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Archive for the category “Bloody Awful Poetry”

Disenfranchised

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I lost a child.  You lost a parent.  She lost a spouse.  He lost a limb.  We lose what we lose, and when it’s lost, it is gone.  Not misplaced. 

Not missing like car keys to be found five minutes later next to the half-and-half in the fridge. 

But missing like one minute you’re saying “Good morning”, “Goodnight”, “See you soon”, and the next, you’re never saying it again, except to a ghost.

This is grief, unless it’s not your child, your parent, your spouse, or your limb.  Then, it’s an excuse, a personal problem, a character flaw.  And it isn’t even that your grief doesn’t belong to you, it’s that you don’t belong to your grief.

You are disenfranchised.

From your pain.  From your love.  From your god-granted human experience.  From all of it. 

You are disenfranchised. 

She lost a best friend?  Get over it.  He lost a girlfriend?  Get over it.  They lost a reason to get out of bed in the morning?  Get the fuck over it. 

When our right to grieve is denied us, except within the boxes others say must be checked.  When all love is love, but not all grief is grief.  When pain and mourning require blood kin for legitimacy.  And when the dignity to recover, as we are, is questioned, we are disenfranchised.

And if you wonder why this story has no end, it is because, like an end to grief, there isn’t one.  Because like you, like me, like he, like she, it, and we, remain disenfranchised.

 

© Copyright 2018 William S. Friday

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Stream of Consciousness

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Don’t resist the urge to juggle badly, play the harmonica badly, make choices badly, love badly.

Pick up things you find in the dirt.  Shiny things are rarely the best things.  Treasure things that aren’t treasured.

Eat the pancakes.  Drink the coffee.

Dream dreams while you’re awake.  Tell someone those dreams.  Dream them together.

Don’t be hard on yourself before you need to be.

Plan for a rainy day, then pray for rain.

Make a list, change everything on the list, throw the list away, make a new list, do all the things on the list.

Do the last thing on the list first.

Get tired.  Rest.  Repeat.

Don’t be afraid to fix your mistakes.  Ask for forgiveness.  Go back and try again.  Don’t give up before it’s time.

If someone sticks around, maybe there’s a reason.  Maybe the reason is you.

Remember the reason.  Remember the reason.  Remember the reason.

 

© Copyright 2018 William S. Friday

Between Love and Orgasms

The wait is over.

My new book, Between Love and Orgasms, is available on amazon.com. Along with my new book, the second book in the True Story Trilogy, the first book, A Death on Skunk Street is also available. And if you’re an Amazon Prime member, any purchase of $25 or more (the price of both these books together) your shipping is FREE!

A simple book of love poems, this one goes inside the human heart, touching the broken places, the scars, but also the joys, opening the reader up to “…everyday secrets, the things we ought to know, and the way life is lived in the space Between Love and Orgasms.”

Click the link at the top, and order your copy today.

Nothing Ever Spoken

nothing ever spoken

I offended someone today. 

Not you,

because you weren’t there. 

And not the person who,

gently,

let me know of my offense. 

The person who told me that I had offended someone. 

Sometimes,

I’m insensitive. 

Okay,

more than sometimes,

I just cover it well with most people. 

Sometimes,

I let it slip. 

And this time,

I almost let it slip to cause someone to fall. 

I didn’t want to. 

I spoke,

randomly,

or so I thought. 

But nothing ever spoken is truly random,

is it?

I offended someone today. 

They just didn’t know it,

but I do,

now. 

Not you,

because they weren’t there. 

But someone was,

who cared.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Love Moon

Love Moon (2)

She looked my way,

when sorrow overtook her,

and cast her shine upon my useless heart. 

I’ve seen that look before,

briefly,

through moving windows,

separating us for a moment,

like the miles would,

soon,

separate us for all time. 

But tonight,

like sometimes,

when the earth and the moon are close as life allows,

I feel her. 

Not how we were,

once,

but in the only way there is left to us. 

In our wounded hearts,

under the Love Moon.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

With My Heart

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I saw things with my heart once,

years ago. 

Before the bad decisions. 

Before the good decisions gone bad. 

Before there were no more decisions left to make. 

 

And then my heart went dark.

 

Until,

years later. 

After the bad decisions. 

After the bad decisions gone worse. 

After there were no more decisions left to make.

 

And then you turned the light back on.

 

I saw things with my heart once,

years ago. 

Before my heart went dark. 

And now,

I see them with my heart once more.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

I’m Guessing

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This much I know. 

You’re not that into me. 

I think I’d know it if you were. 

Here’s what I don’t know. 

Why it is you keep me around. 

Maybe you’re just undecided. 

This is all brand new to me. 

And so are you. 

I’m a lousy guesser. 

I’m guessing you are too.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

How I Accept the Unacceptable

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When they say that we can

leave it all behind,

we still

take it with us when we go.   

 

And nothing is forgotten

that’s forgiven in my mind, 

until

creation and us with it cease to know.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Until Forever Will I

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Never have I ever taken in

more than

one breath at a time,

like all of the rest

of breathing creation. 

One breath

at a time,

for a lifetime.  

Never more,

and seldom less.

 

Always have I ever taken in

more than

one worry at a time,

like most of the rest

of breathing creation.

Every breath

all the time,

for a lifetime.

Always more,

and never less.

 

And now until forever will I take in

no more than

one worry at a time,

like the bless’ed best

of breathing creation. 

My next breath

and for all time,

in this lifetime. 

Forevermore,

until my rest. 

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

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