Notecard Poems

A collection of poems written at random times on notecards, this one was between classes.

I got gray skies, green trees, red walls, brown eyes

waiting for my next class, praying for hope

hoping for confidence, fear without lies

I don't want to end up out of soap

Kendrick in my ear saying what I know

Hopefully I will have something to show

This one was written while learning Finnish. There is a back to the notecard; that's what the third stanza is.

For all my hope for love is all but gone

so send me to the land of the setting sun

My hands are shaking for my work is not done

But I say "Take me so I see no dawn"

My life's work has no meaning, all forgone

For what is my work if there be no son

No partner to share my honor and fun

All would become false, an elaborate con

Perhaps the starts will whisper what I lack?

or in this lost life will echoes still sing?

So let my weary soul remain and thrive

No pride or heart or glory for to look back

For broken dreams can lead to a new thing

For my work endures, and my soul survives

This was written while driving back home from the middle of nowhere.

Maybe someday

when the moon is blue

when the skies turn purple

and begin raining fish

when the world stops spinnning

when the sun never shines

maybe that day

yes, that day

it will happen

Modern Poetry

Written after a course that made me read an entire poetry book about someone with cancer, the first was good, the next 50 were grating. This is more of a rant than an actual poem.

Fuck modern poetry

everyone is trying to be Shakespeare

or worse

any other classic poet

Truth is I couldn't give a single

FUCK

about how cancer changed your life

you

you who believes you're so profound for exuberating your own lackluster vocabulary to dictate so much and yet still say absolutely nought.

See?

Don't you see how that sucked to read?

You thought I was gonna say something crazy but all it was was lazy wordplay

I used a thesaurus

Does that make me a good poet?

I get it, you had a hard time growing up,

write an essay

Don't pontificate in fifty poems about nothing

Sure,

maybe it's from the heart but damn

Could you be more broad?

You had a hard time growing up because dad was never home,

That's ONE poem,

not ten,

not twenty,

not two,

one

Pick up your pen again,

revisit your childhood when mother struggled

dad absent

latent cancer

god FORBID you claim to be in some non-existent micro-minority,

because that gives you credibility

Not your skill,

your experience makes you so much better than the rest of us

We should always listen to you

because you had it rough

well guess what?

No one cares

Not one job interviewer will ask
"Was dad at home when you were six?"

No one but other stuck-up fucks who pretend and prance in "poetry" supremacy will ever

ever

care.

By god, this could have been prose as well!

But then you wouldn't have read it

you wouldn't have seen what the truth is

If you really want to be a good modern poet,

rhyme,

clever wordplay,

stick to a beat,

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Rap, enjoy hip hop and R&B,

Sing songs

Poetry was never meant to be written

Poetry was meant to be spoken

Performed

Sung

Real modern poetry isn't Mrs. Dipshit from Fremont Nebraska

talking about misogyny in farm culture

no shit Sherlock,

it's almost like it's always been this way

And it would be different if you were calling for change,

It would be different if you were delving into the real issues,

It would be different if you spent the money you made from that book you released,

"Tales of the Nowhere Prarie-Dixie-Mans-No-Mans-Land"

On helping women get into the industry

But you're not,

Your spouting,

While benefiting

Off their suffering

Does this then prove now,

that modern poetry is nothing for no one?

A massive circle jerk of those who call themselves:

Literary Experts

Whooptdy do, nice nobel

Let me know when you actually do something

with that million dollars

that contributes to the issues you spoke so

eloquently

about.

Do something,

anything,

but pick up that pen again

Unless it is to write lyrics

to write prose

an essay

or even poetry,

but abstract and wild

Anything,

but modern poetry

In Vino Veritas

This was written because I enjoy writing sonnets, because its like a puzzle with the rules of 14 lines, abba abba cc dd ee, and iambic pentameter. The title, despite being a well known phrase, actually was from a quest from Kingdom Come Deliverance 2.

Secrets are words I wish to say to you

And yet I cannot for I bear an oath

To hold or speak, yet I may do not both

A reason for a line that I withdrew

I don't mean for suspicion to accrue

For I wish for peace and our relation growth

And yet I halt for I am not to quoth

And hope you bear no hurt or scornful view

Don't plead for me to tell you what I know

I know not where whispering winds would blow

Or try and trip me forcing a mistake

I know not the price my lips to move make

For what could be lost would never be found

Lies and half-truths buried deep in the ground

Wilted flowers are all that would remain

After quiet separates joy from life

And peace is broken in our mortal strife

Death of love for grief we can't restrain

For two birds of one feather, both in pain

suffer from silence sharp as a steel knife

and will bleed by the thorns of a loosestrife

As mortal they, their love a constant strain

Pair of dying flowers fated to be

One entwined with the other, a devotee

Each to the other evermore is bound

Until rest eternal without a sound

For they are not to be alive once more

As all lose in the love they call a war

Broken bridges, impossible to mend

Yet still there lies a path; the frame not gone

A light of hope that we may still go on

I don't believe this is the final end

The last stood bridge we still can defend

The game not done; we have not yet withdrawn

As until daybreak, to meet before dawn

Still we can save we together had rend

And build the path to each other anew

But not as was before, instead askew

A different view can again rise and shine

As maybe that is how we realign

And work, laying a pebble by pebble

Until the arch is better by treble

In wine, the truth reveals what hearts conceal

What once was held lies now exposed and bare

Across the board where silent hands would share

Each fragment of the past we dare not heal

For moments such as these are seldom real

And every step we take leaves us aware

Of fragile trust, of what we cannot spare

And that to be human is to feel.

So we ask the guiding hand help to speak

No shame exists to find what we seek

Yet words once freed can wound as much as aid

And many fall before the debt is paid

In every sip the hidden sins amass

No shadow left, In Vino Veritas

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