"acquiesced" poems
We first sexed in a tumbling, fumbling manner;
The time had come, it seemed to us,
To consummate our ****** lust.
The Valley was shakin' to The Rocks,
A popular Irish band;
We'd had our fill,
I sparked the engine,
And parked my bike on Techumseh Hill.
The summit was dew damp;
We spread wide our pants,
Not knowing who should go for whom,
So we relented to the crescent moon;
I acquiesced to the shooting stars
When my eyes
Diverse moons have filled my nights,
Long since the grassy knoll,
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC
Deep within my being
an urge to get up and go
Innate fondness to journey
a need, a want, to not sit still
Searching, seeking new places
acquiesced desire to rove
Roamer, explorer, nomad
impulsive necessity to travel
The lust to wander
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
The honey in the lion sounds like a delicious thing––
a gentle balm capable of subduing
the cruellest of monsters.
According to the stars and tattooed,
you fancied yourself king of the jungle––
lazy in hot African afternoons.
Golden and tawn with sleepy sun-gold eyes,
shaggy mane, muzzle red with
the blood of a gazelle.
Did you think me such easy prey?
Or was I so much fermented honey,
only a sweet intoxicant.
Sun warmth seeps from jungles of cold concrete.
I mistook your gargoyle wings
for those of a guardian angel’s.
I overlooked your rough skin, your
crooked hawk nose and your skinny ribs,
and assigned fine things in you that didn’t exist.
So duped, I acquiesced to your slimy kiss.
Your mouth a neglected cemetery,
teeth a row of mossy tombstones.
Vampire. Incubus. Your seduction like grotesque death.
You named me tempest in a teacup,
but I was the eye of the storm.
Until the night the eye was eradicated,
and the storm blew in,
striking me dumb with your sound and fury.
But no spattered blood and no spreading bruise
to be found in the pattern of the kaleidoscope.
No cause for alarm.
Today I am lost in a picture show,
a beautiful world coloured by nostalgic past.
Women’s lips the vivid red print of a velvet valentine.
Head in the Clouds, I fantasize about a certain scene.
Because you think violence is ****
retaliation – ********** in my dream.
Give me an eye for my eye,
for all the eyes you plucked, from women and breadwinners.
Give me blood running down your back, sweet as honey.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
Is humanism Utopian?
You really have to think about it.
Or is it rather more dystopian?
No, then I think you’d never doubt it.
It seems that disbelief is best.
Humanism owes a debt
to thinkers of the Enlightenment,
although I haven’t paid it yet,
I think of it as my entitlement
to settle it at some behest.
I very early cleared my mind of Kant,
experiencing a vast relief,
approaching his chef d’oeuvres extant;
removing knowledge to allow belief;
the opposite of what he had expressed.
It occurred to me I ought to dig up
(or should I say instead ex-hume?)
what constitutes at least an egg-cup-
full of wisdom that I might consume
with non-platonic zest.
But wondering how on earth to do so
and thinking he might hold the key,
I fixed my sights on Jean Jacques Rousseau
and set sail for my destiny,
while trying not to feel depressed.
Voltaire’s voices loudly rang in deaf ears
as did the Persian Letters of Montesquieu
and failed to still my latent fears.
And thus I felt no need to rescue
Adam Smith (morality-obsessed).
To put Descartes before the Horse-
men of the Apocalypse
War, famine, pestilence and worse.
Who could guess it would eclipse
my thought, wherefore I was oppressed.
Or take the case of Denis Diderot
a friend of Hume and others seedier.
and one you might consider so
rash as to produce an encyclopedia
to get his knowledge off his chest.
That precious quality of truth
was Mary Ann’s# description of it.
It would not take a Sherlock sleuth
to simply thus produce a conviction of it:
an elementary request.
I cut my questing teeth on Russell.
His secular logic had a profound effect
and seemed to stir each red corpuscle
inhabiting this fervid non-sect-
arian but doubting breast.
I later turned my eye on Dawkins,
and his concern with my divine delusion.
A sceptic whose inspiring squawkings
validate my disillusion
and emphasise an ill-starred quest.
And so I felt the pointlessness of it.
Progress is the best end for a man to see
And belief simply produced less profit
for reality’s dispelling of my fantasy.
So, in the end, I acquiesced.
#Mary Ann Evans, aka George Eliot, in Adam Bede
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Old blue is snorting bath salt-
In the same bathroom where he nursed the only battle wound I’ve ever had-
I had swung on the prince of Hopkins county-
My knuckle caught the crystal of his watch-
Pop and howl, edge and line-
Thrown askew by force-
(my) good young blood ferried wolf flowers from one side of the sink-
to the other-
Time kept-
Bone acquiesced-
Verity-
Old blue would tell you that he only remembers contrition-
While humming the Gardenia Waltz.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 10:43 AM UTC
Perhaps I peered too closely into the abysmal potholes of other people’s souls
of whom I had no business pilfering through in the first place.
Now I ponder about feelings and memories that do not belong to me
some of which are long forgotten, disregarded, or even irrelevant.
Of this information that I have unearthed and processed, I know not what to do with it.
I am perpetually preoccupied with what lies beneath the surface point, which is what pushes me forward, yet could propel me to my downfall.
I just sit here and anxiously ponder this arcane information I acquiesced
through means not noble to my standard of normal morals.
There is nothing else to do.
For I rest here in the realm of reality.
This is no novel of fiction for me to figure out.
I can’t flip through the pages of people’s plights.
Something like that does not fall within my rights.
I am a mere meddling mortal amongst other mortals.
I am no god who sits proudly upon their plethora of others’ secrets.
I am just another human being.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
Friendly Joe Rabbit
Was not in the habit
Of running the race
To the end
He took every shortcut
Beware of the wrong-cut
And found every turn
Every bend
He said to Tom Turtle
I’ve hopped every hurdle
The race I will clearly contend
And though you are slow
Hither you go
You’re steadfast
A trusty old friend
She said to Tom Turtle
I’m taking it slow
And so he will know
This isn’t a show
He trusted Joe Rabbit
To follow him through
He said it was true
Before she even know
Tom Turtle she said
I’ll trust you instead
And cautiously I’ll go
My way
Joe Rabbit pursued
Like courtship he’d woo
The race to the finish line drew
The staggering pace
That had to erase
Before he was finished she knew
Tom Turtle her friend
Had lost in the end
And happily she acquiesced
Joe Rabbit my dear
The answer is clear
I’ll switch sides
I’ll now go with you
I’ve fallen in love
From heaven above
Joe Rabbit you’ve now
Won my heart
But right from the start
Joe knew he was smart
He knew how the story
Would end
They now share one heart
And never will part
As lovers their story
Goes on
Their friendship so dear
No reason to fear
Their future is now
Very clear
Two lovers apart
Who followed their heart
To live without worries of woes
And right to the end
They’ll always befriend
Their journey was now to begin
From living apart
A home they will start
And happily they’ll live
Through their days
Joe Rabbit, his speed
Was all they did need
Their love now is fully ablaze
Forever is clear
Their future so dear
Happily ever after
The song of the day
True love finds a way
A bridal bouquet
To carry away
A bride always be
Thanks to Joe Rabbit and me
So here’s to the day
Joe Rabbit did say
Live your life
As husband and wife
Live happily ever after
I won the race
No more a disgrace
Tom Turtle has nothing
To say
Thanks to you all
Time to clear the hall
And everyone
Have a good day
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
I skip rope with mortality
We play hide and seek at least once a week
My favorite hiding spot is the bottom of a pill bottle
Or a carbon monoxide quartet played in b minor
Though She always finds me
I’m chastised for being weak
I always say She because She has me intrigued
But who is She to deny me the ease of eternal sleep
When in time I’ll see for myself that it’s a corrupted dream
In the sun I bloom in thralls of ecstasy
And a splendor unseen unless your eyes are on the childish setting
In this light I toil over a slowly rusting slinky
I marvel at its ebb and flow
Unbeknownst to its proper meaning
On the box reads “Life and Death” but to this it has no means to me
But the sun doesn’t shine forever
And soon its warmth will leave me to wither
Then that rusting slinky takes hold of me
Extreme with avarice so bitter
And no thoughts of ever leaving
To combat this I reach into my box of cigarette kisses
To extract a couple of sweetlings
A long draw of articulate death
While I listen to the tobacco weeping
Their cries against a moonlit sky
Marks the stay of a frivolous execution
Though I am not without disillusion
I can feel it in every breath
Just as a child believes they’ll always be free
I’ve acquiesced to a not so slow, slow death
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:55 AM UTC
Sunday’s an auspicious day to suggest
that you, as a student, take a recess
in order to try and decompress
from our studying and stress
Now, of course, if you’re so possessed,
or some might even say obsessed,
you could study for a test,
we all want to do our best
but some work habits can oppress
and leave one all depressed
Just take a needed rest
and if your needs are unaddressed
get caressed when you’re undressed
some would have that thought suppressed
or simply left it unexpressed
but under oath I would attest
and to a priest I have confessed
all my roommates acquiesced
that for relaxation it’s the best
and quickest way to get unstressed
there are a hundred things I could suggest
you type “A”s tend to make everything a contest
in this, there are no professors for you to impress
this isn’t a competitive, academic trap, trick or jest
I just know that, on Monday, this girl will be refreshed
Apr 30, 2023
Apr 30, 2023 at 11:11 PM UTC
~~~@~~~
i break
my chrysalid womb
into a realm
without
protection
my wings
are wet and stunted
cyan jewels lie dew'd
tourmaline
clusters upon the
veins
i'm only beginning
to learn the
nature of flight
i'm at my
most vulnerable
please
protect me
but don't assist me
in my struggle
to break
FREE
~~~@~~~
**it took me
disolving time to
emerge
from my own
beautiful
amorphous mess
while I drew
my imaginal discs
i dreamt
of flowers
and their
everlasting
bursting colors
the
celestial skies
and soft
empowering
spring
breeze**
~~~@~~~
as i push apart
my place of
safety and security
i find the life
pumping
into my
wingspan
the colors of the
world
entrance me
i am no longer
dreaming
as i drink in
my natural
but still
foreign
home
~~~@~~~
**riveting pain
with each
s p r e a d
of these
newly acquiesced
defenseless
delicate
appendiges
this
m e t a m o r p h a s i s
has just begun
my
j o u r n e y
to self discovery
paved with
wrestling and scuffling
everlasting
flight
and
wondering**
~~~@~~~
for it is in the
p a I n
we find
g r o w t h
and in the
s t r u g g l e
against
the
safe and secure
that we
at last
find
F R E E D O M
~~~@~~~
dajena m
soulsurvivor
(c) october 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
I didn't know your name back then.
I practiced love with other men.
I burned my lips on words like yes.
I didn't know your name back then.
I practiced love with other men—
a reckless, shipwrecked malcontent;
a willing, waiting queen undressed,
I burned my lips on words like yes.
I warmly, weakly acquiesced
and woke to wonder if I'd dreamt.
I didn't know your name back then.
I studied sin with other men
and broke my heart on words like when.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
pasty white ghosts haunt
the corpse blue cornfields of Iowa
whispering wisps of smoke
shimmering shadows of the past
setting the pace for the rat race
that is the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election
senators billionaires doctors
frauds liars fools
campaigning for selection in an
archaic and outdated
form of governance
witness the spectacle
the orgastic worship
of solipsistic oligarchs
bloated by their own
sycophantic rhetoric
it's just another form
of all-American
entertainment
each orator's charismatic adage
froths forth from a
throat like a grave
pragmatism throttles hope
as we stoke the fires of
self-indulgence and neglect
the fact that we acquiesced
as another deceiver stole votes
we're choking on placebo pills
every ballot cast is another act of apathy
escapism pleading vainly for a
savior to rescue our sick society but
these hands didn't evolve so we could
collect a representative to lead us
blindly into one fiasco after another
these fingers penned
humanity's symphonies and
these calloused palms have
toiled for years under an apathetic sun
we learned to make love
using our fingertips and
with these fists
we could chart a new path
but only if we raise them in
defiance
our only chance is leaderless resistance
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second
this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater
his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares
her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two
was lying with others to stand himself
when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K
to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Met a physics major at university
I was into her, and she was into me
We hit it off so well we agreed to a date
the beginning was so nice but
the ending not so great!
She was so cheery
talkin' 'bout
String theory, it
left me weary
cuz I didn't want
to talk about
science
She was so cheery
talkin' 'bout
String theory, it
left me weary
cuz I didn't want
to talk about
science
After our meal, she said
"let's go for a walk"
When I asked what for
she said, "I just want to talk"
While holding hands, walking
and gazing at the sky, my
romantic mood was ruined
and here's the reason why
She was so cheery
talkin' 'bout
String theory, it
left me weary
cuz I didn't want
to talk about
science
She was so cheery
talkin' 'bout
String theory, it
left me weary
cuz I didn't want
to talk about
science
Handwriting on the wall,
it didn't look too good
She asked me to rethink
my position if I could
I considered pros and cons
and I almost acquiesced
But then I realized why
our breakup would be best
She was so cheery
talkin' 'bout
String theory, it
left me weary
cuz I didn't want
to talk about
science
She was so cheery
talkin' 'bout
String theory, it
left me weary
cuz I didn't want
to talk about
science
String theory, left me weary, string theory
Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh
science
String theory, left me weary, string theory
Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh
science
(repeat and fade)
Mark Toney © 2022
Oct 29, 2022
Oct 29, 2022 at 10:12 PM UTC
The clock becomes a detachable head.
Acquiesced to the ground
The fragments become priceless.
Wrinkled people grovel over the eager glass
Pick them up and risk the cuts.
Vibrations equalize
and everyone is holding hands
stuffing their distractions and sadness
into a sack
looking into each others’ eyes
blurring the faces into one
letting go is hard at first
but then after it is hard
to keep from spinning out of control.
At first sharing for simplicity
and then in a disease involuntarily
for daytime T.V shows
and self-help-how-to-do-your-life books
by self-proclaimed seers and prophets
reading the palm of your hand
which is also mine
and his.
No time
to stop
not for a second.
you are
the god
and all the questions are answered
you are the ice that covers sidewalks
warmth will defrost thought out actions,
instilling the masterpiece.
Response:
Why not look inside of you?
Are there questions that cannot be answered?
Yes but only because of detail
and the sharp and spiky squares of
Science.
the dance we learn to stop dancing,
goes on after us and goes on into forever.
like forever may not be there.
it doesn’t seem to note or care
that the space between your two ears.
comforts my neck best
or constellations crossing your chest
constantly suggests no matter the rearrangement
no coincidences are circumstance
I’m trying not to look for it
some reality where I belong
if forever sees it has missed a beat
laughing and playing.
I so obediently repeat
what you’ve so gracefully said to me.
Life is not a sign for anything else.
It is more of an enigmatic saying from a hermit
below a full moon
purely nonsense insane.
…but realizing the smile with which it was contained.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 11:10 AM UTC
“Childhood only exists”
“While its innocence lives”
“In time, it is replaced”
“By what, our invidious reasoning gives” WIZDUMBs BY JA 223
When I was very young, some years before my teens
Before those wild ambitions, invaded all my dreams
I was naive, yet unafraid; my life was filled with awe
I ran and played, unperturbed, exploring things I saw
I had no needs, beyond my own; no greed had yet set in
Not then aware, that my needs, could evolve into a sin
I had no great desires, put no value, on what I lent
There was no hidden meaning, no reward, in my intent
I had no inhibitions, had not yet tasted fear
I marveled at the joys of life, which now I hold so dear
I rushed headlong thru life, and gave it not a thought
Back then, knew not life’s lessons, still needed to be taught
All of my convictions, lived free within my heart
Before my brain took hold, and tore them all apart
My innocence of reasoning, was good and sweet and pure
This loss of childlike judgement, one day I would endure
I thought not of, what I should do; back then I had no clue
Thus unafraid, tried everything, and so my knowledge grew
With each mistake, I’d try again; from each a lesson drew
Discovered life, not as it seemed, and so, would start anew
I searched for all the answers, to things I did not know
Unknowing that this knowledge; would corrupt my soul
I did not yet, discriminate; knew not that color mattered
This crystal mirror image, for me, was also shattered
My innocence preceded, all I thought and dreamed
Until I finally realized, that the world had intervened
I discovered that not always, black was black nor white is white
That sometimes right was wrong, and sometimes wrong is right
That friends do come and friends do go, but our wish, is to belong
And each of us, must prove our worth, for a friendship to be strong
That family blood; makes our bonds, much closer than the rest
In times of need, if good or bad, our family stands the test
And so my childhood ended, life’s road got in the way
The consequences of my choices, have led me to this day
A life once lived and filled, with the ease of its simplicity
Now sadly acquiesced, to its contrived, duplicity
BOEMS BY JA 239
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
PROLOGUE:
a large, ancient native american tribe used to practice tending the light;
a fire pit in a temple village elders say contained the first flame,
here the fire was fed, and loved, usually the only source of brightness
the smokey orange glow would roar
all the time from dusk to dusk, from every moon to every sun,
always burning generations after generation,
considered one of the highest honors to be tasked with tending the sacred flame. But like all things, one day it went out.
I)
Eons slipped by.
Darkness, thick brooding mists
with intermittent, iridescent flashes.
Most people slept.
Few unabashedly watched,
mesmerized by the brightness,
caught glimpses of sacred rhythms.
II)
Heartbeats synced--
the awakened ones linked arms,
wandered into the void,
toward
the
( ( (source) ) )
III)
Sounds
r
s r o ed
u nd
them
wrapping around like a crystalline ivy.
vibrating bodies buzzzzzzed fuzzzzzzzzzy love.
glistening liquid amethyst crystals trickled from eyes.
IV)
Silence.
V)
They returned
with different faces,
every inch of skin vibrated
=ancient symphonies=
their chests glowed psychedelic explosions
of mellifluent wind chiming colors.
Dancing and humming awoke others.
VI)
Soon, more hearts & bodies swooned,
swooping cartwheel rainbows blooming like lilacs in June
light
<<ignited>>
from the darkest crevices
dissolving shadows and silhouettes
connecting all like mushrooms talk
the blindness gone
acquiesced to songs
of connection through breath, heartbeat, ground and life.
VII)
Bliss again,
the world burns like a roaring ******
of warm flame.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Inter-wreath souls communicating in silence
Despairing distance just making it more intense
Slow dancing fumes of proximal hazy memory
Flashing lights of the destined future glimmery
Fateful rendezvous of unprepared agitation
Acquiesced drift along the preordained creation
Out of the blue we fell in love,now suffocatingly confined
And why love, the grey shade concealations so refined
With silence, we endowed recentful persuasion
With lectures, we plundered for destined evasion
My love, we lived love for life sustained both
Now we travel opposites as we found loathe
So long, what we came together for
So long, to our ever enjoyed rapture
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
You are poison
Hidden in the holy grail
I willingly drank
I fully submit to you
Make me bleed darling
Drink my blood
It is all yours
Suffocate me darling
Take my warm breath away
Keep it for your self
Blind me darling
Engulf the truth
I have acquiesced your will
Deafen me darling
Your sweet lies will be my music
I gave into you
You are poison
That given me pain
I gladly conceded
I am your possession
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 5:58 AM UTC
I have you in my book
though she has said
the man with fancy words
holds no special grip
her praises
left to honor him
is like a honey drip
she has told him
her inner thoughts
everything that she feels
he has looked upon her face
late at night
while lifting his biker wheels
he is a total stranger
someone who writes divinely
most often words of lustful ***
who doesn't have the right
to know the things
about her as he inspects
you see I love this woman
and I work so very hard
to earn her love in return
sometimes I work to hard
making many mistakes
saying things that sometimes burn
how can you fight someone
someone who
is only a ghost to you
you cannot reach across
the miles in between
to ask him bid adieu
leave her alone
stop asking for her thoughts
about your words of lust
but it's too late
he already has a book
of her inside his mind I trust
I almost threw away
my dignity and
my chance to keep her near
by begging her
to remove this villain
from names that appear
she was afraid
I wanted to control
every thought that she had
but it was her special words
put in his book
that made me feel so bad
she has acquiesced
with feelings hurt
she still loves me but now this look
but I just couldn't
take it anymore
as he sits and reads his book
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 7:48 AM UTC
The mailbox that bears my name was filled with notes from God's secretary,
each notarized with an antioxidary,
regretting to inform me
| a meeting cannot be yet arranged,
{that} the schedule will just not allow |
And as my eyes palavered with each and every flowing word,
{The clerk had impeccable penmanship}
the sorrow hit me like a God ****** hammer,
falling flaming from the gloomy clouds,
splitting my skull without a sound,
and if I could accurately express exasperated stammering,
my letters in return would be that-
So to temporarily occupy my infinite time,
dine do I, on plates of leaves, as the guest of hounds from Hell,
And O! they do not bellow but whimper quietly.
They softly said as I was fed to second-guess my piety,
but whether they meant to be so dour it was difficult to tell.
So as I ate my mind escaped and I fell and fell and fell
(not unlike a hop/skip/jump straight into a well.)
The hounds with zeal! they laughed at me
as I tumbled into darkness.
O! how lonely falling is, it can only end in pain.
As I swirled into the pit I see my past is feigned.
The darkness then began to waste away as light unfurled,
and fast and sure my flailings ceased, and I landed on my porch.
The force my feet had bent the boards and my mailbox erupted.
The letters God had sent to me fluttered coyly in the breeze.
I remembered how the lamb I had eaten was most oily,
and I vomited-
But all that came from my tired organs was the milk of human kindness.
I rose and stood la'statuesque,
frozen,
like a victim of a Gorgon-
My limbs then quit;
I acquiesced,
and fell again onto my porch.
I could hear the cackling that drifted from the matted muzzles of the hounds,
hiding in the shrubs nearby.
I tried to yell
but hounds from Hell
can only hear a lie;
I whispered, "Yes, I'm doing fine, I ask you, don't assist..."
The laughing stopped a'suddenly and silence took ahold.
I lied, I lied!
I lied as I were dead.
The hounds understood and turned to dust, vanished with the wind.
O! how lonely falling is, the landing ostracizes,
and there I sat, a porch pariah,
until the mailman returned with the sun,
bringing bills and notes from God,
and soon my mailbox will again be filled |
| And confound me like a divining rod in a boat
When everything points to true and right,
abandon do I all my hope |
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:54 PM UTC
For a while, we put our problems in a box in the attic.
We'd visit, now and again, to deposit an annoyance or two.
But then we started adding bigger problems, and space became tight.
We bought a trunk. It was cedar, designed to keep the moths (and our consciousness) out.
One day you went up there, and discovered I'd taken up nearly the whole trunk
with a gray sweater, full of holes, coming undone at the seams.
You wanted to know how it got there— you'd never seen it before.
I didn't exactly remember putting it there, at least not all at once.
It would explain its tattered nature.
You told me to just get rid of it. It's all worn out, you said. What's the use keeping it?
I told you I was still working on finding all of the pieces.
You acquiesced. You usually do.
For a while, the trunk was all we needed.
I left the house and came back with more pieces for that gray sweater.
It eventually became more of a blanket, but the trunk still kept it in, though the wool
would threaten to spill out in tufts whenever I opened the lid.
Eventually, it overflowed the trunk, creeping out onto the floor, down the attic steps. Into the house.
You asked if I'd found all the pieces yet.
No, I haven't. The bigger it gets, the more holes it sprouts.
I start to wonder if I've been making new holes to patch old ones, taking thread from the seams,
and leaving the edges ragged, fraying.
I'm fraying.
And neither one of us is good at sewing.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Perhaps it was her voice itself, clear and simple,
Unalloyed by any classically trained fol-de-rol,
Or possibly the nature of her faith
Displayed with such clarity, such transparency
By that very instrument,
But in any case, she had utterly bewitched the populace
Of the place known as Ahwaga by her distant cousins,
And when she stood on the Delaware & Hudson platform
The next morning, they had cheered her lustily,
All but begging her You must return to us,
But the train had lost its footing on a sharp grade
Mere hundreds of yards before making the station at Deposit,
And she was lost in the carnage and conflagration.
The townspeople she had said her farewells to that morning
Were distraught, their feelings a mix of grief
And an odd sense of culpability, a nagging misgiving
That perhaps this was an omen, some augury
Denoting that their own faith was not up to scratch,
And so they had taken her back to their own burgh
To bury her in a manner befitting her piety
(She had been travelling with siblings,
But they acquiesced to the plan, though how willingly
Not wholly apparent at the time,
And made no clearer through the ramble of time)
And so she was laid to rest in a plot
Surrounded by ornate fencing, her grave marked
By an obelisk pointing unambiguously to her Heaven,
And it is said that, on autumn evenings
When the breeze rustle the dying leaves just so,
You can hear the spirits of her Mohawk brethren
Come down from Quebec, murmuring songs
Telling of the spirits living in the trees and hedgerows,
Spoken in the ancient tongue
Of the languid, unhurried Susquehanna far below.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Knock knock...
Who's there?
It's the fire in your belly,
just checking you're aware...
Hey, you know... I'm still here...
I'm not going anywhere.
It seems I used to be volcanic,
now I barely singe a hair.
Magmatic in my golden days,
when did I grow dormant?
As you aged you acquiesced,
not living in the moment.
Rekindle my cinders,
your indifference is abhorrent.
You used to fight for your beliefs,
now the white flag is a soaring.
Give me white hot purpose,
give me a voice that roars,
the Beastie Boys fought for their right,
why can't you fight for yours?
You only get one shot,
you chose a pushover to the core?
Don't be the heedless hero,
be an involved...
*******
Tyrannosaur.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Landscaping the heart
How far have I got
Too many obstacles
is there more I have to tackle?
A lot of heartache
That has lead to vindication
Give me some reason
To get off season
Like droning bees in my ear
It feels like I have to tear
The vivacity in my body
Will someone take it back even if its somebody?
When will I acquiesced
The insurmountable agony
Hoping that the end
is not a poignant story
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 8:07 AM UTC