Tag Archives: money

How Does It Add Up?

Good morning, all. Today is going to be a damn good day, I feel it. There’s a lot to look forward to and little to look back on. Please enjoy a poem that probably won’t make much sense unless you really think on the words. Please enjoy.

Sum of It All

When all is lost and all you’ve found

is in the lost and the found,

I ask but once,

wherefore do you plunder?

When there your body is torn asunder.

It’s time to leave,

it’s time to go.

With the morning

comes the whitest doe.

Visions of peace and plentitudes

that bring about new platitudes

and leave us wanting more from life

amidst the ashes come from strife.

Bering sea,

bear the sea

and come upon the Holy See.

Be found wanting

by the taunting.

Rise against the ashes

and effervescent attachés.

The day is come

to sound the drum

and hear the final sum.

Missed Call

Not a whole lot to say today, friends. I hope you have a wonderful mother’s day! Please enjoy the poem !

Missed Call

That’s what gives you hope?

The stinging, ringing feeling

of some unknown isotope.

Always leaves you reeling.

A good man, you say.

Do you know what that means?

Those words…

How deep they cut.

I hope one day

for a cushion

instead of a knife.

I hope to lie in peace,

perhaps,

rather than on a bed of nails.

Always poised

as if to be struck.

Now what kind of life

does this one make?

What kind of life

does this one take?

Broken and unbroken…

I don’t know how the pieces go together.

Maybe One Day

Good afternoon, friends. I’m always dreaming of the sun. I’m often dreaming of love and the future and what might be. Join me for a moment. Enjoy the poem today. I think you’ll like it. PS: I was just published in the first issue of Mind Swimmer! Go check out Julia’s website at https://smarellijulia.wixsite.com/mindswimmer!

Little Love Story

Is that what you want?

A love story?

You want to find yourself on a pier, set against the waves, awash under the light of the moon?

You want to lose yourself in those storied, starry eyes reflecting all your stories back at you?

Maybe one day.

Maybe one day you’ll sit there on the porch,

rocking back and forth

while the kids play inside

and the afternoon sun rolls over your tired old skin.

One day,

maybe,

it’ll all make sense

and you’ll wonder why

you ever worried at all.

One day

you’ll find your little love story.

Symphony In Town

Do you ever hear that music? That wonderful music that glides and dashes over your ears when you least expect it? There’s a symphony in town. Be ready to hear it. Enjoy the poem, friends.

The Towers

Twin towers

protrude from the mold.

Their rust

and incontinence

lead men astray.

Hope to change

a world they can’t control.

Like a spectre,

their deeds are lost.

The sire sits upon that twin throne

begging to be pushed.

Their will be done,

into the pit you go.

Read that book about the lost,

find your things that you have lost.

Find yourself now to be lost.

They sit upon the liar’s throne

knowing but abandon,

no one to reprimand them.

An Old, Old House

Good morning, friends. I have for you today the story of a man, a man who lives alone on a hill. A man whose ever encroaching madness and loss he may never recover from. His mansion on a hill was once his dream, but now the grounds lie in disrepair and the house in ruin. No one knows what’s happened to this once bright, compassionate, socialite of a man. Care to find out?

How It Creeps

I yearn greatly for something deeper.

Around the wall

grows a twirling creeper.

Through the gates

and down the chimney.

It always gets inside.

“Without proper maintenance…” they might say…

But it’ll always have its way.

As the creeper waxes,

so too does my heart wane,

shrinking evermore, forevermore.

The gates overtaken,

the courtyard is theirs,

the kitchen and the parlor

both fallen to the vine.

My only respite is the bedroom,

our bedroom,

only it has been long since we called it that.

The vines,

how they whisper in the dark,

clawing at the door.

I can hear them growing in strength,

tendrils slip between the cracks.

I dare not move,

I dare not creep,

surely still they’ll be there in my sleep.

They can hear the way the floorboards creak.

Alone, I gaze into that mirror,

that one we shared those years ago

and look upon a haggard man,

one you would not recognize.

He is one that I don’t recognize.

As the vines begin to wrap around me,

I can almost hear your voice again.

I can almost hear the children.

I will join you in your madness.