Tag Archives: art

Weekend Regrets and Reflections

Weekend Regrets and Reflections

Weekend Regrets and Reflections

It wasn’t like I could
help it.
Last night was a blur of
wishes and was-es
regrets and never-s
sighs and bellows
cries that life
hadn’t come home.

I waited all night,
all my life,
but I was left with
empty promises
unfulfilled dreams and
an unsatisfied
strife-
a fight that wasn’t worth
my time.

__________________________

Well, another Monday, folks. Here we are again and here we go to another work week. Above I gave you a lil’ diddy that might just explain some of those regrets coming off a weekend high. Or a weekend hangover, for that matter. Either way, hope you enjoy and here’s to hoping you’re going to have a not so regretful Monday.

Till There’s Nothing Left to Feed Them

Picture for post

Till There’s Nothing Left to Feed Them

Wrestle with regrets
until your thoughts grow
tired
keep them bottled up
and you’ll be none the wiser
you shouldn’t hide from
demons but
go into dark to meet ‘um
fires will always burn
until there’s nothing left
to feed them.
_______________________________________________________

Hey, folks. Halfway through the work we so far and hope you’re makin’ it through just fine. Wrote a little serious poem today. No jokes or jabs, just a little good advice given in a nicely sounding way. You’ll have to thank some wild fire’s for the last few lines as I just jotted them down while thinking about them and the rest of the poem just sort of fell into place. Gotta love when that happens, because it sure isn’t often.

Well, I hope you enjoyed it and, as always, I hope that your day flies on by and that you’ve got something cold and on the rocks waiting for you when you get home tonight.

Realistic Expectations

Realistic Expectations

Realistic Expectations

Epic and extraordinary are
words meant for proteges
and those bright souls
who had
a little more life to live.
Me?
I just wanna be a footnote
inconsistent but well wrote
and, some day, have someone
half-drunk trace an old line
with their hand and say aloud
to themselves
‘This one?
She wasn’t half-bad’.
___________________________________________________

Well, made it to Friday finally, folks. Congrats on that! This poem here was originally scheduled for Weds but, well, apparently you have to click the publish button for them to post. Who would have thought I’d forget that after over 180 posts? Anywho, this is a little one that I thought you might enjoy. Sort of an explanation of what I’m shooting for in life.

Well, as always, here’s to hoping that your weekend is long, your drinks are cold, and that Monday finds you roaring and ready to go for another round!

Freckles

Freckles

Freckles

Inconsistent pigments
arbitrary, unpredictable
a little like history
fickle, a little lyrical
and, perhaps, just dots
but more like personality
on the outside
too much within just seeped
through as little splots
that pepper the world
to show them you’ve got
more than that which
is expected from within-

mood, manner, attitude,
intelligence, direction –

all of that which rest in
little spots that pirouette
on your skin.
___________________________________________

Hey there, folks. Hope your week is going well and, if it isn’t, remember that we’re halfway there.¬† Above is a poem I wrote in ode to those little tiny dots that people sometimes have peppered on their skin. Got a really great friend of mine who we always go back and forth about them and, well, they’ve kind of grown on me a bit. Enough to write about them, I guess? So, to all those who know someone or who have them, there’s a little something for you that I hope brings a smile.

 

As always, here’s to hoping your day flies right on by and that you’ve got something cold and on the rocks waiting for you when you get home tonight.

To Drink

To Drink or Not To Drink (x2)

To Drink or Not To Drink (x2)

I have met some who said
drinks don’t agree with them
and
I can’t help but to wonder if
they just weren’t asking the right
question.

——–

I have met some who said
drinks don’t agree with them
and
I can’t help but to wonder if
they were speaking the right
language.

 

_______________________

It’s short. It’s sweet. It’s Friday, folks. Hope you made it to the end of your work week alright and that the time off has you feeling fine. This is just a little diddy of an idea that I think sounds alright enough to stand on its own. Then, of course, I thought of a secondary ending and I ended up liking both of them so much, I though I’d post them. Hope you enjoyed it and be sure to let me know which one you favored the most.

 

Here’s to hoping that your weekend is long your drinks are cold.

 

You Are What You Write

You Are What You Write

You Are What You Write

I don’t want to be
ironic
impractical
unrealistic
romantic

I just want to write, me,
an addict who thinks that
life’s a bit more trashy
than it is tragic and
who just wants to find a
way to laugh instead of cry
and turn screams into
sighs huffed over cups
half full, empty, or
filled up with whatever I
damn well please

So, I won’t write about roses
romantic flings, or convoluted
notions for which you have to dig

I’ll be
blunt
real
hungover
unhinged

 

____________________________________________________

Half way through the work week, folks. Hope you’re hanging in there. Wanted to throw up a nice little poem today after I did some writing over the weekend, and some research on popular poetry and topics. I penned some more conservative works and did some more perfect metered rhymes and, you know what? I didn’t like them. Why? Because that’s not how I am nor is it how I like to write. So, on that thought, I did this one instead and I’m rather fond of this guy. He’s real, kind of funny looking, a little sour, but he’s one hell of a fun guy. And that’s kind of how I realize I like my poems so, hopefully, you’ll enjoy them, too.

 

Here’s to hoping that your day flies by and that you have something cold and on the rocks waiting for you when you get home tonight.

Inspiration

Statue

Inspiration

I’ve woven into myself
an idea
chiseled in stone it
is not yet flesh

but washed, abashed
in its own shed limitations,
it has begun to dream of
taking
its first breath

____________________________________

Mornin’, folks. Or whatever greeting fits when you read this. Just thought I’d toss this one up after finishing it this morning. Despite its brevity, I like this lil’ guy. He’s short and to the point which are often the poems that I like the most. Once again, writing to my favorite album Dark Night of the Soul by Philip Wesley really helped me out with this one, as it often does with any of my writing for some reason. It’s always been the background noise of my best writing, and I’m sure all the other members of my house are sick of hearing it but, well, it works.

Here’s to hoping that you find some source of inspiration of your own and that you’ve got something cold and on the rocks waiting for you when you get home tonight.

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