Category Archives: Poems

Yard Sale

Buelah

 

Yard Sale

Trinkets for a dollar,

Crystal plates for two dollars.

Only took a lifetime of acquiring,

to end up with this vast collection.

Frames for a dollar,

Glassware for two dollars.

Every single thing was hand selected with love,

And bought with hard earned money.

Towels for a dollar,

Sheet sets for two dollars.

This ceramic dog with the broken leg used my Grandmother’s favorite,

and she adored this vintage pocket mirror.

Bake ware for a dollar,

Pots and pans for two dollars.

Some of the best meals you could ever imagine,

Were cooked from scratch in these dishes.

Costume Jewelry for a dollar,

Sterling silver rings for two dollars.

She went to church looking classy,

Three times a week in this cheap jewelry.

Worn shoes for five dollars,

New shoes for ten dollars.

Many of the new shoes still have the tags and the box,

She did have quite the shoe addiction.

Used dresses for five dollars,

New dresses for ten dollars.

These dresses sell for over a hundred dollars at the mall,

And even the used ones she probably only wore twice ever.

Blood pressure monitor for five dollars,

An elderly shower seat for ten dollars.

We see you rolling your eyes at the price tag.

A lifetime of vitality ended in withering weakness.

Box of Liquid thickener for five dollars,

Canes and Walkers for ten dollars,

This stuff may look like worthless junk to you,

But it’s all we have left on earth of our beloved Grandmother.

It’s at least worth a dollar,

And You want to pay a quarter.


crunch

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During those times,
you don’t feel like you have a place in this world;
You are too far gone,
too out there.
Too different.

Carrying that shame around like a heavy load.
Every time you put it down,
you wish you could leave it on the ground;
but then you’ll say or do something,
pick it up again,
and continue on your way.

Why do I exist?
I can’t stand myself.
I wish I could beat me.
Beat all the things out that I don’t like.
Wouldn’t be much left after that.
I feel like I’m enclosed in a room
full of eggshells.
Everywhere I walk,
crunch, crunch, crunch.
When I try to open the door to escape,
Crunch.
try to sit down,
Crunch.
Try to fly,
crunch, crunch.
I fall down every time.
Fucking crunch.

Generation Y

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We are the generation
with a tale of hardships on our lips
and sad poetry in our souls
Childhood was promising us
empty promises that will never be fulfilled.
Life will never be as good as it was back then.
We wage war against the establishment
with what little power we possess.
Cannot afford to make a real difference
Only the ones that are the problem can
So many people suffering
Many more bathing in self indulgence
mind numbing foolishness
Everyday, every hour, everywhere
There’s no where to get away from it
Only if you look inwards
can you see
 
Only by closing your eyes,
sealing off your ears,
and shutting your mouth,
quieting your mind,
and putting away your wallet.
But really, who can do that?
The masses are already gathered
gathered against themselves
the enlightened must gear up for a fight
a fight for truth and justice
and we may die trying
but at least we’ll die knowing.
We are Generation Y
and we’re living a lie.
We are Generation Y
and we’re living a lie.
We are Generation Y
and we’re living a lie.

The Last Time

 

Author Unknown

The Last Time

From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
When you have freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feedings and burping,
Nappy changes and crying,
Whining and fighting,
Naps or a lack of naps,
It might seem like a never-ending cycle.
But don’t forget …
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed
your baby for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.
One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.
One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus”
and do all the actions,
Then never sing them that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.
The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realize.
So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them
and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them.
For one last time.
-Author Unknown-

This is not my poem. This is a poem I read, and it made me very, very sad, because it’s true. Why do children have to grow up so fast? I’ve already experienced some ‘lasts’ from my daughter, and when I am with her, I try and keep my photographic/tape-recorder memory turned up full blast, so I can remember the way she does (quickly to become the way she used to do) just about everything. Maybe now, instead of bitching that her 2-year birthday pictures will cost me $250, I can be thankful and pay it without another word, knowing that this investment will one day be images that I stare at for hours with tears in my eyes. In the days when she’s a bratty, attitude-infested teenager that hates everyone just like I once was.

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I am a Butterfly

I wrote this when I was in the sixth grade in 1996, at 11 years old. I wrote it for some poetry project we had to do for language arts. I also entered it in one of those poetry contests in the back of Seventeen magazine, and got published in some book called Memories and Daydreams, on page 127. I think it was just a hoax company that only published those to print EVERY poem entered, only to sell it back to ALL the poets featured for 60 dollars A BOOK. I bought that book, worked the entire summer that year just to pay it off, and it sits on my bookshelf to this day.

 

 

Butterfly Pink Purple

 

I am a butterfly,

with pink and purple wings.

I fly about gazing at the beauty

of the gorgeous shrubs.

When I see a tempting flower,

I fly down and kiss the precious petals.

I fly high and low,

and east and west,

to show all the anxious people

my pink and purple wings.


This is my life for the past 2 years now.

Me:

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Other Moms: 2012-09-26-16-11-57-e1348932775611

 

Sitting here staring at a screen, wasting away,
Thinking of all the useful things I could be doing today.

I wonder how my daughter is, and what she’s doing right now.
I could spend as much time with her, as much as time would allow.

See, I have to work this petty job to make ends meet,
But if I didn’t have to, boy would my life be sweet.

I’d be the best house wife and house mom ever,
Home made dinner every night, house clean and whatsoever

Needed to be done would be done.
I’d be happy and for a while, this game of life would be won.

Instead, here I sit dreaming, trying to pass this time away,
Seeing how much of it I can let transgress seamlessly, everyday.

The weekends just fly by like I’m at work still,
When I want the clock to stop, so I can take it in and get my fill.

Though this is my life, this never ending cycle of work and a little play.
At least I can watch through the glass, all the others just getting their way.

I need to stop this rhyme, before I tear up and my coworkers see,
and think, “Gosh, what a blubbery sow! Let’s just leave her be.”

 


Clam Sauce

Red clam sauce

 

Whilst grocery shopping yesterday,
A can of red clam sauce came my way.
I couldn’t help but think of you,
And all the silly little things you do.
Like equating bodily functions with food,
Being perverted, hilarious, and crude.