Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Nov 2013 Kitty Prr
Nat Lipstadt
upon closer examination,
my hands,
my history.

my hands fit
irregular-sized gloves,
life summaries,
slightly worn,
marked down
for the discount table.

my creases are
covered up
underneath a few
genesis survivors.

a "handful" of
youthful blonde hairs,  
failing to depart,
as time has requested.

these blonde survivors,
refuseniks to
time's ravages,
mockery makers,
of history book writers.

yet, these cohorts few,
are in cahoots with,
wave machines,
tidal decay suppliers,
gray color,
content providers,
to the balance
of my body.

nicks and grooves,
crisscross stitches,
vanity disrepairs,
someone is
counting down lifelines,
one million billion cells,  
used up, only shells,
wreckage of death stars,
jails for membranes,  
forgetful fabric memorizers,
crumbled fractures,
patches designed by
an unknown haute couturier,
a failed revisionist
of the original conception.

All our hands.

upon closer examination,
Jubilee finale,
arrival day of the  
Halcyonian,
mythical bird,
powerful enough,
charm the winds,
calm the waves,
harbinger of
our demise.

that date,
initialized,  
DVR recorded,
visible,
right there,
upon on all
our hands,
all our history.

Source coded
in a language
for which the
Rosetta stone
yet undiscovered,
but visible,
right there,  
on all
our hands,
all our history.

Halcyon bird,
comes
when it comes,
though we,
always, surprised,
oblivious
to the obvious.

Halcyon bird,
coming, to calm,
and to lament loss,
coming,
to still the wind
and wave within
the heart,
repair the
deepest rent.

So these words,
caresses,
coming,
to calm and to lament,
from my hands
to yours,
asking modestly,
for acceptance,
for forgiveness,
for another's hands hold
mine, my heart.

Yet my hands wave on,
each wave, a day,
an entry in and on my handy ledger,
where recorded,
upon closer examination,
my hands,
my history,
the what is
as well
what cannot ever be.





-------------------------------------------------------­-----------

* http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/halcyonian

(Halcyonian, a mythical bird, said to have the power of charming winds and waves into calmness, associated with death)
Written a long time ago, can't remember when
 Nov 2013 Kitty Prr
Infamous one
My jobs not great but its money
I don't need a girl but wish someone would love me
Tough love hard thoughts to cope with
Bad choice tough decisions
Part of taking control had enough
The rain is my weather makes things better
Thankful and overall growing  up
Even if life is more than showing up
Not caring staring off in the distant
Feeling numb being resistant
Consumed by anxiety hard to breathe
I know dreams shared them
Even if no one cared for them
Life lesson learned time already served
You chose less that's what you deserve
 Nov 2013 Kitty Prr
Jeremy Bean
I am twisting
and contorting
changing form
What you'd call a monster

Disconnected
and detached
and debauched
human impostor

I am damaged
I am tainted
don't try to change it
you'll be devoured

I'm reshaping
and negating
the hands still helping
this world we're creating

Not losing hold
I am letting go
the lies we have been told
since so long ago.
 Nov 2013 Kitty Prr
Jeremy Bean
I took my life line
and tangled it up
into a knotted ball
spiked with shards
of broken reflections
of my past
and I swing it around
over my head
like a weapon
just trying to make a dent
or a mark
upon this thing we call life.
 Nov 2013 Kitty Prr
Tim Knight
Warmth is a jumper,
a knitted, sewn and cross stitched bunker
in which we exist and sweat in, let out sighs of
I am okay or  I'm always this upset,
and behind those patterns we see the world
through a window the size of a pea, an out-of-focus
key hole where we can watch and wait
and be warm in the thought that
we've no work tomorrow.

Warmth is a blanket on a bed,
a mass produced widespread piece of material
in which we can dive under and have serial sleeps
that carry on into the evening;
and the light coming in through the wide window
hits the Hiroshima shadow-damp on the side wall
making it dance with the commuting-home-traffic.
from coffeeshoppoems.com, home of free original poetry
Next page