A Moment

All those days you’ve been waiting

for a moment.

Waiting for a moment

to change the world,

to set things right,

to start a fire that’ll burn so bright,

Burn it all to the ground.

But why,

why,

and when,

when?

Will the moment ever come

and how will you know it has?

Instead of waiting

why don’t you start now?

Change the course of history,

this world we’re in right now.

The good it could do,

you have a dream, a goal,

move towards it,

don’t idle,

wake up,

stop wasting time during which

you really don’t need to sleep.

Struggling to Organize my Poetry Manuscript

I recently finished gathering together a lot of my poems to make a collection. To begin with I tried to put them in some categories based loosely on topic. Now, though, I need to go through and reorganize them.

Which poem should open the collection? Which should close it? How should they be arranged in between? Should they be in categories or just one after the other more randomly?

I have to answer these questions just about organizing the collection. Not to mention I have to consider if I’ll have notes about the poems, if I’ll include the date I wrote the poem on, if there will be illustrations in the book. Do I want just one poem for every two pages, or one for each page?

It was easier to write the poems to begin with than to figure out how I want to present them together!

Past Poems (July)

All the poems I have here were written in July in previous years. Each is the first poem I wrote that July. I had wanted to share poems written on July 3 specifically but there were none.

[The last poem contains mentions of suicide.]

The Time Was Ripe

12 July 2015

The lack of inspiration that has brought me here today,

is reeling and pealing away my skin.

The time it has taken to come so far,

for half a month to pass,

seems far longer than what it was,

And yet too short for it to have been another year.

Nothing is making sense as it swirls through my brain

in a jumbled, hectic mess.

As my readers, you may have noticed, but if not

do not be alarmed,

I’m still writing, still plotting, still mentally involved.

Most of my best poetry

never reaches the paper,

A shame, really,

but true.

 

Shapeshifter

15 July 2016

I know not who I am

But who I make myself to be.

I know not where I hail,

‘Cept I lived among the sea.

I stay the same, but not in how they treat me,

My form shifts, and that is how they greet me.

Even thought I have not changed at all,

They do not realize ,and that will be their fall.

 

Long Awaited Meeting

18 July 2017

I wondered what she thought

as my life was on display.

Would it be for naught,

My suicide that day?

I longed for her to hear me,

so I joined her on that side.

Now that she is near me,

WIll my time, she bide?

The colors of this world we’re in

Were painted on for show,

But can you hear me o’er the din,

as the mem’ries around us flow?