"boasted" poems
Earlier today, painting was the activity that we had planned
I have a support teacher who would always lend a hand
She had left the class to get the paint all mixed
While I stayed behind to get the toys and props all fixed
She came back and bore bowls of red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Lunchtime I visited a store and neatly displayed on low shelves
Arranged so immaculately as if magically done by elves
Were cases upon cases stitched together with only zips
They almost instantly bent a smile to my lips
Their colours shone brilliant red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Passed by a shop selling accessories and apparel
Merchandise dangled on wall hooks and some in a jumble
On the adjacent wall something caught my eye
Carried all the neat little tote bags one could ever buy
One peeking from a corner was red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Walked by a building, so modern-looking and new
Down on one side almost obscured from view
Were these horizontal rows of dancing neon lights
Stopped for a minute just to soak in the sights
Then I realised that they flickered red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Waited for the bus to get home at my usual bus stop
Whilst waiting, I shifted and from my bag something did drop
Bent over and picked my coin pouch that had fallen out
Looked up only to see another commuter lingering about
On his pack was a sticker which boasted red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Bus was packed, found a seat in the back row
Sat myself down, I peered briefly out the window
Engine under me, I scanned around to those who were seated
Observed the floor beneath my shoes as it vibrated
My pair of Adidas, oh my, they're red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Got home, put my bag down and sank into the sofa
Switched on the telly, on was the Food Network's "Barefoot Contessa"
Surfed through the channels, caught a real estate commercial
Promoting prime land in a country not anywhere regional
Splashed on the screen, a flag - red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
End of the day, it is best that I hit the sack
Allow some rest for my poor aggravated back
But not till I complete the words you're currently reading
I'm thinking, dreaming and furiously typing
How do I end this? Hmm...red, white and blue?
I'm thinking and dreaming...and wishing I'm with you.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
The immense striking letters
of the gazette’s front page
make me almost cross-eyed
My mind is going to explode
in the images I have seen in the television
Boom!
When will the politicians
be weary in stealing
the wealth of the country?
Millions of pesos were caught
in the centre of the golden sea
Can we only find it from other countries?
Is that the main reason
why Filipinos are migrating:
to find source of much bigger income?
I am thinking about them
together with their bosses
with heavy iron hands
I believe crime rate is escalating...
...the crime that can grab you
24 hours a day
Can we still smell the tainted odor
of pictures of the street children...
children who beg for a piece of bread?
Mr. President, where is the promised straight road
you are pointing at?
Why can’t we see it?
Is it crooked?
Why is it that these are
the ONLY stuffing of rumors?
Why can’t we focus onto a bigger
and wider problem of our country
and even around the world?
Perhaps above all issues,
this is the only concern
that is not yet trending in Twitter
So, I just boasted it to my open-mouthed puppy...
“If I will be the President of the Philippines,
I will focus first on ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUES.”
Suddenly, Bruno’s saliva dripped.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
i remember she used to always tell me, it's okay to cry.
she gave me that look that said everything. as if she was silently telling me than it was okay to not be okay, to be broken, to be absolutely destroyed.
i'll always remember that side hug and proud look. the hand squeeze and happy tone in her voice when she boasted about me.
i'll remember everything now that you're gone.
Oct 12, 2019
Oct 12, 2019 at 12:34 AM UTC
dahil wara katapusan an duon san mga mata
mabubuhay akong minamatay
san dating kaaway ko sa lawas na ini
sa lawas na ini naghambog an talawon
pinapagubtik an kaaluhan na nagpapamuda
muda na nagpupukaw saakon gurugab-i
kendi na nagpapahibi
mesias na naghahala-hala
magiging madalas an pagsid-ip niya sa bintana
para laen ko makita an liwanag
malaog siya sa kahon ko
laen para magkawat
kundi dagdagan an pagub-at
makasakat an pagbagsak
siya na ako
masurat tula.
~Written by Melton Balicano
(a bikol dialect)
since these eyes have been weighed down on unending
i shall live while being slain by an old foe in this body
this body where the craven had once boasted
surging chagrins that blaspheme
blasphemy that rouses this corpse in the dark
treats that shed tears
a messiah that taunts.
he shall constantly peep through the window
so that I see no light
he will break in my casket
not to thieve
but to burden further
the downfall shall rise
then he becomes me
penning a poem.
~a translation of Balicano's masterpiece
Glenn Sentes
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
My sister boasted to me one night in a Liverpool pub
She had *** with a couple of coppers down the Mersey Tunnel.
'You're nothing bit a fat slapper' I scolded her,
As she examined the selfie I had taken
Just a few moments earlier of me
And her best friend up against the ladies' bog door.
"Good likeness, innit?" I commented and the
She farted stentoriously in surprise and,
The follow-through oozed down her dimpled thigh.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
Two men, one poem.
This day, on this site.
Two men wrote to me.
One called me brother.
The other, an arrogant *****
Called me little.
One shared his life,
With humility and gratitude,
Then, I lost it.
Wept. Baby like.
Honored me with trust.
Swapped spit stories
That bled into my brain,
And a tattoo appeared on my
Writing arm, one word,
Humility.
One boasted of his beans.
His bean counting reads.
Analyzed his trends,
Predicting by Christmas (!),
He would have this many.
His **** poems he informed,
Would be published.
What need did he have
For punk-u-ation,
His rants, his **** stream of words.
Better than mine,
Just cause his stuff I said,
Not my cup of tea.
What a crazy place this place.
Holy and ******** sided.
Humble humble, always humble.
He invoked, this arrogant one,
God's name.
Not knowing I talk to Him.
So I rang Him up and said,
How did a little peenus-genius
Find his way onto this
Holy Place, HP, of kindness.
He smiled in brevity.
Did I not create both,
Angels and devils?
I love God's brevity.
His commas, his question marks,
His pointed punctuation.
I love that He could create
A man whose sight of
Me, unseen, but found capacity
To love me in ways
Undreamed.
Because I peered in to the man's reveal,
Saw quality, value,
Saw humility.
So of arrogance, I said,
I would write.
But it is of humility
I will sing,
Of loving human kindness extraordinaire.
Of weeping endless.
At the joy afforded me
To read so many lovely poems,
Here.
If my poems never see the
Imprimatur of a publishing house,
It matters not,
For I have seen a human being
Weep real tears reading mine.
I have shed rivers of my own
Upon discovering yours.
Humble, humble.
If it is glory you seek,
You will find it,
All alone. ************
Me, I live here, in the midst of a
Good Company.
Sept. 7th, 2013
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
I have a dream! I have a dream,
To the racial discriminators, said Martin Luther King,
I have a dream! I have a dream!
To the evil-creating economists, I warn and ring.
Globe witness hunger, inequality poverty and unemployment
The world turns out to be bitter,
To all of you, I write this letter.
To create a world relieved from these and turn better.
I am a mad aspiring economist, a fool,
Searching for the right tool,
You turned the world with full of mess,
People are left with nothing less.
To the world, you gave theories,
Pushed us into a vicious cycle of injuries,
About your theories, you boasted,
It has created a few ruling and bloated.
Most of you worked as economic hitmen,
Turned victim laymen to fighting gunmen.
To the realities, your theory is distant,
Served no solution to the dying peasants,
To the few, we remain a psychological slave and servants,
Tuned our lives to a depended migrant.
With your development lecture,
You have killed the entire nature,
In the name of ventures, corporates turned vulture,
Hunted and looted our generations’ future.
We lived a self-reliant community,
You killed us with imposed liability,
Our lives are now placed in intensive casualty,
The word that remains imagination still is equality.
We lost our humanity and identity,
In your eyes, we are just a market and commodity,
Your play with scarcity, was a mere futility,
We finally became a society, filled with atrocity.
Your useless lectures of development,
Put us under frightening & irrecoverable unemployment,
For a few, you got us into a deep-rooted enslavement,
So, now for you instead, we make a replacement.
To my questions, you neglected and ran,
In your eyes, I am foolish stupid common man,
To you short-sighted range,
I say I will bring in a change!
Today, I may remain lower and mere viewer,
A day will come, where you will stand to answer,
Writing a new rule, I would seize your beloved positions,
This will be my lifetime mission and ambition.
I say with all my limited experience,
I will put a test to all your conscience,
Are you just a fat-big corporate’s hand?
With people will you always stand?
I am not an economist,
I am neither an egotist,
I proclaim! I proclaim!
I am a revolutionary economist,
I know you will fit me a label,
I am sure I will be an economic rebel,
A rebellious economist.
I dream a world without huge inequalities,
I dream a world free from imposed liabilities,
I dream a world without poverty and disparities,
I finally dream for becoming an economist with no ambiguities.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
I chased the first rays
of an autumn morning
but to my sorrow
when I arrived at
the urgent place
the sun had
already
risen
breathing a
crowning glory of a
seasons brilliant
splendor
alighting
the glowing amber
of golden woods
shining like gleaming
constellations of
dazzling morning
stars...
though I
desired to find
ascendent beauty
the ubiquitous glow of
transfigured leaves
immersed me in
a divine chrome...
as I traversed
the woods, my
solitary steps found
companionship
with a sullen
mistress singing
a sad rustle
of dry fallen leaves
and as the drone
of cars faded from the
receding road
I searched myself
for courage and
found resolve
I pondered truth
and discovered
the wisdom
of resolution...
yearning to
realize a
deeper faith
I hiked
further up
the wooded hill,
visiting the gay
playfields
of my youth
and received
an epiphany
of wholesome
closure
opening
new
timeless
doors...
still questing
for more light
a prophetic wren
whirred a pliant
secret into my ear
she bespoke
a symphony
of avian
improvisations
conversing in
a thousand
luminous tongues,
relating a sonorous
elegy teaming with
the brightest
joys of life
raising bold
proclamations
celebrating a
seasons radiance
imploring me
to join the chorus...
though the canopy
of the woods still
boasted boughs
of green
the
infant hues
of spring had
run its course
the glory of an
expiring season
strewn on the
forest floor
covering the
mouldering stags
inching back into
the compost of life
breeding blankets
of furry moss
feeding on the
primal organica
of seemingly
expired flora
here, in this
darkened moment
I realized
the transcendent
miracle
the loam of life
incubating
churning
in concert with
the turn of
seasons...
to my sorrow
I missed the first
rays of the morning
the first
peeks of light
a breaking day
gracefully bespeaks
upon a sleeping earth
awoken in new light
yet I am filled
I am transcendent
I am the first ray
of an eternal light
I am the first ray
of my earthen
gloaming...
on the morrow
the best of me
is in the marrow
of all who loved me
and all whom I loved
these rays of me
will forever rise
in an eternity
of dawnings
For Joey
Godspeed Beloved
Vaughan Williams:
Lark Ascending
Oakland
101313
jbm
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
we rejoiced
when the sign on the parking meter said we could park for free.
your kind hand
in clumsy mind,
we strolled.
we were caught between the arts and business district,
so the shops and eateries weren't
sure if they should be cool or classy.
we strolled.
we passed an army of delis now abandoned.
a greek place,
a gelato,
a couple of hotel diners,
we rounded the block,
came back close to our start,
decided on the only restaurant
that was open.
as we were seated,
the already present patrons
stared ceaselessly, with no blinking.
people always stare at us.
i think they have trouble
categorizing us.
we aren't fat.
i don't wear affliction t-shirts,
you don't dress ******
we are caught somewhere
between the summer of '72 and indie rock brats.
our waiter was uneasy,
he had black hair, a beard,
a voice that squeaked and stuttered
as he boasted the organic and local support
the restaurant waved as their prideful flag.
order taken, people still throwing quick glances,
the music was right up our alley.
we took turns saying the names of the bands.
Cake, The Strokes, Spoon (the setlist's favorite), a deep cut from Bowie's Low, and a multitude of indie darlings that i can't remember.
i fell in love with you again.
i guess that makes the fifth or sixth time.
your child's eyes,
warm laughter,
and noble concern for the ****** state of the world.
it was good conversation,
it was good food,
it was a pleasant warm-up
for the remainder of our
getaway weekend.
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 10:10 AM UTC
Wellspring of blood and gold
In flame and glory ever
Doest thou faithful rise
Cast off thy vapor shrouds
Radiance of ancient godhood undimmed
Magnified by singing ice
As prophesied in the late darkness thy
Hoped triumph heralded while
Bearers chained on metalled rails
Muttered protest under
Hoary breath of polar air
But lo! The brazen promise of thine
Image graven in beholder's eye
Rings hollow in the bitten ears
And the stung flesh
Feels thy boasted fire
Not at all
Above thee stands the city's goddess proud
So virile once thou smilest
Upon her white clad shoulder now
Ceres scorns thine impotence turns not
But fixes her steeled gaze
On the frozen north
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 10:46 AM UTC
I watched the sky transform
Overhead,
As the sun set
It flourished more than ever.
I watched in awe
As it changed colour,
The clouds shed its white washed skin
And boasted an undulating opalescence
Of pink and lilac,
Soft like candyfloss,
I felt compelled to reach up
And sink my teeth into it,
Only to let the rain fall
Onto my lips and seep
Into my skin.
I traced the clouds
To the horizon,
Where fiery hues of
Orange burned bright
Like wildfire,
An irresistible iridescence
That filled my belly with
An inferno
Not even the Seven Seas
Could tame.
Before long,
The stars filtered through
The kaleidoscopic creation,
Illuminating the Universe
Like the London Skyline.
I pick one amongst the
Palette of scattered clouds
And wish that I can witness
This masterpiece
The same time tomorrow
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
They repeatedly boasted aloud
of conquests and victories
for a short period between
their palmy days of youth
and unexpected quick death;
a mad rush of adrenaline
before thought could wake up reason,
nothing more than a basic need
for impulsive violent action,
few drops of poetry could have changed direction,
a death wish triggered by moments of darkness
that invites a chain of tragic consequences.
But thoughtful they were
to hire overzealous writers,
being aware of their need of arming future.
The writers extolled the futile deaths
embellished words, made it look heroic
which really pointed only to a ****** end.
Look at each tomb stones lined
here in the cemetery, once more
see, if the names extolled once are still not eroded.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
4 am child awakened from sleep
By my father gently shaking my shoulder
It did not matter that my sisters
Had declined first
I, the youngest, was about
To inherit an honor
To go alone in the boat, just dad and I
To Little Swan Lake, about 3 miles from home
A familiar place very different in this light
Night sounds and odours distilled
He lowered the boat into the water
And extended his hand to help me climb inside
Looking around me, this darkness was new
Enchanted silence was new and
It did not take long to recognize
That I liked it that way
Soft rowing carried us
To the center of the lake
Where quietly drifting
He introduced me
To the space
Where humans were asleep
And nature claimed you as her own
Smoothing words with his hand
He implored me to be still
As he gave me the gift
of Solitude
An hour passed as we listened
To the rhythm of water
The voices of fish
And the depths of our thoughts
Our eyes exchanged sadness
When other boats crept in
Knowing soon, daylight would waken
The sleeping dogs and invaders
And we would no longer be alone
In our nest of idealists
Did he know
How I worshipped his every action?
That every word he spoke has molded my character?
His humility would never have boasted of such
Which is all the more reason to want to be like him
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Seven year old Meghan boasted after school
that she already knew who she was to marry --
His name was Jack
and she had cold, hard facts
to back up her theory
on why he would be her perfect husband
"He's not crazy and we both like legos"
Fair enough.
*if only we never grew out of our old toys,
never stopped building and re-building what got torn down
brick by brick
maybe then I'd still be hiding in the closet
kissing eddie martin with the lights off*
But neither of us like legos anymore
and I guess we're both slightly crazy
Meghan will learn soon enough
that after a while you will step on too many legos
and you will have had enough
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
I t seems it was my fate to be
Introduced to this addiction
Born by way of bloods descent
Mixed with generations past affliction
I have watched them sink so lowly
Into the depths of selfish little cracks
Like burdens of un-human kind
Carried on their children’s backs
Feeding on the scraps in life
Of those who struggle to survive
They care not for a child’s grief
When their addiction comes alive
It passed me by with sorrowed grins
Longing and obsessed by what it craved
I watch in mourning as your gift
Of any tomorrow was enslaved
You took the food from our mouths
To dine in the belly of the beast
On our tears and misery you fed
Addiction boasted of its feast
All of you just wasted away
Right before our haunted eyes
The depravity of selfish want
No longer wanted its disguise
I left your addiction to starve
Within its bowels I did divest
IT chokes within my bitter heart
While YOUR life he can digest
I am sickened by the display of false fault of the perverse
I won’t fall prey to your depravity or this ****** up family curse
I know it’s lurking round every corner waiting for me to descend
It's the shadow hounding at my feet and the cycle without end
There’s a needle in my hand
And a bottle of gin on the table
I would smoke this entire bag of ****
If my lungs were able
There are lines drawn out across my mirror
begging for my endless attention
There are hundreds of little jagged pills
That laugh at your impending intervention
There is heaven here
In this ecstasy and elation
Making love to all these drugs
Through oral copulation
It’s not any one of these drugs
That gives way to my endless contradiction
I have found that escaping my pain
Is my only true addiction
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC
Instincts rising from the ashes
A long forgotten rage
Boasted proudly long ago
Now seems to fade with age
Through blood and war torn battlegrounds,
A fierce loyalty was wrought-
Because even back then the people knew
Happiness can’t be bought
Time may heal all wounds,
And things may change with age
But for those who carry that ancient anger
The future is their cage
We praised them and we trained them
With murderous intent
Then peace dulled our edge
And into the corner they went
And though peace isn’t shameful,
It just doesn’t seem fair-
That for something once so prized
Now they must despair.
Jun 7, 2021
Jun 7, 2021 at 1:04 PM UTC
I learned an important lesson
during a street hockey match.
Don't stand in front of slap shots.
Some runt boasted
of how powerful he could smack the ball,
and I howled with laughter, a hyena,
standing my ground,
confident as a peacock,
feet away from his stick.
I was a hockey god none could conquer,
and he, a puck peasant
whom I could smite with a single shot.
But then he slapped
The ball, Crack!
the start of a track meet.
From there my memory is as shaky
as my knees when the ball
crashed into my eye.
They say I wailed and crumpled
to the ground, clutching
away, feeling the stinging
tears come.
I tried to fight them,
but like the eternal rains
endured by Noah, down
they poured. I slunk home, head-hung
In shamed defeat.
I ran to the bathroom
to inspect my battle wounds,
and there in the mirror,
dark and purple as a stormy sky
was my first
Shiner.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 11:20 PM UTC
Sometimes I would walk through the halls,
feeling nothing but anxiety.
My mind would become flooded:
What should I be doing…
what should I be saying...
what is everyone thinking?
See-
I used to float to the back of the room
to the back of my mind where
I escaped the world by reading.
Nerdy.
A loser. A freak.
I was too intelligent for my age.
It wasn’t COOL to get straight A’s.
Then I advanced to the seventh grade,
with no idea my life was about to change.
I made a friend.
Then Two. Then Three.
A former unknown concept: “popularity”.
Skater shoes, with laces you didn’t tie,
pink backpacks, hair straight as a pin-
Abercrombie-
led me to a moment I still hate today:
“Try some of this”.
It wasn’t COOL if you said no.
It was my first taste of intoxication,
my first taste of escape-
escape of my mind, the thoughts,
The anxiety.
The more I sipped, the more I let go.
The drinks would become stronger,
we raged every other night.
Tolerances were creeping up high,
control started waving goodbye to my mind.
It wasn’t COOL to be sober.
We laughed, we kid-
called ourselves “alcoholics”.
If only then I knew more, and the future I would soon endure
because of the potion we poured and poured.
It wasn’t COOL to be a lightweight.
Some years later I bragged and I boasted,
over the amount of liquor I could intake.
“The only girl who could outdrink the boys”-
the girl, I’d someday unrelated.
She’d fallen for everything society had wanted to create.
“Popularity”.
Then came the day I knew would eventually arrive-
the day of realization and what it meant to be alive.
I no longer wanted to be COOL.
Because with each drink, the value of life was swallowed-
I never have felt
quite that hollow. As if
all the knowledge that once filled my mind
vanished.
I yearned for nothing but to go back to the days,
when I was uncool
and got
straight A’s.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
he stared hard at the sky
and saw the whitest of stars...
a simple glimpse inside his mind
was all I needed to fall in love.
for the stars weren't stars at all,
just white bubbles in a sea of hope
stretching out to the sheer depths of imagination.
he boasted of the morning birds and
their sweet, sweet songs...
a creature I had come to hate,
he made me long to hear.
we've heard all our lives
how attraction is necessary in love
but I told him I loved him
before I ever saw his face.
and I do, oh, how I do.
those bright blue eyes bring feeling
back into my empty, empty soul.
he makes me unafraid
to love again, and to grow
to be the fullest essence of myself
without pause or second thought.
all these years...
I've been scared to be truly vulnerable
I have called myself nothing
unworthy
ugly
not good enough
you know what he calls me?
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
I was driving to work tonight and I almost swerved off the road because I was staring at Orion's Belt as it hung near the horizon of the sky.
Please study the following photo and connect the dots on Orion, his belt, and his arrow:
(A detailed answer will be on the back for comparison)
I do not pretend to understand astrology nor astronomy.
Orion’s arrow always points north. You can use it as a compass if you are traveling somewhere where there are not many signs of light. In October, if you crane your neck and squint your eyes and maybe pray to God, Orion will shoot arrow after arrow off into the sky and you will be able to make your first wish upon a shooting star. (If you are in a desert, and that is why you are navigating by constellations, pray for help.)
His belt is made up of three sisters and I wonder if they talk to him in the night and keep him company?
(Is it possible to be up in the Heavens, overlooking the world, while still feeling lonely and insignificant?)
Constellations move minutely every year. In this way, they are similar to humans. Always roaming. Always looking for change.
When Orion boasted that he could **** any living animal on the planet, Gaia, the Earth Goddess, objected and sent a scorpion after him. After his death, Zeus flung his body into the stars; fractured to pieces, glowing softly in the night sky, Orion continues to hunt his prey into the dark, cold depths of the Milky Way.
Maybe, if you prayed to the Greek Gods, you could find yourself breathing in the stars, too.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
I follow your eyes,
As a traveler follows his compass;
Cruising through the tides
Searching for the enormous.
He began the journey,
Thanks to his wanderlust,
Mine, chanced on being scorny…
I count on being the last!
Twists and turns adorned the track,
I scolded them
As my thoughts went scavenging a snack
Right on the hem.
She boasted her 120kmphs,
I could only smile.
Didn’t she see me at all?
Where I was all this while!
They sprang from both sides,
Adoring her fair
How could she even see through,
The symmetry worth a care!
You caught the wind,
As a kite fluttering, does
Eyes closed, lashes twined,
You smile contagious!
Careless you were,
As I asked for the plan,
Grooving in slow motion,
Ignoring even a sun-tan…
Now I wonder if
The windows are open,
My thoughts are shy, they can’t shout
Wanting to collide with yours out!
You went out,
Telling me to imagine,
Since, my pen’s been my spoon…
Even as I went on to dine.
Someday I will drive,
Or just stare at you, driving,
Unless you have your lovelocks
For your face-hiding!
And sing to each other,
Some songs as rhymes,
Check out on the trees afar
If even a single bird thrives.
Eat terrible food,
Feeling them to be tastier,
Laugh quite like insanes,
Hoping to feel hungrier.
Unending roads with us meeting,
Breaking into a jig
Again and again, as
Mirth and joy go on knitting.
Light or dark,
I really don’t care,
Go out with whosoever,
But won’t you stay true to me, dear?
I attempt to quiet my mind,
Caring not to look behind,
I promise, imaginations won’t be a hype
For, you are the roadtrip of my life…
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
I looked on as an elderly man was painting an old farm house in oils, surrounded by trees dressed in their autumn finery. The house was shown as an aged and faded white surrounded by a low picket fence that had fallen into disrepair and long since been forgotten. The old dilapidated barn in the distance was expressed in varying shades of grey and peeling red paint. I was enraptured by the image I was seeing unfold before my eyes. It appeared to be such a simple piece, but it grew in complexity the longer I viewed it. Its underlying tones were of sadness and loneliness, time, and things forgotten. I balked at that, finding my initial assessment woefully inaccurate, this was not a lonely place, a forgotten place; this was a place that had seen life and heard stories! I knew the man had not yet finished with his painting and would not be so for some time. He was quite meticulous, as if he was paining the memories of his life. Every stroke of the brush had its designated place, its own meaning, and the way his hands grabbed absently at the different brushes seemed as if they had been pre-selected before he ever began. As his story was being narrated in layers of paint and hue, I found myself thinking about what life might have been like in that place he was creating. Who might have lived there? The colors in the painting boasted an autumn season, and though they were warm to the eye the season would have been cold, the growing…slow. No, it wouldn’t have been planting season, it seemed more likely that it would have been hunting season. I imagined game animals in the surrounding hills and a man in a flannel jacket walking silently through those amber colored woods, with rifle in hand and beagles in tow. The frost of his breath echoing the smoke that whispered from the chimney of the house. It would have been warm inside, and maybe children played by the hearth in the day’s early hours before they went reluctantly about their chores under the watchful gaze of a firm, yet loving mother. My thoughts darted to and fro about this painting in the most ridiculous of fashions, seeing people I would never meet, living events that never happened. But I was held to it long enough to allow my imagination to escape, and for a while, frolic freely with the idea of something beautifully simple. I left the elderly man to his work as I carried on about my day, thinking to myself all the while that if a picture is worth a thousand words, a painting is an unread novel.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 6:43 AM UTC
laying in bed with ephemeral kate:
her hands are
brazen, fingernails clenching upon
my hips beneath the sheets,
her grip barely elucidated beneath
buttercream bedsheets.
her pale pink *******
cast aside hours ago,
and now the sun slants
westward upon her bedroom walls.
I laid waste to her skin,
ravaging her with lips and tongue and teeth,
and I am
sated, if only for the moment,
scent of her skin upon my tongue and
her ****** a badge of honor upon my mouth.
her bedsheets are ruins,
UNESCO World Heritage Site
waiting to be uncovered and reclaimed;
if it wasn't oh so lovely,
laying languorous limbs
asprawl, your stomach pulsing beneath
my thigh, her chest
rising and falling, rising and falling,
beneath my head; I always boasted I was
cutest when sleepy, and she always
murmured assent with a halfsmile;
that ******* halfsmile, playing
around the corners of her
endlessly kissable mouth,
lips glistening with a mix of
lipgloss and ***
the sun dips down towards the horizon,
a girl hurrying homeward a minute after curfew;
her nails traverse upwards,
scouring my spine; my mouth is
pressed against her neck, tentative
words and laps embossed upon
the hollow of her throat.
she laughs, she sighs,
endlessly inimitable kate.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
*Some a flowing field of corn
some a barren plate
they die if they are ever born
falls quietly to their fate!
There's little in your hand to choose
not much that you can do
surely isn't a fun to lose
knowing so fast they grew!
What was once the face's grace
boastful glory of crown
vanish without leaving a trace
black or white or brown!
Know the truth bare and harsh
whatever color we dye
from sapling to the tallest grass
is destined to wane and die!*
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC