Lori Hoeck

It Ain’t Like They Say …

The mountain top seems so far
a distant, aching call.
This day I’m broken, bruised,
cursing yet another fall.

The glory they say is ahead,
or in the journey itself.
I’ve been at both points before,
I know it’s a lie to self.

There is no one point.
No shouts of “I’ve arrived!”
And the journey’s just a journey.
Shit, it’s so utterly contrived.

Listen, it’s all about the moment –
shitty or stellar matters not –
when you finally say “Screw it,
I’m not staying on this spot.”

Choices made — no matter where,
no matter the peace or strife –
Make the person what they are,
and the quality of their life.

_____

Venting. Again.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

Pain

This headache screams as it reams my scalp
with a pain both dull and sharp,
My skull is pounding, hounding me,
like satan breaking a harp.

The pain reliever has yet to work,
Can’t they make this drug faster?
A thousand years — the wait grows long,
My woe is like disaster.

I whine and whimper like a sick pup;
feeling worthless, wimpy, and weak.
Here I am unable to act.
My brain has sprung a leak.

How much more wailing to go?
Has this writing helped a bit?
Why yes, this poem sucks so bad,
I laugh and say “Aww, f*ck it!”

—-

Some days ya just gotta whine a bit.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

REAL NOT REHAB

pop stars on par for flyin’ far
fall ill with the pills and thrills
shoutin’, poutin’, givin’ us an outin’
of their desire to be REAL

i laugh, cause i walked the path,
been there and back about the wrath.
they think, and make a stink, that it’s them, within,
but they’re wrong — it ain’t no song, the bong, or about the strong

it’s not the story, the glory or taking inventory
not in a bottle or who ya throttle or coddle;
yes, the pain, the rain, sorrow ingrained –
they are real enough, make life so tough

but the core, the safer shore is far more;
get out of the rut, kick your own damn butt
’cause the REAL ain’t some deal you can cut
REAL comes from a direction, a connection, an election
not from the same, shamed disinfection

if fame is your only game in the lame fast lane,
if gold’s hold made your heart withhold,
if “tough and cool” guides your inner tool –
time to change and rearrange, get a home on the range
where the buffalo roam beyond styrofoam mange

you think I’m mad, gone all bad, maybe even been had
but the truth will set you free, not me, not yo mommy
Christ is the rock, the lock, the one with the flock

He offers REAL ’cause he lived the deal, sealed it up whole
He’s always ready, steady, a heavy lifter for your soul

earthquakes and mental breaks can shake your bones
but Christ’s love is from above, all about love, not stones;
it heals, gives grace wheels, acts as a shield
and yeah, it’s as REAL as it gets, the perfect fit
He ain’t gonna beg or nag ya; he ain’t gonna leave –
no need, ’cause his creed is  “Just believe.”

—-

For the pop stars who feel their shining light of talent isn’t enough.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

Ha! You jumped back in,
or so you thought.
Too late, too little my “friend.”
Your efforts are for naught.

I left your tricks behind –
no more mind games for me.
Your mental claws were never kind.
Empty rings your empathy.

So take your narcissistic lust
and the card hid up your sleeve
– don’t bother with a trumped up fuss –
just take your lies and leave.

—-

Someone mentioned a poem a day in December, so my juices got flowing again, and here’s a little poem about users.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck