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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

My newest poem (written yesterday and recorded today) about my favorite topic, politics! Haha. 🙂 It’s called Surplus Sun, or How an Orange Buffoon Got Elected. I hope you’ll enjoy listening. ❤

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Swallowed, drowning without a hope
for change to swoop in and save the moment.

Yes, the moment. Because it’s moments
that’ll make up a world view.

Whether rooted in reality or fantasy,
or a cruel concoction of both,

how someone feels is the point, and it’s your choice
how you respond to their feelings.

Will you dismiss them and move on,
or will you swoop in and try to redeem the moment?

We’re all fighting something, and giving in
to something else. We know right from wrong.

We do, but we deny it
for the sake of convenience and continuity.

Things get complicated
when we admit we know better.

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My most recent poem and recording, written a couple weekends ago when I had the chance to walk along the beautiful sands of Rockaway Beach in Oregon. It’s called As the Sun Shone. Thanks for listening. ❤

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Let This Be

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
so when I returned to her mine bounded along
like a stone skimming along fair water;
I penciled it in: let this be a metaphor for want.

What I want and what I need rarely meet,
but she’s a rarity intersecting polar opposites
similar to nothing I can think of;
I smeared it on the canvas: just let me be.

Let me be the one to make you smile,
to be the sun in your skies, in your eyes
I’ll shine so bright. This fire by day,
this moon by night.
Not this time. But soon.

With someone else. Better. You’ll feel so much
better than before. Absence only makes
the heart fonder if the rest is placed lower;
I tattooed it on my flesh: let this be known as love.

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Here’s my latest recording, which also happens to be my latest poem. It’s called The Next Night. Please enjoy, and leave a like or a comment (or both) if you’re so inclined. Thanks! 🙂

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Last Night

I blew the dust off the covers
and touched the lines tinged with a sadness
inexplicable but familiar,
like my subconscious screaming
at the rest of me the obvious answer.

I inhaled the dust until the lines
lost their sentimentality.
By theirs I mean mine. What’s mine
isn’t yours (or theirs) when
the what is pain.

I curled up on the carpet
in between closet and bedroom,
blankets a poor substitute
for you, and shivered through sleep
broken and restless.

I pulled the teeth of the beast
called greed, wanting too much too fast
too casually in the grand scheme
of things, intellectual fool concealing a heart
that should’ve been offered up.

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Just recorded a poem for Easter that I wrote a couple years ago. He is risen!

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