Such a Shame, Notre Dame
once a structure to Our Lady,
standing, watching those in Paris,
came down a flaming yesterday
it started during Mass,
it's lucky no one was hurt
even though the Mass was never completed
twas such a shame
they couldn't save the spire
and the forest roof of Notre Dame
at least the Crown of Thornes,
the twin bell towers,
and Emmanuelle, the main bell, was saved
I, for one, am glad I saw,
and walked, experienced, and lived,
the beautifulness of the Notre Dame Cathedral
Holding onto you
your just a ghost
Another stranger
that haunts me
your just a another suitcase
I stored my sercrets in
Your just another poem
wanting to be penned
now your just ghost
A faint memory
dancing in the wind
that hush’s through the walls of this room
thats Whispers your name
theres an ident in the floorboard
where you keep your shoes
always running
chasing empty thoughts
every promise of forever
tastes like a funeral
your Sentences sound like a eugolgy
i keep the door open
i Have seen the way you chase the endless skies
And empty nights
i Don’t hold onto you
i put a period after every word you say
because you talk like a comma
like‘s there more to this adventure
i Catch glimpse of you in the shadows
in my dreams
your just A ghost
I stopped trying to read you
when your see through
your Just a ghost
theres a echo coming from my chest
I scooped the love I gave you and consumed it for myself
your just a ghost
floating aimless in the galaxy
I don’t dare ask you where you land
cause I don’t wanna know if you made some other girl your solar system
loving you Was death
I didnt belive I could die twice
until I met you
I fell from the sky
gravity prevents me from landing
I have seen love in the face of a different stranger
but I stay in orbit
your just a ghost
a mirage
invisble
Vanished like a vaper
i use to put my raincoat on to look for you out in the storm
like it was my job to bring you back home
i changed my address
i threw the key away threw it under your door
hoping you turn the lock
I forgetting your just a ghost
you been dead to me for awhile
something has died
I can taste the gravel and dirt on your tongue
the lies taste like an obituary
dont protect my heart
its been hidden away from you
you won’t scar it again
i got on the stage
looking down from heaven
I never imagined me bending down looking Over us
what a pity ,mortals who love was immortal
as you say like to say you’ll always love me
but your just a ghost
let me Rest In Peace
with every letter
I sent send
you disappered
your a ghost
tumbling in the tumbleweed
stay gone
I reach out to touch your soul
I don’t feel your spirit
I knew we died
I can feel the weight of the word lied
I throw it down like a sentence
your just a ghost
like a phantom
fading out from my grasp
i confuse the memories
i stop Asking the heavens to pen this one down
Your just a ghost
theirs a concave
imprint
in my hand
there you go
leaving traces of you
haunting
Memory lane
wont you stay gone
this Is grief
they say you can’t mourn a
living thing
i have Sat at the edge of my bed
swimming in an ocean
I no longer wish I swam into
but Heartbreaks taste like grief
if you replay the love in your head
slowed through a record player
your a ghost
I stand over our Grave
and I shake my head at you
here lies the boy
who couldn’t
love
the girl who was more soul than human ...
the universe said to destiny
O, I am fortune’s fool! . . .
Then I defy you, stars.
if only the planets could collide...
Signed oblivion
My Son
"Could you buy me those shoes?"
No "please."
No "...if I work...could you loan me..."
Just deep, dark green eyes that stare blankly though my own bright blue eyes. The chestnut brown hair that I so lovingly combed when he was a child falls across his forehead, matted under an old baseball cap.
His left hand instinctively moves toward the front pocket of his jeans. Jeans that are so tight that the outline of his ever present iPhone has worn a rectangular shape into them.
I shift and glance at my weary husband before I return my attention to the conversation at hand.
Is he going to answer that right now? In the middle of a conversation? Why?
Imperceptible; the feeling that tore him away from his demand, but I could feel it.
I knew the phone would go off.
Just as it had countless times before.
When we had been arguing. When he told me that his father and I were the worst, that we were ruining his life. That he couldn’t stand us. That we were nothing to him.
But that doesn’t happen anymore; the screaming matches.
He has once again retreated into that screen. The world of likes, shares, and controlled emotions on display.
A glimpse of white, and the slightest hint of a chuckle escape from my son. My attention toward him falters, and I look to his father who too has perked up at the sound of our only son’s first display of happiness since the accident.
He’s on the mend, I think to myself. Good. I’m glad. It’s time for us to both move on.
But just as quickly as it came, the smile disappeared and my son looked up from his phone and tucked it into the same spot in the same pocket without a second thought. He looked to my husband. My husband quickly withdrew his wallet from a similarly worn back pocket and handed it to our son without a word.
My husband clung to his wallet like my son clings to his phone.
A wallet is a different sort of crutch for the suburban man who had grown up in the rural south. A man whose calluses from working on his family’s farm caused him to have trouble completing his school assignments on his mother’s beat up type writer as child. A man who had received a scholarship that funded his collegial education— a man who decided that his wife and child would not want for anything.
As he watches our son walk into the store to spend an obscene amount of money on sneakers that he doesn’t need, and will only wear with matching t-shirts, I look at the bags under his eyes and my gaze falls to the haphazardly tucked in shirt that now has an abundance of room for the belly that is no longer there. The belly which I had previously encouraged him to exercise away for so many years.
Now he was becoming gaunt. The accident was slowly killing him.
I can do nothing but watch him wither.
Our son walks slowly back to where we both wait for him. The cell phone in his right hand, stealing all of his attention. He wordlessly carries his bag and my husband’s wallet in his left hand. When he gets near to his father he wordlessly hands the wallet to my husband without taking his eyes of his screen.
The two turn swiftly and pass through me as though I am not even there. And as far as they know I am not there. As far as they are concerned I am drifting at the bottom of the lake which they have to pass over each day. On the way to work, on the way to school, even on the way to this mall.
Each day they have to pass over the bridge with the mismatched concrete where my car broke through.
The memory of my accident haunts them daily…no wonder they have changed so much.
Fake vs Real
Lust is conditional. It has limits.
Lust is always one sided not thinking about what the other person wants or feels.
Lust desires to obtain the object it wants at the moment, then after it gets what it desires, it throws it away like trash.
Lust only lives in the second.
Love behaves very different.
Love is unconditional and has no limits is never one sided and always thinks first of the other person before it's own wants or feelings.
Love is all encompassing, all enduring and infinite. With great Love one can do anything.
Love is your past, present and future.
Minty
No idea why
I chose to write this
to you, my friend,
long gone, far away
up this coast
across the shore
I wish we could be
together, like how
we wish over text
how we joke over Skype
how we roleplay situations
with the characters that represent
that "us" we wish to be
that "us" that could have been
that time, that tension
I feel-- you feel it, too
we should fix that, that day
we meet each other, I'll suffocate you
in hugs and kisses, I wanna give
I wish I could,
and so do you.
©SelfTitled, 2017
The Letter
Grandma Rose had asked me to clean out the attic for her, and I knew she was too frail to climb up here anymore, so the decision wasn’t hard. Neither was the choice to read the old letter that had fallen out of the envelope I picked up.
“September 15, 1964,
My Dearest Rosemary,
I’m writing this as I sit and wait for the next plane. I know that you don’t believe in this war, but I hope you understand that this is something I just have to do.
It’s not going to be that bad, I think. Vietnam is a small country and after all, how long can they hold out against the pride of the United States? I’m thinking the whole thing will be over and done long before the baby is born, and we can maybe buy that house in Seattle.
Give the dogs a hug from me, and tell your brother to send me a gift box of his “special” brownies, ha ha ha. I love you with all my heart and soul - both of you,
Hugs and kisses,
Pvt. Harold Landers”
It was signed with a flourish, but the ink on the yellowed paper was spread in blotches, from what could only have been the many tears that were shed while reading it, time and again.
I wiped the tears from my own eyes, carefully folded the letter, and put it back in its envelope. Mom had told me the story about Grandpa Harry, a man she never got to meet, but who always inspired her.
He now inspired me.
I deploy in two weeks for Iraq, but I know it can’t be as bad as that awful mess in Vietnam was. It'll be over much quicker.
Well wishes
thank you so much for this amazing opportunity to expand my writing,
thank you for all the encouragement I have received on here
thank you for this creative outlet
thank you for letting me bleed poetry
thank you, readers, for following me on this amazing journey of growing up
thank you for your wonderful comments and the positive energy that surges through all you writers veins
thank you for letting me enjoy all of your writes
thank you for reaching out
thank you for letting me in your minds
thank you for this sense of Home
thank you for holding my secrets safe
thank you for the lifelong friendships
thank you, for the heartache and the heartbreak
and for the negative people on here fuck you, you know who you are
On prose I have grown wiser and stronger, I have healed maybe somewhat
this place is simply amazing, I think I am addicted to writing thanks prose for that, thank you so much for letting me sit back and watch all of you grow in your writings
you all amazing each every one of you, expect to fuck him, but back to the positivity
thank you so much for letting me take you on my path of discovery
I love you all so very much, but not all of only two you, I can't stand your damn fucking face, but anyway I am sad to leave, I promise to be back June 21st
the reason why: I am leaving I am got stuff going on, wish i don't wish to talk about
but on the bright side I am going full time, so I won't have time for writing
so Prose on and don´t let your words flatline