Reality Me

Category: Poetry

Amateur scribblings often over rhythmic, rhymey, shallow and too Freudian.

  • To Give

    I gave so much of me

    There seemed nothing left to give

    But I gave some more

    When I am gone

    There will be nothing left to remember

  • Your life can improve

    If you feel a mess
    If you are depressed
    If chaos rules the day
    Perhaps you’d rather sleep it away

    Play the lottery
    For that quick fix
    Four dollars
    Buys a little hope

    A magic bean
    Will not fix
    The problems
    You have seen

    Instead
    Choose something small
    Wake up, floss those teeth
    Floss them all

    Tomorrow
    Add another small task
    Instead of stinking
    Take a bath

    Don’t let the bath
    Replace the floss
    Combine them together
    To be a boss

    Next day when you awake
    Hit the floor
    Eight pushups
    Maybe more

    These small tasks add up
    Do a little more
    And those huge tasks
    Will shrink away

    Day after day
    Is how habits form
    One day soon
    You will wake up with tasks no more.

  • Shelf Elf

    An elf came down from the pole
    To dance within your walls
    Turning tricks in the night
    Is it devious? Mischievous? Frightful?
    Or a delight?

    The elf rules are simple
    You can look but you cannot touch
    You can tip your elf
    But it won’t change your luck

    The elf when it comes
    Leaves you more frustrated
    Than before it came
    And once the elf is done and gone
    The glitter remains as evidence of your shame.

  • In the end it doesn’t matter

    I’d like to think I’ll be missed when I am gone

    But I know that is wrong

    Our time here is brief

    And we are quickly forgotten

    Stories will be told

    And lore rewritten

    Unable to correct or defend

    From the grave

    Our reputation cannot be saved

    History that never happened

    Words contrived

    Will become our legacy

    We are legend

  • Temporary

    I let myself go
    Embraced the ephemeral
    I blinked it was gone

  • Communing with nature

    When I was a child
    I used to sit in the woods
    I fell asleep in a tree
    One time more than I probably should’ve
    I’d awake slowly
    Fifteen feet above the ground
    Calm in the breeze
    With no one around
    My mind at peace
    My life calm
    Then I’d leave nature
    To find everything wrong.

    -dm2022-04-30

  • The need for friends

    I need to talk to someone
    But I can think of no one to call
    I’m not sure I even want to chat
    I’d just like to know someone has my back
    It’s very lonely in this crowded world
    I have so many friends I haven’t seen in years
    Would they listen to me discuss my fears
    Or are they too caught up in their own woes
    Busy, consumed in their lives
    To be troubled by my troubles I keep inside
    I bet they also need to talk to someone
    I’d love to chat unfortunately I don’t have time
    To call them back.
    -DM 2022-03-09

  • I chose an interesting path

    A rope hung across a great crevasse
    The sign read “Caution! No way back.
    This path is treacherous.
    Not for the weak of heart.”

    I naively and boldly ventured onto the rope
    The path behind me violently closed
    I looked down into the ravine
    I grew weak and shaky in the knees

    Looking forward I found my balance
    I was okay with my life’s new purpose
    Put one foot forward and stay on the rope
    I picked a path that was no joke

    When I look too long behind me
    The rope becomes extra shaky
    When I look forward to the end
    The rope initially stabilizes but shakes again

    When I look down at my feet
    I see my troubles down below and freeze
    I think I can be on this rope no more
    I become dizzy and fear a fall

    But when I know where I am
    And look not behind or down or too far ahead
    I glance only slightly presently forward
    Knowing it is safe to take that step and more

    A calm washes over me
    Now I walk steadily
    And see the beauty all around
    Despite the rope which rocks beneath my feet

    From this vantage I see things others will never imagine
    Adventures never shared
    People would not believe if I dared
    Tell the tales that I have known

    Amazing sights I’ve seen upon this focused path
    Walking dangerously over the crevasse
    I’ve grown so much stronger day by day
    So much I look forward to the steps I’ll make today

    Yet sometimes I wish I could turn back
    The start is so far behind me
    And I cannot see the end ahead
    Sometimes I grow weak and weary

    And the rope begins to sway
    I gamble a glance toward my feet
    And note the tightrope has begun to fray
    Will I find my end much sooner as the rope breaks away?

    Sometimes the ground quakes and ripples the rope
    Occasionally winged creatures try to knock me down
    Some days the wind blows hard
    Others days bring cold and fog

    I’ve stood drenched in rain
    I’ve bled on the rope but hid the pain
    Snow has turned to ice upon the rope
    Every challenge trying to throw me to the depths below

    Through luck and stubbornness I’ve survived
    And think I’m beginning to see the other side
    Could it be I am coming to the end of my path?
    Could I be at the end of my rope at last?

    What lies ahead on the other side?
    Another path? A crossroads?
    A sign that says, “Go back, it was lie.”?
    Will the ground be solid under my feet?

    Will there be people there for me to greet?
    Will I lie down and forever sleep?
    Or will I find yet another adventure?
    What path will I choose?

    If I find another rope hung across a great crevasse
    With a cautionary sign saying “turn back!”
    Will I stay upon solid ground
    Or naively and boldly walk the treacherous path I’ve found?

  • Tears of a Parent aka Oh How I Cry

    My children may never know
    How many tears I shed for them
    Tears of joy for their successes
    Tears of sadness when they are down
    Tears of regret for my mistakes
    Tears of anguish at my shortcomings
    Tears of frustration for lack of time
    Tears of angst for their future
    Tears of confusion when they do not listen
    Tears of acknowledgment that they walk their own path
    Tears of befuddlement for making the simple hard
    Tears of acceptance for innocence lost
    Tears of pride for the compliments they receive
    Tears of satisfaction when they smile at their achievements
    Tears of ecstasy seeing them grow into independent adults

  • Is the fight right

    Time is fleeting
    In the metaphoric stream of life
    Do we fight the current
    Or go with the flow
    You can push upstream
    Or float down
    Which way do you go
    Depends upon your life goal
    Is it the source
    Which forces fight to deny You
    Or is it the delta
    You struggle to steer
    So focused on the destination
    We fail to see others in the stream
    Sharing the same dream
    Or are we all lemmings
    Walking a path because we are told
    At the beginning or perhaps end
    Of life’s stream is the goal
    The wise will take pause
    And stand immobile
    To be in the current
    Current in the moment
    And observe
    The shores
    The rocks
    The fish
    The trees
    The others
    Before we are too old.

  • Frozen

    Here I sit
    All locked up
    Mentally deranged
    And out of luck

    Pondering all
    That must be done
    Thinking, thinking
    Doing none

    To banish
    The stress
    Must
    Think less

    Trying
    To decide
    Which thing
    To do

    Is still
    Thinking
    Much ado
    About nothing

    I turn
    Off my mind
    To think less
    And do more

    For doing
    Is how
    Things get done
    And

    Put my troubles
    On the run
    By thinking none
    And doing all.

  • QOTD

    "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things." -Henry David Thoreau

  • We all grow weary

    The daily grind. People say such flippantly. But it wears on us. Grind. Dulling the edge. Like gears without oil. And our performance drops. Then our enthusiasm wanes. Leading to more stress. GRIND. Along comes motivation. Acceptance of the mistakes. A revitalization. But to escape the beatdown. You must work three times as hard. grind.

  • A need to be numb

    There’s a point in the night
    A choice to be made
    Power through
    Or give up the fight

    When the time comes
    The brain turns foggy
    And hides distracting thoughts
    Creativity flows

    But hesitate
    If you slow
    The fog turns solid
    Hit a wall

    Pass out now
    Or pass out then
    Both a loss
    Neither a win

    There’s a point in the night
    A choice to be made
    Sacrifice the wee hours
    And give up the day

    Whatever decision
    The clock ticks
    The night comes
    You fade away.

  • And it goes on

    I died but I kept on living
    To prevent others from suffering my fate.
    The chore of living broke my resolve
    I bear witness to my mistakes repeated
    By those I swore to help.
    Lambs to the slaughter
    All I can do it watch
    For I died but kept on living.
    Life without spirit
    Is nothing more than death without an end.
    Coffins never closed
    Bodies never decomposed
    Zombies all around
    On some grand purposeless walk-about.
    From point a to b and back again
    Always feeling the same thing.
    No spark, no variety, no fire.
    Passion gone
    Buried with the deceased
    Even though he still breathes.