"blanketed" poems
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Did you see the bliss
Shoot across the night sky?
Here then there so quickly
Like a blink could project its moment
Yet when crumbling
Into the quake of memory
It is the window's remaining rain
Trickling down so slowly after the storm
Until all that is left is its drying trail
Clear to see the tired clouds sink behind
A heart so weathered
Never truly sleeps. Never rests
The hallow beats manifest
Into the crippling visions of the night
Blanketed by such distress
Until the rising light does nothing
But awaken the regrets that were left on the nightstand
Like a book with one chapter
No where left to turn
Do you see the ache
Shining dim in the night sky?
Like a footprint in the moon's dust
As alone as one could ever walk
Do you see the shame?
Like forty dying stars
Their fiery, blazing eyes
Watching every paranoid jitter
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Elated to see you aloft in the night sky
To what do I owe this enchanted boon.
In the merry company of winking stars,
Enthralled by this sight as I admire my moon.
Bathe me in your streaks of translucent silver.
Accompany me through my sleepless nights.
Watching over me with unwavering vigil.
Swathe me in whispers of peaceful respite.
Oh how you govern the raging tides of my soul.
Rest your gaze as the waters break upon my shore...
Erode and weaken the load strewn over my burning shoals,
Sands drowned breathless but craving for more.
Few nights now... Smitten as you coyly turn away.
Thick strands of shadow clad hair in gentle cascades,
Alluringly obscuring a slight fraction of your face.
A tiny crescent blanketed away; into the blackness it fades.
More nights pass... Now I see only a lesser moon
Leaving me with only half; darkness so had claimed.
Please make yourself last; you mustn't leave too soon,
I'm not ready to be left crippled and maimed.
I silently look up as more nights go by.
I watched my lunar love dissolving into space.
My heart too, torn away a morsel at a time...
Finally she had gone; without a sliver or a trace.
Every nightfall since is rife with emptiness and despair.
I asked the stars if they could soothe my gaping void...
But they'd only twinkle in indifference...
Regardless of the pleas I've employed.
Unsure of how many rises it has thus been.
Nights only brought the onslaught of mocking stars above.
Still I toy with the promises made overhead,
For the awaited return of my crazed elusive love.
I know it's frivolous to think I'm the only one...
There are others who pine just as I do.
But I yearn the most for your sought after attention,
For our hearts have sung in every colour and every hue.
Anxiety at peak, dismayed almost broken,
Then I hear a sweet song sung; distant and far.
A song that shared the words we once had spoken,
Again enveloped in translucent silver, with relief I sighed...,
"There you are..."
.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
From the heavenly embers the phoenix rises.
It opened its scarlet eyes and saw the world blanketed in darkness.
Its cries reverberating in the dim valley, paternal love it sought.
Woe is the phoenix for not a creature came and all it did was for naught.
With tears in its eyes till sunrise it waited.
Filled with indignation the phoenix flew.
For it realized that as a newborn it was cheated.
With only the support of itself the phoenix grew.
Time passed peacefully in the valley.
The phoenix' wings have now grown fully.
Then the phoenix’ adventurous spirit was suddenly ignited.
With newfound courage the phoenix soared, clearly it is excited.
It was fearful yet ecstatic for the world full of the unknown.
The phoenix said farewell to the place it once had grown.
It desired to wander the world hoping to meet with its kin.
The phoenix is very lonely and hoping for one’s happiness isn’t a sin.
Many beasts quickly hid when they saw the phoenix near.
When they saw the flames blazing they can only shiver in fear
Sighing with regret for it wants to make a friend.
But fate has been cruel and fear was its desire’s end.
It traversed thousand of mountains
And experienced countless rains
It hoped and prayed fervently to the glorious entity above
To grant its wish, to experience love
To be continued...
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
I'm laying on the floor at 1:37am
on a tuesday, or maybe wednesday.
the vents are reeking of that dog again.
Blanketed by only a scented candle
I see shadows, it resembles residue
a stained glass ceiling.
There is an ache between my shoulders
as I contemplate living, or sleeping
but that's always been the same thing.
As I listen to the showering upstairs,
I try to find ways to speak in words
that have nothing to do with you.
Dec 6, 2022
Dec 6, 2022 at 5:33 AM UTC
*The harsh winter
Could not freeze the heart
Blanketed with love*
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
I've never been to Paris in the spring summer or fall
Nor seen the Champs-Élysées blanketed in winters fresh snow
I've never seen it, Why? As I could never go alone
I seemed to miss the part where two lovers met and kissed or stood for 20 minuites in a passionate embrace
Then slowley walk together hand in hand in the rain, along the banks of the river of romance, the Siene
I'm not in the lovers photographs, beneath the Eiffel tower or the playful Quasimodo pose outside of Notre Dame
You won't see me in any of them, for I was never there, because while my lover travelled I stayed and built a home, a place we could call our own.
But bigger and better was never enough your greed for things was just to much then one day off you went as you didn't hear a word I'd said
To you by now I was simply staff and just like them I was sacked
But now alone I look at things and know what I can do
Change the way I look at life and why I never went with you
For Paris is for lovers and not just those who share the rent
So one day I'll go to Paris, even if I am alone
I shall walk the streets and see the sights that lovers call their own
Who knows If I'm the only one who needs to make that trip
Do others think of it the same in reverence and wish?
One day i'll go to gay Paris and a blank post card I shall send
"From Paris" with a smiley face
"I learnt to love myself".....
A picture of the tower or a snap outside the Louvre
Unsigned
No senders address
From Paris
With Love
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 8:22 PM UTC
mid-afternoon sunrays beam
against the blanketed city snow,
your miles away this December
wishing on the same falling stars.
Saturday trains murmur dusk-cascaded gleam
you're across the Atlantic shore
seasonal depression combating
last-second windswept bliss
unfinished song-writes seem
inkless on half-folded paper airplanes
for hidden chances and empty truths
lone twilight in streetlights mold
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 7:23 PM UTC
Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.
Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.
Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.
Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.
She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."
The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.
Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
This is for the helpless days.
Lonely days.
Where with every battle
Pits you against the world.
And should you lose,
Or should you win,
Your victory is heard
by only two ears.
These are the words for the
Mouse-like people.
The great number of quiet strugglers
Who say yes to the fat cat
By Instinct!
So they won't be the meat
Of someone else's meal.
\ \ \
But this is not to cast you down.
Not a giant- making pinching gestures
With people sized fingers.
This is a challenge!
A day to reach up into
Your oppressive heavens.
Cast aside the disciplinary
Blockade and- Breathe.
Breathe in the tastes
Of a life worth living.
Of the courage to be on your own feet.
And this is an urgency.
This is an urging that
All the doormat people
Sweep out from the heavy feet,
The ones you welcome for trampling.
Because|
-You know exactly what you're
Missing
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
When I lay in the forest
I always feel happy no matter what is going on.
I lay with a moss blanketed Oak pressed to my back,
Listening to the trees
Swaying rhythmically in the quiet breeze.
They seem to say,
"Do not worry, I will protect you."
When I leave the peaceful place,
I am both happy and sad.
Happy to know the trees care,
But sad to leave the heavenly place.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
sky
sun rise
early morning dawn
cascades upon blanketed lawn
decorative leaves poke through snow
strong reminder that nothing can grow
including the daisy and every other flower
nights become longer, days shorter by the hour
and flying to the south robin, crane and hummingbird
a wolves forlorn howl does not go unheard
nor does that of the snowy owl
a north wind itself does howl
a weathered husk does blow
dancing across the snow
a lonely endeavor
but forever
hopeful
(C) Shawn White Eagle
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
I find myself taking breaths but not breathing
Gasping even for the slightest chance of a comforting breathing pattern.
This anxiety has me on my knees. Like a thief it's stolen my breath and my strength
The dizziness sprinkles hovering over me slow and faint...
I'm lost, but not lost...
I'm here, but the room spins, and I fear I may faint
The more people I see and hear the more dizzy I get
Eyes find me...
They watch me pretend to be fine
I'm pale and clammy
I want to disappear
Tears want to fall but I'm able to keep them in for a while
When they finally fall I say that I'm fine
I only need to sit down and get home, I say I am tired
This will pass, it always does
Another day ruined, because I have to go home...
My families face blanketed with disappointment...
Another trip failed
I feel their eyes and thoughts of shame and frustration
In my mind I hear the wishes
This kills me more than the burden of anxiety alone
I feel as if I never should have left home
I want to be part of my family, but when I'm in my room...
I feel they are much more happy and things are as they should be
These thoughts bring me tears even now
I'm so **** tired of letting them down
I spiral into darkness and depression, with an anxieties jacket
And I feel them question me, as if I wasn't cursed and this was just me being mean
I sink down inside me and pretend I don't know what they think
Once in a while I'll hear I'm a control freak
Once in a while I hear I am ******
I get blamed out loud for all of my bull ****
Since I'm definitely flawed I know there's truth to it
This...
This, is what's heart breaking to me
And me, knowing I'm broken, it sends me deeper into my room...
I'll take my **** meds in an attempt to **** what feels like hate
But on this journey I'm still alone, even when they say they understand
I've seen way to many eyes rolls to think that they know my torture
And they will never understand my real guilt...
They will never believe that even with my emotions fighting inside my heart and soul, my real torment is that I ruin thier day
And I'm afraid that it makes me so much less...
To them.......
I feel some times I shouldn't even exist
My selfish heart won't let me leave...
I love them, so much I can't imagine giving in
I love them so much I feel shame and selfishness....
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
~
*Hark!
He knocks.
Time, it's time,
the Kuroi Jukai within me.
Finding an unordinary
drifting off to sleep point,
a hollowed-out spot,
where I can let
God dream for me.
Whistles in the wind,
in lullaby the sky and sea
seem to trade places,
bending around me
as vertical blanketed surges.
My carcass is a colonization (of bones)
for my dearly departed ones,
forbearers of migration,
seeking endless sea,
until like them,
I settle upon
their ancestral shore.*
~
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 2:13 PM UTC
Parting the multi-coloured fragments of earthboundmist
was she;
shroud after shroud caressed her soft nameless face
before finally, trembling, she broke free.
Leaving me, bespeckled by the last free-floating globes of light
as she was taken behind the closed train door;
Alone amongst the travelers, wanderers, and the lost.
Blanketed in the glittering light of the morning, and set adream
amongst the weightless scent of petrichor.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 3:57 AM UTC
This morning, out in lightly falling snow, I heard geese
as flights of them flew overhead. Like a shot
I was ten again, Grammy and I at the lake. I’d sit in the bow
of my canoe, pulled awkwardly ashore, neck craned back to watch the sky.
I was always sad to see them go; their calls so many cold goodbyes.
Ice encrusted water slushed against the dock in slow motion waves.
It was time to seek new horizons, where waves
of Floridian waters would embrace the geese.
My grandmother said that every new adventure started with goodbyes
to one thing or another. If I were ever to have a shot
at following my dreams, there’d be farewells as I reached for the sky.
Instinct would lead me onward to my accomplished bow.
One year Momma and Poppa Goose stayed behind, a nest in the bow
of my boat. The wintery sky turned black with departing waves.
They would call out as the flying ones filled the sky.
Wounded wing grounded Poppa. (Canada geese
mate for life.) Momma would not leave her mate, recently shot
during hunting season. She would not yet say her goodbyes.
This, then, was the winter of no cold goodbyes.
Before school, pony tailed hair with ribboned bow,
blowing in the stiff breeze, I’d take a shot
at keeping ice from the edge of the lake, waves
arrowing out as they swam. The geese,
with an itch in their wings, anxious for a return to their sky.
That summer Poppa introduced his flock to the sky,
practiced formational takeoffs leading to goodbyes.
Clouds overhead gathered gray with unfallen snow as the geese
took flight. My two watching for a moment, dipping heads in an elegant bow,
before joining in the aerial ballet of strong winged waves.
Grammy’s strong hand gripped my shoulder, then-- the parting shot.
Grammy joined the geese beyond the horizon. No miracle shot
or endless love could keep her with me. Heaven was in the sky.
I knew she was watching although there’d been no time for final waves.
Her new adventure started without time for goodbyes.
Outside, snow blanketed as I cried myself to sleep. Her final bow
had been silent, but she’d been telling me, as had the geese.
Overhead the geese are shaftless arrows shot
from an instinctual bow piercing the morning sky
with their raucous goodbyes. Time waves.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 6:16 PM UTC
The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is.
Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.
I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion
But on Protection Island
I feel
Protected.
Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child
I will be fine.
To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house
The protectors warm grin of welcome.
I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream
A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Unapologetically Human
I am **** on the mezzanine
facing the darkened wet road
illuminated with acrid yellow tube light
better reds and blues surround towering palm trees
wooden fingers of ancient giant hands buried below
growing leafy green nails stretching skyward
little things, orange ribbons, endless cricks and dollops
bobbles and winches
Spirits
Play among the windmills
climb to the top of trees and sing into the warm wind songs of *** and heartache
as the universe ruffles along
Dive head first into the opponents forehead
grind the sand into his flesh with ram like resolve until the skin is red,
determine to die
This life is worth proving,
the stars are worth gazing,
and this body is worth bathing in the Maui air with naked delight
The ocean calls to my heart
water is a true lover whispering, kissing
inescapably feminine
I submerge my soul in joyful waves
always the tides follow the moon
like my silly heart, eclipsing
both light both night both day
simultaneously cycling
fully the light shines and our eyes perceive shadow faces in the dark blanketed clouds
the mountain gargoyles stand as titans, forgotten creatures
shoulders and heads, waiting for the moon ball
the ocean moon, tranquil bays
the air is sweeter with you near, a distant thought
cast about the horizon, the sun melting easy golden into my dreamy eye,
bless my drunken lips
dripping doltish songs into the friendly night
Wrestling with bulls of men
we kept our shirts on this time, yet blood was drawn in the sand
we madly danced in the moonlight to clapping hands,
kicking feet and knees
the ceremonial struggle toasting the stars
bottles were shared, some puffed on cigars
Come surf with me in the morning
or anytime the sun shines
even under moonlight would I meet you and we could paddle
come fill your heart with life and lust and romantic passions idyllic as freshly fallen snow undisturbed by worldly concerns
be not abashed for this embrace is a natural wonder of the soul,
join me,
forget what words of yesterday the prophets of doom chant,
we make our own tomorrow
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
The rustic sheet of a door screams as we pull it like a scab
We step inside this warehouse can
Two floors - we're holding hands
His eyes lit like a crescent Moon - excited, he yells "daaad!"
Our head, like swaying swing
We see it all, tongue in cheek
Like controls without the freak
It's so much fun it stings
An asymmetric wasteland
Convenient and distorted
The walls - bleak and boarded
A symbolic sleight of hand
This is where we feel
My father's on the catwalk
Like paranoia paraphernalia
My son's grip tightens, it's the only thing that's real
Absolute felicity
To realize what I have in the confines of my hand
Imperfection in the making - he doesn't understand
Skylarking permissably
A reverie to remember
His smile - sifting through his eyes
Warm, he maneuvers like the flies
He was born in December
Moving closer to my father
He's amidst the in-between
Consistently foreseen
His motion is no bother
He steps along the ply
Somehow keen in his demeanor
Four-years-old, but greener
Tossed and turning - it's the gleaner
The sheet has been disturbed
He's falling to his death
I'm blanketed in sweat
This cannot be deserved
My father's eyes - they match my own
I tear through the distance
Foreseeing and consistent
My father is a witness
The fear - he's fighting falling
We've never known it more
His tiny hands just wishing there were nails
Collective - we're losing all things
I grasp a finger as he falls but not enough to bring him back
My son approaches pavement as it fills my throat the same
I look him in the eyes as they melt away in pain
My body wakes without my mind - hysterically screaming "DAAAD!"
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
i'm told that heaven
is a city made of gold
with pearly gates
and brilliant light,
but i couldn't care less
if it's crystal clear
or blanketed with fog
i just hope
heaven is a place
where i can kiss your soul,
capture a clip
of that radiant smile
and play it back in the sky
forever
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Candleabra's flickering flames
cast a shimmering dancing
shadow of me,
upon my golden coffer overhead,
brought about by a sudden gust
of window-wind... God's finger-breeze...
Master airy-finger puppeteer
you are
dance the leaves
about my Autumn yard...
Push and stir
soft light newly blanketed wintry snow
on lifting eddies,
causing flying fancy, barnyard dancer's dos-a-dos
among infinitesimal,
and featherweight
delicately frozen
crystal-looking flakes...
Push tiny tango waves
upon reflected sparkling silvery lakes
that crest s l i d e then fall
And spectator trees
that enciricle about the watery ballroom-lake
surface-floor,
then with airy fingertips
clap, clap together
the loudly whispering and rustling leaves
that applaud
the watery dancing waves below...
And with windy fingertips
sail white billowing cotton like
vapor-sails
across an unplowable
oceanless
spatial blue...
Glad God
You mostly are
puppeteer of every star
Dance sundries of objects
on your play-ball planet
and puppet-likened stage
And let me laugh
in zestful rage
about danceable things
that can be danced,
that can be danced
on windy-finger days...
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
You're somewhere between a sneeze and an ******
A breath of fresh air, and clear nostrils after you've been sick.
The sunrise, and it's set.
You are bright mornings, and the full moon blanketed by Venus, Mars, and all their siblings.
Somewhere linking here and there, I've found you.
Between love and hate, I keep you.
Did I leave, Or had you left?
I wonder how you remain and yet, never stayed.
Among my expectations and disappointments, I'm empty and full.
Full of imaginings, empty of chances.
Full of love, and grief,
Empty of myself.
Taken by time,
And her elegant thief.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC