Tag: poem

“Her & I” by D.T. Ruth

Forever intertwined.

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Be You. Live R.E.A.L.

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D.T. Ruth & Pmiller – Hangman

“Hangman” is the first song Pmiller & I released so it’s fitting that it was chosen as our first video. The animation was done by Ian Newton and he did a great job bringing us to life as cartoons. When my journey as a writer evolved to making music I never really saw myself getting in front of a camera to shoot videos and it turns out that animations are the perfect answer for camera shyness.

This video was released on January 1st so it’s not necessarily new but I just started being active on my personal blog so I’m going to be posting some of my past work in here to get it archived. You’ve been warned.

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Be You. Live R.E.A.L.

D.T. Ruth & PMiller – Rinse and Repeat

My latest collaboration with PMiller entitled “Rinse and Repeat” is available to stream on all platforms. My verse is an introspective about decisions I’ve made in my past and how I’ve changed significantly to focus on what I need to get accomplished to make my dreams come true.

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Be You. Live R.E.A.L.

“A Thousand Poems” by D.T. Ruth

I think I wrote a thousand poems that you ain’t read,
not one.
I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I was in love.
And now I lose myself in thought,
in thoughts of what once was.
In thoughts of what we could have been if I wasn’t on drugs.
Now the feeling that comes over me, this sentimental rush,
is closing on me fast and I’m abashed and I just tuck
myself away to hide the pain but that’s never enough.
I see your face in window panes but never feel your touch. 

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Little Kenny

Sometimes I put my pen to pad and a short story comes out…sometimes the beginning of a novel that I never finish comes out.

Today…a poem came out…I call it “Little Kenny” for lack of a better title:

Little Kenny found a pistol in his daddy’s closet.

He was only three years old but old enough to hold the handle.

Pick the pistol up, stare into the barrel.

The sorrow is he pulled.

Red on his apparel now he laying in a pool of his own blood as the shot rang ’round the room.

On the floor is where his nanny found him.

On the phone, 911, she dialing.

Mother crying, dad distraught cuz he’s at fault.

A year later, talks about divorce, of fucking course.

In the middle of debacle there’s still trouble with their teen.

Who lost his little brother and mourned by smoking weed.

Got a PhD in heroin, became a petty fiend.

Robbing dealers with a kitchen knife, becoming just a bum.

A slave to heavy drugs.

They found him in a hotel room, syringe still in his arm.

His heart wasn’t beating.

But the pain? It lived on.

This a story ’bout some carelessness and what it can do.

Heed the warnings in this poem or it can happen to you.

THE END.

A little demented but like I said…I let my pen write for me. What comes out, comes out.

So it goes.