Tag: Poetry

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Spirals

The strong-aired curves swerve – a typhoon, perturbed, as

forceful winds flurry with feverish words –

our, mind’s micro-tornadoes dictate the day-to-day of this play, though,

society keeps us locked in to the track we’re on, molding us, like Play-Doh –

the goalposts are moving targets, dancing to wind-chimed rhythms, floating through life’s maze

and throughout the thoughts that run through us, our ego survéys –

these, hurricanes are in the brain, gusts measured in emotions-per-moment,


we circle through the cycles of love, peace, fear, and pain, – swirling,

the storm dissipates – and we’re left in a space with no humidity nor rain,

just a calm, cool, cloudless view of the dark hues of outer space.

Back around we go in our roles on this never-ending, traveling Broadway show,

as the strong-aired curves swerve – a typhoon, perturbed, as

forceful winds flurry with feverish words…

– 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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Haikus Vol. 4

A single leaf leans

forward, out from the main branch –

it leans toward the sun. – RSM

–

A ladybug runs

around the tip of my cup,

changing its direction. – RSM

–

Brightness prevails on

the highway’s grand horizon.

all hues stripe the sky. – RSM

–

Fatigue is the weight

of heavy experience.

Rest. Lighten the load. – RSM

–

Consciousness surfing

is the way we all traverse

life’s chaotic waters. – RSM

–

I get just enough

sleep that ‘one more episode’

is barely worth it. – RSM

–

The body protests

the mind with fatigue; the mind

answers back with guilt. – RSM

–

Silence is the world

reminding us to listen

to our deepest thoughts. – RSM

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All I Needed

I asked the universe for guidance on what to do

as I head into new phases of this life
and the only reply I received

was the feeling of my own lips, smiling. – RSM

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Seven Years Later

It all worked out, despite the odds.

It’s on me to keep the good going.

A setback or two has no place in my mind

cuz I crush those with one hand now, without even trying.

The strength gained from it all isn’t seen on the physical,

Rather a strong mind, soul, my ‘guns’ are metaphysical –

I love the love that I have, it’s a skill

that’s built through the storms of life, even still,

I know our lives are a painting or a novel unfinished

as we look back on our bad times when we felt diminished;

But trust me, my guy, my ‘rock bottom’ is a flex

Cuz I know the grit and grime it took to manifest

The present, past, future that rises each morning,

Seven years later I’m not just flying, I’m soaring. – 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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The Corners That We’ve Turned

We don’t often realize how sharp, nor round
were the corners that we’ve turned,
such feats, so unfound.

It’s only when we glance in the rearview mirror
that we see the long road behind us – then it becomes clearer.

The beaten pavement, faded, lined with trees
weave a long, winding set of all of our memories
that we forget to recall, like when friends became enemies
or that scene in Finding Nemo where he can’t say ‘anemone.’

We’re caught up in the present, racing against some kind of clock,
hugging that highway divider wall, but it’ll bring you to a stop
when you look back at the journey that brought you to this moment –
our lives have been our own path to create
as we find our true selves in each curve of the road, and
we don’t know much more about the way going forward,
but, slowing down, and looking back, provides a renewed focus.

You don’t often realize how sharp, nor round
were the corners that you’ve turned,
until you look back
at the map that you’ve crafted, so detailed, hand-drawn,
a trajectory travelled from our first few notes until the end of our very last song.

We’re so busy trying to hit the right notes that we forget to sing our own praises,
so smile back at the road behind you, no matter how beaten, no matter how faded. – 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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The S On My Chest

Something so soldered, spraypainted so sharply,
Spiraling, snaking, set squarely, centered near my heartbeat,
It’s a hot brand, scarred so deep,
a neverending feeling that I’m somehow letting someone down, even in my sleep.
Be it me, or the world, or the people in between, that one unchecked box on my to-do list locks me in.
Perfection is a religion with no salvation, and an infinite way to feel guilt and commit sins.
It’s a lose-lose when the bar is so high
that I inexplicably expect to take off and fly
to reach goals so lofty, grandiosely ambitious,
and when I fall short I blame my lack of wings
instead of realizing I may be taking on too many things.
We praise hard work and precision
to a point where a day without ‘being productive’ is regarded as a bad decision,
A lazy waste of time that lacks drive and vision.
So on my chest shines the red ‘S’ that the ubermensch-turned-comic book hero has long worn,
adorned, on my skin,
indoctrinated since childhood
to overachieve or die trying, either master the universe or regret being born.
The only kryptonite I have is my own scorn. -RSM

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Chaotic Alignment(s)

Thick, dry ropes, with strong flames, burning,
running parallel, at different speeds, converging,
The flames race on, hiss and move along, swerving,
so much uncurling to do, it’s unnerving –

A full, blue moon hovers over big changes,
that shape and carry on the flames to their next stages,
The coming days, weeks, years, you’ll feel the full force
of where these winds of change blow the flames’ embers to-wárds.

Some of the ropes run a straight, narrow line,

keeping their flames the same – a slow, steady grind,
others slither-and-wind, flames wither-and-die,
Ultimately they all spiral together and combine.

This fire is all we have – the present is the blaze,

The past are the charred ropes, smoke rising in a haze
and future are the ropes ahead, yet to be burned – unfazed
by the warmth of the moment that we feel day to day.

So many of the burning strings entangle at angles
that show a grim picture – the near future looks mangled,

the present feels pretty unpleasant, we’re not fine;
headed toward uncertainty, as crooked timelines intertwine.- RSM

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