"aly" poems
Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.
Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy… SwOosh. Hush!
Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
“I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide. As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.
_TRF
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
There is a song I like to sing when I am all alone,
It has no words.
As I sing,
My mind takes flight.
The melody is rare-aly my own.
N' This is how it goes.
On & on,
I'll sing all day and,
nights are spent alone.
I'll try to make myself better,
and someday,
I'll be known.
Do you know the song I sing?
Do you sing along?
When the darkness falls above;
I hear an echoing throng.
There is nothing, I'd like more than someone by my side,
No matter,
what I've tried my love has always died.
Do I do it wrong or right?
Was it all along?
If you keep me by your side,
I will run and hide?
Well I was on a roll again then my son burst out,
no matter what I'm thinking of-he chases it about.
Maybe,
I should think no more
Take it day by day.
When I think I'm doing good
I'm about to fall-
but who cares about that,
That is what I ask?
I can't have it all.
Just lil bits,
and widbitchets,
They mean nothing at all.
I've tried to base myself in you,
You wont be my friend.
Can we go?
Can we stay?
I don't know at all.
Words they come,
when paper touches pen...
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 11:21 PM UTC
i have three best friends.
one is Thomas.
they asked me to sing at his funeral
but i couldn't because i was crying too much.
he left his hat
and it smells of nothing but him.
two is Aly.
we carved boundless into a river bridge before
she moved to Liverpool. an actress with more *****
than anyone claiming masculinity.
it costs eight stamps to write her but i do
because i believe in handwritten letters the way most people
believe in church.
three is a read leather journal
with graph paper pages
crawling with the inked version of my
trainwreck brain
the words that i can bury myself under
and call it art.
under the dark of covers
promise me
promise me
promise me,whisper it
that leavings are not endings
and that if you love something
you tell it goodbye.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 8:10 PM UTC
bring her an ensemble,
brioche and cafe au lait
'À la manière des Français'
an unexpected surprise,
on a weekend
Sunday-in-bed-celebration
the messenger, me,
recommends le dunkin',
insertion of the bread into
the morning liqueur pre-sipping
"I don't like wet bread"
she states officially,
in tone strident and reproving,
even gravelly gravitas-aly,
and to me-self, inside thinking,
softee softee...
*what other dark secrets doth this ***** harbor?*
march 26 2017 10:11 am
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC