I'mlosingmytouchtouchmeso I caved inI'mlosingmytouchtouchme6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
resplendent in rubble
but it's the silence
I dreamt a parasite
dissolved in salt water
I splayed myself on concrete
concerned 'bout explanations
these are the same shakes
these are the same shakes
you should be ashamed
I'm tired of shed skin
in lover's clothing
placing you in picturesI dream such small dreamsplacing you in pictures7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
skin to skin upon waking
please say you'll come home
LifeIve seen the world with these two eyes.Life8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A movie played inside my mind.
Ive traveled the seas in half the time
Without ever leaving home.
Ive spread my wings but didnt fly
Ive touched heaven, but I didnt die
Had the chance to ask God why
Without ever receiving an answer.
Ive count the stars and made to ten
Lost track and had to start again.
People laughed, but thats how we make friends
Without ever knowing their name.
Ive loved completely and watched them leave
I tell the storysome dont believe
Let them go or did you flee?
Without seeing what tomorrow brings.
Ive cried like I would never smile
Walked in darkness for half a mile
Saw the sun in the distance for a small while
Without ever feeling its rays.
Ive walked the beachestasted the breeze
There was a time that Ive felt free.
Touched my soul and let life be
Without any regrets to hold.
Ive laughed until I could not breathe
Gasped for air a
affection driveIf I recycledaffection drive6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the love littered at your feet
hearts would starve no more.
If I Were A LineIf I were a lineIf I Were A Line7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I think Id be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
Id sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
Thats what Id be,
if I were a line.
If I were a spot
Id be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
Id have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
Thats what Id be,
if I were a spot.
If I were a colour
Id be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
Id lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
made oh-so dramatic,
my thoughts all sporadic.
Thats what Id be,
if I were a colour.
But I am a human,
so pale and flawed,
and easily bored,
(wishing I was adored).
I twist and bend
(these hinges, you see?);
my shape is no other
than the one I can be;
My colour, it changes
because I am a human:
a human thats me.
As IfIf you can hold your drink when all about youAs If8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
are losing theirs and aiming it at you,
if you can drive your car when all men doubt you,
but make allowance for the coppers too;
or need to pee but not be tired by waiting,
or after peeing dont forget your flies;
on politics or football start debating
and yet dont look too good nor talk too wise.
If you can drink and not make drink your master;
if you can talk and not make sense your aim;
if you can still stand up although youre plastered
and shout at passing women dirty names;
if you can bear to hear the truth tomorrow
of how you acted like a total fool
and caused your girl to sob in shame and sorrow
when you picked up that tart from Liverpool
If you can take your childrens Christmas money
and risk it on one turn of pitch and toss
and lose, and laugh like it was funny
and never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force yourself just to continue
to drink another pint of foaming ale
and stay upright whe
i can't tell you, or my hearti can't tell you, or my heart5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i can't tell if:
this heart pain is a side effect
of the music or the medicine
i can't tell if:
these tears are real
or just placebos to distract me
from the real problem
i can tell that:
this poetry is a result of you
Bathtub EscapadeI am writing this to youBathtub Escapade8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
From a bathtub in Jerusalem.
This room is gold
like the city itself:
stone sitting smugly
on strata pedestals
looking down haughtily
at my scrawny form:
into scraps. scripts. dusty dreams.
Till tongue is soaked
in movements and images of
people burying all mystery
in the same old void.
I was speaking to
the Rabbis wife tonight,
Slurring my words
and cursing myself
and only thinking about
The dead bird stuck in the Wailing Wall
Its beak jammed in there
like a personal love letter
its wings flapping like dead weights.
From here the world looks grey.
The faucet dripping behind
a backdrop of spinal chord
and emerging puddle,
The edges of our world are desiccated.
In a land that has been ravished, raped, bastardized,
I dont go hunting for boundaries
So in my mind,
let us live here
syllables spilling softly
drunk with the drip.
of this golden tap
in this golden city.
Lobotomy for BeginnersIt wasnt the windowless room,Lobotomy for Beginners8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the edges of the walls mixing with harsh light
while waiting for the doctors knock.
Or the sweat-leather straps and buckles braided into her hair.
It wasnt the operating utensils on the steel tray,
the scalpel that looked more like a butter knife
and the drill plugged in, lying on the floor.
Or even the way the doctor complimented her posture,
as if a stiff chin was more valuable than a working brain.
And it wasnt the taste of copper that filled her mouth
before she closed her eyes, not wanting to see
him squint at the black dot sketched
in the center of her forehead
before picking at it like a tender scab.
It was the way she sang My Country Tis of Thee,
forcing words out after each prod of the ice pick, soft lips flinching
until the tool garbled her song to silence
and the surgery finally stopped.
Description of a PoemThoughts on paper,Description of a Poem8 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
Emotions in ink.
Verse that shows
What the artist may think.
Not just words
That rhyme or not.
It's a writer's emotion,
Their deepest thought.
To write great poetry
So deep and true,
It must come from emotions
Deep inside of you.
What you feel is what you write.
It helps to let it all out.
It's the perfect outlet
For those who don't scream and shout.
Do not be afraid
To let the world know.
Say what you think,
And let your emotions go.
if you should prefer...I'm not angryif you should prefer...7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm a severed hand
with manicured nails
an open letter
he wants to drown in your sunshine
I'm pulling strings
where your heart
I'm not beautiful
I'm a tantrum
this nose is known
like those first whispered bedroom words
I'm a low
with no constant
I don't have any rules so....from here on outI don't have any rules so....7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all poems are made
from there on in
I only write
who can't read
who like boys
who don't like boys
(and are okay with that)
each perfect little princess
parading foreign continents
with words that drip like honey
those with time to kill
(they always make the best of me)
the ever faithful stranger
and the skeletons in my throat
Love AlphabetThe amour that tinges the air,Love Alphabet7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Blood, beating round my veins.
To conclude my combing of society,
This dastardly deed must be finished.
Each and everyone has to have been seen,
Friends, foes and those in between.
Groaning under each extra gram of no.
My heart must be heated soon,
The ignition on the inside.
But with the juggling of my job,
And life, I know the key is hard to find.
The leaping of my soul lately,
Means that I might be close.
Not knowing how near though,
Is the only omen I have.
Peculiar looks, with a lot of patience,
From one queen, to the next queer person,
Raiding and rumbling over acres of earth.
Soon, my search will be over.
The right time will occur,
Under strange circumstances, until
The blood in my veins will be more volatile.
We will find him soon enough.
His X and Y chromosomes, playing a xylophone,
I will say yes. He will say yes.
Our hearts will zoom into the same zone.
SocksYou can't always win a nobel prizeSocks7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
or vicarious eyes
while thinking of ways to rhyme
with a 2 syllable word;
I spew lizard,
despite how absurd,
and whether or not
that strikes you in awe
or raises a brow,
or opens your jaw,
regardless of whatever you're thinking right now,
this has no relevance... to anything. At all.
Sometimes you write
about humanity's flaws,
write to grant laughter,
or analyze God,
but then when you write,
you imagine your bed!
so maybe you'd rather be writing
about... socks, instead.
It shouldn't take long
since i'm very much familiar
and quite frankly, an expert,
in the subject matter,
I mean, I wear socks
like, every day, man.
It's I think something
everyone should try.
At least once,
just sit down and write.
No theory, no philosophy,
no literary temptation.
Just write shit about socks,
and the feet that wear them.
Ink StainThe poem is all too plain, but IInk Stain8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Am intricately constructed,
Octopus armed and lazy fingered,
Some great mass growing greater,
More spineless with each
Inking. You ask, what is it called?
And what is the point of it anyway?
The oceanographer researches, responds,
States the purpose is immeasurable.
Two. Smoke screen, and
Three. Mass confusion.
But darling, I am nautilus, and
My tentacles are
God gave me eight limbs: two arms, two legs,
The rest, male, you can imagine,
Two labia (why all this counting?), and a clitoris,
An umbilical cord suspended, and in its place,
I grew a pen.
Its got no fancy name; its called an ink sac,
A weapon that I have no sense to
Claim nor comprehend. And to the numbers?
To the years since, to the fingers,
Diligent fingers that have entered, exited,
existentialist pick ups...where have I been all my life?existentialist pick ups...6 years ago in Open More Like This
The First MovementThe First Movement8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I left my lover on the floor,
arms bent like a lamp cord.
He said to me things were
different looking up;
the ceiling was brighter,
my eyes were lit up.
And he sank into sand tiles,
his hands were raw and waiting,
The Laughter of DucksThe Laughter of Ducks9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
fisherman and son
catching nothing but minnows
and the laughter of ducks
Rita Hayworth is 90 nowThe old man sat shoelessRita Hayworth is 90 now9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
On the side of Grayton Cross
The dust on his face and hands made
And white alongside the stripes
In the tired sky.
It was April, and still too early to
Put away the animals
I slid down
By him and accepted
His yellow cigarettes.
Somewhere buried in the paper of his pockets
Lay stale pictures of the dead
"Remember Ms. Farrell?" he spit out
A little too quickly, landing
Dried pieces of his lips
Onto my bare feet
"Older than me
but pretty as a statue
I could picture
This woman, frozen
In one place
Sitting easily within a smile
Like my mothers'.
The red in her hair
Had faded with the heat and dust
Of 60 years.
Then down to my own elastic
Thighs, the tight
Wrap of my ankles snapping
With early springtime wind.
I licked the dust off my lips
In an effort to talk to this secret
Man smoking inside the evening mud
But nothing was pulled out.
Later he asked again
By that time I was too gray
And it was time for night.
who we are.always remember...who we are.5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
death is imminent.
life is beautiful.
we fall in love with
silhouettes, dreams and those who
we wish existed.
we bite our nails and
decorate our skin using
we trail our fingers
down rippling flesh, broken bones
we move through the streets
like harvestmen; crawling and
waiting to be loved.
we weave ourselves in
a thorn-feathered tapestry
we need. we laugh. we
cry. we die. we smile. we love.
we wander, we lie.
we live. we need to
cradle ourselves at night and
adore who we are.
maybe then we can
start a revolution. give
birth to a new world.
death is imminent.
life is beautiful.
22-23-2222-23-229 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
A loud rumble pushes its way in among my turned up radio. It doesn't complement the music well, so I pull off the side of the road. Sure enough, my right rear tire is shredded; a mile and a half from the school board meeting I need to cover, too. And my cell phone? Taking the day off at home, because it knew today would be the one day it'd be needed.
I limp the car to a nearby house, where thankfully the woman there knows me. As she goes to find me her phone, two little girls--I'm assuming granddaughters--run straight up to me. Haven't they learned not to trust strange men in slacks?
"What are you doing here?" one asks straight-out, surely a future journalist in the making.
"One of my tires blew. I need to use the phone to call for help."
"My name's Kaylie and I'm 6!" the other says.
"My name's Alison and I'm 8!" the first says, not to be left out.
"My name's Tim and I'm 22."
Both jaws drop. "Whooooa..."
I laugh. "Yeah. That's
My Greatest FearMy greatest fear,My Greatest Fear4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is not to die
But to disappear.
van buren stthe reflections in the glass monolithvan buren st9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the thoughts of Escher
some new cubist language
for architects and day trippers
with fractal steel zebras
rows of ellipsis yawn sideways two stories
the sun is going down and soon
we will not retrieve this picture of happens to be
painted slick across the sky
HeartlessHeartless7 years ago in Open More Like This
My friend - I move to speak,
For in you I shall confide,
Of an emptiness bore deep inside,
Shadows - where I hide.
How long has it been thus,
Since I was hence torn apart?
A being void in nothingness,
Lacking feeling of a heart.
Remnants of a shadowed past
Have drifted beyond the seal,
Yet forever locked away are those
Memories of how to feel.
Oh' how frail is the heart,
To collapse in the conquering fist!
Submit! unto that which bore you,
Darkness of the endless abyss.
And what remains born of this,
When darkness takes back the heart?
Only the nothing left behind,
Existing where nobody aught.
This nonexistence lay not within,
Supreme darkness - nor in the light,
But in the ever void - where lies,
A want for hearts taken flight.
The keepers of the want are naught,
The nonexistent ones.
Taking heartless - watching heartfelt won,
Keeping all - yet feeling none.
Deep within the realm of twilight,
Shadows of nobody - can you see?
In a world that never was,