From time to time a poem

I sought, I found
But I did not find what I wanted.
Instead,
I find what they said I wanted.
I rebuked.
I hurled hard stones into the mirror.
Anger settled.
I started again.
And again.
Reincarnation of points of view.
The same story from a different author.
Re-lived, re-grieved, re-doubted my Self.

And then one day I spoke.

this pain will be mine in any and every reality that I have life
this world is cruel and unkind to those who are different and they will never know the endless quest for peace to be delivered from are darkness and only love will set us free that is my belief but I find myself forever alone with a sadness as vast as an eternal sea
-Trevor Mark Terry

Dont ever pretend to be my friend.
Loyalty i am glad to give but falseness I wont even lend.
A list of horrors is what my life can show.
Tragedy? Loss? The only wives I’ll ever know.
In the very few times
When the world was kind
I had a hopeful heart
And optimistic mind.
I still didnt delude myself, those days.
Life always returns to its wicked ways.
The very first goal to which i aspire
If you fck with me, youre fckng with fire.

As I stir my dirt.

There is a place, that we all find ourselves at times,
that never seems to be right when rhymed.
As I stir my dirt, some one will find rapture. The ground will quake and my heart aches as I begin to stir my dirt.
As I stir my dirt, some ones life has changed, this very night with all my might as I begin to fight- I stir my dirt right.
As I stir, some one will wear the earth, in a humble or non refundable way, as I slowly stir my dirt and turn it the other way.
Today, is a good day, I wonder what it will bring. A helpful tone or something that hurts? doesn't matter, it is today, so as I finish I'm reminded, stir the dirt.

Pastor Carlos

I wasn't really sure until now, Pastor Carlos. But yes sir, you are a real one. I still think youre too nice. But now i do believe that you werent always nice to everybody.

My face used to be so lovely back when i was youthful, innocent, full of faith

I was young and bold and adventurous and my confidence was near unshakable.

Time and time and time and loss they seem to have crept upon me like a wraith.

Am i more or less beautiful for having aged and having had to learn that i am breakable?

I dont despair of the loss of the child that i was for every child has got to grow.

Whether i have won or lost in love and life i have walked the road and earned my pains.

Im am now the keeper of insights and secrets that no little child could possibly know .

And it is a wizened adult who remains.

I have been wanting to post a couple poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on here, but thought it was more our poems on here. That was a good poem from Ehrmann. I've never heard of him, and will look into more of his works.

Wadsworth's Complete Works has been like a bible to me since my teens, and was inspiration to my own poems that I no longer write.

This one, "The Haunted Chamber" is a favorite.

Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.

A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight
Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.

Without before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs wave upward and downward
As wave these thoughts of mine.

And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night return again?

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?

dwagoonie wrote: I have been wanting to post a couple poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on here, but thought it was more our poems on here. That was a good poem from Ehrmann. I've never heard of him, and will look into more of his works.

Wadsworth's Complete Works has been like a bible to me since my teens, and was inspiration to my own poems that I no longer write.

This one, "The Haunted Chamber" is a favorite.

Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.

A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight
Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.

Without before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs wave upward and downward
As wave these thoughts of mine.

And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night return again?

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?

I wish i was so elegant. My writing is honest and i do have some skill but i still cant do that. I haven't read this one before, thank you for sharing.

Please forgive the language.


Momma’s dead and Daddys’ dead and im out here quite alone
Got no aunts and got no uncles got no place that counts as home
Does it come as a surprise
That theres some hate behind my eyes?
Been chewed on up and spit on out but Im still standing on my own.

If you think im just dramatic: fuck you, you wouldnt trade
All of yours for all my circumstances
And the choices we’ve both made
I am hurting and im hostile and I cant seem to bridge the distance
Between you and me
Who we each could be
And who we are in any given instance.

Im not evil but im angry - there’s still goodness in my heart.
But im so damned used to trouble i just expect trouble to start.
Friends?
You have friends?
You know what friends have been to me?
Friends are those who make you vulnerable to treachery.

Love?
Whats love?
Did you ever love a drug addicted whore?
No right to blame her for what she does but she sure does it, more and more and more and more.
Or what is love when your lousy love has broke your lover’s heart?
When the only love that you can give is love that tears your love apart?

Family?
What is family when it busts you in the eye?
When those supposed to protect you swat you down and stomp you where you lie?
But hey its kind of cool to get whopped and knocked on top your head.
When youve survived your shit split open knowing someone weaker might be dead.

I regret im not the easy going gentle soul Id like to be
Ive been kicked enough that being kicked has gnarled and twisted me.
Most of you cant understand - i didnt make me, I was made
From my very very early years
My nursemaid’s milk was spite and tears
And cruel assaults and injuries that will never be repaid.

I admit that yes, Ive gone too far - im now offended by lovely things
I can despise lovely women’s eyes and i can hate the sight of wedding rings
The last bit of love and hope I had i bet it all on red
Well that was pretty stupid - did you ever never really care if you woke up god-damned dead?