Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.
Time is of the essence
Laugh at yourself more.
Make alternate plans.
Stop speaking in arguments.
Get out while you can.
Eclipse those bold around you.
Expand your mind like desert sand.
Excuse the ill-hearted.
Lie in the sun, get tan.
Be realistic less.
Find happiness more.
Search out your inner Self;
caress and appreciate its core.
Be happy for what you have.
Never attempt to settle the score;
forgive and forget-
because what’s life for?
Realize you are always wrong,
even if you “know” you are right.
Become a better person,
this can happen over night
Be the nicest human being,
not some stuck-up snob.
Tell the government to end wars,
by dropping photo-bombs.
Shake hands with strangers,
meet your new friends.
In the end there is nothing to lose,
so start a new trend.
Open your eyes to adversity.
direct those who can’t.
Try the best to be yourself.
Try your best to understand.
Always exercise patience.
Always exercise. Period.
Never stop learning and reading.
Never stop being weird my friend.
Today is right now.
Yesterday is gone.
Listen to sweet birds singing your song.
Rainbows happen in storms.
Sun is better when it rains.
How good do you feel?
For that you can thank pain.
Understand there is no certainty,
from one moment to the next.
So do everything you can,
be passionate- do your best.
Poetry for Profit;
The dilettante says.
It just doesn’t happen,
It’s an illusion in the sick minded head.
Ads which have mislead.
They have a job to do:
They have to pose and fit for trends.
If you do it for monetary reasons,
You won’t genuinely achieve success.
Real artists have bled,
They don’t concern themselves with worrying about the point-spread.
People live fantasy lives all the time
Where they are famous
They are sought-after
They are “the greatest”, labeled by their closest friends.
Where they try their best to be noticed,
But no one cares in the end.
If you write to proclaim “I’m a poet”,
To get paid cash and attain lavish threads,
To fulfill a lifestyle image that’s been played-out,
In order to satiate big dreaming ego-ed heads.
I have news for you:
You could write non-stop for the rest of your life,
But writing won’t always be the hot ticket trend.
So many others have paved the way before you,
While you merely lazed lying in your comfy bed.
Try doing your passion for years and years to free your mind, to share thought, to pass the time, unnoticed.
Don’t do it for profit, never do art for profit; take a look at the masters, they lived in destitute, some unrecognized in their lifetimes for what they had accomplished.
Go, go, go-
I know people who have done more with less, they are called my relatives.
Levity of ponderance
Crushed sand in place
Calculated words of elegance
Make hay or make haste—
She said she was afraid
Though there is nay to fear
She said this in so many ways
Speech fell upon delicate ears
I am afraid
That people are afraid
That they have something to be afraid of,
But why worry?
Shoes lined the step
No faces to connect
Worn Chuck’s symbolize fun
Mindset symbolized by dress
Who owns them in person?
Who unties them at rest?
Who wears them out walking?
Who sits them snug under desk?
A mile in shoes and you’ll know any old fool
One’s on life’s route just running through
Jumping foils and flows constant as they go
Rubber soles smoothed stories traveled true
The ebb and flow goes under toe
The times that move ever slow
We walk on fast, and move on past
Our shoes just follow below.
One can always tell a shoe by the wearer
One can tell a major by Chuck Taylor’s (English).
Front and Center,
Grotesque Smile walking out and towards me, those thoughts in my head. Nearing Walter, thinking of Lind, walking to Magrath, the evening begins. I saw and registered just this one person…
Front of the class with Scott Stapp. The lead singer of Creed, and I, and we stand. AKA a TA. This is life at the bus stop waiting in the cold, thinking of thoughts old. Bold people wearing exposed flesh standing apart. Ice crusted sidewalk, I look across the street to see a mirror; people just like me. The worst song on my iPod, shuffles in my ears-God.
I come to.
Probing my audience: making an obvious point (to some). Those who aren’t dumb, at least, some. Thumbs down, this is me, this is how I believe. Aught’ to be, Show you how I see. A “U” and “X”- unstressed and stressed-not a stretch. Not far off, lines and rhymes aloft. FACT.
We make a somewhat apprehensive white board dance in tight pants. Look at the sad crowd, relax.
Scansion of poetry: iambic, prosody, diction, expansion; an explanation of situations, objective subjection, an aggressive reaction, which could lay wastage. Justified. I fold at the masses, scoff at this interaction. I feel defeated, but undamaged. I feel this comedy is tragic.
That’s just Shakespeare talking though. He might have been one person.
Someone yells from the back of the class, “You are just one person!” I am apparently one person… Can you believe that? I can’t.
Then I thought about it-
Other examples of “just one person”:
Get it? Said just one person.