Poetry2ponder's Blog

“You have to be a Cubs fan” by Trevor Witt

You have to be a Cubs fan,

In life, optimism is key,
Believing you could win,
Once every hundred years.

Even if there is a 99% chance you will lose,
Your mindset is something you can always choose.
You can decide to have fun,
Be determined to smile,
Rest when the day is done,
But go that extra mile.

The game is not over until the last out,
In the bottom of the ninth, have no doubt,
Things can change in a few seconds,
The swing of the bat can bring change beckoning.

Work hard, until the very end,
The final inning is around the bend.
Every day, make sure to give it your all.
Be grateful you are able to play ball.

And when your final out should come,
Remember where you come from.

Home is always where you start,

Practice, practice, practice.
Play with grit and with heart.

Win or lose, the Cubs are a lovable team,
Win or lose, you deserve to follow your dream.

“The guilt (To crawl)” by Trevor Witt

The guilt, for no reason, comes easily,
It’s my fault, and I am a failure,
I don’t know how to fix it,
To be less oblivious, to be less of a nudge,
To be less helpful, less clingy,
I am like my mother – feeling sad,
Sorry for trying to assist,
It doesn’t make sense,
But I also feel like my dad,
Like I can’t be fixed,
There is something inherently wrong,
With me,
With me, I feel like I am so fucked up,
But I am human,
And I am who I am,
And that is okay.

And I am putting words to this craziness –
That maybe everyone feels,
Or maybe it’s only me,
And I should not speak for my parents.

I want to be better,
But I will never be perfect,
The struggle is ongoing,
Between unrealistic perfectionism,
And realistic, pessimistic optimism.

I can learn,
I learned to crawl.
I can learn again.

“A burrito hug” by Trevor Witt

I saw a girl in the park today
Who looked just like you from behind,
I couldn’t bear to see her face,
Walked a ways away,
If it was you, I did not want to know,
I am moving forward, not stopping,
Never looking back, not since you left,
After I moved with you four times,
For more than five years, we lived together —
A lifetime ago, when I was still a boy —
Now that naive heart is dead,
Crushed under the weight of abandonment,
Shriveled like a raisin,
Not fit for joyous wine.

I am a shadow of an echo of myself,
But maybe that’s all I could be
When attached to you,
I was always by your side,
Never wanted to leave.

Now I am a footprint in the sand,
And you are riding waves,
While the water washes me away.

And I cried seeing that girl in the park
With her dog and her phone,
Happy like you in the breeze,
And I grew angry – bitter, like burnt coffee –

And I ate my burrito,
For lunch and dinner, at 5:30,
After my 10:30 cookie breakfast,
And I thought of carne asada burritos with you,
And grief burritos at Chipotle,
And it was delicious like San Diego,
And I was angry, and happy, and sad,
All at once, and that burrito felt like a hug,

And now I am crying,
And I got salsa in my eye,
Wiping away my tears,
But I find it funny,
And I start laughing
Because it doesn’t hurt as bad as it did that day,

It feels good to cry,
Especially after a burrito hug.

“How many ways can I say I love you?” by Trevor Witt

How many ways can I say I love you?
There is no equation which can answer this riddle.
How many ways can I show I care?
How many verses can give thanks?

To calculate matters of the Heart,
We would need a super-computer
(With the soul of Rumi),
Quantum mechanics experts
(With the lexicon of Shakespeare),
Einstein made of mint leaves, coffee, and sunlight.

“I am a mist” by Trevor Witt

I am a mist,
Floating in the ether.
I am a droplet of water
In the ocean,
Rising and falling with the tides.

I am the sweat,
Upon your brow,
After a good day’s work,
The proof of exertion,
Keeping you cool
– or trying at least.

I am the spider,
Eating critters which nibble
Upon your life sustaining
Beautiful green leaves,
Warning others to stay away.

I am.

“I am a drop of piss” by Trevor Witt

I am a drop of piss,
Waiting to leave the body,
Waste water, used up, burnt out,
Collecting with like minds,
Eagerly anticipating exiting,
Following the stream to freedom.

“I am the rings of a tree” by Trevor Witt

I am the rings of a tree,
Counting the rainy seasons,
Some thin, some thick,
Year after year,
Tracking growth,
Before I am cut down.

“Drunk with optimism” by Trevor Witt

Drunk with optimism,
A boy stood on a burning deck,
The flames reached his toes,
His shoes were worn,
His shirt was torn,
The holes in his clothes could not keep him cool.

But he did not cry,
Despite the sweat in his eye,
And he did not fear,
Despite the ash in his ear,
He giggled at the glimmering lights,
Until the flames engulfed his sights,

Until plumes of smoke choked the bloke.

“The early morning sunshine” by Trevor Witt

The early morning sunshine
Peeks at me from behind light green leaves,
While rays of sun greet the grey and white clouds,
Waking up my dear friends, laughing in the trees,
Squirrels and birds scurry and chirp,
As the New Orleans jazz plays on my phone,
And I eat granola and sip coffee alone,
The day dawns on me like an epiphany.
I am starting over once again –
Even though I haven’t reached the end.

“You don’t love me” by Trevor Witt

You don’t love me,
That’s the truth,
It’s plain to see.
But I am not a sack of cloth.
I am not a wandering moth.

I am a human being,
Not a dead bouquet.
I am barely surviving,
Living on the street,
This is not okay.

With no healthcare,
And no address,
How can I take care?
How can I find my way?
Out of this maze, this mess?

Even with two jobs,
And living in my car,
I have to commute,
And I have to shower.
I can’t get very far.

With nowhere to cook,
No space to be by myself,
People always look through my windows,
Whether I am sleeping,
Or simply reading a book.

I am working,
But I can’t get mail,
Without a P.O. Box,
I can’t get a break,
Without picking some locks.

So let me eat,
Let me beg,
It’s so hard out here,
With no home, no home,
No pillow on which to lay my head.

“Embrace without embarrassment” by Trevor Witt

Embrace without embarrassment
The greatest arms the world has ever seen.

Fight the greatest struggle,
Master your misgivings and give it your all.

Muster your courage,
Reach deep within.

Begin the battle –
Though you know you can’t win –

To love despite pain,
To give without seeking gain,

To accept your fears and your faults,
Even if they never come to a halt,

To bear others with joy,
To greet with hugs, even if shy and coy.

Arm yourself with amour,

And give this to all you hate and all you adore.

Treat yourself kindly.
Do not love blindly.
But focus your energy.
And appreciate Serendipity.

“I am a rock” by Trevor Witt

I am a rock,
Molded by critters,
Shaped by my surroundings,
Rolling down a hill,
The cornerstone of a home,
Evolving with the times,
Eroded by wind and water,
Crumbling into dirt.

I am earth.

“Focus on the present (poop)” by Trevor Witt

Focus on the present,
Don’t lose yourself in your head.

I am pooping.
I am in the cafe.
I am pooping in the restroom.
With two minutes left on my break.

“The Bones of a Community” by Trevor Witt – dedicated to Tia Chucha’s

The bones of a community,

These four walls and a ceiling,
Three surrounded by books, one made of glass,
So people can see inside, to encourage their curiosity,
So people can read — stories which reflect and heal,
So they can learn how to deal, with trauma and drama,
The little annoyances and the deep, cutting tragedies,

This space breaks down barriers,
Bringing together warriors for peace,
Creating joy and carrying love,
Finding room for music and poetry,
In a world filled with tragedy and pain,
These microphones let people speak,
Without feeling judged – sensitive or weak,
This stage lets us open our wounds,
Sing them lullabies and give them hugs.

Mama, this place is garden for my mind,
Where the neurons in my brain connect,
Like vines, crawling from book to book,
Reaching for the sunlit knowledge,
And the comforting breeze of fiction.

This place is a little treasure, a blessing for my soul,
Filled with silver words, and golden phrases,
Sparking imaginations, leaving them ablaze,
Like the burning bush in which G-d appeared,
On fire, but not burned,
And healing like the water which held Moses,
When he was given up to the river, yet returned.

Yes this piece of heaven contains the bones of a community,
And our souls wrapped in flesh gather to proclaim in unity,

“How splendid are you, Source of the Word!
For I have prayed to you with words I did not know how to speak.
Yet you have heard and I have now found what I seek!”

“Some Psalm” by Trevor Witt

If it’s meant to be,
It’s mint to be.
Don’t go soiling your future with thoughts of rotten fruit,
Let go of your broken branches and brown leaves,
Ground yourself in the present,
Reaching for the nutrients you need,
To grow, to feed your nature.

Remember,
We are rooting for you –
Knowing that you will sprout and flower,
Bringing new beginnings with each sunrise,
And bringing endings with each leaf lost.

We plant our faith in you,
Whose seeds span the future and the past,
With dreams that dwell in eternity,
You are ever-present in the Heart of the Creator.

“I don’t want to share that poem right now” by Trevor Witt

I don’t want to share that poem right now,
Not the one about me breaking down,
Not the one about me crying for months,
Not the one where I examine every old grievance.

I don’t want to share that poem where I fall to my knees,
Bawling, praying, wailing, and whining.
I don’t want to share those poems which my wounds with salt,
Rubbing alcohol into my emotional cuts,

But I don’t want to erupt like a volcano,
Or turn over the earth as I quake and shake.
I don’t want to destroy everything,
As I resist crumbling myself.

I have to express this,
To expel it.

“They said war would never come to the Shire” by Trevor Witt

They said war would never come to the Shire.
They said we were beyond Sauron’s reach,
Even if he had the one ring and an eye of fire.

And they said his special military operation would only be to take back what was his,
Taking over the lands of the hobbits is not what his mission is.
But who will stop his armies if not us?
Who will save the Elves from being crushed?

Putin’s minions have armed themselves,
And we are still contributing to his oil wealth.
The oligarchs and the West pretend they have cut their ties,
But somehow their mega-yachts escape the FBI’s eyes.

Now, slowly, the sounds of birds singing transform into bombs bursting,
From Donetsk and Luhansk to Kyiv and Odessa,
The blue skies have turned into deadly messes,
With drones dropping in to gather intelligence,
How can we ever convince
The puppet masters that they cannot win wars?
That they will end up destroying their cores?

The ring of power must be destroyed,
As no good will come of absolute power employed,
Humanity is meant to live in harmony,
We cannot bludgeon our way to a better destiny.

The Americans think they can secure the peace with guns,
But then the police shoot black men running away with no weapons.
The English and Europe think they can secure their wealth with bribes,
Meanwhile the world’s oligarchs play with poor people’s lives.
We are not cannon fodder for corporations,
We are not pawns at our work stations.
We are human beings, seeking freedom and opportunity,
From the Uyghurs in China to the Shia in Saudi,
To the Baloch in Pakistan and Rohingya in Myanmar,
We preach unity and nonviolent resistance,
We will demand our freedoms – from Palestinians to Jews, we insist!

So listen dear orcs, sabotage your catapults,
Unscrew the levers of war and hinder your faults,
Archers, break the tips of your arrows,
Turn your tanks into wheelbarrows,
Turn your swords into plowshares,
And show the other side you care.
This is the only way to defeat the devastation of war,
We need warriors for peace to show us another door.

We will not become murderers,
But we will not stand still,
We will forge ahead,
To be a beacon of kindness,
Upon a hill of love,
We will stand proud,
In front of God above.

“You text me” by Trevor Witt

You text me
As if nothing ever happened,
As if you never abandoned me,
While the world was shutting down,
While society was collapsing,
While my fears and insecurities were at their height,

You text me
As if a photo of coffee related stuff
Will make me happy – to hear from you,
To forget that you uprooted me from us,
To forgive you for turning my world upside down,
To let go of resentment and pain.

Well, you are right.
It is time to let go.

“Something is happening here” by Trevor Witt

Something is happening here,
I can feel it as I read your poetry.
I can see it as I survey the weeds,
And the native sage,
Breaking through the cracked asphalt,
Towering four feet high in a parking lot.
A former Fries has been fried;
Closed, like Circuit City, it shut down.

Something is happening here,
As the poets write, and the painters paint,
And the singers sing heartfelt songs,
As I feel the beating in my chest,
Scared to move forward, but walking anyway.
I feel it in the breeze, as it whooshes
Through the leaves of the bushes at the farm,
And causes the shade canopies to puff outward.
I can taste in the sorrel and the basil,
And the sweet, sweet, juicy tomatoes.

Something is happening here,
I can hear it in the way the old man plays the piano.
I can see it in the smile of the woman I buy flowers from.
I ache for it from the core of my being.

A dream is being born,
A community is being formed,
The voices of stagnation have gone silent.
And we are awake, ready to take the reins,
To direct the course towards each other,
To re-entangle our lives,
To weave tapestries and baskets of love,
From the reeds and the weeds and the grasses of the Valley.

“The system was built to fuck you” by Trevor Witt

The system was built to fuck you.
The system was built on slavery,
And indentured servitude, a system of patrons,
Indebted servants,
Patronized by the nobility and the patriarchy,
Wealthy families justifying their lordships,
As protectors and promoters of Christendom,
Divine right and absolute rule,
As though God himself – because He’s a “he” –
Came down and named the fools he favored,
Because the scroll says so,
Because the nobles are descended from heroes,
From Arthur and Charlemagne, Genghis Khan and David,
From the Kennedys, the Vanderbilts, and the Rockerfellers,
From Trump and Thiel and Musk.

The system was built to fuck you,
Like Dominique Strauss Kahn did when he “allegedly” assaulted a maid,
Like Trump and Epstein did when they “allegedly” raped a thirteen-year-old girl,
Like Wall Street did to small business,
Like Putin is doing to Ukraine.

The system was not made for making Love.
It was made for fucking.
It was made to hold the status quo —
We ended slavery, but tolerated Jim Crow.
We emancipated blacks, but wouldn’t let women vote,
We let them vote, but won’t allow abortions, even with a doctor’s note.

The system was built to fuck you.
Maybe it’s fun sometimes,
But, later on, you’re left wondering why,
Why can’t I save no matter how hard I try?
Why is my medical bill so damn high?
Why can’t I afford to move somewhere else?
Why don’t I have time to take care of myself?

The system was built to fuck you.
It doesn’t ask how your day was.
It doesn’t make an attempt to know you.
The system inserts itself, penetrating our lives,
Without our consent, the system rapes us,
Using us — again and again and again.

Fuck the system.
I believe in people.
You and me, we,
We can do better,
We can be free,
We can love one another.
We can succeed.

The system was built to fuck you.
Fuck the system.

“The truth is . . .” by Trevor Witt

The truth is . . .
Dark times are ahead,
The selfish dotards and greedy trust-fund babies
Are seeking to keep the working class poor,
And to pit us against one another,
But every human deserves housing,
And every human deserves a home,
And every child deserves safety,
Of his father’s guns being locked up,
Of his mother’s abuser not having access to a bullet,
Of an environment free from poisons.

The truth is . . .
It’s not even all the selfish dotards,
And it’s not all the trust-fund babies,
It’s the Murdochs and the Mercers,
It’s the Trumps and the Putins,
It’s Michael Flynn and his plan to take the Saudis nuclear,
It’s the al Saud family – legitimized by the Wahhabis and billions of dollars.
It’s the billionaire Prince family with Erik’s private mercenaries.
It’s Louis Freeh – working for oligarchs tied to organized crime.
It’s Giuliani, son of a loan shark enforcer, friend of Sam Kislin.

The truth is . . .
These people underestimate us.

The truth is . . .
We are so much more than pawns.
We are kings and queens, bishops and knights,
We are movers and shakers, the workers of the world.

The truth is . . .
We are families and neighbors,
In love with our communities.
And we will rise above.

“Light the fire” by Trevor Witt

Now is not the time to sit still.
Now is not the time to hold our head in our hands.
It is time to stand up and go for a walk, a march.
It is time to go grab some cardboard to make a sign.
It is time to imagine a better world, to design our dreams,
To elevate each other, to lift up our sisters and our brothers.

It is time to reach higher,
To meditate on what gives us meaning,
To focus on that which we love with all of our being,
And to bring forth that passion into our world.

It is time to light the fire.

“I will collapse” by Trevor Witt

I will collapse,
Running around like a fool,
Half chicken, half head-less,
As busy as a bee,
And dying off like the dinosaurs,
Trapped in tar, killed by an asteroid,
Unable to avoid disaster,
The impact was inevitable.

I don’t mind.
I just wish I had

A hand to hold.

“Flirting” by Trevor Witt

My mouth is afraid,
My tongue wants to hide,
My brain races, like a car weaving through traffic,
The thoughts of “how to flirt” pile up like a ten car wreck,
And I am looking for a route through this mess.

“Thank God for you” by Trevor Witt

Thank God for you,
My friends and family,
I would have been a workaholic,
But you convince me to stop,
Imploring me to relax,
To smell the roses,
To take a jog,
To play guitar.
I work so hard so that I can spend more time with you,
More money, more eating what we want,
Going out to restaurants I could not afford otherwise.
I work so that I can buy you gifts,
And yet, so often, I can’t.
I work so that I can pay my bills.

But you are the reason I strive.

I strive to go further, and faster,
To push myself to my limits,
And to break them.

For you, my dear,
I am a trabajador.

“So much to do (one day)” by Trevor Witt

So much to do,
I need a pen,
And a laptop,
And a notebook, and a binder,
To write a list, an essay,
To organize my thoughts,
To learn how to compartmentalize,
To sift through the unsorted information,
So I could determine its importance.

Underpaid, working for free,
For my dreams, for me,
Because I cannot bear
To give up, on my small corner
Of the paradise in my mind,
I must renew and refresh the dream,
Pruning dead leaves, and fighting off pests,
Watering my soul until joy sprouts like a weed.

Every single day,
Every, single, day,
I fight – to improve,
To break old patterns,
Depression, suicidal thoughts,
Negative self-talk – the words “I can’t”.

Those words stand before me like massive gates, blocking my entrance to Heaven.

Those words stare at my eyes, breaking into my soul, and turning my rock-hard will to sand.

Those words always want to fight me, telling me I’m not good enough – I’m weak.

I can’t bear to let “I can’t” win.
I can’t go on giving up.

I can’t do it — yet.

I can’t do it — now.
But one day, I will.

One day,
One day is not enough.
But one day, taking one step,
Plus one day, taking another step,
Plus one more day, ad infinitum,
One day – on repeat – to build something new –
One day is all I need.

“Falling asleep with the words driveling out” by Trevor Witt

Falling asleep with the words driveling out,
Like slobber from an open mouth with closed eyes,
With my pen in hand and my notebook on my lap,
I crumble like a cookie left out for too long —
The last one in the box.

Waiting for my brain to catch up,
To send the signals that I need,
To send myself to reset, to rest,
But I reject and delete those messages,
Refusing to take that journey away from my work.

“The Grief of a Father” by Trevor Witt – dedicated to Brittney Griner

I wish this pain upon no one,
Haven’t seen my daughter in four months,
Don’t know when – or if – I will see her again,
A prisoner of a madman, Russia’s Il Duce,
She has been held in a cell, as a pawn,
By this war criminal judoka, who fancies himself a chessmaster,
To avoid war, they’ll let my little girl suffer.
To avoid direct confrontation, they’ll let tens of thousands die.
But you cannot avoid me; my love is constant.
You cannot hide; my wrath knows no limits.
If you kidnap my daughter,
I shall kidnap your officers.
If you shell my towns,
We will burn your barracks.
If you starve us,
We will pile our lifeless bodies
Upon your gardens and in your cities.
We will find you, when this war is over,
On any corner of this earth, in any cave.

G-d does not sleep.
Nor will I.

“My selfish prayer” by Trevor Witt

My selfish prayer asks for your love,
My selfish heart obsesses over my desire.
My giving, living soul seeks your happiness.
My larger self gives space for your larger self.

I wish to be the tree growing beside your tree,
Not the bird eating your fruit.

“A long day” by Trevor Witt

Lunch breaks in the car,
Taking a 10 to pay a bill,
Buying frozen pizza for dinner,
Too tired to cook,
Too broke to think about saving(s),
I’m going to enjoy my bourbon and my stout.
I’m going to give it my all — letting it all hang out.

Eight hours of work,
Three hours of side hustle,
Two hours of a hobby,
Another hour of a second side hustle,
And a one and a half hour commute.

And friends and family.

It’s been a long day this year.

“Dive Deep” by Trevor Witt

Dive deep,
Into the stillest waters of your soul,
Bring an oxygen tank,
In case the depths take your breath away,
Examine your life below the surface,
Swimming in your mind,
Look at the love floating all around you –
– even in the darkness, it shines.
Explore your ocean floor and volcanic vents,
Learn about your tectonic plates and what makes you quake.

Seek to understand your still, hidden lakes,
Before you drift with the currents and the tides.

“What To Do With A Memory” by Trevor Witt

Do I put it in the closet?
In a shoebox, on the shelf?
Or under the bed, behind the laundry basket?
Do I say “goodbye” and give it to the Salvation Army?
Or do I tear it up and throw it away?

To photographs, the posters — even my shoes,
Carrying meaning only I understand,
But it has been so long since
That present lived in my hand.

Yesterday has flown away,
It’s time to let new memories play.

“Baby” by Trevor Witt

Baby,
Pacifier, socks,
Shirts, diapers,
Pooping and vomiting,
Waking up all night,
Sleeping in shifts,
I look forward to your mess,
Your adorable face,
Covered in spaghetti sauce,
Food all over the floor.

Until then,
I will work on cleaning my own mess,
And preparing my world for you.

“Affogato” by Trevor Witt

A-ffogat-oll about it.
The bitter pain I espress,
In order to expel my regret,
Is rooted in the sweetness,
I scream,
Ice cream, surrounded,
By dark chocolate memories,
Of coffee and wine and sex,

I am over it,
Ready to consume heavenly bliss.
Affogato —
As delicious as a kiss.

“Afraid Of My Words” by Trevor Witt

I am afraid of my words;
My message might be misconstrued.
It will certainly be read late —
After my thoughts have moved on —
But my feelings are – or were – true.

Can I handle you, judging me?
Wrong question!

Can I accept me?

“Tangled” by Trevor Witt

Attempting to untie the knots,
In my feelings — like a ball of yarn,
Yearning to be untangled.
Sometimes, it is better,
To cut the thread.

“One step (in the right direction)” by Trevor Witt

One step (in the right direction),
Two steps (then a third and a fourth),
Tap, tap (a few more steps),
Dada ta, da-ta ta-ta,
Now, you’re dancing,
To your own rhythm.

“Recovery” by Trevor Witt

In the warmth of the Los Angeles Spring,
Sitting in the shade in my car,
In the parking lot of the park,
In Eagle Rock, nestled in the hills,
I am tired, exhausted by worries,
Learning to “not give a fuck” about “giving a fuck”.

Their judgements,
That I overthink, or talk to much,
Or that I worry and apologize needlessly,
Have no bearing on my happiness.
And maybe, just maybe,
I am the one making the judgements,
I am the one faulting myself,
Projecting judgment instead of compassion.

Get over yourself –
Outside of your shell –
There is a world,
In which you are
An integral part.

“I remember crying (we moved away)” by Trevor Witt

I remember crying;
It was my fault
That the private school
Costed so much.

I remember crying;
It was my fault
That my parents couldn’t pay
Their mortgage and we had to
Move into a hotel for a bit.

I remember crying;
It was my fault
That I had to tell my friends
I might not be back next year
Or the year after.

I remember losing touch with friends
We moved away from —
Before social media —
And my parents suggested I write letters
But I didn’t know what to say
And I didn’t have their addresses
And I did not put in the effort.

And that was my fault.
And I remember crying.

“The sounds of the birds” by Trevor Witt

The sounds of the birds,
Chirping, tweeting, singing,
Gossiping about us,
Professing their love of the sky,
Creating poems about flowers and trees,
And odes to worms and seeds and small rodents,
Delight my ear and dance in my mind,
Bringing me a joy that no other animal may find.

I am a listener,
And the birds are my band.