#granite - Hello Poetry

For everything fake - Let me feel it one last time Kismet sweet, Villas bleak Marble sticky - Granite meat Let me **** the vein of glitter streets Surf the sadness, Salt rose glass rush Teddies haunted with softness beyond us A ****** blue boldness that begged you to crop love - Titan arum-sea saint With your blood like rain, Inhaling all the darkness Freshly cut grass cane blade; Remain in light, an amber blaze... Curtain wall shatter all skies for our pleonectic pace

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Aug 20, 2025

Aug 20, 2025 at 7:13 PM UTC

SeismicNought

Granite Raptor

For everything fake - Let me feel it one last time Kismet sweet, Villas bleak Marble sticky - Granite meat Let me **** the vein of glitter streets Surf the sadness, Salt rose glass rush Teddies haunted with softness beyond us A ****** blue boldness that begged you to crop love - Titan arum-sea saint With your blood like rain, Inhaling all the darkness Freshly cut grass cane blade; Remain in light, an amber blaze... Curtain wall shatter all skies for our pleonectic pace

17

you are the stillness in my life sanctuary while all around the world rages granite the hardest rock strongest foundation I have clung here for safety warmth and love immeasurably given gratefully received

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Dec 29, 2019

Dec 29, 2019 at 5:33 PM UTC

nigdaw

Rock

you are the stillness in my life sanctuary while all around the world rages granite the hardest rock strongest foundation I have clung here for safety warmth and love immeasurably given gratefully received

11

I’ve been coasting down Granite State back roads Twisting and winding Intertwining with my thoughts There’s an awful lot of road **** Carnage in the streets Bloodied and beaten to death Memories so keen yet smeared I breathe in Cigar smoke slithers down my throat I cough up a dead squirrel It reeks of nostalgia I pick up the corpse and toss is out of the car Into a fire dancing across the road and up into the trees I breathe in once more Crisp, cool But it burns Fall always comes on so strong

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May 7, 2019

May 7, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC

barry-pietrantonio

Granite State Nostalgia

I’ve been coasting down Granite State back roads Twisting and winding Intertwining with my thoughts There’s an awful lot of road **** Carnage in the streets Bloodied and beaten to death Memories so keen yet smeared I breathe in Cigar smoke slithers down my throat I cough up a dead squirrel It reeks of nostalgia I pick up the corpse and toss is out of the car Into a fire dancing across the road and up into the trees I breathe in once more Crisp, cool But it burns Fall always comes on so strong

17

a precipice of Werner whereas pitch was dire of his slot save primeval isn't wood and whether his blocks haven't exclaimed that he's solemn or the tundra is still frozen crystals and ice house

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Oct 16, 2018

Oct 16, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC

poetman

A Neptune

a precipice of Werner whereas pitch was dire of his slot save primeval isn't wood and whether his blocks haven't exclaimed that he's solemn or the tundra is still frozen crystals and ice house

17

I hear the carve of oars, I see your palms enfold the wood, as shards of stars shred a black and glistening wave. I hear the carve of oars, the shore is breached, we reach dank granite stairs, climb a tower in moon gritty light. I hear the carve of oars, you speak, your turgid cheek blue-steel-gray, your gaze grates, my salt raged eyes summon waves and stars. I hear the carve of oars, waves rattle a candle's flame, chill the bed frame, the wet stony room –– the door closes, it scrapes. I hear the carve of oars. I know your lurching gate, the clank as oar lock’s turn. You slip the shore. I hear the carve of oars Copyright © 2002 Gary Brocks

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Aug 28, 2018

Aug 28, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC

gary-brocks

A DREAM OF MY FATHER

I hear the carve of oars, I see your palms enfold the wood, as shards of stars shred a black and glistening wave. I hear the carve of oars, the shore is breached, we reach dank granite stairs, climb a tower in moon gritty light. I hear the carve of oars, you speak, your turgid cheek blue-steel-gray, your gaze grates, my salt raged eyes summon waves and stars. I hear the carve of oars, waves rattle a candle's flame, chill the bed frame, the wet stony room –– the door closes, it scrapes. I hear the carve of oars. I know your lurching gate, the clank as oar lock’s turn. You slip the shore. I hear the carve of oars Copyright © 2002 Gary Brocks

22

I eat books of poetry for dinner, and you are on the couch next to me. I know we are here, but what do we call this? I think the word is home, but it sometimes feels like a serrated knife. sometimes, it feels like we’re holding hands in our sleep. There is a book of words like home in my hands: it is full of empty driveways and watering cans, and dancing under the moon, I eat the words, but starve on the feast. I would have broken you like granite; placed you like a kitchen counter. You were never meant to be the cutting board. You are the knife. I do not play with these domestic things. Come sit at the table next to me, darling.

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Jan 28, 2016

Jan 28, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC

erin-atkinson

A Pretty Kind of Empty

I eat books of poetry for dinner, and you are on the couch next to me. I know we are here, but what do we call this? I think the word is home, but it sometimes feels like a serrated knife. sometimes, it feels like we’re holding hands in our sleep. There is a book of words like home in my hands: it is full of empty driveways and watering cans, and dancing under the moon, I eat the words, but starve on the feast. I would have broken you like granite; placed you like a kitchen counter. You were never meant to be the cutting board. You are the knife. I do not play with these domestic things. Come sit at the table next to me, darling.

14

Chip away, Piece by piece, At the unrefined granite, Erode each layer, Define it further, Find the perfect contours, The creature within, That lives and breathes, But beneath a prison of rock, And you hold the key, A chisel, Take it away, Chunk by chunk, Reveal the true form, Let its eye see again, Let its fingers reach for the sky, Perfected, Not created, Reduced, From rough stone, To beauty.

0

Jan 17, 2015

Jan 17, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC

parsavagely-kompenere

Sculpture

Chip away, Piece by piece, At the unrefined granite, Erode each layer, Define it further, Find the perfect contours, The creature within, That lives and breathes, But beneath a prison of rock, And you hold the key, A chisel, Take it away, Chunk by chunk, Reveal the true form, Let its eye see again, Let its fingers reach for the sky, Perfected, Not created, Reduced, From rough stone, To beauty.

21