Collection of Poems I wrote

New York

Jagged buildings crowd under the Manhattan sky

Blurry splashes of moving colors whizzing by

Rushing movement of people scattered along the subway line

Pulsating sounds scramble the focused mind

Constant lights blinking, throbbing eyes

Sounds of the city, jolts the heart alive

Inside Out

Bruised ego
from the hits inflicted
you still have the sore
The sounds of the names yelled
Hurts you just as much as before

I know a secret is not well hidden
The writings on your face
Don’t let people tell you
The feelings you have are forbidden
There is no time for that type of hate

Its got to take a lot of courage
To be the one to step out of hiding
I used to think your were only confused
But then I was just denying

You are an inspiration
This bravery astonishes me
There is no doubt

You are still human
Inside out.

To Be With Me
Believe in me
When truth is too frosted to see
Measure goodness by soul
Not by appearances that deceive
Even if near drowning
Would you rage against the storm?
If only for a chance to touch my hand
Through tornados that form
Spits you out onto wet sand

When you put my needs before your own
Then my heart will come home
Then I could be yours
Possibly

I have drawn the shades up
Leaving mere resonant of past
Don’t dwell on you’re sadness
The blues won’t last

When you can say you love me unconditionally
And keep my name in your heart faithfully
Then I could be yours
Possibly

This heart
Banged up, bandaged
Still has blood coursing through it
Flowing like a lake

This heart longs to be
With someone who aches
To be with me.

Butterfly
From a womb
Like shelter of a cocoon
Supposedly you bloom
Though life you have tried to break free
Only to be imprisoned spiritually
Vibrant colors need to come alive
Instead of dark forces that keep you locked inside
Oh butterfly
With wings that have not yet formed
Rise above the cruelty
That makes you thoughts deform
Too chocked up to pin point the reason why
Only you know the way to fly

It’s a scary world out there
Instead of emerging
With wings swimming in air
Sticky substance keeps those wings from flying
Angry words always spoken
You have the courage to be all that you can
When wings are broken
Wait awhile and the pain will mend
Butterfly, then you will ascend.

Listen to the Heart
The heart
An exuberant vessel
Speaks in beating rhythmus
Slower then faster
Through time it molds
Into ever changing forms
Emotions once thought to be lost forever
Springs to life then surrenders
I should try to listen to my own heart sometime
Analyzing what it is trying to convey
But I can be stubborn as a mule at times
This heart is no ordinary organ anyway
Extraordinary, but I find myself taking it for granted again
It pounds so loudly to capture my attention
Only for a split second I pause to listen
Then the thought drifts away.

Over Zealous Ruler
On an over elaborate throne you reside
A wreath of leaves circles the jeweled crown
Why isn’t there a queen by your side?
Ambiguous ruler, you try to dictate the town
Yet you will never dictate me
Lavish estate filled with fearful servants to do your bidding
You’re cankerous ways makes townspeople flee
No one in line to kiss your ring, no women in line wanting you’re romancing
On a high horse you sit up right at the grand parade
I throw sharp rocks and sticks your way
Rose-colored glasses block your view of your real fame
Although you may be king in your own head,
Nobody made you judge, jury and executioner in this town of dread
I’d much prefer to marry a common man then to be stuck next to you
I await for your evil rein to be overturned.

Rainy Afternoon
A drop of rain cascades from the sky
As if a teardrop
Dripping sorrow from my eyes
Crack of thunder pops
Skipped my heart into irregular beats
The gray overcast
Fills the sky
With lingered pasts
That repeats itself sometimes
Storms violent, winds harsh
Thrash against my door
Fool I am for answering the knock
It was pity waiting at the door.

My Admirer
Wheels spin round in your mind
Then rusted, they stop at one thought
And make it a wondrous find
How appealing it must be
To hold on tight to love sought
Time after time
But your love is not returned
Images of her glow like starlight
Never mind her innocence is tarnished
In reality her elegance couldn’t light this night
Anymore than you could make it as bright.

Love’s Blush
Love’s Blush
On my cheek
Sensual touch on rosy lips
I crush
The melody of your name, the heart skips a beat
Oh, I’ve been floating over the skyline ever since
Anticipating the trumpets to sound
Upon hearing your name over and over again called
In your absence
I still feel love’s blush present
I crush.

Pieces of You
Alone, but it’s not the way I choose
Thinking of an excuse to call you
But I know that it wouldn’t be playing by the rules
Could you sneak away for a minute?
I know we would end up paying for it
And both of us would be lonely again

Every night I dream of kissing you
And that’s all I have wanted to do
But I know your heart belongs to another
Dividing your life between us two
You break each time for one or the other
All I end up with are pieces of you

If only your heart would beat only for me
If only one look in my eyes would sparkle a gleam
I need you in my world right now
Please don’t leave me
I’d rather see beautiful colors then live in blue
I want it all instead of pieces of you.

In This Room

Daunting shadows press their bodies against the wall
In this mind the shadows take up space and time
Memories linger and spirits fall
In this room what was once before binds
Dimly lit windows decorates the dark house
Like changing moods that have sunk through time
Washed my hands of the sticky situation, quiet as a mouse
Time is all but mine

The air stale and musty fills the aura of my heart
Gasping for brand new feelings that have not yet formed
In this room the shadows dance and laugh at the one who fell apart
The damage is done the heart has grown deformed
Furniture traps my body in place
There is no room for love to be replaced
Wasted energy like static
Clings to my soul, deadly and tragic

I know deep down it is time
To let those bad feelings die
Let love like flowers bloom
But not while I wait desperate in this room.

Katie
Funny how time flies by
Years pass in a blink of an eye
As they go by
I want you to be always by my side
My love is a circle that has no end
Sister, you’re my best friend

We are years apart
But not in my heart
Amazed at the young lady that you are
I see I’ve done my part
Everyday till the end
Sister, you’re my best friend

As we travel down the road
My respect for you continues to grow
I’ll be there for if you’re broken heart needs a mend
If you are lonely and need a friend
You are the best thing in life for me
A sister that’s a friend, you will always be
My best friend.

Mr. Fake Personality
Fake Personality
Not in the realm of reality
Fake Personality
You don’t know what you are headed for

Games you play in others’ heads
Leaves them down and sad
Just flash that deceptive smile
And they’ll have believed everything you said

Oh you are a slick one
Knock down anyone
To get what you desire

Playing with hearts and minds
This time you will find
You’re playing with fire

Fake Personality
Inhaling your last breath of sanity
Fake Personality
Never changed from what you were before

Just about everyone hates you down to your core
When someone calls you their grievances
Out come Oscar winning performances
And you get away with murder once more

One day it’ll all fall back on you
The lies told become unglued
And you’ll be exposed as a liar
Oh you’re a slick one
Knock down anyone
But now you’re playing with fire.

Click
Click, click, click
Eye brow sweating, veins twitching
Fingers rapidly shifting
Body glued to the seat
Snug in bed loved ones you should be missing
The gleam of the screen, smell of deceit
Must be intoxicating
Tick, Tick, Tick
Repetitive eye movements
Clock hands becoming invisible
Secrecy replaces intimate moments
Take in everything
Learning nothing
Click, click, click.

Procrastination

Let me think
Ponder here for a moment or two
Your presence here has frozen my tongue
Up to my knees in love’s quicksand, I sink
Is your heart racing to?
With one look in my eyes, I come undone
My words unintelligent
Face a shade of crimson
Clumsy but not for you enjoyment
Why can’t I be smooth like those other women?

Your voice
Soothing and lush
Like the sound of an angel’s call
Only I have the choice
To confess my crush
Or risk my inevitable fall
I go in circles unable to follow through
Contemplating telling you, at the brink
Let me think
Ponder here a moment or two.

The End

When the end is near
What appears?
Is there a brilliant light
That takes over taste, sound and sight?
Unique souls to represent who we are
Is God up in the sky or is he really that far
So many questions that won’t be answered
Until the end is near
A felt presence, of loved ones who have passed before
Sickness and pain fade, life’s restrictions are no more
Nothing left to fear
When the end is here.

If I can make it anywhere

Me in New York City

Liza Minnelli’s rendition of “New York, New York” is my favorite. The line of “if I can make it there, I can make it anywhere” resonates with me along with Minnelli’s powerful voice.

I’m head over heels in love with New York but more importantly the notion of ‘making it.’ My brain is cinematic in that my ambitions are fueled by glitzy movies where a plain Jane makes a name for herself.

On social media, a well-known actress/writer and comedian was irked by a writer using outdated pictures of her. I commented I would have been offended by the writer’s commentary that her career was ‘budding.’

She responded she was upset her work was labeled that way. She, in fact, has an awesome body of work including being a New York Times best-selling author. Not everyone can achieve such a success.

Her reaction made me think about how we as writers determine if we reached a professional milestone. If you published over twenty articles in a free local magazine are you still an aspiring writer? What if you wrote a book but it was self-published?

Does the ‘where’ negate the accomplishments?

I have yet to pen a book or write Liza Minnelli’s biopic film. I’m not a newbie writer since I’ve been a writer for almost a decade. I was recently laid-off from my full-time job as a reporter, which stung.

A dream of mine is to write for the New York Times or Time Magazine. I’m sure a few seasoned writers and editors think I’m a cute kid aiming high. I’m in my thirties and convincing myself not give up hope.

I’m told the writing profession is brutal and competitive. Us creative types are often brutal and competitive to ourselves. Often older writers feel overshadowed by younger and edgier writers hungry for a juicy headline.

At this point in my own career, I don’t have to reside in the city that never sleeps. If I can make it anywhere there is a possibility I can make it there. Trust me, my Puma running shoes are yearning to try.

 

Do I suck?

Do I suck? I ask myself this when things go to shit. 

When I’m morose, the pain is hard and sticky like a lollipop. It is a magnet for lint, loose hair strands and anything that is icky.

I take in all the blame inward, but outward it is 24 hours of bitch. At least to my inner circle. My husband thinks he get the brunt of it, does he know how horrible it is inside my head?

It is as if I’m entering into a second adolescence. Random acts of supreme annoyance and depression. I feel like a total failure as a wife, stepmother, pet mama, and writer sometimes.

“The kids are just being typical teenagers,” says the love of my life. He also says, “The dog is still a pup.” That is when I’m red faced over Sundae ripping apart books and papers in the basement.

No matter how many stories I publish or networking I do, it never feels enough..for me. Everyone else is telling me how impressed they are by what I have accomplished.

I have two degrees and old college chums that left me in the dust years ago. Then I think that they suck. “Sweetie, you shouldn’t compare yourself to other people,” he says.

In typical form, I want more or want it right now. “Honey, you need to learn patience,” my husband says when I bemoan my career. “You have come a long way in two years,” he says with love in his heart.

Remember back in the day when a sucker was an awesome treat after a visit to a doctor or bank? Now that isn’t enough, there are stickers and mini toys and free apps for your patronage.

In this day and age, it is hard to be successful. With grumpy cats, color confusing dresses and viral videos hogging the spotlight.

I’m an old fashion Dum Dum (that is the correct term). I try have a different flavor, outwardly appeal. The theatrics and light shows don’t interest me. While staying traditional and a dash of class, I come off looking well.. vanilla. That hard shell I use to protect myself, it starts to crack.

I start picking apart my looks, talents, goals. I don’t like my teeth, mousy hair or extra weight. “You are so beautiful and sexy,” he coos. No matter what candy covered words he speaks, I fight the urge to consume them.

Fingers full damp lollipop splinters, grasping that thin white stick of determination. I fumble. In slow motion, it leaps through the air then finds a hard impact on the ground.

I know rejections are a part of life and failures eventually turn into victories. I know my writer friends understand these feelings. It still sucks.

“I love you with all my heart, you make me a better person,” he says as he looks deep into my brown eyes. Then it hits me.

If he still believes in me after all the rough patches, maybe I don’t suck after all.