"accessible" poems
The best places are hidden
like stones in central park
secret roof top not
accessible except
for the morning staff
overnight, the sheer weight
of moonlight
paralleling through a Brooklyn
window pours on
to a frozen floor of
patterned tiles
where touches are like
turning on a lamp
dimly at first. Flickers
a bit then
bright as Chicago (1871)
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
there is nothing between my
*******
only skin
that's the way it will stay
until the day when i become
attached
then, I will keep my problems
there. I will keep hatred and
the harsh words between my
plump fleshy hills
I will keep them there until
you strip me down and
wipe them away with your
rough fingertips and lift my
body and soul up to a better
place, more accessible to you.
the bra is burned
my body is alive
my body is ash
now.
so wipe them away
wipe away my burdens
and connect us now
crawl inside my cocoon
and turn me into a butterfly
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 5:56 PM UTC
You've got a white scarf, but it's unreliably so
I could count on it to be white for many years
Until last year, when it didn't quite resemble snow
It changed colors, and brought up many fears
Like will you make it til tomorrow?
and will you still be here?
You used to wear it like it embodied majesty
Like you were a lion and it was your mane
Curling around your neck and screaming of divinity
I know that mane better than I know your name
(buddy)
The leaves will change and your scarf will too
Your head will bump mine, and I'll bump yours too
I'm running from my thoughts and the truth
This might be all for naught and tomorrow you
Will be here still, and I won't have to say goodbye
To your scarf, your mane, our collective life
Maybe your heart will still be kept in mine,
Released only when our heads collide
Your personality is truth
Your personality is you
I try to ask others to be like you but they can't
That plight is wrong and an ineffective chant
Your heart, your personality, your truth
Will be held in my heart regardless
of whether or not tomorrow I see you
And I do see you.
For a while there, you were hiding behind your disease
But now you're able to come out of your shell with ease
And now I can have another collection of moments with you
Your personality
Your truth
And you are truth.
For a year I thought you were gone and that the next
Moment I saw you, you'd be descending into a grave
You would be gone and only accessible through memories
Your truth
Your personality
And you are personality.
It pained me every time I saw you, thinking I wouldn't see
It and how you walked and how you cried for water when
You needed it. I'd trip over you, and trample you, but you
You are truth
You are personality
You're here today, eternally in my heart
You're here tomorrow, and when we are apart
A year down the road, and a plethora more
You'll be in my heart forevermore
The part of me that you bring out will never exist again on this earth
And your white scarf will never be seen by my brown eyes
But I can hold you here
Right here in my heart
And you can pur
And I can contemplate when you'll bump my head again
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line
~
*all the lines of man-made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting,
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution,
remaining hopelessly empty,
defining the watery soluble
inequality of null*
~~
The Fall Line
first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina,
standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls
the fall line
where the crystalline basement rock
erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary,
there, where,
a waterfall is nature-gifted
so intuitive, so obvious,
what else to call the water's owned edge,
line of demarcation,
where we grow captivated,
mesmerized, knee weak,
traumatized and tantalized
knew that instant when spoken,
The Fall Line,
saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives,
would be a someday poem
selective service phrases stored and
someday up recalled,
a thousand, maybe more,
waiting for the confluence of
time and place,
to be a mother
letting my fluid sac burst,
giving birth to a concoction symphonic,
the emotions waterfalling, cascading,
the precision, vision seconds,
when words
pour, gush, surge, spill,
stream, flow, issue, spurt
~~~
silently crafted in the weeks and months prior,
the unconscious drowning in ache and pain
of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living
*all the lines of man made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null*
the vision infection of the majestic fall line,
so accessible in an instance of overwhelm,
cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful
whatever
one more additional addiction unshakeable,
jumping from fall line to fall line,
it's the game I am played,
but the controller
is not in my possess
**for the joy stick that drives my actions,
toys with me,
the human fool jumping
from fall line to fall line,
unsure of what he desires,**
salvation or saving
11/26/16
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
His eyes are my escape route
They take me anywhere I wanna go
Which always leads right next to him
When he looks at me
I feel my soul become furious
Somebody has me bothered
I crave the scent of his cologne
When the smell of it on my sweatshirt
F A D E S away
The limited-time only reminder
that at one point
He was on top of me
And in that moment
I was all that mattered
to him
The anxiety that lurks through my body
Everytime I think of him
The feeling in my body
Everytime my brain remembers
a happy moment
With him
Or sincere moments
we shared
Two broken people
80/20
I broke my own heart
To give him pieces to fix his
20/80
My mind and what’s left of
my heart are at war
Because of him
Because of him, his smile
And his quirky laugh
that quench the desire
Of the simplicity of his existence;
My heart won’t let me be at peace
My mind tells me to let go
Reflecting on post trauma
Nothing is better than feeling
Wanted but safe
By the person you want the most
But nothing is worse than feeling
You’re not good enough for the person
You want most
Looking into his eyes again
Constantly searching for reassurance
And then suddenly
the source of happiness vanishes
you were only a distraction
While what was really wanted
Wasn’t accessible
allowing attachment
is unbelievably dangerous
But learning to let go
is worse
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
XXIV
Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life—
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of man’s reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
7.2k
Dear Ashley,
Congratulations! Your parents decided to give you one of the most popular names of the 90s! This is your letter of introduction to being Ashley! However, be informed that your name will not only be just "Ashley". Since it's very common, non-Ashleys will need to differentiate between all of you. You may be nicknamed "Ashley #2" or "Ashley Last Name Initial". Preparing yourself for embarrassment is also essential. Instructors will call out your name, resulting in either you pointing to yourself mouthing, Me? or managing to chirp a "Yes?" in unison with three others, only to feel stupid when it's not you. With a name so stale and boring, you may grow a hatred for it. You will fall in love with unique signatures, wishing they were your own. Over and over again, you will fantasize about changing it. Keep in mind that other Ashleys feel the same. At least you can be thankful you weren't named Frances.
Sincerely,
Ashley
P.S. - Although, personalized key chains are easily accessible!
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
I find myself changing as nature does- recklessly and suddenly without notice, and nature is what I come back to in order to heal.
Fires are often looked at as destructive forces,
And they surely can be, but they can also
Rejuvenate. Contrary to popular belief, fires most
Often leave a beautiful aftermath. Some examples
Being that certain plant seeds only germinate after
A fire, new growth is accessible to animals for food,
minerals are returned to the soil, and
Although many animals are stripped of their
Homes- this vacancy creates suitable areas for
New species to settle. Similar to how a fire
Cleanses the land it nearly destroys, a traumatic life
Experience allows an individual to undergo a necessary
Amount of growth and change. Whether what we take
From a situation leaves us aching or allows us to reflect,
We will always unknowingly benefit from the pain. I do
My best to keep this at the forefront of my memory when
Reminded of the baggage I carry. My healing will continue. and I will make a promise to myself that for every new fire that disseminates through/over my life, I will make amends with it
And allow for it to change me in the best way possible.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
you wedge your pointer finger between your canines-
in an attempt to appear sublime- or nervous- or seductive
either way it doesn't succeed.
your tooth, teeth
speck of blood, bleed
emerging as you pierce your calloused
yellow patch of skin
(layers & layers of the girls you've touched before)
but you crave one more-
for in every sleepless night
there's a quote to be fill- a new slit to drill-
you're a man.
i can sense it-
throbbing and shaking beneath your olive exterior
how you long to drag
your now bloodied, prior prettied
finger up an off white thigh-
to disregard the things obliged-
to forge the paradigm
from faulty tools,
splintered and battered in a worn down knapsack
duct taped to a hunching back,
you're a man.
thoughts of droning monotone
quiet your hungry bones
(i can hear them)
rattling as you ****
your head and lift that heavy glance up to me.
i can see you,
flopping and thrusting and sweating, which
after years of curiosity has handed me
nothing,
but sweaty sheets and burning ***
i lay beneath you, silent
i'm a woman.
avert your eyes ( i am tempted to plead)
from the onset of premature varicose veins
(i am pale, glasslike, arched & stained)
allow me to suffocate the already immune-
girls born into the world with big black brandings
stamped onto their lightly acne ridden foreheads.
(SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE)
trim your ribs, shave off the cellulite-
turning a blind eye to accessible insight..
a salad for lunch, make it dinner too.
finger down your throat, orange acid hurling,
stick like dancers twirling,
they bring tears to your eyes,
if only {you} possessed the grace-
but there are pounds to erase.
i'm a woman.
thirteen years of advertisements stapled to your eyes
standing barefoot in a bath tub with chunks of blood
running down shaking legs
kicking off a now crimson pair of old underwear-
stuck & tangled on trembling feet
[ silence your voice and push up your *******
til they're touching your neck.
get a nose job
get a blow job
you're a woman ]
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
I love you to pieces.
All of you being my favorite.
After a long day, I look forward to seeing you.
Being around you.
I constantly loose myself in your eyes.
Every moment with you a blessing.
Whether it's early in the morning
Or late at night.
I love every moment.
My chocolate peanut butter craving starts and ends with you.
I can't help but smile.
Thankful that your not wrapped in tin foil.
A moment of trust easily accessible.
By far the greatest gift I could ever receive.
I accept all of you.
Delectable pieces poured into my hands.
Sensually sharing hidden parts of ourselves.
Every inch uncovered beneath coated chocolate.
Creamy peanut butter.
Soon melted away by tastes desire.
It's practical to see why I have to call in sick.
Spending all my time with you.
Your taste still on my lips.
Stomach still aching.
My chocolate peanut butter craving.
Thank you for being you
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
《☆ Ode to Miller Spring ☆》
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road since
first I came to be here.
This journey was
my awakening to the
new existence I would step into.
Foreign to me
the illustrious homes.
Dripping willows, old oaks, poplars...
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns carved
into lush grass.
This road is winding.
One needs to go slowly.
Families, children, animals,
all enjoy this path.
The winds blow at this highest point,
up above the Glacial Basin
that forms the river below.
Before farmland,
home to
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring
The deep Spring of Healing
Ancient, pouring forth
from the center of the Earth.
This road, brought me to a
place of solitude...
An open space.
Land of possibilities.
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road
since first I came to be here.
This road has led me to the new existence
I have stepped into.
Perfectly kept grounds
checkerboard patterns carved
in lush grass.
The wind blows at this
highest point,
up above the Glacial Basin,
that forms the river below.
Before farmland,
home to
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring
The deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth from
the center of the Earth.
This Spring, that quenched
my family's thirst.
This Spring, that pulled my
people here,
so many years ago.
A road brought me to
this place of solitude.
An open space.
A land of Dreams.
I wonder,
what Dreams,
this land
will hold for me?
☆●⊙●☆●⊙●☆●⊙●☆
~July 2014~May 2015~
2nd Edition
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
"Miller Spring" is a pure crystalline-rock aquifer that has been revered by all peoples blessed to live within it's reach. The tribes of the Ojibwe and Lakota shared the spring. It was called the "Sweet Spring of Healing Waters" This spring was also shared with Settlers as they arrived. When the land was owned, the spring has always been made accessible, to All People. It should be noted that this spring water is exceptionally clear,
crisp and has a sweet bright taste
It is delicious!
To this day Miller Spring is available to all.
It's icy cold waters gush forth 24/7~365
days a year out of a well by the side
of the road, down about a mile
from my home.
I actually live in a modest house
on two original acres of this
beautiful land, which is now
bordered by five "illustrious" homes.
We moved here from the
City in the year 2000
Living in the suburbs was the
"New Existence" I had stepped into...
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
I lay in bed at night and try to ignore the typewriter in my head tap tap tapping the same three letters, tapping your name, tapping that syllable that has been stuck in my head for weeks
You, gave me infinity within a numbered amount of days and taught me new tongues of love that I didn't get the chance to learn yet, you...were far too good for me
I've often asked myself how long is forever and discovered that sometimes it's just one second...and even now I find the need to walk down memory lane just because I know I'll meet you there because I don't want our forever to be over yet. I haven't learned how to look at somebody I love and tell myself it's time to walk away but forget me not; you are worth everything, you deserve everything and you meant everything to me but...I don't have a pinwheel heart, the kind that goes crazy at the lightest touch, that never fears the love it's given and deserves every bit of it.
I wish I needed you, that you weren't just a desire my heart thought it wanted. I wish you didn't already feel like a memory, that every time I said your name it didn't already sound like goodbye.
Scream - Shout - Cry - Kick
Throw your worst temper tantrum
Tell me, about every fairytale you've heard as a child, explain how the princess fell in love with prince charming and lived happily ever after. I, will tell you that maybe some day you will find a princess who will fall head over heels in love with you with that dizzy pin wheel heart, she, will have lips sewn with naivety where her only bad experience will be the monsters under her bed but, monsters aren't real to her yet, she will trust you to no end and believe every word that escapes your lips because she thinks lying does not exist, she, will be the complete opposite of me and will never realize that sometimes the one you want isn't always the one you need
I know you will remember me when I'm not there to love you, I know when you're pounding all your frustrations and insecurities into the girl underneath you you'll remember what passion felt like and how my skin isn't accessible to your fingertips anymore, I know that when you use Mary Jane as a substitute for my lips and blow out your problems and feel them start to fade away you will remember what being cared about felt like. I hope you regret it...I hope she helps you forget...I hope you fall in love with her and she makes your heart go pinwheel crazy
Run your fingers through my soul and feel exactly what I feel and just once, understand what I'm going through...understand that you're taking up too much room, not in my heart but in my brain, and that's a place that I never wanted you to end up
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
The internet and the
electronic gadgets are
now creating the new wave
of infidelity,
did you notice the anomalies in
the way things are turning out.
Hookups made easy,
knowing me knowing
you friendships,
easy dating and cheating.com,
wives and husband cheating on themselves,
Social media is the only
best place to live your
fake dream full of lies like the
deepfakes movies.
No more true friendship,
nothing real but a pretense
paradise.
Always uncomfortable but rather
deal with another from a distance.
You don't exist even when together
in same room.
Always closer to the stars
than to you.
You are ignored but chat with
someone so far away.
You seem to be happier
talking to someone you
never met and hardly know,
telling all your private secrets
to an unknown person claiming
to be a true close friend while
the one you grew up with now
becomes a friendenemy,
never to be trusted.
Electronic friendship
has killed our generation,
destroyed the foundation
of true relationship.
Fake lifestyle,
flaunting fake wealth,
gossiping about fake
not-so-sure news.
Infidelity has become
the new social norm
accessible and accepted
around the world.
No true commitment,
so much fraud and
drama displayed.
The young men and
women are going berserk,
their uncontrollable pesky ways
leading them in all manner of immorality and all kinds of trouble.
But there's still some sort of
good in it.
Is this a part of a new world order?
Maybe, I don't know.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
God’s Glorious Telephone We Really Need To Use
By D.K. Milgrim-Heath©2010
Wonder about God’s communication with everyone?
We need to be open for his will to be done.
God's glorious telephone we really need to use-
He’s always connected to us please don’t refuse.
Learning about God’s completely glorious telephone –
It works forever we know we’re not alone.
Calling Heaven’s at anytime’s a good time to call-
It’s been free always to me, one and all.
Feeling those holy currents always on His line-
Keeps me knowing God’s so pure and divine.
Sometimes evil stops our holy calls in midway-
Realize God’s importance to us - get evil to leave us alone and go away.
This holy line's built lovingly only by God alone-
For His beloved children that He makes quite His own.
We talk to God heavily through His heavenly device-
Taking our time with Him accessible that’s really nice.
No service operators obstructions of any kind to direct-
God answers our calls somehow this we can expect.
Holy lines cross or grounded- so what should we do?
Praying faithfully more with promise is needed by you.
Notice bad weather or trials won't disconnect His line-
God has His words get through to us mighty fine!
Knowing as we got through our internal spirits rise-
His communication helps us become pious and wise.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Can I just write a poem that says **** the police"
for every single line
for every single stanza
and leave it at that?
Because I'm imagining his next victim, because there will be a next one,
and how she will feel when she finds out that he had my former report
on his private police record, accessible only by certain police.
I want to scream, but the metal chain he put around my throat to choke me because
"ha ha you like that, right?" after I had already said no
is still there, so nothing can come out of my mouth,
except I've been screaming as loud as I can for so long;
One year and I'm still not free.
His body weight is still crushing me, still heavy; the bruises on my body still felt every day, my body a museum of decaying loss and my mind a perfect video recording that plays on repeat whenever I just
want
some
sleep;
Nightmares I wake from and can't wake from.
I think one of the hardest days of my life was when I got my **** kit.
I mean- you know- other than the actual ****
I developed a stutter that day.
I blame myself.
I blame. I -I- I blame myself.
But I can't!
All of the "no's" that I said to him didn't matter, the police said;
everything non consensual didn't count;
it was only the one coerced "yes" that counted;
Scared for my life but, **** the police, right?
And all the times that I said to the police "yes" that I was *****
collapse and boom like a bomb on deaf ears of police that tell me that,
"maybe you just regretted having *** with him."
Or how about when they rolled their eyes when they learned that I met him on tinder?
I gave them a smile and answered that yes, that's true, because what else was I supposed to do but tell the truth?
Or the first thing they said to me was "so then you had a few drinks..."
Well no, sir, that's not what happned, at all.
See, there have been multiple levels of injustice here and I thought I was doing the right thing to heal.
In my partial hospitalization program that I went to for PTSD,
that I got from my ******
I learned that the "right" thing to do was to seek help right away after a traumatic incident so that it doesn't lead to lifelong suffering;
Quick help leads to a faster recovery,
and I've always wanted to do the right thing:
Like getting him arrested for ****** me.
But the police don't listen even when your body has been confiscated, graffiti marked by your ******
and the police tell you coldly to just seek counseling because, after all,
you "consented,"
and that your ****** isn't a ****** in the eyes of the law.
A ****** isn't a ****** but is a ****** and he's going free.
I did the right thing but I'm still stuck night after night, waking up crying;
I wonder who will be next, and that person's weight is added on top of me;
The gallery of bruises he inflicts will just continue, and I wonder where on snapchat will they be next?
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
****** hell these
******* words these
******* words are
all I have
what?
letters on a page, not even a real page anymore, you've made sure
of that always accessible and easier to be online with things
digital and cold
What did I think talking could change I
preach the power of words and let them fall short
stumble over each other in a race to get out of my throat
We'll change the world, sure think of a way to do that tomorrow could
I get back to you then I don't want to think about the process let's please focus on
The end result that might not happen but who cares, what is happening really and what is
For that matter we all could be ants I'd really like to go to Mars and discover how we began the
Human mind why would we want to learn about that it's not like we'll live forever let's just make ourselves
Happy so we don't have to plan for the future and then we can go drift like seaweed, forever free and
Weightless
Crazy talk.
Blasted folklore.
Blasted rock.
Blasted candles.
ganged up and
blasted me.
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 7:16 PM UTC
The power of resources beyond lack
Filling up every vacuum of want
What could we ever ask?
When there’s provision for what we need not yet
In Heaven’s Economy
Peace that passes understanding
Erasing the fear of depression
With enough confidence to face tomorrow
Provided through the network of faith
Heavens' Economy
Where the existence of famine is not recognized
Even the least budget is well organized
Its treasures are incorruptible
And only by faith is it accessible
Reserved for the people in His kingdom
Managed by His wisdom
Heaven’s economy, powered by God.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
We loved them because
they loved to create.
A tailor and a builder.
made art from nothing.
Left a legacy.
Constructed beauty
from seemingly nothing.
Oh boys,
Our tailors and our builders,
Without you, we’d be sleeping just fine.
He blew her mind
Made her consult
With her old dear friend
Jack
(Daniels)
At hours unmentionable to civilized people.
Who indeed made her feel better
but also made her feel
Worse in the end.
He could talk real pretty things around my head
And I was hooked like a fish
It’s been 4 years and I’m still not free.
I’ve never met anyone so broken
And yet so comfortable with his millions of pieces.
He taught me to take the lenses off
And embrace this life, this love, this way.
Everything that happened before
Is over.
Tomorrow is just what we’re calling 12 hours from now
And oh, won’t those 12 hours until then
Be ******* glorious.
He molded her
Into a volcano.
The kind you see in middle school art class
That the kiln hardens
and it becomes supposedly unbreakable
Until one day, you find it has been chipped all along
[You did that to her, you know.
Broke a piece off her without even knowing it.]
Now that we’re older
they suddenly saw us
When before we were just the backing cast.
Made things that belong in the deep
Accessible to us without fishing lines
Now that’s just a cruel game to play.
It’s funny that it was
a tailor and a builder
who gave us the courage
to not need
to be built or tailored
anymore.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
Waiting for that paper, a light
A cursor that keeps blinking for the next word
Even when the screen arranges to sleep in daylight
Fingers begin to itch and start being febrile.
An email, such a pity,
is more accessible than
a post box.
All the handwriting fonts that I did try, couldn’t,
Just possibly couldn’t mirror the impeccable tries
To struggle to be parallel to the top
Or bottom of a page.
The improbability of what the next thought would be
The prediction of where the addressee would smile
Or frown, or pick up eyes to stare at the wall for a while,
To embrace what had just been conveyed.
Letters are like light, they reach us later
From when they were born, but the spaces
they illuminate or burn on their arrival!
I wonder if our pupils shrink.
They more than just tag along, they tap in,
They’re the result of cleaning the ink from
the nib, a thousand times, over thousands
of sentences, or maybe just a few, but they do.
And don’t dare ask the pen for proof!
It’ll track down wrinkled pages
Who had their thirst quenched by
The swipes of fountain pens’ fountainheads,
And pictures of the fingers
Bathed in red, and black, and blue,
And occasionally of table clothes
Spilled over by the consequence of imperfect handles.
Imagine if light came as soon as it was made,
It would be difficult for our eyes to handle such bait
Sometimes, a pause is necessary,
Imagine a world without commas!
I’d like to peek into the writer’s letters,
Not to read, but to sense the shapes of emotions
And stretches of As and Ns, or the reach of commas
On the next line, and then, close my eyes
And shove my nose in it, to sniff hard
The paper and the blue smells,
And die doing so if it was eventual.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
647
A little Road—not made of Man—
Enabled of the Eye—
Accessible to Thill of Bee—
Or Cart of Butterfly—
If Town it have—beyond itself—
’Tis that—I cannot say—
I only know—no Curricle that rumble there
Bear Me—
2.1k
Controversy started over the images this device receives. Hormones control this impulse, she's making each ***** convulse, and I can tell I'm still in love by the palpitations of my pulse.
Thus, proving that her actions indicate the prequel to her return. Her affection distant but still yearn, expressing sentiments, guess I'll never learn, spoken without biting my tongue
and now it's your turn.
Conquer hearts and take over,
**** her off when I'm not sober,
**** her off when thoughts become somber, **** her off when I say I won't be here much longer, **** her off for many reasons, **** her off once during every season and **** her off the most when in myself I stop believing.
Her perfection an extension of accessible recollection, to the woman who despises the notion of wearing articles of clothing.
Not the best at displaying her emotions, so in combination the words she's chosen seem broken, unable to withhold the growth of sentiments cut at the root, and as they now reproduce, sunflowers inhabit her garden and all the revelations of truth.
Lapse of time passes, lasting longer
than activities that involved
me being on her.
Inappropriately timing events perfectly.
Summer seems to have visited me in the fall, her memories now more than ever I recall and wishing I wasn't missing the woman who had it all.
Concluding it's a blessing, for continuing to have your presence present, writing by only depending on your recollection, and since poetry is my obsession, make new memories with me as I practice the act of ceding back to a former possessor, definition of recession.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
Not all Married men are
inaccessible to a past true love
Especially mentally united.
Not all honorable unmarried men are accessible
for affairs in the love arenas
Some married men are a Knight to someone special
without any extra-marital stains.
My King lost his sword by me
all without my intention to do harm at all but mare duty to love my man more than I loved myself.
Once a married poet found his sword by me by
my virtual loving ways
and at a distance.
My old true love King of hearts thinks of me
walking, sighing love poems about our road not taken.
My avenue of the death.
I feel like a blindfolded sword gold hearted queen
who has lost her pharaoh
and can't be consoled.
I need my Knight in real life
My beloved king of hearts!
My once upon a time?
My willow tree of life.?
My ancient Pinocchio
hiding wealth name reign
and heart of gold?
Oh come to me I plead you.
I love you so.
~~~~
Karijinbba.
~~~
Nov 6, 2021
Nov 6, 2021 at 1:09 AM UTC
If someone were to ask me which one do I like better,
Singapore or Xinjiapo?
I'd definitely go with the latter.
In Singapore, the replies are slow,
Filled with an extra dose of nonchalance.
I am more at ease in Xinjiapo,
And can be wicked, if given a chance.
Singapore has busy weekends with curfew,
and I often worry.
Notwithstanding the pressures of the job,
So, it's better to be safe than be sorry.
Although Singapore is closer to me,
And easily accessible by bus or train.
I don't really know if the rendezvous is,
Really worth taking all that pain
Xinjiapo is more fun and cool,
Oh, how I wish I could go back one last time.
to WhatsApp you what I wrote here,
and not necessarily make it rhyme.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
Sinking my mouth and my happiness into this grapefruit reminds me of when I didn’t like them so much, with their jarring, acquired taste.
So misunderstood was I, since I now let his underrated juices drip down my 22 year-old cheeks.
I wonder how many walk past him for his more accessible brother, and other flavors so well-known.
I wonder what kind of role he plays in the thoughts of his colleagues.
A strange citrus with complex flavors they care not to taste.
I bet they find him arrogant, and too serious to break their inner circle.
They probably think his foreign blood would taint their personalities.
They don’t talk to him, I bet.
Schizophrenic gestures and paint-flavored greetings sum the daily conversations.
Maybe they assume that the least of their efforts might strike them fancy; make them seem nice and that I would think of them as wonderful and beautiful people.
Me and these flavors would never understand why you stand across the room and analyze me.
Me and these flavors would never understand why you wouldn’t want to indulge yourself in what you don’t understand, since you’re a scholar and all.
I would never get your issue.
I keep taking bites of this grapefruit; curious to know if your Christianity means more than your gender.
I imagine the scenario of you getting to know these flavors, and experiencing me with bliss and approval on your sleeve.
I imagine having a friend, that I don’t have to worry about scaring with all that I bring to the table, and all I choose to keep off of it.
I imagine you abandoning your opinions and assumptions and apprehensions about me, letting them seep down the importance of your uniform, and getting to know the God that you swear lives in all of us citrus fruit.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 9:45 PM UTC