Poetry2ponder's Blog

“A Smile Springs” by Trevor Witt

A smile springs from my lips,
Like a rubber band, snapped back into place,
After being stretched for too long.

A smile springs from my lips,
Like a stream of water from an underground cave,
Quenching the thirst of many along its way.

A smile springs from my lips,
Like Beatles’ lyrics twisting and shouting,
Returning to the sun, from yesterday.

A smile springs from my lips,
Though the brisk fall breeze brings a chill,
And I wish to stay cozy and warm inside.

A smile springs to my lips,
Nervous laughter comes to my heart,
Like a long lost friend, visiting for a while.

“she was singing (but there was no life)” by Trevor Witt

“Your sex is on fire”, she was singing,
But the feeling was of flames fading,
Embers slowly cooling,
From a bright neon orange,
To a dull gray ash.

The crowd was busy,
The sound was muffled,
The conversations of loud drunks,
Cut through the music,
Like a cacophony of hyenas.

There was no life in the music,
And less in my heart,
Which was searching outside itself.

“The Stranger (lone wolf)” by Trevor Witt

The lone wolf scares Americans,
Hunting and killing its prey,
A metaphor for a singular extremist,
Acting without coordinating with others,

Strangers terrify bystanders in the U.S.,
Why is this person sitting by himself?
Looking around, at people, at his phone,
Is he waiting for someone? Or something?

Who is this man who eats by himself?
The loner must be a delinquent, a deviant,
Deviating from the norm, an Anti-social.
Why do his eyes dart this way and that?

We are obsessed, driven by fear.
His eyes search for eyes, so it seems.
Why is he trying to make eyes at everyone?
Why doesn’t he make eye contact with anyone?

How come he doesn’t talk to anyone?
Why is he trying to talk to me?

The man has been turned into a wolf –
Disowned by the pack, rejected as kin.
He must be a predator, a killer perhaps,
And his threat must be “neutralized”.

Strange that there are so few wolves left,
It is no wonder that the man hunts alone.

“Why do I waste my time on something other than love?” by Trevor Witt

Why do I waste my time on something other than love?
Why do I chase after the dreams of some other shlub?
I need you, the apple of my eye, the sun in my sky.

Why do I waste my time chasing women at the bar?
Why do I worry about buying accessories for my car?
I want you, the delight of my night, a joy oh so bright!

Why do I keep searching for someone to make me whole?
Why do I judge myself by some unfinished goal?
I am enough for me, and I want to be for you.

So why bother with extra activities?
Why waste my time trying to please
Some people who never understand?

All that matters to me is your happiness,
Everything else can be put to rest,
We were made for each other, G-d blessed.

“Today, I decided to type” by Trevor Witt

Today, I decided to type.
My fingers were too weary to hold
That pen with ink so bold
So impossible to delete,
A permanent record of mistakes.

I wanted fluid thought,
With no words scratched out,
Yet easily edited,
To hide my fragile ego,
To fix my flaws.

The pen lost today,
But here I am anyway,

Admitting (some of) my faults.

“I want to hold you and cry” by Trevor Witt

I want to hold you and cry,
And I want to spit in your face,

Someone asked today, “have you ever been married before?”
I told her the truth – no, but we were engaged.

But I did not say how your name was engraved on my soul,
How I was enraged and distraught, crying for months,
How I was so depressed that I had no desire to leave the house,
How my ability to love faded into obscurity, afraid to hug even my own shadow.

I did not speak about the daily joy of waking up,
Next to the person I loved, a daily miracle,
A simple joy, now lost, a memory more distant,
Now, I can barely remember the times I cooked for you.

I did not speak about how I blame myself for losing passion,
For neglecting romance,
For the lack of ambition.

I did not speak about how I blame you for taking me for granted,
For not texting or calling,
For coming home late,

For never learning my fucking birthday,
We both failed each other, like a team,
That made a nightmare from a dream,
Maybe it’s for the best we broke up,
Because I’d like to break your heart.

I did not speak about that.

“Dear Volodya Putin, (be careful)” by Trevor Witt

Dear Volodya Putin,
I fear for your safety in Moscow.
Russian windows are so dangerous!
They are worse than cancer!

It seems like everyone I know is falling,
Only days before they were flying.

Please be careful, little boy,
There are many violent strangers.
Maybe lock yourself in a windowless room?
You will be safe where no one can find you.

It seems like everyone I know is falling,
Only days before they were flying.

Do not dare go outside,
Because your rivals may make windows.
Do not eat anything,
Because your proteges may make poisons.
Do not love anyone,
Because you might one day have to kill them.

It seems like everyone I know is falling,
Only days before they were flying.

Poor little Putin,
Please, stay in your room,
Safe and alone,
Where no accidents will befall you.

“The mulch of my past” by Trevor Witt

I reached out today,
To a ghost I loved,
To a shadow I still do,
To a friend whose body of friendship I had buried,
To a girl I had nearly married.

I have let the branches of feeling wither,
Drying out after their pruning,
I have cut away pieces of myself,
To let air flow between my leaves,
So that I can heal and can grieve.

The mulch of my days past,
Will cover the ground beneath which I grow,
And over it, a shadow will it cast,
So that my waters may tarry as I plant and sow.

I am a seedling again, seeking to take root,
I am beginning again as new days are afoot.

“Etta” by Trevor Witt

Etta James just played a concert for me,
In my living room, though she’s been dead for years.
The blues spilled out of the speakers,
As the bright sunlight shown through the sliding doors,

Coffee tasted my lips and sound licked my ears,
I had seen the light James Brown – the preacher – spoke of,
Coming down from Heaven, the voice of G-d above,
I’ve got a feeling – deep in my bones – conveyed from bygone years,

I am alive, as alive as I have ever been,
I have found my ikigai; now, my life can begin.

“Sophia (She died unexpectedly)” by Trevor Witt

She died unexpectedly,
For me, it was surreal.
She had been a great employee,
But I had not reached out,
After we were let go,
Drifting in the uncertainty,

I don’t know why
She started doing drugs
I had no idea
She was an addict

Or maybe she wasn’t,
I did not know her well,
Maybe she tried the pills only once,
But it was her last time. It does not matter.

She was a person.
She was a person.
She was a person.

Full of energy,
Hustle, grit,
Attitude and intelligence,
Frustration and perseverance,

She was a person,
A human being,
Worried about the future,
Like the rest of us.

She was a woman,
Afraid of the Handmaid’s Tale reality,
Coming for the bodily autonomy
Of women, afraid of power hungry idiots
Who abuse their positions,
To subordinate others.

She was a student,
Just trying to pay the rent,
And going to school,
Unsure what she wanted to be.

But she would smile at the goofballs,
She worked with some clowns,
And she would fly across the room,
With efficiency and grace,
Bussing, expediting,
Serving with speed.

I have my impressions of her,
But she was a human being.

A human being.
A human being.

I valued every person on my team,
I valued every person on my team,
My teammates were becoming my friends,
My team was becoming my family.

She was a person,
And now she is gone,
Leaving us a little more empty,
A little less joyful.

Swimming in the universe,
In a different form, she is still, Sofia.

“Not in a good place right now” by Trevor Witt

My car’s transmission light went on,
Then the check engine light too,
I’m down to my last five hundred,
I don’t know what I’ll do.

It’s a scary place when the lights are going down,
It’s a scary place when you are stuck in one part of town,
When you’ve got no way to move,
And you can’t catch your groove,
It’s a scary place to be at night.

I was fired from my job,
Not very long ago,
I’m supposed to be kind to myself,
To take each day real slow,
But every time I think I’ve got a plan,
It blows up in my face and goes right in the can.

It’s a scary place when you can’t pay down your debts.
It’s a scary place when your life is placing bets.
When you’ve got no hope inside,
When you want to run and hide,
It’s a scary place to be at night.

I went to the corner,
To cry away my tears,
I went to the bar last night,
Just to have one beer,
I wanted to bring some good news,
To the bartender whose hair is blue,
But she wasn’t working,
So now I’ve got the blues.

It’s a scary place when you don’t know how you’ll leave,
It’s a scary place when you can’t seem to grieve,
When all you’ve got is worry,
And you’re always in a hurry,
It’s a scary place to be at night.

“There are no easy fixes” by Trevor Witt

There are no easy fixes,
There is no easy way out,
It’s time to get to work,
No more time to sulk and pout,

Though the pain has not subsided,
And the anger burns red hot,
You must be kind to you,
And shoot your best shot.

Fired from a job unjustly,
There is no point in arguing,
And the car is barely carrying on,
The transmission is busting,

I feel trapped beneath the weight
Of unfortunate events befalling me,
I feel desperate and pushed in a corner,
It’s tempting to end it and call the coroner.

It’s like everything is falling all at once,
An avalanche of quicksand, I am buried and cannot move,
But my family and friends step up,
And they pull me up,
And I am not left to die,

Though there are sand and tears in my eyes,
I am alive and happy to cry.

“Pressure that I put on myself” by Trevor Witt

Pressure that I put on myself,
Out of an inflated sense of insecurity,
Like my pain won’t deflate,
And success will never arrive,
I fear that I am sinking as I sit,
But I am merely trying to survive.

I am scared of the next steps,
Because I have been spinning,
Spinning, spinning, spinning,
For so long, dizzy — turning for others,
Following directions, and I can’t see,
The path in front of me; which will make me happy?

So I guess I have to feel,
To trust my touch, toe and heel,
One foot in front of the other,
Until I have found another
Way to be, way to see,
Way to be free, just me.

“Moments (something new)” by Trevor Witt

Moments next to the luscious vegetation,
Surrounded by green leaves of various shapes and sizes,
Shrubs and trees, vines and grasses
Keep me company, as the sound of traffic is muted,
Feeling distant, yet comforting,
Like a small creek beyond my sight.

I am a pebble in the soil,
Amongst my friends.

Before the storm comes, I enjoy these moments.
I know the rain will shape me into something new.

“Creativity (It is not about you.)” by Trevor Witt

Creativity takes observation
And experience
And generates
A genesis – a birth, a beginning –
Of something new.

It is not about you.
The leaf does not ask the tree,
Who am i?

It is the whole – in and of itself.
The sky and the earth are not separate.

And yet, creatively, we make them so.

So, relax. It is not about you.

“The Death (of the idea) of Me” by Trevor Witt

I am a human – cells, tissues, organs,
Blood flowing through veins and arteries,
Red cells carrying hemoglobin picking up oxygen,

My breath becomes me,
Fueling my muscles, allowing me to dance,
The exchange of electrons, the breakdown of food,
I live for this metabolism,

My nutrition becomes me –
Plants and animals –
Giving me sugars, fiber, and proteins,
Driven by sunlight, converting photons from space,
Into electro-chemical reactions.

I am dirt – becoming flesh – becoming dirt.

“A creature of habit (to the moon)” by Trevor Witt

A creature of habit,
Predictable, needing change,
Wanting transformation,
Crawling like a caterpillar,
Yearning to fly.

One day, metamorphosis will come,
Until then, I use each leg to hobble along,
Building my cocoon,
Afterwards, I will fly to the moon.

“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.

“I wouldn’t mind” by Trevor Witt

I wouldn’t mind
Your sweat on me,
Your steamy body,
Dripping, exhausted, hot,
Overheated, overworked,
Like a broke down car,
I would go under your hood,
Feel around your engine,
And get you revved up again.

I don’t mind,
Getting greasy, dirty,
Oiled up, like a motor,
I need to keep my pistons moving,
Need to keep moving, up and down,
The curves of your road, hugging tight,
Holding on, during those turns,
So we don’t roll off the cliff.

I don’t mind
Laying with you,
In a field of grass,
On a sheet or a towel,
Beneath trees and sunlight,
A light sweat between us,
As we cuddle in the park.

I don’t mind,
If you don’t mind.

“I am a poem” by Trevor Witt

I should be napping-
But I am writing a poem.
Should be eating,
But I am writing a poem,
Should be dreaming,
But I am writing my dream,
Choreographing my lucidity,
Dancing with dramatic phrasing,
Falling down on insufficient diction,
My poor word choice, being a blunt sword,
I don’t die, but my ego is bruised.

I should be napping,
Should be looking for new jobs,
Should be making more money,
Should try programming again,
Should wake up to reality,
Poetry is not going to be my golden goose.

I should be sleeping,
But I have become a poem,
Phone and pen and notebook and guitar,
By my side, these friends are my instruments,
By which I convey my meaning,
Diving into the dark abyss,
Where I am nothing, except for the sounds,
The symbols and syllables, the rhythm,
The sometimes rhyming, sometimes scheming,
Mischievous, dark alley, black cat,
Hocus pocus, voodoo jazz.

I should be napping,
But I am a poem.

“I had to walk the dog” by Trevor Witt

I had to walk the dog.
It was seven thirty PM.
Thought I heard a gunshot.
He got scared.
I tried to tell him,
It would be okay.
It was distant.

I had to walk the dog.
Then another one.
He was scared.
Tried to run back inside.
I wouldn’t let him,
Holding onto his leash.
Then…
I gave in.
The poor kid was scared.

But I had to walk him.
So I went out later,
Carrying him around the corner,
To the comfort of dirt and plants,
Beyond the asphalt alley,
Beyond the concrete jungle sidewalk,
To the freedom of exploration.
He smelled other dogs’ urine amidst the bushes.
And he remembered who he was — a dog.

The little boy was scared,
Of loud noises, there was nothing he could do,
PTSD from yelling matches, sounds of shots,
Memories of bullies throwing small rocks,
Scared after reading about war,
Afraid it would come to him.

Then I told him,
You are Everything, my son,
You are me, and I will always be,
I will always be with you,
And we are the stars and the wind,
And the werewolves howling at the moon.

We are the Imagination of G-d,
Do not fear, dear child,
I am with you.

I had to walk with G-d.

“Luna” by Trevor Witt

Luna,
I love you to the moon,
Friendly, furry,
Curious and joyful,
You light up our hearts.
Thank you for your kisses.