"altitudes" poems
Dip me
in your depths,
let me ravage you,
the way opposites do,
attract the positives out of you
and extract the negative attitude
got your reaching new altitudes
So hard, I stretching your latitude
on the beach, in the ****
the way we relate,
its all relative
no matter how you view.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
As our dreams expand
We take flight to new territories
Soaring higher above the ground
Embracing the world between our wingspan
Looking down from dizzying heights
Once nurtured as a fledgling
Lest we not forget the ones who believed in us
One day we can soar higher
Flying at higher altitudes
We can be the ones to give wings to future dreams
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
right in front of me
but out of reach
windiness
tests upon tests
you teach me
patience
i’m weary
but i keep chasing
and i just don’t know
if i can reach the top
collecting pieces
of facts like rags
i shape opinions,
secrets map
trust impasse.
i may never know
the mountain shade
unearthed in doubt
from years of pain
but for it all
i love you more
you teach me
strength
and i’ll plant my flag
and print my foot
drag my wooden,
peg-legged soul
lose my voice,
foretell my wake
altitudes high
and immense
please believe
what i can see
let me teach you
acceptance
everest man
i am
shrinking
as you hide the sun
behind your back
as you hide the sun
away from me
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
I have trouble at high altitudes
and I can't run more than a few steps without tiring
I'm a dancer but I gasp for air after
every performance
and my mouth tastes of pennies
I will never climb Mt. Everest
or smoke a single cigarette
I will not live in Beijing or own a cat
or be a deep sea diver
the best thing
they will ever do for me
is whisper your name
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
─illustrations on the ceiling
i love the way
the sunlight ripples along his skin
with no complaints
"messiah" the shadow talks
"of course he is" i reply
and i resume to orchestrating my love
─little phobias
i wander aimlessly along his windows,
his eyes;
they are gates to afterlives unloved;
they are oceanic shrapnel
sky imprisoned infinities
a lapis point of view-
that i treasure
his heart is drenched
in my soul-
in a sweeter sickness-
in the liquid measure of my steps-
he mentions i'm contagious
i tell him he is my favorite way
to bleed
"september prodigy" the shadow babbles
"why?" i rasp
**"sun at long last
kisses away
all the ghosts
harvesting from
the heart of the moon"**
and i broke out into stars
─my serendipity
i love the raw
music of our conversations,
and how his voice
undresses me
and my monsters
so delicately
in fabrics of the dark
i love how his laugh
makes all the other planets
look dull;
how his smile
is the first step
to curing the blind
so the blind may know
what i know
"the symphony of seams"
i love how he is the shocking
philosophy
of turning suicide notes
into paper cranes
of picking fights with death
so i may remain
i love the phoenix tucked in his soul
how it defines-
the altitudes-
the limits-
our existence he describes to me
"reincarnation?" the shadow asks
"every morning he wonders" i answer
and the fever invests it's time in me
"what is he to you?" the shadow murmurs
"*besides broken flowers,
and ink blots shaped like rain
he is my favorite stairway to heaven.*"
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
My father used to bring home kites
from Pakistan,
made out of colorful paper
and thin sticks.
Mine was pink and blue,
and caught my eye as soon
as it was taken out.
It was beautiful,
and i imagined it soaring through
the skies,
viewable from all the houses in town.
The yarn was grey,
and had minuscule shards of glass
woven within it.
My father told me that it was for kite fighting,
the way they used to do it from the rooftops
of the villages.
One would fly the kite
and the other would be in charge of the spool.
Together, they would change altitudes
and attempt to cut other kite strings.
The last kite left in the air would be the winner.
And my mind would run to those rooftops,
the very sand ridden rooftops he had described.
Imaginarily controlling the kite
with a friend handling the spool behind me.
Together winning the kite fighter crown,
and my father being proud of his only son.
All while i lay in bed,
with a grand imagination,
and not a single clue
on how to make the last thought a reality.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
I cannot spare water or wine,
Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose;
From the earth-poles to the Line,
All between that works or grows,
Every thing is kin of mine.
Give me agates for my meat,
Give me cantharids to eat,
From air and ocean bring me foods,
From all zones and altitudes.
From all natures, sharp and slimy,
Salt and basalt, wild and tame,
Tree, and lichen, ape, sea-lion,
Bird and reptile be my game.
Ivy for my fillet band,
Blinding dogwood in my hand,
Hemlock for my sherbet cull me,
And the prussic juice to lull me,
Swing me in the upas boughs,
Vampire-fanned, when I carouse.
Too long shut in strait and few,
Thinly dieted on dew,
I will use the world, and sift it,
To a thousand humors shift it,
As you spin a cherry.
O doleful ghosts, and goblins merry,
O all you virtues, methods, mights;
Means, appliances, delights;
Reputed wrongs, and braggart rights;
Smug routine, and things allowed;
Minorities, things under cloud!
Hither! take me, use me, fill me,
Vein and artery, though ye **** me;
God! I will not be an owl,
But sun me in the Capitol.
3.2k
...
*And just like that, I was drifting again. I was slipping into the folds of static, describing the abyss as I drowned. I fell from altitudes of happy to suicidal in only a manner of insidious seconds, because that's how it goes. You think you have what it takes to be ice but in reality, you're only shattered water.
It comes when I think of them. The urge to succumb into my own ghost has never been so appealing until now. But there are visitors here, the twins grief and guilt have been uninvited guests in a home held together by dried flowers for ceilings and walls of teeth. I have learned to confuse my name with wreckage under their supervision.
The brothers tell me how to do it, how to **** myself without hurting anyone else that I love. But they only speak their diseases to me when all my fight has bled out onto the kitchen floor as the latest mosaic. Then they feast, and teach me the art of being empty through their hungry wolf bites. I remember how to breathe in a shallow way so my skeleton won't fall apart. I haven't had to do that in a very long time. Guilt reminds me the idea of shrinking is hereditary, while grief tells me it's time to practice that now.
When I want to hurt myself I want to do very strange things. I want to ask cigarettes to try to strangle my lungs with smoke as weak as a newborn. It reminds me of what is missing. The sweetest punishment is often the deadliest. When I want to hurt I pick fights with my grief or guilt just so I can lose again, just so I can keep the moon in the same spot in the sky. Just so the stars will pity the same people. I am sick, I am sick, I am sick. Welcome to the sickness, amen.
When I want to die, I rinse my soul out and leave it to dry. Like a flower that will become brittle and turn into a bookmark to mark the page where my life left off. I allow myself to deliberately stop holding the weight of the sun and I allow the sky to crush me softly.
I let the tsunamis out of their cages.
I cup his face,
he is beautiful and he is holding what remains;
I will let love hurt me in unspeakable ways,
until death too, dies.*
---"How to turn cancer into god."
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
And today i got to feel u back again.
Read my old Poem, I wrote for you,
When i was in pain.
Never knew, you would be the one
Who actually read my black diary that day
lines you wrote on pages to next pages
u got me, i got you tooo
My dopamine got Lit up for you in that way.
One movie date and two night-outs with no talks in our whole friendship at all
3 years knowing you as a hip hop producer
i really felt your production was different
Those beats are just Wow.
"Insane" - His name all that matters.
Both hustling for music as career
i saw hardworking stupid kid
i wana never let you ever ever suffer.
Trance lover me,
Getting Rapped up Altitudes Of love
relaxing my mind when we grind
With music we both breathe-in
No lovestuff to waste our time...
And soo...
I hold back my pampering child
Oh heaven! Its all Right
"BUT"
These second thoughts still remain the same
i realized my love is true for you
Its ******* Insane!!!
Will i be marrying you or not
I still get those Second Thoughts.
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 4:09 AM UTC
In the event of an emergency
Please fasten your seatbelts
And attempt to remain calm
Breathe easy and prepare for the thrill
Ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be one hell of a ride
Docile, like sheep, you expect us to remain
In the face of our impending doom
Draw in deeply from the mask that’s fallen in front of you
Pure oxygen so that we may become euphoric
Before plummeting into land or sea
Now let’s not forget that life vest too
So strap up ladies and gentlemen,
This is going to be one hell of a ride
As engines three and four shut down
There is little noise to drown out the screaming
Families and loved ones clamoring to say goodbye
Funny how in the moments just before the end
We all want to make amends
The cabin’s losing pressure now
And our fall starts to speed
Over the intercom the captain shouts out
Altitudes, allowing us to pinpoint the exact
Moment that we will all likely die
I breathe in filling my lungs with something pure
Euphoria, eyes seal shut
In just moments it’s all over and I
Begin to fly right back up
Calm and collected as could be
We’re onto the next journey of life, or death
Ladies and gentlemen fasten your seatbelts
This is going to be one hell of a ride
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
Fly away
Believe in your wings
Take into confidence
The winds
Help your soar higher
Bird’s-eye view
Clearer perspective
Higher altitudes
Rarefied air
Do more with less
Now you can fly
Wings give hope
With winds by you
Perch higher
On the highest cliffs
Edge of the world
Never seemed so beautiful
Ready for adventure
It all starts here
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
high altitudes and attitudes
my wooden altar is not a large one, yet it floats
above this mountain town in planks of rotting wood.
soft peaks rise behind the tunnel of garbage that builds
in drifts along my temple railings
at this altitude i assumed i would inhale the air of gods, elevated
so much more than physically above the grit and rattlesnakes
but the smell of hot trash is on the wind
as i exude his poison in red splashes of desert fauna and
a smile sways at my mouth, bloodless,
as i descend back into scarab
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 8:12 PM UTC
as one famous founder of a site
citing its demographic as:
poor girl seeks a sugar daddy
to get a university education:
'love is a concept invented by
poor people,'
i agree, and also invented by
the one who was crucified,
but i might add: insanity is a
concept invented by rich people...
esp. those people who's
children are ready to embark
on a career in intellectualising
stiff psychiatric nouns without
clear verb examples of behaviour,
and the public en masse dilute
"serious" psychiatric investigations
of mood swings et al. with
poetic elasticity of metaphor -
it's no longer: oh i'm so sad...
it's oh i feel so depressed... that would
make perfect sense in aviation
history - given the 80th anniversary
of the spitfire (spuckenfeuer) over
the skies in Southampton -
subtler and more positive expression
of alcoholism? just a different type
of metabolism, water (adam's tonic)
doesn't exist because it's all contaminated...
aviation depression compression,
high in the altitudes of 16,000 feet,
then looking down at ants on the pavement
with their labyrinth rivers of blindness
and then buckle **** it hits you,
the sea of humanity.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
The sky is an artistic graveyard.
Many a hero and many a fool have come to their fate in its wave-driven clutches.
The number of syllables required to storybook danger is as dense as ozone.
The orange layer—a warning sign, posted by the forebearers of fun, who were categorically undone by the very forces they worshipped.
Birds no better than to fly at such temperamental altitudes.
But the dream will die if we don't try.
And so we hoist our ambition like a kite, hoping to stay aloft long enough to discover something more about ourselves.
Apr 11, 2022
Apr 11, 2022 at 1:01 PM UTC
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
stars still enliven the shadowy night sky,
but those far-reaching streaks of lavender
escaped
the evening’s backdrop
before I could engrave them into my memory.
the snug, lilac comforter on my own bed
no longer a safe haven,
a rigid, metal cage,
trapping me within my midnight hallucinations.
eyes close over and over again,
yet i can’t find a way to escape
from the pale, mauve speckles
that dotted your brown eyes
whenever the moonlight shined down on them.
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
i followed your footsteps,
etched into the remains of my heart,
repaired so below par with the thinnest papier-mâchéu.
but they only led me to a solemn place
where no soul had ever set foot.
faultless, pallid fingertips
trace over deep, orchid indentations of your name,
carved heavily into the walls,
framing my hiding place,
wholly staining your acrid touch into yet another expanse of myself.
every last brush of skin on the hard plaster,
sent me searching, further and further away from you.
laying motionlessly,
overtaken by worn-down gusts of yesterday’s altitudes.
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
daybreak sun rises,
somber shades of purple escape from the horizon.
i haven’t slept a second,
for i fear the dark purple tint that lies behind my eyelids.
light pours through thin cracks of closet doors,
yet the illumination fails to cast shadows off your rigid silhouette .
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
i miss you.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
Before getting close
To clouds, and birds in flight;
Looking down on roofs, and plains afar from sight;
Coping up with different altitudes
And blending roots to other cultures,
I'd prefer to break the clock
And be with you.
I'd grasp the chance
To get nigh and stare at that visage
Etched in memory like a haunting mirage
Free our echoing or contrasting notions
Spill out the dumbest jokes
'Coz it's cool to see your subtle emotions.
We could wander on busy streets,
Or gaze on blinking stars and make a wish!
But I'm not sure if I'd be brave
To tell the words I rehearsed,
Or flash boxed feelings.
If cowardly I didn't...
Please...
Oh, Please...
Hear the screaming silence
And shattering tears.
Years will fly by
But my hopes won't die.
I'll send letters to that Star
Hoping our paths to reunite.
Let kismet light our way,
For I believe,
Our Guide won't lead us astray.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
i.
dusk melts into walls
and corners,
the sun begins to dip,
below the earth
little islands of
light and shadow.
ii.
the light softens,
carries us towards
the sentry keeper
of the blue earth
the night’s noble
gaze.
iii.
rose-wood and indigo,
immense cloud
washed-out like
faded denim,
stars in summer’s hollowy skies.
iv.
as dark as a tinted window
the land breaks free
from the sun, dissolves
into shadows bent
into a thousand shapes
and altitudes
like softening rivers
of the mind.
v.
uncovered, the night
forgets it flowers and its
prisms, relents to magical
seas of black ink.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
Two weeks in the sweltering heat of El Salvador
Sweating out the familiarities of home
A windswept airport parking lot
Speckled with miniature palm trees.
Open your eyes,
Dust off your ears,
And let those worries evaporate
Into the atmosphere.
Embarking down a little dirt path,
Where years of civil war
Unleashed their wrath.
Subtly, a foundation shifts
From the Miquon woods
Towards a smaller rural community
In the altitudes.
A laid-back game of soccer
In the oppressive 115-degree weather.
Against the firmness of dried brown dirt
Frantic feet are light like feathers
A history is present here
A common ground
We both hold dear
It’s clear,
The passion is sincere
Above all
A Spalding ball
Replacing Plymouth Meeting Mall
I, them, we, thaw
Once feeling cold
Now living raw.
A flash of colors
Mirrors a Macaw
The blend of people
A game will draw
With warm legs kicking
One draws upon
More natural law
A hand exchanged
For faster paw
Metamorphosis leaves
Humans in awe.
Who’s watching us?
The Eye of Ra
I feel awake
I think I’ve heard the bugle call.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:53 AM UTC
born of insects and grass
in deep hue -- as purple as the gin blossom
climbing for new altitudes
the wall breaks inside of me
I fall through the forest floor
and into the ocean of sky
all the places I go are in freefall
but there's a reappearing rhythm
heart is a drum
heart is a drum
and it will join the dots of
a prayer remembered
(the fierce words of a holy sonnet)
consoling me in its shadow
when the turbulent, inverted plane
could no longer hold itself together
Sep 12, 2023
Sep 12, 2023 at 5:30 PM UTC
i. Here, there is sand in your mouths when you kiss. Sweat and long hair. A shared water bottle glinting in her hands. She finds a succulent plant and slices it open, drawing her finger through the clear gelatinous discharge it bleeds. She touches that finger to her cheek and glistens heavenly. You are dry heat desire and she is your oasis. You drink her with stinging eyes.
ii. In this place of neat grass and gridlocked streets, there is not much to do except make chains of wildflowers for her neck and yours. There’s no one around to hear you tell each other how you feel. You feel like a sparkler, so you say so. Like a lit match. Condensed brilliance. She holds your hand in the middle of paved suburban wasteland, squeezes it three times. You know what she’s saying. You say it back.
iii. She draws your initials in condensation clinging to subway glass, while you thunder beneath the metropolis in claustrophobic darkness. You can’t see all of her in the changing light, just fragments. Her lower lip. Her nose. Her jaw, holy. The city makes your want electric. Her mouth on the edge of a cheap coffee cup and crowds jostling the two of you together. Curry and gasoline and the sapphire smell of her hair. Adoration in alleyways and open streets. Here, you can be two girls in love and the world will not punish you for it. Here, you blow her a kiss and a bearded old man says che dio ti benedicta. Bless you.
iv. To love her in the mountains is dizzying. High altitudes and mist. Leaves caught in her hair. When you stand at a precipice and look out, she photographs you without you noticing, dilating the lens to catch the rosy burn of your cheeks above your wool scarf. She finds you painfully becoming like this. You against the violent, beautiful sky. You in love and unhidden. Her heart is thumping as fast as yours when you turn and move into her, wrapping her up as if she were some ephemeral thing, a moonbeam from a passing orbit. Together, you breathe the thin blue air.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
the klaxon carols of your grief belie the golden pipes of your madness.
the cherubs embedded in your lost happiness
slip through cracks in your voice. James Joycean.
the fugue, your discord dims, seeps through the gauze
of your field dress. your wound holds the root note
oozing Rorschach ~ Rachmaninoff
jungian etudes allude
to a deep you at the bitter end
gnawing on sweet bones to marrow sip
from the holy grail and -
a humble pagan *** i greet you at the airport, barefooted.
found you
talking to a cloud
in your blue sky ***** it was shaped
like an anvil cloud in your iris
watched as you forged
lightning bolts -
fit to hinge
heaven's
door.
we had the same flight at two different altitudes.
and i loved you more.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
Fought against my fears,
Until now that they have become hate,
Pushing back those tears,
I am trying my best to find ways to meet my fate.
Carrying on my shoulders a heavy pile,
I hide my broken spirit behind that smile,
Locked myself away in the room,
My whole world has been feeling gloom.
Seems like the earth and its creatures have won once again,
I will admit that its not atitude,
We are just in diffrent altitudes,
All i can do is pace myself away from your latitude,
There has always been a different maltitude...my "Dear Friend"
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC