white

I Held Back

Folder: 
Personal

"It's been a bit,

since I've written real words, 

real verbs, letters lined up 

to litter the page 

 

with alliteration, 

metaphors, hyperboles,

other devices that help gain

your undivided attention.

 

It's been a bit,

I almost quit,

because the last time I was on stage,

I felt like a tripped.

 

I felt like I didn't perform, 

I knew I was pulling punches, 

because there was much to consider, 

but now it's got me a little bitter.

 

I held back.

 

I held back,

lowering my tone,

juxtaposed to my actual voice;

loud.

 

I held back,

because of the 

familiar face

In the crowd.

 

I held back,

instead of letting it rip,

taking people on a little trip

to recount how one's lid

 

was flipped.

 

I held back

because I was scared

that I wasn't hip

and I wasn't hop, 

 

when I was raised on Wu-Tang 

and Nas 

in a place where 

where rain constantly drops,

 

and I know how

the beat drops, 

the mic rocks, 

and how rhymes can make time stop.

 

I held back 

because the tone of my skin 

has people guessing 

wrong my ethnicity, 

 

if you think I'm white,

you're not right, 

and to be honest 

that's not point.

 

Because I come from a place 

where I was too nerd to be brown

and too chale be white 

and too polite to be hanging out 

with the gangsters 

 

stealing cars 

and shooting at other's backs,

and if you think

I'm talking about blacks

 

that's the problem,

assumption causes caution, 

because not only were those 

want-to-be thugs

 

of fairer skin, 

my only friends

were much darker kin.

In the Marines,

 

we call ourselves green,

and you're either 

dark green, 

light green,

 

and there's no disillusion,

you disagree? 

Shoot, 

perhaps in the Army.

 

And yes, 

the Navy too, 

there's no turning back, 

I'm no longer holding back,

 

what I'm saying is true. 

The point of this piece 

is to bring peace

to me,

 

that I was wrong 

to hold back, 

to withhold from the reader,

because how can I call myself 

 

a poet

if I'm not painting a picture? 

With your mind as the canvas,

and my words as the paint?

 

I watched poets come on stage,

deliver works of art,

things beautiful, 

and I saw a beautiful, torn heart

 

put her hand up in the air

to an artist work,

like it was gospel in the church,

with thoughts on me! I saw,

 

but I held back,

and what I provided last time

was a finger painting 

of child's skill.

 

I need to be real,

paint a real picture,

my motions and emotion

the finest paintbrush, 

 

now fluttering about

all over your mind, 

hopefully breathing to life

that I, 

 

a man,

 

am more than some accusation,

of being mean heart.

Of being a relatable object,

supposedly,

 

to a poem so eloquently put

'he broke my heart,

and called it poetry'?

Get out with that

 

hand raised in the air

while another poet

spills out her pain,

and perhaps next time

 

I won't hold back,

paint a picture 

of how her heartbreak

did become my poetry. 

 

Yes, I'm being specific, 

and context would make

for a much hotter piece,

 

but I'm over this, 

over being scared, 

I've conquered mountains

and crossed bridges.

 

Reader,

I respectfully submit,

give me another chance.

I won't hold back."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I had an open mic a few months back. A good friend of mine asked me to perform at her show she had built from scratch. I was eager to help, having performed at her show before (see 'Other Life') and had performed with (see 'Corpse Pose'). Anyway, I was there and I choked. I held back. I instantly wrote two new poems and read one decent poem, and another, lacking. I cursed myself for doing so. This poem is about that hesitation.

Poem about Matthew Benson

A white kid, that's what he is.

Plays baseball, also a math wiz.

Polytechnic University is his dream school.

Because his dad went there and he wants to be cool.

 

Hair as brown as poop.

Skin as soft as rocks.

Personality as rich as plain soup.

He also handles stocks.

 

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*Red,White,And Blue*

September.23.2001
Trisha M. Barrek-Hopkins

Red,White, and Blue
Who would of thought
Who would of knew
That these colors are a symbol of freedom
People decide to let it in their hearts
It wasn't bought


To bring this nation together
To bring peace to our home
This symbol is here to stay forever
No hate can tare our faith apart
We will never fight alone
Together we stand strong from the start

 

Each morning we sing
That brings joy to each of our souls
To many... these colors
They are more then a material thing
To many of us ...For the beginning of the day
It is a great goal
A song of peace to our minds it will bring
That our flag will always sway

 

Red is for the warriors who bled
To keep the family and friends free
White is for those who got lost in the clouds
Blue is for the proof we have clean air to breathe
The stripes are for the ships that blow their horns so loud

 

We are strong
Our world is built as one
We try to understand
Those who did wrong
From all these deaths our minds are still in amazement
We must for our heros remain strong
And pray with one knee to the pavement

 

With the Red,White,and Blue by our side
We stand tough and tall
The power to fight good we will not hide
From any evil that can try to make us fall
Because our heros will put up a hell of a fight before they died

 

Copyright*

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Lost one

Faith is all you know.

You bestow it on me, so.

Inside, your knows-

Ten feet tall.
Slip towards the ledge.

You and I.

Push me below.

Wind took my breath.

Left me-

Laying on the floor.

 

Everything.

Is white and black-

And pain,

Keep my hands shaking.

When you talk to me.

Your faith changed and,

You're never close to me.

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Coffee

An object warm and white,

Cup-like with a handle at its side.

Halfway filled with a liquid,

A liquid with a name,

Its name being coffee.

 

Eager am I to hold this cup,

Equally eager am I to drink

From its rim which my lips shall touch.

Slowly yet quickly I do tilt the cup

And the liquid pours into my mouth.

 

The liquid's bitter taste,

Yet sweet and warm it is.

Satisfying is the taste,

So gleefully I do drink more

And indulge myself in this sweet galore. 

 

Freely does the liquid

Move around in my mouth

As it plays with my tongue

Tickling its taste-buds.

Around and between my teeth it goes

'til I move it back with my tongue

To the back of my mouth

Where the coffee meets its doom.

Down my throat it goes,

The aftertaste the same as before.

My thirst craves evermore,

Thus I drink some more.

 

Peaceful Walk

 

 

..................

 

Early in the Morning,

 

a white van, 

 

parked across the street,

 

the house being built,

 

new neighbors soon,

 

a nice family,

 

I met them briefly,

 

the man waved,

 

I said,  "hello",

 

and he said, "nice dog",

 

I said,

 

"he's been great"

 

and walked in the house,

 

my Morpheus and me.

 

 

...............................

 

 

07/12/13 6:50 pm ©

.......................

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Black & White: The First Dream

Folder: 
Poetry

The first dream with the most strange colors,

Which are no colors: black and white.

Why they erased the colors in my dream?

On this I had no answer.

 

Surrounded in the most bright white,

Was I, cloaked in positivity.

Pure and perfected,

As the most innocent child.

 

Cloaked in shadow, blackened,

Was the halo of Nyarlathotep.

The unknown, the mysterious;

Being stuck in His web...

 

Being together the Yin & Yang,

One in darkness, the other bright in light.

O, Nug and Yeb together,

The inseparable twins alive!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts about a dream I had.

Here Comes The Rain

Folder: 
Songs

You made my day as black as night
My life feels loss of meaning.
You’ve turned dark what once was bright
How can you know what I’m feeling?

Did you know that once you filled my life
Your loss would be unreal?
I could’ve avoided the pain and strife
If you had told me how you feel.

 

Here comes the rain
I’m crying in pain
Sighing with the wind
Swaying in the trees
Here comes the rain
I’m carrying the pain
I’m falling to my knees-
Here comes the rain.

 

Why did you say that I am not enough?
Why pierce me to the soul?
Because now, like the winter wind outside
My heart’s become so cold.

Here comes the rain
I’m crying in pain
Sighing with the wind
Swaying in the trees
Here comes the rain
I’m carrying the pain
I’m falling to my knees-
Here comes the rain.

 

Here comes the rain
I’m crying in pain
Sighing with the wind
Swaying in the trees
Here comes the rain
I’m carrying the pain
I’m falling to my knees-
Here comes the rain.

An Epiphany

Folder: 
Light and Dark

Black, the darkest thing known.
It greedily absorbs everything it can and belches all that is left, which is nothing – and evil void.
Black is dead to goodness, hates light, and despises all things that it does not consume.
It hates light for its goodness and supremacy.
It is the men, consumed by the darkness, who will tremble in fear at the last and coming light of this cursed earth.
It is the best known setting for all crime, to show it’s part in evil and is loved by all who despise the light.
Black is surely the darkest thing known.

White is the most righteous of all things.
All that it gains it gives to those who need it.
Its glory is so radiant in color that the colors blend into one untied blaze of light.
It is filled with righteousness so that all who see it cannot deny it.
In all darkness there is a ray of light, which grows and grows until it destroys the darkness, which is death to all things great and small.
Surely, white is the most pure and righteous of all things, and may it always be.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I actually wrote this when I was 12-14, I didn't date it. I seemed to know a lot back then... and I'm still building on it now. :D

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