"barrelling" poems
The world meant nothing.
Not to us three.
With the windows down,
and our voices scratchy
from the cigarettes and
The singing at the top of our lungs.
With clothes drenched in the smell
Of bonfires and menthol,
and Big Red barrelling down
The back roads,
we are unstoppable.
I can't wait for summer to begin,
with long nights and starry skies,
And the moonlight as our guide.
Cool air swifting into the windows,
and the tassel swinging in the mirror
makes me never want to leave this van.
We are unstoppable.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Vipers barrelling -
high vaporous carcases,
farting emissions
Biospheres radiator streaks,
dooms rushing emissaries
.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 12:58 PM UTC
You release your words
Deliberately;
Measuring each syllable,
Carrying all the consonants,
Gathering up the vowels,
And waiting for the light
Before you cross.
Certain words put a curve
To the shape of your mouth
And your eyes, confidence.
My words are forced unwilling
out the door; each one
pushing on the one ahead,
an unbalanced mass;
tipping forward until they fall
Out in a rush, elbows out,
Knees weaponized;
Falling over each other, still
breathlessly barrelling on.
NCL September 2019
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 3:56 PM UTC
The marks on my shaking hands were hopes.
I need lotion.
Every crack and peel and blister and wrinkle reminds me
That I'm trying.
Trying,
But still not finding the way.
Wondering why I'm still finding myself in the same
******* place.
I need lotion.
I used to portray the peels and the cracks to myself as if they were
reminders,
of how things used to be.
I used to believe that if i waited long enough id stand over them looking down and think,
"Wow, How great it is to have progressed"
Gotten over all of the stress
The anxiety that kept me inside,
Confined by all of my doubts,
and all of my debts.
But I Digress;
I need lotion.
Because the once shining, blinding, Invigorating beam of light at the end of the tunnel that filled my chest with hope
Became barrelling freight train.
I need lotion.
Because it sent me scraping up my hands
stumbling back to the muck from which i started.
I need lotion.
Because I have nothing.
Lately, I just stare in silence.
At the tunnel,
Then at my hands,
and back at the tunnel.
I need lotion.
But the thought of another train coming
Rattles my bones.
So I'll stay here in the dirt to fight my
Battles alone.
I have nothing
Nothing but the cracks and the peels and the blisters and the scabs to mock me.
Society forgot me.
Your God, if he exists, forgot me.
I have nothing.
Sometimes I honestly wish there was a god so then I'd have
Someone to Blame
So i could ask him where the **** he's been and what's the point of all this suffering. (sufferin')
I have nothing
You *******
HYPOCRITE!
Thousands upon thousands follow you off the cliff like sheep.
Their hearts bare the promises that You, a Shepard, wont keep.
Because in the end, the cold truth,
is that you just want to stay warm for the winter.
I have nothing
And you wonder why I'm so broken.
I just need lotion.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
My whole life is a battle between heart and mind
And you always send them both
Barrelling in overdrive
Despite the hits my heart has taken
The childlike state hasn't died
The one telling me no one will hurt me
And that everyone can be kind
But i've built a cage around my heart
Barbed wire trying to stamp out feelings of love from the start
And my mind is no more reliable
The things it whispers to me always keeping me in the dark
Fear and sadness keep me rooted to the spot
Always replaying peoples cruel remarks
No end to the horrid thoughts tattooed in my brain
Somehow you've gotten through the barriers my heart has put up
And for some reason you deal with all the demons my mind has ingrained
My heart wants to believe you when you say that four letter word
How you could love someone who hates herself is an idea my brain can't comprehend
I think it's time I let my heart free once more
And silence my brain screaming "You'll only get hurt!"
Despite the fact that it's only hurting myself
It's time for my mind to be reworked
And now that my heart controls my mouth I can finally say
"I love you too"
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
I feel hollow in the city
I feel alone in the country
But in bed by cars or by bugs
My imagination gets the best of me
I stare into the setting sun
Hoping the light will fill me up
I feel like an ant
I feel like a headless horseman
Friends buried in the dust
Of what time kicked up between us
I stare into the rising sun
One more day and then I'm gone
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 3:25 PM UTC
There is absolutely nothing about these words that will, or should, make me famous.
They are just words – an outpouring that means everything to me, and not a thing to anyone else.
You see, I’m not the only person that has felt as though their insides are barrelling down into a bottomless void. I’m not the only one that feels a tightness around their chest whilst they flail inwardly – cursing at their longing in the face of indifference.
I’m not alone in staring beyond seeing at an inanimate object – echoes of significance attached that only make sense to two people, and one of them doesn’t care anymore.
It’s easy to say that I opened my heart – the hard reality is that the invited slammed the door.
It’s easy to say why me, what did I do, what didn’t I do, I did everything… but it’s not what I did. It’s not what I didn’t do. It’s not who I am. It’s who I never have been.
I don’t fit. I don’t fill the mould. I never met the criteria, I invented my own. I was there at the right time – and I was still there, when it was the wrong time. Still waiting, still fighting, still working, still figuring it out.
Apparently it gets easier. Apparently I will move on. Apparently there are fish, in a sea, and I hear that one of them will be right for me.
I see the logic, I am lucid enough.
But I also see him saying “no”, when I ask if it’s me that he loves.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
The city was laid bare:
like a patient upon the operating table
I walked the streets with precision
I was the scalpel carving communities from the fauna
the city was alive, and so it was truly sick
concrete jungle
projects and penthouses
the beleaguered old traipsed about, silent, but not quiet
the youth, rambunctious and carnal, feasted upon the dying
With each touch, I soothed the soul
Kisses, like antiseptic.
Lectures, like stitches.
Like cumulonimbus, the raucous ramblings of crowds grew
I said to myself, "It is fine, this is life, let it live."
Youth, ablaze with carrion wings, descend upon the old
beaks barrelling forward, pecking and snatching decency
still there are some who help
swooping down like proud eagles, they shoo away the scavengers
they beat back the tide of villainy
they shelter innocence, foster truth
but they are not enough...
I carve out the **** of corruption
I ventilate the lungs of the city and plug the punctures
but the pollution is virulent and stubborn...
Still, I say to myself, "This is poetry, love is a mystery, let them be."
I will hear them cry in the rain
I will not know my place
I might extend a hand, proffer an embrace, but
they will shy back,
for man will become monster
and God will become devil... in their eyes: deluded; poisoned by hate.
I will wonder where I went wrong.
Will I try my best to turn the helm against the wave,
go THROUGH the heart of the storm?!
Of course, I will try
I will try,
but I will fail.
Man will flaunt his freedoms, those which were freely given.
Despite my grief, I will say to myself, "All things have an end. There was nothing I could do."
I wonder to myself...
How many centuries have I folded my hands against the storm.
Behold! It's patience!
It will ever rise,
It will ever approach!
So long as man lies,
It will reach for his throat!
Man will always feign surprise,
It is a sickness he cannot broach...
As the color of morning skies is calming,
The fumes of the rumbling storm are maddening!
I always let the storm build until the lightning sets the world on fire
because
I thought the storm was man's voice in an inimical life...
But I was wrong, the storm is the beast that lurks in the shadows.
It sets the table for carrion.
The beast builds the cumulonimbus, preparing the kindling for the floods of war.
The storm's pallor stains man's skin so ubiquitously
That he mistakes the storm for himself.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 7:12 PM UTC
As a kid, I know I saw air shows
although none specific stand out,
I know there were skies that
buzzed and thundered
the sound of determined direction
at each one I know there would be pilots
who threw small planes in tight loops
everyday, pulling back on the stick,
taunting gravity to notice and push,
barrelling to a zenith
of impossible weightlessness, momentary,
before the nauseous crush returned,
over and over in front of an audience
and I know I watched and thought
“That’ll be me one day.”
Jan 13, 2022
Jan 13, 2022 at 9:21 AM UTC
We walk
We talk
We croon.
Engine jaws with a few screws loose
Minds barrelling towards divinity
Grasp purpose in a finite reality
We will create heaven heare
HAND OVER YOUR TRUMPETS TUBAS SAXXOPHONES AND TOOT EACH OTHERS HORNS!
Neurons fire like synchronized rifles @ bravery's memorial
Assurance lied dormant on the roof of your mouth
Taunting your taste buds
Your heart as pensive as your gums are pink
and
You let it out
Your cup poured over and you told me
I am home
WE ARE HOME
and we'll help each other see
that home is much more
than a person
place or
thing.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
My heart has a mind of it's own
When it thinks of you the palpitations control my bones
For lack of better words my veins are smitten with the thought of your fingertips cascading down my arms
Effortlessly you infiltrated my mind
I'm not talking about the thought of you,
I'm talking about your undeniable essence
It's like an unforgettable scent
I can feel you when you're not here with me and that terrifies me
This is not a ballad about my gushy love affair
This is a poem about how I found love when I needed it most
I found love in the deepest corners of my mind the widest depths of my soul and on every inch of my body.
Inside and out, you make my skin crawl in a way that begs to be silenced by the reassurance of how magical your touch may be
For one effortless month my mind has been condoned to wonder what it would be like to hold you
What it would be like for you to whisper I love you in my ear
What it would be like for my eyes to beg you to kiss me
It's the tension that will eventually set us free
You are the love song in forefronts of my mind that never stops playing
You are hopeful wishes and butterfly kisses and 3 AM dancing in the rain
With you I want to commit all the cliches
I wouldn't mind getting arrested if we could share the same chains
I wanna feel your breath on my neck while we're driving in my jeep
And when my eyes get wide and we find ourselves barrelling down the interstate at 82 miles per hour
Put your hand on my thigh and squeeze accordingly
Tell me to ease off the gas
Say that there is no rush
This isn't a race
Tell me you love the way I hold the steering wheel
Then kiss me on the cheek
Leave no room for doubt
We can take this slow if you want to.
But baby I'm afraid I won't want to
My heart's predisposition to dive out of my chest headfirst into your hands has my stomach in a bind with butterflies.
Point is
I have no idea where this road map of life is gonna take us,
But I sure as hell need you to be my copilot.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
coming down with it
without it
again
brimming with a sigh
barrelling towards the skyline
the twisted dance
lying in the wake
of an attempt to break your spell
the heavy void
between the lines you drew
this is all the game
swallowed and bloomed
well versed and welled up
to a backward finale
can't read a mile of lines in the sand
won't linger as long as the last
no lessons learned
simply desperate for time
i can't read the blue that i want
untie the knot
of the reigns that i threw
they're yours
and they were from the start
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 9:25 AM UTC
Why am I in this month-long
heartbreak?
Why am I starring
down the barrel of a night
the color
of shadows in the sewer?
Because I'm taking shots
at each and every one of them.
But the shadows reach out for my soul,
and their population
grows.
I'm still thinking about her,
for some reason,
realizing how much I cared,
when I used to think
I'd get away from this one
scot-free.
We weren't even together,
but I have these crazy drunk dreams,
and she's walking away
in every one of them.
So I smoke a bowl,
and take sips straight
from the bottle,
and she's still barrelling down on me,
making booms in the night,
making the shadows go boom,
making everything go boom
inside of me.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
As I write this poem,
Barrelling toward me are
College applications and
Dual enrollment classes.
Everybody dreads it but
For most of my life, I anticipated
Going to school with the
Hectic excitement that comes from
Imagination only a child can have.
Just like every year since
Kindergarten, I seriously
Lack confidence in
My ability to do what I
Need to do in order to
Overachieve as expected, but unlike
Previous years, I
Quiver with exhaustion earned by
Regurgitating information about
Systems that I will never
Truly need, but am tested on.
Useless, useless, useless,
Very, so very useless is how
We feel now, both the lessons and I.
Xanthan complexion, nauseous, nervous,
Yellow like the school buses I want to
Zap away, but climb aboard anyway.
Aug 11, 2024
Aug 11, 2024 at 6:39 PM UTC
You speak in cryptic kisses ( k i s s m e ) that you left littered
and staining my skin, black and blue from blows that once
caressed, now linger as phantom memories of phantom hands
that make me come undone. And those days, although so far
away from where I am, make me feel like a tourist in my own
body. One who stands barefoot outside in the cold, looking in
through the cracked and ***** windows of my weary eyes. But
would you return like a shark who smells blood or would you
wait like a predator in the shadows for me to completely
fall
to
pieces?
When all I am is a fusion of crossed wires and mixed
signals, a train barrelling through a dark tunnel of insecurities
and everything you ever said I was when I knew full well that
I wasn’t. Muscle and bone and marrow and guts, beating and
thumping in tune but out of sync to empty words and nonplussed
emotions. A heart that races for no apparent reason and familiar
faces carved into stone. Flowing through a river of blood like a
drunken sailor, with too much pride to ask for help but too much
guilt to set sail for home. So as a fool would do, I will quiver
as I drag my calloused heart towards the edge of the
mountain top where I will squint, and staring into the
setting sun place one foot in front of the other as
it singes my skin to the colour of my sins.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
States' rights,
what kind of noose
is so perverse
it wraps
around compassion
til choked?
What portion
of this script
did I write?
Oh yeah,
I'm supposed
to be the victim,
pretend I did not
see this train
barrelling down.
Deep in the heart
I can't pretend,
the surprise
was not telegraphed.
What a cheap shot
to fire all barrels
at the republic
expecting to escape
a ricochet,
pacivity its own
worst enemy.
Besides,
if my people
had not been
so intent on
disclosure
who would
have known?
We could have stayed
invisible,
living the American Dream,
Torch Song Trilogy
under the sofa
hidden like love
that dared not speak
its name.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 5:22 AM UTC