I. (The Gone).
They have gone.
Why does it bother me so?
A truth,
only a handful of gems
stay bright,
all others
faded
like pencil on paper
until a faint mark remains,
what was, what now is.
Names in conversation,
a drive down the alphabet
then and now,
clotted recollections
breaking apart
each time, stalled
in silent traffic.
A few, needles I suppose,
a shot in the arm
again, again,
I cannot believe
how many times
their voices
painted everything,
but long gone,
no abrasion or impact
to consider, to revise.
On occasion,
a stretch into fog,
icy melancholies
but not always
a echo,
moments to inform
me they can return
if they wish.
II. (The Bare Feet.)
So, it is night.
Whorls of cream
came through the door,
sleepyhead next to me,
ragged, tired,
out of juice.
I can only say
‘I knew you would.’
This is not your home
but we’re not far away.
Lipstick less rosy,
sound of drums
still throbs in our ears
but it was worth it,
for confetti,
flecks of gold
whirling around
you, the crowd.
Peachy lights
spray across
your face,
piano black eyes,
warm bare feet.
It is not real
but we can touch,
we can speak.
On our knees,
we look at each other,
I hold you,
the minutes
stutter past
and for a moment
only silence,
silence is all
we need for our words
are used too much.
III. (The Next.)
It took
over a year
but we saw
each other again.
Since the end
of a grey June day,
two years
elsewhere,
forty miles the difference.
He quit,
the right choice
he tells me
as we reminisce,
that’s what it is
these days,
now he looks
for the next stage
and soon
it will be me
who must fully
step into adulthood,
like a foot plunged
into a bath,
too hot, too cold.
Did we expect this?
If we could see
next year
would we smile
or scowl?
Tell ourselves
it’s just the way
things go,
on, on, on.
Now, as I look
out my window,
the faintest tinge
of orange
descending,
I know, he knows
we don’t know
what comes next.
The fourth in a continuing series of poems, following on from 'The Current’, 'The Recent' and ‘The Present.’ (It would be greatly appreciated if you were to read those in your own time.) Each poem is separated into three parts describing various aspects of my life - things happening at ‘the moment.’ Part one concerns the notion of growing up and friends departing, part two deals with a recurring dream involving a singer recently in the media spotlight and part three focuses on a recent meet-up with an old friend of mine. The second part of this also falls into my on-going series of poems written with specific females in mind, either those I know of but do not count as a friend, those I see merely in passing, or those I have never met but are well-known. The last of these was ‘Red Day, Blue Night (Part 4).’
I'm trending love.
I'm trending hate.
I'm trending the fact that you always reply a little too late.
I'm telling you that you are less than enough.
And when you fuck me, its a little too rough.
Pounding away like you're shooting a gun.
All too soon.
I never come.
Too pretty to make you feel let down.
Fake it always, you're the shittest rodeo clown.
Take off your fuckin face.
Eat me wide, go on, give me a taste.
Sink your teeth into my bare flesh,
feel my history in my blood
seek me out in all my mess.
I am showing you darling
in my very sweet tones
that my succinct naivety is nothing more,
than what you want from your white ash bones.
I am trending you
I am trending your cock.
I am trending the look you wear
and the music you rock.
I am seeking a feeling more than text, a wink or smiley face.
Look, At, ME.
Am i that easy to replace?
Bitterness is found in the sweetest pill
i'll bend your ass, i'll bend you over,
I'll fuck you at will.
I will move my trend towards your neck
outpour my lack of interest in your ear,
tell you what it is you want to hear.
Fuck you, and fuck your nation.
Fuck your distinctive'taste',
and your senseless judgement and interrogation.
I am not some sweet-ass-fuck-drive-by-shooter-girl,
I have fucking brains,
I am seconds away from tearing apart your world.
I am living safely from behind my defensive line of white hair,
fuck that shit, i don't want closeness
rip my clothes off, don't leave till i'm wanton and bare.
Oh and i am trending your messages
I am trending all of you.
I am not trending depression, fucked up or feeling blue.
I am trending love, trending the great divide.
I made it through and over, to the other side.
I am not what you will ever believe me to be
a glimmer, of a hint, in a riddle, is all you will see.
I am trending what is insane, and what is not,
I am thinking, your thinking of,
'what the fuck has this girl got?'
I am not here to make you laugh, or for you to wish for more,
I am here to be left broken and wet,
on your kitchen floor.
I am trending honest, i am trending passion and life,
I am trending a big fat fuckin smile,
Because I am not your possession or your future wife.
I am not trending your cock size, or your 16 positions in one night,
I don't want you to cry on my shoulder
I am not trending 'your mother', i have earnt that right.
Look, At. ME.
Second chances rarely come as few
and when i walk away, i will walk away with a taste of you.
I am sweetness, i am luxury divine,
make me bite you, scratch your back, forget the time.
But at my cost, at my control, this will be,
you are not my attachment,
my soul is not your key.
I am trending love, i am trending ME
for what is locked within, is never for free.
Fuck.
Me.
What a trend
It was a moment so chilling when I realized I had feelings for you again.
Yes, again.
This rotation of endless "agains" has kept me up day and night in anger,
love, lust, but most of all, confusion.
This relation we have is driven by sexual jabs and hurtful comments
designed to inflict the most pain on each other.
This "again" that I feel will fade into nothing more than another hatred for you.
But just like every other time, soon we will both start gazing at each other from across the room
and quickly looking away as though the other hadn't seen our eyes on their face;
We will begin once again lose the offensive spews
and our small conversations will evolve into tense talks with blushed cheeks and hot ears;
Yet somehow, I cannot get enough of this cycle of "agains".
It is addictive like your personality.
It is an obsession like your ability to make me crazy.
I am crazy for you,
but at the same time I fear that this lusty craze with wear off
and we will be left with nothing but silence.
Could this be true admiration for one another? Is this chemical?
Or is this passionate relationship powered on by our teenage hormones and sexually-frustrated bodies?
Just tell me what you want.
If you are happy, I will be content.
I guess, if you look at our situation from afar,
you could say we're in love. I’d disagree.
This is nothing but an infatuation between two people both sharing one common thing:
somebody who they can imitate passionate love with again and again.
I crave your physical touch and your boyish humor.
I need your attention most of all.
You need it too; you need me more than I need you.
How you wish to brush your lips against mine and feel my body and hold my hand and be mine. Nonetheless I wish for that too. Badly.
Nightly I torture myself over what to think, what to want.
But every time this happens, I push you away.
And the cycle of "agains" return, only to ruin us inside even more.
Hannah decided to have a heartwarming party
After all home is where the heart is
So she invited anyone with lungs that breathe
To come share the warming air
She typed up a flier that read:
I welcome you all to see
The moon meet the sun
Cover charge: one body handshake
The drug for this evening will be hugs
I've heard if you have too many or
Squeeze too hard you can
Overdose on love
But we will take our chances
Bring a friend or
Better yet an enemy
Show them that the
Night can dance with the day
It will dawn on them at dusk
This won't be one of those
BYOB affairs
More like bring your own everything
So we all can play emotional musical chairs
Smiles are free
Surrounded by such company
So be sure to RSVP
Even though walk ins are always accepted
It would make me so happy
To know you're coming! :)
Sun coming up with my head over the lake
Breathing cold air in as last night fades
Scizor tales flip against blue sky
Trees of green shadow my eyes
My mind's troubles
ripple far from the shore
and I – hurt no more
She rambles on her guitar
Feet toes barely touching the water
Sounds and light flicker in space
She sings songs of “finding peace”
And my mind's trouble
ripples far from the shore
I - hurt no more
Couple of beers, shooting pool at the bar
Drinking with friends who don’t know who you are
Outside the night air is driftin’ off of the lake
Easy now to smell the coming of change
My mind's troubles
ripple far from the shore
and I - Hurt no More
Hear the waves crashing on the sand
my heart skips a beat when he grabs my hand.
Listen to you breathe lying next to me
Curled up close I begin to dream
[she even added the line at the end "Hear the waves crashing on the sand, My heart skips a beat when he grabs my hand"]
I sit here so isolate with so much on my mind;
Oh how my heart cry's out to you Jehovah ,
Your words hold my poor heart in the right
Way to go ,
I was so lost and a lone , didn't have nothing I
Could call my own , I didn't even have a home ,
Some time ago I had lost my way of better days;
why?
what have I done? I taken my eyes off of the true
God ; and started walking in darkness , I thought
I could do things on my own ;
Know I cry out ! Please don't leave me ,I need you
Jehovah , I love you I was so wrong to think I was
Better on my own without you to lead the way for
Me to walk ,
This torture of this old darken world ; destroyed me
I can't sleep, My heart keep taunting me , For doing
So wrong , This pain that I feel goes on night and day
kills my laughter, encourages more pain; and keep's
Me so deep in depression of my wrong's ,
My soul cry's out like a old sad love song of long ago
When psalms of David cry's to come home ,
Jehovah find me ! tell me that everything is going to be
alright , That you are by my side ,
Just know Jehovah ; That I have made a stupid mistake
And I will keep walking in your ways of better day's .
The beating of my heart,and the throbbing in my brain
Was as if I was about to die to an empty place lost men
Call home of ever lasting ;
I had to cry of a reality check , This was not were I wanted
To be ! My heart belong to Jehovah of everlasting love
From heaven above ,
I had to cry many day's and lonely night ; Hoping and praying
You would hear my cry's ,
I had felt you don't want me , But just then I heard a voice say
In the dark pouring rain , Saying I gave my only begotten Son
Jesus to die for you , and for all mankind ,
So just then I could feel my heart mined ,And I new Jehovah head
My cry and told me to live life right in his eyes, From that time on
I moved on teaching others about Jehovah and his law's .
Lilly Emery
He felt that he did not look in mirrors enough, so he looked now. This is what he did not see: that he was on his third wife and fifth mistress. Nor did he see that both were strong -- stronger than he had kept before -- but not so strong that they could last much longer. He saw a face crashing slowly into tomorrow, but behind it he did not perceive his own skull. Instead it was that of his wife: shrewish and callous, constantly turning tears into anger and grinding the shrill shards of glass into his wrinkles. She chewed her jaw and somehow made his own flesh hurt. He did not see his hypocrisy, the fact that he had lain on his mistress' lap and cried the same tears last night. All because of being misunderstood, neglected, and -- this one unstated -- unable to find a still-younger woman for a new affair. After picking something from his teeth he inspected his hairline. "Not so grey."
The giant’s ruminations could once demand
Salvation, the order of the universe in hand.
Now, all his awe and glory’s come to naught
And man cries madly, distraught.
In black and white, His word and song is made,
And in this darkened night will never fade.
Who are you to say we must submit?
Who are we to give our spirit and quit?
Great Lords, and Pope, alike, have written what men think,
So who am I to tell you when to sup a drink?
Millions upon millions, the critics tell our fate through wit,
But hasn’t it all been said, hasn’t it been writ?
I tell you no certainty, give you only proof,
You must read those great volumes to which so many are aloof.
I sing praises like as David, a song that Solomon would want,
Of everlasting truth, without a philosophic taunt.
Salvation is not my message, repentance not my ploy;
I wish to give you knowledge, to teach your mind it’s not a toy!
There is no great illusion of the means of life on Earth,
There is no puzzling mystery in death and life and birth!
Whether God is at your side, or rejected wholly through,
The only one to chose your fate is overwhelmingly, singly, you!
Gloriously glorified, stained no more with sin,
To live a life of Glory, is glory given Him!
Whether purpose given, or purpose thrown aside,
Whether admit he’s risen, or deny he did abide;
Travel the less-trampled track—the path less trodden down,
For the destination matter less when that road is filled with crowns.
We should find a favorite spot,
Go camping there once a year.
In between the traveling about,
From there, to there, to there to here.
Put daisies up in my tangled hair,
And I will you help with yours.
Kiss me when I stir from a night mare,
Kiss my lips and make me soar.
We may only own a single teapot,
Living in the wilderness is an odd career.
But we'll never wish to be elsewhere,
In the morning when we wake to a herd of deer.
The little pitter-patter of tiny feet
Running to daddy and mommy.
A sound that would be so sweet
Even if sentences are a bit clumsy.
In a half empty house, lying on a half empty bed,
I find that the half smoked cigarette, jostles for half an inch,
with half a smile that has crept onto my lips,
when with half the night gone, I realize that
more than half of my thoughts are about you.
