#limbs
past the boroughs
and the busy streets.
the suburban lifestyle
he screams of defeat.
past the sorrows,
and away from concrete
the drops of rain (like his eyes)
followed from the backseat.
in the foliage
at the farmer's street
an apple, blueberries, a cart!
he jumped to his feet.
in the solace
through the plants of wheat
the first rays of sun
he slowly felt complete.
from thrashing limbs
to resting knees,
for sanity's sake
all it took
was a change of scenes.
Apr 4, 2022
Apr 4, 2022 at 6:16 PM UTC
the dark limb splits the moon
from the expansive, pitch-black sky.
at a distance, we paint it
as a glowing, surface level circle
that we place our wishes onto.
we never listen to it in return,
so the limb fiercely protects
the whispers of the moon.
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 10:17 PM UTC
She romanticize the orchestra of her muffled cries, caught her canvases
bruised with purple and red,
Her bare chest was beautifully wounded by a serrated cage, arranging her disorganized open heart.
Her heart is malleable from tragic delights, she ripped herself open, willing to give it whole.
Will you take it all and leave it as it is?
Does it oblige you to wrap your arms around me like a tightening noose?
And as she draw marks of red stains and carve on her skin, her limbs were perched perfectly, as you adore it with a painful stare.
And her hands were pure certainty, remained untouched.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 4:56 AM UTC
the mattress is possessed and my days are numbered
my numbers are possessed and
tree branches are starting to grow from inside
my neck, sprouting ****** bulbous limbs
wearing the springs of my mattress
in my sleep, the tree talks to my mattress
from my throat
they are in cohorts and I suppose
the ghost has nothing to do with it
but in the end the ghost will
have an affair with the mattress
and they will run away leaving the tree
and my numbers
I can’t speak because of the
tree
and the karmic terror
of the heavy branches tearing
through my throat
the ghost doesn’t know about the tree
the mattress will never tell her
the mattress is missing several springs
the mattress is possessed and can only speak in tongues
so the ghost only hears the whispers of leaves
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
cool green leaves rustling
hot red tin roof expanding-
freedom of movement
stiff arthritic limbs longing
go - exercise caution - stop
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
You texted me the other day
my phone lit up and
despite there nothing special
set about your ringtone
or about the vibration pattern
attached to your number -
I knew it was you.
Now I’m
chatting with my therapist
about small talk,
tequila, religion
what you mean when
you say you’re ‘over things’
despite having left me months ago.
I leave letters to you attached to
my poems and my work
I doubt you’ll read them -
we haven’t written in a while.
I know it’s wrong -
inviting you over,
but you’ll come to my door and
you can come in quickly before
the people upstairs realise
there’s an unwelcome guest.
I’ll always find myself
tangled in your path,
our lines are forever connected and
our tangled limbs will always
outweigh the mixed messages
in-between my own lines.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 4:58 AM UTC
The spirit of man is like a five pointed star
and was so destined to have come this far.
Take his body stretched out and you can see
how the limbs resemble ends of a star to be.
It's also written he has been made in the image
of an Eternal God and shares the same lineage.
The spirit that resides as the essence in his soul
is the image of God and reflects a divine role.
We are reminded of this when we seek perfection
in all that is done which happens upon reflection.
Every individual soul made has five main functions
and comes with attributes bearing some instructions.
Each soul is endowed with a heart, mind, intelligence, ego and will
by which it's able to feel, think, reason, assert and to then act until
it has accomplished the purpose for which it was thereby so made
and realise it's own true essential nature being of an infinite grade.
This consciousness of individuality isn't its own real goal of course
but used as a means to reach that place of limitless being or source.
There are also five senses by which each soul can perceive
the world around it but which serve mostly just to deceive
because there are many things that are beyond what they glean
which are only the five objects in three dimensional space seen.
There are some other non-physical senses that come into play
when the individual soul becomes advanced in a spiritual way.
There are also five organs of action which are by man used
and thereby constitute those means for whatever is abused;
they are organs of speech, motion, manual skill and generation
along with that of excretion making up the five by numeration.
They're the mouth, feet, hands, reproductive ***** and behind
which are also seen in other creatures of a less evolved kind.
The physical body is also pervaded and sustained by cosmic energy
and within it performs five functions like that of subtle electricity;
as inspiration, circulation, assimilation, metabolism and excretion
similar to breathing, absorption, digestion, usage and elimination.
The sun, stars, space and the earth itself are the sources from where
man's body is able to acquire and utilise this energy for his welfare.
The earth and man's body are also comprised of five basic elements
which form the basis of all this world and are universal constituents.
In a descending order they are called: ether, air, fire, water and earth
and so it's with these five everything has been created or given birth.
The spirit in man's soul endows it with the limbs of a five pointed star
and by the Creative Sound and Light of God has brought him this far.
______________________________
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
Sometimes I'm awake,
thinking about all the thinking
that holds me from sleep,
and I lie there and ponder
why i'm lying there asunder
just a little too tired to weep.
Sunlight probes my eyes
come the morning,
a Monday calls my limbs to move
but i'm dead weight not shifting
though the sand of time is sifting
but i'm playing dead, lying aloof.
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 12:37 PM UTC
My limbs are holding on by a string.
They just dangle there unable
To make their presence known.
Or even be helpful to my broken body.
My eyes are blurry with tears
and sunken in. I am unable to see anymore.
All my vision brings me are blurry images
Of the Evil world I once new and belonged to.
My hair is disintegrating.
The strands still left are a dull grey.
They serve no purpose to me anymore.
But still I leave it down on my shoulders.
My lips are a bright pink.
They are my everything.
They reveal the lovely white teeth
waiting to be found.
My lips are the key to my happiness.
The key to my purpose.
They release the words that no one else can say.
The words no one else dare to speak.
My lips are my anchor to this world.
I speak about everything.
I release my wisdom like droplets of water
in a running faucet.
My lips are my World.
My lips are my Happiness.
My lips are my Pride.
My lips are my Everything.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
a fast skirling wind
raced through the gumtree limbs
bending their branches
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
Dont be afraid of the leaves,
Because they fall today
From the promises she kindly keeps
Deep down in her bird limbs
Pulled apart for you
On the night of cries, hot and wet wings
In her lack of arms, metaphisical swings
The part of our hearts that forgot our first breath
In those blowing winter winds
Smile down the path
For there is no truth or doubt
Just got down the weeping Road
Walk and walk, dont shout
And you shall no longer,
With her, be without.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
What are these bodies, these
limbs, giving up their sap
and heat? Who decides
who dies, who lives?
What is cut down is
cut down, and
bereft children
grow in their place.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
"I think this is a poem you wrote on my phone (or it is something I wrote). I can't remember. It is from a time period when we were in the desert and both had working phones." - Sarah
Martin's musings
If you thought you had met the love of your life- what would you do? The heat is up our chills up and down, and the faces the old women make in drug-induced ticks, heavy noisome smells mixed with the best greatest sweetest smelling true love you've ever known.
And five times a day now you spend hours and hours entwined and touching and being touched by the greatest and softest skin cells your skin has ever been against

And with perfervid excitednees, a cold chest, but tepid limbs, you avoid blinking to extend the lifespans of us both.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
Head and Shoulders, knees and toes
That's the way the story goes
Here is something no one knows
To lepers...it's important
It's the inventory song
You may think that this is wrong
Put me back where I belong
But, lepers need to do this
Count your digits 'fore you leave
It's a fact you must believe
They're not out for to deceive
They need to inventory
If they count and all is there
They face the world without a care
They lose their parts, but not their hair
Their day will be successful
Head and Shoulders, Knees and toes
That's the way the old song goes
I've got four fingers and six toes
I guess I'll put some gloves on
The inventory song is neat
It teaches them, they need two feet
Or they can't walk down the street
It really is important
Gripping things is kind of tough
When digits...you've not enough
You know your fingers' with your stuff
You'll go and find it later
So, if you think that this is wrong
And you do not like this song
Put me back where I belong
I think this song's a service
Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes
I've a friend with half a nose
Now you know what no one knows
Inventory is required.
.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
Sometimes I think
of what a tragedy it is
for us to build towers so tall,
that we couldn’t see.
That it was not a home
but a barrier of walls.
Stacked so high with bricks.
With my weakened state and
feeble limbs
I could not crack
Nor chip away
At aggregates and paste
to see even the slightest trace
of light.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
so darling, it's funny,
i just had a swedish massage and
i cannot feel my bones
but for all the wrong reasons.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
A shred of gasoline spills
each time I give myself to you.
I continue to light my breaking limbs on fire
each time you glance at me.
The flames burn and lick and spread
each time we crash we disintegrate we exist no more.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
whenever I meet someone new, I inevitably check their limbs for scars.
they are almost always there, some solitary little wisps, some like a cross-hatching, a pattern, a score...
...and I find that the stories written there are irresistible, and the wounds run deeper than I can kiss.
I always fall for the broken ones, whose scars travel further than I've ever been.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
*I watched her bleed tears,
watched the red stain her pale face like it wanted to tear away what was under her skin,
as if tears of blood were telling her you're thicker within.
but you see,
this girl she couldn't stop crying,
couldn't get it all out,
what has been done to her,
she can't even speak about.
you told her blood is thicker than water,
but she bleed the thickest red tears,
so large there like ink,
and will over write your name,
from her memory,
from her family,
from everything you have taken from her,
she won't need you gripping at her ankles,
always being the one to pull her down every time she in another fight,
no longer will will you make her feel like she's living a worthless life,
all the good memories have been bleed on,
red ink does not come out with an apology,
and it doesn't even lift the stain lightly,
when it's done to spite her,
and despite her inocents,
and despite her age,
and despite your gene pool relations,
if all the cards alligned in your favor,
you still better feel some shame.
for the way you acted on a little girl,
to touch her in places her father would never dare,
places where that same father your brother,
wouldn't dare to look at you again,
wouldn't talk to you again,
wouldn't let you near any ******* child gender aside,
again.
if he knew the things you had done,
to his little girl,
he'd of knocked you one,
he'd of made you cry till you bleed.
but he would of made sure you wished you were dead,
before you ever really felt sorry.
but you ruined her,
and you think she should grow up about it,
move on about it,
and forgive you,
she kept silent,
every night she cried because of the things you would do,
and now when she crys,
she bleeds,
Thick tears to cover up the mess,
to try and fix all the monstrous distresses,
fixing her family to feel something right,
breaking limbs off the family tree,
as if they were yours,
and trying to live,
while everyone,
wants to fight,*
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC