will I still be remembered under the blare of lights that flood the field, a lone silhouette amongst a hundred others. will I still be able to stand out, a dull worn rag chafing against pastel silks. will I be worth something, even if I try my hardest not to trip and fall in this marathon. will I stand tall like a tree in the middle of a wheat field or will I be fragile as the painting of the moon from its rays upon the glassy canvas of a lake.
Beneath that loved and celebrated breast,
silent, bored really blindly veined,
grieves, maybe lives and lets
live, passes bets,
something moving but invisibly,
and with what clamor why restrained
I cannot fathom even a ripple.
(See the thin flying of nine black hairs
four around one five the other nipple,
flying almost intolerably on your own breath.)
Equivocal, but what we have in common's bound to be there,
whatever we must own equivalents for,
something that maybe I could bargain with
and make a separate peace beneath
within if never with.
Every time I fell
You picked me up.
And every time I cried
You stayed to comfort me.
You gave everything to me
And all I did was whine
You were beautiful
In and out.
Your smile was bright
And everyone believed you.
When I was weak
You stood tall
And pulled me up
To wake me up.
Though, one day
I was at your doorstep
Ready to come in.
But hearing something peculiar,
I ran upstairs
Only to witness a scene I will never forget.
Reunited and so high above,
I now ask you,
“Why did you leave?”
When I suddenly noticed,
I left too.
Your touch feels like flower petals
Your embrace a knitted sweater
You are a hole-in-the-wall diner
Within all of New York's madness
You are the feeling of the shirt I always sleep in
You are wood and you are cotton
I think clouds are made up of your hello's and your I-love-you's
You are where I go when it starts to pour
You are who I call when its 2:38am and it starts getting bad again
You are shore among the savage sea
You are the eye of my storm
You feel like the feeling of grass under my feet
You are the scent of coffee and leatherbound notebooks
You are everything I love
You are worth any commute
You are who I hope to come to
You are home
As I close my eyes
my senses know no bounds
my body becomes weightless
and my joyful song resounds
I try to find my bearings, and
I hold on to myself.
I've never put someone so close;
My self upon a shelf.
Every fiber of my being
has room to stretch and grow
my steps spring forward lightly
and my smile is wide, aglow!
So come unto me, siren.
Give me room to grow and fall.
Sing for me a beacon; silly boat
Is sinking slow.
I swim to you in haste
my hair flowing wild and free
and water courses around my limbs
as minnows accompany me.
And so we're freed by water,
Unalone and unafraid.
Need no more one breath to take,
Nor single blessing said.
My lines are in slanted italic, Sverre's are manly and upright! x
heres a link to his page http://hellopoetry.com/sverre-g-holter/
Here's My Problems. What Are Yours?
As I open your resume
I see here you have three cats and two kids
I have no idea how on God's green Earth you keep up as a single mom?
You must be out of this world.
As I read further
It says you're divorced
It's only been three years
And that knife still burns
But you still keep a smile.
Everytime he comes around
Just to keep appearance
For when he sees the kids
You wanna curse his name but don't.
Its says you don't think he's such a bad guy
And he does alright by the kids.
He's stepped up
Takes his responsibility as a Dad seriously.
Every time he leaves though
You go right to the bathroom and scream.
I guess it still stings
But you take every hit like a champ
And I wish I held such composer
If I found out I had been cheated on
And it wasn't the first.
It says here
That'll be a secret you'll always keep from your kids.
That you would never let them think any less of their dad
And I can see why you're the perfect mother.
Lucky men never know what they have.
It says that every day you look in the mirror
You poke and prod
And lexture yourself about all the things you hate.
It makes me wonder if I could get you to stop
By kissing you head to toe and telling you why I love every spot.
Apparently you're very suspicious.
You've strapped yourself to unfaithful men
They've dragged you through the dirt.
So if I'm ever late and don't send a text
Then I'd better be damn sure you're angry
And no bouquet of flowers is gonna make that right
But you got a soft spot for words.
I wonder if you'd like my poems.
Sounds like you got alot of problems
And so do I
I don't have all day to read this
But my name is K.C.
And I'd really like to get to know you.
if you want to leave me
i think that is okay
i’ll still remember you
in the pages of my old notebook
doodled over and torn
stained with cherry coke
i’ll read the diary entry
about the time you took my innocence
and how it was
if you want to leave me
i think i’ll be okay
because you’re still buried deep in me
like the way ants create castles in the ground
you are the tunnels that i maneuver around
you’re artwork on a wall
too obscure to understand
everybody understands the sadness emanating
and they cry
because it’s beautiful
i cry because you’re beautiful