Thank you
I hammer each nail
Thank you
My hammer is accurate
Thank you
each strike is true
Thank you
for providing the nails
Thank you
for helping me shut this
Thank you
for everything.
The case is closed
the coffin is shut
the past is behind me so what
is next maybe a surprise
so no more cries
for help or tears of sorrow
because I look at tomorrow
and I see something very clear
I have no more fear
I am motivated by
something that once was a lie
Now I can be me
and the image that you see
will fade away and it will truly
be me underneath a mask
that no longer exists
So thank you
for the nails in the coffin
I will rise from my grave
clawing and scratching
dirt between my fingernails
worms in my teeth
breaking my coffin
with each fist, feeling the dirt
pour over me
I will climb, grasp, and pull myself up
I will break new ground
with my hand & rise from the dead
I will shatter my tombstone
and walk amongst the living
I will brush myself off
shake of the dirt
and become alive once more
So thank you
for providing me with the tools
to wake up and rise
no nail can stop me
from coming back from the dead
Category: poetry
Another poem that I just wrote. I want to preface this by saying that I am still in a reflection phase. This was a rough year and I learning to deal with it through poetry. This is not meant to be depressing particularly on Christmas, but not everyone can be in a festive mood during the holidays.
I need to make new memories
ones that include smiling
and actual happiness
memories that can be
talked about pain free
without judgement
ever look at someone else’s life?
wish that you could have done
things like that or
could have thought about having
the time of your life
New memories the will include
things never done before with
people never seen before
in a place never been
Old memories can be held on to
like weights tied to ankles
at the bottom of an ocean
where the water is clear
and the coral reefs are in sight
a beautiful backdrop filled with
memories that swim around like fish
but get harder to look at
when the realization
of suffocation
takes hold
This beautiful surrounding cannot hide
that old memories can kill
the once strong and the newly weak
if they hold on too long
to the anchors of the past
New memories will help me
see clearly and understand
that life can be what is seen
in books and on film
or perhaps dreams
can come true if you wish
upon a star?
but how far
am I willing to go
or do I need 35 candles to blow
or do I need to go
to a place where there is no snow
or maybe
just maybe
I will be able to cut the ropes
before my ankles bleed
before the fish feed
before I begin to drown
before I go further down
in the ocean that is my own past
I need new memories to have some air to gasp
Merry Christmas everyone!
I keep saying
that you do not know
what it is like to walk
in my shoes
what it is like to lose
everything that you know
is all based on what you see
feelings and emotions all blinded
by a sense of guilt
tripping down the stairs
all because I don’t care?
mind clouded by the storm
in the center a heart is torn
apart from what was once
considered to be the norm
is nothing but a woman scorn
but what about the other time
when there was a reason and a rhyme
when things were all about a lifetime
inside there is a little boy
asking, “where is mom?”
and all he can find is a single
tear drop
you have no idea what my
shoes have been through
how many steps I have taken
how much guilt must be shaken
to get away from past failures
to get moving to future en devours
in a world where money means
too much and heart means
too little, life is hard
since I am all heart
and my heart is worth more
than any dollar or any euro
but still you do know
not the shoes I walk through
but who can I talk to?
No one
can imagine the fall of family
the rise of a boy
who thought death
was better than life
because in comic books
death is never final
it is the beginning
of a new chapter
and what I am trying to capture
is my life in a bottle
called Normal.
These are some poems that I started and haven’t seemed to finished. I consider them like an unfinished drawing. Maybe I will finish if the moment is right:
Fighting Poetry!
I keep fighting this poetry shit
not that I do not like poems
I just don’t like to read them
then I remember how I am brainwashed
to believe that poetry is about
17th century Elizabethan rhetoric
with sonnets and soliloquies
or birds and swallows
but when i hear real poetry
from real poets
it is about real things like
who spits and who swallows
how many poems does one
needs to write in order to
get labeled a poet?
do my fingers require a
sense of numbness that only
a person obtains when holding
the instrument that contains
a poet’s blood
or does the ink need to run
out of the pen
or maybe finger nail imprints
on the pen is a requirement
Stay Down…
How does one gain strength
when deep down there is defeat
knowing that at times
you may fight a losing battle
where the odds are a million to one
how do you beat a formidable foe?
one that is ever changing & ever shifting
cannot stay in one place
cannot stay still
cannot give you a chance
to gain a grip on reality
the ever moving foe fights dirty
goes for the kill every chance it gets
you can block and deflect every blow
but sooner or later the knock out
punch will land and defeat will be imminent
How does one fight back?
You
I know what you think
that this poem is about you
because everything I do
could only be about you
I hate to break the news
or maybe I should leave some clues
everything is not about you
this poem is about me
the only person that
means anything in my life
the only one that makes
the decisions and mistakes
I don’t intend on my words
and thoughts to be conveyed
or relayed or replayed
in such a way that makes
it seem like I don’t care
While I have all the time to share
my words and my actions are viewed
skewed and reviewed
for all to question
my intention
while I mention
that my heart is still the same
beating and loving
at the same rate
because everything I feel is love not hate
my heart and my words will match
how I feel
thus what I say is real
my message is cryptic
but so is life…
…so is my life
what are intentions?
if they are met with wrong assumptions
what is the point of a joke?
if no one laughs
at the end of the day
all that remains is me
is that so difficult to see?
the looking glass tells me everyday
that i have to be better in every way
better than my past
better than the rest
better than the one looking back at me
what are my intentions?
I intend on being a man
I intend on having a plan
I intend on showing the world
the real me
where is the line drawn
between intention and assumption?
don’t assume I don’t care
don’t assume that I am selfish
hell may be paved with good intentions
but my heart is fueled by them
so if i go to hell for thinking,
acting, and feeling with it…
Then I will forever be damned for what I intend.
Reading my old journal from High School again and I found 2 poems that I wrote. This one stuck out to me today. I originally named this poem “Love”, but I do not like it. So I will just leave it untitled. I also want to point out that I am amused that I managed to rhyme everything.
Love, something I never felt
I’m not the type of guy
who makes the girl’s heart melt
Yet, I wonder why
What must I do
What must I say
I have not a clue
Why must it be this way
I have much love to be shared
If I knew how
with someone who cared
like maybe a girl right now
Love is something to enjoy
Love is something to feel
not something to employ
or something to heel
The world is taught to hate
or to start war
they cannot see the gate
beyond the sky and more
beyond the gate are angels with wings
and things that will please us
the king of kings
a man named Jesus
He’ll teach us how to love
from the bottom of his heart
to up above
then we shall start
the era of love and peace
when I can finally love
and war will cease
and I will enjoy the up above
Wow…I was pretty naive. I think I just said that I will have to die in order to learn what love is. I am not so sure that is far fetched…lol. This is my second poem ever and I posted this to show the progress of my writing and my thought process. I was in catholic school so the reference about Jesus is not surprising to me…
I may just write a poem on love now that I have felt it…
A short poem today but…I have learned that you cant always pick the length of what come from the heart:
How many times
will I have to relive the past
to discover that time heals
old wounds slowly
in fact so slow that it
is like running backwards
on an escalator
that puts us nowhere
but yet I still care?
How many times do I
have to blame myself
or show that I really
did things incorrectly
my words did come out incoherently
I have just grown tired
of hiding behind the melancholy
forgiveness goes both ways
letting go of all past days
of all the fighting and the tears
where truth unlocks hidden fears
the doors of the long hallway
are opening and it is time
to choose which direction
that will lead to redemption
will I have to relive the past
to discover that time heals
old wounds slowly
in fact so slow that it
is like running backwards
on an escalator
that puts us nowhere
but yet I still care?
How many times do I
have to blame myself
or show that I really
did things incorrectly
my words did come out incoherently
I have just grown tired
of hiding behind the melancholy
forgiveness goes both ways
letting go of all past days
of all the fighting and the tears
where truth unlocks hidden fears
the doors of the long hallway
are opening and it is time
to choose which direction
that will lead to redemption
Another Poem that I wrote a few hours ago…
My thoughts betray me
I cannot seem to get
over my own set
of thoughts that always
come to conclusions
Is what I am seeing and feeling real
or just well placed illusions?
My mind is grasping for straws
searching for a needle in a stack called hope
but even hope can be false
when my thoughts betray me
since I fail to see
what others perceive
in their truth, but what about me?
What about you?
My mind screams because it is exhausted
of riding shotgun when
my heart is driving this
cash for clunker of a life
that needs to be fixed or
maybe it just needs to be replaced
by a newer, sleeker life
one that never breaks down
one that can be ridden all night
one that can be loved and polished
Will you give me cash for my clunker?
or will you trade in my clunker
for a newer life?
perhaps one where my mind
does not betray me
where i don’t have a life
of confusion and doubt
maybe the driver needs to be
replaced with an automatic pilot
that can plot a course
through the potholes and steep hills
without crashing or going
off course on my way to
my life’s destination
The only problem is Google Maps
cannot get me there
No Tom Tom or GPS can pinpoint it
my unknown destination is somewhere
between Syracuse and New York City
between Yankee Stadium and Citifield
My heart is driving this clunker
with a compass that does not point north.
Me and Willie Perdomo
I stopped doing Tid Bit Tuesdays because many of my thoughts are not all scattered as they once were. Today I feel like I need to just reign myself in with all the thoughts that I have. So, I may just ramble a bit…
I have come to realize I need to fix my life. Don’t get me wrong, I think my life is good and getting better by the moment, however, there is a point in a person’s life in which they need to clean out the gutters. I look at my financial situation and I know I need to do something different. I am tired of being in debt and I am tired of not having enough money. I am not saying how much money I need but I just feel that is not enough.
Money aside, I think my decision to go back home is a good one. Of course, I look around me and everything that I need to do before that day comes and I almost feel overwhelmed. This isn’t something that I cannot just do overnight. But, the good thing is I am very determined to change the course of my life, which means I need to take some risks.
Which brings me to my next point. I have focused so much on staying in Higher Education that I have not considered that my skill set is very valuable in other industries. I tell students all the time to think outside the box and step foot outside their comfort zone. Why cant I do the same? This point was brought up by an old friend of mine that suggested getting a job at another University should be my safety net and my goal should be to do something new. After all, I have already conquered my realm.
I will admit that this thought does make me excited. When I left NYC 8 years ago, I had no career. I was just trying to make it. Now, I will return with a sense of accomplishment and a set of skills that sells itself. So, who knows what the future has in store.
Here is the other thing that I so enjoyed over my busy weekend: I got to meet Willie Perdomo. He is a legendary Latino Poet that is both hilarious and very insightful. He performed some of his work on Friday night and i was very fortunate to have both lunch and dinner with him. He expressed to that New York City has changed and depending on your point of view, it is either for the good or the bad. Clearly since I am not down there enough I cannot gage which one it is, however, I miss it enough not to care.
Willie Perdomo’s poetry was very inspiring and it made me want to just start writing all the poetry I have in my head. The problem is that I have been fighting the idea that I am a poet. I do not have a desire to perform this craft and the poetry I write has always been more about the moment. But, sometimes a poem will just hit me, which is why I now have to carry a notebook and pen with me where ever I go.
I did happen to write a poem since the last one I posted, but that one will not see the light of day right now. I amaze myself with some of the things I put on paper. This one is not ready for the world to read. The thought of making another blog just for poetry did cross my mind though. I will say that I did start on another poem before I had dinner with Willie. I would like to finish it at some point. Of course, I seem to say that all the time to myself. I have so many unfinished poems it is not even funny…
On a totally different subject, I will start lifting some weights this week. I need to work on there these arms. I have had several offers to join some guys at the gym, but I have declined because I simply want to go at my own pace. No need to look like the Incredible Hulk. I just want to look like a better version of me. Again…I am trying to fix my life in all aspects…
I never thought I would write poetry but this stuff just comes out.
I want to buy a box
made of steel
indestructible; rust resistant
In that box I would put
the last 5 years and lock it
away forever
I would bury this box
in a hole deeper than
any hole that exists
within my heart.
In that box would be
every feeling, emotion
every misdeed, every action and inaction
every saying, every kiss
every marital affair
and every extra
I would weld this box shut
and carve, with a sharp blade
I love you
on the top.
With a shovel
I would dig a hole so deep
within the recesses
and throw the box in
this hole and listen
to the sounds of the dirt
hitting the cold box that contains
memories and dates
of broken promises
and lost potential
I would excavate and
landscape to hide
any evidence of this
time capsule of pain
in order to forget.
They say that time heals
all wounds
but what does it do to a box
that time forgot
especially when you bury all
the memories.
do they become fossils?
or do they linger until the
day that the box is dug up
and pried open
with the same precision and
carelessness in which it was buried.
made of steel
indestructible; rust resistant
In that box I would put
the last 5 years and lock it
away forever
I would bury this box
in a hole deeper than
any hole that exists
within my heart.
In that box would be
every feeling, emotion
every misdeed, every action and inaction
every saying, every kiss
every marital affair
and every extra
I would weld this box shut
and carve, with a sharp blade
I love you
on the top.
With a shovel
I would dig a hole so deep
within the recesses
and throw the box in
this hole and listen
to the sounds of the dirt
hitting the cold box that contains
memories and dates
of broken promises
and lost potential
I would excavate and
landscape to hide
any evidence of this
time capsule of pain
in order to forget.
They say that time heals
all wounds
but what does it do to a box
that time forgot
especially when you bury all
the memories.
do they become fossils?
or do they linger until the
day that the box is dug up
and pried open
with the same precision and
carelessness in which it was buried.
Anthony Otero 