WordsWithWill - Hello Poetry

When the halls of solitude give way to arching gardens it will all be but half-remembered when I’m blinded by your kiss, as bright as a Sunday morning sun all bundled in a fuzzy blanket when you smile like this, gentle and sweet. You’re as steady as the tides, as consistent as night and day and I know you can already see the lines being traced for the blueprint of our home, I see our future children playing in your line of sight, just a stone’s throw down streams of time. I know you aim to see heaven on earth, to see Jesus turn water into wine again, to see the downtrodden lifted with an upward spiraling bannister towards eternal bliss and I think that’s why your focus so rarely drifts, you’re a woman who knows the joy of excellence. So tell me all your days, I’ll mix my love into your morning coffee and into every evening deliberation, into every small yet meaningful consideration. There’s a drama written in our God-given oxygen, a theology in the curve of your cheek, in the movements of your soul from life to death, movements like a bow drawn along a cello purring with voices low, voices quiet with a vow. And so I make my vows.

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Oct 14, 2024

Oct 14, 2024 at 6:31 PM UTC

Wedding Vows

When the halls of solitude give way to arching gardens it will all be but half-remembered when I’m blinded by your kiss, as bright as a Sunday morning sun all bundled in a fuzzy blanket when you smile like this, gentle and sweet. You’re as steady as the tides, as consistent as night and day and I know you can already see the lines being traced for the blueprint of our home, I see our future children playing in your line of sight, just a stone’s throw down streams of time. I know you aim to see heaven on earth, to see Jesus turn water into wine again, to see the downtrodden lifted with an upward spiraling bannister towards eternal bliss and I think that’s why your focus so rarely drifts, you’re a woman who knows the joy of excellence. So tell me all your days, I’ll mix my love into your morning coffee and into every evening deliberation, into every small yet meaningful consideration. There’s a drama written in our God-given oxygen, a theology in the curve of your cheek, in the movements of your soul from life to death, movements like a bow drawn along a cello purring with voices low, voices quiet with a vow. And so I make my vows.

5

Lighter than a feather, glorious weather, A systematic ground pound of a Nintendo flashback, nostalgic like it's bound in leather. "Are you cannon or thunder?" Both in a BOGO and I'd have to tip my hat to that, if I wore one, you make me wonder If I did, would it be red? And would I be singing, gleefully, "it's a me!" Where is joy's urgency? When will they arrive? Meanwhile, my interests are like intermingling strings, To each their own periodic surfacing, every half decade adding another to the party, every half decade since I've been alive. Oh, and as an addendum, Dance like there's no choreography. Swim like there's no shark! We're after ghosts hiding in the fog, Whispers in the dark, Whispers riding refracted light beams, somewhere between the faucet, the curtain, and the stream of water. We may mean different things when we speak of "contemplation" A different person when we say "father" (but I know even now you catch my drift) I only hope we can create something, something of an experience for our friends, a gift to lift the spirits! Most things sound like a better idea than the work they take to be accomplished. I guess that's why most only chase a few, But I shall endlessly sink my teeth into more than I can chew! After all, why not? Perhaps I'm a glutton for life, "And how much death does it take to feed a glutton?" But to compensate I will aim to be properly orientated, straight and true! Until I get distracted and forget to tie my shoe. And as I lean down to tie, I look back on life. But for there to be nostalgia, there must first be joy, and right now, joy! Dang it, man, where are you?

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Oct 14, 2024

Oct 14, 2024 at 6:18 PM UTC

Nintendo Flashback (Joy! Joy?)

Lighter than a feather, glorious weather, A systematic ground pound of a Nintendo flashback, nostalgic like it's bound in leather. "Are you cannon or thunder?" Both in a BOGO and I'd have to tip my hat to that, if I wore one, you make me wonder If I did, would it be red? And would I be singing, gleefully, "it's a me!" Where is joy's urgency? When will they arrive? Meanwhile, my interests are like intermingling strings, To each their own periodic surfacing, every half decade adding another to the party, every half decade since I've been alive. Oh, and as an addendum, Dance like there's no choreography. Swim like there's no shark! We're after ghosts hiding in the fog, Whispers in the dark, Whispers riding refracted light beams, somewhere between the faucet, the curtain, and the stream of water. We may mean different things when we speak of "contemplation" A different person when we say "father" (but I know even now you catch my drift) I only hope we can create something, something of an experience for our friends, a gift to lift the spirits! Most things sound like a better idea than the work they take to be accomplished. I guess that's why most only chase a few, But I shall endlessly sink my teeth into more than I can chew! After all, why not? Perhaps I'm a glutton for life, "And how much death does it take to feed a glutton?" But to compensate I will aim to be properly orientated, straight and true! Until I get distracted and forget to tie my shoe. And as I lean down to tie, I look back on life. But for there to be nostalgia, there must first be joy, and right now, joy! Dang it, man, where are you?

32

Rancor, Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge! Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show. We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey. I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president. I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper. Hear me These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child, Don’t listen to Rancor, That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long, I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl. I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch. How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot, the skin dries, the phone dies, the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.

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May 12, 2022

May 12, 2022 at 1:54 AM UTC

Rancor!

Rancor, Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge! Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show. We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey. I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president. I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper. Hear me These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child, Don’t listen to Rancor, That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long, I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl. I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch. How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot, the skin dries, the phone dies, the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.

16

The night draws near surrounding me with the obstinate strength of obsidian arms casting over my head a blanket of oblivion obliterating my obligation to be anything but oblivious. My frame oblong along this bed frame, I oblige the night her whispering request: to rest. So be it.

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Jan 5, 2022

Jan 5, 2022 at 1:37 AM UTC

Oblivion Night

The night draws near surrounding me with the obstinate strength of obsidian arms casting over my head a blanket of oblivion obliterating my obligation to be anything but oblivious. My frame oblong along this bed frame, I oblige the night her whispering request: to rest. So be it.

7

I want to surf the crashing waves of motion in your shoulder blades, glide along your neck until your ear’s the platform for the thoughts of sweetly singing heartstrings getting brought to harmony and pitch by the bouncing drop and lift of your laughter, so catch me with your banter, I’m a fool for you and you know it. Why hide it?

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Jun 28, 2021

Jun 28, 2021 at 1:36 AM UTC

Twue Wuv

I want to surf the crashing waves of motion in your shoulder blades, glide along your neck until your ear’s the platform for the thoughts of sweetly singing heartstrings getting brought to harmony and pitch by the bouncing drop and lift of your laughter, so catch me with your banter, I’m a fool for you and you know it. Why hide it?

1

I am friends with the owls and soon I will die and fade into the midnight fog floating among oak and redwood branches haunting the hearts of the lonely tugging at their heart strings until they pour their love freely like marriage wine. I will haunt the hearts of the lonely because I am one.

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Feb 20, 2021

Feb 20, 2021 at 11:07 PM UTC

(L)one

I am friends with the owls and soon I will die and fade into the midnight fog floating among oak and redwood branches haunting the hearts of the lonely tugging at their heart strings until they pour their love freely like marriage wine. I will haunt the hearts of the lonely because I am one.

10

I’ll mimic Matterhorn or the worn ways we window gaze and swipe left or turn right on the green light of another cliche If you swear gray is all the shades you’ll put on lamps to match the grayscale duvet Then catch me if you cat o’ nine tails a swallowed whale, We swear with chapped lips a waterworn promise Maybe the Amish had it right and we’re a little bit snobbish. I’ll Jack O’Lantern your etch-a-sketch erotica, Not much scarier, these days, trick or treat. Q-tips got your tongue? I’ll Question where you Came From 4 as long i Chan. You don’t leave the house anymore except for groceries. Catch me if you cat o’ nine tails a swallowed whale, Nineveh won’t wait, it’s time to break bread with danger and death.

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Jan 17, 2021

Jan 17, 2021 at 11:55 PM UTC

An aggressive poem pointed towards a couple different things that aggravate me

I’ll mimic Matterhorn or the worn ways we window gaze and swipe left or turn right on the green light of another cliche If you swear gray is all the shades you’ll put on lamps to match the grayscale duvet Then catch me if you cat o’ nine tails a swallowed whale, We swear with chapped lips a waterworn promise Maybe the Amish had it right and we’re a little bit snobbish. I’ll Jack O’Lantern your etch-a-sketch erotica, Not much scarier, these days, trick or treat. Q-tips got your tongue? I’ll Question where you Came From 4 as long i Chan. You don’t leave the house anymore except for groceries. Catch me if you cat o’ nine tails a swallowed whale, Nineveh won’t wait, it’s time to break bread with danger and death.

15

Shhh Don’t tell me how you feel with crude, blunt words. Tell me in myth. Tell me in crashing planets, swarming oceans, sly words cast sideways, heroes rising, secret forests, evil lords, and wars. Tell me in myth.

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Jan 17, 2021

Jan 17, 2021 at 2:24 AM UTC

Tell me in myth

Shhh Don’t tell me how you feel with crude, blunt words. Tell me in myth. Tell me in crashing planets, swarming oceans, sly words cast sideways, heroes rising, secret forests, evil lords, and wars. Tell me in myth.

12

You know well the verdant bed of aster stretched limb along the rolling slope tucked between the redwood trunks Piercing eyes peak back with bared fangs melting, molding into tilted neck, curious. In your mind, anyway, but in reality, the fuzzy forest creatures bend their backs subdued. The earth has her muzzle on, for now. But dragons; Dragons are real and they like to whisper in our ears.

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Jan 12, 2021

Jan 12, 2021 at 12:46 AM UTC

Dragons are real

You know well the verdant bed of aster stretched limb along the rolling slope tucked between the redwood trunks Piercing eyes peak back with bared fangs melting, molding into tilted neck, curious. In your mind, anyway, but in reality, the fuzzy forest creatures bend their backs subdued. The earth has her muzzle on, for now. But dragons; Dragons are real and they like to whisper in our ears.

12

Lately, I’ve been trying to (how should I say it?) Fold the corners of my subconscious tremors into creases, origami shapes I’ve been bending the bracket I’ve been trying to figure out my Enneagram.

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Jan 5, 2021

Jan 5, 2021 at 12:13 AM UTC

Enneagram

Lately, I’ve been trying to (how should I say it?) Fold the corners of my subconscious tremors into creases, origami shapes I’ve been bending the bracket I’ve been trying to figure out my Enneagram.

8