Adversity
theirs a little for everyone
and a lot for some

some go through it quietly
and some shout till
their voices give out

but i wonder
why some go through it
and come out the other side
stronger and others weaker
or not at all

what quality is it
and how do you know
when you have it.

as the night
an endless plight --
too afraid to fight
darkness shines bright

gush and grow
lovers in a row --
fly; fly on blow
hush, hush on the phone

escape every night
get high; get low
a quick midnight delight --
run; *run on home

Her mind intrigues and provokes thoughts of The Heavens and The Universe.
Her Heart inspires unconditional love and innocence, being born again before her.
Her Soul makes one stilled in awe of her Radiance, ready to worship of her warmth.
Her Beauty captures me in wide eyed wonderment as if with new eyes always.
Her Body is a sculpture that an artist would run his hands, in admiration of her being.
She is like Art, inspiring, appreciated, loved, and that moves men in deep meaning.
A vision of a classic work of Art by The great Art Masters of history,

I see her depths and complexities, her workings and meanings, envisioning all that she is, within the gallery of my Soul.

I am an observer of Her......... Truly Beautiful.

Copyright © Jose Gonzalez 2014

I have seen death's face
in many places
from Saigon to An Loc,
to the DMZ:
not by virtue, but luck,
he did not see me.

The others who fell
in those self-same places,
he surprised and snatched
away too slow to flee:
by the dumbest of luck,
he did not take me.

Now they are the forgotten dead
and I am old and weary
and worlds from Saigon
An loc or the DMZ:
my time and luck are running out
and slowly he turns his face toward me.

  ~mce

I was on bed rest all afternoon
My eyes are droopy, my body's sore
I hope to be on my two feet soon
Give me some water, I want to drink more

Please, open the window blinds
I want to see the sun streaming in
Give me poems to work my mind
Let my body and soul's healing begin

Who gave you the key to my cage?
I've embraced my death, like its love or compassion.
Four blank walls, suppressin my guessin.
Born into this, pulled out of it, now where do I go from here?
Colors fade.
Ideas change.
Defamation of the martyrs stage.

Never agreed to be freed.
Rusted metals attached to me.
I'm forced to drag it around,
Until the limb gives out.
To learn to live is what im limping toward.
But where do I begin?
Colors change.
Ideas fade.
Evolution of the modern age.

Somewhere along the way,
I decided it was better to feel nothing at all.
Better not to hurt, not feel, not to suffer.
The canary in my birdcage heart has stopped singing
and we all know it's dead,
It's time to leave before we all perish
in the wasteland of myself.

After our conversation
I was left unsettled, like the pages of my life and been torn out
I left the celebration
As the sky lit up like gold, walking home my usual route

I know the party lasted until late afternoon
and when you are drunk you don't notice much
Empty bottles among colourful, frail balloons
and my glass of wine in the corner untouched

After our conversation
I was left uneasy, like I'd been walking in circles on a straight road
I left the celebration
As the sun woke the city, walking home to the music's echo

I know the party lasted until late afternoon
and when you are drunk you talk too much
Empty words strung in a truthful, painful tune
and my glass of wine in the corner untouched

After our conversation
I was left confused, like I'd forgotten every face and every day
I left the celebration
With a heart that was bruised, and I could hear the sirens not too far away

Driving Ms. Daisy
Absolutely drives me crazy.
Many a driver have come and vanished by noon.
Her cruel words are nothing but her ****** armour.
People hate her,
and she appears to love it.
Petite old Ms Daisy,
seems like she’ll forever be alone.
Today she asked of me to drive faster,
“I want to feel the wind against my face.
Take it up a notch”, she said.
“12miles/per hour,” she wailed.
Snub the rooster and wax the pole,
driving Ms Daisy is slow.
Really slow.
At times I fear that the machine may fail,
That the engine may even stop from being so frail.
Taking Ms Daisy someplace is like going nowhere,
because you aren’t moving enough to arrive anywhere.
Yesterday was the worst day ever;
her constant yelling and biting remarks
that only aimed to infuriate.
But Ms Daisy is always classy.
Her proud air of 16th century British Royalty.
Even her perfumed handkerchiefs spell eloquence.
But still, one day I wish she’ll suffer a heart attack,
Or maybe a mild stroke.
But then I wonder out loud,
“Who else will hire me and pay me this load?”
I may moan and rumble
but I am forever stuck with Ms Daisy.

Individual perception creates alternate realities. Infinite views.
Some shared among many,
Some among few,
Some are created and confined within one.
Objectively, everything is real.
Because nothing is real.