"backpedal" poems
I could run away to you, world.
drink in your every scent, the dust
the hurt.
backpedal through Venetian streets,
high-five Buddhist monks,
paddle softly through the Dead Sea,
eat Vietnamese fish with blind children,
pound out piles of dough in back-alley German bakeries,
kiss the single root of an aspen tree
and post it all online.
grinning like a devil, silently screaming
*my life is better than yours
my life is better than yours*
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
we all long to feel
something
whether it’s the electrifying fire of pursuit
or the breathless weight of fear
bitter feels better than clearly broken
baited by the false promises of
self-righteousness
our shards and sinkholes are clearly showing
pupils dilate and feet backpedal
uncertain of how to face real emotions or people
we bar the doors of our hearts and blast the radio
Static interrupts our
False peace is shattered
Broken windows taped together finally
Come
Crashing
down
.
.
.
.
.
.
the cool breeze gently tosses your hair
reminding you that it really is ok to feel
that the wetness on your cheeks is not a sign of weakness
that the heaving of your chest is not a sign of hopelessness
each deep breath supplies oxygen and release
shifting weight from the needy to the New
that promises a brighter day shines beyond this steely frame.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
I wanted to be different
to be able to
hold back somehow
to look like a different
world- a new
flower.
But I was still the
same. Inside, outside
You were like an owl
covered in wise
feathers, drenched
in sadness
licked with a coat
of happy
regret
All my heart
went into your
arms and I
fell down the
mountain again.
We've got
to stop writing
These Letters.
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
I backpedal before flanks of flames,
auburn and angry, devouring the
fractured field; deconstructing
the turn of the century.
The fire jumps up and down,
like a developing polaroid,
asking to be acknowledged
-- to which I can relate, but
I'd like to believe I cause
less destruction.
Closing my eyes, I become
submerged in memory of the
hideous boulevard she drove
down, to the tune of disposable
pop singers; crouching next to
the radio, praying with the servants
of postured finer joys like pirate
rubies and sweet kale salads.
When looking up, through the
windshield; through the life;
a tic scampers from eyelid to
cheek, as the car buckles before
a triumph of a deer; the size of
a Godly Eland, shoveling it's
human feet into the downtown
dirt: an asphalt so slick, we
rose from our seats, as the
God split our vehicle in half,
throwing us into opposite
guardrails; dodging cars,
while it watched us.
Shudders of savored gladness
drip down my hairline wound,
painting my face before I die
and return to the towering blaze.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
my professor tells me that
'we often infer our attitudes through behavior
rather than direct action through intention'
so i'm picking apart
my every move - rewind, re-watch, repeat
the black & white play continuously fluctuates
through infinite shades of gray
as i'm retracing, re-reading between my swiveling lines
to interpret my flip flopping flightiness
i'm flitting across the floor
and my forward motion propels me backwards
into a merry go round of maybe, possibly, & sort of
blurred up & down, up & down, round & round
past decisions that I regurgitated
and now re-ingest to reinforce their meaning
but the recurrent ambivalence I taste
keeps my see-saw heart swinging
and i'd love to have a hand to hold
but all i'm finding are holes to sink into
and the blanket of darkness provides a comforting
lack of sight, but growth lies in the light
so i'll backpedal with all my might
hop on your rocket ship & take a deja vu trip
to the land of indecision where our hearts live.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
You write in emergency
But you cause yourself your own problems
Stop saying heavy words to just backpedal on it days later
Quit practicing backpedaling when you're not even a bicyclist.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
there is something haunting
a greedy thing captivated
with it's taunting
of those that have been isolated
i wish i could say
i have never strayed
but my pride for honesty
has taken my modesty.
i swear to you
i have not spoken true deceit
but my panic leaks through
and my real truth becomes obsolete
i wish i could say
i can help it
but something takes over my airway
and i would like to admit:
i have so many unwilling lies in your minds
that i cant stand to look in your eyes
but i hope to release you from dishonest binds
and let me start over.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Turning a key and in turn turning free all the thoughts that then fly, they could flee but then thoughts that fly free have no need to flee or am I missing something?
Bring me my ideas in a box filled with sand and I'll show you castles built not with the hand but the mind and then hand me the key to let all thoughts run free, hand me the sea in a sieve and I'll give you gemstones.
Backpedal.
See how we're home free with the domes of Damascus that would stop men to ask us, how do they do that? we answer them using Aramaic, using ancient and archaic chants planting seeds before the harvest.
Beating chests and tearing hair and where the answers lie for us in the old markets of Lahore we wore stripes on our bedrolls and tore strips from our skin, we didn't win that one and that's for the best.
And Beau Geste in the legion somewhere in the region of a beach, out of sight out of reach and he wasn't real really just someone's idea of an ideal and we fell for it.
Turn me another brother, turn me a key, spin me the wheel and let the numbers fall free.
We all see in the end as the beginning starts to wend its way wearily home and for some the end is another key to set free all
the beginnings we knew and could never see.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Enlightenment is
Bewildered pieces Moving
Broken and Abused
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 7:23 PM UTC