CraveOnce you've had Real love you always crave it, maybe that's why I don't crave it.Crave5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
20 yearsEveryone should either have a friend that is 20 years older or 20 years younger than you, you'll be amazed what you can learn.20 years5 years ago in Editorial More Like This
WakeThere are few things more intimate than waking up to the feeling of soft fingers circling on your back.Wake5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
UnderwearI have every interest in seeing your underwear, and that tells me more than I need to know.Underwear5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Tal vez -2-Tal vez -2-5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Tal vez la cuenta atrás se haya acabado, pero tú luces tan encantador como siempre.
Tu sonrisa, tu esmoquin, tu elegante frac de color noche.
Atractivo, vistoso, arrebatador.
Puede que mañana ya no me despierte el despertador a las siete, ni que vuelva a maldecir por lo bajo su estridente chillido, pero tú lucirás tan encantador como siempre.
El cabello revuelto y descuidado.
Luz de luna atrapada en ellos.
Dulce, amable y confiado.
Quizás ya sea mi última día pisando este suelo, esta calle, esta ciudad. New York sigue indiferente, tras el transcurso de las horas; pero tú luces encantador esta noche.
Ojos azules cuál zafiros.
¿Qué mas puedo pedir?
Quizás sea mi último suspiro, mi último adiós, mi último beso.
Quizás me entregué a tus brazos sin más.
Pero tú seguirás luciendo encantador esta noche.
ScarlettShe once loved a boy who was raised by ghosts.Scarlett3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
His name was Nobody,
All of his parents were dead,
And he lived in a churchyard.
They used to play in the rain,
Between tombstones and high fences.
Her gumboots yellow and name scarlett.
Her mother was worried, they thought she was lost,
But dead and lost are not the same thing.
Now she's older she knows it was all pretend.
She wonders how she could have been so morbid,
Playing with witches and ghouls,
Making tracings of strangers' tombstones.
On her way home during the storm,
She stopped at a cemetery to find a phone,
And you'd think she saw a ghost.
She found her someone who was nobody.
Down With ItI WANT TO TAKE YOU AND SMASH YOUR FACE IN.Down With It6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
DESTROY EVERY LAST THING I REMEMBER.
YOU BRING OUT THE WORST,
I HATE YOU!
I dESpiSE EvERy wakINg
mOMeNt i SpenD iN yOUr
sit down and relax.
i mean no harm.
SynesthesiaaloneSynesthesia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tastes like the first grass of spring,
and the tender shoots
stick in my throat
and i cough.
feels like a hard, oval sugar-disk
that is yellow in color and tastes like
is the melty-blue sky
when the wind kicks up,
and it has the emptiness of a
is brown and vast and breathtaking,
as if the awesome landscape deserves your air
more than you do.
and awesome feels like
popcorn in my shins,
hard kernels exploding into
slippery, fat puffs
that just disintigrate.
is a funny word because it has three i's
and it is rust-red like a river
and reminds me of chalk.
is a slap in the face with
a cool sheet of red metal.
it bubbles up like boiling water.
face is different
if it's mine or yours,
or if i'm facing something
smooth and white and cold
like a marble statue of the sky.
easy fixI am so sad right now.easy fix5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I have suffered from depression off and on for years now without wanting to really admit it.
I have taken the knocks from broken love, betrayal, smashed friendships, all with the casual good natured smile I am known for.
I work along at work, having a joke, doing my thing.
Trying to photograph people that are clearly not inspiring.
Having them make excuses about why they can't come to work with me, not responding to my notes.
And it has all come to a head, tonight I can't sleep, I have organised some time off work in a couple of weeks because I feel like I am going to explode and take someone out with me.
I don't know what I need to make me happy again, maybe love, maybe someone to actually inspire me back into my art, a faster car, louder music, I don't know, but I fear outside things won't effect it because what the problem is is actually inside me, and that's never an easy fix.
In Search of an Old RecipeDown a wintry lane, where streetlampsIn Search of an Old Recipe8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rise from dimly lit snow hills and the
town is lightly covered in frost,
I pass an old neighbors house and
a village café. The gurgling noises
of a brewing pot and the sugary smells
of rising dough
always met with long conversations
or quiet contemplations, an old friend
or a new friend and a hint of the past.
Something that started the day and
ended the day with company and
a dash of hope
that time can always be paused
and people can always gather.
And behind the rising steam of
tightly gripped mugs, you can always
find laughter, stirring its warmth around
tables as we reminisce.
And sugar is sprinkled over cookies
and pastries the way snow is over the world.
And no matter how far away,
I can always make it home
on nothing more than a memory.
Perhaps these are the ingredients to make peace,
down wintry lanes, where feuds are blanketed
and grudges melt away into cups of coffee.
Silence...What would it take...Silence...6 years ago in Open More Like This
What would it take for things to be quiet?
I wish I deserved your
Our eyes would be brighter...
Our lives would be longer...
What would it take...
What would it take for things to be quiet?
What would it take for us to be quiet?
What would it take for me to be quiet?
SynesthesiaSynesthesia6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
God forbid they find out. I never understood how they couldn't hear them talking, their voices buzz like radios in my head, with static between outbursts.
Can't they, can't they?
Can't they hear Wednesday crying? How she aches with the weight of it all?
How Thursday laughs, callous, and Tuesday tries to sooth?
Tuesday's a sweet thing. Like boiled candy on my tongue.
Monday never listens and if he does it's only to lecture. He is black, unsweetened coffee in the sticky, early hours of the morning.
Sunday is so wrapped up in his own troubles to think about others. He never sleeps, so he never stops. He yawns like a baby bird for his mother.
Thursday blinks her orange eyes and tries to get Friday's attention, but all he wants is Tuesday. He's always wanted Tuesday. But he is so unattainable she doesn't even see him, eyes slide over like glass.
Saturday could solve it all, if she wasn't so damn lazy.
This could all be over. Tomorrow. I believe in tomorrow.
I ache on Wednesdays too.
ReallyI could never and would never think about buying a brand new guitar, give me one with a story everyday.Really5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I've never purchased a pen yet I write everyday on screwed up and wrinkled paper.
I can't decide on where to get a tattoo and every time I do I change my mind in about a week and thank god I'm not too impulsive with these things.
I think that San Francisco sounds like a wonderful place to spend a year or so of my life, and Las Vegas sounds like a great place to spend one night of my life.
I've got too many fears to list, but the main two are ending up alone and no-one liking what I produce anymore.
I always want to be somewhat more famous than I am but not enough that it changes my life.
I don't know where my spiritual home is but I know it's not here, but I also am not sure if I believe in the concept.
I usually watch TV at night time because otherwise my mind doesn't get a chance to not be creative (even then though it's always still on) but it that a bad thing really?
FuckYou fucked my bodyFuck4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and my mind,
but I'm the one
who fucked you over.
People DiePeople DiePeople Die7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In Skowhegan people die.
In Brooklyn people die.
In Altoona and Galesburg and Osawatomie,
in Seminole and Shamrock,
in Santa Rosa, and Snowflake, and Overton,
and Portersville, and Fresno people die.
They just drop off of census lists
and fall out of phone books
forever. Written into diaries and out of wills
their lives evaporate into the sky
and are inhaled by children
playing tag in a neighbors driveway.
It was in Pico Rivera that you happened to die
Jason, just this past weekend in fact,
while I vacationed in Ventura
and soldiers scrambled for peace
through Kuwaiti sands
and Good Morning Vietnam finally made its debut
on network TV.
Dearest grandpa, great aunt, grammar school pal,
brother, daddy, girlfriend I lost,
bud: you were none of these to me Jason
and still Im tumbling into my liquor-store Leathe,
hoping its sharp and watery wet is spirited
by agents of forgetfulness
With My EyesWhy do you hold on to this singular short-lasting miracle?With My Eyes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It won't save you.
It will make you feel as if you are special, but only for a moment.
Deeper and DeeperI find myself falling deeper and deeper into youDeeper and Deeper5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It does scare me, you picked up perfectly on that, I knew you would
I don't want to get hurt, and I certainly don't want to hurt you
So I take huge steps forward, and little baby steps backwards
Testing the waters, testing you
But I know I can barely take my eyes off you
Everything you do is so adorable but I try not to smile ALL of the time
Another Romancesnap,Another Romance5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you just blew my mind.
TattooA tattoo.Tattoo5 years ago in Open More Like This
Throughout American history, it has been frowned upon by many.
However, what of the tattoo itself? What of the Artist who depicted it?
Is skin not more then a canvas itself?
A Walking piece of art work created by the Ultimate Artist Himself?
Yes, we are His temple
Temples need design and beauty do they not?
Are these not garnishments to the temple itself?
Then how can tattoos not be seen as such?
Simply an artist on another medium
Displaying their passion, the passion give to them from the Ultimate Muse Himself.
Much more then Ink
Much more then a statement
Much more then decoration
Much more then liberation
It's Poetry allowed to be set in motion
I...am a living Tattoo