my-name-here - Hello Poetry

No matter how softly they walk, treads will wear the terrain by the paths of least resistance. In the tender tracks I wanted briars to grow, To draw out crimson pain. Flowers bloomed instead. Rough hands crushed green necks, Yet you couldn't hear their fragrant cries, over the pride of adornment. I know their pale petals fell On your shoulders, like tears. Spring torrents came, soft resolve washed away, Sharp edges of hardened granite gleam. Walk softly over barren rock.

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Jan 17, 2018

Jan 17, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC

my-name-here

Flowers bloomed instead

No matter how softly they walk, treads will wear the terrain by the paths of least resistance. In the tender tracks I wanted briars to grow, To draw out crimson pain. Flowers bloomed instead. Rough hands crushed green necks, Yet you couldn't hear their fragrant cries, over the pride of adornment. I know their pale petals fell On your shoulders, like tears. Spring torrents came, soft resolve washed away, Sharp edges of hardened granite gleam. Walk softly over barren rock.

16

The clouds dipped low, low enough for our fingertips to touch perfume to their necks

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Nov 24, 2014

Nov 24, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC

my-name-here

Dreams.

The clouds dipped low, low enough for our fingertips to touch perfume to their necks

3

glancing over the town lights, filtering darkness into a sick pink haze, they lay and swell in valleys like gaudy jewels on the neck of a woman laying at a wake. Maybe her lies are the most believable truth we'd never take.

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Nov 24, 2014

Nov 24, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC

my-name-here

Not a skyline. Barely a place.

glancing over the town lights, filtering darkness into a sick pink haze, they lay and swell in valleys like gaudy jewels on the neck of a woman laying at a wake. Maybe her lies are the most believable truth we'd never take.

8

we were two doves, beaded on gossamer wires early windswept sunlight it cracked our skin metallic melodies bathed listening ears in it’s soulless rapture a call of illusory progress lifting above sagging rooftops sky packaged in brown lace, and at her feet glittering blankets white. although it was the bitter rinds of a passive love cellophane days crackle loud in a static mind Swim in hot manilla seas; Where dreams fail to be a membrane to protect from waking we were two doves on a wire intertwined between dusk and daylight the weight of the day settled with a hazy sigh upon our bones shadows spreading like spilled ink bled from trees.

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Apr 27, 2014

Apr 27, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC

my-name-here

The Rustbelts' Morning Robe

we were two doves, beaded on gossamer wires early windswept sunlight it cracked our skin metallic melodies bathed listening ears in it’s soulless rapture a call of illusory progress lifting above sagging rooftops sky packaged in brown lace, and at her feet glittering blankets white. although it was the bitter rinds of a passive love cellophane days crackle loud in a static mind Swim in hot manilla seas; Where dreams fail to be a membrane to protect from waking we were two doves on a wire intertwined between dusk and daylight the weight of the day settled with a hazy sigh upon our bones shadows spreading like spilled ink bled from trees.

28

Headlights hang. trapped in eyelashes aspirations wandered above struck down into the musty grass of a church lot there was no mercy to be had I swore it heaved the floorboards bled purple, Clocks tore themselves apart while the frothy whispers of flowers haunted the humidity. to get lost here among the carnation sky would almost be better.

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Jun 13, 2013

Jun 13, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC

my-name-here

2am.

Headlights hang. trapped in eyelashes aspirations wandered above struck down into the musty grass of a church lot there was no mercy to be had I swore it heaved the floorboards bled purple, Clocks tore themselves apart while the frothy whispers of flowers haunted the humidity. to get lost here among the carnation sky would almost be better.

14

In a shrill corner with overcast clouds dully wasting the day for contemplation washes in brackish waves flood mouth and eyes I tell you but no better words hover lazily like dust caught in light In the shrill corner held with fierce intensity, the best way small palms can clench. you were some treasure I'd finally found which might slip from my pockets, of threadbare fabric burying between the thistle and trash by the sidewalks' path by my own oversight you make a promise I can’t swim to the bottom for fear of what truth might look like. Consumed without discretion. without abatement. smoke and ashes will settle into bloodstream and bone leaving fossil traces If one day you want to slip between the fibers to be among something new I will understand let you pass with fists clenched. around their flesh I will make a promise.

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Mar 16, 2013

Mar 16, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC

my-name-here

Among Thistle and Trash

In a shrill corner with overcast clouds dully wasting the day for contemplation washes in brackish waves flood mouth and eyes I tell you but no better words hover lazily like dust caught in light In the shrill corner held with fierce intensity, the best way small palms can clench. you were some treasure I'd finally found which might slip from my pockets, of threadbare fabric burying between the thistle and trash by the sidewalks' path by my own oversight you make a promise I can’t swim to the bottom for fear of what truth might look like. Consumed without discretion. without abatement. smoke and ashes will settle into bloodstream and bone leaving fossil traces If one day you want to slip between the fibers to be among something new I will understand let you pass with fists clenched. around their flesh I will make a promise.

31

watch from afar counting shadows viewing life splayed out mercy to the chaos of gusts. I have retreated battalions to have them pluck memories, before they can become sugary over-ripe. sequestered from the clamor. there were things that were suppose to happen I am sure of this. instead minutes were splashed, squandered upon walls and floors

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Mar 1, 2013

Mar 1, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC

my-name-here

Over-Ripe & Squandered

watch from afar counting shadows viewing life splayed out mercy to the chaos of gusts. I have retreated battalions to have them pluck memories, before they can become sugary over-ripe. sequestered from the clamor. there were things that were suppose to happen I am sure of this. instead minutes were splashed, squandered upon walls and floors

13

shed that shell translucently lacquered by childhood that insect fluttering behind the ivory bars of your ribcage was once buried under funerary mosses of a fallen oak tree three hundred years of aged silence basking in it's demise saying "I stretched to the heavens but they scurried away every night of every day"

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Jan 22, 2013

Jan 22, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC

my-name-here

Oak Trees

shed that shell translucently lacquered by childhood that insect fluttering behind the ivory bars of your ribcage was once buried under funerary mosses of a fallen oak tree three hundred years of aged silence basking in it's demise saying "I stretched to the heavens but they scurried away every night of every day"

19

You are the last sliver of light my rods and cones can find a chill clings on the shoulders of an iron clad morning perfume she put on trailed behind for days as the globe turned a maimed face away from the heat of it's helium lover.

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Jan 20, 2013

Jan 20, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC

my-name-here

Winter gave you that black-eye.

You are the last sliver of light my rods and cones can find a chill clings on the shoulders of an iron clad morning perfume she put on trailed behind for days as the globe turned a maimed face away from the heat of it's helium lover.

6

Even wan hills looked better in threadbare light You were the whisper of a neon lights noses to the sky in a pitch plastic night I walked by their obstinate legs, haunted by a plastic bag gliding on negligent bursts. upon arrival roughly hung doors of understanding lit by cheap sulfur bulbs. The handles too large for small palms to turn my feet knew better ways home they ambled on beside my plastic ghost.

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Dec 16, 2012

Dec 16, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC

my-name-here

Plastic Bags. Plastic Night.

Even wan hills looked better in threadbare light You were the whisper of a neon lights noses to the sky in a pitch plastic night I walked by their obstinate legs, haunted by a plastic bag gliding on negligent bursts. upon arrival roughly hung doors of understanding lit by cheap sulfur bulbs. The handles too large for small palms to turn my feet knew better ways home they ambled on beside my plastic ghost.

18