Tag: poem

If Polaroids Could Talk

~ Brooke F. ~ 6 Comments

No, it wasn’t better then.

It was only different.

Nostalgia,

You are liar

Who insists things were better before.

And I’m tired of listening to you.

You can keep your sepia filters,

Your polaroid’s,

Your cassette tapes,

Your photo albums,

And your yesterdays.

I left them for a reason.

And the reality is,

If I were asked,

“Do you want to go back?”

I would most certainly shake my head.

It’s amazing what flaws you miss

When you apply that tinted brown filter.

To be a child is magical, yes.

But growing up is rarely painless.

Be-omist

~ Brooke F. ~ 5 Comments

Dont lose yourself 

In the cloud or silver lines  

You just gotta feel  

your feelings sometimes  

Glass half empty  

Or glass half full 

Till you’re dizzy  

From the roller coasters and pull

You don’t have to live 

In a world of extremes 

Sometimes you dont gotta  

Be happy or sad 

You gotta just be.  

Night Drive

~ Brooke F. ~ 4 Comments

He eats gravel 

Chews on stone  

Crunching crunching  

On rock harder than bone  

He swallows big mouthfuls 

Out on the street 

If you’re out driving  

Then you might just meet  

You’ll be going along  

And feel a loud bump 

Followed by your back tire 

Complaining with a thump 

You’ll ask yourself  

What could make such a hole? 

Torn up pavement 

Such a sight to behold. 

Your annoyance is apparent 

A foul mood you foster  

For many a times you have met 

The pothole monster 

Archeologist

~ Brooke F. ~ 9 Comments

Digging through dirt and dust

Bones and broken pottery,

Shards and rust.

I seek truth and secrets true

A discipline kept

By very few.

In my work,

I search for one thing

Between the cracks of walls it lurks

As I work, it becomes clear,

That on sentence,

“Someone was here.”

????

~ Brooke F. ~ 18 Comments

Did you know I once heard
In a poetry class
That a sign of a weak poem
Is when the writer asks?
Did you know that I heard
The teacher say
That a question has no place
In a poet’s wordplay?
So then I asked myself
Can you do this task?
Where the narrator does nothing
But question and ask?
Maybe I could end every line
With that lovely little mark?
What’s wrong with this symbol?
Am I correct in saying its not dirty or dark?
Dont you think that we owe
It a little respect?
A symbol of curiosity
Lovely Punctuation and not a defect?

Stream of Consciousness

~ Brooke F. ~ 9 Comments

Where does the river go? 

Tell where exactly does it flow? 

Where does the river call its home?  

Where does the river go? 

I hope it can take me there someday. 

I wish the river would carry me away. 

A modern day Moses,  carried from the fray. 

I hope the river takes me there someday.  

Evening Poems: Envy

~ Brooke F. ~ 3 Comments

a rose turned to a daisy,

“I envy the sunflower for its unapologetic presence

and the way it shines bravely

in a world much too fond of understatement.

I wish my petals were a bright as she.”

a sunflower turned to an iris,

“I envy the rose’s delicate beauty

and thorns that ware off bad intentions

and those who only love her for her bloom.

I wish my petals were as rich as she.”

Evening Poems: Vectors

~ Brooke F. ~ 5 Comments

How many lives exist  

Parallel to me 

Running side by side 

Never to intersect or meet 

But it's not so much the parallel lives 

That occupy my mind 

But ones who intersect but one time 

To meet at one point 

Before going on our merry way  

Never to intersect again 

Two lonely little rays