Poetry2ponder's Blog

“Thieves” by Trevor Witt

Thieves,
Taking because they can,
Because they
Want to
Need to
Because they
Were not taught better
Know no other way.

Stolen hat,
Bright blue,
Which meant so much to me.

I got it back eventually.

Stolen car,
Old Honda,
My only way around town.

It was never found.

The pen in my hand,
From the restaurant Eureka,
It was an accident,

But I did not return the pen.

“My memory is full of holes (that my mind could never grasp)” by Trevor Witt

My memory is full of holes;
My picture of my past is never complete,
With questions about my childhood,
And less salient curiosities –
My breakfast last Wednesday.
Only a week ago,
I was in a different state,
With more joy, and less confusion,
On an alternate plane of existence,
But I took the plane back
From LA to LA,
New Orleans, Louisiana to Lost Angeles,
City of forgotten angels,
City of dreams, city of falling through the cracks.
Back in the real world,
The music of the birds is my comfort.
There is noise all around –
Traffic, chit-chatting, and the car engine humming –
But I dare not make a sound.
The birds are the only real music here,
All the jazz has died,
Because people refuse to hear,
The feelings bubbling up.
The trumpet and the saxophone,
Playing off the beat,
Like my memories of dancing feet,
Distorted by feelings and gaps,
The music brings healing,
That my mind could never grasp.

“Late nights (must end)” by Trevor Witt

Late nights
I refuse to sleep
When my dreams are in front of me
When they are so far away, you see,
They will not walk my way
And it will do little good if I pray,
Without work,
Without hours and hours
Of incremental, barely perceptible progress
And my ambition.
My lofty goals
Are far greater than I let on,
Such that I rarely dare to share,
And I pretend like I don’t care
If I fail or fall short
But I do
I dream
Longing to open a cafe
To publish poetry
To record an album
To learn to decipher the mysteries
Of prime numbers, quantum-gravity, and love.
And I dream of a community
A family of relatives and neighbors and friends
Where the love never stops, though each night must end.

“Time Passes Slow” by Trevor Witt

Time passes slow
As little babes
Taking tiny steps
Fast forward
And we are climbing trees
Skip ahead
And we have bad knees
Finally
We use a walker
Or a wheelchair
If we are lucky,
We still have people who care.

“Action” by Trevor Witt

Action,
Don’t miss a beat,
But, if you do,
Don’t worry,
Don’t admit defeat.
Keep going, growing,
Until you’re ready
For Take Two.

(Action.)

“Connected To Our Bodies” by Trevor Witt

Connected to our bodies,
Nervous systems making us nervous,
Nerves running signals
To our hearts, racing
And to our feet, pacing,
Feeling anxious,
As we wait
For our dates.
Butterflies in our stomachs,
Or is this merely the flutter of hunger?

I remember a time
Half my face was scraped and bloody
Landed in the ER
Bones were broken and I felt crummy.

But that wasn’t all of me.
It was only my body, you see,
I am an amalgamation of matter,
A rhythm of a frequency of gravity,
A pulse of energy never seen before,
And I will radiate on long after
My body walks through Life’s last door.

“Next Steps” by Trevor Witt

Next steps,
One foot in front of the other,
Right, left, right, left,
Until I can see the path,
A dusty trail, worn, yet untamed,
A crossing for snakes, mountain lions,
And lost travelers, like me,
Trying to find themselves,
In the wilderness,
Where my soul lives.

“A Real Poet (With Your Memories)” by Trevor Witt

A real poet
Not just some romantic
Scribbling on a napkin –
But that too –
I want to be
In books, on tongues,
In hands as the pages turn.

A real musician
Not just a fool on the hill
Playing guitar for the fields –
But that too –
I want to be
Stuck in people’s heads,
Sung in the shower,
An anthem for coming of age,
Danced to at weddings,
But also at 50th anniversaries.

A real writer,
I want to be more than a dream,
I want to become the words,
And for the words to become real,
As real as the thoughts in your head.

(Blessed are you,
Who keep me alive
With your memories.)

“Dark Poetry” by Trevor Witt

She asked about dark poetry,
How much is too much to tell?
To a therapist? To parents?
To strangers?

Pain and embarrassment arise,
When thinking of the times I cut myself.
Anger, regret, and shame stand tall,
When remembering the bullies I let push me around.

Kids who would pretend to be friends,
But would then make fun of you.
Getting laughed at for wearing short shorts in PE,
Blushing, and crying, I swung at the kid laughing.

Having pieces of trash thrown at me,
During French class, in front of the teacher,
Nearly getting in a fight.

Fantasies of revenge against enemies,
Imagining killing myself,
And how sad my family would be.

Pity and sadness fill me up,
When reminiscing about how I internalized rejection,
And embraced isolation.

A hug would have helped a lot.

I could go on,
But I am choosing
To let it go.

“Steadfast” by Trevor Witt (Inspired in part by “Resilient Girl” by Briana Muñoz)

Steadfast
Holding ground
Despite it shaking
Under your feet
Shifting sands
Yet you stand still
Still, you stand
No need to
Move
No need to
Explain yourself
To the Earth
Or to any of its creatures
You have as much a right to be
As the oceans and the stars
And the dirt beneath your feet
We are trees
Temporary arrangements of leaves, trunks, and roots,
Yet always connected
To the soil and the sky.

“Bathe in the Sun” by Trevor Witt

The sunlight is reassuring
As the birds chirp pleasantly
And I waddle out of the pond of misery
Self-judgment and criticism
Cling to and cover me like mud
Self-pity sticks to me like leeches
But I will tear off those insecurities one by one
For I will now bathe in the sun.

“To Be Fully Human” by Trevor Witt (dedicated to my Dad)

To be fully human
Is to feel the clouds at your feet
When you and your love meet
And to sink into dark depressions
When internalizing rejections
To feel physical pain
When experiencing empathy
To delight in tangible, worldly pleasures
While in awe of the moon and the stars
To become that which one was not
To grow from a scared child to a confident adult
And to learn to live with fears again as age catches us,
To dare to dream, to pursue the impossible,
To take a leap of faith with no net below,
To love
Terrified, brave,
Exhausted and shackled,
Or free and triumphant,
To be gracious,
To be hurt,
To be wounded,
And to learn to heal,
To love
In fits of rage, yelling, and tantrums,
In the calm, beside a lake, with placid water,
In the confusion, speechless, unable to convey feelings or thoughts,
In the simple understanding that we are One,
To love.

“Running Towards My Demons (Try Number 2)” by Trevor Witt

Running towards my demons,
Greeting them magnanimously,
With patience for my shortcomings,
With compassion for my fears,
And cheers for my joy,
High-fives for my successes,
And smiles for my love.

A different approach,
A new perspective,
For reflection and growth,
It’s not all terrible,
Though it’s not all great.
Sometimes, we laugh,
Sometimes, we cry.
Sometimes, at the same time.

Afraid to admit that I am trying,
Because trying sounds so trying,
Precarious, like tight-roping above the abyss,
It will be okay though –
The worst that can happen
Is I fall to a grizzly death,
While falling feels like an eternity,
And everyone sees me,
Telling me they told me so,
And I mourn for my shattered ego,
As I get back up,
Climbing towards the rope,
For Try Number 2.

“Starting to Heal” by Trevor Witt

Starting to heal,
Beginning to feel,
Something, something akin
To excitement, joy,
Enthusiasm, desire,
Beginning to
Believe
In possibilities
Could I be
Happy?

“Accountable” by Trevor Witt

Accountable,
At the end of the day,
Feeling guilty,
Feeling unaccomplished,
Staring at regret,
As my reflection glares
Back at me from
The past photons which fired
And bounced off the mirror,
Hitting the rods and cones in my eyes,
My eyes, the beholder of my life,
I must be accountable,
To me.

“I have remained (To become myself)” by Trevor Witt

I have remained,
A shadow of my desire,
A fragment of my ambition,
Though I want,
I have not sought,
Though I wish for,
I have not worked for.
I used to associate wanting with lacking,
An older interpretation of the word,
But, as I age, I see my understanding give away,
And I am left striving,
To become myself.

“A new injury (Despite the aches)” by Trevor Witt

A new injury,
Something happened,
I guess,
Getting older,
Does that,
New bruises,
Muscles sore,
So I lay down,
For a few moments,
I remember rest,
Despite the aches.

“The Birds Were The Original Weavers (I Do Not Know)” by Trevor Witt

The birds were the original weavers,
Building baskets as homes,
Up in the trees.

The bees constructed hanging honeycombs,
Utilizing geometry and physics,
Long before Euclid and Aristotle.

And ants have waged war,
And developed hierarchical societies,
Since long before we stopped foraging.

We are newcomers,
Babies, crawling upon the Earth.
What comes next?

Only the Mystery,
The Omnipresent One,
Knows, I

I do not.

“Chocolate, a giant chunk (Scurry on my way)” by Trevor Witt

Chocolate, a giant chunk,
From my pain au chocolat,
Fell to the ground, dirty,
Tiles, like cobblestones,
Outside the cafe,
The thought of picking it up,
Crossed my mind, as did many,
Other thoughts, like eating it,
And getting sick.
But maybe I should
Pick it up, like I am
Picking myself up,
I do not want others
To get sick, like dogs,
Or like squirrels, perhaps I should,
Bury my dropped treasure,
And scurry on my way.

“A Ripe Fruit” by Trevor Witt

A ripe fruit,
I am ready to eat,
Juicy, full bodied,
Not firm, but not too mushy.
I am sweet and nutritious…
Yet, soon I will rot,
Growing grey hairs,
With fibrous roots forming,
Ready to plant myself,
In the ground, ready to dissolve my being,
Transforming into a small tree,
Sprouting from the soil,
Ready to birth new seeds,
Ready to grow towards new growth –
Or else to spoil and become consumed,
By bacteria and worms,
I will return,
To the Earth, as a child,
As fresh soil.

“Use Your Words” by Trevor Witt

Use your words,
Grunts and groans,
Scowls and moans,
Furled eyebrows,
And blank stares,
May convey a little feeling,
But they will fall short of a full report.

“Too Tired” by Trevor Witt

Too tired –
To raise my arm.
Instead, I open my hand,
Stretching my fingers,
And close it,
Clenching my fist,
Making sure my neural connections still work.

Too tired
To put a pen in my hand,
To put ink to the page,
To use my thumbs on the keypad of my phone,
To remember the words swirling in my brain –
Verses lost to exhaustion.

Sleep,
My body tells me.
My mind is too weak,
So I must listen,
A nap, a respite,
A little break to renew myself,
And I will not be too tired.

“Too Late To Remember” by Trevor Witt

Too late to remember
The poems of my wandering delirium,
The words have left,
Though some of the feelings remain.
How can I convey what I felt?
When I – the feeling, the thought, the body –
Have transformed through sleep and work and food,
Into something other than what I was?
I have mutated, evolved,
Confusing myself,
Unsure of who I am,
Or, rather, unsure of my own
Definitions, judgements, labels.
I was who I was.
And I am who I am.

“Crypto Currency” by Trevor Witt

Crypto currency,
Hidden value,
Value for whom?
What can it do?
There was a time
When good deeds carried weight,
Built reputations, garnered respect,
But the current currency of our era –
As if we live in a separate time,
An epoch light years ahead of our predecessors –
Is mostly digital, held in place by servers,
Floating in the ether, beyond the physical realm.
Whereas cash and gold were the coin of the powerful,
Now, electronic ledgers keep track of our accounts – our “net worth”,
As if my worth were determined by a bank,
As if my work ethic, passion, or intelligence could be regulated.
And we think we are ahead of the curve,
Beating a parabolic rise towards progress,
With a hidden dollar, unregulated,
Except by masses of servers,
Given credence by no government,
Except those seeking to declare themselves trendy,
Accepted by few businesses, as it is highly unstable,
Volatile as a drunk uncle and a high brother at a family gathering with exes.
This “bit” coin will bite us in the ass,
Unless we reassess our understanding of value,
The meaning of our relationships,
With governments and businesses, family and friends,
Money has no meaning without me and you.

“Tomorrow is Monday” by Trevor Witt

Tomorrow is Monday,
And I have no plan,
Except for facing my fears,
Driving me towards actions,
Motivated by the fear of death,
One last day, one more effort,
One more chance,
So I let them know,
And I let you know,
I love you,
You, and my family, and friends,
They know.
And I tell them when I think of them,
And I work, I work myself to death,
Because I do not want to die,
Without my vision being built,
I cannot stop,
Except that maybe I am holding on,
To your vision of me, of my vision,
I was afraid of you letting go,
And then you did,
And now I am lost,
So tomorrow is Monday,
And I worked all weekend,
And I am off tomorrow,
But I don’t want to let go,
I want to be “on”, all the time.
So tomorrow I will work,
Non-stop,
And the day after that,
And the day after that.

“For Loves Lost” by Trevor Witt

For loves lost and hearts broken,
For regretted remarks and words never spoken,
For teary eyes and warm, salty cheeks,
For hope malnourished, anemic, and weak.

Photographs of us hiking,
Sent my blood pressure spiking,
Even though I,
Try to let go,
Photos of us looking at wedding venues,
It may be old news, but it gives me the blues,
The feelings rush back,
Like a heart attack.

Feeling abandoned and alone,
I sink like a stone,
In a lake of sorrow,
I hope to feel
The hope of tomorrow.

I know I have to move forward,
But my memories still cut like a sword.
I know you didn’t mean any harm,
But now my heart lives with my childhood dog,
Upstate, at some farm.

Things could have been different.
I could have taken another path.
I am not blameless.
You too may carry heartache and wrath.

But now we make new choices each day,
Choosing to exorcise our demons with our words in a way.
Despite it all, I carry love, for you, in my heart.
Now, this seems like the end of a story, but, maybe, it’s only a start.

“Take a Ten” by Trevor Witt

Take a ten,
Give yourself a break,
The problems of the present,
The challenges of the moment,
Will remain when you get back.

“Not the Man I Used to Be” by Trevor Witt

I’m not the man I used to be –
Older, wiser, somehow just as stupid,
Working harder, sleeping less,
With a fire in my belly,
But burning out fast.
I look into the mirror;
A wrinkled face stares back.
My youth has run away,
And I hobble far behind,
Unsure of what follows me.

“Coffee Is Sunshine” by Trevor Witt

Coffee is sunshine,
On my tongue,
Like your hand upon my knee,
Or on my thigh,
Depending on the brew,
Depending on the mood,
Relaxing excitement,
My heart starts racing,
As your taste percolates in my mind.
Coffee,
Like your kiss,
Intoxicates me,
Sending me into a trance,
Moving me to dance,
Generating words, and motions,
Maybe it should be called “expresso”,
As our hips express emotions,
And we roll and lay happily, lazily, in bed.