wrecked on vodka
on a Sunday night
realizing that no matter
and with how much might
I share the truth
With those that I love
They will never acknowledge
god was never a dove
and there will always be strings
with that thing called love
So instead of the truth
the lie will live on
I will split who I am
Until I am gone

In me I am whole
peaceful
and true
and to all others
never, ever blue

Its enough
I suppose
to know that in me
Is truth,
O how I miss you, integrity.

Can I share some of my poetry?


Hopsilophodon hops along.
On three toes he goes; grubbling.
And the hummina-hummina hums and numbs
And hums and numbs like summoned drums,
As Hopsilophodon hops along.
On three toes he goes; grubbling.
And the hummina-hummina is all around him.



Kind of a metaphor for my life I guess.
A tiny little nocturnal dinosaur who goes about in the dark (grubbles) to avoid being eaten by predators.
Hummina-hummina is what I say when I encounter really cool stuff ... 'hummina-hummina!'

I'm a Jackie Gleason fan, and I think you've hit a really cool Ralph Kramden groove there. The disconsolate tone is what makes the piece jump. Thanks for sharing. And the word 'grubbling' is brilliant.

Thanks don. DW stitched that poem around the edge of a quilt she made for our son’s bed; the quilt had cute little dinosaurs on it.

To grubble: To feel or grope in the dark.

I kind of played with the idea that although life was like groping around blindly in the dark, there always seemed to be ‘hummina-hummina’ all around us to find; maybe just out of reach or hard to grasp, but always right there surrounding us as a potential. Like we had to ‘grubble’ for it.

The hopsilophodon image came from a dinosaur poster on a friend’s wall; a little three foot high guy that ran around in packs looking terrified of all the bigger creatures as it avoided being eaten by them. The poem came together in my mind as I sat there contemplating that poster on my friend’s wall one day. Hummina-hummina was something my friend and I would say to each other when something nifty came our way; and ‘grubble’ was a word I’d come across earlier in the day. It all just clicked together into that short poem and got written down in my little book of rhymes and lyrics.

Disconsolate was a good word for it.

Thanks for your comments, don. I’m glad you liked it. :)

Hopsilophodon reaches home;
he cuddles his wife,
reflects on his life,
eats a home cooked meal
watches Lets Make a Deal
and then smiling and giggling
they head for the bed
and quite humbling the grubbling
leads to humina humina happy-ning.

You definitely picked up on the true meaning of 'humina humina.'

Hummina hummina!

Beautiful. And sad.

Hey Icanseethelight,

Wonderful. Thanks for sharing.

Speaking of integrity, you'd have enjoyed seeing some of it rolling forth near your old stomping grounds. We met up with a few families last night one exit south of your last ward. Some good people are getting a taste of freedom (and another type of spirit) around here.

Take care!

That is great to hear!!!

And thanks to all who have enjoyed.

who are not aware of RfM. Thanks!

http://salamandersociety.com/poetry/



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 06/09/2015 03:37PM by cricket.

Thanks!! Does this mean I can call myself a published?

:)

Thanks cricket.

I won't subject anyone to starting a church though. :)

Now there is an idea!!!!

My very own cult.

How thrilling!!!!

Anyone here looking to join?

:)

That poem is beautiful, I can see the light. Great depth meets its match in beautiful words. You have done that. Your words make a very deep path.

All that I know of walking those brick halls - in that house of whoredom, all those years, is that I cannot remember even a single exchange other than a superficial, accidental bump into a stranger. I had no idea there were blueorchids and elderdogs walking those hall too.

There are many beautiful people lurking beneath those Mormon exteriors. That's why it's so exciting every time someone new shows up here having cracked their shell and left it on the floor of the chapel.

One of my all time favorite quotes:

Life does not accommodate you, it shatters you. It is meant to, and it couldn't do it better. Every seed destroys its container or else there would be no fruition.
Florida Scott-Maxwell

Mormonism is a container of sorts, don't you think?

Thank you blue.