Blog Archives

Inventions And Desires (Part 2)

09 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Art, poem

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I would say I’m in love with you;
I love you;
I want to make love to you;
Your smile lights a bulb in me that
Thomas Edison, as well, was convinced would never glow
 
But I think, maybe I only
Want to love you.
Like I would spend hours, days, weeks, months, years.
(Two times, I’ve spent years),
In middle school,
Caved in my imagination, boiling a potion
That convinces everyone at reach
That I love her.
 
I love her so much.
 
Because at 13 years old, I had perfect knowledge of what love is~

@sircharlesthepoet

Beauty Mark

11 Saturday Apr 2020

Posted by in Art, beauty, poetry

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The Scars on our faces are what relates us,
Though different races.

A hill rises somewhere on your shining
Valley attracting everything light.
Nothing has been right but

That’s a story the slug rarely tells,
Although you’ve climbed.
Claimed victory at the peak—
Of which, we don’t often speak

The Marks on our faces are crafted,
Never draft-ed.
The artist leaving it to be, as it be
A sign of Beauty:

Scars turned around, truly.

@Sircharlesthepoet

I love beauty marks. Beauty marks remind us that a “true artist” (or someone with the right mentality) can come across something that was meant to be a scar, an unappealing mark—a mole—and see it as beauty. It takes courage and a firm, but beautiful, mindset to be able to find yourself among complete chaos, yet still be able to see the beauty in it AND keep your head space and inner peace in tact. So is it a nasty mole or a beauty mark?

Send this to someone who saw beauty in something crappy. Stay safe out there, y’all.

My Life, in My Sight

31 Thursday May 2018

Posted by in city, poetry, Uncategorized

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girl on trainToday, I saw the girl of my life…
The music slowly faded and felt like wings,
The artist didn’t sing;
The drums didn’t bang
I couldn’t even search for an explanation on Bing.

But the song turned into a symphony,
So possessive, so lovely.
My soul held on and flew with each note,
Giving the tune 100% of its vote.
To fly it out of the train station,
By her side, to a vacation

Her hair;
Her curly hair
Swirls like the tip of ice cream,
After escaping the machine.
Like a child seeing ice cream, controlled focus was gone.

“Moma, I want some ice cream.”

She was wearing a “skater” hat, backwards
But everything about her was forwards

The straps in her book bag
Captured my attention, and my motion lagged.

Today, I saw the girl of my life…

The song that did not know of an end, forgot its rhythmic pattern

The music notes couldn’t bat their wings

My soul was lost in some Caribbean island resort

The kids held their ice cream, carelessly, in the humidity

The ice cream forgot it has to melt.

Today, I saw the girl of my life…
That afternoon, my breath parted
While my immobile body admired her from afar
As she walked, out of my life.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Sin on Paper

16 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by in love, poem, poetry

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Words in pen,
Pen on paper.

Watch out for your sin,
They’ll hunt you later.

Write, write and sing—
Sing in your bottle of gin.

Sing your crisis,
Your shadow parting from your below;
You think you’re a hero.

Whisper your tragedies away, into your palms
Bless the young lady with your hand;
Bless her with the curse you pain—
The poison from a blessing.

Now, you see her eyes in every maiden’s lenses.
They’re hunting you past your choruses of,
“I’m sorry, please take me back. I Can Do Better!”
They’re the nightmare in your best dreams,
And you’re wishing cancer was in your genes.

So, give your life to gin;
It will deafen you, and you won’t hear yourself sing vain.

Pen on paper,
But your pen, is full with your sin.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Still, I Procrastinate

24 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by in poetry, school

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This is something I wrestle.
At night, under the darkness, I nestle.
Although I beg for sleep,
Worldly desires snug me tightly.
I complain, I revolt, I beg
For sleep to toss a chance

Then, I look to the Moon.

A Being that fidgets not,
Doesn’t turn its back on us,
Nor its silent promises.

So why do I turn my back
On my promises?
I struggle to gain control
Yet, I drown it below.

The moon teaches a lesson!
I revolt.
So here I am: struggling late night
Dreaming to rest with its light.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

New Day

29 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in love, poetry

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It’s a New Day!
The sky is hiding gold or it is
Hiding lightning?

It’s a New Day!
And I don’t mean lightning that strikes
Nor that which causes babies to cry.
I tattle-tell of the light inside of you!
That which pushes you far, and oh! Much high!

It’s a New Day!
Maybe the sky is not hiding your light,
Sadly
But from tip to tip, it is a canvas
Or a scroll, if you hold it up right.
So where you’re standing, young one,
You can scribble everything
You’ve ever wanted! Or draw your light,

It’s a new day.

 

@sircharlesthepoet

Toughen up Little Soldier

07 Wednesday Mar 2018

Posted by in Art, writing

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We weren’t walking.
We’ve only been pulling ourselves.
On our way to: Wherever life leads us

*deep breath*

Tell yourself something positive
Onward, Little Soldier!

God gives battles to those who can fight it.
So pick up your bag;
Burdens your soul is doomed to bear

And Toughen up Little Soldier,
You’re victorious.

 

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Together, We Live

04 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by in beauty, human, poetry

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Let us dance. To the rhythm of our breaths

Let’s smile like the stars need guidance,
Laugh like the sun is turned off

Let’s dance. Each step giving way to the better
Tomorrow

Let’s break the rules because
If they were good
They wouldn’t be breakable

Let’s be fools, and not fear judgement

Let’s drown in our imperfections
Accept them as perfections

Let’s live, breathe, run and stay in a joyful episode

 

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Too High

19 Friday Jan 2018

Posted by in city, poem, poetry

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I’m from the city:
Where angels don’t descend to help,
They’re in the corners getting higher.

No preaching, nor evangelism could convince
Heaven will not give them a chance and
Heaven is not rolled up in a piece of paper.

Because when in a room stories down,
Grace is lit on one end
Inhaled from the other,
As they mount five stories, no ladder

No wings,
Didn’t care that the lungs sing,
“Please, Stop!”

So I don’t advise praying.
At least, not to the ones ascending
Heaven sends help upon summons
But, your best bet is to face your own demons.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

When I’m Gone

09 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by in death, life

≈ 10 Comments

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As I die, I always wonder
If birds will pause their chatter
If singing will bow, in the shower
If spark is found somber.

Before my eyes close and I give in
To unknown and imagine,
I always wonder
If television will snail through dull scenes
If train will be. And its behavior not bothered.

As I lay in depth, I can’t help but ponder
If my bed will miss me when it’s time
If pillows will repeal masks, wear sackcloth’s in ash

Before I take my last breath, I question the ever
If eager, creative minds will hide and gnash
If fuss no longer must
If in memory, I will remain stronger
If factual stories will have me live forever.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet