I love me
Like a bird
Loves the sky.
I love me
Like a fish
Loves the sea.
I love me
Like my lungs
Love air.
I love me
Like things
Love things they need.
I love me!!!
It's not a choice,
It's a necessity.
I love me!
This poem I heard at the last open mic for Expressions: Poetry In The Pub and it was definitely worth posting.
weheartit.com
I love you,
I say this
As the most honest,
The most genuine thing,
I have ever said.
I love you,
Even if in my heart,
In my mind,
In my soul and spirit
I know you don’t deserve
The words I’m saying.
I love you,
Although, the tears I’ve shed
Amounts to an ocean
And I’m talking Pacific,
Not Indian.
I love you,
Even if I don’t,
Even if I can’t
Explain why.
I love you,
But I love me more,
So I turn my back to,
I close the door on,
I leave in the dust
You
Because I know
You don’t love me too.
Alice's blog on My Modern Met
They said it would be fun,
They said it would be exciting,
It would be unusual,
I was what the doctor ordered.
For these reasons,
I went to Ruben's house.
Why would my friends
Lead me into anything dangerous?
By the time
We reached Ruben's house,
We were buzzing with anticipation
And the ecstasy we popped
To kill any nerves.
In outfits
Our mothers would disapprove of,
In shoes
That made our feet curse us.
We entered Casa Ruben.
We followed the music
To the living room
And as we walked in
I noticed it smelled of sex.
Yes, everyone was dressed,
But the room reeked
Of the primal act
And if you looked closer,
You would see it
In the eyes of the partygoers.
In the middle of the room
Sat Ruben,
His eyes openly undressing
Every woman that passed
Where he sat.
We chose to mingle
Instead of letting Ruben
Know we were there.
The hours slipped away
With us chatting, dancing,
Flirting with men we knew
And a few we didn't.
Just as I was exchanging numbers
With a man who
Caught my attention,
I sensed I was being watched.
I promised my new friend
That I would give him a call
Then looked around
To see who was looking.
Ruben.
On his face,
Many emotions were shown.
Of them I identified
Anger, Regret, Hope, Lust
And Love.
I was not expecting the last,
As I thought he was incapable
Of feeling, expressing Love.
Love did not make him
Remain faithful to me,
Instead of sleeping
With every woman who existed
In his atmosphere.
Love did not make him
Turn his back on me
When I needed him the most.
Love did not make him
Steal from me to pay
One of his many bookies.
No, Ruben never knew
The meaning of love.
Slowly, I blew him a kiss,
I slipped my arm
Into the crook of my new friend's arm
And make my exit.
I felt him follow us,
To avoid any confrontation,
I kissed my new friend
On the cheek
And bade him good night
Then slipped out the front door
Before any man could say a thing.
A taxi was waiting,
I had called for one earlier on
And as I melted into the seats,
Kicking off my heels,
I revelled in the sweet
Revenge.
I didn't have
To perform a criminal act
To make Ruben feel the pain
I've been feeling.
All I had to do
Was leave him confused,
Leave him unbalance,
Leave him wanting,
That is Mona's revenge.
PandaPad.comI found him wanting.
Wanting me to be his,
Wanting me to be
The person in his bed.
I found him wanting.
Wanting me
Based on the way I looked,
On the way I moved
But did he want me
For the way I thought?
I found him wanting.
Wanting a version of me
That was constructed
By his imagination,
Wanting me to possess qualities
He found pleasing,
But qualities I never had.
I found him wanting,
But I didn’t find myself
Wanting him.
His soul
Did not speak to mine
In words that were older
Than the time we are aware of.
When we did speak,
Our words were so different.
Mine were of poetry, art,
Movies, old and new,
Traveling to see the world
Instead of just going somewhere.
His words were of things
That never held my attention
Or were so out of my realm
Of thought, I required
MapQuest and a GPS
To find my way home.
And yet,
He wanted me.
No polite words
Would dissuade him
From desiring me.
No diversions masked
In honeyed words
Would remove him
From the path that
Led my way.
I was loathe
To use the only alternative,
To smite him down
With the sword
That is my tongue.
At first,
I simply sliced at his flesh,
With insults aimed
At his physical attributes.
Then I sliced deeper,
Ridiculing his opinions,
His likes and dislikes,
His dreams and fears.
Then with my blade
Aimed at his neck,
I explained exactly
How I felt about him,
Never clothing my words
In fine garments.
I sliced his head off
And handed it to him.
I am the reluctant samurai
On the battlefield of love.
I found myself wanting,
Needing the freedom
From his wanting.
vi.sualize.us
He sat across
The table from me.
Tyrone was on the stage
And had begun to set
The rhythm for the new song.
He loved Tyrone's band
And it was the perfect thing
For the crap day he was having.
It wasn't his birthday
Nor was it Valentines
Or some such event
That would require me
To show that I cared.
I brought him to the little smoky bar
Because a thought
Had blossomed in my mind
And repeated over and over
Like the rhythm Tyrone was keeping.
I love this man,
I love this man,
I love this man.
I loved the way
A smile would creep across his face
When he was up to something.
I loved that he was there
When my world felt
So close to unraveling.
I loved waking up
In his arms,
They would circle around me,
Protecting me from even my dreams.
I loved when we would go to the club,
And he would have no problem
With me dancing with random men,
As he knew
That before the sun
Peeked over the horizon,
He would be the last dance.
I love this man,
I love this man,
I love this man.
Before I knew it,
Tyrone's set was finished
And he looked revived,
Renewed, alive, inspired
And our fingers were intertwined.
He didn't have to say it,
I knew he appreciated
This evening out.
In fact, there were times
When we didn't need words
To say what we really felt.
We had a language all our own.
After packing away his instrument
And tying up some loose ends,
Tyrone joined us at our table
And before long,
The two men were deep in conversation.
Every now and then,
I would throw in my two cents
But I was satisfied
With watching him interact with others,
Exchanging ideas and opinions.
I was so proud of him.
I love this man,
I love this man,
I love this man.
Eventually,
Fatigue made it's presence felt,
And we said our goodbyes
To all we knew.
In an hour,
We were in bed.
Sleepily talking about things
I would forget by morning,
But it was the last thing
He whispered as sleep won the battle.
I love this woman,
I love you, woman,
I love you.
Last year, my sis gave me a challenge in which I would write poetry to the photography of Sator Arepo, a Spanish photographer. This challenge spanned over a period of 15 weeks and the poems were posted every Wednesday. To read the poems click here
And here is the artwork:
This challenge really stretched me as a poet as I had to create a poem from a photo that could be about something else. To a degree that is what art is about, an artist could have one thing in mind when he creates a piece but someone looking at that same piece and have something else in mind.
Unfortunately, that challenge came to an end and a void was created. I had an idea of something to replace the challenge poems but I just never got it started. Then the other day, my sis asked about those poems, and I told her that I was thinking of doing the challenge again but I haven come across any series of artwork that I wanted to use. She in turn sent me an email with a link to Magnificent Storytelling Illustrations on My Modern Met.
This is the write up on the artwork:
Israeli-born illustrator Tomer Hanuka creates incredibly interesting scenes. His stories are told not just by the expressions on his characters' faces but by the beautiful colors he chooses and the mysterious shadows he casts. His passion for drawing emerged at a young age, when he fell in love with American comic books. He found them "mysterious and majestic, an unreachable light in a faraway land, and more beautiful and exciting than anything around."
His client list includes prestigious newspapers and magazines like Time, The New Yorker, Spin, The New York Times, and Rolling Stone. He has won multiple gold medals from the Society of Illustrators and the Society of Publication designers, and was showcased in Print magazine and American Illustration.
"This is about storytelling; it's creating drama, not unlike a movie director, but frozen in a single moment," Hanuka said.
And here is the artwork:
This challenge will be starting next week Wednesday. It should be interesting what I come up with.
TripAdvisor
The sun
Had long ago set,
The darkness
Wrapped around me
Like a light blanket
And the moon,
Barely a sliver,
Watched as I sat.
I was perched
On the roof of
A building in
The mark lived
In the building
Across the road.
Day Three of surveillance.
Last day of surveillance.
They wanted the mark dead,
Tomorrow, the latest.
As I leaned in
To look through the scope,
I felt cold metal
Press against my temple.
I waited.
Seconds turned into minutes,
And I was still alive.
Not good,
They wanted information,
One way or another.
I hazarded a look
At the person
Who would kill me
Before the sun rises.
She was beautiful,
The kind of beautiful
But her eyes.
Her eyes were colder
Than the dark side of the moon.
The mark.
As babies were being
Tucked into bed,
As couples made love,
As an old man reached across
To the empty space
Where his wife used to sleep,
Two killers waited.
If I killed her,
I would be a little richer,
If she killed me,
She would have bought
A couple more days
To live.
And so we waited.
She waited for me
To make a move
To give her a reason
To kill me in self defense.
I waited for
The gun to grow heavy,
For her patience to run out,
For fatigue to weigh down
The lids of her cold eyes.
It was the witching hour
When the gun slipped
A millimeter along my temple.
It was the witching hour
When I slapped the gun away,
And with less mercy
Than she would have shown me,
I snapped her neck.
As the sun rose,
I tucked the beautiful Brazilian
In her bed.
Let her sleep till they come
Looking for her
And find her dead.
In the witching hour,
I became richer,
And the beautiful mark
Ran out of time.
The contract was completed.
God, forgive me,
For I have sinned
Mikhail Palinchak
Whispers...
Don't wake her,
Let her rest.
Whispers....
Don't tell her,
She's not ready.
Whispers awakened her
From a drug induced
Slumber.
She listens
For a voice
So familiar
It could have been her own.
A voice
Cooing at a child,
Smiling in it's vibrations
Making promises
It will keep,
Making promises
It can never keep.
This voice was not there
Among the whispers,
And yet she yearned
To hear this voice.
The slumber was thick
And yet she swam
To the surface
Using all she could summon
To break the surface
To break the slumber.
As her eyelids fluttered
A strong hand
Grasped her hand,
Pulling her through
To the real world.
He sat at her bedside,
A face as familiar
As her own.
And with her eyes
She asked the question
He was afraid to answer.
"She was beautiful."
It was the word
Was
That plunged her back
Into the abyss of dreams
And unrealized wishes,
Leaving her there
For a day,
Or was it two.
When she woke,
Those words roused her.
When she slept,
Those words were her lullaby.
No child
Rested in her arms,
Once nestled in her womb.
No child
Suckled at her bosom,
Now heavy with sustenance.
No child
To cry out
For her mother.
Time waits for no one,
And days pass,
Then weeks and months
And soon a year
Had come and gone.
Soon another child
Filled her womb
And this child was born,
And then another,
And then another.
Three children
Had rested in her arms,
Suckled at her bosom
And cried out to her,
Their mother.
And when asked
About the fourth
She would say,
"She was beautiful."
Political Brambles
Once lost
In a briar patch
Of twisted thoughts
That pierced my skin
Infecting me
With a toxicity
So rare that
It overwhelmed me.
By the time
I escaped,
By the time
I was found,
I was so toxic
I was slow
In becoming well again.
But day by day,
Minute by minute,
I heal,
I purge,
I become what
I was before.
And yet...
Do I want to be
What I was before?
Do I want
To return
To the poor creature
That became lost
In a briar patch
Made of evil thoughts.
Oh, no,
I refuse to be
That ever so naive,
Ever so innocent
Creature.
Instead,
I will become
A stronger person,
A wiser person,
A person connected
To a wisdom
Older than my own
Consciousness.
I will become.....
I would like to take this moment to thank you all for following my blog and to wish you all a Happy New Year. I wish that everything you hope for in this new year you get and that you grow as people, becoming stronger, smarter, happier and more in peace with who you are. Once again, Thank you.
XOXO
Kimolisa
XOXO
Kimolisa
A new year,
A new hope,
A new you
And yet in about,
Say 10 days,
The old you would creep in
And claim residence.
Out goes the promise
Of exercising every day,
Or not calling that guy
Who broke your heart
Not once,
Not twice,
But the amount of times
That you've lost count.
So what makes this new year
Different.
What makes you different
From the person you were
In the "old" year?
I wish it was as simple
As wiping yourself away
Like chalk on a black board,
A blank board where you
Could write a new story.
It's never that simple,
Life is never simple,
But the things worth getting
Usually come with struggle.
Things that change you,
Mold you,
Builds your character
Comes with hard work.
So go ahead,
Write your lists,
Make your promises,
But before you throw yourself
Into regimes you never followed
Before,
Make a pact with yourself
That you will never give up,
That by the end of this new year
You have accomplished everything
You said you would.
This is for you,
Not him,
Not her,
Not them,
Not your mama,
Papa,
Grandma,
This is for you.
It's a new year,
It's your year
To do what ever
You want,
So do it.
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