Blog Archives

Such is Life

7/30/2017

What is the nature of love? Does it grow, wilt away, fall from trees, and blow away like leaves? Is it really meant to be? Tish Lauren perfectly portrays the falling out of love experience in her poem, Such is Life. In this life, we have many love experiences, but what we must remember is to learn from each and every one of them ....until we find the love that infinitely blooms. Thank you Tish for your soft words.

- Faith

Such is Life

Such is life.......
These three words have somehow become
my best friend and my worst enemy
I guess I should call it my frenemy
When I first spoke them it was like
Speaking life into me
Yet, now, somehow,
it's like I'm speaking the end of me
The end of what I believed in
instead of the beginning of what I wanted.
I believed in love at first sight,
Unbreakable connections,
Life and love didn't require any direction
Because .....
what's love if you have to have a road map?
I'd rather be lost in it,
happily lost, of course
Just me and him...and him and me.....
Wandering aimlessly in the streets
Not because we had nowhere to go
But, because it didn't matter
where we needed to be
And all the while,
I'd be chanting such is life.
I was freed of the requirements and misery
and the rules and regulations on how to play the game of love
But that chant, soon changed love.
It became the visions of spring leaves
no longer being green
Slowly changing to orange
and then brown
Falling slowly to the ground
Not even making a sound
The same way the carefree love I felt ended.
Quietly.
Like our time could no more be extended.
He wanted to break out the rule book
Time is up!
This type love isn't going to work for us.
That us, really meant him
there was no we in those leaves
falling from the trees
It was just me.
And,
in order to land softly on my feet,
in order to cushion the emotional strife
I had to chant again, while falling, such is life..... such is life.

Tish Lauren

2017

About the Poet

An imperfectly perfect creative spirit who loves all genres of art, but has always shared a close bond with unspoken thoughts. She believes that words not spoken aloud, but written on a page are the truest representation of self and the essence of who we are and what we believe to our core.

Instagram: @tish.lauren

Tish Lauren

"Living Mindfully"

A post shared by Poetry. (@thepoets.corner) on Jul 30, 2017 at 3:36pm PDT

Comments

Seven Days

7/19/2017

Comments

They say patience is a virtue. I'd have to agree. David's poem, SEVEN DAYS, is a daily log of the In's and Out's of love and dating. His words are a reminder that love is surely more than a hashtag. Thank you David for this work of honesty.

- Faith

SEVEN DAYS

On Friday she was my baby,
On Saturday she was like maybe,
On Sunday we ain't even speak,
On Monday everything’s crazy.
Is it just me? Is it just me? I mean is it just me?
But relationships die fast these days,
Fall out of love faster than I can blink,
Fall out of love before I finish this drink,
Fall out of love before we even n'sync,
Fall out of love faster than I can I think,
Think of words needed to speak.
To remind you of what we could be.
What could it be?
What did you see?
Did something change?
Did I skip I beat?
Did I miss a post?
Did I miss a tweet?
I think we're a product of our generation,
We want our love on Netflix simulation,
Give me all your love right now,
Binge loving, there's no patience.
Then it's on to next,
What else is out, tell me what's next?
I Tivo'd our relationship, so I can skip through all the mess.
There's plenty of fish,
But the sea is rotten,
Forget to log in and you’re forgotten.
So you bounce over Tinder,
But those girls are far from tender,
Swipe left when you mean to swipe right,
Oh well, new girl up, no need to remember.
OK Cupid will leave you stupid,
So you Zoosk away for your Match,
And you’re just hoping for some Harmony,
So you get the perfect catch.
We've got that ADHD love,
Short attention span of the heart.
Is my point coming in clear?
Okay well let me back up and restart.
On Friday she was my baby,
On Saturday she was like maybe,
On Sunday we ain't even speak,
On Monday everything crazy.
On Tuesday not one word,
On Wednesday not one peep.
On Thursday only silence,
On Friday I hit delete.
Last Friday you were going strong,
This Friday got you weak,
This is short attention span love,
Only 7 days but what a hell of a week.

David Anthony

2015

About the Poet

David Anthony is an aspiring television & screenwriter, current web blogger, and online journalist specializing in sports related and men’s guide topics. He currently manages his own blog “Innocent Thoughts of a Guilty Man”, a blog dedicated to his love of poetry with artistic expression of his journeys through life and love. Born in New Brunswick, New Jersey, he now resides in Los Angeles, California.

Website: INNOCENT THOUGHTS OF A GUILTY MAN

David Anthony

A post shared by Poetry. (@thepoets.corner) on Jul 19, 2017 at 12:46pm PDT

Comments

The Dreamer

7/7/2017

Comments

Life is all about Balance. We often forget that we must experience the bad with the good. Those experiences mold us and make us stronger. A.Z.'s poem is a story of not allowing unsavory circumstances to define your reality. Live a life led by your dreams or succumb to your nightmares? The choice is yours. Thank you A.Z. I happily share your gift.

-Faith

The Dreamer

She said that I'm the dreamer of the lot.
But what she doesn't know is that,
I live a nightmare.
So does that make me the screamer of the lot?
I bite my nails and tug at my hair nervously,
A lot.
Got bags under my eyes fuller then the ones that fill your trunk out in the parking lot .
Ears clogged I can't hear the beat.
So I don't move my feet.
So my rhythm is off spot.
I'm July's heat on an August night so I can't help but be real hot.
See my dreams ain't always came true .
But somehow most of my nightmares do.
So for peace I'm pleading alot.
I'm the offspring of an awful thing.
I'm a date rape baby.
So my mama can't help but hate me.
Her aunt promised to take me.
But she be lying a lot.
Mama had to keep me so she be trying a lot.
I grew up hearing her crying a lot.
And for a child that makes you feel like you dying a lot.
At 15 I harnessed my anger tried to tame it.
An I started to plot.
I was going to have fame even if you didn't know my name
See I came from pain, hurt and blame,
Dirt and shame.
And the nightmares they come still,
Make me sit up in bed and become a screamer ....but I lock them away
Because today I choose to be a....
Dreamer.

A.Z. Hall

July 2017

About the Poet

A.Z. was born and raised in Macon, GA. She grew up reading the works of the Harlem Renaissance writers and wrote her 1st poem at twelve. She is a nursing assistant as well as a natural hair stylist. She prides herself on being the mother of the most amazing seventeen year old daughter.

A.Z. Hall

Poetry for me is the blood that flows through my soul.

A post shared by Poetry. (@thepoets.corner) on Jul 7, 2017 at 11:01am PDT

Comments

Such is Life

Seven Days

The Dreamer

Poet Information

Faith Underwood, Curator

Archives

Categories

HOME

ABOUT

BLOG

POETS' CORNER

STORE

EVENTS

CONTACT

Poet Information

Faith Underwood, Curator

Archives

Categories

​BLOG

​POETS' CORNER

BLOG

POETS' CORNER