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It Is What It Is Move On

Updated on May 15, 2013

It is what it is…move on.

And how do I move on?

Even Warriors like Dusty, the 50 Caliber,

Are gone.


And there's no magic.

There are no hat-tricks,

For the walking dead,

Like the Stanley Patricks.



It Is What It Is…Move On

Move on.

There’s nothing to see here.

The shroud of confusion,

Is perfectly clear.


It’s another smoke screen,

And how do we get clean,

Realizing the realization,

We’re cogs in a war machine.


Separate the ardent crusaders,

From the vicious invaders?

Get the word from the top,

But wear your hip-waders.


Wars are easily fought,

As a coin is tossed.

And isn’t all lost,

When the lines are crossed?


“Who won the war?”

The rich man did.

He sacrificed,

The poor man’s kid.


Move on.

We appreciate what you’ve done.

Now let’s make some room,

For another one, another one, another one…


Nothing to see here,

Nothing to hear here.

Nothing to be here.

Nothing dear here.


We make our own prisons?

Do we determine our worth?

It all “is what it is”,

On the third rock, planet Earth.


And it is what it is.

It’s night, it’s day.

And why is, “I love you”,

So difficult to say?


It’s hot, it’s cold.

He’s timid, she’s bold.

And why are tongues,

So hard to hold?


Excess baggage,

Can weigh like boulders,

Magnified by memories,

On tired shoulders.


It is what it is.

Rinse and repeat.

You are what you are.

You are what you eat.


We all love animals.

We are all as one.

Some like them free.

Some like them well-done.


As always, “be here now”.

This is the realm we’re living in.

I’ll dangle participle before principle,

But moving on doesn’t mean giving in.


Move on. Move on.

Nothing to see here. Nothing to know.

Don’t resist. Follow the flow.

But the current has an undertow.


I’ll be what I’ve been.

I was what I was.

I am what I am.

No reason. Just because.


Move on. It is what it is.

Why does the brain need a crutch,

And isn’t it a product,

Of loving too much?


So… it is what it is.

It’s the realm in which we’re bound.

As we search for truths,

Already found.


It is what it is…move on.

Will we reap what we will sow?

And though it seems we’re late to go,

Be here now. Be still and know.



~Micky Dee~



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    • Prisana profile image

      Prisana Nuechterlein 

      5 years ago from Thailand and Colorado

      Thank you for the link...hard to watch....I knew some of it but not all of it...I think I need to vomit but trying not too...I haven't seen the entire one point it was frozen and would not load...will keep trying to watch the entire show...easiest I am sure to just buy IT.

    • profile image

      Anais Clair 

      5 years ago

    • Prisana profile image

      Prisana Nuechterlein 

      5 years ago from Thailand and Colorado

      You had me from beginning to end...I so related and felt each word, each line, reflected mine...parallel poetry...It is what IT is...moving on with the undertow and trying not to drown, yes be here what will ultimately save us...

    • Fossillady profile image


      5 years ago from Saugatuck Michigan

      The presentation of your messages in itself deserves praise, you should enter it in a poetry contest . . . and then the message underneath reaches inside to the core of my soul. I get goosebumps reading your work, Micky! We're here on this earth to do work and ultimately learn to love without judgement. Sometimes, we first need to know what pain is and work through it, I mean really work . . . don't even think about moving on until its been processed!

      Getting to know you through your art has let me peek inside your heart and I would have to say, you've really done some work!!! I'm working on the being still and be in the moment. Have to reprogram my busy mind . . . Thanks for the reminder this morning! Hugs and love, Kathi

    • Micky Dee profile imageAUTHOR

      Micky Dee 

      5 years ago

      God bless.

    • Amy Becherer profile image

      Amy Becherer 

      5 years ago from St. Louis, MO

      Every stanza rang a chord with me, Micky. "We all love animals. We are all as one. Some like them free. Some like them well-done." This stanza had special meaning to me, as I lost my magnificent Scottie, MacGregor, last July to TCC, a form of bladder cancer that kills many in this particular breed through in-breeding by means of greedy breeders. Once again, money is the bottom line. But, Mac is watching from Heaven and brought a little, 4-year old Potosi puppy mill girl to my doorstep. Its taken months to rid her of the parasites and side-effects of 4-years in the abysmal living conditions she endured. I live in an apt building, but as a nature lover, I feed the birds. I have lost track of the number of birdfeeders that the homeowners across the alley have destroyed trying to deter me. Since its obvious to even the most casual observer that they miss no meals, I don't understand their problem with me putting out birdseed that I purchase to feed the wildlife. This country is not free; not even in the most basic ways. But, its where I live for now, and as long as I'm not hurting anyone, I will continue to enjoy, respect and do what I can to help local wildlife. I know that I can trust mother nature, humans...not so much. Thank you, Micky, for your heartfelt, gut-wrenchingly truthful poetry.

    • Dim Flaxenwick profile image

      Dim Flaxenwick 

      5 years ago from Great Britain

      Difficult to read through tears. Awesome and beautiful. You are truly one oc a kind Micky.

      Who won the war ? The rich man did.

      He sacrificed the poor man s kid.........That verse cut me like a knife.

    • Storytellersrus profile image


      5 years ago from Stepping past clutter

      Mickey Dee, the title of this poem in my daily digest caught my attention and I didn't even notice who the author was until I opened the page.

      I love this poem! I remember your history and have a sense of where it comes from, but we all have our life experience and we all have this struggle to Move On and consider what is.

      My big brother was in the hospital yesterday with atrial fib. Moments like this make me aware that we are becoming the Elders, the ones who will be watched by nieces and nephews, the ones who will experience the elder diseases that lead toward death.

      Sure, we all die at all ages. But this final stage of our lives is so reflective. What was once so important becomes irrelevant in the grand scheme. All of our lives can be seen as war zones; whether overseas or internal.

      We have all lost friends dear to us via bullets or car accidents or suicide or cancer. What is the point, I ask myself. Why am I here anyway? What gifts do I have that might benefit others, because in the end, that seems most important.

      I feel so often surrounded by the judgment of others regarding my perspective, my values, my choices. I love what my kundalini teacher says, "Always act, never react."

      I suppose I am reacting to this poem. But I see it as a gift toward reflection, friend. Thank you for that.

    • The Suburban Poet profile image

      Mark Lecuona 

      5 years ago from Austin, Texas

      I like the calm in your world-weariness. I'm glad you can tell us what needs to be said in such horrific terms but at the same time be able to be philosophical about life no matter the ugly truth. Maybe that was your bike talking to us today because when in motion you are moving on but at the same time it's with you. I particularly was moved by these lines:

      Excess baggage,

      Can weigh like boulders,

      Magnified by memories,

      On tired shoulders.


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