"And gloves"

To day I woke up with the sound of an alarm
I am thankful for not waking up late
I woke up with all my body parts
Thank you God for that miracle
I woke up with My heart beating
and with the kiss of my mother
I thank for both.
I need them both to survive

Thank-you God because i felt you hard over me
Telling me to be strong
Giving me the strength to survive
You don't give me what I want
But you don't give me what I can't handle

Thank-you God for the miracle that is
Be able to use my computer,
My phone
My electricity.
Thank-you Because it is cold outside,
And i woke up in the warmth of my home.

Thank-you for giving me breakfast
And a coffee to help me be energetic
I thank-you for not letting me die by giving me
A jacket
A sweeter
A scarf
And gloves

Thank-you for not leaving me here alone in the cold
And lighting things up in the darkness

To God
"It's your cleats, your pads, and the gloves."
Dmytro Hutsal 

It's the lights, the crowd,
the fight, the brave,
the proud.
The two a day practices in pads in the heat without a single cloud.
Its the lines, the grass, end zones, and the field.
The offense, the defense,
The sword and the shield.
The heart, the hard work, determination, the glory.
The present that will become your kids' bedtime stories.
The storm, the during.
The euphoria after,
The before with the fear, practices and learning.
The sacred flag you wear on that helmet,
It's your cleats, your pads, and the gloves.
The tackles, the picks, the runs, TD's and the hugs.
That air that you inhale and the h2O in your cup.
That feeling of pride, knowing you'll never give up.
Cause you came to do work, and get a taste of that winning heaven,
We'll see the conclusion,
Bring out your 11.

Once again one of the poems that I wrote restless.
Next Gatorade or Nike commercial?
"with kid gloves, brutally *displayed*"
Sal Gelles 

you couldn't stand being dealt the truth
so you needed somebody else to handle it
with kid gloves, brutally displayed
over various acts of violence; violently
handled like it was a child, misbehaving
and now it's flown off the handle.
and you're standing empty-handed.

"cuz her daddy took off the gloves."
Sal Gelles 

she couldn't kill him when he asked her to
so she asked her daddy if he would.
she couldn't tell him, ever, the truth,
but she knew her daddy could.
she'd seen the way he'd looked at her,
and knew her daddy saw his love.
she knew he would be dead soon,
cuz her daddy took off the gloves.
she watched him bleeding in the street,
as her daddy beat his head in.
and she knew there would be a good reason
why her daddy had to kill him.

"at uplifted gloves,"
Shane Hunt 

Words washed over me:
past the point of no return,
catching clarity at the elbow.

Arms limp at my sides,

a pugilist after 8 rounds with Ali,
suddenly realizing
he had been conserving his energy
while I hurled hay-makers
at uplifted gloves,

none of my hate hit home.

She spoke the knock-out blow
     or, the ghost of her voice...

"You have to admit to yourself
that screwing a stranger's
the only way you can hide anymore."

You only start listening
    after exhausting your arsenal.

The void of
       my mouth
swallowed her sentiments.  

  I took up the
      empty husk of her heart
  to make it my home,
            just to have a memento--

holding on to anything.

     On the ropes,
skipping chapters to
  take in the denouement
only to forget the characters' names.

But I couldn't ignore how
she closed the door;

not a slam
screaming passion, energy.


The door and jamb met resignedly--
children who can no longer play with one another.

"w you and I are a pair of complimenting gloves"
Nik Bland 

I will sit here in my apartment on my bedroom floor
Writing and pondering many a thing, eyes darting from page to door
And as the pencil sings its scribble, a thought will come to me
That the only reason I am with you is to not feel lonely

I've written a million times about this thing we call "love"
Joking about how you and I are a pair of complimenting gloves
The fact that we bring the best out of each other no matter what it comes to
But my mind and heart scream in unison that I'm not in love with you

I stop my pencil for a second to see what I've written
Feeling as if my heart's in my throat and rubbing my neck as if bitten
Not knowing how to digest that you are simply just a pawn
Sighing in what seems disbelief, but still I write on

Wanting to feel the feelings that you often share with me
While dumbly nodding and playing the part so that you will not leave
Furrowing my brow and wishing the epiphany would cease
Yet knowing even if it's buried in lies, the truth has found a crease

Here I sit with a heart in one hand and a pencil in the other
Knowing the truth is evident in the soul, cover to cover
And I will apologize a million times before this day is through
When the tears well up when I say I'm not in love with you

"fingerless gloves clamp the steaming mug."
Tom Orr 

One step forward, three steps back.
The queue shuffles,
visible breath in the winter blue.
The vendor vends,
fingerless gloves clamp the steaming mug.
Grunts and groans alike,
the warmth fills the withered corpses pale.

A gaze is cast,
into the misty nothing that inhabits the park.
A twitter is heard amongst the frosty masts.

Eyes meet with a rufescent-chested bird.

These same eyes are then met with salt,
a sorrow, a pang of jealousy.
A sheer longing for that same freedom.

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