"blitzing" poems
At a time where it seems so very hard, for me just to feel alive.
all I wanted then, was to drive
As ridiculous as it seems
it was the stuff of my dreams
all I needed was my car and vacant 4am roads.
Going through the gears, as if they were my final years
piston tatted-ring finger; hand firmly wrapped around the wheel
braking late into the corner
locking up the alloy steel wheels on my automobile
the tires squeal
waltzing them back into rotation as I find the threshold
clutch in
twist of the leg at the hip, I blip the throttle with my heel
down into second
one swift movement
un-burnt fuel erupts in the pipes.
blitzing through the off ramp
keeping it tight, clipping the manhole cover in the apex
pedal flat coming out, bounce the tach' as its not worth the upshift
pitch the car into the long sweeping overpass bend
the back end kicks out on decel'
counter steer and slam the accelerator back into the bare metal floor
front wheels clawing in the direction that I please
keys slapping my knees
straighten out and I ease her back home.
reverse down into the narrow; dimly lit garage
as I climb out, I can feel the heat radiating from the machine I built
hot oil ticking as it finds its way back to the pan
I stand and watch my car slowly disappear behind the garage door
it is but another night survived
for both of us.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo
arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove
wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too.
harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle
swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew
and tantamount to its feral cavities
thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split
news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter
infiltrates the **** cavernous walls
This inner ear and greater sound
knew to find sanctuary here.
Lends its awesome craft to the next
And next, and next, and next;
beautiful unboxed melodies
new unused sweet single-reeds
threading that 20s centrifuge.
Saxophone. Incantations unfolding
Aloof in its ***** it unwraps
The veil of green, a costume of black coffees
Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet
Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke
At the heap of its glorious song
Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate
Bliss. Intrinsic and purple
An irrational knot of Portuguese drum
Met over by African toms and rattles
A glue imbued into those unmistakable
Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed
Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves
These are the weapons of our new key strokes.
And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew
Where death greeted me to intervene a place
Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes
Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking
At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring
Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils
Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace
Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves
Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next,
And the next.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
Taste is 5 letters long and
I'm feeling all 5 senses on my tongue
Your refreshing lips
Your porcelain smooth fetish of my aches harbors
Your calls echoing and waving into the bay between my ports
The sight up to the sunlight blossoming flowers in your rolled eyes.
The blues and white foam breathing into me.
I want you how you want me.
In between gasping for truth.
Blitzing language and foreign words only your body can understand with my mouth.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 6:23 PM UTC
It never ceases to amaze me how you can be both a blessing and a curse.
Catalyzing the flourish of a relationship then infecting it with a slow killing cancer.
I'm sure it amuses you, building someones endorphins before crushing them when you feel they've experienced enough to be addicted and beg you for more.
Constantly blitzing forward.
Incapable of taking a step back despite how much I plead.
Like some linear cellphone game; but instead of restarting when I can’t jump over, you phase through the obstacle, forcing me continue at your pace whilst tending to my wounds.
And once they’ve finally healed and I become capable of keeping up with you, you introduce a larger obstacle - and I’m ****** again.
Are you angry at how you can't move backwards? Is that why you're always ******* with me? Or are you able to, but savour the taste of my tears when I cry for you to do so? Or is it because you feel incarcerated by your immortality and have found that nothing else satisfies you?
You’ve made me realise that happiness is an illusion.
I shouldn't be such a pessimist at 17.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
I wish I could go back in time,
To when you were still here;
To when we laughed, and cried, and smiled together;
To when you were still mine.
I wish I could go back to bliss,
To when we were inseparable;
To when our eyes would lock and we would both be lost;
To the feeling of your kiss.
I wish I could go back into the comfort of your love when I remembered how to smile and I remembered how to laugh and I remembered how to control what I was thinking in my head and keep my irrational thoughts and fears from encroaching on my life and blitzing through my heart and soul and keep from rambling to myself about things that shouldn't matter while I'm going off on tangents rambling on and on and on as my instability just grows and grows and I lose what little semblance of control that I had left.
...
But I know that things may never be the same
Because fate just had to push us apart.
And I know that we are sent off separate ways
To explore these blank new maps we've yet to chart.
I know that I am stronger.
I can stand up on my own.
I don't need to waste my time and energy
on an emotional crutch.
I know our time together
will be a wonderful memory
and through my life as I press on forward
I can remember back to you and me.
I hope you can look back in time,
To when you were still here.
And you look back like me on all those blissful times,
To see what we could have been.
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
A single star shoots through the sky.
Followed closely by another.
Blitzing through the starry night.
Connected in their wonder.
The first one darts across the blue.
Leaving its train to fail.
The second slides along with ease.
Using a similar trail.
This vision bright reminds me of,
Two lovers in their day.
One running from the other.
Being chased all the way.
The second star is so in love,
He couldn't let her go.
And so he runs after her,
as she flits to and fro.
So as they vanish in the night,
I can't help but think,
Will he ever catch his love?
As they're lost in a blink.
I hope someday he'll reach his goal.
To hold forever more.
Fixated into a single place.
Til death is at the door.
Two small star across the sky.
Whispering hopes of love.
Now staying right where they belong
Chained together up above.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
I wait
Hollow eyed stilling time
Hoping to be swept away on what ever dull fog has possessed my soul
Clogged my mind
The dripping tap
Blitzing across the surface of my bursting mind
To full!
Welling
SWELLING
Straining the strands of my tentative sanity
Testing the limits of my mind
Maddening the constrains of my heart
Till numb fingers
List to the left
Straddling the median
On late nights
80 miles
and counting
Drifting
Sailing to the sidelines
Until the world drops
And blank eyes
Finally shudder no more
Wipers bridge no more tears
Blipping out of existence
Along with all my fears.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
I am encouraged by the middle-aged woman
who still believes that I am hard at work,
as I digest my latest beer.
The blonde Russian gives hope to me.
She gives me a consequential look of interest,
and I'm suddenly reminded of my youth.
There is no sexlessness in flesh.
It comes with the freckles,
scaling melodies across naked thighs.
I am kissing the Russian on the mouth,
as I hold onto her cheek,
as I pass by her on the bus.
Where is this welcomed doorway kiss?
Where is this elderly love?
I want to share with you, my garden,
I want to eat with you, our feast.
This atmosphere is thin,
and all passions hollow out
in this echo chamber of half-truths.
I have played out these lines,
these humble melodies,
and yet still end up in a writer's demise.
I am half-drunk and half-stoned,
with fake whiskey sours and downloaded bliss;
fragments of a slower pace of life.
This old soul, he troubles to breathe,
he wades on through discarded thoughts,
and lives within captivity.
I am living life above the chimney tops.
I am a beckoning haze
for the clouds above,
I am killing love in all maturation,
I am blitzing the market,
I am starving a nation.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Former CIA Director
John Brennan scathing headlines
Washington Post op-ed sharply
published critical accusations
muted excoriation slams
Commander in Chief
volcanic blatant pathological lying
spews like lava his American
foreign policy boilerplate brazenly
bastardizes by banditry blueprint,
balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed
booming brady bunch brand,
bests best-buy buffer braking balanced
bastion, bolstered beloved benighted
bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss,
Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast,
betokening bobble-headed Bumstead,
barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely
brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior,
beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced,
bankrupting, blithely bollixing,
bombastically belittling, badmouthing,
banally blasting, banana-boat baseless,
bearish blandishments, beastly boastful
boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed,
bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding
blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering
bloodletting bellyache blight,
brazenly being bandying bellwether,
blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash,
balking but beaming barbaric
berserk ballyhoo backbiting,
backslapping backstabbing
blacklisting bromides,
besetting basic bestowed blooming,
Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial
bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning
betrayal birthing bedlam.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
You call me
I am running, ripping through the night
I am running towards you, again and again
I see the smoke rise and I feel my feet move,
Sparks blitzing from my toes.
I am running to hear that I will be free -
You still see through me like hushed glass in a window.
You know that
I am not running to feel your warm touch
I am not running because our hearts are kindling
Though I think I am.
I am running when you snap
Because the flames are dancing once again
And I have yet to realize that
*I am not your fire
I am just your matchbox.*
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
I loved learning that little language of yours
In the midday noon highs
When the sun would tick from golden to red
Setting ablaze to all our study time.
(We rolled down hills in fits of laughter.)
I never could quite catch that accent -
The way you'd allign your stars and rest your pride,
Or shake off my stupid little wrestles
With just the double tap-tap on my thigh.
Your voice is gone now,
Except for howls on the midnight eves.
It soars on winds, lost in tornadoes,
Quick and blitzing on the summer breeze.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
A morning with you and your rumbling stars,
Dancing about the room with smiles running off my face.
There is someone tapping on my brain,
There is something telling me that this wrong,
Reminding me that tomorrow would think twice
Before giving you up to me.
Can't you see the diamonds in my eyes,
Can't you hear my heart blitzing on it's toes
As it makes a break for the Heavens above?
Can't you see that we would be the best of the best,
We'd be precious, like you would say, love -
My God! We'd be great.
There is a scratch in my voice when we part ways, though -
It is the part of me that knows that you
Will never hold my hand
Or long to kiss my morning lips,
Heavy with slumber.
You will never know a day-dreaming me
Screaming giddy as her character dies,
And you will never see me as I crawl across the sheets
To fit into the groove of your arms.
I swallow my next breath before the truth
Rips itself into existence -
I will never let you know.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
storm ranges blitzing
the animal crossing
of your skin
while the faint smell of gin
lingers
couched, soft stomach dispensing
each nicotine hit you blaze
the eyes pierce sharp
butterfly leverage and the sword
between your skin
makes me faint
oh, black sweater madness
in this hour of midnight
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC