Nights that flew Dreaming Morning dew Gleaming Skies of blue Beaming Right on queue Singing Pretty you Preening Day's anew Ringing
Tag: Poem
fri(days)
Does our longing for Fridays
Shorten the other weekdays?
Alas, it prolongs the days;
Nothing short about Mondays
Nor the longness of Tuesdays
Nor cut short on the Hump Days
But to elongate Thursdays
Means shortening our Fridays
And we’ve long known that Fridays
Ain’t been shortened for no days
(Well, not counting Saturdays
and, of course, restful Sundays).
will you notice?
I'm not a chef But I cooked you a meal I'm not a gardener But I grew you a flower I'm not a musician But I composed you a song I'm not a photographer But I took you a photo I'm not an author But I wrote you a story I'm not a poet But I wrote you this poem I'm not an optimist But I think you'll notice me.
cloudy
I like to let my poems speak for themselves, therefore I’m not particularly keen on prefacing them with any sort of context such as this. However, I feel it necessary to break that wall now so that I’m clear on one thing: I’m not depressed. If you’ve read within this space before, you’re aware that I enjoy writing about mental health–particularly my experiences with it. This is one such occasion. As always, thanks for reading:
A thought is lurking Inside me I'm aware of its Existence But I've chosen to Ignore it Not so much ignore As push it Beyond other thoughts Repressing Defending myself From its pain This is unhealthy I know this What else shall I do To forestall? Away, away please Go away Past the clouds into Deepest blue I'm certain we will Meet again Until then, away Away you.
eternity
What is eternity like?
What does one do forever?
Does one get bored?
Does one do the same thing daily?
Do days even exist anymore?
Do things begin or end?
What would happen to you?
What if you’re not there?
I’m not so sure about eternity.
I’m sure hoping you’re there.
Highland TER
My life in vintage colors Memories of simpler times Silver robots; red wagons Silly neighbors; street parades A life of unhinged laughter Amens before the altar Real Santa’s; make-believe friends Rabbit-like cars; in-car phones Within the Heights of Richmond On a Terrace named Highland Dreams wake; reality sleeps The imagined; magic reigns.
(my)our day
Havin’ my second party
You came
Cryin’ when she had to leave
Mom shame
Sittin’ with my grandparents
No blame
Openin’ my next present
New game
Quittin’ on the party NO
Dad claimed
Headin’ back here as soon as
Paul named
Eight Fourteen: The Theiss B-Day
Bro frame
Happy birthday, bro.
Stop crashing my party.
-j
(shy)light
I wish I were a skylight; a lamp atop the tallest building in my city; I want to look out from my lookout; I want to be urban; not sub but above urban; apart from you yet a part of your experience; not a subject, but a mere object; individually insignificant, collectively brilliant; just like you, but not like you; I want you to notice me, but not see me; to light your way, while staying out of it; eradicate shadows, yet staying in mine; my facade, faceless; your afterthought, thinking about you; extroverted travel to you 299,792,458 meters per second, from the introverted refuge of my bulb.
“pops nasty”
Volkswagen Rabbit
Copper
Mom’s at school you made
Supper
Broke your arm playin’
Soccer
Still home to kiss “night”
Stopper
You raised us up right
Proper
Pops Nasty, can you
Holler
Love you dad,
-j
depression?
What’s your impression of depression;
A compression; or a repression;
An ingression; or a repossession;
An obsession; or an expression
Of feelings of happiness, questioned?
Thanks for reading.
-j
theisswriter: typing things. for me. for you. 