What we’ve taken on heavies our load
Done with such confidence that we seemed bold
Truth be known we’ve slipped up before now
Dreams had to be left behind disavowed
Not being forgot, a slower path we’ll take
Our reputation being built on what we make
Not like Sisyphus we’ll roll over the peak
Finding smaller hills from others who speak
© 2016 Michael Yost 5/23
Posted in Poetry
Tagged A Newer Destiny, A Slower Path, Choices, Consequences, Depression, Embrace, Expectations, Michael Yost, Writing
If she would love me I’d feel it forced
If she would love me I’d feel remorse
It should have happened already by now
It should have happened before our vows
If I had known it was out of sympathy
If I had known before today she’d be free
It should have been done with feelings of love
It should have been done without feeling shoved
If you told me I wouldn’t be grieved
If you told me I would feel deceived
It should have been your responsibility
It should have been six so you were easier to carry
© 2011 Michael Yost 06/27
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anger, Anxiety, Blame, Choices, Confusion, Consequences, Death, Deception, Expectations, Fear, Friendship, Love, Michael Yost, Sadness, Vengeful Revenant, Writing
Start capturing your own irrational fears
Before they take over and become too severe
They can cancel your life before it begins
You could cut yourself off and fall deep within
You can put down on paper just what came to mind
Doesn’t mean that you’ve found or know where to find
Relief from this maze or where it’s defined
Because when you’re inside you feel maligned
© 2011 Michael Yost 07/10
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Consequences, Expectations, Irrationality, Michael Yost, Poetry
You hurt when one of your loved ones hurts. There are no words that can make their hurt go away or ease unrequited love. All you can do is be there when needed.
2016 Michael Yost 04/08
Posted in Just Write, Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Consequences, Depression, Expectations, Michael Yost, Poetry
Her side is cold again
Asking aloud what about us
I’ve have always been here
I did it this time by turning your head away
Nobody lives forever on the blue
Smaller than a grain of sand’s molecules
Single molecules one million times smaller than a grain
Tumbling in the abyss being pushed and pulled
The walls were cold and very white
Not unlike the foam from her ski do’s wake
I caused her to look away and she hit a boat
And her side will again be cold
© 2013 Michael Yost 05/06
Posted in Free Verse
Tagged Blame, Boat, Choices, Cold Again, Consequences, Death, Depression, Guilt, Michael Yost, No goodbyes, Ski Dos, Writing
That’s Pete and myself 20 years ago.
Today I walked the rail alone, because Pete had to ride.
It was a beautiful coach and everything;
He always looked his best in his dress blues.
It was a beautiful spring morning then too.
The ground was soft that morning and fruitful;
The worms we got were huge and the trout ate em up.
Almost as big as the ones crawling out from under that tarp.
I brought this picture today to remember important things.
Pete’s sacrifice is obvious and full of meaning.
What’s not so obvious is that
Pete greased the last three feet of that rail.
©2011 Michael Yost 01/14
Pete is everyone’s brother, son and father
up.the.anteater@gmail.com
Whispers of the truth somehow lose their way
People find enjoyment changing what they convey
Others can’t genuinely hear what was said
More often I think this is how lies are spread
When whispers come stop them in their tracks
Don’t be part of the problem don’t join the attack
Or tell them to speak up so all around can hear
Besides if you’ve done nothing what would you fear
© 2011 Michael Yost 06/26
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Consequences, Depression, Expectations, Fear, Love, Michael Yost, Poetry, Whispers, Writing
Renewed feelings slipped through my defense
Had to make room they were getting intense
Beating back only stiffened their resolve
Heart’s overflowing as it dissolves
Passing by again her head held high
Mona Lisa smile eyes piercing deny
Any love left has gone by the way side
Now I see it nothing’s left but to die
© 2016 Michael Yost 03/23
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Consequences, Death, Depression, Expectations, Fear, Found Memories, Lonliness, Love, Michael Yost, Mona Lisa, Poetry, Writing
Where did my love go for my faith
Why does it seem so easy now to hate
Father and sins down the rabbit hole
Tethered behind I search for my soul
Having lived above I seen Him bleed
Now reaching out to plant my seed
My faith as huge a mustard seed’s small
Is going to move mountains overall
Closing my eyes I see it done
Opening my eyes what moved was the sun
Faith knows it’s done when my eyes betray
Knowing it’s already done is the only way
© 2016 Michael Yost 03/22
*Matt 17:20
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Choices, Consequences, God, Love, Michael Yost, Poetry, Seed of Faith, Wonder, Writing
Yesterday I believe was our start
Today marks the binding of our hearts
Tomorrow starts the journey of our love
With the showing of the two white doves
The world was our bumpy road ahead
Laughing with each new bump as we sped
Not a care or worry crossed our minds
That is before they ran a stop sign
The angels were there to push our car
Before the semi got very far
Still the semi hit the brakes
Saving all our lives for Heaven’s Sake
© 2016 Michael Yost 03/17
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Consequences, Death, Dreams, Love, Michael Yost, Poetry, Writing
I question my motives everyday
Trying to find the righteous way
Not giving into a hateful fate
Nor pushing through or jumping gates
Not giving into the path of ease
Coming across like you meant to please
Opening my heart and letting you in
Was my final mistake my final sin
© 2016 Michael Yost 03/17
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Consequences, Dreams, Expectations, Hateful Fate, Jumping Gates, Love, Michael Yost, Motives, My Final Sin, Path of Ease, Poetry, Wonder, Writing
Terry looked down at his bloody knuckles, “Dammed red heads, who knew that peckerwood was going to hit his head on the cement stairs?” “Well help me put him in the boat and let’s grab some of those cinder blocks.”
Pulling up at 2:30am the brothers parked by the boat ramp. The thermos steam was starting to trail off the cup until you blew on it and then it fogged up the windows. Joe broke the silence, “You didn’t have to kill that kid.” “Joe, that wasn’t a kid or a sixteenth, he was trying to rip us off, and hell I only hit him once.”
Look at that, someone has already put their Bass Master in the water and its only 3am. The State Game and Fishing Officer pulled in, parked and then walked over to talk to the two fellas. “You fellas look new to the area. How are you this morning?”
“Stay calm Terry, whispered Terry.” “Morning Officer, we’re doing OK. We used to come here as kids and it’s our first time back. We sure are looking forward to getting some bass today.”
“Well before you go out let me update you about our little place here. My son runs the bait shop and prints the local rag, “The Fish WRapper”. We’re still a small fishing community here at Liars Cove. You’ve got to be off the lake at 4pm. We’re just big enough to support a State Game and Fishing Officer, but small enough that I have to share an office with my big mouth son Peter, but he prefers to be called Junior.”
“Well this is Terry and I’m Joe. If you don’t mind we’re going to get out on the lake. We’ll catch up some more later this afternoon.”
“That sounds good boys; my name is Officer Michael P Pecker, senior. Oh and junior’s a little sensitive about his red hair and only his friends can call him Peckerwood. Now where is that boy?”
© 2012 Michael Yost 3/13
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anger, Anxiety, Bass Master, Blame, Blood, Bloody Knuckles, Consequences, Death, Deception, Liars Cove, Michael Yost, Murder?, Peckerwood, Poetry, The Fish WRapper, Writing
Looking beyond the possibilities
Shows the doors of probability
Sesame only echoes futility
By my chiney chin chin’s hostilities
© 2016 Michael Yost 03/08
Posted in Dreams, Michael Yost, Poetry
Tagged Consequences, Dreams, Expectations, Futility, Hostilities, Michael Yost, Poetry, Possibilities, Probability, Writing
Michael's Lair 