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What are you waiting for?
You look, but nothing is there.
You fight the urge to blink
for fear that whatever it is
will become harder to find.
You search the mirror,
but come up empty.
You know it's something.
You can feel it.
You ask your friends
if they can see it.
They just throw arms
up in the air
and walk away.
You look back,
trying to remember
how it all started.
Was it carelessness
or a wreckless throwing
of caution to the wind?
Or was it just the wind
doing what the wind does?
Time stops while you
pace the floor,
caught between
needing to know what it is
and wanting it to go away...
this unrelenting burn,
persistent gnawing, scratching
like a thirst you can't quench
or a tear you can't cry.
Until finally, there's nothing left
to do, but give up on it.
Let go of the needing to know...
the who, the what, the how, the why.
The meaning of life.
Poem By Tammy C.
Autumn in the mountains
when I was young
brought a harvest of leaves
and stones.
Beautiful bold leaves
with their transient burst
like they were making
a celebration for life
in their final show
of reds, yellows and browns,
Waiting to be reborn.
Poem By Tammy C.
Pure youth is but the fleeting dreams
of lust drenched with desire
where passion plans her future schemes
with hope once forged in fire.
Time plods like gods, at paltry pace,
when men first lose their truth
as part of false perception's face
when life first lies to youth.
Youth rails to speed the passing years,
impatient to be free,
convinced old fools are fueled by fears
that haunts all reverie.
Forgotten failures flow like wine,
no lessons learned or gained.
Bravado braves each border line
inside young souls unchained.
But years move on, we all must age,
and all must brace to face
that solid wall we all must gauge;
then conquer and embrace.
Each varied test both cools and burns
in strange dichotomy,
it gives the gift of pride then turns
sweet youth to memory.
Poem By Tammy C.
A poem old has verses wrapped in gold
As rhythmic beauty pours from every line,
A magic gift with music to behold.
Sophisticated language ripe and bold
Applied with master crafted strokes sublime,
A poem old has verses wrapped in gold.
A reservoir of riches there we mold
Inside a tapestry spread over time,
A magic gift with music to behold.
As summer heat turns into winter cold,
These songbird troubadours sing out their rhyme,
A poem old has verses wrapped in gold.
Perfection flows from words these poets told
In metronomic splendor like a chime,
A magic gift with music to behold.
The modern poets cannot lift their load
While writing pablum far removed from prime,
A poem old has verses wrapped in gold,
A magic gift with music to behold.
Poem By Tammy C.
Knowing the Difference
Sex without strings,without emotional ties,
A mechanical physical act with no true passion.
A temporary release of nothingness.
Achieved by anyone who doesn't care for anything.
Aspirations of morally bankrupt masses.
Goals of those who are frightened by the deep.
Mortified by the possibility of opening ones heart to another.
No passion involved.
True passion stems from beyond the physical.
An emotion directly linked to the heart.
Passion is a long, slow, deep, hungry kiss
which lingers on the lips for hours,
in the mind for days,
makes it's mark on a heart and burns into the soul.
Passion speaks without words,
without thought,
it flows like an artist sculpting a lover
with such emotion that the artist can remember,
from memory,
from the heart,
every line,
every crevasse,
every curve,
every breath,
of the one they love.
Poem by Tammy C.
As the breeze flows in
Hoist evenly the anchor
Steer to the open waters
Fountain of new discovery
Where the sunset is to be
Just as endless as our dreams.
Poem By Tammy C.
There have been men in my life
that I believed to be so good
until I grew to know them very well,
I consumed their weaknesses
into my soul until it weakened me
and filled me with the knowledge of hell.
I need a man in my life
Whom I believe to be good
even after I grow to know him very well,
To offer me a new dance, take a chance
Then I will no longer have to rhyme with hell.
So I can allow him to hold my weary soul
in his ever so gentle hands.
Poem By Tammy C.
Looking up from below
it's sketchy, but I can see
pieces of a person
that once belonged to me.
When I try to grab them,
they seem to fade away,
memories from a past I knew
but no longer have today,
Push yourself, so I've been told ,
be a mother and a wife.
You owe it to the ones you love
to sacrifice your life.
But what do you do when you're weary,
When you're tired and can't go on
To the hollow in the tunnel
your existence now belongs.
I long to do the things I see,
so each day I look above,
and try to reach the pieces
of the things I used to love.
Poem By Tammy C.
Caught by the breeze
the wisps of blonde,
that softly frame my face,
wave at the sparkling of my eyes,
and on strawberry lips they trace,
The joy of summer sunshine,
as it shines down on this place,
where sea, and sand,
and sunshine meet;
converging time and space.
Legs akimbo on the sand,
and fingers digging deep,
I lean back, laughing,
on my hands,
as the waves lap at my feet.
Grains of sand,
run through my toes,
and tickle as they flow,
The laughter fills me up inside,
with summer sunshines glow.
Poem By Tammy C.
Hang a right at Fools Boulevard
and I’ll meet you on the corner
at the Museum of Failed Ideas
where you’ll find my resume in the gallery
of Exaggeration and Quantification,
a collection of career still lifes.
It’s an impressive creation
of accomplishments and certifications
that at the moment
you can buy for a song.
Once solid real estate,
It sits in disrepair
on that," Will Never Work Drive"
though if you roll the dice
you might land a PhD,
2.2 children, and a McMansion
in the ‘burbs.
Let’s play.
Poem By Tammy C.
