By Jesse James Doty
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When my internal world appears to be crashing in,
the external world could go crumbling down to the ground,
making little difference to me.
In the past 24 hours, I have regained and recovered
resilience, perseverance, and an undying commitment
to better myself, with the added bonus of giving to others.
As I struggle to make sense of my surroundings,
deep inside, I know there is no one to turn to but myself.
Never have I doubted that I would hold onto hope.
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading.
|
By Jesse James Doty
Conclusions reached with black and white thinking
encourage intolerance and acts of injustice
Try to allow for differences
It's hard, but we must try
otherwise, we will live and die
without knowing true and deep peace
Show reverence for life of all kinds
whether plant, animal, or human being
There is no room for taking anything to the extreme
A good idea gone terribly wrong was yesterday's song
Inability to see how theory and practice
are different conceptional realities;
both require moderation
with visions of cooperation
that must be anticipated and mixed in
allowing for harmony instead of discord
unity instead of division
commonality instead of opposition
Reacting positively to taking on responsibility
is a way of being genuine and true
to oneself, as well as others
Make a difference--
take care of your sisters and brothers
in spite of the history that blocks compassion;
let love be in fashion once again---
not only be a lover, but also a friend
In the end, you will recover all the time you spend
| Author Notes |
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By Jesse James Doty
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Turning kindness off and on
like a light switch
appears to be the way of the world
Genuine cradling niceness
with a womblike connection
seems difficult for most
Or, is this true?
From my warped mind, am I seeing things
as they are for me, instead of a common reality?
A gentle squeeze of a hand
a tender glance at just the right moment
softly humming a tune
The brevity of gentle caring
need not be measured, but rather treasured
as a sparkling iota of time
which could possibly last forever
holding hands together
as long as they will reach
| Author Notes |
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By Jesse James Doty
I slip into a semiconscious sphere,
where my psyche slides
onto a microscopic smear.
I see psychosis on a continuum
as I view gender expression
where neither can adhere
to a lasting impression.
But I shall steer clear,
as I fear no one wants to hear
this convoluted confession.
I face a happenstance delusion,
as if by magic touch;
I conjure an illusion
of a place I've never seen
where every color's fusion
becomes yellow, blue, or green.
My ears intently listen
to playful children sing.
It echoes with conclusion
that love lifts my self-esteem.
| Author Notes |
My mind is open to exploring many possibilities.
Thanks for reading. |
By Jesse James Doty
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Time travels backward through the portals of my mind,
while viewing nature's finest at the local zoo, I find,
within each generation, careless attitudes eschew,
forever gone, the last living creatures bid adieu.
Plastic's great convenience adds misery and waste,
fabricated food supplies no nutrients or taste.
Consumers reach for endless happiness and love,
ageless beauty creams offer none of the above.
If I only knew the answer that was staring back at me,
then questions asked today would not haunt repeatedly.
If ever life appears too long to understand,
then 'never' slips through fingers as forever grains of sand.
| Author Notes |
Thanks for reading.
|
By Jesse James Doty
We preach to the preachers,
sing to the choirs,
shout from the rooftops
what we need to hear.
When all the advisors
will not make us wiser
or bring us much closer
to days when the virus
leaves us in the clear.
Pretense to know answers
for what's best for another,
breeds hostile-like cancers
with wounds that can swell.
I try to look inwardly
see how I may gingerly
treat myself kindly
and others as well.
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading.
|
By Jesse James Doty
Like the air has been sucked out of a blowup doll, or the covers yanked off my naked body, I feel deflated and exposed for the crummy poet I actually am.
Forcing rhymes out of a natural free verse just to please...both me and somebody else who will read this as a tease of real poetry with all its similes. I do not know why I write. I used to think I knew, but now it all has gone eschew, temporarily.
Draped over reality, I escape civility not knowing who's a utility to lean on.
Cover me with mud, tell me I'm your bud, anything, to help me face the banality of my reality--once again, here I am at the start, not close enough to your heart. I wish to get closer, move over sweet love, and taste my virtue. I'll bet you never tasted anything like it. I love when you answer my call. Even if I have nothing to say, you still pay me attention and tell me, "I'll help see you through this."
What have I done to deserve you? You're so great, and I know, the sum of who I am unnerves you. I try so hard to please you, yet I am myself with you, every single time we're together you tell me I am doing great. How can you relate? Put your feet on a rollerblade and skate. It will prepare you for surfing and swimming with seaturtles...this is your fate!
| Author Notes |
This is my first attempt at prose. I would like some help, but please be kind and gentle with me.
I wrote this as a reaction to finding the need to reassess my writing ability. Thanks so much for reading. |
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