"approaches" poems
Man Woman
He Smiles Curiously She Blushes Coyly
He Approaches Asks her name She shares it Asks the Same
Mr Right Love at First Sight Her Smile is a Delight
"Meet for Drinks?" hmmmmmm "Pick me up at 8?"
He knocks - 1 rose. vase, water Her perfume - sweeter.
Politely, opens car door for her The night keeps getting better
At the restaurant She sips her red wine
Conversation so easy She feels she's known him forever
"Would you like to dance? "I don't dance very well."
"Indulge me, just want u in my arms." ~Just a smile~
One hand at her waist, one on her back.
They become one, all others disappear.
Peering into each other's eyes.
No words are needed.
Their bodies
say
it.
© 2012
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
The burning flowers underline the sunset and
Dash before the fire (k)night catches them.
Ripe berries cheaply
tremble
but hopefully their vitality won't burst the pulp pulsating
beneath.
Crumbling flowers
crumb the floor
And Prisms of catching silver refract rose quartz and petal
and crimson
dust.
Bejewelled in Scarlet,
the air,
as the (k)night approaches, grows colder,
Unsure of whether he will bring
solace or strife.
In his chariot
he flies faster than the bees which buzzed around the fruit flutes
in the morning and among the trumpeting bluebells.
Stars fleck the (k)night
like freckles
and the milky ways resins stain his spouting steams lovely.
The (k)nights kind onyx reaches his crescendo and the floating moon danced drowsily through the cloud's spiralled tendrils
Which diminish as dawn
approaches
so their Tentilcles
droop to crinkled tissue paper sheathed in pink.
And so the (k)night
rides on into
The frivolous sunrise.
The lowing, glossy calves
in sage beside the ***** fields
cast a beloved ambience
As though
we are safe
in the knowledge
that the sky will remain
forever
topaz and the leaves
forever emerald.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
10th July 2017
To My Husband
As I watch your life, slipping away
We share all the things we want to say
We have time to reflect, encourage and love
To be grateful with warmth, to look beyond and above
We remember the good and laugh at the bad
And take time to listen and embrace the sad
It is a rich time, this time that we have
What has been, what is now, is what will be had
As your strength fades, and your eyes slowly dim
We look beyond the body you are in
When death approaches and your final breath taken
We know your spirit, will soar with elation
You will look at this world and say your goodbyes
And peace will take you as you pass through the sky’s
All the best for your journey
Your loving wife
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
8:00 am plenty of time to get
tinder-ed
it's how people meet
no worries here,
tinder-ed tendered thundered
by 9:00
I'll be fine,
possibilities multiple, soul flayed,
body at risk, hookup sweet,
no problem,
will line up a few,
on the hour,
star power,
no heart, but
candy is dandy
when you need a date
on Valentine night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
http://blogs.wsj.com/personal-technology/2015/02/13/dating-heats-up-as-valentines-day-approaches/?mod=WSJ_hps_sections_lifestyle
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
See, you hear this word and shiver
While some of us get problems of the liver
yup! Exams are what I'm talking about
The reason pupils start howling about
Oh exams! What do we do with you
As it approaches, students be like
A reaction no one ever seen like
In our dreams like a monster sneaks up
Within our soul like Death creaps up
Oh exams! What do we do with you
That one night before exam burden
Reminds me of the war of verdun
Only if had books borrowed or lend
All night were the eyes to suspend
Oh exams! What do we do with you
That, to be murdered day arrived
Of peaceful sleep were we deprived
When the exam hall were we to enter
Shot a bullet shrapnel in the center
Dead were we when we turned the paper
Those questions turned us into vapor
Students like us had two or three attempted
Handed over those 2 sheets and left all exempted
Oh exams! What do we do with you
You're welcome, now to hell with you
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 3:49 AM UTC
Doctor Larch peers out the window,
Pulling aside brocaded curtains to hide
The grief that he will not show,
The rending emptiness he feels inside.
As his son Homer rides past the sunset,
Not knowing where he goes
But aspiring to see the wide world,
The ocean at Mount Desert,
Seeing wonder in the expanse
And worlds inside a circle of glass.
He has taken with him his heart,
A dark picture of frailty.
He finds unexpected work in an orchard,
Leisurely harvesting round, garnet jewels.
The nomads, dark and wary,
Ask him to read about death and stars.
There are rules for the workers.
And Homer finds that they apply
To no one, neither nomads or
Curious young men.
He sees in the errant father
The reflection of his own,
The man who made him good.
“You are my work of art”
He wrote.
Like an artist with his painting,
Who resists giving it away,
So Doctor Larch holds on to him
Hoping his adolescence ends
And he returns.
Finding peace at the last.
The lack of rules bring about a sea change,
Allowing forbidden love and pain.
He ventures out once more into the vacuum
Of conscience set free,
He devises his own rules about the womb
And how to help those in agony
But eventually…
With all the rules now open,
There is nothing left for him to do.
So he boards the migrant truck
Just as the pilot returns, broken.
He watches the struggle with a wheelchair
Sees his lover watch him with her yellow hair
Knows her future, years of sacrifice.
And he admits at last
That he has a purpose,
The train to St. Cloud huffs slowly away,
With Homer standing in the wet snow.
There is the old asylum,
The orphanage and home on the hill,
Almost black, with the sunset behind,
Homer begins the long climb.
He approaches slowly.
But then, a burst of laughter
And children from the door
Flock around him, dancing, shrieking,
Some holding him like an errant dog,
Who must be told to stay.
“Will you stay?” they ask.
“I think so,” he smiles in irony.
He is home at the last.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
Moments like this aren't hard to find.
Wooden floors beneath my feet,
Screaming fans glued to the seat,
Everyone looks at me with a grin.
Pay it no mind for they will see.
First three minutes I'll score ten.
I hear the voices in the crowd.
Just keeping playing with out a word.
The court is the sky, I am the bird.
The game approaches the end.
They surround me by four.
So I shoot one more.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
As Autumn approaches,
my mind drifts to the decaying leaves,
Halloween,
the cool, crisp breeze...
The communal understanding that eternal heaven comes only with
death—
that Summer must always go.
And that beloved Autumn must always usher in bitter Winter who lays the foundations
for an exalted Spring.
Oh hell...I hope for a long Autumn, I want to make it stay—
like a host who lectures his party guest for too long
so he won't look at his watch.
Oh how I need the frumpy sweaters and pumpkin heads on window sills!
Oh how I need the billowing steam from milky beige cocoa,
the misty light rain in the gray of the morning,
the high canopy of fleshy red flakes!
And echoes of children laughing as they eat candy on their way home from trick-or-treating—reminding me that life can be enjoyed
with sacred rituals and good company.
I need Autumn personified—
a cool-headed, crackling-fireplace-girl.
A quilt-maker, cloud-gazer, two-dogs-and-a-cat bookworm.
Someone comforting like oatmeal.
Someone surprising like the first day of school.
I need Autumn.
I need Autumn but it never seems to need me too.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
trip up the island to see all the folk
monopoly, pong => pig 'n a poke
crystalline glass with dark bitter ale
Santa is looking a little bit pale
cherry red cheeks from a chilled chardonnay
one sailing wait for the talk of the day
drum sticks and dressing are the pick of the bird
chestnuts and brandy for gravy being stirred
brussels and taters are pulled from the bake
pears in the salad bring memories of Jake
sparks from the fire with rich amber glow
grey hair and wrinkles will come...don't you know?
gingerbread man with a white icing smile
candy cane schnapps (with its seasonal style!)
pine cones and tinsel that cover the tree
carols are humming from churches and streets
cold winter nights are the best of the year
chocolate and eggnog await with good cheer
a heavy thick fog approaches the sound
the comforts of Christmas, with joy all around!
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
Today at the train station
A stranger came up to me
And asked for directions.
I had the sudden urge to give him the wrong ones
Or take him behind the stairwell and
Gut him
And let his family watch as stomach and liver
Flobber out over slipping intestines, or simply
Grab him and throw him onto the train tracks
As the half five train approaches.
It would give people a reason to
Remove their sunglasses,
And possibly even their iPods,
Headphones dangling uncomfortably
As they fumble to save a pointless
(As well as futile) situation.
Maybe they would film it with their phones.
Maybe I'd be famous.
Instead I just sigh and give him the right directions,
Tell him the correct train to travel on,
And slowly smile as he waddles off
And doesn't believe me.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
The snow glimmers like diamonds, each falling flake sparkling in its own array of prismatic colors. The sky, clear and blue, is sprinkled with these small gems.
breathe in.
The air is cool and crisp, stinging her nose on every intake, but filling her lungs with clean fresh air.
breathe out.
Little puffs of steam flow from her mouth and into the world, each little droplet tumbling over another as they scramble to explore this new universe, until they vanish completely from sight.
breathe in.
The soft breeze drifts carelessly over the snow, leaving an icy touch in its wake.
breathe out.
The thumps of her heart increase and fill her ears as she approaches the gate.
breathe in.
The thumps become steady, a rhythmic beat to keep the time.
breathe out.
Three. The hand goes up.
breathe in.
Two.
silence.
One. It drops.
breathe out
She is gone.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to ****
Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears
And look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being ****** I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.
The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches
8.5k
Take my hand
Let's get away from here;
Let us escape the intensity,
That is reality.
Let us wander:
Into the realms of imagination,
The spectacles of fantasy,
Stopping not once.
To reach the light, we must travel through the dark
Past the broken hearts
Past the sorrowed days
The dark is immense.
Past the antecedent
We walk through the perils of life
Of love, if it exists,
This is an uncertain time.
At last, the light approaches,
We reach the area of escapism,
But alas it's tampered
With the remnants of solace.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:41 PM UTC
Pearl swans shatter
the ice,
and glide swiftly through the
stars sparkling
on the mirror lake.
Twilight falls to the night
and the air
creates glistening
twisted crystals which climb
up the trees and freeze
the antique summer remnants.
The spindled sprigs of silver
birches drape their lustre
wantonly, forming long
ripples in a lengthy cascade.
Then the darkness retreats as
the pale blue haze of dawn approaches
where the robin's breath
sighs tangibly on the air.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
The rooster sings to the sun,
answering the call is the light that embraces all.
All at once the birds sing their own song.
Awaken by mother's sweet voice.
"It's time to go" she says.
She hands me a green cubeta con maiz.
The corn's color is purple and white instantly
I fall in love with its kind
The cold blue morning gives me chills.
I carry the bucket to my grandmother's house.
With her mandil and her braided hair,
she sits by the comal making tortillas.
"Good morning abueltia" with a smile on my face.
"Good morning m'ija" she replies.
I keep walking carrying the heavy bucket.
A small room next to a store crowded with senoras.
Their rebozos around their heads and arms and buckets in hand.
I feel so small so young but inside I'm proud.
I wait in line as I greet and make small talk.
These ladies have the nicest smiles.
My turn, I grab my cubeta and proceed to the molino.
My arms are too little.
A lady approaches and helps me load the molino.
I watch in awe as the grains turn in masa.
I bend down and collect it.
"En una bolita" the lady tells me to shape it.
I nod and continue to make it.
Gray like the color of my grandma's hair.
soft like my mother's hand.
I fill the bucket with the masa.
I thank las senoras and head back to mi casa.
I hand the bucket to my mom who was milking la vaca.
She starts the comal and gets the cal.
Her hands slapping the masa like she was clapping.
Perfect big round warm tortillas.
I was a little girl that helped her make them.
A little girl that still remembers.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
Words are often left unspoken
amongst the mangled and the broken
words can heal, but instead silence
while we tolerate the violence
on our bodies/
in our minds
a tangled web,
we dare not unwind
to ourselves
-and one another -
we've been unkind,
though we are lovers.
Ponder this questionable existence
where there is an abundance of resistance
to be ourselves and feel the love
constantly searching for a reason above
instead of reaching out and extending our hand
to our neighbor, our brother, "some kids in a van"
It's funny how we land here
in this position
abandoning our families and breaking tradition
to learn about the world and the way that it works
some people have kinds souls and others are just jerks
One day you ask an old man
"Sir, may I have a dollar?
I just want some food, maybe a water."
His reaction could be harmful, harsh, judgemental
the skill that needs building is very fundamental
"You'll spend it on drugs! Get out of my face!"
Discouraging words spoken of the human race,
"Sir may I have a dollar or some food? Maybe water"
Another man approaches as he walks with his daughter...
The daughter tugs this man and she slips him some change
How smart the children are.. Isn't it strange?
with one small glance of the smile in this exchange
the man understood, the answer was plain.
Now you have a dollar, although not enough for food,
inside you feel a warmth and a change in your mood.
The youth can inspire every second, every day
by giving out love hoping that the idea will stay.
"Some kids in a van" were once your sons and daughters
when people realize this, they seem to have a few more dollars
words are often left unspoken
each and every day-
If you extended your heart and hand,
that pain is sure to run astray.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
Teetering on her baby legs
A newborn with a Solo cup
bombastic red with a few
undulating ribs
Held firmly in her hand
Is this her first or her third?
Somnambulant yet eager
And just a little out of place
In a foreign territory
On newly contested lands
She stumbles through a raucous crowd
Or was it just white noise?
She’s lost her companions
Somewhere
Although they could very well be close at hand
In the distance she can make out
Laughing faces
Bodies moving to and fro
Spilling forward, little messes
Throwing back cheap libation
She passes through a room and out the door
Into the out-of-doors
Someone following her unbeknownst
Watching her cautious, curious steps
And when she turns and sees the blur standing
She greets it
“Hail Fellow!”
Bouncing from variable to variable
Frequency to frequency
Confident and in command
Of a seemingly controlled chaos
He approaches smiling and holds out his hand
Anonymous
Having drawn her attention from the stars
That she could not find above
Leaning against the garage’s eastern wall
She takes it awkwardly
Tentative she smiles back reassured
Wobbling she returns standing alongside him
Or was she in front?
Purposeful and en route
Emboldened by his presence
And how the way was parted before her
Just by his being there.
By being so close.
She felt vaguely special
it showed in her half-smile
Cloaked in bangs
She held her head just a little bit higher
The co-conspiratorial glances
Met by boys eyes
And shes
Went unseen by the girl with the
Solo cup
One of tens upon tens upon tens
A coven would have known
It’s better not to
However.
She was shown a seat to rest
And her cup refilled
She takes a sip and smiles again
She takes another and then a gulp
That spills
He takes the cup away
And places it on the low table
Suggests she go to the restroom upstairs and get herself
Sorted
Embarrassed she is relieved for direction
Someone knows what’s going on
And his caring
Taking the time
His kind eyes
She’s usually alone
She waddles up the stairs to find
a toilet and a mirror
God she thinks
I look a mess
She tries to fix it
The hair
The eyes
The lips
The dress
The stomach
The *******
The thighs
She shrugs her shoulders at her reflection
Exhales and steps out again
To find him standing there
waiting for more.
She wants another cup.
She’s missing her cup.
I’ll get you the cup he says
In just a second.
Come.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others
Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...
When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel
Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much
It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed
I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
If a man sees beauty
And approaches with intent
He soon retreats
In fear of brains
If a woman sees brains
And approaches in fellowship
She soon retreats
In fear of beauty
- Lonely
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
It's a new day.
She's standing by her lighthouse.
Waiting for the day, her ship will arrive.
She had a ship docked her port once.
Oh, the memories they shared.
Oh, the places they traveled.
Oh, the love they had for one another.
But suddenly,
His ship sailed without her.
He docked at a new port,
Leaving her alone at her lighthouse.
She's stuck.
She still thinks of the Captain of the ship.
Wondering if he thinks of her as he sails the seas.
Wondering if they still have a fighting chance against the seas.
She's sees a ship coming closer to her lighthouse!
Could it be the ship that she gave everything for?
The ship that left her at her lighthouse?
The ship that has haunted her dreams?
The ship that broke her in more ways than one?
No, it's not...
It's a new ship that she hasn't seen before.
Who is this Captain?
He's docking at her port and staring at her.
He approaches her and smiles a friendly smile.
She's hesitant and slowly backs away.
Should she trust this new Captain that has entered her dock?
He could be like the last Captain that left her at the lighthouse.
Or he could be the Captain that takes her on a journey around the world.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
the dark approaches as if it is an ineluctable storm
created by thoughts falling like dominoes
or explodes into existence in a breath
detonated by a word innocently spoken
an eclipse constructed of your fears
like locusts eating all the light
with hooks and claws they grasp the air
pulling it up from your lungs
fighting blind against attacks from every side
weapons fall from your trembling grasp
I still see you dimly, enveloped in despair
you no longer see me at all
I have become a phantom, intangible
dispersed into powerless anguish by your terror
my voice is only a murmur to you
a far-off echo, indistinct
defenses and barriers you have labored on
transform into spun glass latticework
shattering through them without knowing
shards left embedded in your skin
stumbling blindly in the darkness
you are swallowed whole into the void
once more you are ripped away
imprisoned in the Stygian, pitiless hole
the emptiness turns its gaze to me
mocking laughter blisters my flesh
I can only wait and call to you
how long till you return
to me
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
We all have a little tick
a little something that always sticks
and your mouth it moves like clockwork
...since birth
so
countdown days on each finger
our days they are numbered and
outside the mirror ages you
but the face inside it still portrays you now
lose yourself and find it again
if you listen to the wind
you will find yourself within it
and as the night approaches dawn
your mind is here but your bodies gone
so
countdown days on each finger
our days they are numbered and
outside the mirror ages you
but the face inside it still portrays you now
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
Span the hour of dark intent,
the raven's flight slips through the night.
Phantom shadows dance by campfire light,
and gossimer moonlight shines.
Unseen footsteps heard in the dark,
some black nightmare approaches.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
PROMETHEUS (alone)
O holy Aether, and swift-winged Winds,
And River-wells, and laughter innumerous
Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,--
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!
Behold, with throe on throe,
How, wasted by this woe,
I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!
Behold, how fast around me
The new King of the happy ones sublime
Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!
Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's
I cover with one groan. And where is found me
A limit to these sorrows?
And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul--and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware
Necessity doth front the universe
With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,
Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,
What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,
Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,
To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain--
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god Zeus hateth sore,
And his gods hate again,
As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!
And the air undersings
The light stroke of their wings--
And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.
5.5k
the tectonic plates
in me
are shifting
as our continents
approach collide
my ocean is
getting closer
to the mountains
on your landscape
tallest grasses blowing
in wild demon dance,
shaking their
heads as heated
storm approaches
oven-baked air crackling
with its own
electric currents
Nothing can stop it
it's a magnetic force
one to be
reckoned with
surrendered to
as dust foams
like ocean froth
around our heads
clinging to us in tiny
starlit fragments
and soon will come
the slick dive into
wordless waters,
just skin on skin
slippery mouth muscles
like entwined snakes
flick-flicking, shiny
in eye-lit cherry moons
Take my hand.
Just pull me in.
Enfold me,
without talking
watch as my aura
rushes into you,
first a delicate whisk
of cool light
to slake the thirst
of coal-licked caverns
then sparks
and bubbling oxidation
turning into liquid brushfire
Hold your palm
to my chest,
as if to keep
my heart steady,
my glowing flare of halo
pressed into your
clavicle, taking in
the embryonic beats
soothing my torrid ache,
infusing minerals
in vitamin-laced libation
It is time to simply bask
in the new
crispness of radical
shake off
the silt and salt
and rise up
into the spheres
of memory
of soulspeak
of collapsed time zones
budded breath
spiraling up
in curls,
diaphanous
dark mist
ascending
into
light
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC