Tag: spokenword

Everything under the sun

You know I’m no good

there’s still time for me

To change

And

Every-thing under the sun

Just stays on repeat

–

The weatherman says

The world will implode

And the business man said

It’s about to snow

—/

It seems to me

We should have kept those steel oats ….

Winter is short

And

Summer is long

I’d buy you an island maybe a beach

But you wouldn’t be happy hun

Maybe next year will be better

We’ll see….

—/

The way you walked in the room

I thought you were looking at me

I guess it was just that saloon song

You know I’m no good

But there’s still time for me to change …

—-/

You know the world was no good

Until you walked in the room

Now it’s fire works and the fullest moon

I was drinking gin

But I switched to champagne

They say everything under the sun

Just repeats itself

That’s how the world was won

I keep selling to myself

That nights like this

Make a man dream…

I hope it repeats

Until I’m walking on the ceiling

Through to the moon

Shaking hands with the holy host

Write my name in the book of most

Maybe it was the saloon song

Maybe it was your kiss

But I think it’s time for a change

-E

On the Importance of being

Is poetry important right now?

Is it relevant?

Did the ’90s have it right?

Is God dead?

Why even bother?

How do I write or create and give proper representation to everyone…

Can it even be done?

—-///

Look at the Sistine chapel

The creation of Adam

What if we all stopped and froze

What if there were no German poets?

Because they halted their breath after WWII?

You have to speak

You have to be brave enough

To look at yourself

Look at the world you walk through

And make notes

—///

And he took him a potsherd to scrape himself with; and he sat down among the ashes.

-Job 2:8

Job didn’t have a pastor, a minister, a doctor or a psychiatrist. He didn’t have anything, his family were dead, his livestock dead, his wife was unkind. She told him to curse God and die. in an effort to give him some relief. And ease his suffering.

But he said

“I can’t, I know too much, I’ve seen too much, I can’t go back…”

He scraped his boils with pottery…

To give some relief….

—////

Art,poetry,creating is important because it is what we live for…

It’s the colours of living. It’s life…

You’re unique, you stand out, you view the world separately and differently, there is only one you.

We’re not supposed to fit in.

Or be like anyone else…

That’s why history has those few remnants, those that create.

They look at the world and they make notes and they write what they see.

Fb, apps, algorithms?

If you’re waiting for it to be safe…

To discern truth for you?

You’ll die waiting…

These things are not the truth tellers…

That’s me and you…

It’s up to us to discern what is truth…

I’ll say it again…

All of this fake and false and upsetting and black clouds and thunderstorms and the future is dead and god is dead and we have to remake everything so it’s perfect and there is no hurt hearts or shocked eyes?

It’s not real.

Too much perfection is a mistake

It’s up to us to discern truth

What we see and what we read

We Create

We speak

We build a better tomorrow

Because we live through and in today

All the algorithms

Will always be just that

An algorithm

A process

A highway

For Information

But it’s up to us

To drive it

And discern the navigation

Like a library

—-

So yes

Poetry

Art

Life

Is always in the now

Right here

Right now

It’s so important

It’s you

It’s our hearts

It’s vital

To our existence

So go

Create

Live

Be bold

If you make mistakes

It’s ok

That’s just life

We grow

We live

But do not stand in fear …

We can’t go back

We’ve seen too much

We’ve lived through too much

And this art

This art is for everyone

There’s room for every heart.

-E

What if

What if –
We all supported each other
What if –
Their win isn’t your loss
What if-
You didn’t cut someone or something down
Every time you built something up
What if-
You wore the shirts
The shorts
The skirts
And
Other women didn’t reprimand you
What if –
Women were celebrated for their accomplishments and not just for marriage-
What if they didn’t spend every moment making sure they weren’t tempting men
Or acting just right
Or under the microscope of everything
What if we all could just discuss and compromise on politics and ideas
What if
We’ve been duped into believing in a win lose
Good guy
Bad guy
Good wife
Bad wife
Good girl
Bad girl
—-/
What if there are none of these things ?
There’s just you and me
us
Right here
In small towns
Big cities
One life
Fighting
Editing each other
When we could be coming together
Building eachother up
Winning
And helping those coming up next
To do the same
——
What if
You crushed your goals
You wore the shirts
The skirts
The clothes
The shoes
The look
You did what made you happy
Really
Really
happy
And you were great at it.
You can
You don’t have to settle for one hour every few weeks with your person
You don’t have to chase things
That make you miserable
And you don’t have to defend yourself
You don’t have to make excuses
You are valid
If you want something more
You deserve something more
You don’t have to wait for permission

Go be you
And celebrate you
Your wins
Your accomplishments
And notice those around you when they win
And celebrate them too.
I believe we all can win.
And why shouldn’t we?
What else is there?
-Regardingsamuel.com

📷@ Ethan Bethune

Stardust

You are not some
Force to be dealt with
You are flesh and bone
Stardust
I cannot lie
I have to stop
Just so I can look back
And
We will learn what it is to be human
Some days we’ll live
Some days we’ll laugh
Others we’ll cry

Sometimes I’m weak

Sometimes I’m strong

Others I just barely have enough


We will live to lose all the love we’ve held….


So I hope you understand
After our kiss and long good byes
I will always – always – look back
-Regardingsamuel.com

Origin unknown

Bleeding Ink 1,604

There’s all these voices

I look around the room

I close my eyes

Some raise a glass

Expect me to just hate women

My phone blows up

“Look at this.”

“Go to therapy.”

“Take 4 years.”

Everyone has an opinion

I watch the room

I spent all those years

Doing what I thought was best

Buying flowers

Writing letters

Making dinner

Dances in the kitchen

I still didn’t do everything right, I guess

It’s not one persons fault

I won’t complain

I’m not going to cry in my beer

I’ve seen that

Too too many times

I watch the room

I feel nothing

I feel nothing at all

That’s the worst part

I don’t hurt

I’m not angry

I cannot possibly drink enough

And I feel nothing at all

“You know what you should do? You should go sniff and hit everything you can.”

But I feel nothing at all…

Only the blues

There’s an isolation inside

And I know

There’s going to be a morning

When the sun will rise

And I will only write

About that deep blue

That is her eyes

Just give it time

Even the sea is calm

At the darkest of the night

And I try to think

But the words can’t be found

And I try to drink

But there’s never enough

So I watch the room

And accept this too

This feeling – Nothing

Hoping I don’t become some kind of

Bitter southerner

That’s all

I don’t want to be hung up

I don’t want to be bitter

They expect me to just hate

But have you ever

Talked for hours with a woman

Danced without hesitation

Read until the morning

With her hand in your hand

And her head on your chest

There’s a thousand other intimacies

She gives you before you’re in her bed

I know this will pass

This feeling nothing

Morning by morning

The world was flawed

The work was flawed

Impractical

Opened

The flesh, bruised

We,

We were animals

Fighting ourselves

—

All of this life

All of this energy

All of this

Here and now

Blown in a moment

By the wind

Gone tomorrow

What was all of that hurry?

What was all of that anxiety ?

—-

Slow it down

I put the

Words on paper

My feelings

On fire

Scorch the edges

Framed by the shadow of your body

In the morning

—-

Morning by Morning

All of this passion

Slow it down

Thicker

Hotter

Slow it down

This energy

This

Heartbeat

This flame

One body

Flesh bruised

Lips on fire

The Morning runs away …

Photo origin unknown

Love gone write

Maybe happiness

Is just a moment

Brief

Before the next big thing

The next desire

The next goal

Maybe we are built

To corrupt ourselves

Nature’s folly

But I want to run

I want to stay

This town

Has rust

It’s high in the gut

I’ll show you this place

I don’t want to write a poem

That sounds like a poem

But I can tell you

I’m at peace

I feel safe

When I’m with you

(Written aug 21 2019 at 33)