There is a forest old as hillsides
tall, majestic, dappled shades
fall on ground beneath the silent
gnarled defenders of the glade.
There they stand in ancient splendour
many souls have passed their way
often used as welcome shelter
from the heat of summers day.
Sweet the air they breathe in chorus
our life's breath their lungs provide,
soaking up our daily poison
so that we may live and thrive.
You seas of men intent to clear them
citing progress, peddling greed
tearing roots from precious mooring
laying waste to nature's seed.
**** the beauty of a landscape
displace creatures for your need
rupture fragile ecosystems
scar the earth and watch it bleed.
To you I ask a simple question,
as I see the land bereaved.
What need has man of all this progress
when he can no longer breathe?
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
*Maybe if I step on
enough flowers
or break
enough
hearts
I just might forget
I'm made of broken parts*
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
The beauty of a woman
is in the poems she's wrote,
the dreams she's weaved
and all the stories she's told.
The beauty of a woman
is in the adventures she's taken,
the lives she's touched
and all the minds she's awakened.
The beauty of a woman
is in the caring she gives,
the sincerity in her laughter,
and the passion in her griefs.
It's not the expensive clothes she owns,
her body size, the diamonds she's worn.
Measure not the beauty of woman in gold,
for the beauty of a woman is reflected in her soul.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Rouge, threaded dragons intertwined with oriental cherries
stain a mockery of silk spread across an unsteady table.
The lady, dwarfed by the redwood counter,
has skin stretched taught across the bones of her temples
only to softly be drooped and draped around her jowls.
She caught both my eyes in the little dips of her palms
but wrinkles worked onto her face are focused on receipts
and she is obviously oblivious that her hands, veined with sickly blue,
had struck me so hard that my head is thudding numbly.
Her nails are narrow and naturally long,
set into the spotted skin of her delicate fingers,
pulling at a memory bathed in red by the Chinese lanterns
hanging over me, the couple near the kitchen and tiny Mrs Huang.
Her hands gesture to me after calling my order twice
and I walk towards them to take the sterile, plastic packet
so that I can finally exit to the alley and spit into the gutter
a touch of an image much too familiar
to only belong to Mrs Huang.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
I love you, but not in the way that poets mention.
It’s a love with mostly beautiful parts—
those which beautiful words
could do their best to validate and describe.
But there are other parts,
like
the hot, jealous breath on my neck,
heavy and hanging over me—
a howling black cloud
patiently waiting to
rip,
pour,
warp,
and
ruin.
Other parts,
like
the craggy barbed wire ribs you wear—
the ones I take in when I wrap myself around you.
Who these are meant to protect
remains unclear.
Other parts,
like
the guilt I foster when we touch
while you remind me in a soft whisper
that you’re not mine to keep.
I face the bare wall and hesitate to accept
that to touch is simply to use,
and to use is so far from to love.
I love you, just not in the way that poets mention—
in that rigid crack between the brick and mortar—
in a narrow place where even the loudest secrets dare not echo.
I love you in that stretch of light between heel and shadow—
in the space that implies
but does not define
connection.
I love you, but not in a way that poets mention.
I love you in the silent incomplete—
the only way you’ll allow.
I love you alone.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Call this assurance if you must;
But when it's time to say Farewell
To one you love, it's just plain hell.
There are no words, no healing balm,
To fill the void, to ease the calm;
And not a thing that one can say
Will drive the quick hot tears away.
We look upon the empty chair
And seek the one no longer there;
And so heartbreaking is the pain
We question if we'll meet again.
How grim indeed, if death should be
The Bitter End--- Eternity;
Just some vague dream conceived by Man
And not a part of any plan.
But God has taken such great care
To note the sparrow in the air;
His Love alone can cover all
And Mark a simple Sparrows' fall.
And if he cares for the birds that fly,
then he must hear My Anguished cry;
"Dear God, I yield my grief to Thee
For Thou alone can comfort me."
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
you are a stampede in the hollow parts of my bones,
a chance to open the chambers of my heart. quite literally.
my plans for this body are to be wrapped around the intensities of yours.
keep you still.
I look into a velvet mix and hope someone’s there.
instead I hear God yell, who made me?
the bruises you left on my shoulders tell
the story of an orange tree stuck in the wrong garden
but still persisting it is at home.
you are the exothermic reactions happening in my veins.
hardly do you notice them shimmer.
I smoke the left over cigarettes
found between my nails.
they exhale your name when the air is cold
and frost becomes my sole companion.
you walked away when I gave you my hand
and all you felt were tears drip from my pores.
a sponge used to dry my eyes.
is this what it’s like to be in love?
hardly do you notice them shimmer.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
There are moments in which
I convince myself that the sun shines in your eyes.
There are also moments in which
I'm afraid I'll drain you of that very light that drew me to you.
I've only ever taken from people,
I've only ever fallen out of love,
but your lips feel more like home that any house I've ever lived in.
People says that humans are like toys,
initially interesting but eventually jaded.
But what I've learnt is that people aren't like toys at all.
They can't be fixed with a few screws and some glue.
What I've learnt is that you can't really fix a person,
all you can do is love them,
and loving is hard for a girl that's only ever known airport terminals
and indefinite goodbyes.
But I'm willing to try my best for the boy who has eyes that shine that shine as bright as the morning sun.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
***I long for my soul
that travels with you
as I am with hunger
that just you can fill.
I imagine you thus, my completion
when in truth I perceive only me
in my dream my delusion of lack.
While we are intact our creation
with stories of struggle revival and pain
as we meet and remember and dance with each other
learning and playing this journey again....***
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC