Poetry2ponder's Blog

“What Does My Soul Need” by Trevor Witt

What does my soul need?
My body craves food,
And I like it indeed,
And it improves my mood,

But what does my soul need?
To be inspired? To be renewed?
On what does my soul feed?
Connection? Reflection? Attitude?

No one can answer these questions for me.
No one can be exactly like me.
Yet, I remain restless and uncertain,
As if getting to know myself was a burden.

What does my soul need?
Only to be, and to love,
To give thanks for existing,
All in praise of G-d above.

“Business is Slow/Working Three Jobs” by Trevor Witt

Business is slow,
But life is moving fast.
It has already been one year,
Since you left,
My heart on the floor,
Next to the mop bucket,
As I clean up,
My messy life.

–

Working three jobs,
Not one of which is my vocation,
But I man my station,
Taking orders, making drinks,
Aware,
That there is no reset,
No button to start over,
No undoing trauma,
Only forward.

“Almost A Haiku, For You” by Trevor Witt

Dedicated to You.
Were you something other than you,
That simply would not do.

Almost a haiku, for you,
Structures well defined,
Your idiosyncrasies.

Your needs and your wants,
In which my hope sprouts from seeds,
Are the soils I seek.

Your roots are hidden,
But I will tend to your growth,
Picking weeds, watering you.

Seasons of your life,
Winters of despair, anguish,
Springs of butterflies,

Autumns of changes,
Fear not your pruning,
For your leaves will touch the sky.

Were you a flower,
Other than your face,
The garden could not replace

Your humor, your love,
Your laugh and your kindness,
Your frustrating mess.

The waves of the wind
Carry tales of you,
Other stories would not do.

Were you a tall tree,
Or a blade of grass,
You’d still be my most important mass.

My Sun shines for you,
As you grow tall and evolve,
‘Round you, I revolve.

“Who Are You” by Trevor Witt

Sometimes the answer is not action, but stillness,
Contemplate your nonbeing as much as your being.
What do I mean?
What does “I” mean?
What is it that you want?
What is it that you are?
Who are you?
If you are nothing?

(Are you everything?)

“In Between Inebriated and Caffeinated” by Trevor Witt

In between inebriated and caffeinated,
There is a strange, stupefying state,
Whereby sober and solemn convictions congregate,

And silliness disappears from between the ears,
And mirth manages to run and hide,
And merrymaking dares not to step outside.

The smile upon the face is soon replaced,
By a serious, sanctimonious, grim, grave stare,
Or a proud, but pained protruding grimace.

Inevitably, such a person turns to sense,
To make logical prescriptions and demands,
Upon others’ plans, and upon their laboring hands.

“Have to”, “should”, and “must” are their favorite words,
Along with proclamations of “can’t”, “won’t”, and “don’t”,
To which I say, “Cheers! A drink for my friend professing the absurd!”

“Baby Steps” by Trevor Witt

Baby steps,
I fall down,
And cry.
I get back up,
And try again,
Crawling,
Waddling,
Wobbling with each step,
Barely balanced,
But going forward.
Soon, I’m walking.

Falling down again,
I get bruised,
Spraining an ankle,
Breaking a toe,
While taking a tumble.

Back to a waddle,
With a crutch,
And then a cane,
I take one step at a time,
Until I can walk again!

Life is a marathon,
Of baby steps.
So I get back up,
Fall down again,
Get back up,
And keep trying until the end!

“I’ve Got New Orleans In My Soul!” by Trevor Witt

I’ve got New Orleans in my soul!
I’ve got music in my bones,
And melodies in my brain,
Rhythms rushing around in my veins.

I’ve got New Orleans in my soul,
Jazz trumpets tweeting in my dreams,
And drum beats playing as I walk,
With syncopated words stum, stum, stumbling as I talk.

I’ve got New Orleans in my soul.
I’ve got muscles that want to dance.
I’ve got trombones in my legs.
I’m wearing jazz as my shirt and pants.

I’ve got all I need inside of me.
I’ve got New Orleans in my soul.
I’ve got New Orleans in my soul,
And now I am finally free.

“I Can’t Make You Happy” by Trevor Witt

I can’t make you happy,
Even if I gave you everything.
I’d write you love songs sappy.
I’d do my best to impress you,
Even though I cannot sing.

I can’t make you happy,
Even if I gave you everything.
If I always wore suits snappy,
I would do my best to look handsome,
Even though I’m just a bum.

I can’t make you happy,
Even if I gave you everything.
I’d give you all my money,
A billion or a penny,
But I’m broke; so you won’t get any.

I can’t make you happy,
Even if I gave you everything.
I’d give you melodies.
I’d write you music.
But I can’t make you sing.

“Centered on ourselves” by Trevor Witt

Centered on ourselves,
Our sight is skewed,
Are we not blind?
As only G-d sees.

The world turns about its axis,
As the Earth spins around the Sun,
As the Milky Way twirls around a black hole,
And we float like electrons around an atom.

Meanwhile, the man on the street sleeps,
And I must ignore my urge, to invite him in,
Because we are taught to fear, to leave him,
His situation must be the fault of his sin.

The Good Book says, “Clothe the naked.”
It says, “Care for the sick.”
It says, “Free the Oppressed”.
It says, “Don’t be a dick.”

Yet, we float through space,
In our own little bubble,
Ignoring the plight of brothers,
Ignoring the pain of sisters,

In trouble.

“Like a cloud, Under the sun.” by Trevor Witt

Light years –
From my touch,
From my taste,
From my smell,
My body lies alone,
In hell.

Yet your love
Reaches me
Instantly.
Beyond time,
Beyond space,
The smile on your face.

Sometimes,
I sink so far that I float,
Out of my head, into space,
The vacuum, the void,
And I expand, and explode,
Like a cloud,
Under the sun.

“Heroine” by Trevor Witt

You and your vomit, halfway on the sidewalk,
Lie in a puddle, as I walk on by.
The tent protects you from the cold,
Barely
But the blankets help keep you warm.

Forgotten
Because you did drugs,
No one could help you.
No one would help you.
Why are you my problem?

Heroine, heroin,
Save me, cure me, help me!
Forget where I went wrong!
Leave my mistakes behind.
Is there any heroine?

I can’t hear you, as you whisper,
Because I do not want to listen,
No, I do not want to listen,
Because it is too painful, too,
Too painful.

Can you spare some heroine?

“I Grow Old”

Blabber, blather, dither, dather,
Pitter, pat, pitter, pat,
You drone on, you continue to talk,
As the rain comes down, I go for a walk.

I want to leave this dreadful storm,
So, into the dark, wet night, I stumble.
Every second you speak,
Is a minute less I have to see
My own strength – as I have been weak,
Believing all your lies, in my head, I am meek.

Rules, and norms, and expectations,
Set in motion by a world so cold,
With promises of glitter and gold,
Must be forgotten before I grow old.

“I Grew Old”

I grew old –
One day after the next,
Ten hours at a time, on the floor,
No breaks from when I walk in,
Until I lock the front door.

I grew old –
One day after the next,
For five minutes at a time,
Afraid to sing because I thought
My voice sounded bad.

I grew old –
One day after the next,
For hours reading the news,
With no action, only frustration,
As sadness surrounded love.

I grew old –
Until you came along,
One day, after the next, with you,
And the tide of fear went back to sea,
I grew young.

“Your Best”

So many days, I’ve been wasting all my nights,
Sleeping sound instead of dreaming of the day
When I finally decide not to run and hide
From the fears which stop me dead in my tracks.

Now, it’s time to wake up, with nothing else to do,
There’s no one but yourself stopping you.
It’s time to move on, with all the world gone,
If you want to do it, you’re the one.

So many words, I’ve wrapped in riddles here,
Hiding halfhearted courage crippled with regret,
I’ve been a fool listening to everyone else sing,
While I have been quiet the whole time.

Now, it’s time to wake up, with nothing else to do,
There’s no one but your doubts stopping you.
Though you think cannot do it, you have got
To suck up your fear and give it a shot.

Get your ruby rhymes and muddled meter,
In a dingy, decrepit theater,
And give a pause, take a breath,
And perform your very best.

“If it’s my time, it’s my time”

If it’s my time, it’s my time,
I heard him say – time and again,
My grandfather, and my father,
But no one knew, no one knows,
Their time.

I am that I am.
I will be what I will be.
G-d, only, knows –
G-d, all around,
The mystery of creation.

I will be what I will be.

Amen.

“Corona Torment”

A little cough,
Benign, no cause
For worry,

Persists,
A dry, hacking cough,
Problematic,

Fatigue and stress,
Undermine resolve,
Tormenting,

Treatment does not
Exist, is not,
Helping now.

I question, now,
My life and purpose,
Asking for hope.

“Have Mercy”

For five dollars, I will wash your windows.
For one, I will shine your shoes.
For ten, I will carry your groceries.
For fifty cents, I will tell you the news.

I will sing you a song for free,
But please, please, have mercy upon me.
I am poor and alone, left for dead,
I have no pillow, nor a bed, upon which to lay my head.

For five dollars, I will do your laundry.
For one, I will cut your hair.
For ten, I will walk your dog twice a day.
For fifty cents, I will pretend to care.

I will sing you a song for free,
But please, please, have pity upon me.
I am poor and alone, left for dead,
I have no pillow, nor a bed, upon which to lay my head.

For five dollars, I watch your children.
For one, I will water your plants.
For ten, I will make your house spotless.
For fifty cents, I will iron your pants.

I am poor and alone, left for dead.
I have no pillow, nor a bed, upon which to lay my head,
But I will sing you a song for free.
Please, please, have mercy upon me.

Give us your tired, your lonely, your lanless, and helpless.
All those lacking wireless, 4G and internet access.
Hurdle your masses and asses to our capitol city.
To fight for your rights and make life much less shitty.
Your rights are abused and your government sucks.
Come march in the streets and give all your fucks.
Remove these bad leaders from their ivory tower.
Make them regret their actions and take back our power.
A doctrine once said government was for and by the people.
Lets not view those words as if they were a prequel.
Our founders promised a general welfare for all.
It was not to provide shelter for a terrible Cabal.
Our health, our wealth, our taxes a plenty.
Were meant to support not a few, but a many.
The time has come to arise from our couches.
March to the capitol with back stiff, no slouches.
Hold your head high with your voices chanting.
And make ourselves heard with our vigor and ranting.
July 14th is our chosen day to say NOPE.
And to bring back our country, our beliefs, and our HOPE.

“Each Particle, A Traveler”

Fastidious,
Attuned to the Flow,
Unconvinced by doubt,

Attentive,
Only to the sound of Silence,
Unperturbed by the noise.

A droplet of water,
In an ocean of waves,
Unconcerned with the storm.

Each particle,
In its place,
A traveler,
Through time and space.

“Rhyme Scheme”

Rhyme scheme,
And rhythm, and meter,
All these conventions,
Do they matter?

A and B, and A – B – B – A,
Are we set in quatrains? Or sonnets?
Are we limited to a structure?
With our lives stuck in second gear?

Are we fixed? Our fates dry as cement?
Or are we capable of change?
A wet mixture of sand and water?
In our free will, do we have free range?

Or, limited by birth, by circumstances,
Do we succumb to our doubts?
Do we succumb to the rules thrust upon us,
By those who have themselves given up?

Rhyme scheme,
A scheme to engender feelings,
To gather sorrow, and courage,
And dreams of a better tomorrow.

I wish I could scheme so well.

“‘Untitled Document’ – A Slow Descent”

Untitled document,
The story of my life,
An infinite set of wasted possibilities –
Not wasted, but deliberately, slowly avoided,
Choices undertaken – I am content,
Yet I am unfulfilled.
I want more –
More money,
More freedom,
More time.

Yet here I am –
Spending another half hour,
Meandering, dilly-dallying,
Daydreaming,
As the sun rises – overhead now,
And begins – another day’s end –
Its slow descent.