Posts Tagged ‘Sad’

Fragment 001

Posted: November 4, 2002 in Poetry
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Here in my cabin in the woods
I feel trees leaning over me
Rain coursing down their trunks,
A sad splishing of water
Pooling, making wet mud
Stirring load, packing leaves
Measuring time patiently.

George

Posted: February 18, 1995 in Poetry
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Sometimes I wish I could
Feel all four walls in the dark
From where I sit on this
Thinly carpeted floor –
Again, like a closet,
A most comfortable space
For one sad and lonely
Anthropomorphic ape.
One or two trips to the sunlight
Have sunburned him into
The hypocrisy he despised:
Loss of childhood and
Less of curiosity
Leaves George a more shallow man
And less of a wondrous angel.
Now he collects seagull feathers
For his bedside table
To remind him of
The wingspan he once had
In Eden.

Coping

Posted: August 5, 1994 in Poetry
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Sometimes I think about things,
and I’m embarrassed because
of the way I think.

I am just another person,
another human being,
and I’m sad because I’m supposedly
special.

I’m sad that I’ve been determined
to be smart or something.
I’m different, and that hurts,
and people need me because of my “gifts”
and “talents”.

I don’t refuse their necessities.
They need, I fulfill
and I’ll do my best.

But like any tool, my existence
is taken for granted.
We never thank the hammer
for hammering —
we don’t remember
how difficult a stone
drives a nail.

We don’t remember to thank ourselves for coping.

Pocket Change

Posted: August 31, 1993 in Poetry
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I can feel the sum sadness
of everything, in each object,
filled tablespoons with a hose of sadness,
the impermanence of happiness
when good is how they are now;
in moments it is gone,
I’m watching the cherished abandoned,
and the whirl of the clock is
the blur of this sadness, this change.

Cutting Away Again

Posted: May 17, 1993 in Poetry
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why does my life
suck so bad?
why do I always
whine like this?
why don’t all you fuckheads
leave me alone,
give me some room
to experiment?
I don’t give a shit;
you’re so concerned
with what I need;
so you know
and I don’t,
well that’s wrong!
I know what I am
at any given time.
it is my life
and if I don’t like it
it is my right not to give a damn.
get off my back.
get off my back.
get off of my back.
get off.
get off.
go away and be sad and confused
that there’s no communication,
that there’s no understanding
me. fuck!

A Coal, a Cancer

Posted: April 30, 1993 in Poetry
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somewhere I have left a coal,
a cancer, burning; fond memories
concerning my love for you
and I am loathe to stamp it out
or fan it into flame.

there is a sadness in my eyes;
they’ve watched the indecisions
that make me so utterly human
– this is how I make the time
that is worn on my face.

Sorcery

Posted: February 8, 1993 in Poetry
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I have never felt power like this:
the strength to bear people’s friendship
without the artifices of forging my emotions
like the signatures of the dead
on a current document.

I find I’m liked for who I am
not everything I claim to be or wish I was;
pretense has always dampened the fires
that I was wanting to stoke;
I find the call is honesty and enthusiasm.

As soon as I found myself wonderful,
I couldn’t wait to show it of by being so –
no longer shivering in trying to be magnificent
so that I seem wonderful, I see myself
wonderful so everything I do from
my clear mind, my open heart, is wonderful.

The recognition of emotions for what they are
no matter how much they hurt in their true forms:
guilt or anger; shame, sadness; pain and love.
is a truth I must learn to find.

Untitled Poem #138

Posted: December 11, 1992 in Poetry
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he thought of strength
in terms of eagles and coyotes:
creatures of power,
of flight and of prey.
he could hear the frogs croak
for him and for the death
he knew was behind his shoulder.
he knew that his writing
had changed. he knew that
he needed to live very differently;
to tell those he loved
how he felt, angry or sad
and live as a warrior who has
stopped the world from turning
without his knowledge.
he wanted most of all
to hold himself, that part
of his being who saw and
who guided him through
the forests and others
that he could write about
but couldn’t thread.

Untitled Poem #107

Posted: April 19, 1991 in Poetry
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A saddened tree
Dips slender limbs
Into her reflection
In the quiet lake;
There she catches
Litter.

Untitled Poem #10

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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Little bird sitting on the windowsill
Why is it that you look so ill?
What is the matter? What is wrong?
You no longer brighten the day with song.
Your eyes are sad, your feathers ruffled
With what unwholesome beast have you scuffled?
Your spirit is broken, like your bent wing
The clear notes of your cry now have a dull ring
Dirt is matted, dust is caked
Blood on your shoulder where you’ve been raked.
With agonized heart, I search the sands
As this little bird’s life bleeds out through my hands.