topher-green
American
I use poetry not only as a release but as a tool to help me consolidate my opinions and emotions about the world around me. But mostly, I write for myself. I'm glad to have found such a welcoming community of word smiths. I've only been writing for about 4 or 5 years, I hope to improve by receiving constructive criticism, or just general praise. I'm from the Central Coast of California, and I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd like to be. Cheers :)
not just the beat and beating of my heart
but the mind that necessitates the rhythm--
the notion that begs to be spoken are often
the most complacent
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
Shamed to say--
Our eyes were transfixed--
a pig-tailed harlot in ******* gesture--
Our paradigm a construct of discontent and distraction,
a mockery.
All the while our minds made up--
The chemical ghost kept in its grave--
claims translucent as the agenda itself.
Shamed to say--
The audience engrossed with North West;
The East, a precarious little flame meandering on the sidelines
of a nightmare we haunt whole.
What will it take to break our gaze?
How much longer will we suffer scrutiny?
Take the helm and steer towards an effort for thought,
or remain in forlorn ignorance, remain
a mockery.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
Amber streaks of sun
filling up the country skies
And all around,
a buzz
a bark for the singing summer.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
With each passing day we grow.
In the garden my fingers graze the blades of grass
then down your face; stopping to tease a dimple.
You are fastidious as I, in turn, am a static stone.
Yet we hold each other in place,
like an anchor that has found it's way.
Even in the garden we cannot stop the clock.
And isn't that every one's wish?
To remain in time immemorial?
When He arrives time quickens
and we wish even greater to slow it's pace,
but for other reasons, better reasons.
The tyranny of time, how it's never in our favor;
or quite the contrary.
And in the garden we watch Him grow with the grass;
for we are no longer up in arms with time.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
A day to remember. I saw you in so many lights,
So many ways.
You found me, in the dark, deep place;
now made brighter.
I love you, I love you,
a shore right beside her.
Again we begin,
as a safe place, a warm rain,
a tender blow, caught up in The Rapture.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
bereft and struck, yet
brief in exile
the gatherers made
a day of the whole affair.
through standing afar
ghastly, conscious,
risen things gawked
as fixed upon; pigeons.
the eat your heart out feeling
swallows the gatherers whole
a breath of an opinion heard;
outspoken.
forget nothing but fallacy!
democracy of the estranged
fluctuating feelings for your
Father Dear.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
the gravel in back
kitty litter
i stop at the door
the spider tucks tight
in his shingled home
i'm not scared
but he is
he has kids
eyes as strange
like glimmering stone
in absent light
illuminate everyone as one
and we'll sit together
writing diatribes
on a porch as solemn
as i
as we
as everything is anything
it begs to be perceived
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 12:52 PM UTC
Dear old St. Francis
odd that familiar
parks and onyx apex
that starves for the skies
sandalwood harbinger
As we walk the
camel spine streets
of South City to North Beach to
a westward seascape
brash scaffold lingering
steeped and sweet
for a gaze-eyed artist
Displace the era,
misdirected Guru that
owes nothing to reality
Jun 11, 2011
Jun 11, 2011 at 8:49 AM UTC
mimicking birds
we fled from the fields
full of balloon men
and their hearty work ethic
released from cages
we occupy the crude pastel
shades that take meaning out
of context
I breathe only to feel
my lungs collapsing
I run only to feel my
knees buckling
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 1:37 PM UTC
as I sit near the sill of my window; eyes of my home
the scent of jasmine tinges the air; my sensual bridge
that the bonfire blistering days of summer seasons approach me, I know
that the tiny rocks that rattle in the basin of my guitar
must be lonely and without sound to keep them company.
when I write I feel quaint
more so than thinking,
more so than living?
when I write about myself
I only tell the worst parts
and that keeps me hungry
where is the good?
knowledge cannot be attained
when one's mind is weary; give up the geist!
and revel in insanity. You will,
you will, always in time you will.
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 9:58 AM UTC