"alignments" poems
I get home, to a hand crafted
note, one you wrote, with
the old calligraphy pen, that
sits at grandfathers writing desk.
You even used the envelope,
sealed by candle wax, stamped
a red wax, my initial, touching,
folded paper, a kiss of brass.
The art of, manliness, unforgotten
left on the pillow, of this grandiose
four poster bed, mahogany homemade,
the resting place, for weekend affairs.
You refuse to kiss, ruby covered lips,
as I remember the calling card, you
used as a formal introduction, perfectly
groomed, you entered my life, unregrettably.
You, a man learned from his, grandfather
his own father passing away, whilst
away at sea, that cold and distant war,
my tears fell as you pursued his path.
You looked so debonair, a
tuxedo, measured to fit, all alignments
and as I stare at you, eyes connecting
all I wish for, are sweet kisses.
I want your arms around me,
softly whispering, of how you
will gently caress, each
and every curve, kissing my thigh.
The letter, quite simply,
hand typed, reads;
Florence Rose, will you do me the honor of marrying me?
I flush my arms around your neck,
tears fall, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.
He embraces me, kisses those lips,
lifts me to the bed,
********** me for minutes
moments and hours,
he makes love to me,
and I know, I know he,
is the only man I will ever need,
or even know.
© Sia Jane
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
At first her mind may seem to be a clutter of astronomical objects
with planets sprawling all over,
nebulae birthing everywhere,
stars tossed in random directions.
But in truth, it is not.
Staring into her eyes is like drowning in the vast galaxies,
suffocating due to the lack of air,
but doing so voluntarily.
Her mind is a beautiful collection of constellations falling into place,
with perfect planetary alignments,
completed with the most beautiful nebula that God handcrafted himself.
You see, she is just that fascinating,
you just need to look a bit closer.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
I favour the deep, impenetrable truth of the jungle
Over the smooth ride over sleek black rubber;
The ***** disturbing, demented disorder;
The distortions of the lights we bathe on,
Over outward alignments and the staleness of systems.
I favour the cheap, rugged, bittersweet taste
Of a late night's substandard drink,
In the midst of true lights and shadows
And the uncertainty they cast upon us,
Over the orderly and satisfactory--
The dead pleasures and securities that
Exist nowhere but in feeble projections.
I favour the basic, primeval, animal grunt--
The dirt, the dizziness of true treading
Across the muddy shallows--,
Over the clattering of an overflowed,
Certain mind.
I favour doubt, earnest doubt,
Unpalatable doubt, inescapable doubt--
A smile in a pitch-black room,
A journey on a lukewarm air balloon,
A half-finished sentence in a half-serious gloom--,
Over hasty conclusions and tainted allusions.
I favour the endearing messiness of reality;
The chaos of light and dreams;
The mystery, so out of reach,
Of you and me and the space in-between;
The stained, torn, shattered, burnt,
Twisted texture we find ourselves upon,
Over the smooth, marble-white,
Sterile surface where false certainties
Slide, grinning, before they find themselves
On an impending collision with the infectious hesitation of the ground.
I favour the acknowledging look
Straight into the eye;
A ladder with one step;
A race with no competitors;
A contentment without resentment;
A bread on your table that's good enough,
That doesn't tease you and promise you more,
And more,
And more,
So that you forget what you should really care for,
What lies deep under your skin,
What stirs up the dormant contents of your guts--
You climb to the hilltop
Which finally allows you to have
A peek at the next one.
I favour uncertainty and risk,
And walking too close to the edge;
I favour barely enough,
And cutting it too close;
I favour throwing all excess over the board,
And lowering standards;
I favour the taste of imminent failure
And the adrenaline of a heart-wakening sprint;
I favour meagre means
And big dreams, free of currencies;
For they all remind me what the world
Really looks like,
Who I really am,
And what the winter-night winds
Really feel like.
I favour the ways of nature, often erratic,
***** ugly and convoluted,
Often dumbfounding,
Unintentionally intelligent and mysterious,
Over the ways of fear-ridden constructions,
For there is no such thing
As a straight line.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
Why are we so quiet?
I will tattoo that question onto the tip of my tongue in the hope that it will smudge onto yours.
Why - are we - so quiet ?
"Shhh,"
he tells me in a 3am bus stop
"Loud ain't sittin' right in my ribs."
He's got this idea in his head that god can't save his soul
that god is just a concept
that god can only be found in the crease of a bible spine but
OH, MY GOD
I LOVE THAT BOY.
It's like when you lean on a piece of wet newspaper and the text imprints on your skin except,
there are no words -
just memories
and they are inked on the inside of my veins like
remember the other week when you were sleeping in my bed and the sun peeked through my curtains and made your eyes flutter?
That's the front page headline.
That's why I believe in absolute perfection
that's how I know beauty isn't just a concept
because I found god in the crease of your spine that morning.
I want every Sunday to feel that holy.
You are a cathedral pointing your spire to the sky saying
"KIRSTY, WHAT CONSTELLATION IS THAT?"
and my eyes search for
ursamajorursaminororionsiriussagittariuspisces-
I CAN'T FIND ANY OF THEM.
How can I align the stars when I have drawn more beautiful alignments
between the freckles on your skin
?
I kept telling you to be quiet until I pulled up your shirt and read the first page of your ribs:
IN THE BEGINNING,
GOD CREATED NOISE.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Superseded my conditions with something simple, a vision for the mind to segue into:
An expedition to the stars, a journey towards difficulty fortified my convictions.
Experienced fourth dimensions, I have stepped into the infinite.
And none is perfect, I am aware of my impulses.
With a heart full of verses, I set the stage to play a role. This is all with a purpose.
I have indulged; I am at fault. There's so much to interpret.
Turbulence settled.
I learned to get leveled with vendettas developed since I was a kid, man.
Learned not to meddle; instructions were heaven-sent.
To go where few bodies had been, I had to find hobbies that aligned with the angels so that I could find the angle
to finally handle everything that I've been through.
A prevailing discomfort encompassed; imagine the troubles.
I rolled with the punches, and I came out triumphant.
From starving to marveling at the cosmic alignments and frequently fighting with God to having so many run-ins.
It's hard to keep a facade when destiny's tugging.
At war with myself, but the timing is perfect.
It has to be worth it; the truth has emerged.
Ever since I sunk into the depths where I dwelled and found my way to the surface.
Apr 13, 2024
Apr 13, 2024 at 11:05 AM UTC
In backs of cars
Lips form stars
And then
Entire constellations.
You burn bright
Blinking satellite
And disrupt
My concentration.
Your hands cast light
Bleed through the night
And the sun himself
Envies you.
Galaxies swoon
And you're loved by the moon
But she doesn't want you as badly
As I do.
Under this black sky
My stars die
And my heart cries
Out for more.
You have me moon-struck
Guess that's my luck
Just like the planets' alignments
Swore.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
Follow the celestial alignments, seek the star shinning bright
The deep leaves and vines of the forest will entangle you
Keep striving for the path of the glistening moonlight
When your lost in the forbidden darkness of the night
The birds swoop swiftly beneath the glimmer of clouds, blue
Follow the the celestial alignments, seek the star shinning bright
Be above the fear of mystery and commit to the light
Grasp the hope, dig your fingers in and follow through
Keep striving for the path of the glistening moonlight
The warmth of the light will steam your soul to fight
The trees, the leaves, all unsatisfying. Even the flowers too.
Follow the the celestial alignments, seek the star shinning bright
The bleakness of the way you've been traveling will give you the might
To find something that you never knew
Keep striving for the path of the glistening moonlight
Now you are found, predestined for life, never leaving sight
Examining how much more beautiful everything is, even the dew
Keep striving for the path of the glistening moonlight
Follow the the celestial alignments, seek the star shinning bright
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
This ceremonial façade is likened to an ancient folklore which has been dipped in forbidden secretions, even though my arts are sincerely darkened to unfathomable depths of surprised and ambidextrous naiveté.
I have constructed the choreography of this metaphysical dance, which lingers on the brink of sociological pronunciations, and where the liberty of gargoyles spew their fluid projections from lofty heights across the four directions of our moralistic city walls, where magnetised needles ***** my soul with the earth-shattering clarification of true north.
I love to sit in the dark and to be enlightened, as the eerie silence bellows her validity across trans-national sanctions, where the fallacy of liberation is juxtaposed with a socio-political and fetishistic confinement.
I believe that classical infidelity is like a beautiful Gothic cathedral where silent rage has an ebb and flow which is not easily ascertained amongst our sub-cultural and contemporary cohorts, where dynamic equilibrium truly encapsulates the co-existence of opposites, which are said to attract.
So, as we gather in the menacing serenity of the dark forests, where geography marks her ancient alignments from sunrise to sunset; can we now pray and give homage to the spirits of history, in this underground finesse of paradoxical equilibrium?
I love democracy, as she gyrates her sensual community wantonness on this conveyer belt, where the vital functions of our organism slink into sleepy cessations of universal structures where causality releases her excitatory expressions of organic physiology.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
Speculations abound, on the news and Internet.
Doomsday prophecies, when the planets alignments set.
But I have my theories, that I will share with you,
might as well accept it, there's nothing you can do.
Twenty-twelve is coming, that is a simple fact.
Just sit back and read along, have yourself a laugh.
I believe on that day:
That the aliens that abducted Elvis,
to be their king, will bring him back to us.
Their ship will land on the White House Lawn,
a whole lotta shakin', will be goin' on.
I believe on that day:
Man will find chocolate is a miracle drug.
They'll melt it down and use it, as synthetic blood.
Saving the lives of thousands of women on the verge.
They will find that *** finally is cured.
I believe on this day:
Jerry Springer will announce his intent,
to run in the next election to be our President.
He has a sure fire way, to end all the wars,
let the leaders fight it out on his shows stage floor.
I believe on that day:
All manner of nonsense will ensue.
I don't think it is a day, that we will come to rue.
Bets in Vegas will still be laid,
our nest payday's we will still want paid.
The Earth will turn upon it's axis,
there will still be, death and taxes.
No. 2012, should not be feared.
But, I have my seat reserved, on the next ship outta here.
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 3:31 PM UTC
if
you
are
reading
this,
then,
you
aren't
alone.
your
being
-right now-
by virtue of
reading this
is
with
mine;
and mine,
with yours.
and even when
you go
away,
you
are still here,
existing in
my
little
poem,
smeared
light
remnants
rubbing up
against mine.
and even when i go away
after sending this off,
i too will still be here
like you.
all of our weird
written words
penned at a distance are
always connected
by some
strange
residual angle
and spin
emitted,
leftover
from our
small but
eternal
interactions;
alignments of the light which do not discriminate,
nor create hierarchies of strict titanic binaries
that demand and interrogate..
your
big
red
hearts
make my
little grey
lightning bolts
light up:
bright yellow strikes fluoresce
over and
over
and
o v e r,
again and again.
your
tiny torch
forever
charging
me,
even as i
cool off
and
darken,
is much appreciated,
dear poets
of
mine.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Pertrusions thrusted upon truths disembark on a journey that ceases to empower the over abnormalities of the norm
The fever created from a sweat of sin cause the truths to lie deep deep within
The boundaries of alignments shattered by glass windows from ignorant reflections of unknowing people
cast among those innocent and naive
But despite these conclusions one may think they know, the oldest of percussions is the instrument of irrelevance that no one ever did know
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
You make promiscuous promises
to your aching body
tell her she’ll feast next week
if she lets you live to see the sea
you promise her ripe *******
sticky fruit
the dripping moments of honey
you tell her to ignore the tricks of his fingers
how they pull away
the tenders parts of her
you remind her she's as soft as the madrona tree
that she’s the most pungent smell of rosemary
the strength it takes for her
to live
shifts the alignments of the planets
causes disarray in each star sign
as she dips her toes
stretches her bones
he simply orbits
you remind her
she holds the resilience of each breathing forest
and though he makes his offerings
while looking for something sweeter
she is monumental in the way the world needs her.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
White
Born to a blank wall
Full of purpose and all
Yellow
Undecided is the place to be
Inconsequential as thoughts tend to flee
Orange
It gets political now
One mind, set to wow
Green
Enthralled in the scenery
Personality the unknown replica of thievery
Red
Understanding semi-formed
Understanding still uninformed
Orange
Take back up again with the best of intentions
Becoming wary of overlapping dimensions
Red
Obligation takes precedent
Action becomes evident
Blue
Money makes the soul grow weary
Inclinations become contrary
Black
In the darkness alignments cease to matter
Just a stray woven thread held by a tatter
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
So what happens when too strong of a signal is fired
When the synapse is blown and destroyed?
Alignments of stars are deploying themselves into
Physical reality from your own ideas of nature
Give me all that I can use
Let me in
Or do I back away,
Do as the balanced disciplinary
Tactician would do out above the unbeatable city streets?
The skulls of my many deaths pile up
In the memories of my extragalactic cemetery
Back home where I was one with everything
I was following a number of prisms
Into voluntary service
When it came to collision
But it didn't concern me
As I marveled at visions
From the center of existence
To the edge of religions
To the furthest reach of outer space
And other dimensions
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
there are pieces of me hidden in the walls that you will never forget
but that's not your occupation now
chasing down younger stars by the seas
if you were a good host you would've at least made toast
but you never did find the right combination of pills and tries to be perfect
so we all go hungry
rust-red shoulders, shark-flesh skin
in debtors prison before the week begins
you've been dying since the day divorce first came around
hollowed out syncopated, broken and unborn
I'm radioactive and I'm in love
I'm ready to go but we can't go slow
has anybody seen the gasman goin' round?
this is the day and the glory
fuel set to fire
fractals in the walls all going down
the spaces that we share were my all-time favorite hiding places
but you knew them all too well
now we're planetary alignments on rusty shocks
but you're pluto a voyager away
gold-veined limbs smashing clocks into scattered ticking parts
priceless gems from eras never passed
it's the strangest medicine we've tasted
the only one we need
is this fantasy
I learned nothing about dying this year in science
stranger medicine I haven't learned to make
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
terrapine trannies on trains going haywire southbound alignments crack in the sidewalk cement smile framed by fake curls the color of old gold
old mold smells the same as new mold
but less abundant
gather here
go there
you didn't stay with me
in that dream i had of the most beautiful place i'd ever seen
you said this is nice, now let's go.
i'd bruised my knees to get to that place
i'd scratched my cheeks and calloused my feet to find that place.
it wasn't like the other dream, that other place with the waterfall and the pond full of oil.
James with his old silvertone telling me of the gaseous things.
it was pure,
nothing with skin had led me there
and i was the only thing that cared to be there
under the tree with the green leaves
like any other
bent down
away from the sun and then back up again
there was no where to hide in this place.
no cotton to lay over your body and face
the ground was uncomfortable and perfect
you are awake in this place
you cannot keep your head tilted anyway but up
but anyway, sometimes beauty is less intriguing than something grotesque.
there is much less place for mystery in a clean place than there is in the depths of a mess.
your voice gets more viscous as your words fall out of place
but the feeling..
it translates through the angles of your knuckles
the nothingness your hands grasp onto
it's something big
your fingers are wide
like your mouth that stutters over your domino mind
you know what i mean.
dont you?
we want you to.
i mean,
come on.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
The screen is lit.
A pixelated wildfire.
Next to it, a 1TB HDD
hisses, then eases
into a subtle hum.
There is a pencil
inside the Best Buy
advertisement; bookmarking
the electronics section;
two 4K HD televisions
are circled.
The cellphone lays
on it's belly; it's
no side sleeper.
There is a nearby
pulse, lime-green;
the internet
heart beat;
the door into
a different world
that seems recognizable,
sounds familiar;
the most known
unknown.
The screen stays lit.
Words readable
at first glance; countless
forms of languages;
copy-paste micro-transactions.
Left,
Center,
Right,
alignments.
And the keyboard
is like a child
being tucked
in a silver blanket.
The fingers of God,
any god,
dances.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
A noticeable shift will occur.
But it's nothing to do with plate tectonics,
planetary alignments,
changing of seasons
or predicted natural disasters.
No political bombshell
nor revolutionary uprising either.
It's something bigger,
much more profound...
A shift will occur--
in me.
For I am seeking
to learn and live
to learn and rebirth
to live and give
rebirth with love
giving to life
to learn and live
to learn and rebirth
ad infinitum--
to discover all peace.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
And i heighten the enlightened
while writing of my confinement
still fighting amongst the frightened under lunar alignments
still working consignment for devils in retirement
holding souls in lament, to later examine it
you could only but fathom it
tragedies immaculate
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
A happenstance in a wintery afternoon
bounded by the shreds of earthly stance
beyond the gift of the spaced bond rays
at the gaze of an unknown captive glazes
on a gentle voice of an unsung dormancy
On the sphere of these cases of first times
Sometimes when you awake in the void
inside the hollow chord of my existence
at the heart of the merge where we entwine
then drown as kindred uncaged birds
On the sphere of these cases of first times
At times when you fit inside my finds
away from the edgy torrential cliffs of tales
connected in the alignments of a blissful vent
untensed and piously mused and attentive
On the sphere of these cases of first times
everytime amused by a blossoming seam
a field alertness of all balanced conceptions
retentions, corrections, revisions, intuitions
where your mind holds the nature of mine
On the sphere of these cases of first times
anytime in a world of relentless evanescence
as I drift in the rhythmic nature of our souls
doused inside the deepest lakes of your remedies
unchained in the pure wonder of your brilliance
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
Billy had an ingrown hair
That covered most of his temple
Tried to pluck it, being gentle
Caused swelling in a gland to flare
Bulging pustule pinned up next to his eye
The attraction’s leading folks to stare
He knows he shouldn’t care
But pin in hand he lets off a battle cry
Goes to war with a sharpened stick
Alignments balance best to beware
Pushed too far, a ****** affair
Left without motion after that one little *****
Billy once had an ingrown hair
Placed right over his temple
Tried to pop it without being gentle
Flawless complexion as he drools from a chair
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
It were as if the stars perched consistently atop rafters on Mars
Yet they knew nothing of the silken night’s scars,
luminescent and mirrored in moon rays, such sparse
planetary alignments fine tuned with universal regard.
Elegance snuck a glance at the immediacy of my gut’s stance,
suggesting celestial semblance in your dance be cancelled,
lest bile be spilled, silence, by chance, killed
all for the sake of the trampled
Clock tocked out of stock leaving ticks in her spot
as the alarm beat us back into orbit,
we forgot the words of the day said to do what we ought
as sneaky fate intertwined herself behind my forehead
Often, my sighs are laden with listlessness
in such stillness, eyelids flit with a bliss-less shift
ill-fit shadows cast off dimly lit lanterns kissed
the dimming mechanism behind my lids
fused itself to the plaster
ladders wrought with rusted rungs
lead on to open doors as laughter
bubbled while stairwells warped by weather’s withdrawals,
slunk slowly across the floor
in the stillness
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
rosie for you i am stuck in a state of limerence
i count daisy petals for you in my head
picking the light home grown baby softs
reminds me of you moisturizing your hands with your
lotion and rubbing them on mine when you took too much
the abstract will you wont you concept
gives me hope and a knot in my chest
trailing into my tummy
I wish i could count the times i held your hand
in the dark
the same way that i tick tock those knock off floral fingers
rosie you give me some life back into my brittle bones
I wish you weren't a world away and I wish you were instead in my sightline
you are my horizon
push me into the future so i'm not stuck in your arms anymore
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC