I want to feel endless

wrap your body around mine
until I lose myself

if only for just a moment

take my hand in yours, so that,
when you pull away, you
take my sorrows with you

so even when you're gone I'm happy

run your fingers ever so gently
across my skin
I want every neuron, every nerve ending
to feel on fire, just once

because I need to feel alive

take me home,
kiss away the bad memories,
and let me sleep in your arms

I want to feel infinite.

This poem based on a joke on eggs (!) is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I  was reminded of that joke about eggs  by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.  
Timothy:  “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” …
Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…



Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door

(1)
“Dad,”* says 6-year-old Tim
back from the neighbour’s
“Sandra next door and I’ve decided
to get married”

Dad laughs…What do these kids know? he thinks…
I’ll humour him, just kid along
with this precocious child of mine


(2)
“But you’re too young, Tim,”
says Dad

“That’s OK,” says Tim
“Sandra doesn’t mind I’m a year
younger than she”


“Oh,” says Dad
“but marriage is such
a huge responsibility”

“Yeah,” says Tim quick and sharp
“Haven’t you seen my school reports?
Teacher always says I’m hugely responsible;
it’s the same on Sandra’s card”


Dad’s smile weakens
“Well, what will the two of you
do for money?”

“Oh, we’ve worked that one out
We get $20 a week in pocket money
between us and we reckon we’ll take
on extra jobs:
I can mow our lawn;
and she’ll wash dishes at her home
Beside we’ll save a lot of money
since we don’t at all eat out
and lodging is free -
a week here and the next at Sandra’s”


(3)
Now Dad has lost his smile
These kids have thought of everything,
he thinks.  I’ve got to do better –
come up with an objection that’ll  strike fear


“Have you thought, Tim,” says wise old Dad
“about babies? Married people make babies –
what you going to do about that?”

“Simple,” says Tim the kid, cool and unperturbed
“We’ve googled all that:
Every time Sandra lays an egg
I’ll crush it under foot!”

Dad sighs with relief…

he had stars in his eyes
when he was excited about something,
an energy she could feed on,
and a way of speaking that
left her feeling like the world
was, in fact, a good place

He doesn't have a lot of money
But he's got just enough time on his hands
And his hands
Are soft and skilled and soothing
When they brush across the apples of my cheeks

Wherever I am with you, that's what I'll call home
And I know my walls are tall but they're old
And they're crumbling
Pack another bowl in my piece. Spend a little more time with me please... Don't go.

Can I sink into your spirit
Can I soar inside the place where you feel safe
I'm tired of being sick of the cold, Hold me Closer.
Just like that, as if you always have.

you were curling my hair around your fingers and laughing at the shape of them
  or maybe you were just laughing at me,
         I’m not sure.
and then I told you I loved you and you smiled—
                  ok that didn’t happen—
what happened was you pulled at the curls you just made in your own hands
until they weren’t attached to my head anymore.
     it didn’t hurt, I think.
    and then you put them in your pocket and ran away
                                  and then you fell and she picked you up and put you in her pocket and ran away too.
then you came back and said whoops, sorry but you still didn’t give me them back
         I don’t know if I even want them back.
on the way to the place with the people and the things in the car you winked at me
or maybe you had something in your eye,
but I smiled and you said that’s fine so I cried for a little and then it was just us
but I was still scared she was going to put you in her pocket and run away again
     but you told me not to worry.
and then we were swimming in the pool
but then I looked down and it wasn’t a chlorine-colored blue
  it was red like the sun at sunset but it wasn’t sunset and there was no sun;
      I felt ok but you didn’t and you pulled a knife out from under the pillow—
               the one in your room—
and that’s when I finally realized you were going to be the one to **** me
and I also realized I was ok with it
because better you to **** me than some other shmuck,
you know?
      the only problem was I wasn’t the first one you killed,
or it should have been a problem,
or rather they all said it was a problem;
but it wasn’t.
and then we were rolling around in the grass,
and I lost an earring and you said whoops, sorry and I kissed you anyway
               but you didn’t kiss me back
but you pretended to and that was alright so I went with it
      but then you didn’t want to go all the way and I was ****** but pretended I wasn’t
and then you said shhhhhh and then you grew wings and flew away
and left me there for the birds to eat
while she grew wings to be with you so you weren’t alone.
and then we were sitting on your porch swing and it was swinging slowly
and you looked straight into my eyes for hours while I talked about nothing
but then you started to talk about something
and then I got really happy
and then we started swinging so fast that we were in the sky,
         but we weren’t, really.
and then she stopped the swing and picked you up and put you in her pocket and ran away again.
     this time you didn’t come back.
then I turned into ***** and told you I was ok with it.
                   and then I cried.
               and then I woke up.

Trapped.

     I am snared,

forever burning.
The very feathers

circling my throat
tingle with flame.
Embers shiver

as they drip
down my back.

     I am ashes.

There are hands,
with want to touch,

the desperate
feverish mortals
seeking forever,

scrabble about,
thieving my eternity.

But I do not hold
the grail they seek.

I am no fountain
for life and for living.

     I am an undead curse,

ringed with flame.
My talons are pitch
and empty as coal.

The pool of my eye has
the haze of raw steam.

     I did not choose.

I was a spark and
no new-born flicker
shall birth from my

flank. I will never put
tinder and flint to my

breast, never pull forth
a struggling bairn.

     I am barren.

Never will the scorch
spread further than
my soul. The swoop

of my neck is the
tongue of the flames.

     I am bound in this burning.

The smoke fills my lungs,
blacken and sear.

     I cough as I choke,

my skin catches light.
Cracks.

     I am dying.

Everything flames,
spirals within.

     I am free,

roasting to pieces,
crumble to dust.

     I am burning,

beaten wings
an inferno.

     I am free.

Inhale the ashes.

     I am reborn.


Again.


Trapped.

This is not an angsty teenage poem
of love lost in that moment when you realized you wern't the exception
This isn't the story of love found over a cup of coffee
This is the poem for those who cannot speak
afraid of the havoc their words will wreak
the voices that tell stories worth sharing
wanting to be set free
to see light
to scream
Those who sit in fear
of not being believed
and for those who's name they'll never speak
The star athlete
the man down the street
the man in the corner of the bar
their best friends brother,  in his car.
this is a poem for those who shed tears and wish they were layers of skin
this is the poem for words unspoken
for those who wish that all they lost was love
for those who's tongue's gone numb
for those who wish this was an angsty teenage poem.