"betweens" poems
I know that like a breath you consume me with every fiber of being
a need within me you fulfill
i stagger to keep up with you
the fragmented pieces of choices we have to make
our life before our hearts
our hearts lying upon the alter
our hands up in the air saying we surrender
we surrender to the life that is judging our motives
we just want bliss in the in-betweens of our love spells
our hazy kisses and our deep hugs
tug on heartstrings
while our fists collide
with a fight that meets at the corner
of compromise and patience
our love is patience
our life is in need of patience
and compromise
only words can conquer
communication in the least is the most
and it brings us closer
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
There's this little thing who was born in the sewer
Her name, they all say, is Society
Pretends she's all that, but she's really nothing newer
They say she never once spoke the truth.
Society likes to pick in the brains of young girls
Likes to meanly whisper in their ears,
"You're fat, you're worthless, you're the ugliest there is!"
What good does that do? It brings them to tears.
Society likes to mess with the minds of young boys
Likes to torment them by teasing,
"You're skinny, you cry, you aren't manly enough!"
Society makes sure it sure isn't pleasing.
Society likes to mess with the minds of in-betweens or not-at-alls
Likes to belittle, judge, and taunt
"Why can't you be normal? No one likes you!"
It goes on and on. Society likes to daunt.
Society herself doesn't have a care in the world
She never thought once about anyone's feelings
All day she picks at everyone she can find
All night she waits for them to wake, on their ceilings.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Didn't listen to a word they said,
Don't let it go to your head,
No sweeter than a siamese cat,
A pillow soft to follow that.
I am me I am honesty,
I am me to be honest highly modest,
To dress you up not incorrect,
As I lead you on that subject txt,
No sense of cure no maintenance here,
No in betweens to acetate fewer.
I am me I'm honesty,
I am modest to be honest.
To the people on the street,
In all my work friends up all week,
And in glory you appear,
At night you disappear.
I am me I'm honesty.
I am modest to be honest,
In private times asking this big question,
Its easy to sell in one direction.
A give or take its hard to make,
Give me one more big suggestion.
I am me I'm honesty,
I am modest I do promise,
I am me I'm honesty,
I'm getting away from my O'Reily office.
@O'Reily26102012
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
Does it mean the same to me
That it means to you?
Is it your dreamland paradise?
Can these dreams come true?
Is it meeting your soulmate
Or finally achieving your MBA?
Maybe it is just staying sober
And taking it day by day
Is it a mood or a lifetime
Or only a wonderland?
Can it be Heaven on Earth?
Does it have to be free of the ******
It is "The Promise Land",
According to Webster's definition
That's what we once called America,
Have we maintained this characterization?
"Fairytale-land" is one more synonym
If this is true, let's use Disney's example
Bitter stories with exuberant endings
The possibilities are prepetual and ample
Are we all living in our land of enchantment?
Is Utopia what we create and decide?
Can we have a miserable paradise
If that's how we live in our minds?
I've had so many hard times
But if you ask I want you to know
I only count the eminent in-betweens
I only live in the moments that glow
You only have one life to live
So now you better decide
Are you living in your Utopia?
And is it what you visioned in your mind?
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
that trendy heroin(e) addiction
becomes you- and your fiction
goes well with the pale
-skinned thin western booted
blue-eyed shooter
riding sidesaddle
on your scooter
does she kiss like me
and bring you coffee?
i could lay you both down
in the in-betweens
and make heaven-
til hell is heavy as a monday
track day in albuquerque
while she sells your jewelry
in sante fe where it's trendy
-i'll be waiting
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/19/14
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
lonely moths -
black and white
and in-betweens
navigating
by the same light
spiraling -
adapting
- changing
traits
moth-ers know
no need to race
- we are one.
r ~ 10/28/14
http://anthro.palomar.edu/vary/vary_2.htm
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
We bathed on the carpet’s edge, in October light
made warm again by pimple-glass and wishful thinking.
We played games and we whispered- as if quiet
could conjure Safe from thin air, and noise conjure Evil.
We occupied the in-betweens; the hall, the stairs, the path.
Drew and drew and drew, with red-brick and chalk and dust.
We chewed the skin around our nails, until our fingers cried-
And when Dark came early, he found us fighting Monsters
in the Artex with our jagged little minds.
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 1:40 PM UTC
There should be wings of a hundred birds
to churn this scorch with breeze
to dry sweat
shade glare
to soothe the ache
of a post-noon day
There should be varied
and a thousand greens
with all betweens
of innumerable trees
till the blue of sky
blends their deference
And the river heaves its way along
ever on
eternal mission of earth
and...
...Heaven-- sure misses so much some days
Cool remote
Transcended as it be
Replete with rains
and relief of clouds
The Angelus in the distance....
with its affluent affinity for air
Revelers leave their party debris
for those making sure
not a sign is left....
We sort and fold, collapse and pack
Somehow between chairs, tables
cans and bottles, assorted trash
They come--
crouch on the levee
wander and stare
aimless amid tall dry weeds
Inhabit a bench, a moment--
Wild
filtering through our fabrication
Wind to dissipate our purpose
Trees invading abandoned fields
“The poor you have with you always”
“I'm not drunk,”
she drunkenly proclaims
to no one
except maybe….
Leaning over her opened beer
seated on bench adorably painted
with joyful hands
Who fondly held or hoped for her?
Before....
days of dirt troweled a shadow
in the sweat between her *******
Filthy tank that barely covers
derelict denial
How they find themselves established
as we make to leave
WE, of our homes and cars and jobs
and plans of escape
They--
of always
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
*I wish I could feel emotion as a singularity.
just one, intense emotion,
one engulfing thought devouring all of my being.
one singular, unitary, simple drive.
powerful.
as a black hole devours all particles of any existence,
even light itself.
they say that if you stood on the edge of one,
hovering at the point of no return,
time becomes as simple as space.
the universe is no longer a mystery.
the Big Bang as quiet as
that abandoned swing on the playground.
space and time are but children,
gravity that kid who
forgot his lunchbox.
no subjective meanings,
no in-betweens,
no emotions.
sometimes I wish I could see
my thoughts as binary,
or my memories as morse.
sometimes I wish I could understand
that we are nothing but the sum of our parts,
the outcome of a spectacular binding
of cell to cell:
a container of molecules.
that sadness is a school brawl between chemicals,
happiness an accidental firework
set off by a wayward alchemist.
all irregularities, as explained by
human error.
but the only thing human about an error
is the error itself;
the most fragile thing about a human
is his humanity;
**the closest we can ever be to God
is on the verge of our own ruin.**
weightlessness is only felt
halfway off a building,
freedom only gained
halfway away from home,
love only experienced
as one half of a broken heart.
there is no light without darkness,
no warmth without the cold,
no way to experience things
two at a time.
we will always exist in paradoxes,
as one or the other.
as a singularity.
the only place we can be God is
right here -- on the event horizon,
the point of no return.*
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
Because my love cannot be the orchestra,
I have hidden it in the glissandos;
do not listen for it when the music swells,
but in the resonance of in betweens.
Because my love cannot be the whole summer,
I have strapped it to the legs of bees;
do not look for it in flowered fields,
but in the pollen stuck to window screens.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 12:05 PM UTC
I will find my way back to you on Montmartre’s cobblestone streets.
Imagine Hemingway right next to us, rambling on about his moveable feast.
Like free-spirited birds, I will race you to the top of Sacré-Cœur.
Before you can catch your breath,
I promise the view would steal it once more.
I want to see every inch of the Louvre, we would probably get lost for days;
But we are smiling like fools, I bet it would put Mona Lisa to shame.
We can stroll along the Seine, and haggle with bouquinistes near Notre Dame.
I will find an artist to paint you,
But first show me how a monsieur should love a madam.
I utter a prayer at Sainte-Chapelle, as I immortalize you in stained glass.
Maybe as we wander aimlessly along Champs-Elysées, Degas would teach us how to dance.
I will tell you all my secrets, the way kings and queens did once.
Even Rodin would call it treason not to cast these two lost souls in bronze.
We can have a picnic at the Tuileries, and you can bring me flowers from Monet's backyard.
I will make a wish before they wilt; Don’t we all hope for the best before we die?
And right here in the in-betweens, we have love to keep us alive,
As foolish and innocent as the way Picasso painted like a child.
Seasons are changing, and soon we will say goodbye.
The Tour Eiffel glistened in all its glory as darkness fell on the city of lights.
Paris, it has been an honor to love and be loved by you.
In a few years or maybe in a heartbeat—
I will come home to you soon.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
Rich crimson leaves cascade from trees
Embers of fire in the breeze
Luna sails the black sea unseen
Autumnal spell of Halloween
We carve a brood of sculpted gourds
Bake apple pie for all adored
While trick-or-treaters come and leave
Phantasmal dream of Hallows' Eve
Candles burn bright in our window
Ancestors led home by the glow
Our bonfires flames swell with sheen
As shadows dance on Halloween
Let the feast for the dead begin
This spirit night, the veil is thin
Humans and ghosts interweave
The magic realm of Hallows Eve
The clock strikes the Witching Hour
Loved ones graves we bloom in flowers
This spooky Eve of in betweens
The time of rebirth, Halloween
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
So I miss you in the spaces
Where your hands go
The between times
In our sleeping
Where maybe we aren't even touching
But I can feel you
Hear your breathing
In the spaces in between
Sweetening my blood
Flowing thick
Like mesquite honey
Hummingbirds in my stomach hovering
And drinking
their fill
And I'm enough for something
Sustenance for something
Other than me
Enough for someone
Who sees my betweens
And puts his hands
Where they need to be
Warms them
On my belly full of flowering mesquite
Nectar for the humminbirds
And bees
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
I daren't (rather, shouldn't) breathe:
I'd built a tower of hearts from cards.
The gaps and breaks are real estate --
I'm nestled in the in-betweens.
(Sappho's spirit sighs.
How human to not move quickly enough,
or to yearn for whatever's inches from reach
- blissfully unhinged by "almost".)
She's marble-carved and still as stone:
if I kissed her, would she spring to life?
I'd offer nought but foolish flesh,
this trembling frame, and bone.
("Tell me yes, tell me no;
either way, you're in the right,
but for the love of Venus -- speak.")
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 5:00 PM UTC
I was told about this special book. I was told it was a magical book! Amazingly full of bright, light and insight. Allegedly one look and you were hooked and took! This great book of life baited, charted and crafted with will, quill feathers, leather and of weather. The great book of life highly and showily regarded the ******** the rife and strife.
Brilliant parts of art from heart! Boldly guarded by angel’s darts! Holding from different angles. Behold! The pages of this book mangled, spangled and tangled. Through the ages… the corners scorned, torn and worn. In theory the inseams very weary and old. Amazingly and appraisingly with thrill they still fold! Merrily told
and eagerly sold. The great book of life’s pages is of age, cages
and wages, stages and rages! The great book of life each a way to encourage or engage courage. The great book of life was inspired and transpired by a baby in a manger. Some pages spell and tell of a stranger danger! The great book of life is about the beloved also of
the unloved. Chapters in capture, scriptures in measure, rapture-
or torture. The great book of life listen to my envision with precision! The great book of life envisions death’s breath. Missions, those enclosed in prisons and visions! The many, many scenes serene and obscene. The in-betweens, the kings and queens! Dragons, drones
and many, many thrones! The antic, frantic and gigantic! Magic, satanic and tragic! blizzards or wizards! Ancient, distant chants and rants! The great book of life, a chance from a glance. Traces of many faces, places and races! The great book of life claimed to have named those bordered, cornered, loitered and murdered. The great book of
life is it! Amazingly it tells bits of it all! Basically about the small that brawl. The tall, including some that awesomely, eventually fall! The great book of life collects and reflects the surreal or unnatural. The frail and the pale. Actions hailed while eluding a whale! This great book of life will it prevail? Yes prevail! Amen! The great book of life amen, amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
I am a person of almost and kind of.
I am a shadow of what I was
Hidden in the darkness of a past
Cast down by the light of the future.
This present of in-betweens
The liminal space in which I exist.
The here and there on the journey ahead.
I am the line between the points
The mystery before the solution
I am the median, the average, the midway
I am incomplete.
Pieces of a whole
unable to form the big picture.
This limbo of emotions
The neutral of positive and negative
Inactive, inert, insufficient.
This heart filled with grey
Longing to see through rose colored lenses
Paint my world with emotion.
Trade the silence for music.
To fit in the missing pieces.
But almost doesn’t offer solutions
And kind of doesn’t capture the horizon.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
you lie like a cheap rug, but I fill in the blanks for my own peace
you are just an actor, I am directing the scenes
you are not as powerful as you seem
all my power is found in the in-betweens
the venom rumors, toxic to your reputation
with all my information like a computer
are you sure you want to test me?
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 8:04 PM UTC
Words:
whispering sybils
of concealed worlds.
In betweens and beyonds,
somewheres and nowheres,
truths for making believe.
Words.
Carmine nostalgia of the unexperienced.
Utopia upon a time.
Windmill wings to grow a heart,
flavours and scents of new seen worlds,
tangible places pulsating in snow globes,
cosmogony of what is not.
Words:
scribbling, engraving a forever world.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
There's always a beginning
There'll always be an end
And no matter how you play your cards
You won't see round the bend.
For tomorrow is another day
The morning sun will shine
And the layer of potentialities
Is arrayed for yours and mine.
In looking back a long time
A little boy in jeans,
Check shirt on a pushbike
Amid the in betweens.
Nothing really mattered,
Each day came and went
and before the realization dawned
The infancy was spent.
Mother died of cancer
The agony in eyes
Just 43 years of age
In alcoholic lies.
The Old Man was likewise
Collapsing in my arms
He passed away at 43.
Evaporated charms.
Adolescence came and went
Forced to join the race
Of madness in the unknown
The world's a violent place.
Decision ****** upon in spades
Cut and ****** in life
It's Papua or Vietnam
Instead, I took a wife .
Disaster in the making
A sidestep in the way
I left the complication there
And coldly strode away.
Changed the whole complexion
Altered how it planned
Ended up with knapsack on
Afresh in New Zealand.
Strangely how it re-aligns
The order falls in place
Confusion dissipates to let
What clear defined, creates.
Somewhere I turned the corner
Took it all in hand
Built an actuality
Of promise in this land.
Pride and hard ambition,
defy the odds and graft.
Visualize a rainbow
From inspiration's craft.
Build it with your own two hands
With sweat upon your brow
And know, within your very depth
You're on the right path now.
Lady luck was with me
Somewhere along the way
I found myself a sweetheart
In chance creation's way
Then ragamuffin boychilds
Scrapping on the rug,
Engendered that which matters
In life's eternal shrug.
You touch upon the beauty
You taste the honeyed wine,
You walk on fields of flowers
In the nectar of your time.
Tenderness and kindness
Essential to the mix
Should you wish to be of value
In the blended world you fix.
Some you win, some you lose
Sometimes you just laugh
For as the years meander
There's humor in the task....
And a gentle satisfaction
In the way it all pans through
And in my eighty year reflection
I'll just throw a smile to you.
[email protected]
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
I know, I haven't written in a while... Right now,
These 4 walls are the only ones who see me smile.
I don't want to share my pain anymore...
and I don't want to share my happiness either.
I find myself coming back here only during the
in between moments. To look back, to try and find
a piece of why I felt something before. Now it's just
all blurry.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
ive written about meeting him for a second time and where i thought we would stand and how i thought we would change and where i thought we would be in our lives. ive written about knowing each other only in passing and imagined learning about each other again.
its not like that though is it? i need to stop living in the future. i should have thought we are not together now. point blank. i should not expect nor dream or imagine but live in the present. because now we are us. then you were you and i was i. and before we were we.
i am okay with you being away now. and i was okay with not talking to you at all. but i am happy to be the person making you happy whether its miles or minutes away.
the space between us has changed us both. we went from the same page to very different books. even reading at different speeds, we have found that the spaces between words and lines and before paragraphs are universally the same size and that is where we stand for now.
i will gladly listen to your voice through all the in betweens.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
make love to me,
in the open and vast spacings.
grass beneath my skin,
stars before my eyes.
make love to me,
through the sense
of great inevitability
incapable of avoidance
as the flow of waves at the sea.
as such, please let your fingers be.
make love to me,
till the moon sets to again as it rises.
and through in betweens
a star would come to fall,
the same pace my chest falls
underneath yours,
as i catch my breath
and wish upon that star
for you to never stop nor pause.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
(A friend once told me)
That the stars in the cosmos
Must have been aligned when the two of us came newly into this world.
The astrology up in the atmosphere
On the 28th of April
Saw you coming
And three years later
On the very same day
It said, We must make her a match.
Someone to fill the in-betweens of her fingers
And the empty spaces on the inside,
To brighten up her eyes
And the shine of her smile.
They won't find each other right away
But the magnetic pull of the universe
Will bring them together
Without a doubt.
And I was crafted from stardust and a celestial glow
And beamed down to earth
Fated to wander its surface
Until you came to stand in my path
And point me in a new direction
Hand safe in hand
And heart tethered to heart.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
I feel like sumi ink running down a wet media paper
Like I’m getting ****** up into its fiber
Before I ever had the chance to make the right mark
I feel like a tear that has been wiped away
It pushed from a cheek to swift, in hope haste would make
Feelings wash away, before they have time to settle
Be recognized for their real self, their actual impact
I feel like a under developed painting that wants to be an original
But has been put under too much pressure
To feel free enough to make an original mark
I feel like a statement that wants be made
But only finds things that have earned titles as cliché
I feel like a book that has been put down and forgot before
You ever got to the good parts
I am a heart wrenching sob and tear streaked cheeks
I am a sumi ink layered in perfect complexity and visual texture
I am original, authentic,and the best book you haven’t read yet
I am full of good endings, beginnings and all in-betweens
I am, I will be, stop trying to rush the ending
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
Where does it lie?
It's either throwing sand
or digging holes.
It's either loyalty
or tainted souls.
Proclaimed neutrality.
I call bs.
It's fear wrapped up
in indifference.
Can't let them know
that you're watching them.
Scoffing, bitter
when you're really wanting,
when you're really loving.
Condescend,
you're better than ill.
You see a shrink.
You've never been still.
I try to accept those in places
I used to be.
You try to forget
you were ever less-
running from one end
to the other.
They're bad,
and you're good.
With no in-betweens.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC