"blanketing" poems
~
*Rainbows in a sky of blue
with clouds of grey beyond,
Ripples lapping lilypads,
upon a golden pond,
Just above me and you
Blanketing our passion
As our loving ensues
The sky watches us on
A cool breeze on a summer's day,
my love within my arms,
Clouds that block the blazing sun,
a coyish smile that charms,
All these things and more I dream
when sleep mine eyes doth close,
But most of all, a peace within,
and love that always grows.*
~
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 8:16 AM UTC
midnight skin blanketing
******* toned hips
a warm tongue points;
this
the taste of ecstasy on my
fingertips
taunts the rehab in my touch
yearning to risk it
pills litter stone-wood floors
as we **** through flaws
**** feelings carpet the inner raw**
moaning and creaking
of hard wood
boards
wild moods
bodies wet
clinging sensual monsoon
fiending for a fixing
we cut through
bleeding lust
******
sheets whispering drops of
crimson truth
as familiar sensations pulsate
we gyrate
losing focus of whose waist
hanging onto
****
don’t wait
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
It’s the beginning of the monsoons and of the week,
A clouded chilly one with the clouds blanketing the sun.
I’m struggling to get out of bed and into my daily routine,
Running late as always, there’s never time for fun.
The first rains of the season were not welcomed with a smile,
Cars, Buses and mopeds splashing and spraying water all around.
People cursing the rains and others on the roads,
Racing to the office is not as easy as it may sound.
It’s a dark dull day with no sunshine to light my path,
And the rain to rob me of the dryness I had left.
As a child I remember this being different in every way,
The rain bringing me cheer and happiness, never indulging in theft.
Stopping at a red light, all wet and soggy,
I see this small figure making way between the vehicles standing.
On every window and door she knocked with enthusiasm,
This little girl hopping around in every puddle landing.
Trying to sell the water lilies she had in her hand,
Not letting the frowns or the drops of rain her spirit lower.
She shines off all the hate and the disgust,
Through the muck and water walking to sell this pretty flower.
All of the dullness and gloom she got rid.
A smile on my face and in my heart she brought,
This little girl with those bright water lilies,
Like the flower she sold, all eyes and hearts she caught.
Bringing smiles and spreading fragrances in times so dull,
The water lily blooms in the muck and conditions degrading.
So did this little girl on this dark rainy day,
Returning cheer and happiness drained in the rain by blooming.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
I don't think in linear paths
I think in images, not words.
I think through what I see
what I hear
what I feel
For instance, that night,
I found my sisters body
I saw her lifeless body hanging there
I saw my mother fall to the ground, a strangled mix between a scream and a gasp escaping her lips
I saw the red eyes of my father
I had never seen them before and I've seen them too many times since
I saw the strongest people I've ever known fall to their knees in the rubble of my family
I saw my family fragment, break and stumble under the weight of our grief
But I also saw my family stand up, rise, fight and pull the ripping seams together with our knuckles turning white
I heard my father's panic
I heard my mother's cries
I heard my own disconnected voice as my body and brain worked separately
I heard the voice of the 911 operator in my ear
I heard the sirens
the ones that now echo in my ears
I hear an unknown voice say "I'm sorry, we couldn't revive her. She's gone," as my mother crumpled into my father.
I felt my blood racing through my veins
I felt my heart pounding in my chest
I felt my muscles moving and tearing and ripping as I ran, fueled by adrenaline
I felt the loss
I felt the icy numbness blanketing my family
I saw a life end that night and dozens of others permanently altered
Her life ended that night and ours changed and came crashing to a halt but we got back up
I got back up
I only hope that wherever she is, she's finally happy
Happier than she was here
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:21 AM UTC
Impressionist colors rising out of chocolate brown,
stretching chartreuse necks upwards.
Intertwining vines clutching each other in a desperate rhapsody of life,
all waiting to display their Creators’ palette of pure color.
Orchid and yellow chalices hold the morning dew
as all are christened in jeweled morning light.
With blue and white snow you carpet the ground
blanketing hillsides with hope of Monet.
Orange tongues of fire licking up towards the sun
while jade blades battle as new growth crowds in.
Blossoms hang full with a living harvest of yellow,
awaiting transport to another.
Stalks of dried grasses stirred by the August wind,
dancing to the rhythm of the warm stirring breeze.
Summer now ebbing away in aged colors muted with brown,
returning to the muddied ground once again.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
Snow fell deeply on the graves that night,
falling on both the wealthy and not so,
coating with cleanliness and purity all who
do not deserve and the very few who may.
The snow descended coldly and quietly,
blanketing gravestones and statues alike.
Distinguishable only by their shadows
and heavenward thrusts and stances,
they continue to designate where bodies
lay and bright hopes are finished.
Despite the softness and the silence,
above the solitude and endless white,
the boundless rage of ended dreams
seems to penetrate upward, to shriek.
--
Sep 10, 2011
Sep 10, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
~
The Giraffe Cries
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
The moon a bright, fat cauliflower in the early morning sky
Blistering cold seeping into the skin on the thighs
Burning in your fingers
A profound quietness blankets 7 am
Much like the soft snow blanketing the jagged black ice
Sky and ground synonymous hues of bluish white
Sleepy bark naked trees jut up from the ground
Whispering hushed things
Of frigid beauty frozen into the retina from a snowy night
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
I
__
i am so much smaller than you
and i can ever
believe...
and you are so much smaller
than you and
i know.
i sit within the winds,
those summer breezes,
some gusty gales, perhaps,
feeling
'the tug
and toss
of its fabulous force
rippling
churning
combing the thinning grey hair on my tired head,
my clothing,
so indistinct,
flapping,
furling,
floating, --filled with this seen-un-seen presence,
and i know
a am so small,
and my life so
ludicrous,
like the air
that comes
and goes
out of its own control,
but,
i am too small,
and unable
to stop this, its invisible assault.
II
__
when i am a-float upon
the great lakes, the oceans
the
rolling
rivers
i live
like a tiny slab of flotsam or
driftwood
sailing
slowly,
circularly,
(oh-so!) quietly
running,
reeling the peeling painted oars of my boat
against
the grainy flashing surface of the waters
rumbling,
rolling
away
this insatiable yearning
to go wherever it takes me to go, but
i know
i am very small,
and cannot control the eddy's creeping currents-
constant-currents
thus
submitting
my wayfaring self
to the
unfathomable.
III
__
these trees towering
above me
around me,
the sapling,
the blanketing
(in my lifetime)
blooming branches
creating
an emotional, outer, physical, inner, spiritual
dwindling
like the leaves left shivering beneath the cold winter's frost,
once casually
falling,
dropping,
drying up around my soul
slipping
into silent winter slumber,
to awaken
again...
--and then!
(to the dismay of my self-enlightened discovery)
i see
how small
i am
only to return again
from that brownish-moist
soil-bed
like a seed
beneath
the ground
never sprouting,
only fogetting,
the once and always forvever
and ever
the natural
insignificance
of being.
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
He smiled and pulled
The covers up behind him,
Blanketing us both within
A fort of warmth and skin.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
There's a sharp frosty switchback that never sees the sun in winter
skies of blue. The frost heave cut-bank rocks tumble down to the
side of the road, in the ice shard mottled ditch lay frozen stiff
Tall Sitka spruce marbled gray shadows mat the sparsely traveled
corridor, paved with potholes, where the roads have no names
Sometimes listening quietly to the bare stillness, there are
rhetorical questions heard in the silent reverie's say:
"Have you ever been afraid?"
The tree-line gaps above the jagged gray stone ravine, disappearing
down the rugged mountain shade, falling into the pillow-top fog bank blanketing the canyon's murmurs below — headed towards the ocean
Crystalline spring waters gurgle up roadside — out of nowhere,
where tired boots stand in reverent contemplation as it all sings out harmoniously to the trees in the key of silence; it was there
in a gust of restless forbearance heard the frozen peacefulness say:
"Have you ever felt alone?"
Gathering a deep breath of marbled gray shadows, silence bears
a loud holler's scorn — echoing back and forth down canyon walls,
with the spirit of a voice a multitude strong, evanescent
as winter's outgoing tide.
January 2019 — Jesse Stillwater
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
Hush!
Listen do you hear the silence above the roar of life?
Hush!
Do you hear your heart beating to your life's song?
Hush!
Do you see the sky above blanketing and comforting?
Hush!
Do you feel the world spinning around? With you standing still upon it?
Hush! Sshhhh! Quiet.
Listen to the flow of earth's blood in her rivers and streams,
feel her warmth from the sun like an adoring parental gaze.
Touch her thrumming life in her growing forests, see her wonders created for us her children.
Hear her lullaby before she is muted, choked, buried alive by us, with
our waste, our destruction, deforestation, over fishing, hunting.
****** the fruitful earth 'til she our mother is barren and useless.
Mother Earth is weeping and above the roar of our selfish modern sound, we do not hear her crying, or see her tears silently falling.
Falling onto selfish mankind.
Gaia that great mother to all, giver of birth to earth and it's universe
is a woman reclining upon the earth surrounded by a host of jealous warring infant adults the fruits of her labours.
Oaths sworn in the name of Gaia, in ancient Greece, were considered the most binding of all.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
I want to live life in a Bob Ross painting
With serene monstrous mountains far off in the distance
The peak half covered by happy little clouds
A happy little tree and it’s many brothers and sisters
Blanketing the landscape of light snowfall and growing bushes
A small cabin bathed in melting snow rests comfortably
Next to a thawing private lake lit by a cadmium yellow sun
This is where I want to live
Swarmed in colors of titanium white,
Phthalo green and blue,
Midnight black,
Alizarin crimson,
And Indian yellow
Where there are no mistakes
Only happy accidents
Where the big decisions
And the tests of courage are
Where the next tree will go
In a Bob Ross painting
I could live peacefully
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
Never trust a Florida boy,
In that muggy, humid heat.
I'm telling you, little girl,
Your heart will soon taste defeat.
Them deep fried southern marshes,
Raising mosquitoes and deceit.
The greatest place on earth can keep its ************* receipt.
The air as thick as my blood was,
When I met your eyes.
And yours met hers,
And your monster claw,
Tore her smooth skinned thigh.
I felt that painful scream.
Boiling up. Melting my chest inside.
What's the point of being still while my mind is feeling fried?
So I packed my heavy load of anxiety,
And headed for the coast.
I watched the orange sunset,
As I brought up a salty toast,
From my eyes.
Solemnly, spilling into the sea.
And I felt the spirit of an old friend.
Leaning rigidly against me.
So I turned on heel and didn't speak a sound.
As I turned to leave the now known ghost town.
And I gave one last grim look back out at the sea.
As I write these tattered goodbyes,
To where my feet have rambled me,
And I let my tongue wrap around the ribbons of goodbye,
Escaping my parched lips.
And I shutter as I listen to the sound of my heart as it rips,
An angered storm of sea,
Flooding down my eyes.
Knowing this is where the memories of escapades in our days, lays down and dies.
I feel the faint.
Bleak pain, blanketing us,
Weak and weary.
And I know our story has a melancholy mood of dreary.
And this is where I end it.
And cast it all out to sea.
And I leave the tragic bays of what I once called Rosemary.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
Today, I am sick.
My mental illness is shaped like a prison
and I am in the waiting room
wanting to ask
"What are you in here for"
like
what kind of crime has your head committed
that you are trying to lock it up
with prescriptions
and weekly meetings filled
with uncomfortable confessions
and numb palms from sitting on your hands for too long.
They say it's like playing in traffic,
a red-light-green-light game
where we beg for help
but don't know how to move
when we're asked to explain how we got here.
Do you even remember
what you're running from anymore?
Tell us about the days
where you can't tell if waking up
is a trench or a hill.
What has your head told you to do
and have you done it?
How did it feel when it was over?
Did your head congratulate you
when you were done?
Did you get a prize
like new scars?
Or three more handles of liquor?
The last time you prayed
did you have trouble unlocking your fingers?
Did the weight of God
keep your hands closed tight
in hopes that you wouldn't forget him
like the last time you saw Him
in the bottom of the pill bottle
and you smiled back?
Everyone here says the word Friday
like it hurts
because we know that the weekend is here
but we just can't seem to feel it.
Today we are sick
and nobody notices because our noses aren't running
we aren't openly bleeding in front of the one's we love
we do it in secret
just in case they ever catch us.
Today, we wanted them to catch us.
Stick out their hands
like a safety net
but it doesn't matter what height we fall from
because bones hitting bones
like a head on car collision
will never feel like warm sheets
blanketing our bodies
but we can't help but wonder
if the sheet they will cover us with
after they find us
will be warm too.
Today we are tired of being sick
tired of waking up looking like police chalk lines
tired of walking into the therapy rooms
like they are our parish
but we're too afraid God might smite us on the way in.
We shouldn't have to flinch
when certain words are said
that pull us back loading gun
but are too weak to pull the trigger.
Today WE are the triggered,
the empty promise of tomorrow being filled
with another prescription
another drink
another list of second hand hope
coming from someone who is probably
still trying to remember what it says.
We would rather tiptoe between eggshells
and take our time
than let you know we are struggling.
We are STRUGGLING.
And it makes us so very tired.
So today I am tired
and I will tell you that
instead of reminding you
that every day I am sick.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Everything she said hit his eardrum
like a rimshot. Maybe he was losing
his hearing or she was just losing
his attention. Dinner conversations
across a two foot table flew past
him like houseflies. With her soft,
blonde hair blanketing his collarbone,
her mouth seemed to pantomime
more the closer he leaned in.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
*In a few years to come
A calendar is soon to end
The light of day will be suffocated by darkness
Haltering all brand new life
Bringing the Mother Ship to falter at the knees
A destined turmoil caused by catastrophic times
The hands of twisted fate are drawing near
World destruction nearing our footsteps
Along shadowy pathways of smoldering smoke
Billowing inward on plains of existence
Trampling atmospherical empires
Closing out realms of perseverance
Kharma may be ravishing in her ***** like ways
Childs Play in comparison to the putrid behavior of Mother Nature
Her promises of vengeful wrath
Unbearable to withstand her deceitful ways
Typhoons aiming to destroy harbouring lands
Earthquakes swallowing Kingdoms
Her ill fated disease blanketing valleys of bowling greens
The nightmare will embark upon us all
In the year 2012*
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 6:13 AM UTC
This meadow once a graceful place
Pathways to untold peace
Narrow corridors into the heartland of tranquility
Weaving in, out, around trees
Like perfectly formed webs
That glisten with morning dew
Even as the sun sets through the branches
Cascading this meadow with darkness
New Moon blanketing the meadow
With the hope of new light
The voices begin to play
Lullaby whispers dancing on leaves
Shaking tree limbs to the eerie silence
The nonexistent breeze
Carrying the meadow into ballrooms of vampiric flames
Thirsty for the life each tree branch holds
Silent meadow voices
Truly are silent
When meadows burn to the sound
Of crackling horror-stricken leaves
Curling under the immense heat
Fossilized in ashes
Making this once tranquil meadow
An ashen wasteland for silent meadow voices
Refusing to even open their tongues
To welcome the morning sun
Bringing new light
To the horror of silent meadow voices...silenced
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Walking along snow,
As footprints of old.
Travel doth a print show.
Howling along the wind,
Winter wolf.
Alone.
Suddenly speak,
Growl to eat.
Winter wolf hunts,
Along the ravine.
Howling snow,
Blanketing the forest below.
Waves of white,
Dusting the darkest light.
Winter wolf,
Howl unto the moon.
Befriend a pack,
To call your home.
Winter wolf,
whose paws print the snow.
Travel doth those prints show.
Winter wolf,
Travel far and wide.
Moving miles a day,
Sometimes nights.
Winter wolf,
Untamed and gallant tis thee.
Howling unto the moon.
That derives itself the king.
Winter wolf,
Move the land.
Travel far and wide.
Find your mate.
Create a pack,
Howl together.
Within the Frozen wasteland,
Of a snowy tundra..
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
My eyes were beaming out,
onto the gloomy streets.
Fog was lurking in.
It adhered to my skin.
As the dew latched on,
after only seconds,
I slowly became damp.
Contributing to my silky skin.
Dusting my cheeks,
generating rosiness on my surface.
Glazing over my hair,
gluing each strand to another.
Coating my hands,
nipping at my fingertips
The haze in the back of my head,
It kept getting heavier.
Digging my fingernails into my head.
Tugging on each strand,
between my scalp and jagged fingernail.
Clawing as my nails trailed down my skull.
Blood dripping,
Streaming,
Creating tidal waves.
Fog was sprouting in my essence
The fog began to maneuver on me.
Blanketing over my body,
weighing down my soul,
overloading my carcass.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
Before identities and allegiances are even confirmed,
The cries of anger rise up like a thick, black smoke,
Heavy and suffocating, it flows through streets,
Over the English Channel, across oceans,
Seeping into social media and blanketing all else.
Cries for vengeance,
Vengeance,
Vengeance.
And those cries barely manifested into a wisp
When Beirut was attacked the day before Paris.
I didn't see any Facebook pictures of the flag of Lebanon.
Do any of us even know what the flag of Lebanon looks like???
To **** innocent people is a crime except when we do it,
Then it's "There are always casualties of war,"
But if this isn't a war except when we're killing people,
Can it really be called a war?
We care so much about the injustice of it,
How the innocent are mowed down without mercy,
That we want those bombs dropped and we want them dropped now.
When those bombs destroy homes and blast children's limbs apart,
Bloodless and pale, until the area looks like it used to be a porcelain doll factory...
Will we all have Syrian flags for our Facebook pictures?
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Glistening, sparkly, glorious,
Each one unique.
Cold, Icy, Soft on my tounge.
The snow blanketing the world,
Snowmen, snowballs and snow angels.
Oh no! Here comes the sun!
Don't let the snow melt away!
Aww, we're too late,
It's gone away 'til next year!
Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC