Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I've bled
not because
I am a
broken sinner

I've bled
because I
am woman
harbinger of
new moons
and unspoken
mysteries

I've bled
life into the impermanent
landscape of the soul
like gravity
holding you down
in spite of the spinning

I am the fierce
darkness
traversing the
universe
barefoot

In this
black moment
I am forever
I carry
this womb
with the honor of
mothers before me

Now I am woman as crone
ushering in the new world
of infinite love and magic
Revised old poem
You know what
to do with yourself
after all these years
paving hour upon
laborious hour
onto your delicate life
ignoring the person
behind the insurmountable
barricades to yourself
Now is here
Present for you
you get to decide
if you are curious enough
to discover who you
truly are
even after the obligations
after the excuses
You get to find you
in all your
luminescent glory
give me-the bowie knife of repartee,
nothing more satisfying than the
quick stabbing, a good blood letting,
in your genteel face, no hellish
moderated pace, the energetic plunge
of a quick lunge into the woebegone,
long after you count the meter tempo’d
use fingers and toes, but needing to hold
your nose, to include that extra
grace note, that belies denies the harmony
the tules and rules of calling order
to control the roost,  sine-one
is a victim of a
down and virtuous ***** verbal slashing!

count my syllables, never,
let my stanzas run free,
like an African tiger,
with the goat of format
mounted in between his teeth,
bloodied and dripping dead,
the squealing of hyper innocente,
silent after cries of, kind sir,
me thinks thou protest too much!

we can squish and twist our holy words,
into formal tuxedos of cantankerous
arrowed arrogance,
but know this,
roses are read, them
violets, blue, have
turned millions of children to avert their
eyes from anything thereafter that was classified, notarized, canonized, sanctified
as the write rules of poetry

peals of pearls are born with parentage
of a lousy
grain of sand,
the words etched in the
lines upon my hand,
are lifelines of sidewalk cracks,
discarded candy wrappers,
the twisted ends cigarette butts,
used as proof that ash and dust are the
genetic source material of uncommon
great composition, given to those who
love the common touch of leaves of grass,
thstbeneath the heat of the sun that
exposes the nothingness of bitterness

know no one can run from the golden
visibility, of a sun, talent in pursuit of
egoism is a long road to a short history

yeah.
(faster than a speeding bullet)
boring…
~
Restless traveler
sit still,
and look pretty
under the apple tree

the interconnection,
your milligram smile,
best in motion,
you run with honey

you pond and stream,
rivers in your mouth,
the deep taste of survival,
so few will remain, after
the pollinator

with dizzy spells in flight,
a promise flits away
from your swear jar,
you and your wings
mean more to me
than milestones
of osmosis

But is it me
you'll really miss?

~
I hold breath before the expanse.

Past the ups and downs
and struggle for air,
the magic of the blue lake
the barren mountains rising around
root me to the ground.

Lovelier than all the dreams
I had of her
all the colours
I painted my imagination with
she arrests my heart
in the way
I found no word for.

I feel her once
and she remains fulfilling for ever.

The day thins out
my eyes blur
in the thought of her.
...and you and I forever transform
under the aegis of the immortal

as we grow like the roots
of the banyan tree

which hang down with the branches

helping to provide shelter
as we slowly grow closer
to the sweet earth
in silent anticipation

finally touching
gently pushing deeper
until we are one in purpose.
© 2025 Daniel Tucker

Notes:
Banyan tree roots are aerial prop roots which grow downward  from various parts of the branches into the soil.
(the gate is a crowded mess, please no special requests, be thankful you got a seat, this flight is sold out and I’m beat.  
I get up and stand on my chair and say)

I give thanks for:

the uncommon greatness of common sense

for the steady approach of that wondrous day when
kindness is neither random or unexpected,
but the rule, not the exception

for our opinions and deeds, that are our own,
derived without coercion, born from our thoughts and observations and that
we are equal to both
owning them and to
changing them

that we live in a time that friendships can grow just through the quick exchange of words leaping bounds

for eyes that see deep deeper than skin,
ears that hear
what those ashamed wish you didn’t, hands that grasp regardless of distance,
the taste of  kisses that come easy sweet  

for the  day when I at last knew,
the pleasure of giving
so far exceeded receiving,
that giving and receiving became
synonymous

that I learned that the best skill to possess  is
to anticipate
the needs of others

that my lucky position in this world permits me
to act on the things for
which I am thankful


that someday I will need no longer inquire,
are you my poem,
for the answer will be self-evident to us both
LGA 11/22/17 1:00pm
Next page