Monthly Archives: June 2014

Wearing Philosophy

What’s that you’re wearing?  Do you even know?
Was there a message you intended to show?
An advertisement of political thought
When you put on your clothes, or was it not?
The wearer of clothes wears what she can afford,
Unaware of news that she may have ignored,
This designer’s evil, and that one is good,
Sweat shops philosophies and money.  Should
The consumer beware, “caveat emptor,”
Does the label yell something about the wearer?
The spin doctors want us to count any losses
Before we buy something.  Now, about those crosses…

Feels Like Forever

The lyrics once made perfect sense
The two lovers’ heartbeats intense
Staring into each other’s eyes,
And seeing hearts, full moons and sighs.

I’ve chewed my nails to the quick
Fast, Faster, spinning til I’m sick.
She’s gone, my eyes can’t be less dry,
Cry, try, why? I have died inside,

And now the love songs make me sick,
My heart is a cold, cinder brick
Beautiful things remind every time,
But history grants no rewind.

The hole in my heart can’t be filled,
And where is hope when hope’s been killed?
She’s gone, my skies are darkest black,
Cracked, sacked,  and packed, no turning back.

Blasted, treasured, old memories,
Now just the shattered glass of dreams,
Cut shreds from numbed feet, stumbling more,
Felled to my knees.  Why don’t I feel sore?

Bucket List, Additions Pending

I saw the hilarious movie with Morgan Freeman, and now I’ve started following and reading http://bucketlistpublications.org/ and I thought perhaps a Bucket List poem might be fun for me to write.  Maybe you have a bucket list of suggestions I might like to aim for as well.  This may turn out to be an epic poem.  I have a lot of wishes for before I kick the bucket.

 

Bucket List, Additions Pending

I’d like the time and money to travel and to stay at home,
I’d like to bring my family, and find places to be alone,
The canals in Venice, The palace, the Royal Albert Hall,
Cruise and tour the coffee belt, sampling them all, 

From Colombia to Kenya, Borneo to Brazil,
See the Louvre and pray in Clermont-Ferrand cathedral,
The Hunterian Museum and Art Gallery,
Have a pint of Guinness fresh from the brewery,

Dance a Muñeira with bota of wine, none spilt,
Play Bagpipes while wearing a genuine kilt,
Learn to play guitar, write some novels, own and play a violin,
Read everything I want and then discoveries, then read again

Listen to classical and classic music’s chords
Visit castles, museum grottoes, see armor and swords,
Grow a garden, have a greenhouse, my own coffee trees
Have a neighbor trade his honey, fresh from the honeybees, 

North Carolina and Washington apples from tree to tree,
Fresh fruit and bread from Pennsylvania and Paris,
Tea in Japan and China, Turkish coffee, capturing the scenes,
A worldwide tour is needed, to survey all the cuisines,

Then to tour the worlds of art and dance and song,
From Kiev to Kansas and around again, so long!
There are my servant wishes, that the Earth would find peace,
Learn to get along, to share, find cures for all disease,

And end murder and violence, crime, starvation and greed,
Time to fish, rest by a fireplace, and did I mention, read?
Time to spend with family, time to love my wife, well,
The way she loves me and keeps me under that magic spell,

And finally the wishes I wish from my love, so true,
(Discreet, I won’t write all of those down here to share with you,)
So many things more I’m wishing for, complete with ribbons to untie,
This could take quite while!  I’ve got no time to die!

“You’re Not Cool”

The truth hurts whether it is spoken or not,
I’m not “hip,” and I’m not “hot,”
No “swag,” no “feels,” nothing to see,
Not whatever it’s à la mode to be-
Not “in,” not “with it,” not “making the scene,”
And I’ve never been, but why is she so mean?

It would have been bad enough just as an eye roll-
The superior side glance, the laughs, extract their toll,
But she said “you’re not cool.”  It still hurts inside,
In the moment I could have just cried.
She doesn’t like me, or care if I’ve died.
Is there someplace I can crawl under and hide?

She’s so pretty, I love her laugh, her smile,
Her ease of being, her walk, her style
I feel so awkward, and she is cool,
She’s so smooth, and I’m just a “tool.”
God, I love her, but she has no idea.
And now how could I ever say how I feel?