21 Thursday May 2020
Tags
advocacy, art, coronavid19, fightorflight, poem, poetry, pr, publicrelations, series, writer, yourokay
The air behind this mask is different.
Breathing wants to feel like
Inhaling through a stack of hay.
My body has to remind itself,
“You’re okay.”
You don’t have to activate your flight Tendency.
Because at least you can breathe,
At least you can see
At least you can hear
At least you can speak
At least you’re alive.
You’re alive. Let’s keep it that way. Wear your mask.
17 Friday Apr 2020
Tags
coronavirus, demons, home, poem, poetry, quarantine, quarantined, writer
Very often, home is within these walls
A place of captivity
A prison. Even when you’re free.
But I’ve made homes outside the world
Some, I carry no word nor trace to relive the place
Some, I’ve started tsunamis, raging in lullabies that’ll echo my name
Till the end of earth.
I made a home when it was taken from me—
A place to be-long
Safe, open and delicious.
Right here. Inside of me.
Send your blessings, payers, good wishes or anything uplifting to the people who are quarantined with somebody who they don’t really get along with. Some of these people are kids stuck at home with poisonous parents because they don’t have the escape of school. Some of them are couples having to stay at home with an abusive partner. Others are people who constantly have to face anxiety, worry or discomfort due to who they’re stuck with or due to some things that they’ve experienced in the past.
.
The ability to be by yourself is important, but not everyone can afford that. Being able to disconnect from a fast paced life is great but, for some others, that means being stuck with their demons–and that’s never an easy fight.
.
On another topic, I wanted to address this “home” idea. I moved around a few times, as a kid–both from house to house and from family to family–so this idea of “home” has always been interesting to me. “Home is where you belong” but I don’t belong anywhere, so what do I do? Do I have no home? Is this concept of “home” only for those who are privileged enough?
.
I’ve realized that “home” doesn’t have to be a physical place at a specific address. Home can be being around some people. Home can be multiple places around the world where you’ve found acceptance. Home can be wherever you’ve left a piece of yourself, and it was loved. Home can be you. Home can be within your own headspace. That way, wherever you are, you feel at home :).
08 Tuesday Oct 2019
Tags
addictions, artist, creativewriter, modern, modernage, Passion, phone, poem, poetry, technology, writer, writing
How can they dream?
Broken necks
While nothing’s in this world
But that screen.
That seem
To never stop glowing,
Radiating light,
Attracting sight
Pick up a damn book! But
SO MUCH
Can fit under that screen.
Enough to reconsider your sleep,
Drive you around that leap
Enough to make you a sheep.
Following a device around
In their hands but they could never catch it
Intelligence ready but will they ever hatch it?
So tell me,
How can these people dream
When heaven glows
Right in their palm?
13 Friday Sep 2019
Tags
art, be happy, creative writing, happiness, inspiration, Joy, poem, poet, poetry, powers, smile, writer, writing
They say one person can’t ACTUALLY move mountains,
But that smile…
Gosh! That smile could beam n’ blow a hole
Through a mountain
So tell me, ain’t that the same thing?
What’s the point of moving a mountain when a laughter
Can show your path through it?
That smile transforms your face into a body–a beauty
That is ready to rise to be heavenly
A form that’s so fitting;
A look so natural.
Makes me wonder if your sad face be a mask?
10 Tuesday Sep 2019
Tags
art, choices, creative writing, fear, inspiration, inspirational, poem, poet, poetry, struggles, writer, writing
Living life on a single strand.
One strand of breath
A strand of care
A strand of worry,
Step by step, trying to save ourselves from death.
It was never easy.
To know your steps were not taken freely:
Walking on strands, trying to balance until someone understands
Life is quiet. Walking on a tight rope.
All you have is your heart and soul, as your breath tries to cope.
Some days, we may encounter a special figure.
Not constrained or chained but
Relaxed; Freedom.
Its only feature.
“Happiness”, they call it
But we had already accused it of misdemeanor.
Life is fear, even in our wildest hopes.
We try to hold time and bend it
Like wizards with fear of losing it.
Running after wild hopes, often
Because our true desires is perhaps bound to be slopes
We’re scared. So we’re living on a tight rope.
20 Tuesday Aug 2019
Posted in poetry
Tags
achievements, creativewriting, creativity, excellence, inspiration, motivation, poem, poet, poetry, poetryblog, success, wisdom, writer, writing
It looks like
You’ve spent your life excelling.
So you’ve no clue how to deal
Now that you’re about mediocre
Results.
Maybe you’re not working hard enough,
Maybe trying just a little
harder,
Smarter
Can get you right back on course:
Where you belong – Excellence.
Or maybe you have yet to realize
Your mediocre is everyone else’s
Excellence.
As you curse, damn your chance,
Others seek the wisdom of your guidance.
Don’t underestimate your abilities
Because of the storm of tragedies
On your tail.
For better or tough,
You are what you’ve always been
At heart
And nothing will ever change that
You are of
Excellence.
10 Saturday Aug 2019
Tags
caribbean, Country, creative writing, cultural art, Haiti, Haitian, island, love, poem, poetry, writer
There’s something I like
About the nights in my country.
Stray dogs ruled the streets.
Dedicating their lives, nostrils, four legs,
To inspecting every measure of the streets, for manje
Light bulbs on the porches revealing
The secretly yellow, green lizards
Hunting for insects that never run out.
Cars parked half their body on the sidewalk
Leaving space for humans to drive their legs
On the streets. In the middle of the night.
Watchmen, women lurking on the balconies;
Gossiping whatever happened; never happened
While the hot chilly wind blows, and blows,
In the quietest, peaceful sound.
There’s something I love
About the nights in my country:
Ayiti Cheri
17 Wednesday Jul 2019
Posted in creative writing, poetry
Tags
city, city night, city poetry, creative writing, poem, poet, poetry, skyscraper, urban, urban art, write, writer, writing
I could fall in love with the city-night.
But I’m known to be resilient,
So I would probably get back up.
But I’m known to be stubborn,
So I would probably fall.
Again,
In love.
And again,
With the city-night.
Till no end.
05 Wednesday Jun 2019
Posted in success
Tags
bright, brightfurure, brightideas, destiny, future, poem, poetry, poetrybycharlesjoseph, SirCharlesThePoet, Successful, writer, writing
Her future’s so bright that
There’s no point in approaching,
Ain’t no coming too close.
They say she’ll reveal your imperfections with her spotlight
Your tricks will lay toast
Your dreams become ghost
I heard she walks into the night and
The darkness flees before it catches
So then the moon’s magic finally becomes whole
Her future’s so bright
That she’ll crush your: Lightbulb-ideas
Her supernova mind; her supernatural intelligence
Proves only one thing can compare
Only one can reach competence
That’s the sun.
You’re stuck upon ideas of light-bulb
But her thoughts are at the center of the universe
Her future’s so bright
I heard em say, lightning is striking there
To bring down anything that goes against her
Laser beams shoot through their walls, defenses.
Lava Burns through the barricades in her path
So, brother
Listen closely when they say think twice before encountering her
Her future’s so bright
She will blind you.
Make you lose control of any power you THOUGHT
You had over her.
28 Friday Dec 2018
Posted in poetry
Tags
art, christmas, holiday, poem, poetry, poetrybycharlesjoseph, SirCharlesThePoet, writer, writting
Sand not born of land
Dust suspend without trust
Cause
Snow might have overran the wind
Or the wind has frozen to powder
Clouds blow
Clouds wave
Knaves dancing
Dances of the saved
The wind sings earnest lullabies
Winter is here
A wonderland
In the air.
The aches can mend
A few tears to spare.
Can’t you hear? The jingles are near.
Sircharlesthepoet 