Ah some of my poetry
Heatherj43
Posts: 1,254
(comments and welcomed)
THE LAST SHEET OF PAPER
The last sheet of paper,
in a little journal book,
sits anticipating,
for its own special verse.
All of the other pages
have words that play on them.
This last sheet of paper
waits to be the final gem.
She thinks she's last on purpose
to be a work of art.
She sits stark and naked
awaiting for that part.
At last the writer gets to her
and stares down at her face,
with gentleness and kindness
the pen gets put in place.
Yet the words spill out so slowly,
and many get crossed out,
the page feels disappointed
and she begins to pout.
She sings to the writer
in a mournful way...
of how she's waited all this time
for words on her to play.
But this writer has used up
all his words and energy,
and the pen and the paper
have now become enemies.
No longer stark and naked.
No longer white and crisp.
The writer pulls the page out
and tosses her away.
BEHIND THE SCARS
You wanted me to witness
who you really are.
You wanted me to validate
the you behind the scars.
You told your darkest secrets.
You cried the saddest tears.
You begged for me to listen
about the pain of all those years.
I saw the child within you.
I felt your innocent heart.
I heard you try to tell me
just to love you from the start.
(Dedicated to all of those who have suffered from abuse)
MELTDOWN
Meltdown occurring,
deep in my soul,
beliefs are all shattered,
no truths to behold.
My body's in tremors.
My mind in despair.
My heart is broken
and I'm suddenly aware...
that nobody cares
about you or me.
Nobody cares,
they turn their heads to not see.
They tell themselves stories
to make it all right,
while I crumble beneath them,
unable to fight.
They carry the guilt
beneath a gentle face.
Deep down they know
this was caused by their haste.
Now their lives will go on,
as if nothing was done,
but deep in their nightmares
I hold the gun.
THE LAST SHEET OF PAPER
The last sheet of paper,
in a little journal book,
sits anticipating,
for its own special verse.
All of the other pages
have words that play on them.
This last sheet of paper
waits to be the final gem.
She thinks she's last on purpose
to be a work of art.
She sits stark and naked
awaiting for that part.
At last the writer gets to her
and stares down at her face,
with gentleness and kindness
the pen gets put in place.
Yet the words spill out so slowly,
and many get crossed out,
the page feels disappointed
and she begins to pout.
She sings to the writer
in a mournful way...
of how she's waited all this time
for words on her to play.
But this writer has used up
all his words and energy,
and the pen and the paper
have now become enemies.
No longer stark and naked.
No longer white and crisp.
The writer pulls the page out
and tosses her away.
BEHIND THE SCARS
You wanted me to witness
who you really are.
You wanted me to validate
the you behind the scars.
You told your darkest secrets.
You cried the saddest tears.
You begged for me to listen
about the pain of all those years.
I saw the child within you.
I felt your innocent heart.
I heard you try to tell me
just to love you from the start.
(Dedicated to all of those who have suffered from abuse)
MELTDOWN
Meltdown occurring,
deep in my soul,
beliefs are all shattered,
no truths to behold.
My body's in tremors.
My mind in despair.
My heart is broken
and I'm suddenly aware...
that nobody cares
about you or me.
Nobody cares,
they turn their heads to not see.
They tell themselves stories
to make it all right,
while I crumble beneath them,
unable to fight.
They carry the guilt
beneath a gentle face.
Deep down they know
this was caused by their haste.
Now their lives will go on,
as if nothing was done,
but deep in their nightmares
I hold the gun.
Save room for dessert!
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
my favorite – by just this much – is ‘the last piece of paper’. If you don’t mind I think I’d like to print that out and keep it around.
i'm just overwhelmed by your story. something must be said for the creative spirit. my great uncle was an artist all his life. maybe he wasn't an artist you'll find hanging in the Met but imho, he could have been. in his later life he too had a stroke. lost the use of the entire right side of his body, he could barely speak let alone lift a pencil or brush. but the creative in him was aching to be free and he taught himself to draw and sketch with his left hand. people familiar with his work, perhaps made note of a difference in his post-stroke drawings. the quality admittedly wasn't the same - but it was no less magnificent and the artist in him wasn't diminished a bit as far as i could see. art was his life, his joy, his reason for being besides love of course...and he delighted in sharing that with others. he'd get a kick out of us kids drawing but i, being artistically challenged by nature, discovered my own little bit of creative thanks in no small part to him. i was never proud of shabby drawings i gave him, so instead i learned to painted him portraits with words.
may all the love and joy and beauty you share with the world come back to you. and i hope, rather selfishly, that we'll see more of it here.
My poetry site is:
http://www.geocities.com/heatherj43/index.html
I don't post all my work on there though. Some of the ones that will be used for lyrics have to be kept private.
Take Care...Peace...Heather
thanks so much heather, i always know that my smile is hiding in the poetry hut and today i found it in your thread.
A plane ride
A brain ride
It's a long walk for you
I've forgiven no one on this journey
Except for my wallet
Which has taken its time
Through weather beaten grime
I keep tromping down the same street
Cobblestoned, windy, sludged
Stained sidewalks that smell of
Dead worms and glue
Beer, coffee, and more wine,
More wine and Monday blues
School is out and people are gone
Except for you, me, and the t.v.
Same faces, same conversations,
Different couch, different homes
All in Cambride on a cold,
Wintery Thanksgiving holiday
That I'm going to talk to you and
Say all of the right things
And kiss you like they do in the movies
But most of the time, I just imagine
You in scenes 2, 3, and 4
Walking through my door, staring at me,
Taking my hand, and just holding me closely
Like they do in the movies
It's so easy to fall in love
When you can change the channel or
Push stop and freeze that moment
Until the next movie with
You and me in scenes 1, 2, and 3
But you never enter and
I'm left sitting in front of the TV
Pressing on and on
i like this one especially. maybe you'll post some more?
Disappointed with life and love and what we’ve become
Of course life has never been easy for either of us
We never asked to be born this way,
We just were and we’ve made the best of it
Even if it’s going down that road to nowhere
And passing by everyone that went somewhere,
But our hearts are as big as our disappointments,
And that has made us someone
So everyone will remember you and me
Even if we didn’t make it in the top three
So what’s there to be unhappy about?
If you or me left today, would you be ready or
Would you feel the way that I feel because
It’s not quite over yet, well
At least not for me,
And it's not because of you
took my breath away!
~~its better to be hated for who you are than be loved for who you are not~~
F.ZAPPA
I knew Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold as my brother's best friends. If someone had just taken the time to listen, to tolerate, to understand, to motivate, to allow...
perhaps it wouldn't've happened.
but then, I believe that the u.s.a. needed a wake up call. Our children are lost and their cries for help will grow ever louder, as we continue to ignore them. Sooner or later, their cries will be shared the world over.
gentle faces hiding the guilt aren't so gentle anymore, and they no longer hide nor feel the guilt in many places and among many times.
good work.
I try but I just can't get what I want to say and mean into Poetry.
Brenda
And he still gives his love, he just gives it away
The love he receives is the love that is saved
And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky
A human being that was given to fly
Crohn's & Colitis Foundation of America
More results from [www.ccfa.org]
[http://www.geocities.com/brenzx2/]
In Memory of Michael