a cork board

Day 20 / Poem 20 – NaPoWriMo
AMpFri, 27 Apr 2012 11:12:03 -040012Friday 1, 2010, 11:12 am
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , , ,

This is yesterday’s poem for those following at home. I will posting today’s poem later this evening. I still have to catch up on those 2 days I missed out on a while ago. Whew! We’re in the home stretch now.

Stand With Me


When I feel like I have nothing,

although everything I’d ever dreamed of

is in my throat, I’ll need you

to stand with me.


When I fall down winding trails and jagged cliffs,

I’ll need you to pick me up.

I’ve never had too much pride to admit

when I need a helping hand.

When I need help surviving the cold.


We all get lost in the vast universe,

drifting as light as a feather

without a tether to tie us down

to any one thing.


We all ask questions to the sky,

calling out to the stars

as if they will somehow answer.


That’s where I will be when you need me.

When I have to be, I can be the

stars, moon and clouds for you.

I can be the sun and the mountains

at the same time.


I can be these things for you.

I can be your foundation

and your fortitude

when you cannot find these things.


And other times,

I will need you to be them for me.

And in-between,

we can be perfect pictures of happy people,

uplifting ourselves and each other

at the same time.


But in those fractured moments

when my legs feel broken,

when I cannot stand on my own two feet,

I will need you

to stand with me.

And I, will stand with you.

Day 19 / Poem 19 – NaPoWriMo
PMpWed, 25 Apr 2012 23:11:33 -040011Wednesday 1, 2010, 11:11 pm
Filed under: poems, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

Okay, so this 30 poems in 30 days challenge is really beginning to get difficult in this home stretch. It’s frustrating because I am starting a new poem everyday and these are poems that I would LOVE to take the time to edit and flesh out ideas with, but I can’t (right now). I look forward to when this whole challenge is over, not only so that it’s over….so that I can go through these poems and pick some of them to elaborate on and actually “finish.” Anyway, with that being said, here it my day 19 contribution…a poem that I think I could turn into a 3minute piece. But for now, this is it.

The Blacksmith


Destiny needs work.

We were meant to

achieve certain things,

but not by accident.


It’s not as if

a meteor will fall from space

and land in your yard

with an ideal job

and a perfect life.


We were meant to

go outside of our comfort zone

and break down walls

to find what we perceive

as our destiny.


Nothing in life comes easy

and complacency breeds regret.

So I have chosen to work on my destiny.


To hammer at it

until it finds itself in a shape

that I envisioned it as.

Into a shape that I am happy with.


And because priorities change

and goals get rearranged,

I will keep hammering

until the day that I die.


Making my life into

what I want it to be.

Because I am

my own blacksmith

and I will build

my own suit of armor.

Day 18 / Poem 18 – NaPoWriMo
PMpTue, 24 Apr 2012 16:38:56 -040038Tuesday 1, 2010, 4:38 pm
Filed under: poems, the sweetst thing | Tags: , , , , ,


I’d never understood

the real meaning of it

until I met her.


It looked like an accident, really.

A sequence of events unfolded

along with a small string of

unconventional decisions that led me there.

That pointed me in her direction.

It had to have been fate though.


I had given up on finding anything real.

I wouldn’t say it happened at first sight,

but she had my undivided attention

and would harbor my affection

in ways I never thought possible.

She led me down a whirlwind path

and straight up into the clouds.


It took me about a month to tell her.

We were sitting on the stairs

leading to her apartment.

I told her that I felt so happy

just being around her.

That I longed for her when she was gone.

That I worried when she was away.


I told her that I knew it was too early

and I knew she had to leave soon.

That I didn’t want to complicate things

more than we already had, but

I think I’ve fallen in love with you.


She squeezed my hand and

looked me long in the eye.

She could see that it was true.

She shed a single tear and we embraced.

In the silence I told her

she didn’t have to say it back,

that I understood if she needed more time,

I just needed to get it off my chest.

She just wasn’t ready.


After another month

of late-night phone calls and

being attached almost everyday,

we were sitting on the floor in her sister’s living room.

She placed her lips beside my right ear

and whispered the words

I love you too.


My breath escaped me,

water swelled in her eyes and

we embraced so long and so immense

our breath became one.


That was almost 14yrs ago.

Love is not an easy thing.

It is joyous.

It is liberating.

Most of all, it is comforting

to know that when you fall asleep at night

there is a spirit to share your dreams with.


Love is learning to surrender

in the moments where you feel the most vulnerable.

It is not giving up when you know

that the payoff for any treacherous journey

covered by dark clouds will be

a thousand folds more than you can imagine.


It is knowing that you are worthy

of everything you desire.

It is having the confidence to be yourself.

Love is something that you

have to learn through experience,

not through books or

even lessons from your grandfather.


When she spoke those words to me

I started to believe that I was worth more.

That cannot be measured by anything

except for the pumping of blood

through an organ that rests between your lungs.


We have grown and we have changed

as people over the years.

But we always knew that

we were meant to be,

so we put in the work.

We elevated one another when we needed it.

We gave each other the space when we needed it.

And we have grown strong like a tree

that graciously braves passing storms.

A broken branch, a few fallen leaves

but stronger with roots winding deep into the earth.


These days, when I wake up in the morning,

the warmth of her body lying next to me

is like a second sun rising.

I embrace her before I rise.

I exhale into her frame before I begin my day.

And kiss her gentle lips before I rest for the night.


These days, I understand the real meaning of Love

because she has been gracious

to learn it with me.



Day 17 / Poem 17 – NaPoWriMo
PMpMon, 23 Apr 2012 22:46:00 -040046Monday 1, 2010, 10:46 pm
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , , ,



I remember when it happened

like it was yesterday.


I’d heard rumors

that it happened

in the dead of night.

That they never gave you notice,

for fear of the news

spreading like wildfire.

For fear of breeding jealousy,

of spawning runaway plans.


The guard awoke me at 2am

with a violent, continuous shake

and his finger over his lips


He told me to pack my things.

That I had 15min.

Don’t wake anyone.

I’d spent months with them,

they were my brothers.

They would rise and

I would be gone and

their day would go on

as it had before.


Those walls, those faces

….that place shaped my life for months.

In the shortest of flashes it was to be over.


My box was packed

and I was told to go downstairs.

David was in the car.

We hadn’t been the best of friends,

but we knew each other.


Where are we going? What’s happening?

I don’t know, but we might be going home.


We were in shock.

We sat in the back.

The car shifted into gear,

the wheels started rolling.

We looked out the window

to see the white, concrete building

that bound us together

slipping behind us

as we rotated our heads.


The concrete slowly

gave way to green bushes

as the car picked up speed.

We didn’t speak again

that I can remember.


I stared out the window

amazed at how life happens.

So much, so fast, so big.

Then, without warning

it fades into the memory bank.


I was astonished that everything

about Tranquility Bay

was now in my past.

That my future lay ahead.

And I was passing through

a checkpoint before I could progress.


We drove until we could

slowly watch dawn approach.

We arrived at the airport as light broke.

We wished each other well.

We’d known that the ride

was only transitory and that

he would forever be a part of my life

for becoming that moment.


I turned,

saw my father and brother

standing there, in Jamaica.

My heart filled with mirth

as smiles stretched across their faces

and I knew that I’d just crossed the border

into the beginning of my future.


Raj was there,

I didn’t expect him.

It reminded me

of our childhood all at once,

and all was well.

Day 16 / Poem 16 – NaPoWriMo
PMpSun, 22 Apr 2012 22:06:49 -040006Sunday 1, 2010, 10:06 pm
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , , , ,

Give Me Sleep


Sleep will come when the body is ready. After sleepless night after sleepless night. The remote control affixed in your hand. The bed the last thing on your mind. There are moments where you know you need to sleep, but your mind simply will not allow it. But after a number of days or weeks or months. There comes a moment where the gas run out and the muscles tire down and the joints fold in and the pillows call out. That moment is right now. Good night wonderful world. My dreams are callings, I better answer.

Day 15 / Poem 15 – NaPoWriMo
AMpSun, 22 Apr 2012 11:44:44 -040044Sunday 1, 2010, 11:44 am
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , , ,

This is yesterday’s poem. I am still going to post one tonight for day 16. I am also still 2 days behind for missing last weekend, and I am going to catch up! Anyway, here is yesterday contribution.



He spoke with a tremor under his ribcage.

His insides rumbled like an earthquake

at the deepest depth of the ocean,

for no one could see the tremble

in his skin. Or on his lips.


He had fought long and hard.

He had fought with

utmost grace and determination.

He had fought and he is

now losing that fight.


The treatment stopped months ago

and he had taken his foot

off of the brake since then.

A man who dies with regret

writes a book with missing pages.

So he filled his book and he lay there,

weak on the outside

and strong on the inside.


Wanting to run a marathon

but only able to raise and lower

his lungs as they inflate

inside of his scrawny chest.


He spoke with a tremor.

He spoke a word meant

only for his wife to hear.

He spoke a word that

was paired with an exhale

that would be his very last

while her hand rest inside of his.

While her eyes locked into his.

While his spirit was readying to

exit his fragile frame,

they shared a finale

of miraculous moments.


And he spoke with a tremor.

His voice sounded like the wind

as it travelled through her entire body.

And then, he was at peace.

And so was she.

Day 14 / Poem 14 – NaPoWriMo
AMpFri, 20 Apr 2012 00:40:10 -040040Friday 1, 2010, 12:40 am
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , ,

King of Regret


He wears his crown

with the burden of an executioner.

Heart growing colder every time

his axe splits through a spinal column.

It sits atop his head pointed and as heavy

as the walls of a human gas chamber.


He sits on a throne

made of never-ending descent.

A throne the size of a thimble,

complete with poison ivy and oak.


For when he perches himself

upon this throne he feels like

he is constantly falling,

like his skin is burning.

When he sits on this throne

he does not feel like a king.


He feels small.

He feels like there is not a breath of nobility

left within his overweight frame.


He has always had

the best of intentions in life.

But there was a seed that was sewn

long ago by his very own hand.

It has germinated and

taken on a separate life

inside of him.


Now there are two horribly different people

dressed within the same skin.

The once-noble king

trying to cope with the actions

of his not-so-better half.

And the night owl on the prowl

trying on the flesh of women

as if they were rented tuxedoes.

Paying for the services of

sucking and slapping skin.

Salaciously sinning without sentiments

of that which is sacred.


The carnal desire.

It builds until that demon

takes over the body of the king.

He pushes and he pushes

until the walls fall over.

Until he torches the walls of the palace

and leaves with a smirk on his face.

Desecrating the very house that built him.


Our king is left with the burden of regret.

Left with a crown made of cast iron

as tall as the Empire State Building

threatening to snap his neck with every turn.


This king of regret

has everything for splendor and happiness,

but relishes in embellishing the urges of the beast

he has created as the scapegoat for his misdeeds.


This king of regret

knows the pure joys of children

but holds more shame in his heart

with every trip he takes to the brothel.


This king of regret

is a sad, sad man with so much to live for

and a dungeon run amuck with secrets.


But somewhere beneath the sut-stained skin

of this king of regret there is a heart made of gold.

A heart built for salvation.

A spirit made for redemption.


And one day, this king of regret

will wear a crown built for noble kings.

He will sit in a throne made of gold.

He will find peace on those cold nights.

He will find everything he has ever sought.

But first, he must

slay his dragon


Day 14 / Poem 14 – NaPoWriMo
AMpThu, 19 Apr 2012 00:52:41 -040052Thursday 1, 2010, 12:52 am
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , ,

We Are


We are something

we never dreamed of becoming.

We are lips split from

cold winters and braving

the chill of the world.

We are the disenfranchised

and the broken social scene

tethered to the outskirts

of popular media.

We are proud and ashamed

all in the same breath,

because there is

no other way of existing.


We breathe in fire

and regurgitate it

in the form of words.

Of ideas that started out

as seedlings in the

caverns of our hearts.

Ideas that travel the earth

and scales mountains.


We build empires from

shambles of pillaged villages.

We bear the burden of everything

that plagues our day to day

and provides peril for the world.

We wear a badge of honor

for what the Almighty has gifted us with.


We will scream at

the walls that divide

until they crumble.

We will speak

in the place of the voiceless.

We have voices,

so we make choices

by tripping over verses.


We are not afraid

to expose our beating hearts

in the name of

expression and inspiration.

We are dragons flying overhead

in circles, spewing gasoline saliva.


We are verse.

We are prose.

We are not textbooks.

We are poetry.

Day 13 / Poem 13 – NaPoWriMo
AMpWed, 18 Apr 2012 00:07:05 -040007Wednesday 1, 2010, 12:07 am
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , ,

The Moment is Strikes


When silence settles over the woods,

and the luminescence of the moon

dances through branches,

there is a fear that grips you.


When the rustling of leaves

echoes from tree stump to tree stump

and travels from one ear canal to the other,

there is a paranoia that takes over.


When you’ve seen one too many horror movies

and your calculations add up to your certain demise,

you might find yourself running from your own shadow.

Frantically dodging trees while the amplified

sound of your heartbeat thumping

throughout your entire body races

your adrenaline into a fever-pitch.


A squirrel skitters across a branch

and the scurrying of his feet sound

like claws of hungry wolves

coming for you.


Civilization is just on the horizon

when you see a neighborhood

with windows glowing artificial light

and gracious streetlamps with their arms

stretched out like saviors.


The danger level escalates

as you begin to look over your shoulder

every 3 seconds and the sidewalk is coming closer.


It’s almost midnight

and the idea of teeth dripping in saliva

longing to tear at your flesh

has you picking up speed.

10 more strides,

you scrape your face on an unsuspecting tree.

5 more strides,

you stumble and slice your hand open on glass.

2 more strides,

you are holding your breath at this point.


You arrive at your sanctuary of a sidewalk,

out of breath with your hands on your knees

panting as if you’d just escaped certain death.

Your head swivels from left to right,

right to left and back again,

as you peer into the wood.


The moonlight cascades

straight through the winter branches

and across the bed of dead leaves.


The forest is empty.

The houses are quiet.

The night is still, except for you,

running for your life

from shadows and your own devices.


You pick up pace quickly towards home,

with blood dripping down our hand,

hoping nobody saw your pathetic display of unwarranted fear.

Day 12 / Poem 12 – NaPoWriMo
PMpMon, 16 Apr 2012 23:14:11 -040014Monday 1, 2010, 11:14 pm
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , ,

Okay, okay. So I messed up. I missed day 12 and 13. I did not write anything on Saturday OR Sunday. BUT, I am going to do my best to not only write a poem everyday this week. But I am also going to try to get an extra poem written on 2 different days this week so I can play catch up. It’s about 30 poems in 30 days, not 30 poems in 32-34 days.

I don’t know where this one came from. The first line is what spilled out when I say down to write and this wierd semi-erotic, semi-something poem came out about a man who is engrossed in something. Too engrossed to notice something precious slipping out of his fingers because her enjoyed the chase so much that he never anticipating an end in sight. Anyway, here is my day 12 contribution.

The Cat. The Mouse


There is something about

the way he looks at her.

Like he wants to devour her whole.

And she knows that

every movement she makes

drives him closer to approach.

Closer to completion.


She never leads on too much,

she maintains the mystery.

Maintains the unknown,

she is a constant enigma

and he becomes the philosopher

trying to figure her out.


He devotes hour after hour

trying to theorize

what makes her tick

and she waits and waits

while they continue

this game of watchmaker and clock.

Of Bomb-maker and explosion.


Until he becomes

so engrossed in the puzzle.

She becomes

too caught up in treading the line.

He becomes lost

and she becomes found.


While he is the one

that got away,

she is simply the one

that started the flood.

The one that

kick-started the engine and

lit the furnace in his research.

The thirst that was never quenched.


He is far too entrenched

in his devices to realize that

he lost the adoration of a woman.

That he missed out on living

for the thrill of the chase

without a finish line in sight,

without wanting to ever stop running,

in the end.