Tag: original poem

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Let ’em Know When The Party’s Over

I kinda want one of those sarcastic banners I’ve seen in a meme somewhere-

A string of gold letters that usually says something like

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY”

or

“CONGRATULATIONS”

but instead it says

“PLEASE LEAVE BY 9”

Yes. Perfect.

It’s been a cathartic, nostalgic space for my mind lately
as every turn of the year compels me to rewind and review
the last 365ish spins of the Earth –

As the cosmos rotate around our skies I recall
so many more Earth spins before,
when I was having ‘mind parties’ and heard knocks on the door –

All the homies came through with gifts and fun things,
some of them had horns on their heads, hoofs for feet, or huge, bat-like wings-

Badass mfs who like their music bumping, minds wavy, and their lettuce dank,
Stomping on the floor with me, getting the neighbors mad, making the whole hallway stank,
Music getting loud, ganja getting louder,
Bass vibrations emulating such a buzz that the friction made an old lady downstairs drop and spill her hot bowl of clam chowder,

Louder – my mind’s house got even crowded,

LOUDER – more otherworldly party animals found it,
LOUDER!! – I shared my location with my multiversal wild ones,
Passing all the fun around until 8:59, but,
Me and my demons go all the way back, jack,
So I’ve sat them down before and set some clear boundaries –

They know when it’s time to have fun and make scary sounds, but,
When I tell ’em it’s the last call, they know to turn it down, and
Get a broom and mop and clean up all the mess,
Cuz, there’s no point to partying if you don’t get any rest,
nothing to celebrate if you don’t work hard enough to pass your life’s tests.

I always liked the idea to “Treat death like a friend,” from Harry Potter the Deathly Hallows,

I have my own angle to add, though –

Have fun in life, party with your demons, but, let’ em know when the party’s over.

My winged, scary-looking friends know the deal –


The time has come to help me clean up this place and “Until next time,” I tell them, “It’s been real.” – RSM

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Breathe Vol. 2

Been there and back but the panic attacks clap with the sound of deep thunder and return with the whiplash of a well-thrown boomerang,

Random and abrupt these emotions emerge, the flood’s surge suffocates, a work-stoppage in my mind and I’m unable to produce words

Energy sparks like a super saiyan transformation, but all the wild hair and screaming is on the inside,

‘Alive and well’ turns to a silent hell at the blink of an eye’s notice,

The day’s events’ recap just kindles the flames, stimulating the flight/fight response, my

Heart rate goes off the charts, looking just
like this poem, when you rotate your screen 90 degrees to the left –

Engaged in a battle with the heavy, inner winds, but I win all these bouts when I just follow the first letter of every line, and remember to breathe. – RSM

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Recharge.

When each day ends we plug in our devices
and then we plug ourselves in, to our own screen-based vices –
Mind/body/spirit pacifiers, they almost feel required
as we take a break from our busy days and whatever else that transpired..


The ‘news’ is the same old and our eyes feel older
after so much exposure to bright lights and sudden motion,
It’s like a sunny, sandy beach, falling victim to erosion,
how our day-to-day is turning’to a sensory explosion..


The script is already so twisted, inverted,
that flipping it back seems a wee bit absurdist,
but what an idea it would be to just breathe, and relieve our five senses from digital screens. – RSM

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The Sculptor

A chisel and hammer stammer with the speed and clamor
of a hand driven jackhammer –
and the artist, the handler –
is precise as he is impatient,
sparring with the marble slab to carve a sacred new representation.

The stone was flown in from the doldrums over in Moldova, and
he’s crafting a goddess – so graceful, so flawless.

His hands cultivate a muted peace while fighting against time;
unfocused energy heads up his spine,
increasing his heart rate
with each imperfect puncture of the stone he molds.

As somebody once told,
it’s the work done preparing for the future that makes us old;

He make these fine cuts and chisel away.

He sculpts his dreams into the waking day. – RSM

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Life is Funny

How many mountains so we have to climb

to finally feel worthy of a little bit of time to unwind?

How many victories require a tax?

How many little breaks ended up bringing us back?

How often does a good life moment have some heavy fine print?

How do the happiest times turn to shit?

How does a celebration end up a challenge?

How do emo songs at midnight once again become valid?

How does paradise come with a catch?

How are we to face this? How are we to act?

How many little tricks does life like to play, and what do we make of it all, anyway?

– RSM

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Looking Forward

I look forward to being a morning person, reminding you of the time, and making breakfast,
while you sleep through your alarm clock.

I can’t wait to cook with you, clean with you, run errands, watch our shows, go on walks, have long talks over dinner, and make more routines with you.

I can see ahead, we’ll be pushing each other to be our best selves, having tough conversations, taking on new adventures to new places, both close by and far away, packing our love for each other wherever we go.

Every time the moon rises I look forward to our next day, because when the sun rises I get to be a morning person again, and be your sunshine when you wipe the sleep from your eyes.

Each day together has been a gift, and with every sunrise I look forward to being blessed again with your love. – RSM

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Keyboard Rapper Vol. 7

I’m so complete, I flip things around and make the drums march to the sound of my own beat,

Never discreet, I bring heat to the mind, my thoughts are alive
as they flow out from my crown and vibrate toward the sky.
It’s science, guys! Like hot air, my rhymes rise – the literary paintings I craft
are the kinda masterpieces that canvas can’t grasp.
I’m a key-er, not a rapper, I just type in my writin’s
that take y’all’s minds on wild rides, like psilocybin – pardon me, I’m vibing.
Lyrical bread, thrown out to the masses,
like emboldened Romans from times, olden,

I’m the Emperor of this whole-thing, I roll in with the royal guard chanting my slogans
and rain these brain-baguettes on the people, just knowing
that they’ll be back next week for the word circus, and more bread,

“My coliseum bars will shine throughout time, long after I’m dead,” – The Emporer said. – RSM

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Chicago Weather – Without Using the Word ‘Cold’

Coffee cools a little quicker in the Windy City –
petty arctic air for-ces people indoors, it’s,
my park-ing spot I-called-dibs-it’s-not-yours, since,
I-dug-the-whole-thing-out early this morn-ing,
I coulda sworn only the poles would have these snows,
Sub-zero ice collects on my windows
as double-digit temps in the negative show
on the local weather reports, I’m mad out-of-sorts,
I’m daydreaming of the times I hung out in sunny-weathered resorts
and when people ask me “How bad is the weather out there?”
I kinda wish I had a more-better retort.
Icicles on my eyelashes, double-sweatered, for sure,
but you’ll still see at least one white guy jogging around in little blue shorts.
But apart from that one, brave soul, defiant of the day’s low,
everyone’s glad to shelter in place, and just stay home. -RSM

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Fresh Air.

I’ve been trying to follow the rules, cuz at the day’s end

I’d rather end each day in good health, not laid in

at an ICU, or self-quarantining at the Day’s Inn.

I’ve been going on long walks

and having long talks with my most

loved souls as I stretch out my soles.

My glasses get frothy, my vision has
me fogged up,

trying to breathe fully with a mask on makes me feel all clogged up,

But on a walk last evening, I had a several block-long window of space

where no one was around, only my mask and fogged glasses were strapped to my face,

So I pulled down my mask and fully inhaled –

It felt like diving headfirst into an ocean’s wave,

Like the crusted cage encasing me was unlocked,

my lungs were unshackled, all chakras unblocked-

I felt free.

I grabbed a hold of mother nature’s hand as it reached me,

and exhaled, audibly as the sidewalk scrolled beneath me.

It made me so happy, with a smile so candid

to breathe a full breath of fresh air,

something we’ve all taken for granted.
– RSM

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Happiness is Practiced, Not Pursued.

Tranquility is not a place on a map,

Not a thing you can only achieve with a trendy new app,

or a 6 month deal, half off on the media

that you read, hear, or watch to establish mindful criteria.

I’m writing this as a PSA to myself,

so for you, my way might not be the best way,

But I prefer to close my eyes at any time or breathe deeply

instead of pointing at my calendar, looking forward to my ‘best day.’

Destination addiction is the baseline of the rat race,

the ‘pursuit of happiness’ is a road to nowhere but an exhausted, sad place.

Happiness is a state of mind. You can’t search for, dig up, and literally ‘find peace,’

rather, find some time to unwind,

just a few seconds to reset your second-guessings,

Devote some time to breathe, and watch your fears melt, anxieties evaporate, wash away your stresses.

The outer battle goes on, and even if you didn’t ‘get it all done,’

when peace of mind is the mentality you practice,

No matter the battle, the war is already won. – RSM