George Solonevich

two fold child
alone
in his crowded world
risking life
risking death
even
(which could have been
the gentler escape)
to believe
what may
or may not
be truth.

still
there was faith
and the lonely child
was strengthened
by the dreams
of his father.

and the land
of the free
was his.

a memory of childhood
struck a deeper chord
and convictions
were choked
in the very throats
of the free.

there remained
a lone resort
and by the touch
of the artist's hand-
his story
will never die.

archives of poetry- poem twenty three

quiet
holiness in the shelter of this place
entering the sacred dreams of the prophets
listening for whispered wisdom in the breeze
tomorrow may come but not today.
there is eternal peace.

power
the strength of rushing waters
open eyes observe the blessed truth
in the clutches of your searching
caught somewhere between this place and heaven
lying in wait for...
there is eternal existence.

supernatural
another dimension of life
spiritual warfare in a stronger sense
living for things we cannot see
dying for all things desired
and waiting for something
until we've got nothing left.
there is a God.

so much

when the shade becomes longer than the sun
and the cold, harsh winds
purloin the leaves
off of trees mourning the loss
of their beauty,
when winter announces its arrival
with a frosty breath,
i covet spring

when happiness eludes like a butterfly
and dreams seem far from reach,
when beauty is murdered by the hateful
who deny truth and bury it in the depths
of a sorrowful life,
i live for tomorrow.

when loneliness overcomes all hope
and tears seem to fall more frequently
than rain,
when memories flood the soul
bringing heartache more painful than before,
i miss you
so much.

archives of poetry- poem twenty two

sunshine in your hair
the world revolves and i am lonely.
the birds are hungry for souls
and they will peck, peck
at my broken heart
until the walls fall down
crushing everyone
closest to my heart.

and i become a murderer
but i'm not in your jails
or state penitentiaries.
i'm not pleading guilty
or innocence or even insanity-
nothing but simple loneliness
and i sit in the corner
and cry for your dead.

i'm sorry- i'm so so sorry.
one day i'll make it better
but i'm not perfect
so don't think of me this way.
i'm sorry.
don't think of me this way.

archives of poetry- poem twenty one

the question is
i wonder what you see
and if you heard
what i just meant
or merely what i said.

i'm here.
that is undeniable
but what appears
in the looking glass
is not what i am
and the frayed memory
of childhood
leaves me fighting regret with my tears.

if i could,
i would change the world for you
because i see the pain in your eyes
and you know
because i love you too.

this life i'm living
has become a game
of hide and seek
but it's not fun anymore
because i've hidden so well
and everyone has forgotten
and left for home
and i'm still hiding
behind this face
that says i'm alright.

i wonder what you see
when i trust you so much
and you can't feel my tears
in your hair
when you hug me...

the wall

i let the sky cry for me
because on my own,
the tears will never fall.
i work so hard at what is not mine-
so hard my hands bleed,
my back aches,
my fingernails are worn
down to nothing
just so they can take it away.

the rain falls gently now.
they can never steal
what is not theirs.
my happiness
my success
my heart and its contents
i'm holding on,
i'm holding on,
and will never let go.

let them destroy the wall
but they cannot touch me
because the sky is crying my tears
and flooding their earth.

just i

we were good friends
sylvia and i
that's a simple fact.

don't ask me when we met
or what we did
i don't know
but whatever it was
we always had fun.
sylvia and i.

we had our parties
our jokes
our pranks
that no one else understood
of course.

we were the bert and ernie
of life
the sylvester and tweety
sylvia and i.

we had it all
life was great
and we were happy-
children dancing
in the meadow
on a sunny day.

we were happy
and life was good.
sylvia died.

just i.

life long spent

the children
find treasures everywhere
in quiet christenings
and faith in believing.

i wish i could be like them.
instead i sell myself short
to an unbroken circle.
i lift my eyes and see
the strength of life
and the beauty of death.

the mischievous eyes
of the babysat
eat my heart out.
blood stained hands
steal away with denial.

friendship severed in
heartbeat failures.
living for success
yet wasting away
forgiveness looked away
and my heart sealed shut
come again another day
crushed like ice
if i should die before i wake.

archives of poetry- poem twenty

you are shallow
laughing, crying
at little things.
silly.
everything's a trip
happy or sad
thousands of friends
just like you
make your life
worthwhile.

you are stupid.
you have a stupid car.
and stupid friends.
you live a stupid,
stupid life.

i think slowly
like an earthworm in mud
what i say is meaningless
because you cannot understand
and i live day to day-
sometimes a friend
sometimes a loner-
you accept me
because you do not know
who i really am.

i want to have a stupid car.
i want to have stupid friends,
a stupid life.
i want to forget the truth.
i want to never think, again.
i want to cry.
i just want, for one day-
just one day of my life
i want to be happy.

winter

the world falls silent
and death seems imminent;
the last leaf has fallen
from the oak
and the last bird has migrated south.

hues of gray
add to the gloom in this frozen world.
naked, ugly branches claw at the sky
as the harsh wind becomes harsher still.

the sun cannot be seen
and its warmth seems long lost.
time has stopped and beauty has died.
winter has arrived.

archives of poetry- poem nineteen

tears run freely
sliding over the features of my face.
trailing behind them is a line of dampness.
they are salty when they touch my lips
and are hot against my skin.
they drip onto the ground
and are forgotten
but with them they carry
anger. hurt. and sorrow.
and these, too, are forgotten.

archives of poetry- poem eighteen

time is slow and has no meaning
it drips incessantly
imprisoning us in its painful grip
and laughing at our struggles.
it goes slower and slower
until we have drowned ourselves
in angry realizations
and anxious fears.
we try to escape but to no avail
we run but cannot hide
respite is death.

if

if i were here or there
in the completeness
of happiness
or crying in little heaps on the floor
like some women these days,
perhaps, even falling into the roles of society
(that horrid beast)
and whining for things that
cannot possibly be obtained,
i think i should be normal.

if significant things were men
and what to wear and how to speak
or who should be my friends
or not
and if i was concerned about whom
i should impress, i think i would be
that most content way to live-
naive and shallow and basically ignorant
of all that matters
and i think i should be normal.

if i was not creative and independent
and a lover of knowledge-
if i were someone who cared
what people think
or dressed to suit a certain person
and talked and moved and lived
for who people want me to be,
i think i should be
extremely bored.

America

it's all politics
i want to die
watch my life flash across the screen
watch my mother start to cry.

it's war where i live
and hell where i don't
could you stop the commotion
i'll give you my vote.

i'm living for you
i'm living for me
i'm dying both ways
and nothing is free.

i hate politics
i don't fit in
the world is full
of dishonest men.

i look put together
but i'm falling apart
i don't even regret it
and i'm breaking your heart.

could you stay for awhile
and listen to me?
life here is expensive
and what you get is so cheap.

yeah yeah yeah
liberty and all that crap
this is America to me.

archives of poetry- poem seventeen

lovely hands
lovely people
lovely hearts.

happy faces all the time
make me want to cry.
little words stab and crush
large holes in my tender heart.
look away. look away.
i am not crying.
i am not crying.

tears welling within my soul
drive me to a crazy state of mind.
you call me unique
but i know what you mean
because i know what i am:
crazy- manic depressive
always with a happy face.
you were thinking the same
but did not want to see me cry.

i will drown myself in tears
turn my face purple blue
oxygen deprived
no happiness alive
fight all my life for truth
and still you say i'm happy fun.

shut up.
just shut your mouth
when you don't know.

i'm crazy.
i'm crazy.
all the world is craziness.

archives of poetry- poem sixteen

homeless child
picture of inner city rejection
carries every thing he owns
head down
he plods along
with nowhere to go.

shiny metal
lying in the gutter
has been there
for days
without anyone
paying any notice.

two things that no one cares for
both, helplessly lost
and yet their lives have crossed.

disappointment
from which one cannot escape
two things that no one wants-
bottle cap lying in the gutter.

following that bus

little lives unknown
tumble effortlessly from the tax funded bus
used for the transport of mini humans
to and from their first means of public education.

and i alone watch the lives
so meaningless to myself
reenact their day in the jettison of bodies
from the big yellow worm.

some stand tall and run up the drive way
eager to explain about a new found friend
or a perfect spelling test.

some struggle with book bags
impregnated with homework
looking as if they just woke
from their afternoon nap.

one small child
wearing tiny glasses
drops papers as he runs
all the way to the waiting arms
of his mother.

and i know
that a future awaits them
a future that is created for them alone.

and each one
i realize
will lead different lives
just as they tumbled
from the gas guzzling bumble bee
in different ways,
with different expectations,
and different fears...

this, my friend, is the future of now.

gift of heaven

in the distance the sky darkens
and the leaves show off their undersides.
a breeze whispers the song of rain
through the still, humid air.
the earth waits, while pleading silently
for this drink of heaven.

without warning- the sky explodes
and the firmament divides.
droplets of beauty sever the endless backdrop of gray.

no longer in the distance,
the storm envelopes me and i am filled with joy.
i lift my arms to receive the beauty
and lightning stretches its fingers
to the far corners of the land.
thunder groans its way throughout the sky
but the rain falls gently.

although darkness encircles me
and gloom is knocking at the door of my heart,
i am happy.

raindrops pelt my face and cover my body
renewing my spirits
i lift my face to the rain, the thunder, the lightning
and i am not afraid.

the dust beneath my feet turns to mud
and it oozes between my toes.
emotionally, i melt into the earth.
i am at one with her
and the comforting arms of the rain surround me.

and as i am cleansed
the earth also is made new
by this gift of heaven.

archives of poetry- poem fifteen

remnants of our lives
memories floating in memory
questions unasked, unknown, unanswered
a step ahead
a step behind
it matters not

music playing in the distance
friends and enemies
in and out of our lives

nothing we do can stop them.

follow where your heart leads
arrive where you will never go
answer with quickness and precision
leave no room for doubt

the world knows your name
just let them not forget

just let them not forget

archives of poetry- poem fourteen

watch my eyes as you watch my actions
hollowness echoes truth
and where is beauty in the winter?

its origin is in imagination and curiosity
its death in the epitome of the lack of knowledge.
so many happy people, oblivious to the truth
are content with nothing.

answer the questions i ask.

you cannot; and cannot explain why
i need you to search
search all your lives for truth
and bring me the answers you find
for what will i tell my children?
what will i tell them?

75

when i'm seventy five
i will wear polka dotted dresses.
i will gossip with the old ladies
at the drug store
about the cute old men
across the counter.

i will brag about my grandkids
and how i still have all my teeth.
i will make persimmon pudding
when people visit
and make them feel obliged to eat it
(but i won't eat any, of course).

i will be a little crazy
and yell because i can't hear.
i will boss people around
and get angry if they don't listen.

i will wear big hats and orange tennis shoes
that will embarrass my family.
i will make up stories about my childhood,
tell corny jokes and laugh like a hyena.

i will collect social security
and use it to feed my pet mice.
i will sleep on the top bunk of a bunk bed...

i will have fun and make being old worthwhile...

archives of poetry- poem thirteen

flashes of light
scream through my head
tiny bugs infest
the things i think

blow wind blow
whisper secrets to the stars
who don't care anyway-
i need the answers
you fall away

no friends
i just need someone to listen
to hear my words
the echoes in the canyon
blasting in to open space

my brain
so much hurt
my heart that is not there

take me
take me far away
to a place i've never been
take me
take me away

one more step

everyday
when things around me fall apart
it's so hard
to see the happiness tomorrow brings
perhaps an hour with the kings
just because i am the queen.

but it never comes
and i'll never see the end
it's lonely when
i cannot find the path i'm meant to take
and my bones begin to break
just because i am the queen.

loneliness has discovered my youth
and i'm convinced there is no truth
you've been there
but you do not seem to care
just because i am the queen.

then on the day
i breathe my last breath
and the hour of death
comes to take me away
you will take the time to say
"i know that you are
the truth queen"

chorus:

yeah and i'll take
one more step to be with you
i'll hold on one more day
perhaps to find a little truth
in all the lies i've seen you through
i'll take one more step
hold on one more day
be there for you again.

archives of poetry- poem twelve

we all need to pray
but more importantly
we all need a little prayer.

sometimes i like to pray
for all those people
who don't have anyone
to pray for them-
because they are the ones
that need it the most.

always pray for your friends-
they are the ones who influence you.

hold tightly to the prayers
of others for you-
these will hold you loved.

listen for the whispered prayers of angels-
you can learn from them.

hold music close to your heart-
there is a prayer in every note.

pray that your enemies
are praying for you.

pray for children
they hold the future in their hands.

pray seriously
otherwise it is ineffective.

pray constantly
you never know when you
or someone else may need it.

prayer is one of the best gifts you can give.

the world is not becoming a better place
and we all need to pray
but every once in awhile
we all need a little prayer, ourselves.

overdose

all alone
in the presence
of her broken dreams
she stares into the eyes
of the unredeemed.

she searches for an answer
from the evil unknown
crying out to no one
bread from skin and bones

defeated by her own hand
all entity denied
she falls prostrate on her face
while demons choose their sides

her body crushed beneath its weight
(just an outer shell)
she jumps into the fiery pit
her soul on wings to hell.

the great deceiver holds her hand
he takes her heart unto his own
and in the moment when things seemed good
he is exalted to her throne

and then she's simply gone
with no other place to turn
she spent her life in dying
it's now her time to burn

archives of poetry- poem eleven

entangled in desolation
never knowing what alone really meant
until there were so many people.

To: Shaun Foley

i miss you
when everyone is sane
because i'm all alone.

i need to debate
miniscule ideas with you
that mean a lot to important people
because intelligence is all we have.

a cup of coffee at Mill Mountain.
perhaps a chardonay.
and all our time together
blends into the last drop
as you tip your mug to the sky.

yesterday we took for granted
what wasn't ours
and retrospect smacks us in the face
stinging and burning
without tears.

tomorrow i'll cry
when you are gone
and i am existing
merely existing
and missing you.

upon my 17th birthday

i'm seventeen now
and i feel so old
so tired.
i'm seventeen
and i can't smile inside.
i just want to sleep.

it's supposed to be the happy times
the best times of my lifetime
but i'm scared
so scared.

so wake me up when it's over
wake me up when my life is gone
wake me up when no one remembers this song.

i'm seventeen, now
and the days are flying by
some friends of mine are married
one even has a kid
i'm seventeen and i've got so much to do,
so much to do and time is running out.

you all go on
happy, living in your homes.
i'm so desperate
watching the world go on
maybe one day i'll go back home
maybe one day i'll be home.

just wake me up when it's over
wake me up when my life is gone
wake me up when no one remembers this song.

archives of poetry- poem ten

sometimes i get tired of trying to be good
and i just don't have it in me to be nice
and every once in awhile,
i simply hate the world.

it is on these mornings
that i sit down at my desk
and cut a smiley face out of red paper
and glue it to my face.

and these are the times
i am the nicest.
these are the times i say kind words.
but this is also when
my spirit has been quenched.

i know you'll never understand
and yet you whisper
"i'll always be your friend."

but if you truly want to know-
whom i hate and whom i love.
if you really want to know
when i'm happy
and when i'm sad-
look closely in my eyes
and you will find my heart.

archives of poetry- poem nine

running through the dewy grass
and sweating in my stinky shoes.
the soggy feel of wet socks
is what i hate.

archives of poetry- poem eight

i am
in search of
a beautiful person
at heart
who will take me as i am-
dream my dreams.
hold my hand.

(not a lover)
(not a husband)
(not an admirer)

i need
someone to talk to
to cry with
to hold me forever-
a soul mate.
a friend.
a keeper of secrets.

my heart is slowly dying.
my soul is burning out.

reply quickly
before it is too late.

knowledge of the ages

that feeling
of being so full of knowledge-
robust with the answers
to every perceivable question.
knowing that, if given time,
wonders could be worked with words.

a dry cough, a sniff here and there
and a hope that within the hour
you will be relieved of this burden.
tense, sitting on the edge of your seat
worried that you haven't studied enough
repeating formulas and verses over and over
until you start mixing them up.
a nervous tapping of your foot begins
implying that your whole body is ready to explode.

then, the test is given
and you are nearly blasted from your chair
as words pour from you unrestrained
onto the blank pages of paper on your desk.

the answers will come.
the test will be taken.
and a grade will be given.
but for now you are writing
in cadence with your heart,
for now you are illustrating
the knowledge of the ages.

dialogue

(whispering)

"so who do you love?"

"no one."

"not even yourself?"

"only sometimes. just sometimes i love myself."

"i know what you mean."

"sometimes is not very often."

"no. not very often at all."

archives of poetry- poem seven

huddled rags of despair
left alone for the laughter
of the cold, setting sun.
on the curb
staring into...

remembering
what never could have been.
hungry,
but more alone
than starving
hopeless eyes search
the puddles lying dormant
for a sign of life
within the rippled lies.

and i found myself
for the very first time.

archives of poetry- poem six

ugly demon of the night
fight for wicked souls like thine
take them to their death and see
that angel truth will conquer thee.

archives of poetry- poem five

i need a teacher of my soul
a light from the darkness
a window, a breath of fresh air.

my tongue is split.
my eyes are closed.
death has treated me better than life.

happy flowers and sweet eulogies
mean nothing at my funeral.

tell me when i'm alive.
tell me that you love me.
tell me that you'll hold me.
hold me like the world could end.

no one has.
no one will.

yet soon we'll see the worth
of what we never had.

we will fly and we will love
like never before-
the light at the end of the tunnel,
i guess.

but i wish i had a soul mate, now.
i wish you were here with me.

archives of poetry- poem four

dreams
crazy bad things happen
but i'm not unhappy.
all pieces of my greater life.

i can't believe what's happening
makes me think crazy.

walking down a road flying.
invincible power but i'm dying.
and no one can help me.

i'm falling off the edge again
crying tears of waterfall.

i lie to escape reality
but i don't exist in dreams.

where will i find truth?
is there no substance where i've been?

angry. happy. sad. joyful.
emotions blend into a pot of happy stew.

i can't believe i think like this.
crazy dreams crazy.

archives of poetry- poem three

the things we've said
disintegrate away
into thousands of millions
and billions of pieces
like broken shards of glass
on the kitchen floor.
time flies.
we wait for tomorrow
that never comes.
wasted-
wasting away
reaching out for something true.
tears fall
over and over-
tumbling, careening down my cheeks.
i wish you were not here.
remember.
the times you held me tight.
that smile or just that glance
and i wish i were dead.
so sorry.
so repentant.

we touch
and the world
slowly
puts itself
together again
piece by piece by piece

archives of poetry- poetry: defined

subconscious emotions drip from my fingers
rushing quickly across the page
or waltzing slowly, perhaps.

thoughts too large
for the human mind to comprehend
in mere tones,
thoughts that must be
read. repeated. memorized.
dreams. fears. doubts that none
can accurately describe
but in the cryptic lettering
left to critics who never get it right.

the embodiment of beauty
which far exceeds
that which man can see
for poetry solely is what man can imagine

archives of poetry- poem two

the ladder to dreams evades
the hopeful who are not strong.
i can't believe i'm all alone
watching the words drip from your mouth
in angry sarcasm
running freely down my skin-
slowly, subconsciously sinking in-
deeper and deeper.

i shut it out.
i amputate my mind so i can forget
that i am not strong.

i live all day in this wretched world.
i laugh when i need to
for the sole purpose of steadying my existence.
friend of many.
friend of none.

i survive each day by thinking that perhaps, tomorrow...

but no, there only remains
the eternal chant within me:

you are not strong
you can't be strong
you must be strong
you're always wrong

over and over and over again.

archives of poetry- poem one

the touch you've left behind
like the mosaic in your skin
whispers happy memories
of times when life was innocence.

i want to hold your hand
be your best friend again
but the worlds that separate
loom as large as the distant setting sun.

the years that look so dark between us
mean nothing as you teach me what you've learned.

but now, i am sure that i have become what i am
because you were always there, watching.

although i am aware that i can never learn enough-
not all the secrets.
not all the happiness.
not all the beauty of life.

although i'll never see it all-
i know that you'll be somewhere-
somewhere near or far-
waiting.
waiting.
with all the words
i know you'll say.