you are a wallflower, calm and observant and accepting of others
you are the love people pray for and the hymns they sing on sleepy sunday mornings
you are beauty and you're busy making me into a masterpiece
you trace my every outline with a shaky finger painting my skin with colors that bring out the shadows of my cheekbones and the holes in heart.
you reassure me that there is divinity and simplicity coexisting
you lift me up above the world, spinning on its axis and put me in orbit around your shining sun
and you watch my comets soar appreciating their juxtaposition of fire trailed by ice
you understand my quietness and give me time to pick apart my words letter by letter
know I have to have times hands grasped firmly in mine
you give definition to every word my shaky voice manages to form.
turning my nouns into objects of desire and verbs into movies with the sound off
you are everything to me . I am everything to you
and I swear to God, that's the best thing in my life
I'm the strange bursts of color you see with eyes closed trying to rub away the sleep.
I'm the rattling of the drawer. That old glass pill bottle full of baby teeth mom saved.
I'm the moss covered tilted grave. The one you can no longer read.
I'm the realization "ohmygodthat'sme".
I'm willing to show you.
I'm a juxtaposition. An old soul mid cartwheel.
I'm a lover.
I'm a dream climber. A star wisher.
I'm as cheesy as the moon.
I'm crazy and woo woo.
I'm always on the move.
I'm the product.
I'm the salesman.
I'm full of ready tears.
I'm full of shit.
I'm a broken record. Steady streaming of these feelings.
I'm a candid photograph. A fleeting moment that can live again.
I'm always hungry for positivity.
I'm fed up with proud ignorance.
I'm haunted by my purpose.
I'm trying to make a difference.
I am part of everything.
I'm a woman.
I'm a man.
It’s all about rhythm and timing,
It’s all about balance and poise,
It’s something much neater than rhyming or meter,
And sweeter than sorrow or joys.
It’s all about sibilant symbols,
The juxtaposition of milieu,
Of simple and complex, of content and context,
And going from serious to sillier.
It’s all about smoothness and friction,
It’s all about pleasure and pain,
Linguistic depiction, projection and diction,
And oodles of legerdemain.
It’s all about finding the answer,
It’s all about losing your way
It’s all about meaning, and swift intervening,
And choosing the means to convey.
It’s all about tenor and texture,
It’s all about tone and degree,
It’s all about asking the questions that’ve vexed ya!
And not trusting all that you see.
Loquacious, vexatious, licentious, tendentious,
The poet can palm bottom clubs or four aces,
You can be in a hole, and yet still have control,
If your scansion commands
What your structure and pace is.
Though poetry’s power, It makes most people cower,
What should be a flower, Is seen as a wreath,
It’s not evidential, it’s goddamn tangential,
It’s not on the surface, it’s what’s underneath.
Light comes in tones and
darkness comes in shades
has such a brackish mark
upon your passive visage-
it transfigures boldly, tempestuously
any average glance flung facetiously in my direction.
Dearest Rogue Element,
You invigorate all other
Like the slip of a blunt knife,
you surge open your soul, compelling
any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your
You betroth yourself to
the Fascinating, the Creative,
and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation-
you stir my
emotions with a mournful compassionate caress.
And that’s the difference.
The mellow mahogany of my eyes
provides the most loving background for Light to
reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration.
stride as the
Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me
with your gaudy juxtaposition
of angry intensity
and poignant serenity.
the rugged light stumbles like a foal
the juxtaposition of choice plays
between right and wrong
I recall the cup of forthrightness
with the sad lady,
for what was said
was not even fair yesterday.
Watch my shoreline sand prints ebb
and decide on forgiveness if you wish.
The bond of brickwork is vital to the structural integrity of delusional tradesmanship.
Idaho is a state to be reckoned with when the future of marital and maternal roles is in juxtaposition with self-loathing. Downtown Boise is a cultural centre of safety even though massacres occurred on the Oregon Trail.
I am now drawn to consider the simplicity of a cheese and pickle sandwich. It is all in the shape and tactile quality of the word.
Teachers can be boring in their unconvincing sterility. It all depends upon the type that we are talking about, doesn’t it? Let us never forget, that we cannot build meaning upon the foundations of a vacuum.
Let us hold hands as we traverse this challenging path where we seek to avoid psychological rape.
I love you like i loved you, like the sun burns the sky and is a torch for those who are lost and alone and depressed. I love you like i would carve it into a tree, to live forever with the sky and the lovers that pass, lying underneath in the grass; i love you like i would carve it deep into my forearm as though it would scar my skin and i would have it forever lain in front of me. I love you like the ocean feels the sand, and moulds a new earth each time it moves, silently strong and forceful in its journey to meet the shore. I love you like i have lost a thousand hearts and found one in the aftermath of joyous destruction and creation of myself.
I love you like a wall clings to the cold, as i cling to the cold wall, as the wall stands strong and upright and strangely comforting in its form. I love you like i loved you, before the moon rose from the forest, and the sun went to bed in the desert, and each day was renewed at the same time it was ending. I love you like the music that never stops but gives me a ferocious appetite for passionate forever afters, and fairytales of magnificent lust, loss, betrayal and denial, and finally the happy ending. I love you like the birds love the sky, how the wings feel the freedom in flight, how the flap of a wing creates an invisible echo through the invisible air.
I loved you like i loved the scent of the forest after the rain, after the time had stopped and started again, and there was a moment in all of the moments, where i could see the drop of rain die upon the ground and begin again in the earth. I love you like i lost you; an old penny from my purse, an old reciept for that thing i wanted to return but never did, like my mind that runs from the heart that beats inside of me for you. I love you as i love the old time western movies, I love you like i love the good times from my childhood, innocent and happy, i love you as i remember those things i had forgot in forgetting the bad times.
I love you like the grass that lives on despite what horrid beings we are in the way we trample over it with no respect for its grace of being alive for us, and has withstood the test of time to be here. I love you like i loved you, like the stars internally combust to be born, a black firework that no-one can see, hear, feel, touch or sense, like the dried coffee cup laid out to be cleaned with remnants that you were 'here'. I love you like i love words, I love you like i love the meaning in the verb, the noun, the alliteration, the juxtaposition, the allegory of sea faring tales of pursuit, courage and defiance and success.
I love you like i love you. I love you like i expect to love you. I love you from my mistakes, my pride, my egoism, my negative voices, my shaking hands, my pain. I love you from my freedom of loving you, from the cartwheel, candy floss, on-the-edge of the world, 'hold on to your pants', rollercoaster, anticipation of unspoken words, the promising anticipated kiss and the touch from your skin to mine, kind of once-in-a-lifetime, love.
I loved you like i love you, like i love you, like i loved you.
For all these reasons are unknown and known and forgotten and remembered,
I love you, with every cigarette stained breath, from every sip of vodka, from every regretful one night stand.
I love you, from the ink stained fingers of writing forget me not, from the abundance of joy in my heart, and the exploding passion in my volcanic mind, and from the look in my wise deserving eyes.
I loved you, for loving you, for loving's sake, and for you, for me and for, love.
I'm not pretend, I swear to god.
Whom I've only recently strarted to believe in, and only because I desire something.
And I am pretend in my Imagination, that much is true.
But my perception is scarred and blurred anyway, and what is real and who am I and who will I be? Do I really care?
I guess you know. Or you think you know, which is knowing to me.
But all this time I've know what I think is the secret: you are what others think because the you in your head is so violently different to the you displayed and for sale that only others can know you.
You are like a subjective and ambiguous bit of poetry, only you know the hidden meanings and deliberate devices, so you are biased. You expect people to see these tiny nooks like they are filled with neon, shouting, hollering: 'I Am Here!'
But they don't. Thy find other, obvious things, that you overlooked as being too obvious.
Then someone comes along and analyses you so candidly, picking up all the tiny bacterium you never noticed- so that you are more than willing to explain the complex juxtaposition of your existence, because they tried to understand. And admitted that they missed the grass in the field of daisies, they never assumed they knew you, they never announced it to the world with badly suppressed glee; that they had solved you like a childish puzzle in three seconds flat.
And people want to be loved, but I think they want to be understood. And we are all a little mixed up.
Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation