and below that are some of my favorite poems.
My Poems
A house of glass, a shattered dream.
my music is a river that wears paths within my soul
I fight my demons, don’t we all.
Someone taught me long ago
A broken heart, a silent scream.
A word that no one dares to hear.
A word that many seem to fear.
A word that causes them to flee.
A word that brings back memories.
A shard of glass right through her heart.
She wakes up with a sudden start.
And though she tries to hold her fright,
Her silent scream pierces the night
No one knows and no one sees.
And no one ever hears her pleas.
Cradled in her arms, the fright
Consumes her in the dark of night.
The threads of demons in her lair,
Strangle her like strands of hair.
my music is the rain that falls when I am whole
the waterfall of cascading notes drowns me in my sleep
by day the music slowly sleeps
by night it sobs and weeps
all day the music plays; it is sweet it is serene
like the graceful arc of a swan’s white neck
or the curve of a crescent moon
all night the music rages on, with the intensity of a lovers stare
or like a newborn baby’s cry, its fists hurled in the air
when I am calm, my mood complacent, the music is quite low
but when I am mad, the music like the wind begins to blow
my music is a river that wears paths within my soul
my music is the rain that falls when I am whole
Some of us survive the fall.
Some walk away, walk out bone dry.
Others struggle not to cry.
The glittering streets of our great nation.
Tasting of sweet hell and damnation.
We’re all alone, each one of us.
In cities of gold and dust.
Dark corners - monsters like to hide.
I struggle not to pull inside.
I let the demon out of me.
To put myself where people see.
Friends and families, what are they for.
They spit you out onto the floor.
The golden, dusty city streets.
Groups of people come to meet.
To watch you squirm and melt away.
To do it again, another day.
how to tie my shoes
and make my bed
and clean my room
and how to sing the blues.
But no one taught me how to fly
or simply spread my wings.
And that’s what stops me now my friends
from making my heart sing.
The Funeral
by W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks
Cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the piano and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin,
Let the mourners come
The daily planes stock heard moaning overheard
Scribbling in the sky the message,
He is dead.
Put great bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week, my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought love would last forever
I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now
Put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
