psyche-in-a-dress - Hello Poetry

i. poem to the girl with the empty house: chipped nails, grey sky, band-aids, garden that never blooms, scuffed shoe, pet cat, altars, broken mirror, summer dress, rose shampoo, half-read books, mint, prayers in the dark, seabird, afterimage, trinkets, candlelight ii. poem to the man enslaved by time: cold sea, old scars, chapped lips, cigarette, forest fire, hades himself, tears from woodsmoke, worn and old jacket, long fingers, tousled hair, city lights, diesel and pine, hands in pocket, clocks that stopped, razor burns, portals to nowhere, unfinished song iii. poem to the boy who learned how to pray: skin smells like sun, mountain, pilgrimage, empty fields, shrine, bath soap, footprints, steady hands, rough t-shirt, dirt, half-wishes, offerings, incense, forbidden, penitence, gritting teeth, sacrifice, motorbike exhaust, calloused heels, on the edge iv. poem to the girl who doesn't know when to leave: dream, nameless flowers, glare from the sun, prism colors, dragonfly, photo album, solstice, fresh laundry, candy store trips, smiles, wonder, helping hand, beach day, strawberry, creaking floorboards v. poem to the boy in the picture on the altar: sea through window, warm wind, autumn trees, memory, tired hands, laughter, scarf, Sunday morning, caramel, bus rides to nowhere, crumpled letters, paper cuts, last wish, seaglass, yellow, blade vi. poem to the girl caught in between: soft ghost, dust motes, tired eyes, chapstick, wind through hair, rain puddles, sea spray, glance, forest opening, tree shadows, perfume, frost and icicle, thin pale wrists, smoke, winter sunlight

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Jul 29, 2025

Jul 29, 2025 at 1:24 AM UTC

psyche-in-a-dress

untitled

i. poem to the girl with the empty house: chipped nails, grey sky, band-aids, garden that never blooms, scuffed shoe, pet cat, altars, broken mirror, summer dress, rose shampoo, half-read books, mint, prayers in the dark, seabird, afterimage, trinkets, candlelight ii. poem to the man enslaved by time: cold sea, old scars, chapped lips, cigarette, forest fire, hades himself, tears from woodsmoke, worn and old jacket, long fingers, tousled hair, city lights, diesel and pine, hands in pocket, clocks that stopped, razor burns, portals to nowhere, unfinished song iii. poem to the boy who learned how to pray: skin smells like sun, mountain, pilgrimage, empty fields, shrine, bath soap, footprints, steady hands, rough t-shirt, dirt, half-wishes, offerings, incense, forbidden, penitence, gritting teeth, sacrifice, motorbike exhaust, calloused heels, on the edge iv. poem to the girl who doesn't know when to leave: dream, nameless flowers, glare from the sun, prism colors, dragonfly, photo album, solstice, fresh laundry, candy store trips, smiles, wonder, helping hand, beach day, strawberry, creaking floorboards v. poem to the boy in the picture on the altar: sea through window, warm wind, autumn trees, memory, tired hands, laughter, scarf, Sunday morning, caramel, bus rides to nowhere, crumpled letters, paper cuts, last wish, seaglass, yellow, blade vi. poem to the girl caught in between: soft ghost, dust motes, tired eyes, chapstick, wind through hair, rain puddles, sea spray, glance, forest opening, tree shadows, perfume, frost and icicle, thin pale wrists, smoke, winter sunlight

12

july belongs to you, and songbird. the wind won't stop whistling, shaking the trees amidst the aftermath of Night-storm. look, river-and-sea. we are all but caught in dream after dream, weaving parallel time- lines and fragments of our memories. see, i told you. it is what it is when i put the book down as you stare out into the woods through the ***** pane. i want you. i whisper breath- lessly. summer, but not quite. you see, believe me when i say. july belongs to you.

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Jun 14, 2023

Jun 14, 2023 at 2:50 AM UTC

psyche-in-a-dress

mt. road summer

july belongs to you, and songbird. the wind won't stop whistling, shaking the trees amidst the aftermath of Night-storm. look, river-and-sea. we are all but caught in dream after dream, weaving parallel time- lines and fragments of our memories. see, i told you. it is what it is when i put the book down as you stare out into the woods through the ***** pane. i want you. i whisper breath- lessly. summer, but not quite. you see, believe me when i say. july belongs to you.

24

Shimmering beauty Slow crisp waves reappear, Time for coffee Time for life Time for shadows dancing on the wall Im alive Im dead Im everything in between Shimmering beauty Slow crisp waves reappear Out of my head and into the day Im alive Im grateful

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psyche-in-a-dress

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 4:18 AM UTC

yz-doo

Untitled

Shimmering beauty Slow crisp waves reappear, Time for coffee Time for life Time for shadows dancing on the wall Im alive Im dead Im everything in between Shimmering beauty Slow crisp waves reappear Out of my head and into the day Im alive Im grateful

13

On top of the world A day old biscuit , A fat sliced piece of bacon On top of the world Smiling as I walk down the black and blue alley On top of the world Not a penny in my pocket On top of the world A smile I am free

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psyche-in-a-dress

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC

yz-doo

On Top

On top of the world A day old biscuit , A fat sliced piece of bacon On top of the world Smiling as I walk down the black and blue alley On top of the world Not a penny in my pocket On top of the world A smile I am free

9

Dr Seuss Kids eyes closed Snuggled up just right Awake My own stories Ruminations Stuck needle on old school vinyl Awake I want dr Seuss and snuggled up just right My mind Awake

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psyche-in-a-dress

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 4:15 AM UTC

yz-doo

Sleep

Dr Seuss Kids eyes closed Snuggled up just right Awake My own stories Ruminations Stuck needle on old school vinyl Awake I want dr Seuss and snuggled up just right My mind Awake

12

Count red cars or the billion stars maybe count each silver charm on a silver chain Watch the night fall quietly onto town sleep a dreamy sleep dream a sleepy dream Chase the wind to wherever chase it in your own worn shoes Run away from the waves you've known since childhood that's all you've ever known Blow away the fluff from the silent dandelions blooming on the roadside to your home Wait for the rain to drop on roofs, hear it patter against your window Pass the time see the rusty trains speeding into rusty blurs into nowhere Do nothing on the benches in the station Catch someone's hat blown away by the wind maybe keep it as your own who knows, it could all be yours. To you, Girl by The Sea

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Sep 6, 2018

Sep 6, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC

psyche-in-a-dress

Dead Leaf

Count red cars or the billion stars maybe count each silver charm on a silver chain Watch the night fall quietly onto town sleep a dreamy sleep dream a sleepy dream Chase the wind to wherever chase it in your own worn shoes Run away from the waves you've known since childhood that's all you've ever known Blow away the fluff from the silent dandelions blooming on the roadside to your home Wait for the rain to drop on roofs, hear it patter against your window Pass the time see the rusty trains speeding into rusty blurs into nowhere Do nothing on the benches in the station Catch someone's hat blown away by the wind maybe keep it as your own who knows, it could all be yours. To you, Girl by The Sea

50

.. Save from the hidden nests of birds, it was the only one there...isolated, like an isle...crested on the leveled top of a gorge...its way down or up was through a hand-carved series of steps on its slope...at its front was a curved gorge......one would think, it was trying to cross over the cottage was small, weather-beaten, desolate......its wooden walls seemed to have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed its age...its having survived past storms.... from its window, the stream was seen, and heard, flowing on and on between these two precipitous valleys. light came from the sun...and moon, music was provided by the murmurs of the forceful wind, the continuous flow of water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves, the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds' singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy rains on its roof...and countless other hymns of nature......the dweller had heard them all... beneath a lonely moon glow, when nights were cold, there hovered low 'pon its aged roof, rounds of layered fog...like a series of steps....like a stairway to the sky... fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded the cottage.....it vanished from view, the two gorges and the stream, hushed, in the dark loneliness of that secluded spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped inside....misshapen silhouettes... in light and in dark, the whistles of nearing and departing boats....were wailing, haunting calls, piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or, maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage, or...of the one living in that lonely cottage, ...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn, willing to be found...longing to be reunited .......with the light and warmth of love... the cottage, the gorges, and the stream would be loneliest, without the cottage dweller... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan August 27th, 2018

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psyche-in-a-dress

Aug 31, 2018

Aug 31, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC

sally-a-bayan

The Cottage, the Gorges and the Stream......

.. Save from the hidden nests of birds, it was the only one there...isolated, like an isle...crested on the leveled top of a gorge...its way down or up was through a hand-carved series of steps on its slope...at its front was a curved gorge......one would think, it was trying to cross over the cottage was small, weather-beaten, desolate......its wooden walls seemed to have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed its age...its having survived past storms.... from its window, the stream was seen, and heard, flowing on and on between these two precipitous valleys. light came from the sun...and moon, music was provided by the murmurs of the forceful wind, the continuous flow of water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves, the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds' singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy rains on its roof...and countless other hymns of nature......the dweller had heard them all... beneath a lonely moon glow, when nights were cold, there hovered low 'pon its aged roof, rounds of layered fog...like a series of steps....like a stairway to the sky... fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded the cottage.....it vanished from view, the two gorges and the stream, hushed, in the dark loneliness of that secluded spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped inside....misshapen silhouettes... in light and in dark, the whistles of nearing and departing boats....were wailing, haunting calls, piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or, maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage, or...of the one living in that lonely cottage, ...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn, willing to be found...longing to be reunited .......with the light and warmth of love... the cottage, the gorges, and the stream would be loneliest, without the cottage dweller... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan August 27th, 2018

50

Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down! There are traitors in this town! There are traitors in this town! Shoot every tenth man down! I am the law, I hold the crown. And those, who oppose the crown, Shall be put down, to the ground. Put down, to the cold, cold ground. Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down! There are traitors in this town! There are traitors in this town! Corpses don’t even make us frown! By the grace of God I rule In this world cold and cruel Death is but a fancy tool To crush the idea of a fool Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down! There are traitors in this town! There are traitors in this town! Death is walking somewhere around. The idea of freedom visited your mind. Perhaps a safe-heaven in it it did find? But be wary still, I am far from blind And to the traitors, I am far from kind. Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down! There are traitors in this town! There are traitors in this town! That is how you obey the crown. Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down! There are traitors in this town! There are traitors in this town! He is king, you are but a clown. So he spoke, and so he spoke, It almost seemed like a bad joke: Each side is clinging to his truth - Eye to eye, tooth for a tooth. Now we may say “conclusion” - Trying hard to avoid confusion, Each lives in his own illusion, Trying to prove this poor delusion. Cha. Cha! This is the law… Of the gods and monsters, We are just failed imposters. Human life is precious. But it might infectious. Thusss... Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down! There are traitors in this town! There are traitors in this town! He is king, & you are but a clown!

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psyche-in-a-dress

Aug 29, 2018

Aug 29, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC