The Self-absorption of Man (Sonnet I)

I am victim of the same vainglory,

As many men before—I often sigh

Arrogant breaths as I write the story

Of penitence I watch wither and die.

From conceited lips come sputtered speeches—

I am guilty of my own thoughtless ink,

Spilt to satisfy the inner reaches  

Of my thoughts, as deep as my kitchen sink.

I have lived the self-absorption of man—

The feeling, I assume, plagues every mind

That has ever thought since time first began—

I regret the ego I’ve not declined.

I have turned my back on kindness—the light—

Now I wish to grasp it with all my might. 

    DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Stricken

I have been bitten, stricken, slaughtered by my heart—

I have died a thousand deaths alone in the dark.

There is anguish—there are aches, and pangs that pierce

Though my flesh and sorrow me in the shadows.

I am a man, I think. I am human, it seems—

But when I am left alone, I ruminate,

And create images that should never—ever—

Cross my consciousness or keep me awake.

I have been puzzled and pondered—beat and squandered...

I have been led astray by dreams, desires, and feelings.

Dusk is a dreary time for anger and ire to rage—

The shadows act as a mask to hide behind…

I am lost and bleeding, still wishing of being…

No! I must be silly… I must stop this insane thinking.

I have fallen for fallacy—my heart is weakening…

And I fear there is nobody left to keep the bad thoughts out.

      DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

Sentiment

I am going to sit down and try

To not worry so much about

Rhythm or alliteration—I want

To express sentiment from the bottom

Of my heart. I want to give a

Passage to you to take, so that

When you have a day where your

Heart feels amiss, you will still

Find time to smile—I am

Going to abandon metre and poetic structure—

Throw grammar out the window—

And tell you that I have concluded,

That there simply is nobody with

A sweeter heart, a more graceful smile.

I have never met somebody who

Has captivated me so completely,

That I toss and turn each night

Trying to get them out of my head…

And I’m afraid to admit, on one occasion,

Sleep never did come, and I was met

With the birds and sun by morning.

I wish I had more to give, a more

Imaginative mind to express these words,

But all I can say is this… I will

Always be rooting for your happiness

No matter where in the world I am.

Of anybody, you deserve to smile,

You deserve to feel the joy this world

Has to offer. I cannot believe my

Endless luck, to have you in my life.

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com 

Slipping Sands

We are mortals with misguided reason

For hopelessly hoping and hording beliefs.

We walk with heavy feet—we prowl—

In our darkest hour, ear to dwindling howls—

The night is our blackened season.

Beneath our beds, the demons claim,

And flicker signs of haunted beings.

We do our best, with human hands,

To forge happiness from slipping sands—

We romanticize the fumbling flame.

In our hearts we are self-centered

And selfish—we are a step away

From being evil and abhorred—

Altruistic desire will be ignored—

If the path is never ventured.

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com 

Strangers

One night, I sat, and felt as though

I had been twisted inside out—

My heart had been plucked,

And punctured—it had been

Horded and misplaced,

And I pondered upon serendipity,

As I chuckled coyly.

I wondered of the strangers

Who walk with uncertain struts—

Faltering gazes lead to bashful ruts,

Shoulders brush and heads become

Carefree—filled with needless luck.

I learned a lesson, of nothingness—

To remain blank is surely best.

And bitterly I began to pace,

Back and forth as I failed to reminisce

The exact reason of my heart’s escape—

The reasoning behind my chase,

The inner voice, leading me astray.

Humbled in the way of the fool,

I remain, a forcefully empty page.

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

Serendipitous Muck

It could have hailed an empty seat,

As easily as the fortune of hapless luck.

Literation licks the edge—curtails—

Of a surplus of supposings, serpentine

Sayings that wrap around poetic meaning,

And get cut, by brevity’s churning.

Nearly, or equally, as curious and cunning,

It could have crafted with the momentum

Of monumental token, and held torches,

To reason and being—as it wrote a story

Of reminiscent thieving—a merry crime,

Of veracious, victimless animation.

Actuality could acted as a fantastic

Comparison to a colourless and doleful

Dream that dies and delivers itself to me—

And befriended with paradox and repartee,

It could have laughed heartily at lethargy

And cheerless cretins who balefully

Blow words of discouragement

Mixing venially with dreadful yearning.

It is youthful sight, and unaccounted for

Improvisation, that sets an iconic image

Of fizzling circumvention—as easily

As a misstep or blunder—I wonder—

If I could have reimagined the beginning—

The silent, slippered steps that slid gently.

I err to remember or forget, the in-between

Or distal luck, that has lingered, laced

With karma and serendipitous muck. 

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

Sight

I wished a wish of fairy tale sentiment,

A longing heist that I want no part of.

But caught in a web—a mesh that cannot

Be thicker—I slip and flounder,

I misstep and blunder…

I howl and beat around, as I endure

Endearment and engagements.

I have encumbered the enjambments

Of a riddled mess, I am nothing,

Nothing but a shepherd’s pet—

With a tapered heart, and an unjustifiable

Longing that exists.

My own accounts and hopes of reason

Always seem to miss, as I bungle

The being that twists my seeing.

Sight is such a silly sense, blinding

Sensible gentleman, and weighing

Heavily on a long forgotten memory.

It is sight that coolly confronts,

The eyes of a lustful villain

But it is the feeling, which remains

Always—forever being.  

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Stories

I’ve grown weary—wasted of—

Stories pandered by a weaker mind,

Written upon stolen ink, rhymed,

And forcefully forging tales of love,

Lamentation, bitterly unkind…

Hearted fables which remain mistimed.

I have sought and searched, dejected,

Brooded upon the secrets seized,

Moments written to make me ill.

I am misguided and misdirected—

I am sick, and plagued, and diseased

By stories that bind me still.

Hopeful awakenings are born to craze,

And at the same time, speak!

Telling of an irony, most intriguing—

Binding belfries and belonging—days

Captured by the subtle mystique,

Telling tales, I find, fatiguing.

But the legends withheld are thieving…

They are nothing—nothing if not art—

Trueness, being, survival and meaning.

Meaning! And belief from a spark!

Surely they have been built, in part,

To march… To march upon the ark!

The animals, in loving shapes,

Speak of why they have been woke.

The giraffes, lemurs, and finches too,

Hippopotami, cockatoos, and apes,

Have all learned of the madness spoke—

They’ve all sought shelter aboard the zoo.

Beastly tongues reminisce, two by two,

Wish ghastly thoughts to demons born—

Beings they have not met, but assume,

Are creatures who cannot be true.

More shameful looks have not be worn,

On the ark, as the flowers bloom.

           DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

Selfish

I could dream a dream, of fairy tale bliss—

Of dragon, of knight, of a princess’s kiss.

Caught in falsehood, that will never wilt

I could walk upon the Eden I have built.

And if I could create the sea and land,

 I would hold the fairest hand—

Oh, but what a selfish dream,

That I dare not ever begin to scheme.

I could pluck the brightest star from the sky—

And keep it so that it may never die…

But what of the travelers blind by night,

Fumbling through the dark, with stolen sight?

I could dream a dream of selfish pride,

Of greed, of envy, of all I hide—

But sleep—a dream—cannot be pure

Beneath a spell, cast without a cure.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Swans

In my hand I hold the hymn of all I’ve loved—

The decisive melody surely wrote to play me off.

There is no laudation left, or lust to reminisce,

Just longing, built of dreams I’ll surely miss,

Masterpieces mangled into a script of mindless quests.

My heart has struck and now I hear the swans,

Synchronized in a sorrowed song representing

The annihilation of all I’ve loved—all that’s gone.

Serenaded in the darkness, I stand witness

To the curtains upon my head, and I watch

The lights go out, myself, held in a listless cage.

My tears wed the page I hold as I look back

At the path from which I’ve came—

The forested trail which will never lead me home.

I have followed my heart and been led astray,

Deeper and deeper into the heart of night.

    DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Storm

On the eve of the supposed storm,

I stood in line all night, at the store—

And with my gaze, I undressed the roses,

Fickle, thorned—beauty in their deceit.

But then, from amidst the animosity,

One plain orchard stood bold before me.

Petals violet—leaves vast and preened.

As I swayed to solidify my disbelief,

I hesitated and withdrew my reach.

At that moment, I wanted to give

The flower to you, more than I cared

To take my next breath.

I racked my brain, fantasized of stealing

The lissome plant to leave on your step,

So the beauty I saw may have imbued

A sweeping smile across your lips

While you carried it in with you,

And placed it on the ledge nearest the fridge.

But alas, such grace and superfluous behaviour

Is well beyond my capability... So I sit,

Reminded of the orchid that I never gave—

The smile that I did not create.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Shame of Defeat

The walk home is cold, through the ice and snow—

Dreams left in the sleet, hiding the truth,

This is defeat, I have left my feet—

Watch me slip and fall, face down on the street.

My demons pick me up, scratch out my eyes

I'm walking blind, be my guide, take me home—

So I dig my grave, lies grit through my teeth,

But I lie to deny, defeat my dear.

The walk home is cold, the walk of shame—

The walk of broken limbs and dreams.

This is defeat, I have left my feet—

Watch me slip—watch me cry, watch me ire.

Knee deep in fallen snow, down a lonely road—

Making sure you never see me bleed,

I hide my fears, hide my shame, hide my tears,

Planning the day I rise again, day I die again.

       DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Scripted

So tempting to step to the edge,

I hesitate—engulfed in the fear I create,

My toes trickle over the ledge while

At the bottom, fear awaits my descent.

Forgive the words I will never utter

And the devotion I would never give,

But beneath my breath I mutter,

The sentiment you know is buried deep.

Across the river the wildflowers grow,

But here we stand—across the pond—

Life, for all it's highs and lows

Has scratched us from head to foot.

You will leave your life behind

If you give me time to find peace—

My body has no love for my mind,

And that's the way it will always be.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Step Out of The Shadows

Step out of the shadows, feel the burning light—

Let yourself become a child, exposed and defenseless—

Yearn for greatness through watered eyes.

Joy, evasive, is always on the horizon,

Happiness mocks you, above your reach.

This is your life, without hope or direction—

Years pass and distance separates your silly dreams,

A child forever, forced to become an adult.

So rapid you age, no time to tie the knot,

Strangers are growing far apart.

A bitterness is left behind with each heartbreak

Anger that feeds your ambition,

Leaves you feeling empty inside

Step out of the shadows, feel the burn against your skin,

Cast aside the cloak that keeps you numb

And curse and scream,

Lash out and release the hate,

Break everything not yet broken—

Forget the words not yet been spoken.

 DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Seventeen

Could you put your entire life on hold

And forgo the dreams you have

Just for your one shot?

Could you wait until your body is broken

Before you take your first steps outside?

The nights will be long as the days pass you by,

The words you want to speak will die on your tongue

While you continue your journey forward.

Faces will come and pass, friendship will never last—

There is no turning back.

Could you watch her leave you without wavering

When she realizes she will always come second?

Can you live a life of loneliness,

Day in, day out?

Can you live never being the person you wanted to be,

For one shot at greatness?

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Standing Still

So fragile, we live our lives—

Imperative routine controls us

As we forget the ones we love.

For this world we live is fluid;

As soon as we find ourselves

In the midst of happiness

It is torn away.

For a single second

The world seems right,

But before we have time to smile

Our loved ones are torn away.

Pieces of ourselves fade—

We begin to feel like broken soldiers

Lining the bottom of a toy box.

We convince ourselves, tomorrow’s the day:

We tell somebody we love them,

We step towards our dreams,

We live like we always wanted.

Someday tomorrow won’t come,

And we will be left with regret

Or with a smile on our face.

But either way, our eyes fade grey.

Life isn’t what we’ve expected,

But it can still be all we wanted.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Somebody Worth Knowing

We all follow the same quest—

To love each other and to be void of hate.

I want to be there with you—pick you up when you fall

And be there to say good morning when you wake.

We all want to be loved and to have a good night’s sleep—

To find happiness and to be swept off our feet.

I want you to take my hand and guide me through the dark,

Show me what it’s like to have something worth protecting,

Remind me of the sanctity I have forgotten.

I want to know what it feels like to fight—

To have my body broken and my face beaten,

For these thoughts I carry will never be enough,

And I will never know what it is I left behind.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Shadow

I want to speak the words I live without,

To surrender to her and everything she is.

Because she’s the one I dream about,

The angel that keeps me awake by night.

I don’t want to spend another day

Trying to guess what she truly thinks.

Let destiny lead her and I astray

So I can keep feeling forever.

I want to hold her next to me,

To tell her how special she has become.

But sadly my dream will never be—

A distant shadow I remain.

      DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Secret Fears

I worry that you will forget about me

While I am still thinking of you—

I am afraid that I won’t be able

To take your breath away

No matter how hard I try.

I’m starting to think it’s true

That dreams aren’t meant to last—

When I attempt to forget you

I’m drawn deeper than before,

I become lost.

Strangers Walk

These streets don’t feel like home,

When I march upon them alone.

The ghosts that walk with me

Are memories of our youth;

I think we were both naïve,

Or perhaps we just didn’t want to think

That someday we would be torn apart.

I think it meant more to me,

Because you seem to be doing fine

And I’m still wandering alone—

I still don’t know where I’m headed

But I’ll search the whole world.

We walk the streets as strangers do,

Our voices foreign and faces concealed.

On separate paths we march,

Bound to never meet again.

       DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com