as a writer.
A writer writes under the lights notes from inside.
Soul. Deep. Meaningful. Finding that just right word.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

my affair


She's a client of mine. A local poet based in the York Region area. Just finished up doing up the re-design of her blog. Check it out Here. Shoot me a note if you would like some design work done. I work cheap.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

daily missions

My pleasures are gone unseen.
Undressed imaginative visions.
Beauty, really. Only to me. Auditions.
Everyday. Daily Missions.
Decisions made. Everyday.
Daily Missions.
Soul Searching.
Earning. More. And More. Every Day.
Daily Missions.
Days go without a precise goal.
Indecisive.
Soul searching the deep soul.
All I find are the coals.
Everyday. Daily Missions.
Looking for that bright light
that would be in sight to make
a disciplinary decision on what could be in
my future's sight.
Everyday.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

it's in your strut.


Sometimes. It's the quietness of the stare.
It's the slyness of the smile.
The awkwardness of the walk.

It's in the strut.

Sometimes, the clamminess of the touch.
The sweaty palms of the massage.
It's the long hairs and the unruly finger nails.


It's in the strut.

Sometimes, it's the ugliness that others might think that
exist in others that make you look so beautiful.
The naturalness of your existence. The things you don't let others see.
The sweat. The clamminess. The long hairs. Finger nails undone.


It's in your strut.

poem: bumpy ride.

Bumpy ride.
Back and forth.
Side to side.
South. West. East. North.
Days in days out.
Hit a drought.
Monday, Tuesday. Thursday, Friday.
Wednesday. Day off.
9 till 5.
Get Up. Shower. Breakfast. Dress.
Feed dog. Everything is a mess.
Clean. Leave. Coffee at Tim's.
Repeat the following day.
It's a bumpy ride.

Monday, July 19, 2010

secure to convey...

Insecure about something new. Nothing new. Kinda really. Kinda sorta. I'm secure. But not with you.
Just came from something old. Secure. Comfortable. But you.
You're new. New. I don't know how to do it. Feelings. Damn.
Don't know what to say. Don't know how to approach it.
Convey it. Say what I mean. Mean what I say. But is it too soon?
I smoke. Look at the moon and wonder. Is it too soon?
I just wonder. Is it the time to do it? Say what I mean?
Secure about what I want to say. Secure on what I need to convey.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

like a sade tape in the cold of spring..



Like a Sade tape in the cold of spring.
You sold me your smile that first day we met.
In that late summer sun. After 8 it was.
I couldn't think it was fate. Eyes were on another.
Through meeting your other mates while you were on other dates.
We nodded hello. Saluted. Shook hands. Hugged. Nice to each other.
The lands were never close enough. Didn't get to get a chance to see
one another.
But when we did we were happy. Always excited to reacquaint ourselves.
Delved into what was going on. Spoke with one sided talks.
Stared at your curly locks. Loved your smile, eyes.
You became the best verse over a Primo beat.
I cursed to never let you go. Even as a friend.
Never did. So far so good.
I love you kid. You keep me wanting to sing out loud.
You're like a Sade tape in the cold of spring.

Monday, June 28, 2010

simple..



I write poetry to get things off my mind.
One of a kind type of problems.
I think.
Always think I'm the only one.
Dealing.
Feeling.
Trying too hard.
Running too fast.
Pushing too hard.
Tryin' People.
Like De La.
Why Can't it Be So Simple.
Like Wu.
Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child.
Need something new.
I know my cue when I have to stop.
Shut up.
Start to listen to the beats.
Get away.
Chug the cup.
Walk.
Talk.
Listen.
Recognize.
Missin'.
Like Everything But the Girl.
Why Can't it Be So Simple?
Again.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

on the bridge


It's too dangerous in a way. Kinda spiritual. Two souls.
Kinda connected. Not really. Not till the Gods say they will.
Stones passed. Kicked rocks. Coals rocked. Bridge fell.
Connected, but not really. Lost souls. Lost in their own lives.
But should be connected in their own lives. One day. Got to believe.
Got to think that they would. Could be. Someday. In May I thought it would.
Then, I never thought before. I thought back into my core. Never 'gain. My soul would get back in that feeling. But yes. Did. I fell for that kid. Happy. Mysterious. Go lucky. Depending on the day. Needed more searching. Through her soul.
Lost soul. Kicking the coal. Rocking the bridge. Falling. Souls. Together. Forever. Two souls. Never ever together. Till destiny brings us together. Someday. While kicking the coal.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

writer's block got me again..


Writer's block got me again.
Trying to express.
Let Go.
Reveal the thoughts.
Ideas.
Everything I sought to say.
Write.
Express.
Caught inside.
Confide to myself.
Not to be expressed.
Vocalized.
Things I think during the day.
Things I think at night.
Inside me.
Forever?
Maybe?
Maybe someday I will be able to express.
Vocalize. Reveal the thoughts.
Ideas.
Everything I sought to say.
Write.
Express.
Caught Inside.
Confide to myself.
Writer's block got me again.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

breeze...



Hey. Walking home tonight. It was a cool summer breeze. In May. Must've been a nice 19 degrees. At 3AM. The breeze hit me. It hit my face. Softly. Gently caressing my face and memories flooded back. Good times. Bad times. In between times. They were times that I wanted to forget, remember and kinda always wanted to sometimes think of. No matter what, they built me. It reminded me of who I am today. It reminded me of I have become. It reminded me that no matter how many mistakes I made in my life, I would never go back and change anything. Negativity always turns into Positivity. The breeze. It reminded me that it was you saying "I love you".