"biennial" poems
With tear blurred eyes
I shook my head no, again and again
could this be lies?
Is this a trick to bring me more pain?
No, it’s not a lie
I’m steady as a brick, frozen with confusion
I fall back with an uneasy sigh
This seems like an allusion
“We won’t move again,”
They’d promised me
2005 to 2007 by summers, it’s all I had
How could we go through change like this,
again?
After all we went through
But I didn’t bother argue, I simply asked when
I would be forced to leave all my best friends
Nevertheless, I’d grown used to this biennial
With luck, our next home will last a year longer.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
our relationship is biennial:
we speak, for a while.
my tongue is barren muscle -
and throughout saturday it toyed with your name.
since it has tightened in my mouth, lay itself flat
and made enough room to fit a small book.
my mouth is mine but we were born on different days of the week -
my mouth is younger.
my words are older.
still, i light up when i see the foxglove swallow the bumblebee,
i will stand in gardens and ask to borrow the sky.
even when there was a cover of smoke, fog and haze
as a consequence of growing up with my brothers under my wing
i have learnt to be close-mouthed,
it doesn't stop me from being with you.
your lips have never touched for more than a second but i admire what you have to say,
even for a short period of time.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
Fresh from the accouterments
of green,
creatures churn out of control
rinse and repeat
he gave me a smile
one down to his knees
the wind a born again breeze
and the moon was born
spinning silver on his tongue
while crows hum forgotten
biennial messages
a post part-em in drums
hell arrives on a River boat
demands six pence for passage
we'll pay the Ferryman
just to go home to get some sleep
but all dreams smell the same;
lost,
in this rich man's world.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
For the longest time, I’ve said that I loved Wolf because we were the same species; we were the same person under different skin. I said I knew him like the back of my hand, though we never spoke deeply with each other, and rarely spoke altogether.
I come to understand; his species is a danger to mine.
Our greatest difference is what we did with the most valuable currency; Wolf dips his hands into blood for the texture; the information he holds slips quickly and does the greatest damage it can, always staining the secret’s origin.
My knowledge is my blood; it remains within me always. It spills for a cause of merit. My satisfaction spawns within my blood.
I do not leave scratches, stains or finger prints. The Observer watches the decoy, oblivion may know if I was ever there...
watching,
learning,
growing. Forever knowing.
And this is how my counterpart has been hiding for the last biennial, a thief among thieves just as he should appear.
His satisfaction spawns within his blood.
Leaving no scratches, stains or finger prints. The Observer watches the decoy, oblivion may know if he was ever there.
Of course.
The parallel of a parallel,
solitude, side by side,
seeing no one, watching the other,
I close my eyes; reality reveals a new dimension.
I open my eyes; a new spectrum has unfolded. It’s crystal clear.
It’s been a thousand years. What have I missed?
Welcome.
He is strong. More powerful than I knew.
He is aware. His consciousness tempts me.
He is the antithet of the cromulent.
He is weakened by uncertainty and shame.
My strength spawns within my blood. Within my knowledge. Within my satisfaction.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
Full Sun
Into delicate aerated soil
an age-old seed was planted,
an eye destined for greatness.
With the slightest spillage of
amendment an adventitious
spore awoke.
A tuber started to grow;
a thriller spreading into the
beautiful composition of
a bicolourous family.
Pollination is a pest known
to most every gardener,
but propagation shall subside.
Mulch to conserve is a heavy
yolk to bear, but,
with determination,
pistil too shall become weary.
O, Biennial,
how I beg thee for more time.
Clench thy inflorescent fist,
a catkin do not become.
Thou hast spread thou roots
into my being as an epiphyte.
Lo! Single flower, wear thy crown
and top-dress with pride
- thou art everblooming!
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
The prosperous will grow from your left
palm
ravaging the earth skin of your hand
and becoming a volcano that bursts into a beautiful biennial
Your nails will know themselves as leaves and the misery will no longer undo you
You will feel the profoundness of your years
and calmly you will water yourself
and with the fecundity of your acquired patience
you will give rosettes
and I in that second year
will be back
to see you in bloom
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 4:09 AM UTC