Tag Archives: Tarringo T. Vaughan

Thoughts From A Loft At The End Of June

Posted on in Another Crack In the Sidewalk | 0 comments
loft_by_sycamores_and_cedars-d4u7c33

I wonder what Langston Hughes would’ve done if there were no words – I wonder how he would’ve taught the world about deferred dreams if there was no way to write the blues.  I wonder what would become of language if the fears of Shakespeare didn’t tell tales in old English rhyme and didn’t retell […]

Sunset Road

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
Road_Trip_by_Dynnnad

A poet’s mind never sleeps; you can hear it crying through tears when the soul weeps and even inside the journey of a dream it lays awake, roaming off into fields of imagination where summer leaps. Sometimes, often…as I look off into the sunset, I find myself asleep with open eyes standing off to the […]

Portrait Of A Poet

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
9904830-Vintage-letter-concept-Stock-Photo-poetry-pen-writer

I once stood unknowing, unaffected, untouched and uninspired by their brilliance:  words sprinkled on a canvas abstract in their meaning and obsolete in their influence.   I had no connection to their worth as they were strangers to my intelligence. To be honest, I found them quiet boring and to me they were just whoring […]

DOB

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
black-boy-street-art-Copy

The Thirty-Ninth Song             Written April 27, 2015   Time only pauses but for one day and it is during this stillness of life that I take the time to find my own reflection  through the shadows of yesterday,  It is during this hesitance that I log my thoughts into the journals of tomorrow.   […]

‘Irony’ from the Public Journal of Thoughts and Translations

Posted on in Public Journal: Thoughts and Translations | 0 comments
il_fullxfull.287930729

Life peeks at me just to make sure I’m living.   …and isn’t it ironic how you find the growth in yourself that you felt would always be hidden.  And that growth is like a ticking time bomb just waiting to be triggered by fate.  For me that explosion usually happens after a mistake or […]

I Heard The Blues In Her Eyes

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
I-heard-the-blues-in-her-eyes

Her tears only dripped when my eyes closed. I pretended not to hear them but I listened, I listened to the clutch of her heart whisper an apology asking for the forgiveness/of my hunger. I wasn’t mad at mama, she was younger; younger than most mother’s. Twenty-one years of age standing in welfare lines reaching […]

One Of Many

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 2 comments
man-in-crowd-Raymond-Zrike

I am just one of many experiments who stand alone in rehearsed crowds lost in a maze of widowed daydreams trying to find tomorrow with transient eyes shut to the reality of yesterday. It is when I open my mind that I – not only see – but recognize that I am just one of […]

Yesterday’s Past

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
yesterdays-Past

Sometimes you can forget where you came from, but that somewhere will never forget you. Memories triggered by glimpses of familiar faces. Smiles I once knew and eyes I once recognized repainted a portrait of childhood over twenty years aged, but never faded on the canvas of yesterday’s past. They were reminders of who I […]

Fourteen

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
writing

Fourteen A moment of greatness is when one recognizes his own identity.  I was just a young boy, barely fourteen years of age staring down at a blank piece of yellow lined paper with a pencil twirling in my right hand. There were so many things to write but my mind couldn’t find the voice […]

Alone In The Dark

Posted on in Poetry: Tears Of A Poet | 0 comments
alone-in-the-dark

Alone In The Dark I was a silly little boy sitting all along with nothing but darkness staring back at me. Most little boys were afraid of the dark; afraid of what lurked behind closest doors and underneath twin beds; afraid of some indescribable creature reaching to snatch them in their sleep. Not I though. […]