preston-c-palmer-1 - Hello Poetry

I don't know I I have all of these words so many of them and I just can't stop speaking them all of these words like a bad cough I don't know these words they're so empty, they're like popcorn so full of nothing. I hear myself, a lot, speaking all of these words and I see people's eyes and I get a bad taste in my mouth it’s like I have all of these things to say but really I don't I don't have anything to say it's like I'm testing how much people want to listen to me no these words are like bubbles soap suds and they keep foaming up in my mouth gross she laughs but something is wrong it's like I don't understand that if I let some water come in and wash it all out I wont need those words anymore I don't know *she says, you're beautiful, and like beauty, words for it come and go, keep them while you can* words well these are the talking words and as much as I talk them they never seem to go away it's like there's more of them everyday *she says, so what?* they're annoying, that's what mostly because I think they are and I can’t stop thinking about how annoying they are I am unchanging unmoving I am like a leaf in a stream But I am stuck on a twig And I seem to move no more than a rock *she says, well then, I can be of no service.* i know and that's why I hate these words look at ‘em look at how pitiful they are. *she says, words are only what you make of them darling.* I guess. it’s these winters they put me in a bind *she says, why so?* I'm not sure it's hard to say but it's pretty clear something does.

0

Jan 15, 2013

Jan 15, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC

These Words

I don't know I I have all of these words so many of them and I just can't stop speaking them all of these words like a bad cough I don't know these words they're so empty, they're like popcorn so full of nothing. I hear myself, a lot, speaking all of these words and I see people's eyes and I get a bad taste in my mouth it’s like I have all of these things to say but really I don't I don't have anything to say it's like I'm testing how much people want to listen to me no these words are like bubbles soap suds and they keep foaming up in my mouth gross she laughs but something is wrong it's like I don't understand that if I let some water come in and wash it all out I wont need those words anymore I don't know *she says, you're beautiful, and like beauty, words for it come and go, keep them while you can* words well these are the talking words and as much as I talk them they never seem to go away it's like there's more of them everyday *she says, so what?* they're annoying, that's what mostly because I think they are and I can’t stop thinking about how annoying they are I am unchanging unmoving I am like a leaf in a stream But I am stuck on a twig And I seem to move no more than a rock *she says, well then, I can be of no service.* i know and that's why I hate these words look at ‘em look at how pitiful they are. *she says, words are only what you make of them darling.* I guess. it’s these winters they put me in a bind *she says, why so?* I'm not sure it's hard to say but it's pretty clear something does.

84

Today a dense fog drifted over my mind and behind my pupils, my breath swam through it as I passed blindly over the moist cracks in the sidewalk. And no matter how hard I focused, my lungs still felt heavy and my heart still raced, and my legs couldn’t keep themselves from stumbling on the thoughts that flickered uncontrollably through my mind. Today, I threw my hands at the gates of never-never land desperate to escape, even if I cannot see the other side, even if these gates are made of nothing but my own fear. I want to scream, ”I AM AN EMOTIONAL MAN,” but there would be no one to hear me but the squirrel, confusing the utility pole for a tree as I pass by. Today, snippets of joy and confusion and longing slip in front of my retinas like water particles suspended in air. I can feel the emptiness burn like a fire within my core, the void that I confuse for hunger. Today, my eyes see nothing but the tenderness that lays softly upon my heart, the longing for inner-peace that laces my every breath, and the yes, maybe, someday, love, that echoes in my every footstep.

0

Jan 12, 2013

Jan 12, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC

December 2, 2012

Today a dense fog drifted over my mind and behind my pupils, my breath swam through it as I passed blindly over the moist cracks in the sidewalk. And no matter how hard I focused, my lungs still felt heavy and my heart still raced, and my legs couldn’t keep themselves from stumbling on the thoughts that flickered uncontrollably through my mind. Today, I threw my hands at the gates of never-never land desperate to escape, even if I cannot see the other side, even if these gates are made of nothing but my own fear. I want to scream, ”I AM AN EMOTIONAL MAN,” but there would be no one to hear me but the squirrel, confusing the utility pole for a tree as I pass by. Today, snippets of joy and confusion and longing slip in front of my retinas like water particles suspended in air. I can feel the emptiness burn like a fire within my core, the void that I confuse for hunger. Today, my eyes see nothing but the tenderness that lays softly upon my heart, the longing for inner-peace that laces my every breath, and the yes, maybe, someday, love, that echoes in my every footstep.

31

Today, poetry means nothing as the sun sets, the day ends, metaphors pass on the meaning of nothing, and the meaninglessness of grasping, of reaching, and trying to get one’s fingers around it. Today, the universe is elusive, hard to put my finger on, like trying to find the significance of an old story; it disappears and reappears like a mirage even though, all the while, my heart is fluttering and aching, passion dripping from it like saliva, as I sit, calmly perplexed by this inner turbulence.

0

Nov 19, 2011

Nov 19, 2011 at 12:59 PM UTC

November 11, 2011

Today, poetry means nothing as the sun sets, the day ends, metaphors pass on the meaning of nothing, and the meaninglessness of grasping, of reaching, and trying to get one’s fingers around it. Today, the universe is elusive, hard to put my finger on, like trying to find the significance of an old story; it disappears and reappears like a mirage even though, all the while, my heart is fluttering and aching, passion dripping from it like saliva, as I sit, calmly perplexed by this inner turbulence.

18

Today, the sun sits at ease while the clouds play like children suspended in time, carefree and visceral; the thought lifts my feet as I step over the deadened grass. Poetry and downtempo rhythms carve into me as if I were wood, and I melt into awe, transported back in time a thousand years, where wherefore is the question, as it has always been, for millennia, and To Be is wiped away like a fresh smudge. Today, I meet a man with so much hatred, he looks like any other man on the street. And Today, when I see him die, not ten minutes later, when neon lights the streets and women walk cross-legged in the arms of their partners. I see him walk off the stage and smile. Today, I salute him as I glance briefly at the newly darkened sky. The times to come may his likeness, his visage, become the expression of my own dreams, expanding like a flowers last bloom before the cold winter's night.

0

Sep 26, 2011

Sep 26, 2011 at 3:48 AM UTC

September 25, 2011

Today, the sun sits at ease while the clouds play like children suspended in time, carefree and visceral; the thought lifts my feet as I step over the deadened grass. Poetry and downtempo rhythms carve into me as if I were wood, and I melt into awe, transported back in time a thousand years, where wherefore is the question, as it has always been, for millennia, and To Be is wiped away like a fresh smudge. Today, I meet a man with so much hatred, he looks like any other man on the street. And Today, when I see him die, not ten minutes later, when neon lights the streets and women walk cross-legged in the arms of their partners. I see him walk off the stage and smile. Today, I salute him as I glance briefly at the newly darkened sky. The times to come may his likeness, his visage, become the expression of my own dreams, expanding like a flowers last bloom before the cold winter's night.

28

Today, I am finally free of what used to be dead vine around my ankles. I remember how I would walk into the vision ahead, hazy and blurry, like the cold autum breeze after the sun has set, like the few damp leaves melting as I step on them, softening the edges of a dream, this dream that is the present moment. Today, I watch the eastern horizon fade as the sun sets, calmly, at my back. And I breath, without hesitation, the air of peace, the air of openness, the air of someday-real-love. Today, I smell the fireplaces as the dog plants two kisses on my cheek. And I look up at the dark blue sky and, today; Today, it's alright.

0

Sep 24, 2011

Sep 24, 2011 at 11:35 PM UTC

September 24, 2011

Today, I am finally free of what used to be dead vine around my ankles. I remember how I would walk into the vision ahead, hazy and blurry, like the cold autum breeze after the sun has set, like the few damp leaves melting as I step on them, softening the edges of a dream, this dream that is the present moment. Today, I watch the eastern horizon fade as the sun sets, calmly, at my back. And I breath, without hesitation, the air of peace, the air of openness, the air of someday-real-love. Today, I smell the fireplaces as the dog plants two kisses on my cheek. And I look up at the dark blue sky and, today; Today, it's alright.

24

Today, the hot sun baked the orange leaves like toast on the lush over-grown grass while I meditated on indifference, apathy amalgamated with acceptance, filling my heart and chest with a confusion about whether I should even care whether it's worth my time whether I even have the courage. And as the ground beneath me rose and fell cars passing me like stars, as I weaved my way back into the darkness, I remembered that more often than I ever admit I was the peahen in Darwin's big book, admiring those feathers; the soft, light skin, the blue eyes, the beautiful smile; all hauntingly forbidden. Because, when you've gone so many days without water, and the desert isn't getting any smaller, perhaps it's just easier to lie down and remember the orange leaves on the green grass beneath the empty trees. Today, I remember, and die; unable to forget how long I've been dehydrated.

0

Oct 9, 2010

Oct 9, 2010 at 12:13 AM UTC

October 8, 2010

Today, the hot sun baked the orange leaves like toast on the lush over-grown grass while I meditated on indifference, apathy amalgamated with acceptance, filling my heart and chest with a confusion about whether I should even care whether it's worth my time whether I even have the courage. And as the ground beneath me rose and fell cars passing me like stars, as I weaved my way back into the darkness, I remembered that more often than I ever admit I was the peahen in Darwin's big book, admiring those feathers; the soft, light skin, the blue eyes, the beautiful smile; all hauntingly forbidden. Because, when you've gone so many days without water, and the desert isn't getting any smaller, perhaps it's just easier to lie down and remember the orange leaves on the green grass beneath the empty trees. Today, I remember, and die; unable to forget how long I've been dehydrated.

27

Today opened like a fresh wound. And as fleas and spiders of malaise and listlessness slinked near the **** I could feel their tiny legs tickling my skin. And even though the wound was as temporary as a mirage, it was still equally as debilitating. And so I tripped feebly through the day, biding my time with an inner calm that was really something more like exhaustion. But today, something a little, tiny bit, like love stood like poles keeping me on my feet, but it was more like longing, like dreaming of winter when the heat of summer remains a solid, unwavering truth. Today, I was a lost leaf tossing in the wind to the whims of my heart's incomprehensible, but easily repressible, ache. And when it all came to a stop, I could almost taste the metal of the grate, as cold water rushed against me, and into the storm drain below.

0

Oct 7, 2010

Oct 7, 2010 at 8:11 PM UTC

October 7, 2010

Today opened like a fresh wound. And as fleas and spiders of malaise and listlessness slinked near the **** I could feel their tiny legs tickling my skin. And even though the wound was as temporary as a mirage, it was still equally as debilitating. And so I tripped feebly through the day, biding my time with an inner calm that was really something more like exhaustion. But today, something a little, tiny bit, like love stood like poles keeping me on my feet, but it was more like longing, like dreaming of winter when the heat of summer remains a solid, unwavering truth. Today, I was a lost leaf tossing in the wind to the whims of my heart's incomprehensible, but easily repressible, ache. And when it all came to a stop, I could almost taste the metal of the grate, as cold water rushed against me, and into the storm drain below.

29

Today shrugged in total acceptance for the arising, never ending process of confusion and bewilderment and awe. Leaves tossed their bright orange bodies over the blacktop, and warm, blue sky, as I took a sip of tea warming my chest to the idea of openness; to the prospect of a present that is entirely out of my control.

0

Oct 7, 2010

Oct 7, 2010 at 12:20 AM UTC

October 6, 2010

Today shrugged in total acceptance for the arising, never ending process of confusion and bewilderment and awe. Leaves tossed their bright orange bodies over the blacktop, and warm, blue sky, as I took a sip of tea warming my chest to the idea of openness; to the prospect of a present that is entirely out of my control.

17

Today I rose from bed and looked out of my ***** window and saw a tiny slice of the moon, drifting towards the horizon as the sun, as if stretching its tired arms, opened its eyes to the achy, cold trees, and weary night-folk. And quietly, peacefully, I entered the day with the same brightness I had seen in the sky from my window, as I filled my cup with tea. Minutes passed like grains of dirt on the ground as I flew over them on two rubber wheels, accomplishment was taken as it came, one pebble at a time. And today, for once, when I saw the smile on that beautiful face and my heart filled, I held the joy I despised so much in acceptance and joy for the moment, instead of crushing it. One day, the dreams I conjure in the light of noon will be reality, memories to be forgotten because they haven't the opportunity to exist yet.

0

Oct 5, 2010

Oct 5, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC

October 5, 2010

Today I rose from bed and looked out of my ***** window and saw a tiny slice of the moon, drifting towards the horizon as the sun, as if stretching its tired arms, opened its eyes to the achy, cold trees, and weary night-folk. And quietly, peacefully, I entered the day with the same brightness I had seen in the sky from my window, as I filled my cup with tea. Minutes passed like grains of dirt on the ground as I flew over them on two rubber wheels, accomplishment was taken as it came, one pebble at a time. And today, for once, when I saw the smile on that beautiful face and my heart filled, I held the joy I despised so much in acceptance and joy for the moment, instead of crushing it. One day, the dreams I conjure in the light of noon will be reality, memories to be forgotten because they haven't the opportunity to exist yet.

24

Today, I am a cyborg attached to a computer by a thick cord that comes out of my wrist. I can feel the metal in my arm, the little divots that allow it to bend freely as I twist and move. Inside the cord, wires spiral into me, around my spine and into my stomach. I feel like a rebellious zombie, in the way I smile whole-heartedly at the kids in the stroller, and the old lady reaching for two pennies in her purse. Soup, they all seem to be making, but I’m just standing here punching in numbers and asking the same questions, wondering whether the universe needs the receipt or if I should recycle it.

0

Oct 4, 2010

Oct 4, 2010 at 7:17 PM UTC

October 4, 2010

Today, I am a cyborg attached to a computer by a thick cord that comes out of my wrist. I can feel the metal in my arm, the little divots that allow it to bend freely as I twist and move. Inside the cord, wires spiral into me, around my spine and into my stomach. I feel like a rebellious zombie, in the way I smile whole-heartedly at the kids in the stroller, and the old lady reaching for two pennies in her purse. Soup, they all seem to be making, but I’m just standing here punching in numbers and asking the same questions, wondering whether the universe needs the receipt or if I should recycle it.

19