"airways" poems
Starlight wings white as snow,
Illuminating the night sky.
Will you take me?
Can I reach you?
The resonating sound of love,
Sends ripples through the ocean of my heart.
Once an endless abyss,
Now harbors summery waters.
Your words imbued with sunlight,
Drive away the most torturous thoughts.
As the notes of your dulcet voice,
Echo through the airways.
The rhythmic beat of your heart,
Like the ticking of a clock.
I hear it.
I feel it.
I need it.
Oh, bearer of radiant wings;
I continue to climb higher;
Continue to work harder,
Continue to stand taller.
I will fly with you;
I will reach you;
And I will touch you;
As you have touched me.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
~~¤~~
I heard your cry Oh, Paris
From the hundred of bodies that fell on your ground
I heard the sobbing of your neighbors
I saw the tears of all the eyes watching you
You were trying to move on from the tragic Charlie Hebdo Attack
But here you are again-
Broken and bruised
And my heart is breaking
My tears are rolling down my face
As I utter a thousand why's
But...
I still hear the weeping from afar-
Palestine and Syria are still mourning for the death of their children,
India Heat Wave that killed more than two thousand,
The hundreds of migrants killed in sinking ship in the Mediterranean Sea,
The TransAsia Airways Flight 235 Crash in Taiwan,
The Germanwings Flight 9525 Crash into the French Alps,
The Earthquake in Nepal,
The Amtrak Train Derail in Philadelphia,
The Warehouse Explosion that killed a hundred in China,
The Reporter and Cameraman Killed live on TV,
The Refugee crisis,
The Hajj Pilgrimage Tragedy near Mecca
The series of calamities and tragedies in different parts of my dear Philippines-
The families of thousands of dead people are still in agony
These tragedies around the world
Gave those places the deepest cuts upon the bellies of the mothers
Wounds that connect to the hearts
And create scars that might be fresh until now
The world is in pain
And here are my tears again
I am praying for the world
Can we listen to those cries and open our hearts?
Let us pray for you, dear Paris
And for other places wich are still in misery
Let us pray for the world.
~~¤~~
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Petite arctic terns
navigate the sky
on epic migration
wings clocking
45,000 miles each year
it seems they know
how to go
with the flow
by thumbing a lift
on atmospheric airways
that crisscross the planet
adding thousands of
seemingly needless miles
to an already
arduous journey
flocks congregate
in open ocean
to rest and fuel up
on fish and krill
for the last push home
these tenacious birds
understand
the cliché
it's all about
the journey
they synchronize
with invisible currents
because to beat
into the wind
is a futile expenditure
they pause
in community
to re-energize and feed
on unfathomable
bounty
four ounces
of feather
and hollow bone
instinctively holds
these truths
there is much
to be learned
from an
arctic
tern.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC
Haze.. come on down to the slow storm in my head.. come on down to the black sunny day.. voodoo smoke fills my lungs.. absorbing of her soul.. Through airways I consume her.. I lose my way back.. shadows made of light chase me through the haze.. blackness here is beauty that I cannot seem to hold on to.. The day is passed.. The night is wishing for me to stay.. so much blood is falling.. slow storm finally clears in my head.. A sky there was.. voodoo smoke cloud sky... goodbye haze....
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
When ranchers decide to do a thing,
Sometimes they just go through it.
What follows is a little fling
A neighbor did...don't do it.
The clearing of the land requires a little fortitude
Some ingenuity, and luck, and not a little courage.
So A.D. Volbrecht's story, though a little crude,
Is only strange to those who eat milk toast and porridge.
Rather than tear an old house down to clear a farming space,
A.D. enlisted help from his oldest son to haul the thing away.
Together then, the two grown men took on a moving race
To see if they could jack the house and move it in one day.
The morning saw a Donahue, low slung and meant to haul,
Waiting as the house was raised, (unsteady on new legs)
Then slowly lowered down again. T'would make a feller bawl
To see the old home place prepare to pack its bags.
Son Zane began a steady pull to move the old house home,
And A.D. took his place in front, flashers and flags to warn.
Slow going was their pace, and traffic stopped up some;
The actual move was tougher than the plan they'd formed.
So seven miles became a half a day, and challenges arose
How ever would they move the thing through town?
The power lines and traffic cops were obstacles; who knows
What kinds of tickets they'd be writing down?
Up ahead the airport gleamed, the tarmac shimmered black.
"Aha!" old A.D. cried, "I've found the way around!"
Hard left he turned on a county road, and cut the fence in back
And guided Zane and the old home shack to airport ground.
Western Airways flight was due sometime that afternoon;
Old AD rattled on up Runway One, old pickup running fast,
To find a gate to let the old house through, (and none too soon);
The tractor and its load sputtered through the parking lot at last.
In June a few years back, a farmer and his son pulled off a heist.
Stole some runway time and cut their journey short...
No harm done, though they'd never do it twice
Without winding up defenseless in the county court.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
Humanity.
Humans talk,
communicate.
Been doing
so since the
first grunts.
For millennia
human sounds
have filled
the airways.
Dissipating
in the wind.
Humanity expanded,
communication
expanded.
Spoken words,
written words,
flying furiously
around the globe.
Communications,
thoughts,
information, most
lost to time.
Some stuck
in the minds
of man
and moved
forward.
Engrams tweaked,
thinking altered.
More people
more words.
Endless
conversations
endless thoughts.
Ideas, thoughts
flying around
the globe at
light speed.
Computers,
Internet,
social media.
Communication
increasing
exponentially.
Most dissipates
some sticks
gets passed
forward.
Such is the
way
civilization is
constructed.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
It starts in your fingers.
They grow numb and then your throat tightens
and it feels like your vocal chords will snap if you don't scream
and your airways clog and you can't breathe
and your chest starts to hurt but you can't massage it
since your fingers are so numb
and the pain becomes so overwhelming that your brain dulls
and you can't think, all you can do is feel
and feel and feel
until you can't feel anything at all
and that is how you drown without being in water.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
Air gets dragged painfully through my throat
as my body spasms from my violent coughs.
Now my throat is constricted
and my airways are inflamed,
there is hardly any room
for the oxygen to get through.
It's like breathing through a straw,
except there are little tiny knives inside of it
that dig into my airways as I inhale
and it hurts
it hurts so badly.
Then I feel it in my chest
as my lungs fill up with oxygen
they expand and this pain spreads like cold fire
burning me with each breath
and then leaving this icy feeling behind.
Then as I start to exhale
the fire burns stronger
and my heart is pounding
and my throat is closing
and the world starts to spin,
then the air finally leaves my body and I can relax.
Until I have to breathe in again,
and this cycle starts all over.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
You wanna know what it's like to love?
When you feel so lost in time and every second that's passing feels so unreal?
You wanna know what it's like to feel like choking on tears at 3 in the morning?
When time refuses to pass and every second feels like a ticking atomic bomb?
You wanna know what it feels like to be ripped off your sanity?
You wanna know what it feels like to have *** for the first time?
You wanna know what it feels like to try so hard and fail?
You wanna know what it feels like to fall out of love and experience the kind of sadness you never thought you'd feel?
You wanna know what it feels like to be kissed in every spot that drives you insane?
You wanna know what it feels like to have someone talk about you behind your back?
You wanna know what it feels like to smile like nothing has happened?
You wanna know what it feels like to get wasted on your birthday?
You wanna know what it feels like to have cigarette smoke filling your airways?
Then you **** right feel it.
Then you **** right experience it.
Then you **** right give yourself a chance.
By the time you're 20,
No one gives a **** if you're a ******
No one gives a **** if you were the top student in '09
No one gives a **** if you were so drunk you couldn't remember your own name
No one gives a **** if you were so choked by cigarette smoke you thought you were suffocating to death
No one gives a **** if you almost rammed into a tree on your 16th birthday
And sure as hell,
No one gives a **** because let me tell you this.
*It is your **** life,*
*So you **** right do whatever the hell you want to do.*
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
small irregular steps, like
a little kid top-toeing towards
a cookie jar, his jar
a lonely lady
buried in her latest ‘good read’
behind her now, his hands
eclipse light, ‘guess who’
**** you’ she moans. his fat ***
teeter-totters on the chairs face,
his eyes catch her shut book,
denoting a ****** title, laughing
he jokes about windmill dunking
it in the tableside wastebasket
scoffing as she claws at the book,
before 180 dunking it in her bag,
which resembles a shelter for some
petty, puny & pathetic dog
she bibble babbles blah blah,
his eyes entranced on her chest
hoping the slightest bump will
blast her ***** through her blouse
like an airbag. distracted
by bowels, he debates cutting
cheese. gas leaks through a forest
of *** hair. overpriced coffee odors
mask the lingering stench as it floats
like a boat through espresso &
cappuccino airways; docking
my attention to a tech boy blinded
by his desktop. to infatuated to notice
the pair of blushing blue eyes blessing him
from a corner table. an old man
at his starboard laughs as he clings to his cane
like it’s the decaying hand
of his deceased wife.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Deathless laying - strewn -
your hand gripping the bone
in my shoulder.
Mixed are the decaying
shards of skin from
bodies
Everything almost touching
again reduced and
mixed in formation
and your hand
calcifies
to me
What in blank skin covering
the eyes - which twitter
and in their chaos -
accentuates our inhibition?
Ripe tears fall
never
into
the face catching
follicles
instead
I swam across to the
heartinents in your chest
and my
mother would say not to
fall into grips that
free emotions like
port, port that enters into
worldsea and drifts across
faded hurricane winds to encapsulate
icewinds in
jars like
coffins closing off to
blind light and opening
peoples airways to scream
of fear in love
Free of sight
in wine-flooded dreams
you lay
and I rest as hands
knot over the
abyss that opens for
brooding thoughts
that drip
out of my mind
as I lay my insatiable
eyes to rest.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
I like how her eyelids slowly close ever so gently, as if those words could be forever inked into the pockets of her mind.
Oh, the way he breathes in at times, it's like he tries to inhale the words through his slightly chapped lips into the airways and then
into the staircases to nowhere.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
...the rugged
Raskols ran amok again
Using guns, knives and stones
Made black a sunny Port Moresby day
Robbery the intent, ****** on their minds
Sir George attacked by thirty animals
Tete settlement violence victim
Just another day in Paradise
Airways breakfast last
Of his 78 years.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Ocean waters lap against the tickling edge of my toes
Warm, salty grooves on the airways
I cannot help but soak you in, great puddle
My veins too, acquire significant salinity
You and I are on the same page, balanced
Maiden moon pulling us both to dark depths of shadow
Then back up again to silver drenched shores
Our chemistry entwined, as one
The night holding such promise
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
My whiskey habit is complimented then insulted by the ever temperamental voice of Jim Morrison,
I listen to Alabama Song by The Doors
I throw my pen and page
In an anger induced rage
As my mind recites the wrong words
To his poems and songs
His voice plays on repeat
All i can do is blame myself as the primitive synth dances it's oscillating tunes through one of my depleted senses.
My hearing
Mojo Rising's face crudely made into pop art painting by a fan, an idoliser's image
Suddenly the fender telecaster takes over the smokey airways
Hypnotising, mesmerising
as it fills the space between the barely conscious being and the walls that surround
The tempo of the snare, tom and high hat slows
I now have time to gather my ever harsh and bitter thoughts
Harsh like the whiskey, bitter like me
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
My body freezes.
My airways weezes.
I am pushed away from a deep sleep.
On so deep that my insides weep.
Upon waking up its hard to move.
Nothing I can really do.
So I lay here and stare.
Unable to move even if I dared.
Stuck here for minutes at a time.
Staring up at the roof hiding the sky.
Unable to let tears leave my eyes.
Here I stay unable to cry.
In a deep deep comma like state.
Here I lay here like a fish on a plate.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
Tangent, like so
Back side, torso
Two systems touching
Move ever so slow
Breathe in the body heat
Top off both of the lungs
Feel those expand the diaphragm
Stretching body to its limit
Then halt
Then hold
Let the ribcage further swell
To the point of nearly bursting
First stroke
Feel cold air tingling the nose
Make contact
Release the diaphragm
Slowly, almost without motion
Pour heat outside into the chill
Until the airways close down shut
Press on, then press some more
And take your breath away
Second stroke
The cycle starting over
Rhythmic, measured, patient
With maximal efficiency
Each night,
You prove through me the limit
of possibility
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC
She is lying in bed–
tucked under her duvet,
wrapped in freshly
washed sheets, breathing
into the phone that I know
is on her pillow–
97 miles from me.
It is her asthma, acting
up right on time, that
is keeping me awake
so I am lying, under
my own duvet, holding
onto my own phone,
thinking
about the airways
carrying every breath
into and out of her lungs–
inflamed, muscles tightening,
narrowing paths
thinking
that maybe breathing
in the same cells, oxygen
mixing with carbon, me
mixing with you, you might
be able to breathe
a little easier
thinking
that I know
I breathe easier
with you
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
Her favourite night of the year approaches,
The veil between life and death will slip,
When ghouls, banshees and ghosts leave their coaches,
And the headless horseman leaves with the crack of his whip.
Sure, she'll dress like a vamp, wearing plastic fangs,
And she'll play her part well, at this new night club spot,
Just a few, well selected mere mortals will hang,
For this party appears to be all that it,s not.
When she checks in her cloak, with the strange looking girl,
She is handed a drink, from an ancient vessel,
"What is it?", she 'll ask,"Oh just give it a whirl",
So she swigs, not seeing the bottle necks tossil.
As a tingle is closing her airways so tight,
She becomes quite aware of what she's drinking,
And she looks out the window, to see fading light,
And the floor feels like quicksand, she's sinking.
Her host appears, chanting, and everyone follows,
They claw at her , like they were starving,
And feed on her blood, she is shocked as it flows,
As she sees on her wrists, all the carvings.
Such a need to belong, left her lying, undead,
Just so she could appear,so delightful,
Now she feeds on the weak, ****** girls in their bed,
Crawling back in her hole, in wait for nightfall.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
A novelist of aces
Behind the cover of abstract designs
It gets deeper than what is behind eyes
Enclosed is a map only the two of us could understand
Certain minds are condemned by the world
But the keys your fingers stretch to reach steal the breath from my airways
The grammar is skewed but it’s all the same
Boiling beneath your skin
What’s been refused to pass your lips
Weak tongues won’t form the letters written on our souls
You and I,
We’re just ignorant to the nonfiction cloaked between these lines
Like Beethoven’s last quartet,
Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es muss sein!
(C) Tiffanie Doro
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
She was poetry,
The way her curves aligned,
Bouncing out the walls of a perfect physique,
I could write verses of her.
She was music,
Her voice would rhyme it's own articulate songs,
Roaming the airways--
Her voice traveled down halls,
Lined With famous portraits,
She was the "Mona Lisa"
--of poetry.
She was the sun,
The moon,
The sky,
She was life,
AND she was temptation,
The chill down my spine,
When foreplay leads with ice,
When water melts and maneuvers itself in hot places I never thought,
Felt good cold.
She was poetry,
She was music,
She was Life,
She was temptation,
AND she was beauty,
Most importantly she was everything she wanted to be and more.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
The day you left I felt the seed
plant in my brain.
The negative thoughts of you caused it to
flourish into a ****
one that rooted itself in my eyes,
performing dance routines in my sockets,
blurring my vision every step-ball-change,
making my eyes leak the water it tried
so desperately to drink,
drowning me in my own tears,
forcing them down my oesophagus,
gorging me with my own dismal identity,
Muffling my whimpers for help,
as it deflowers my innocent happiness,
and forces it into a pit of despair.
When people walk by me in the street,
and they see the elegant,
amber dandelion,
thriving and expanding out of my ears,
down my nostrils and out of my mouth,
they compliment me on my smile that
seems to pair so well with it,
almost as if it were made for me.
But they fail to see that it is choking me,
blocking my airways,
obscuring my vision and forcing me to the ground
with every clogged breath I breathe.
I could curse the stars and heavens for cursing me,
with the wondrous obscenity that is located under my left eye,
it grows outwards,
haunting my dreams.
It's the reminder of you.
I felt disgusted,
that I still water the plant that attacks me,
But as I watched you walk out of the door I realised
that you were happier this way.
So I am happy to make myself bleed,
as I shall do so better than any king would,
but before you leave,
trim the blooming flower that blinds my eye
and take it with you.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
i pay you back for your lack of attention with well aimed selfies at other men
snapchat carrying them faithfully across the pixelated airways
no evidence for you to find.
in the end, i resent everyone i love
for every opportunity that i stayed silent about what i really wanted
i resent them for my own flaws.
my quietness, my need to please.
i make myself a dog, and they pet my ego
just enough to keep me from leaving.
the curse of a fat stomach,
arms,
thighs,
attributes of a fat ***
they can keep me in my place because i do not believe i am deserving
i've been taught that well,
but instagram makes me brave.
there are other girls like me
i stand on the foundation of the horror and humiliation they endure
in the hope of a better future
less fuckboys
less degradation
more equality
for my
fat
***
how much longer will i believe i have to put up with less than what i deserve
because i am lucky someone wants to **** me at all?
i don't think it will be long.
decades of socialization taught me to beg for every scrap
from a table laid for girls much thinner than i
but the tables are turning
resetting
rearranging
the playing field
is changing
fat is okay
fat is pretty
fat is normal
fat is just like anyone else
i just want to be treated
like everyone
else.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC