SandyPoet - Hello Poetry

like winter. She's a splinter stuck under his skin. Growing stubble on his chin. He shaves it off. But it rises like a nagging cough. Every night he sees her set like the sun in the west. She's a rolling tide rushing toward the shore, oil clogging his pore. Like a Purple Martin flying south, she'll strike like a cottonmouth. She's a disease that drops him to his knees. When he thinks he's over her wind stirs branches scraping his window pane. Drawing out his pain in beads of nightly sweat. He crashes like a jet.

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13h ago

Jun 3, 2026 at 7:30 AM UTC

SandyPoet

She'll Return

like winter. She's a splinter stuck under his skin. Growing stubble on his chin. He shaves it off. But it rises like a nagging cough. Every night he sees her set like the sun in the west. She's a rolling tide rushing toward the shore, oil clogging his pore. Like a Purple Martin flying south, she'll strike like a cottonmouth. She's a disease that drops him to his knees. When he thinks he's over her wind stirs branches scraping his window pane. Drawing out his pain in beads of nightly sweat. He crashes like a jet.

16

brush you off with the wave of my hand like a piece of lint or a strand of hair you'd float into the summer air inside the sun's electric glare. If I could stomp you with my foot I'd squish you like a bug inside the deep tall grass. And you'd pass like built up gas. If I could run you over with my lawnmower. After all you are a **** Plow you down at high speed.

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3d ago

May 31, 2026 at 7:18 AM UTC

SandyPoet

If I Could

brush you off with the wave of my hand like a piece of lint or a strand of hair you'd float into the summer air inside the sun's electric glare. If I could stomp you with my foot I'd squish you like a bug inside the deep tall grass. And you'd pass like built up gas. If I could run you over with my lawnmower. After all you are a **** Plow you down at high speed.

16

plane a million miles high in a spilled ink canvas sky. Climb aboard a sleeper-train across mountains, deserts and plains. The "clickety-clack” of wheels on the tracks and whistle blowing roaring through the stations taking you to far away destinations. Aboard a cruise liner, one with an all-night diner. And sail with the whales across the pond to Wales. Smell the salty sea, strong as my chai tea. No matter how you go, don’t make it slow!

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7d ago

May 27, 2026 at 8:34 AM UTC

SandyPoet

Fly on a Jet

plane a million miles high in a spilled ink canvas sky. Climb aboard a sleeper-train across mountains, deserts and plains. The "clickety-clack” of wheels on the tracks and whistle blowing roaring through the stations taking you to far away destinations. Aboard a cruise liner, one with an all-night diner. And sail with the whales across the pond to Wales. Smell the salty sea, strong as my chai tea. No matter how you go, don’t make it slow!

16

painted fog in your bathroom mirror, striped bans of sweat. The closest you'll get near her is a pixel-faced image. She'll be a breath you exhale in the cold winter morning, a puff of cloud hanging like a viper without warning. She'll be ringing in your ear, the clapper inside striking every fine downy hair. You’ll not shake her loose. She'll trumpet in your head like a long neck goose. She'll be a hallucination, a brunette silhouette, an aberration.

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May 24

May 24, 2026 at 7:54 AM UTC

SandyPoet

She'll Be

painted fog in your bathroom mirror, striped bans of sweat. The closest you'll get near her is a pixel-faced image. She'll be a breath you exhale in the cold winter morning, a puff of cloud hanging like a viper without warning. She'll be ringing in your ear, the clapper inside striking every fine downy hair. You’ll not shake her loose. She'll trumpet in your head like a long neck goose. She'll be a hallucination, a brunette silhouette, an aberration.

16

chestnut eyes roasting over flames in salted lies. Or that proboscis monkey nose swinging like a pendulum in those heated throes. Or those elephant ears that double as an umbrella. And those flapping gums that sing a cappella. Or that winter hill stripped bare that sprouts no flowers, not a sapling strand of tendrilled hair. Erase the whole face from me, eyes and nose, lips and teeth. Take the body with it too. Burn it all in the flue.

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May 20

May 20, 2026 at 7:00 AM UTC

SandyPoet

I Never Want to See

chestnut eyes roasting over flames in salted lies. Or that proboscis monkey nose swinging like a pendulum in those heated throes. Or those elephant ears that double as an umbrella. And those flapping gums that sing a cappella. Or that winter hill stripped bare that sprouts no flowers, not a sapling strand of tendrilled hair. Erase the whole face from me, eyes and nose, lips and teeth. Take the body with it too. Burn it all in the flue.

16

like cool crisp crimson leaves flying off the trees on an autumn day. Like downy feathers in the robin's nest circling the wind off their baby's speckled brown breast. Like fluff from the cottonwood tree snowing down, dropping its seeds. Scatter you fluffballs into the air. Gallop like a strong-willed mare. Dance like a kite floating in a cornflower sky, over the roof tops and waving goodbye. Like a dozen balloons untethered with glee, drifting in the clouds waggling like a bee.

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May 17

May 17, 2026 at 9:32 AM UTC

SandyPoet

Blow Away

like cool crisp crimson leaves flying off the trees on an autumn day. Like downy feathers in the robin's nest circling the wind off their baby's speckled brown breast. Like fluff from the cottonwood tree snowing down, dropping its seeds. Scatter you fluffballs into the air. Gallop like a strong-willed mare. Dance like a kite floating in a cornflower sky, over the roof tops and waving goodbye. Like a dozen balloons untethered with glee, drifting in the clouds waggling like a bee.

16

in pants and buttoned shirt, a cold-blooded reptile who likes to flirt. He changes colors like leaves in autumn. You hit the high then fall to the bottom. Intoxicating like strawberry wine. Like wet laundry he’ll string you up on the line. He's dripping black into your white. You’ll turn gray overnight. But oh! His smile has teeth. You'll hang on his door like a Christmas wreath. Like the seasons he runs hot to cold. Remember December brings the snow. Rising like a golden sun, turning black when day is done.

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May 13

May 13, 2026 at 7:52 AM UTC

SandyPoet

He's a Chameleon

in pants and buttoned shirt, a cold-blooded reptile who likes to flirt. He changes colors like leaves in autumn. You hit the high then fall to the bottom. Intoxicating like strawberry wine. Like wet laundry he’ll string you up on the line. He's dripping black into your white. You’ll turn gray overnight. But oh! His smile has teeth. You'll hang on his door like a Christmas wreath. Like the seasons he runs hot to cold. Remember December brings the snow. Rising like a golden sun, turning black when day is done.

16

a cloud of beaded pearls strung together in a tabernacle sky sweating like a microwave pie. She's Rain wet and cold, pelting down, a roaring cascade, in stilettos and black suede. She’s Wind rolling like an ocean wave, cutting men like their morning shave. She’s Thunder crackling like crispy skin of roast pork, piercing you like a mowing fork.

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May 10

May 10, 2026 at 7:53 AM UTC

SandyPoet

She's Mist

a cloud of beaded pearls strung together in a tabernacle sky sweating like a microwave pie. She's Rain wet and cold, pelting down, a roaring cascade, in stilettos and black suede. She’s Wind rolling like an ocean wave, cutting men like their morning shave. She’s Thunder crackling like crispy skin of roast pork, piercing you like a mowing fork.

16

like his striped necktie after a long evening of brusque goodbyes. He hangs it up in his skeleton closet with shirts and pants. And rants of greener days when bread was thick and honey glaze. Like his shoelaces loose, untied he kicked off and tossed aside. Like a seatbelt unbuckled after the ride he jumped out on the fly. Like a rusty hinge he does not hold. She wore him down. Now he's too old. The nest he built fell apart, piece by piece, **** by ****

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May 6

May 6, 2026 at 7:01 AM UTC

SandyPoet

He's Come Undone

like his striped necktie after a long evening of brusque goodbyes. He hangs it up in his skeleton closet with shirts and pants. And rants of greener days when bread was thick and honey glaze. Like his shoelaces loose, untied he kicked off and tossed aside. Like a seatbelt unbuckled after the ride he jumped out on the fly. Like a rusty hinge he does not hold. She wore him down. Now he's too old. The nest he built fell apart, piece by piece, **** by ****

16

with feet and brain rolls like beads of painted purple crimson dew dropping on his running shoe. Burgundy wine on a white carpet the tannins and pigments are a tar pit that cannot be wiped clean. A black ink marker on the old man's leather couch embedded like a joey in his momma's pouch. He cannot wipe the blood from the scene. It's there for all. And all have seen this human stain.

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May 3

May 3, 2026 at 7:13 AM UTC

SandyPoet

This Human Stain

with feet and brain rolls like beads of painted purple crimson dew dropping on his running shoe. Burgundy wine on a white carpet the tannins and pigments are a tar pit that cannot be wiped clean. A black ink marker on the old man's leather couch embedded like a joey in his momma's pouch. He cannot wipe the blood from the scene. It's there for all. And all have seen this human stain.

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