"borderland" poems
Goliath:
You buy your love with bourbon creams,
cans of beans and full cupboard brims;
steal clothes to hide a torso of lies
twist that in with teaspoon brown eyes,
deeper than any holy bible’s spine:
found in hotel drawers,
away from the preachy, needy, cast iron shrine.
David:
Whilst the girl you’re with has nothing to give,
no family member nor money splendour,
you battle on with the train rides
cross country,
cross country train track guides.
Audiobook it; listen to it; learn it and write it,
write the letter she deserves, explaining
the ins and outs of your hidden nerves:
the nerves entitled ‘I don’t love you anymore’
My first poetry pamphlet, 'Homeland & Borderland' is still available to buy for only 3.00 GBP with free P+P to anywhere in the world. Both handmade and self published>> http://www.coffeeshoppoems.com/2012/11/it-is-here-homeland-borderland.html
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
six-inch heels abandoned
in lampless corner grimy pennies embedded in carpet
rent's due
wedding band girl "fab polka dot frocks"
waterfalling past knees outta place
on casino bus destined for rest under Ft. Worth stars
now, now ********* borealis speckled dice
true love waits
socialite lip balm and bourgeoisie hips compete
in bidding war over which black face triggerpulls
which black face eyes the ground
passerby the red light the green light
all night diner egg on chin coffee-stained porcelain teeth
"I forgave, I think. I forget."
crowded and paranoid in the left lane the right lane
empty and weak and surrender and soiled underwear in ammonia nursing home
children is a word time is a lie the polka dot and the interstate ain't selling
divorce the consequence of acoustic shadows
reblog undo #sotrue reblog
living through x-ray radiotherapy the dotted gown
never the veiny calves or the blush or the eyeliner
somewhere in North Texas shawtys are in the club
shawtys are backin' it up shawtys are dropin' it down
hit me+hit me+hit me=blackjack mishap
the marvel of the wind and of wind turbines
cognac decade brides the epitome of class and natural elegance
standing like oil derricks and treated like oil wells
so secretive and philanthropic
this taxon remains nameless
casino turned dance hall dance hall skinny ties still a thing
this wine is good. is it a merlot? no. this is purely recreational
for birthdays for weddings and Ft. Worth missionaries
10-50 passengers we've got 53, no 54 #hahahaha #whoops #party
who needs unprescribed drugs? me, me (!)
decomposing mascara sweat on brow the interstate no longer lit
polka dots has got the suicide by Manet pulled up
on her iPhone the financial stress which shudders warm-blooded moms
on her lips every mother a librarian every mother a swing-pusher
but digression next to bitterness the lowest sin
edging the cultural gateway of the old west
miracles in and miracles out of tradition following
the slender bends of middle ancient Trinity River
children a word pattycake a game
and time time a lie we left to museum panoramas
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Where the sea meets the sand
is the battle for the land;
a war for territory,
the everlasting story.
The tides that soak the beach
are always slightly out of reach;
Sol chases them away,
but the moon is here to stay.
So plan for the destruction
of man's every construction;
for eaten it will be,
by the hungry sea.
But forever is the sand
that marks our borderland;
eternal it will be,
unlike you and me.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
busking to the outer hands
grasping for a taste of life
reaching for a soft thigh
breathing in the scent
upon a sigh
I sing the song of the outcast
the borderlands stand foreign
against all thought
and the ruling emotion
is
pure
emotion
a guttural cry is last
next to our swaying motion
darker than the twilight
throatier than a growl
to come apart in the moonlight
without running a foul
of crossing from the sunlight
to the darker plains of pain
the borderlands are not for the weak
or those starved of the rain
the dryness is oppressive
the darkness is aggressive
dusking in the borderland
leaves one crooning
to the old world muse
with a fragility
that is impressive
so they sit upon the crossroads
listening to the songs of desire
and watch the sun set
but left an empty shell
because they refused
to be consumed
by the fire
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
I play Mediator, mediating between two strongly influencing Forces.
They are of different spaces, but each knows of the Other.
I listen to them both osmotically, they are often at odds with each other.
I am a practiced listener, objective enough to understand the nature of their Stance.
I retrieve below the surface message, the empathic persuasion in me does this well.
Such accounts for any bipolarity I might exhibit in thought or emotion.
One Force thrives on impulsive pleasure, in behavior there is tremendous energy and manic spontaneity.
No concern with inhibition or societal conventions. I must always keep in check a childish tendency to center motives solely upon itself.
This is when I make intervention and repeat the Lesson of Conscious Expansion....
I have Authority and so of course this Force listens and quiets it's power back to steady periphery.
The other Force is Otherworldly.
So Extreme, it by far surpasses me in ability.
This Force I tap into, I listen to its subtle inflection, it's Perception is uncontainable, it's Language is unexplainable, but Understandable to the Sensitive Senses.
Here is the Gift, that must be earned, must be learned and respected in the Temple of my Soul.
It must be carried through the plight of Spirit searching, knowing no discontent or schism, no division, or derision.
I draw down this Force, I pull up on the Other One.
Puts me in center position.
I Am the Mediator
I am the Borderland between these two worlds that exist in Me.
I will attend to my duties.
I Am the Mediator
of Me.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
_Sitting with you in the kitchen
Talking of anything
Drinking tea
I love you
…
Oh I wish you body here
With or without the bearded poem_
-Elise Nada Cowen, "Sitting"
Face the firing squad, Evan -
the dowsing rod pierced memorial waters
coiling in the soft morning triangles.
Morning coffee builds browning steam
as I recall the feeling of lips, hungry lips -
ladies of death and water.
The mind is the borderland.
Where does mind go after the body
returns to the ash salt cycle?
Oh, hell - who cares anyway?
Billions of years from now, the sun eats us,
the sun dies and in dying
it eats its children, like the titans did.
There won't be new stars.
Whatever lump of death I become,
will be scattered into the universal zero
way, way before that. But ... my mind?
Does it just shut down, a key turn,
going cold? A message, read once?
A name known to a few, then unknown to all.
I no longer even desire one person like I did -
I just want to connect a few times
before the lazy azure turns black.
Some company in the evenings.
I know you understand - remember
when someone slowly touched
the inside of your wrist?
"Let me out now please –
Please let me in"
Apr 4, 2023
Apr 4, 2023 at 7:51 PM UTC
Arkansas skies, endlessly wise and wider than the bluest tide
Dam closed so **** close to the edge, bullishness of the blueish hue
Borders of the borderland shuffles eastbound,
walls get built and torn back down
To see a thousand sunsets, grows tiring
Turn my back, decision made to see no more
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
*We gather at the wire,
concealed in the crowd.
Some of us quiet,
others are loud.
So many cultures
share this common sway
all are sweeping the ports
trying to get away.
We wait for disorder.
We wait for mistakes
and in all of the turmoil
some will try make their breaks.
Authorities' do their best
to keep us in grip
but they're not always aware
of the one who's made the slip.
We are always here waiting
and are concealed out of sight.
Hiding in any location,
configured by our plight.
Not a task we would choose
but what else can we do?
It's fifty, fifty I think
if I get caught or get through.
Moving swift our intention
in the hope we succeed
and to that ideal location
we hope to proceed.
Even if we're lucky
and our course we get done.
Everyday then will try us
with a life on the run.
Then if luck stays with us
our lives this will sway
but things are not always clear
always ready to get away.*
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Somewhere between
Life and death
In the borderland
Of an awake and a sleep
You strive very hard
To come back to nonage,
Somewhere on the timeline
Of creative visions and dreams
In your inner streets of "Drohobych"
In the search for lost indentity-
You fight with crocodiles
Waiting for the "cinnamon shops",
When you try to catch values
In all crying corners.
But they run away like mirror images,
When you travel by tram
Wthout a front wall
And you look for the colors
in this colorless reality...
But somewhere beyond self-mythology
You still await for a train...
And nobody knows of
Its true timetable...
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
Last bird, how cross you the distant
boundary beyond light?
In a circle of smoke I go
uttering her name the last of the words:
last splash of the high lake,
lisp of the winter wind,
words tail words, like water
emptied in the river and lake
retreating into the well
beyond them rocks deep
then into the heart of the earth
such is her name, buried deep
the unmarked borderland where
I must end and She must begin
incense-form fragrant her lips
that smell of nameless a love seeping in
across the vast, dark night;
it is the shadow of hooded fear
of being loved
that I wake up to in my nightmares
now I walk in the twilight
retreating, that upon us
the end of the day
kissed of her tresses
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
It was punctuated night.
You sleep into wakefulness.
The space between the shut-eyes
trembles, when you start sweating.
The infant-death of the dream,
incites the borderland. The―
flames rise in a partisan way,
to erase the memories of guilt.
You are in deep grief for the
coiled sperms, from end to end,
they were longer than the body.
Would you like to wake up a jinn?
A digital forgetfulness, you seek
to solve the enigma of life.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC