Wis-dumb
Wise but dumb
Numb
we have succumb to doubt
it’s a broad
double edged sword
the dumb people are ruling
Fooling people into thinking they are better
this is a love letter
for critical thinkers
the ones who doubt themselves and question themselves and the world
every boy and every girl
Every woman and man
who won’t argue with the ignorant
for fear of being bullied or seeming stupid
life is not a rerun and we make bloopers
we need to use our logic and love to change this world for the better.
Have we lost our souls?
I am just somebody
I am just somebody
With a body
his story ordinary
fighting battles no one knows about
not giving way to doubt.
I am just somebody
with two parents a sister and a brother
why bother?
with me
my individuality
In complete
with no clarity
and a brain with dysfunctional disparity
I am too angry to be functional
too mad to be alive
and yet I fight
and strive.
I am just a body with a soul
and a smile
all the while
you never look at me
If I had a book cover
you wouldn’t want to read me like a lover
of books
I can’t cook fancy meals
I don’t clothe myself with the latest fashion
I don’t drink I haven’t fallen off the wagon
and yet I am stuck
on this roundabout of life
not knowing which exit to take
which is a bit of piss take cause I don’t drive
I strive
to make my dreams real
but did i steal
them from everyone else?
Where is all my wealth of friends
coupled without the time to see me
they wouldn’t want to be me
but I stay on course to be prodigal flop
not son
when all is said and done
At least I can share my disaster
and views
I maybe old news but I am
I am I am!
Random happenings of words
Random happenings of words
onto the blank page
or screen
do we have enough energy to dream?
I love the clarity of your words
the charity of sounds
that surround us
I wish I could trust
my own heart
But it bleeds like ink
onto the page
I am reading the poems of my own rage
the twisting beauty
of poet trees
is the tree of life too far
to guide us to who we are
To take a breath is a revolutionary act
In every woman’s face I see her face
In every woman’s face I see her face
and her many ages
In magazine covers
I see her in my minds eye with her lovers
I wanted to be hers
but that train was missed
and its engine purrs as it moves further and further away.
no more to be brighten my day
I am just observer
a poet a writer
Looking for her in everyone woman
I want her to be free and loved
but I miss her like a lost glove needs a hand
I don’t know wether anyone understands
Her smile lights up any room
her absence sets up my gloom.
You are no different from me
Go on kill me out of existence
I am a worm in your soul
Eking out resistance
We are not separate
we are the same
I am your shadow born in pain
Life is an illusion
we are never sane
All the soldiers
All the war
Won’t open heaven’s door
I am you and you are me
Cut me and you bleed
Like pomegranate seeds
I am the sky you cry to
I am the god that answers through whispers
and leaves moving on a tree
Sadness echoes what should have been
But the lies have been told and you believed
that you were different from me
Can’t you see I am your shadow with stars
and you are me with all your scars.
There’s a monster in my toy box narrated
Please give it a view or two or more maybe even four.
https://www.blurb.co.uk/b/12483736-there-s-a-monster-in-my-toy-box
This poet
This poet isn’t meat and bones
He feels like cold stone
this poet lacks confidence
Walls collapse and collide
with his speech
with wounds you can only teach
hurt
This poet tells ugly truths
with minimal evidence or proof
he holds it like business card in his heart
life unfolds like a shopping cart
til tart solutions
This poet feels full
his heart holds his universe
it’s his curse
All poems tell a tale
dripping ink
Bleeding from the quill
I can’t even imagine life without those words
but like birds
they have flown
To a new throne
cold and alone…
Reality folds
Reality folds
like cold magic
origami of sorts
we play games with people like they are sports
our retorts
litter more than plastic
we get sick
sicker than we are laid in our casket
What happened to the child
in our hearts
We are nothing more than happy shoppers with shopping carts
This reality is an exchange of ideas of money of time
but we can’t see beyond the lines
that take control
take our minds our bodies our souls
we tell our selves they are words
but we aren’t even as free as the birds
which fly free in the sky
we are the prophecies
with our opportunities
we our the sickness we accumulate
we are the best and the worst
the sanguine curses
Hell which lives with hope
but hope is a bird that lives in a cage
singing in its hopeful rage…