"altitude" poems
It’s deeper than that.
It’s deeper than the ocean.
It’s this feeling I can’t bare.
My heart thumping so quick
Adrenaline rush when I heard the
Words that you were gone.
Altitude is so high I can’t even cry.
12 Empire State buildings tall, and
I still really couldn’t reach my soul.
My emotions overpowering many things
Wishing you were here,
wishing there was a golden stairway to heaven.
I would climb milestones
just to hear your voice.
I wish I could come up home,
and sit down just to see your reflection.
You’re shining brightly
with flashes of light.
Looking like an Angel
I feel your presence.
Things are unreal
time is not ours,and
Forever you will be in my heart.
Rest In Peace to you beautiful souls.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
Stressed ?, Tensed ?, Frustrated in a blow ?,
Go to desert, beach, hill or a mountain of snow,
Sure, plan a trip, better make it solo.
Be free, feel the thrill, fear, love as you go.
Travel to unknowns, meet strangers say hello.
Feeling hurt?,
Stretch a desert,
Feel the sand,
Slipping through your hand,
Realise everything isn't in your control
A camel safari make it a goal.
Experience the culture, mix with locals
to rediscover yourself.
Are you in pain?
Head to mountains,
Altitude will test you in every way,
Your petty issues will go stray,
Try trekking, feel the snow,
Chilly breeze upland it blow,
Challenge your limits.
Trivial issues but mighty mountains digits.
When in doubt,
A beach you scout,
Feel the tropical sun,
Respect the relentless sea overrun,
You surf, sail and try the scooba fun.
Go beyond, challenge your limits,
Experience the miracles of nature,
Subside your pain, let stress be a bygone,
Rediscover yourself in the far unknown.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
"INTROVERT GIRL" [Part 1]
That introvert girl who loves solitude,
Simple girl that have a nice attitude.
A genuine person with a gratitude,
Just like an angel, elevating on altitude
She's one of the girls in high school
Different from those fool
At first glance she's cool
But she's stronger than a bull.
That introvert girl full of mystery
It's hard to understand her story
A riddle always brings misery
Need to answer to leads you on victory
It's hard to know an introvert person
She's always on her comfort zone
Its easier for her to talk on phone
That introvert girl love's to be alone.
INTROVERT GIRL [Part 2]
That introvert girl
who likes to be alone
You might think shes cold
But shes a nice person
Shes so Beautiful
Like a morning light
Shes so kind
Like a silent night
She's not telling a joke
But she makes me laugh
She's not my ideal type
But she makes me fall in love.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 10:31 AM UTC
Saturated in steely blue clutches, sweating from the 75 degree Georgia night
strung up and washed out with a serpent woman that keeps bringing on the blight
Singing you a song of bliss and blinders.
A big brick red boot on your neck and a green collar that reads The Gardens *****
The Garden takes the taxes tightens up the lead and never relaxes
Hit ya where ya like, the pain is disguised, leather tastes like candy, The Gardens got ya hypnotized.
Your late night camping sight attracts the moon light parasite, that acolyte of appetite, Tonight your the Gardens Delight
You wanna run but she's got those hooks between your shoulder blades feeling like an inexorable **** of silk, smoke and skin.
She gives you every thing you need,
Fountain heads of intemperance and black out nights
Whole streets smelling like grease and charcoal charbroils
Men and women of dexterous lechery, feverous severance, and generous deference
Crystals for your cranium, high altitude dives and the lowest lows.
A cacophony of any entertainment you might want or need, just as long as its seedy.
The Garden keeps blinders on your head to make sure you can't see anything she doesn't want you to.
Try to remove em and the punishment is usually severe.
She might give you the greatest loves you've ever known and turn em to photographs, blot em with LSD and trip you out on memories.
And when you come back to what you think reality is she'll take those photographs and burn em up right in your face and leave you asking if any of it really happened while feeling like it was the realest thing that ever has.
She'll break you and build you up, build you up and break you worse. A cycle of bad things feeling real good.
The Garden will do everything in her power to keep you right here.
But if you can get all those straps and tight leather off, all those hooks and chains.. If you can escape her steely blue clutches,,
You'll finally see how wrong you've been done, and your still gonna want her back in some strange way..
but you might start to heal....
But know this.
No matter where you might run off to,
You'll still be hearing The Garden City call.
That siren song of bliss and blinders.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
who benefits from keeping
our lakes and oceans polluted
who is to be blamed for this intrusive nightmare
i am clean and ready to swim in your water
yet many are drowning in the fish bowls they live in
where are our minds and hearts these days
why do we run away instead of sit and pray
who is responsible for these atrocities
why must we pay for others to take care of us
please shut the fence and take a hike
and do not return without a bicycle
i wish to ride off into the sunset
literally on a water buffalo or a dragon
these lions are friendly and sun-light is handy
for most of our energy needs
i pride myself on being ready for anything
so shut the front door and leave through the back
and we better get ready cause they are bound to attack
you say you're not paranoid, that you're intelligent
though sometimes i'm unclear of the difference
we remove our folded souls from the clothesline
and dream about the crossroads that takes us back home
jokes are pointless here and tools are worthless too
for only fools hang from ropes in such high altitude
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
Often times my mind does wander wildly
Thoughts where I wonder who I would be
Without my past flames that kept me sane
And without my darker days would I have still remained the same
Or would I be a lesser version of me now
Immersed in the aversion of my mistakes and doubts
Cause we all know I've got plenty. What's new?
Maybe one day maybe I'll see things from a different altitude
My higher learning certain forever searching for a purpose
I may never find cause nothings ever perfect
Deepening lines, wrinkles in time, and broken remnants
Of who we used to be, whoever we are, and what we're destined
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
Spring comes little, a little. All April it rains.
The new leaves stick in their fists; new ferns still fiddleheads.
But one day the swifts are back. Face to the sun like a child
You shout, 'The swifts are back!'
Sure enough, bolt nocks bow to carry one sky-scyther
Two hundred miles an hour across fullblown windfields.
Swereee swereee. Another. And another.
It's the cut air falling in shrieks on our chimneys and roofs.
The next day, a fleet of high crosses cruises in ether.
These are the air pilgrims, pilots of air rivers.
But a shift of wing, and they're earth-skimmers, daggers
Skilful in guiding the throw of themselves away from themselves.
Quick flutter, a scimitar upsweep, out of danger of touch, for
Earth is forbidden to them, water's forbidden to them,
All air and fire, little owlish ascetics, they outfly storms,
They rush to the pillars of altitude, the thermal fountains.
Here is a legend of swifts, a parable —
When the Great Raven bent over earth to create the birds,
The swifts were ungrateful. They were small muddy things
Like shoes, with long legs and short wings,
So they took themselves off to the mountains to sulk.
And they stayed there. 'Well,' said the Raven, after years of this,
'I will give you the sky. You can have the whole sky
On condition that you give up rest.'
'Yes, yes,' screamed the swifts, 'We abhor rest.
We detest the filth of growth, the sweat of sleep,
Soft nests in the wet fields, slimehold of worms.
Let us be free, be air!'
So the Raven took their legs and bound them into their bodies.
He bent their wings like boomerangs, honed them like knives.
He streamlined their feathers and stripped them of velvet.
Then he released them, Never to Return
Inscribed on their feet and wings. And so
We have swifts, though in reality, not parables but
Bolts in the world's need: swift
Swifts, not in punishment, not in ecstasy, simply
Sleepers over oceans in the mill of the world's breathing.
The grace to say they live in another firmament.
A way to say the miracle will not occur,
And watch the miracle.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Standing still
Breath uneven
Gaze slipping down the snowy tracks
I watch
exasperated as you stutter
reasons
You can't
like the way
the slush clings
to my heart
unwilling to stop
Skiing,
I glance around at the beautiful
You
Breath uneven
You're laughing
Over me
The altitude,
And I can't think of anything else
Clouds gathering
The future
And I'm confused
As the rain melts down me
Breath uneven
My body
One great icicle
You see
Breath uneven
I'm crying
Snow dances
Weaving frozen tears
Together
Breath uneven
Blizzard
We can't find
The way back
to where
We began
But there's no forgetting
the journey
Here
I'm lost but found
Breath uneven
As your eyes
Tell me
Everything.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
Your attitude can determine how high you get to the top. Even a pilot needs knowledge to fly, and land in a safe spot.
Being negative paralyzes a man, causing him to stop. It can only burden him down, causing him to drop.
If you plan to get ahead in life, watch those you are hanging around. If you find they're not moving on, don't let them pull you down.
Keep a positive attitude, no matter what is said. Let them see you soar like an Eagle, far above their head.
By, Sandra J. Nailing
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
I love you baby,
From x approaching a limit of positive to negative infinity.
A range so large and domain so vast,
My love for you will always last.
The way my curve touches your tangent,
And how your secant meets me end to end.
When your line intersects my parabola,
We connect at one point of linear algebra.
You transform my altitude,
When my sinusoidal function allows you too.
You make my average rate of change,
Quicken and heighten in an instantaneous range.
For those days when my angle is in depression,
You tilt me up to an angle of elevation.
In an isosceles triangle,
You will always be my special angle.
The identities we cross,
Changing from tan to sin over cos.
Like sin²x with cos²x we are one,
It’s quite simple ***
Your imaginary roots maybe out of this world,
But my zeros and intercepts will keep it real.
It’s a complicated equation,
To solve for my fascination.
It’s the beginning of our journey,
I hope we never come across an inequality.
I love you endlessly like x approaching positive and negative infinity.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
*moonbeam
i dared to take your hand
and slid from this dark night
a view of altitude
all is forever clear
©2016janetaylor
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
445
’Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms—
It had the Tassels on—
I thought how yellow it would look—
When Richard went to mill—
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.
I thought just how Red—Apples wedged
The Stubble’s joints between—
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in—
I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father’d multiply the plates—
To make an even Sum—
And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me—
But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year—
Themself, should come to me—
3.7k
An attitude
Of gratitude
Will catapult you to a high altitude
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:59 AM UTC
the end is now in sight
terror comes encroaching
don’t let the perilous dusk
douse the flame that leads you
the dream inside you burns
yet darkness wants to dim it
when you want to quit
hear the summit calling
and when’s the sky’s sunlit
and faith is at its brightest
the blackness strikes again
the apex is still higher
tho’ energy now spent
you vow to keep on going
just when the crest you’ve reached
you slip and fall now dangling
hanging by a nail
a famine then come robs you
feed on your inner will
to see your destination
you break free and go on
the wind strikes now the hardest
resist not but take flight
set sail to elevation
your spirit will not break
your eye’s upon the zenith
but next the snake will bite
let passion be your tonic
it burns right through your veins
your skin molting peels off you
metamorphosis has changed
the venom to elixir
then illness strikes quite fierce
you sink into a deep trench
reach down throw up your twine
towards the light you see it
no strength left yet still walk
you are not to be broken
stop gasp and catch your breath
you are at the top now
a phosphorescent light
envelops all around you
spin it into gold
throw rope to those still climbing
you who’ve scaled the mount
tho’ scarred have high ascended
fear’s an illusion here
love’s altitude has conquered
never give up hope
tho’ night is at its cruelest
hang on to see the sun
the pinnacle is magic
©2016janetaylor
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.
Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,
Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish----
Christ! They are panes of ice,
A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking
Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,
Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo
Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean
In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.
Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
With soft rugs----
The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,
Let the mercuric
Atoms that ******* drip
Into the terrible well,
You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.
3.3k
The Mountain keeps all secrets. Crusted lichen on timeworn boulders. High altitude longing for alpine daisies. Carefree blossoms, long ago plucked, gone to seed, restless in the fertile ground. Wildflowers bloom shortly sweet, fleeting paintbrush to layered canvas. Fairy slippers lost on crumbling doorsteps. Glacier lilies pressed between avalanched pages. Forget-me-nots in forgotten blue hollows. The common harebell feels anything but common when seen through a lover's eyes. Forest tiger, your bulbs taste bitter. Purple lupines sage with fuzzy-leafed logic. Fireweed, ***** unadorned, eternally reaching. Lousewort, spreading phlox, leave this scarlet alone. Listen to Indian Henry, it's bad luck to trample what is sacred. The devil dreams behind steep and sheltered walls. Keep to the Wonderland, bypass this Trail of Shadows. Seek ancient hunting grounds, steadfast shelter in the wooded clearing. There is no pearly everlasting along these old trails. Paradise lost may never be regained.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
...
new moon
"just let me sleep,"
moon eaten
my absence upsets all.
Look at me, really look at me,
stare up at the belly of a loved sky,
watch fingers dipping into bowls of blood holding hope,
feeling around for a sliver,
of sweet milk,
of relief,
of anything;
new moon whispers
on the dead bodies left behind,
god sighs---
he knows;
"I am not the same"
waxing crescent
map out my wreckage,
my skeleton of poetry;
in the spines of books loved by mankind,
bury me there in a pages of flowers---
in the altitude of words;
read me with a hunger you have never known before,
over and over;
whenever it seems fit~
like the light of the moon is a cigarette.
smoking,
he's always smoking now.
god takes another drag;
he describes to me:
*"You could be my bible,
you book of blood"*
I can't stand smoke...
"I have no business in being your holy snakeskin."
first quarter
I've been searching for
solid ground, solid shadows,
a solid compromise;
I wanted a little more
than ordinary love from him so I
asked him where the static began,
for me it's below my bottom left rib
and found that it was also where the spiders started too.
Time, that quiet thing
obeys god, only
because it waits for no one
it loves
unzipping the law of alchemy,
cause ink flowered in my blood again;
I should thank time
it was this saving kind of grace;
always has been
god stroked my hair this time
and said quietly:
*"You see,
the saddest thing is realizing
that there's nothing more they can do for you"*
waxing gibbous
Oh, where's my love?
Is it in the fever I call happiness,
is it in the sword my mama raised me to be
Is it in the way
the moon tiptoes closer
when he says my name
in that beautiful way he does
or breaks my name
over his teeth like it's just
glass apples
God doesn't even look at me
he doesn't have to;
"Do you believe in angels?"
the wreckage answers him
"not lately"
full moon
And it begins again
I watch as he just looks away
and says it's fine
it hurts
god narrows his eyes but shrugs
"Pain had other plans for you."
I breathe out raggedly;
***"I guess,
if there's no key
then I'll just swallow the whole door."***
...
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
My first pair,
Limited edition ‘05 altitude 13’s
The black mesh upper and the green sole
The stares I would get just for having them
There’s a story behind every pair
From 1’s to 23’s
The anticipation of getting close
to the release date
Feeling the actual shoe on the foot
for the first time
The feel of the leather, the suede,
The nubuck, the netting
and the carbon fiber,
The color way and the uniqueness
Oozing from every little detail
Owning a total of 20 pairs of Jordans
At once feels like nothing.
It becomes an addiction owning them.
Taking care of them as if one little smudge
Will be the end of the world.
The way the laces link together with the shoes
Like a spider's web
The sneaker talk with another sneakerhead
It flows off the tongue like sweet honey
I will forever have a passion for my sneakers.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
My artistic tendencies have been asleep
Wake me up
Confetti coming when the cake is cut
Make sure to rake it up
Taking puffs to feel the same only made my visions change
Still mixing liquor, rain and other liquids To **** the pain
Plain paper bag with the key to life inside it
Problem being I only conceptualize it when Im high
Trip and fall and lose altitude
The earth is coming fast
I'm bout to hit rock bottom still praying my high will last
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
Life’s an upward struggle, and it makes it so much rougher
when the ladder you find yourself climbing is beset by lonely weather.
When every other rung is off doing other things,
the solitude and altitude bring to mind desolation
and the emptiness that brings.
No matter the genius emanating from ivory minds,
the smartest man among us often finds
that brilliance unfiltered clogs up the system,
when others must consume the lonely perfume
of conceits kept alone,
while the common thoughts stay collected
like so many sheep in a pen that’s separated
from self-same lonely thoughts,
that genius oft encounters,
left only amongst the happiness
that fills up life’s happy coffers.
So it goes that lofty ideals become frostbitten
by snowcapped mountains of emptiness.
Others seek the heights together only during pleasant weather,
while those who trounce through snow-packed trails
must brave the climes alone tempted only by fate,
to descend to summits more frequent
than the peaks of accomplishment.
Gangrenous lips cannot utter
the chilled revelations of those left above too long.
So it is left to those below,
not inferior from the altitude,
just more likely acclimated to the difficult, dull journey
of those who spare pristine slopes
for the sullied, muddied slush on the tourist trails below.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
Senseless
Palm trees wrapped with barbed wire.
I like gingerbread cookies of pillsbury dough, of that you already know.
Frappuccinos without whipped.
Like a dream
Y.M.C.A.
Rollerblading the past is fading.
Summer camps horseback riding, rock climbing, arts & crafts.
Friends confiding, connections binding, lots of laughs.
Swimming, smores, canouing, & row boats.
Gemini Loved Scorpio
Solar system of a higher altitude.
Astrology to set the mood.
A date which is charming & not rude. Greek or mexican? My favorite food.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
You leave that dismal room
And walk
Past open doors
And broken clock
Down dingy corridors
You creep
While strangers
In strange rooms find sleep
You walk on carpet
Stained and fading
Designs all ruined
Yet not abating
Out where the housekeeper’s
Cart is parked
Her smile sunken
Her manner dark
She emerges from
Behind a stack
Of ***** blankets
Folded back
With broken teeth
And burdened eyes
Wrinkles worn
In plain disguise
Someone’s daughter
Whittled down
Her hair too thin
Along her crown
Yet harboring
A warmth untouched
Her shattered image
Says too much
Windows open
On a courtyard scene
Junkies nodding
In the sun serene
High altitude
Of Denver streets
Smell ***** smoke
And searing meats
In Civic Park
The men that stare
Sell rough-cut gems
Which slice the air
One calls you over
With his hand
More incantation
Than command
Says that he’s got
Just what you need
With eyes now begging
To be freed
You walk away
And in his strife
He calls to you
“I’ve lived my life!”
With eyes as dark
As afghan hash
He fades away
As you move past
In distant vistas
Where the Rockies lie
You hear that unknown
Ancient cry
You feel the motion
You must move on
The mountains are calling
The city is gone
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
by the lake at sunrise
a strange dedication hangs in the air
concealed in threads of mist
that hang here, ghostly blankets
suspended by invisible strings
there is a silence without end every where
amorphous, it is as if the very elements themselves
hold their breath, poised
waiting for something to happen
while a silvery unexplained light
floats like mercury
on the lurid waters of the lake
the world looks on
in hideous and embarrassed silence
as I taste the lamentations of past times
a discord of sympathies swirl about
i cry out strange words
like making a wish in Latin
i am carried in a high altitude of color
through a French Pantheon of poems
and by the lakeside emaciated figures
form a density of mood
dripping in emotional subtlety
which cannot be properly named
my eyes gaze out upon the lake
in a vocabulary of incoherent signs
images that have no articulation
like that of a rancid stain
of ***** on a curved floor
that compares effects of sensitivity
to neurotic symbols
that rest uneasily on the walls
of hospital waiting rooms
a poetic syntax of sonorous symbolism
sensuously slashed
like a very, very sad crossword
I am high by the lakeside at sunrise
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
I have some very destructive tendencies
I'm a bad judge of character
Whether the the character is my own or not
Begs to be determined.
I tried the pretty, pleasant method
Of letting the venom from my veins
But these emotions have succeeded in their task
Of rotting me from the inside out.
The floor embraced my pen
And my ears were lovingly teased
I tried to fall into the high from my headset
But your passion did not sate me.
Elemental damage was never my strong suit
As prone as we are to wildfires
You'd think the liquid cauterizing me
Would hurt less than these god **** thoughts.
And tonight the truth made its way to me
My shadow understands; his love is pure
I'm a cruel, witless ***** a scourge in my own right
But he still dries my tears.
I can't even pretend I'm not hurt
So I'm voiding my lungs tonight
Peppered smoke promises relief
But I'm soon discerning the lie.
We are back to square one but
All the pop music these days is too melancholy
I've had altitude sickness before,
But this time it's different.
And I smile,
a painful thing that I'm glad there's no evidence of
I told you these things are rare, like you
This inspiration at the cost of my heart
But this is my salvation
When you move from prose to poetry
That's when I'm done with you.
My habits die hard
But unlike you, the feelings, the talent,
the slow agonizing death by fire,
the bad character
are all mine.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC