Tag: poetry

Regret Isn’t that Bad…It Builds Character


I regret the hangovers from the years of partying,

            I regret mornings with the faint taste of whiskey and tobacco on my tongue,

            I regret my cynicism passing pre-judgement on every soul that crosses my path,

            I regret laughing at the kid that fell. I don’t regret that because it was funny. It wasn’t me.

            I do regret my impulsive behavior leading to detrimental disaster;

            my regrets play on the seesaw of wisdom and folly.

            A life without regrets…

            My regrets show I lived, learned, and soldiered on.


Reasons Why I Write: A Poem of the Flame that Ruptures My Insides


It’s another night when it all bombards down on me;

I realize the good humans out there keep the world spinning.

They don’t ask for much, but they get screwed over

by a barbaric fistful without any lube.

Where does that leave me?

My cynical, jaded ass continues to write,

my hope is that someone will understand the truth;

it’s my own personal burden that God gave to me to continue

until I slip six feet under.

I know deep within my mushy guts

lies something to shock the world.

It’s my fuel to type these words.

Hell, my fingers bleed on this damn keyboard!

These keys are pushed in and mangled,

documents filled with offbeat ramblings,

yet I still soldier on.

I post my “knowledge” on my blog;

the folks take a gander, like, and comment.

They say:

“You got potential!”

“Your writing is insightful!”

or “Your style is so free!”

It’s whatever to me,

I’m just fueled by the flames burning my intestines.

Sooner or later, it will burn out—

I will rise from my burnt ashes

like a Phoenix!

Glimpse Behind the Curtain

At my age, I believe I live enough.

Except life is what you make it;

a mixture of personal experience.

I indulge in carnal pleasures

to hit a climax of an euphoric ecstasy.

The kiss from whiskey-

It’s rough and harsh while burning my lips,

yet it caresses my throat with a pleasant singe.

Another morning of awkwardness

with a wayward seductress.

She came and went like a thief in the night,

but we were entwined in erotic poetry.

A sultry confidante of my vulnerabilities.

Just another sip of fresh poison,

and I delve into paradise.

However, the intoxication remains the same

as I mesh with other restless strays.

We’re all on cloud nine at this party!

The lights, music and substances are plentiful

for the burdened and heavy-laden.

There’s rest for both wicked and weary here-

Lay your demons down!

Maybe I’m in need of absolution…

or I’ll continue to construct these thoughts as the room is spinning.


Message for Humanity

A Message for Humanity

Masticate this thought for me, reader.

Basic stories of characters with settings and plot,

Occasional works of obscure fiction written in flamboyant diction,

Or television shows or whatever media your mind chose

Why does life and fiction have similarities?

We’ve apparently became parodies:

archetypes, tropes, and plot devices according to our script;

the audience is all applause and standing ovation.

Supposedly, great ratings or bestseller!

You haven’t heard our success? Well, you’re a bottom-dweller.

Oh! You suggest a rewrite? A script change?

You’ll be written out. It can be arranged.

As Jaque said,

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

However, a rewrite can add layers:

Yes, dear reader–

You can be the writer!

Evolve a scene to make it brighter!

Sadly, ideas and influence are the base of your personality.

Unjust is this reality, but it’s the duality.

Determine which truth is yours to follow,

even if it’s slightly hollow.

Plot holes will continue to exist, because we can’t resist the perfect screenplay.

The poet of this musing is in the same boat as you;

he didn’t produce this particular piece.

I know you pondered enough you can cease.

There will be no riddle to guess;

it’ll only become a mess, you’ll be stupefied by stress.

I wrote as him to establish connection–

a ploy of deception call it misdirection.

I am Death.

I’ve been around for centuries,

I’ve guided many souls to the afterlife.

The past is behind…

The present is set…

The future is unclear…

The end is nigh…


Your health will deplete or an event will happen down the line–Never forget that your soul is always mine!

Nicotine is a Toxic Love

Lungs drenched in tar is a freighting consequence of nicotine. The remnants of healthy living are gone out the window along with the hopes of a long life. Endless consequences for our deadly vices but there’s something relaxing in a cigarette. A toxic love affair but no one comprehends it better than your lover. The intmacy between the two of you is sensuous. The enchanting taste of tobacco on your palate then smoke creeps into your lungs with a subtle seduction. An exhale signifies a pleasurable climax. With energy spent, you bask in the afterglow. Even though you’re in lover’s paradise, a quarrel hits you with reality. The relationship is over. Occasionally, you’ll crave the sensation again until the random hookup happens. The affair is reignited, and the reunion feels so good. You can’t help but appease your masochistic tendencies; it’s your fatal flaw. We’re all in love with our own sins. 20150211_173130(1)  

Use As Prescribed

Prescription pills and over the counters can be a double edged sword. They’re a reminder that our bodies are fragile and don’t last forever. Our bodies manage a lot of wear and tear throughout the ages of our lives. There’s always a fresh batch of meds to relieve constant ailing distress; however, aren’t our lives like an illness? Doesn’t it have the capabilities to cause chronic pain?

One debaucherous mishap can transform it from sugar to shit. Usually, we’re all thriving and surviving through life. So, we visit our doctors (friends, family, self-help gurus, ourselves, etc.) for a prescription (advice) then manage the doses. These doses may include: relationships, religion, sex, recreational activities or some remedy to ease the discomfort. The remedy works, but we’ve used up our last refill. The craving delegates our ravenous urges to a generic substitute: an equivalent effect to sustain tormenting aches.

There’s a duality that lies between the physical and existential. I know about the necessity of medication; it alleviates my chronic knee pain. Medication isn’t bad…just make sure to use in moderation.

I written a poem describing the matter of medications and I also added my sketch of an erratic feline in an euphoric affair with pills. Take a look and masticate on this food for thought.

Half before Bedtime, One to Two Needed for Pain

I lie in bed meditating on liberation,

my equilibrium is harshly maladjusted.

These pills sedate me, minimizing my afflictions:

an insufferable knee pain of unknown origins;

a sleep disorder with an erratic sleep cycle.

Surprisingly, my tranquility comes with a price,

side effects include:

Bouts of irregular vertigo,

Impaired judgment that stupefies me,

Inappropriate times of fatigue,

and dreams becoming freakish nightmares.

High tolerance cause less effectiveness

but dependency has weaken my system.

A constant struggle to alleviate my suffering;

a reminder of damned if I do or damned if I don’t.