Good Old Days

The good old days
Simpler times
Things, safer
People, more polite
When neighbors were friends
And everyone
Had a hand to lend

A myth
An illusion
There are no “good old days”
Nothing changes
We bemoan the loss
The theft
Of something remembered
Through the rose colored glasses
Of vanished childhood
As our parents did
And their parents before them
Every generation
Mourning a past
Simple and innocent

Those days were not
Simple and innocent
We were
As days and times do not change
We do
And mourn the loss
Of innocent selves

And children still play-
Though not the same as we
Once did-
Blissfully unaware
Of their own innocence
Until the day comes
When they, too, will look backwards
Through the blurry haze of growing up
And rue the loss
Of these
Good old days

Beauty and Ugliness

Notions of beauty
And ugliness
Are feral
Impulses and impressions
From some deep forgotten place
An unconscious division
Desires and fears

Art exists
To show both sides
Scaling ethereal heights
Dredging unknown depths
Uncovering that place
Where beauty and ugliness
Become one

Kids With Guns by David Eric Cummins (inspired by Gorillaz- Kids With Guns-Jamie T's Mix)

Kids With Guns by David Eric Cummins (inspired by Gorillaz- Kids With Guns-Jamie T’s Mix)

For dVerse Open Link Night #102…The picture is a painting I entered in a local art show in 2011.  I very nearly didn’t enter it at all because I was afraid it was “too ugly”.  In the end I reminded myself that I should not apologize for my artwork, but let it speak for itself.


Something plastic
Imitation of reality
The standard
Fake representation
Of what someone has deemed

A model
Living mannequin
Subconscious critique
Of inglorious imperfection
Not standard or norm
Someone’s absurd ideal
Taken too far

The model
Of true beauty
Lives in glorious

Creatures of the Night

Fierce creatures wait in the night
Wait for us to join them
To break the light and seize the darkness
Our birthright
Held with eager sweaty hands
In a box hidden deep
Within the psyche
Lies our own divinity

Stark white hands
And neon flowers
With scents like the pealing of bells
Tolling for death
And ringing in rebirth
Mortal hands
Filled with creation and destruction
Able to raise a shiver of passion
Or invent a god

The infinite voice
Sleeps within
As the creatures call us to speak
To pierce the unclaimed night
With our own
Forgotten wildness

For dVerse Open Link Night #99.

Save Us

Come with me to the meadow
Where tired green things wake
Meeting the sun in hot moist agony
Nothing cries out
We know no one can save us
No heroic Hollywood Jesus
With a handsome roguish grin
Only ourselves
Misty eyed and embarrassed
By our own naked reflections
Grasping at choices
And trying to hide our own
Mock insanity
Within the shadowed chaos of our dreams

Amongst the living
Only we
Can save ourselves from death

A little Jim Morrison inspired poetry for dVerse Open Link Night – Week 98

A Hug

A hug
Such a simple thing
Holds a power beyond measure
With two arms you can encompass
Your entire world
A hug
Is acceptance
It is healing
The medicine of life
It is comfort
It is expression
Of words that do not exist
In the press of two bodies
A warm flush
A rush
Ethereal and electric
Where both time
And the heart
In a moment
Of quiet power

NaPoWriMo 2013 post #4

Not to be Trusted

Love is not to be trusted
It intoxicates
Seeping into every soggy cell
Of these animal brains
Lowering inhibitions
Making us say and do things
We normally would not
Cupid’s bow
Shoots not arrows
But hypodermic needles
A mythological syringe
Bubbling with a cocktail
Of hormones and wishes
Oh, so addictive
That romantic high
A tingling ecstasy
Always leaves you wanting more, more, more
Deliciously hooked
Never wanting to lose that feeling
The sensation
We will do anything for it
But is it love
That can not be trusted?
Or we
Who can not be trusted
With such a powerful thing
In our hands?

NaPoWriMo 2013 poem #3…This should be read rather tongue-in-cheek 😉

Do you understand?

Putasne intelligis?
Do you understand?
All these words
Een mengsel, a mixture, of sounds and syllables
Nouns, verbs, adjectives
Frénétique liberté phonétique
Frenetic phonetic freedom
Every word, every sentence
Whether I speak of love
A spark inside my heart
Or of beauty’s inspiration
Füttrung meiner seele
Feeding my soul
Or the echoes of time and memory
Ghostly shades of the past
And the emotions they reverberate
All of these words
Tutte queste parole
Everything spoken
Everything written
Each breath that makes a sound
Em qualquer língua, på nogen læber
In any tongue, on any lips
Every thought and feeling expressed
Carries inside
The eternal Human question
La qüestió Humana eterna
Buried in its rhythm
Between the lines and beneath the voice
In eloquence or awkwardness
All words ask
¿Lo entiendes?
Ne comprenez-vous?
Putasne intelligis?
Do you

For the dVerse prompt on using other languages in our poems.  I love languages so this was right up my alley!  The other languages used in this in the order they appear is: Latin, Dutch, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Danish, Catalan, Greek, Spanish, French, and Latin…No, I don’t speak all these languages. Some of the words I knew, some I have to give Google Translate the credit for.  🙂

Growing Up

At ten years old
I didn’t know
How to drive a car
Or balance a checkbook
Or that love isn’t always forever

At twenty years old
I didn’t know
How to balance a job
With going to college
Or what I wanted to do with my life

At thirty years old
I didn’t know
How to look beyond myself
Or that I was letting
My marriage slowly slip away

At forty years old
All that I know
Is that growing up
Like growing older
Is a process that never ends


For Stuart McPherson’s “Growing Up” prompt on dVerse.