Poetry2ponder's Blog

“I do” by Trevor Witt

I do.
I can’t wait to say those words,
To be the lucky man,
To hold her precious hand,
To look at the sunset and her eyes,
And to wonder which is more beautiful,
It may sound cheesy,
But I think it sounds pretty gouda.

I know there will be rough times,
Times we don’t communicate well,
Times we give each other the silent treatment,
That will surely feel like hell,
There will be times we blame one another,
Times when we make each other cry,
But we will always struggle to make it work and I will tell you why.

Because you make me laugh,
You raise me up when I have fallen,
You wait patiently with me,
And you come when I am calling,
Your dreams and mine are braided together,
We will make it through any stormy weather,
Our joys and our sorrows grow side by side.

I can’t wait to say, “I do”,
And begin that wild ride.
But, first, we have to meet!
On what Avenue or Street?
I know not where I will find Love,
But I trust in the great Mystery,
The Universe, G-d above.

“Recovery (LA heat)” by Trevor Witt

Recovery,
To reset,
To get back to normal,
I don’t even know that state.

To feel better,
To be healthy,
To cover old wounds,
I rest and wait.

Lying in bed,
A little cough lingers,
But I am doing much better
Than barely able to walk the dog.

The fever is gone,
The body aches have ceased,
My headache is mild,
This disease is getting easier.

Another day or so,
And I will be fine,
Back to that job,
Back to those dreams,

Back to clawing my way through
The crack in the sidewalk,
Like a wild flower or a weed,
Trying to make it, in this LA heat.

“That LA heat” by Trevor Witt

That LA heat,
That one hundred ten degree blistering sun,
Bright and blinding, scorching bare feet,
Radiating heat,

I can feel it on my forearms and my calves,
It forms an easy divide between the have-nots and the haves,
Do you have air conditioning, centralized AC?
Is there a pool you can jump in easily?
Do you have access to clean, cold, filtered water?
Because you need to hydrate when it gets this hot – or hotter.

Stuck in traffic on the one-ten freeway, engine overheating,
Radiator busted, needing coolant,
Tempers flaring as someone rear ends me in this stop and go,
This is Los Angeles — everyone in a hurry, but forced to go slow.
Sweat running from my hairline, down my forehead,
Skipping down my cheek, chin, and neck,
These salty rivers are drenching my shirt,
This is my fate – to be ground to a halt on the interstate.