Category Archives: poetry

Ghost

As I walk this shadow side by side
A recollection of a friend of mine
Memories hung in light of dreams
Shadows are nightmares too, it seems

As I walk this shadow walk away
Never a shadow is here to stay
Voices hinge on secrets passed
Never shadows could ever last

As I walk this shadow to the ending light
The ghost beside me dies to night
A weary hand beside the moon
The walking shadow gone too soon

As I walk this shadow to no sound
The ghost of you looses ground
A ghostly shadow next to me
Your never shadow should will never be

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Lost Song

Lost Song

Sitting in night contemplating days, the music in my head
Running through madness, this beat found dead
Listen to the song of our life, hear the memories we left behind
An inspiring melody we drew
Fantasy poem as simple as you

In one beat your mine, in one note I’m yours
Memory fades, in what verse did we close the doors
Afraid in this song, alone too soon
Drowning in meaning, singing a different tune

Sweet lyrics tell me goodbye
Beautiful words say you aren’t mine
In a lost song the words become you or me
Love forgotten, in an unloved melody

Running between the music, grasping the lie
Tempted to sing, I try and I try
Under the stars, lost in words
Tear up our song
…In lyrics I don’t belong

lost song

 
© Tania L Ramos

Life is Longing For You

I still say I’m not much for being a poet. That being said, this song came to me in a dream. One of those vivid dreams where even when you wake you’re left to wonder if it was real; some kind of deja vu. I was walking through an alley on a rainy afternoon, everything was tinged under a blue filter. A soft, almost jazz like sound filled the air, and I was inclined to find the source. The tune was romantic, yet heartbreaking, reminiscent of a lover in sorrow. I wasn’t running, yet I moved quickly to find the music. As I grew closer, the sound of words became clear and the alley ways shifted from blue to subtle red. Not an eerie kind of red, but red like the sunset and soft. Finally, the words became clear and resounded so beautifully that I stopped in place and closed my eyes to sway in the painful loss of the lyrics. A moment later I stepped out of the alley to find traffic speeding by on a busy street, with a woman standing in the middle of the road, singing without a care as delicate droplet of rain drenched her body. I caught the very end of her song, and watched in aw. When her song ended, she looked up at me and I could decipher the tears from the rain. I couldn’t help but begin to sing the words, and she smiled, happy that someone heard her.

When I opened my eyes the song was still playing in my ears. I grabbed my cell phone and quickly jotted down the only lyrics I could remember. To this day, I hear that song as clear as drops of rain.

Life is Longing For Youlife is longing for you

My life is longing for kisses

Longing for misses

My life is for seeing us through

Bring back your smile

Bring back your style

Bring back the silvery moon

Then shower my heart

It’s yours from the start

And tell me I’ll see you real soon

Because life is for kissing

You’re all that I’m missing

My life is longing for you

Petals on a Rose

The poem my mom asked for only days before her passing. She said, “You need to write a poem about not being able to fix petals falling off a rose.” Maybe she knew her time was short. I never got the chance to read it to her.

Petals on a Rose

moms roses2

Rose petals from mom’s casket spray in her favorite green vase

If you were here with me you would see
A million memories of us drifting free

The days we laughed and days we cried
The years we spent together side by side

Those days are now remnants on weary dreams
And yet I hear your voice in all I see

Your scent has left, but your smile not lost
Those days we owned were worth the cost

I want you back, but my heart now knows
You can’t put petals back on a rose

 

Tania L Ramos, BSN RN

Spring Girl

Thought I’d share one of those 4 a.m. poems. I’ll let you figure out what its about, but damn!

Spring Girl

Spring is a place to live so free
The fields of gold, the hurting tree
The spec of a girl with eyes blue as the sea

Summer sun burns so unfair
Words and snickers also there
The spring girl with the burnt brown hair

Fall drops pain from its fingertips
Shunning and bruising wicked tricks
The spring girl with the rosy pink lips

Winter shatters and freezes out sin
People are cruel again and again
The spring girl with the pasty pale skin

Retrieved from: http://vi.sualize.us/face_hair_eye_face_woman_picture_a3WK.html

A season turns like a wily fox
Laugh at your joke, throw your rocks
Stare at the spring girl in the pretty wood box

Copyright @TaniaLRamos 2014

Tania L Ramos, RN, Author

The 4 a.m. Poet

Every day we live, we learn. If you think you know everything about yourself then you are most certainly wrong. Opinions change from day to day, and one simple bad experience, or one wonderful great experience can sway you in an entirely different direction.

There are paths in life; some you chose, some you follow, some are pre-designed. For example; my daughter was adamant that she would hate surf school, that she would drown, be left out in the big waves alone, and most likely die. After much convincing, and the promise that she only had to try once then could walk away, she gave it a go. Wouldn’t you know (because I knew) that she loved it!

We just don’t know what we can do until we do.

I for one appreciate poetry, but a poet I am not. My brain thinks in long strands with elaborate situations, much to wordy for poetry. Then I had a two day run with messing up my internal sleeping clock. Day two was quite unique in that I promptly fell asleep at 9 p.m. then promptly woke up at 1 a.m. Wide awake! About 3 a.m. I was able to fall back asleep, but by 4 a.m. my brain was back on. Well, I assume it was back on, though the part of the brain that tells the body its awake was off. I remember 4 a.m. like I remember 10th grade geometry.

aa4But there on my phone was proof that some kind of electrical function was fusing at 4 a.m. Three poems on my phone, all written within 45 minutes of each other. Three very very different poems from heartache to funny to surreal all stared at me at 7 a.m. with the option to “save.” I was amazed; dumbfounded! They weren’t half-bad and one made me laugh. Maybe I’ll be sleep deprived a few more days, because apparently I’m only a poet at 4 a.m.

Tania L Ramos

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It’s All On Me

traipsing the verge of life
climbing darkened peaks
looking over jagged graves
realizing it’s all on me

forging denser plains
pushing into hidden trees
conquering what was lost
realizing it’s all on me

mountain peak

 

 

 

 

sinking from perfect places
finding peace in need
shouting from highest mountains
realizing it’s all on me

straining at shattered echoes
touching rougher seas
drowning in these shimmering ghosts
realizing it’s all on me

Tania L Ramos, Poetry Inspired by “Be Still” and character Dr. Jack Silver

Who is Dr. Jack Silver? he’s not a poet.  He’s a man, a father, was a husband, and now he’s dying.  Do you believe in the afterlife? Jack Silver is unsure what to think, but what he finds is the most terrifying and beautiful redemption ever. What he faces, is himself. What he leaves behind, is another story all together.

BeStillNovel.com

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