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ISAAC MAYES'S POETRY

Awesomely Weird

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WELCOME

I wanted a good way to share my poetry. I thought a blog would be a little more
suitable than Facebook, plus many people don’t use Facebook. I hope you will
enjoy what you see here.


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Featured post
Featured 0


I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE ANYMORE

I don’t know how to write anymore.

My literary muscles have grown sore,

from lack of use— I’m such a bore.

I crave attention and my pen’s my whore.

I don’t know who I am writing for

For Thee?

Or Me?

For Fear of Apathy?

For Fate or Muse?

For Love or Hate?

My clumsy verse and rhyme are poor,

and boredom’s cure becomes a chore.

8.18.2021





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August 19, 2021 0


A POEM DISPLAY

a poem display
nothing to say
meaningless rhyme
and wasted time
a shallow art
from empty heart
2.16.2021


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February 24, 2021 0


FOUND IN THE TRASH BIN

Found in the Trash Bin

I should be fine

But what if I’m not

She could be mine

Banish the thought

I want to try

But I’m so new

My feelings don’t lie

What if they do

What if I die

What is it to you

What if I die

What is it to you

I want to see

I want to be free

There is no time

I broke the rhyme

Can I do anything

Am I nothing

To you

You

Must want someone new

Someone not so blue

Someone with good qualities more than a few

I broke it

I hate it

It’s a crappy poem

With sappy gloam

No one should ever read it

8.16.2018


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April 20, 2020 0


LOVE IS A RIVER

Love is a river, but not how you think.

Flowing love: an unseen current of death.

Filling the heart— life’s sweetest drink.

Flooding the heart—quenching beloved’s breath.

So I built dams to hold back hope and love,

afraid that the river would pull you deep.

You will not dive, to hold your head above,

so affections in reservoir I keep.

Despite crystal gleam you’re afraid to fall,

to be swept off your feet may not be glee,

in the current you would forfeit control.

Cruelty it’d be to let passion flow free

Faster flows are murky, dark, and unclear.

Falling in love is a fair thing to fear.

8.17.2018


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September 18, 2018 0


FIREWORKS

They stood in awe

Of the sky’s fire blooms

Hurray! A land with rights, law

Celebrated by thunderous booms,

And I

I must admit

I enjoyed them too:

The whizzes and thundercracks,

I among those that cried “ooo”

At heavenward glimmering tracks

But I

I can’t lie

I found it was but a moment’s glee

Gone like smoke (literally) was the glow

Same bursts we never again shall see,

I had no lasting effect from the show

Because I

I’ve always known

That the heavens were spangled long before,

And its stars will remain— and our flag shall pass,

Despite the pops: extravagance galore

I am still in awe of the beauty of the moon.


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April 16, 2018 0


PINEAPPLE

It’s an odd-looking fruit

with a spiky green hat,

a patterned yellow suit,

charming— but fat.

–

It’s bold— not very humble,

in polygon armor it’s wrapped,

its leaves do not crumble,

and golden treasure is sapped.

–

Labour is made to extract,

the volume is really cut down.

To eat, quick you must act.

you bite and flip up a frown.

–

At least so I had heard,

about this odd-shaped fruit.

–

I tried the odd-tasting fruit:

I enjoyed it quite so,

but after eight or six bites,

the dark side began to show

–

You see this odd textured fruit,

began to fight fiercely back.

The acid and odd-brown-spots

against my cheeks made an attack.

–

The odd-fighting fighting fruit has tried

to keep me away from it.

It tried to not let me inside,

and tried to make me regret.

–

But the odd-trying fruit,

fails to keep me away,

The sores do not make me quit;

rather, I can’t stay away.



4.20.2017


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April 21, 2017 3


SHE’S A TROUBLED GIRL

She’s a troubled girl

She thinks that nobody cares,

But all the while I struggle not to stare.

She invests in the superficial,

Slathering her face— becoming artificial.

She begs for attention

With her fake complexion.

–

I’ve noticed the make-up and hair

But about that I hardly even care

And I know she’d be relieved to stop

Decorating her face as a prop.

But I’ve noticed how just one cheek

Dimples when she laughs,

A sound that makes me weak,

And the curls of hair

She always runs her fingers through

And how to a book her nose is glued too.

–

At night she fights demons

And wonders whether life is worth living

And every night prayers she’s giving

For just a bit of peace.

She struggles to know what God sees.

–

I’m afraid to confess for fear

Of rejection from this girl

Who is unsure if God even hears.

–

The risk of making a small break

In my heart

Is worth it for merely her sake.

For if I can show her

She is of value

Risking a heart

Is an easy thing to do.

2.14.2017


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April 7, 2017 0


IF MY MIND WAS WRITTEN DOWN IN A BOOK

If my mind was written down in a book,

I wonder what sort of writing it’d be?

I doubt that you’d get it if you would look,

Rather it would perplex quite thoroughly.

Novel it would not be, or have a plot.

Scrapbook more likely would be its patchy form,

Scattered contradictions and mindless thoughts.

I’d be tempted to have a few pages out torn.

You may not understand the things you read

But you don’t need to know to see my love

And hope and faith in the one who bled;

Only that is enough before above.

Or it’d be fourteen lines: three groups of four

One two, but that form has been done before.

11.31.2016


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March 21, 2017 0


BITTER IT IS, TEMPER’MENTAL, A HEART

Bitter it is, temper’mental, a heart.

Jealous and mad it fumes billows and growls

Insane— memory has it turned to hard

Awful— it pains owners as night wind howls

Madness had claimed pow’r o’er my young heart’s ways

caused by careless treatment by you and me

Foolish we were to think we knew love’s ways

Broken was my heart by hopeful folly

Angry I was, but now I know that you

did not intend to mar my soul; knew not

you did it was you I’d giv’n my heart to

Foolish it was, but now I’ve paid my lot

Healing I am, now that my heart is still

since I forgave the scar you did not will.


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March 14, 2017 0
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