#bc
-this one for Deb Jones,
who loves it-
*“and the woman in me,
who knows the floor of grief,
leaned down in that wreckage
and braided her hair with dust.”*
<
step forward, sister, a confession, universal,
instant spotted, simultaneous loved,
at some point, at certain junctures,
will you/when you lay upon the cold white tile,
seeking, seeing, comfort there,
shielding, internal organs, the ones that rob,
the ones that rob-rub pain ever after,
the grout knows your rout,
shows the stains of prior red and yellow excretions,
when your heart knew not stasis,
and suggests to your hands and knees
time-to-go,
use your dancer trained toned muscle memories,
of how you lifted up, when in prior defaults,
recovered poise, pushed out the noise,
even a poem or two, unexpectedly, arose
*let sleeping dogs lie,
she mumbles, half heartedly, at best,
but she cannot…*
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 2:10 PM UTC
when time's tones are bad,
mourning what you had
and not ready to be forgotten
but gone, saddled empty,
like a whistleblower's
wind, a nostalgic noisy,
but empty, soundless sound,
nonetheless,
and my self-usability image
trashly sadly by
an enemy I did not
I recognize soon enough,
(Time)
and my LDB,
(long distance boyfriend)
did not have enough,
faith in me
bump into a profile
unexpectedly
(I pretend,)
and had to
alter
delete
my status
to
kinda lonely
tad forlorn,
itty bitty raggedy doll-in done,
my high horse kicking me
in the rear,
caused by altering/deleting the
words above
in a relationship
and here I hear
a drip of tears
and I'm quite frankly
embarrassed
so
here is a girl asking
you:
*will you be my friend,
read my poetry,
simpatico, feeling it
no pity, asking to say,
someone understands,
and I'll
do a twirling dance
in my living room
which is sooo embarrassing
but when your alone?
people make themselves
do silly things thing
like
(hate that word)
writing
a poem
just like this
bc
====
and debate
alter?
delete?
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025 at 5:31 PM UTC
words;
so simple and yet so. hard
for so many,
yes those other things,
assist:
how you adore my shoulders
holding up thinnest spaghetti straps,
with your tiny kisses tattling,
into a tactile ecstasy~me,
but this is tertiary,
a different, yet not
the prime of primary
first,
foremost,
when you make me smile,
or burst out loud
with laughter, gasping pleasure,
when you write me poetry,
show the girl, the women,
the world through
your eyes, in special word-ly ways,
you superglue our souls, epoxy my cracks,
clear my forward~only tracks,
make visible an imaginable future,
make me love you in ways no other has,
and most importantly,
in no other ways that can compare
so many others think money, power, physicality,
are keys, but they are not, I am my own woman,
I have money
I have power,
I have physicality,
and this matters less and less as time gaps on and on…
what I will never have enough:
of the words that ease, release, remake me,
awaken me,
and a million new ones,
refilling + restoring,
so our one treasure chest
only grows,
compounds
with simple interest,
this simply is,
the only key,
and it,
cannot be duplicated
and that will never change the
the equality of us…
bc
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
of love
~~~
a response to
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5160760/revised-riposte-know-nothing-of-love/
><><><><
always spaces of time between the times,
when the pen picks me up,
demandin girl, time to get a word in
men
they know nothing of love,
but imagine pulling our hair
is second to none
in arousing our
pain
for their greater gain
in the dominance theoretical of
making love
all the wrong words
are kissing and missing in your exposition
but the net net I bet,
is indeed, you know nothing of love
other than raw sexuality
do you not know sensual?
do you not ken the sensuous?
the slow tracing of a finger
over my espoused, exposed feelings,
when the most important thing that matters
is that my partner understands?!?!
has anyone ever traced
your body from toes to node,
and kissed your forehead
over and over and again,
then stabbed you in the heart
with that precious instrument
in the space between the body's *******
stoking fervor to which no drug compares?
do tou think my
hunger and thirst
in any way
compares to your pedestrian definition?
I know I know
You know,
That the title of your poem is a lie,
you think you know everything and all the reasons why,
love's grandeur is easily available
on any given night,
but know this:
you have never tasted it true,
for no has ever tasted it,
in you!
postscript:
even your name betrays you man,
you're a novice, a greenhorn,
a rookie neophyte in the great
experience of love
Nov 9, 2025
Nov 9, 2025 at 4:59 PM UTC
the AskIt's have no answer
nor do the heads of the snake
of the state-scene.
they pretended they did the
same way way back
in 1918.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 2:34 AM UTC
The sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue
The way I wish you would.
Your eyes,
the colour of evergreens
drenched in dawn
& gilded
the afterglow,
the embers of the day
fading & strong,
reminding me of another
day, with you
& without you
I know, you know
no one is
perfect,
but, do you
know?
Here?
In Here?
I'm scared this might be the
closest
any one of us gets
Here.
You & me.
Dive into the
fear
so I can take your hand
& walk barefoot
while everyone we love
sleeps,
while the night cools the
earth
& we're drunk off the
scent
of a true midsummer night's
dream
When will you finally
tell me,
certain as the dew
that kisses the morning,
that the only lips
you want mine to
touch
are yours?
Because I can feel your
rhythm,
the way a breeze can tell of a
storm
Lean into me.
As we take in the
beauty
that surrounds us,
so I can put my head on your shoulder
& rest easy
hearing your heart beat
Because mine
beats for
you.
Tell me you'll find me
when the time is
right
Because I'll wait for you.
The endless
grey abyss of winter,
painful & biting & testing
I'll wait for you like
I wait for
spring
Because you are the
deep evening sky
& I am the coral clouds
as the sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
Arise
From you sleep
My Queen
What
Do you dream of
At Night
My Beautiful One
Your lips
Drip
Honey, Wine, and Myrrh
You caught me
Lost in translation
Please
Rescue Me
From my cave
Of Hibernation
Your Eyes
Reflect the Universe
Black and Beautiful
A Rose of Sharon
Arise from Your Sleep
So I can
Release You
Take you
To the King
The King of All
True Lover’s Hearts
I pray to God
That we Never part
Yet if we do
I’ll Remain
With you
Here on this Earth
Here in this place
So passionately
I wait
For you to Undo Me
Let us fly
Together
No more
Misery
Remaining Here
I’m sorry
I don’t
Want to go
Home just yet
Even tho
That’s the place
We are
Set free to roam
So comely
My sister
Your Beauty
Shines Thru
Your Eyes
Of Loveliness
Carry me thru
Tell me
To Hold On
For certain
Truth
Under the Stars
We gaze
Into Heaven’s Eyes
So Deep
Do we Pray
Let us never
Fly Away
For our Lives
Are Still Young
We glimmer
With Hope
Father
Watch over her
She needs you the most
I’ll hold her
Tenderly
If it is your will
From the Beginning
To the End
This
Is How I Feel
About my Sister,
My Friend
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
Evacuation Alert: Tranquille Valley.
Get out. Bring everything you love.
Ash is falling from the sky,
and the smoke is too much to bare.
The fire's rampage has charred
More than 200,000 hectares,
in 133 days.
It's not safe.
Evacuate immediately.
Evacuate me.
Get out. You are everything I love.
Incinerating everything in your path,
You tranquillize the atmosphere
with your absence.
You smoked me to the filter
You left me to burn.
63 days, and 21 letters.
You're not my safety anymore.
Evacuate immediately.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
a variety of hues
all blue
the lure of the azure
my cerulean addiction
these indigo afflictions
the stabbing pain of sapphire
caught in those eyes, a quagmire
the temptation, to think, through
then you
a variety of hues
all blue
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
the coast, it is just as you promised.
elusive--
the white stones shifting beneath my feet,
this wind. this rain,
the way the steely sky
trickles down to kiss the sea,
the indistinct rumors / hints / echoes of mountains
where the mist has slept with the trees.
vast, inconsolable:
the cliffs whisper to me
of their endless
journey to the horizon,
and captured in this fragrant
brushstroke of balsam and pine
I feel the damp northwest morning
soak into my skin,
and suddenly there is
an itching of feathers
and salt in my veins.
{evergreen, wild}
for a second,
I bite into the marine chaos
of these dancing whitecaps,
and it is just as you promised.
untamable.
pacific.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
You will never understand the contribution you have made to my life,
You are the friend that really came through for me when I found myself in strife.
No-one else could see past the mistake I had made,
They chose to ignore how I felt and fixated on my darkest shade
I have always looked up to you, you have always inspired me
You've always been the one I've looked at when deciding who I'd like to be
Please don't throw your life away,
I really count on you
I know that being here for me is something you can do
I love you, I appreciate you.
- Brianna Carter
You look up to me,
Quite literally,
But in this case you mean metaphorically
Yet similarly,
I looked up to you,
Size doesn't matter just a point of view
You are a better person than I,
As pure and beautiful as the stars and the sky
In harmony, elements defy,
The birds and the planes that roar or sigh
No matter what happens, you always come though
Shrug it off, move on, it's just what you do,
This is why I wish I were like you
Yet despite all this you look up to me?
I am blind, can't really see clearly,
But even I can tell you are a rarity
A treasure, and thus better than me
-Conor Blatchford
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
While Marcus
is talking
of some war
some campaign
he's been on
Annona
in their bed
beside him
wishes he
was still there
(far away
in some war)
they'd had ***
two or three
times during
the night
in which she
pretended
to enjoy
making noises
but really
it was ****
she hadn't
liked it one
little bit
but when he
was away
and Amy
was in bed
making love
it was one
big thrill ride
small kisses
soft touches
exploring
doors opened
places kissed
bodies hot
and o that
do not stop
do not stop
but Marcus
tells his tales
of war games
who killed whom
she sensing
in her heart
a dark gloom.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 3:42 AM UTC
Marcus sits and asks
for wine to be poured.
His man pours and hands
him the wine and waits nearby.
Annona looks at her husband,
his eyes, his hard stare,
his hands holding the wine.
Where's your Amy? he says
gazing at his wife.
Busy as usual, Annona says, why?
He dismisses his man who walks
off and out of sight; I’ve heard
that she shares your bed, Marcus says.
Annona tries hard not to blush
or show concern, who says?
Brutus replies, it has been brought
to me on my return from my
campaign on Ceasar's cause.
She looks past him, the seascape
beyond the wall, gulls in flight.
She keeps my reputation sure
until your return, she says, some
may rumour that other men may
share my bed, and that may cause
jealousy in your manly head.
How so? he says with furrowed brow.
If she weren't there, who
knows what rumours may
take root of other men being
there while you're away, but
while Amy's there none may
say, plus she keeps me warm
while your hot body's far away
in battle's swarm.
He smiles and sips his wine.
She breathes in deep and keeps
it to herself just how much her
Amy keeps her warm and hot,
and how they make love
while he's away.
How wise, he says, that is good
to know, but is she clean, I'd hate to
catch a pox where she may lay?
As clean as air around our heads
and lambs fresh born, Annona says
recalling Amy's lips upon her brow,
her hand upon her ****** bush.
Then good keep her near while I'm
at war, better to keep me happy
and sure no other man may share your bed.
No thought of such had ever entered
her head, just Amy and she with their
rough and tumble as a storm breed sea.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
Day debt
night wept
sleep crept
Attachment.
Where is my attachment?
evening out of balance
The line of my life has broken
off into separate identities
Flower feather
Hollow weather
Moonlight Canyon
Skylight childhood nostalgia
Stolen star
Battered cheekbones
Of weary workers keeping to
The hornet's nest
Reality a constant terror
Of city structures swallowing
them whole.
Blackbird rests
on an Autumn branch of
hidden meadow
checking its wristwatch obsessively for the
Hydrogen Volcano
INEVITABLE.
Termite Corporations
Cavernous Hilltops
All that green is gold
(A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches
the frosty Manhattan
to become a relic in it's Libraries)
People fall in Love with coincidence,
(The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)
All that love is kept in a
Conservatory somewhere...
Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms.
Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence
whether fever or handhold.
Hymns ring throughout the forests of
Vancouver Island
Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in
overwhelming sunlight
Doused in spirit.
Holy Melancholic September
Sweeps away the dusty Summer,
everything seems renewed
In the rain..
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
Driving off on the side roads precarious and dense
with firs holy beneath the florid specter of roseate afternoon,
purified with rainfall on the montane bladed rocks
holding together cliff face edges of highways.
I'm present with my black coffee humming while
folk plays on the radio and my sweater from the
consignment shop is still captured in spellbinding redolence
from the girl of my dreams. Nearby, a hidden path boasts a cliff commanding flowing pacific waters pronounced with gold
among mountains obscured in shadow.
Companions cross the valleys reciting sutras and tracing fingers through this blessed land, treasuring the trees, firesmoke ascending from beyond assembling woods thick and overgrown.
Doe and rabbit bounding from rocky terraces alert and surviving instinctively while riverside cabin homes hide a while yet from the long driveways and cozy mailboxes hand-painted or made of wind-bent tin cans.
I'm flourishing slowly and with periodical decay in this garden growing while I grow and life is beauty and spasm devils as am I, this I know.
We're matches momentarily lit in the weary hands of stars
to guide them in the darkness.
My hair will gray from death we jest
and I will live before I rest.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Empyrean ocean
sifting silken under moonlight.
Pure and dawn the memory of bonfires
and hymns passing like fading auras
echoing into the firs.
I sit on a lawn chair whiskey in hand
head loosely let back
while we wait for the end of one year
and the start of another.
Drunken voices speak
faint topics inside the cabin a few meters off,
it's silent here a picture settling
over our temporary breath of history,
smoke escaping our lips and entering
the haze of reminisce.
Fire crackling contained roars warmth
like freckled arms laced around our skin
and eyes heavy set in the sheath of heat
resounding the field
while winter's dew is pollinating the lawns.
Celebration on all corners of the world
Big Apple bumper to bumper
metropolitan hysteria
TEN
I'm smiling
NINE
the crowds gathered around palettes burning
to ash like the universe
EIGHT
sparklers lit small stars
fizzling dancing midst the embers
SEVEN
I'm dying beautifully
SIX
You are too
FIVE
Indonesian Summer on the horizon it's all
so hopeful and you can't help but think idealistically in times like these
FOUR
take a break from the bombs and the wars
for oil or in the name of god and let the air soak through your lungs
refreshing the world refreshing our youth
THREE
we have so much time soon to be so little
it all goes by too quickly somehow
TWO
our eyes are gleaming
lips wide in radiance
kisses kissed hearts lifting
up in flame
ONE
what will we be another year from now?
where is it we cry next?
who and where is our next great love?
how do we hurt and when?
what does it take to recover?
I'm sure we'll find a way
it's only a few hours to morning now
always is somewhere I suppose
and here starts a new odyssey,
everything is getting older
and newer all at once,
the fire is still glowing.
Nirvana goes on dancing
inside us.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
My sins are written on paper, my sadness printed on my bones. I am the storyline of a bad movie and the plot of your favorite book. Intense and saddening, but above all, really messed up. I crave what's too out of my league. You are gold and rubies and good poetry, and my prose lacks your name. I am nothing but a whisper between the trees and you're the meadow under the warmth of the Sun.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC