Beginnings and Endings Both Sound the SameI woke up this morning
and the sky was falling
I cried, because
it was bleeding, too
(and I wondered what happened to God
to make him shed such painful tears)
but they said it was only a sunrise
and I was being too loud.
I asked why it was that solar rays
ran in rivulets throughout
prominent moments of time
(like wars and funerals and departures
and those heavy events we pretend never happened)
but they ignored my cries
and the sunbeams that were entangled in my feet
and trailing behind me,
showing all the wrong turns I made
(they wouldn't see my limbs
raw, ragged, from running
with no destination in mind)
I guess I was a little too loud-
they can only hear you
when you're completely silent
and, by then, it's too late
because the sun has already set
(the opposite of a sunrise,
but they each have the same affect
because they both signal an end
of everything you've come to know)
it's too late for me, I think
God knows, too, and he weeps for me
bits of sky and bleeding sunrise
ApparitionLittle girl,Apparition2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You have out-grown
Yourself, and these
Childish notions of
Monsters in the closet.
She holds her breath
Until the sun rises,
Because no one taught her
How to sleep
With her eyes closed.
There is this
Delusion about you;
A belief that if
You stay awake,
There will be no darkness.
It is damaging you.
Cold and silent,
With her darkened fantasies,
And remembers a time
When she was not-so-
Into unrecognizable shards.
You have found your only
From all the lifetimes
Too fearful to live.
Too lost in your waking dreams
To see new realities.
It will all
Be over soon.
O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,O Fevrale2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.
Half in love in this half-life half-light;
pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreaming
of the gods. Wanderer, today I died and
died again, and whispered prayers
to clasped hands… until the nestled
droplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;
and when moonrise came, I sang again.
DoublethinkSay, hey!Doublethink2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Wave farewell to your property
Withered thin by their so-called surety (hey!)
The ones who still withhold the blame
Raise your hands, raise your hands up high
To Oceania; truth has died (hey!)
Eastasia is the adversary now
I beg to wish and waver from the vacant minds
Please tell The Party to postpone our demise
See Winston write amongst the grime
One more victim Miniluv has to find (hey!)
The rats shift in their wire abode
Can there be any more prolefeed? (Prolefeed!)
There's O'Brien with wings of the chestnut tree (hey!)
A wilderness where true love is sold
I beg to wish and waver from the vacant minds
Please tell The Party to postpone our demise
The representative from Airstrip One has the floor
Bow down to the wondrous Big Brother
He watches, he's benevolent!
Compromise the ones left standing
War is peace, strength is ignorance!
Crash, crash goes your once front door and
Seize all the proles t
Sky EyesDesert hands tell talesSky Eyes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a hundred arid summers, but
you are no longer as cloudless as they
(there is a storm
creeping through blue, blue veins).
But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,
that grey cascade blurring against
eyelids and horizons;
and suppress her misbegotten
droplets, seeping into the sodden
for there is still sun in your sky eyes.
Salsa, Rice, RhythmThere is something splendid aboutSalsa, Rice, Rhythm2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a Peruvian man leaving the rice to burn
because he is unable to keep himself
when a good Salsa song comes on
there is something exquisite and wild about a woman
paying uncontrollable obeisance to the rhythm
thrilling to the beat
waxing and waning to the sound waves
there is something gorgeous about the
the movements, like an untamed clockwork
the way the line between sound and
limb's poetry blurs
fantasia's demise comes with a soft
followed by a drought of wakefulness
surprised to see walls and ceiling
surprised to be alive in
only three dimensions
the anguish of the sky.( look up and get lost )the anguish of the sky.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for the sky is a thief with a pocket full of jewels
that gleam through the holes of his trousers-
and each night he fiddles with his stolen treasure
crudely fashioning constellation crowns for his beloved.
but often times, she disappears
and the sky cries in comets and meteors-
as the thunder rolls around the earth
like the unsaid prayers on his tongue
and you can see it in his planet eyes,
he is nothing when her light is gone
and he stumbles blindly across the galaxies
with black hole corneas and wet eyelashes.
adieu my love!
he cries as dawn kisses the horizon-
but the moon never replies,
too caught up in her own lust
( chasing the sun )
frozen/headlightsI am nervousfrozen/headlights2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
impressed to the point of
perhaps I am playing the part of
a girlchild, reincarnated from something striped
hands-shaking, violin bones (high-
perhaps it is/has been/will be
is it cliché to make comparisons to
an envelope delivered with a
white settling of
your smile tangles with the
half-poetry you breathe out instinctively, sharp and
you are surprising like
frostbite. the soft teeth of morning
freeze; and I, dull, wordless,
naive and lightning-struck
I am nervous
Mothersa warped wickerwork rocker moansMothers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
under a weary mother keeping vigil.
wisps of her maternal endearments,
leaking, streaking down the balustrade.
her swollen husband sleeping,
seeping, across scattered vinyls.
on her blind cat's chin, milk spoils,
dripping, crowning on the hearth.
her resolve, as if on wings, fleeting,
haunted by ephemeral apparitions.
her baby's in battle, prone in rubble,
seeping, across scattered warriors.
oh woebegone, mothers are heroes too,
and too often we abandon them.
the anti-gapThere is a time machinethe anti-gap2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the side of her nose.
She keeps it secret
because it is dangerous.
As she spits blood into the sink
"how did I get here?"
The room echoes
with no answer at all.
The walls don't care
about her secrets.
They just want
to connect with ceilings
GrandfatherLancaster Pennsylvania.Grandfather2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
July 3rd, 1978.
Eighty-two degrees outside.
Driving sixty eight mph down Millersville road
past miles of cornfields
And everything is silent.
Except the faint scream of wind escaping through the cracked driver side window
and the dull thud of tire treading on the newly paved road.
trying to understand,
while trying not to think,
while thinking too much,
while being silent.
And suddenly its
March of 1968
And Calley is calling
“kill them all dead”.
And he sees his daughter,
her Agent Orange colored curls
clinging to her face like napalm sticks to melting bodies;
her eyes burning brighter than Hanoi and Haiphong on December 18th, 1972.
He begins to cry
because its still
July 3rd, 1978,
Five pm, and
eighty-two degrees outside.
But in his mind it will always be March of 1968
or December of 1972,
because for him the war is still being fought;
monks and Morrison still burning;
Saigon is still screaming
like it was on April 30, 1975,
River DreamWhere I existRiver Dream6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the seasons linger
or die too soon
I cannot see
the subtle changes
or hear the cadence
I feel the shift
and taste the residue
between our lips
and on the air
it also lingers
will bring the rain
but I covet him more
suspended as we are
between the seasons
and when the dusk
is touched by
the brows of moths
he will walk away
of autumn's end
before it has begun
while I drift
a river dream
a new moon ascends...
an oar dips silently
and I shiver
Insomnia and Body PartsThere wereInsomnia and Body Parts2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Timeless moments spent between us,
In those instants and hours before dawn;
That time when we traversed
So far away from this
Wretched house and into
The most delicious darkness
That time before our tidal waves
Came crashing down on us again.
I would do anything to
Drown with you.
The softness of the flesh
Between your knuckles, the
Exquisite map of
On your palms;
They were like a lullaby
To my sleepy fingertips.
The breath of your mouth
To teach me to close my eyes
And fall asleep.
Your contented whispers and
Observations of the sky
Showed me then how to dream.
I had no idea what home could be like
Until those seconds and infinities.
As you traveled the expanse
With the curiosity of your hands and
The rebuke of your lips,
Because you always liked
To fix things
That were broken.
Leaveme.Leave2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I no longer house sanity
only ghosts that were never
told how to move on.
maybe we used to be the same,
but now your cracked reflection
only adds to my years of bad luck
you never counted the lines in my smile,
or the notes between my freckles,
you only measured me.
I'm something to get by on,
but I'm simply not enough.
my watered-down voice
is growing weaker.
and you feed me sugar pills
to diminish the pain
(these bones still bleed)
there are vultures in your eyes,
they know what's coming next
children call on saviors to vanquish demons
from their closets and I'm begging
the silent priests to
they didn't understand what I meant
when I said you stole my breath away
if I turn on the lights,
would you disappear like the times
when I needed help?
I live in waking fear of silence
(I know it's where you wait)
Newspaper SuitI am a charlatanNewspaper Suit2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
16The moon renders a highway162 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As the trees paint the spectre,
You sit with a stillness — unnatural;
You listen for the twigs to snap.
My pulse is a bird straining
Against a cage of flesh.
Broken SmileIt was a perfect thing. WhiteBroken Smile3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As lilies, the kind of thing
Time ages with wry hands
Thinking, "Beautiful, beautiful"
"Let me hold it, see it
Glow under my thumb, will it
Extinguish if I press
I wonder if I can mend it
Mirror-like, the cracks shine with
A feeble light. Teeth,
All in disarray, gemstone-
All made of marble white.
The curve of the lips is distorted,
Wrapped too much around a tongue
Twisted like a broken arm. Almost
As if it were coerced into a sneer
Blackmailed into bending itself
At two dozen different places
Resembling a corpse in a pretzel
Machine, more than anything.
Lie in my hand, little smile.
I will superglue you back
The best I can.
But the damage is already done.
Whether from a broken mind, life
Or a heart, well.
Who says a smile can't be put back together
Good as new, better than before?
The streets from where your teeth were shattered;
They're no runway for you to strut down.
But they can be the road
To a better brand of suffering, yes
I'll Be There When the Wind BlowsiI'll Be There When the Wind Blows2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one day I'll be nothing but a whisper
in the swollen sky, which ebbs and flows
whenever you choose to open your eyes
this voice will be lost in the onslaught,
and I'll fade into my greatest fears
my thoughts have been known to shatter
on occasion, into fine powder
that scatters in the face of execution
I always worried roots grown in unstable ground
and remembering the way my body was built
would free the catastrophes sighing within me
it's easier to succumb to future's inevitabilities
that welcome you with undefined arms
sometimes I release pieces of myself
because I don't like the story they tell
about the history written in my palms, unrelenting
I wait these weighted hours until darkness ascends
where night sings lullabies of lands
that I never quite belonged to
one day the moon will shine a little too bright,
and I will evaporate into nothing but
a faint whisper, not worth the strain needed to hear
I will be lost in the transmissions
of those who meant more than me.
The Riverthe grooves of her old skinThe River2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are filled with the forgotten languages
of a thousand lost peoples,
abandoned by gods trapped in their infancy.
she carries the weight of these memories downstream
and carves their stories into the sides of cliffs;
but we have forgotten how to read her words—
braille-spells and earthen-magick
—her belly is full and sick,
and we are illiterate children
basking in the afterthought of our own ruin.
the art of making loveyou and i make lovethe art of making love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
without ever taking our clothes off:
through the cheesy poems we write for
each other, through all the sidelong
glances across the dinner table. your
palm pressed into the small of my back,
or when i have to reach up on my toes
(or sometimes, jump) just to place my
arms around your neck. when we nuzzle
our noses like inuits in the cold and
talk about growing old together. when
you start to fret when we aren't
holding hands, when i see your face
in a mirror and smile and suddenly
feel beautiful. all the gentle kisses,
laughing until my ribs might crack,
holding back tears when it's been too
long since i've seen you.
this is how we make love.
grandfatherold green shirtgrandfather3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
inside leather jacket.
over a pair of sneakers.
above favorite shades.
chained to his pocket.
to this day,
i still keep
his silver watch
and ash tray.
his upset eyes
because i used
his bicycle once.
in later years
for i failed to live up
memories this way:
he was a
he lit firecrackers
with his mouth
he would pick
he liked pomade,
he liked hair gel more.
he'd be happy to know
everything's high-tech now:
he would have marveled
LCD TVs, i-pods,
he and i knew enough of deprivation:
it stared us both in the face,
it was the background of our life.
his generosity in my childhood
do i make more of him
in this poem?
if this were
a decent poem
He Doesn't Need to KnowHe doesn't know I love him.He Doesn't Need to Know5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I hide it in the places no one else knows;
sandwiched among the fondest of memories
thriving between my pores.
I am healed by it in the places unseen,
Bridging fissures in my soul and
Folding creases in my heart.
I protect it in cascades of moments,
Masquerades of silly smiles
and crooked grins.
I will share it once he knows
and I will thank him
for not knowing that I love him.
11.3.12I write best11.3.122 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
When I’m undressed,
When there’s no part of me compressed—
With glasses perched upon my nose
But no socks to cover my toes,
No more blouse buttoned too tight
Because words always fit just right,
No skirt zipped up to my waist,
My ideas just fall into place,
No belt or scarf to weigh me down,
Instead let memories wrap around.
When words can brush across my skin,
There’s no need for clothes to be in.