"brace" poems
Clear off the bed
and come lie next to me
or lie with me
or crawl under these sheets
and die with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this
Clear out your mind
and sink down low with me
or get high with me
or hold my hand
and lose some time with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this
Clean up your act
and fall apart with me
or fall, apart from me
or fall, a part of me
and take some time to cry with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this
Clean out your car
and run away with me
or run to me
or put it in reverse
and go back to the start with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this
Cleanse your spirit
and embrace this pain with me
or brace for pain with me
or take a moment to put me back together
and just be with me, with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could still get used to this
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 10:49 PM UTC
I don't expect you to understand
Why I recoil when
You extend your arms and hands
Why I brace for impact
Within the trajectory of your touch
It is warm,
and I am cold.
It is wind,
and I am stone.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Seriously?!
I'm a ****
Wait. No you're not. Hold on.
I can't find...
I can't find my ******* Help me look.
blankets flung.
nothing.
You're...
you're laughing right now?
How could you not?
Can you see that
we're standing in a
giant pond of
ridiculosity.
a glasses lense
popped out.
hair a nest
of invisible
rodents.
his belt
all askew worried
face pursed
lips.
shirt tails- a crumpled
facade of the pressed
summer evening shadows
outlined behind
the lawn sprinklers from
the night before.
and in the cab
to work
phone almost
dies. 37 degree damp
heat pressing
against the car
like a monroe-type
kitten from the
50s.
the morning world
bustling awake
the driver asks
'you work this
afternoon?'
shake my head 'no'
slowly working the
knots out of my
hair
brace for the last
day.
And I'm
still missing
my underwear.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
Lost in your arms, for years at a time
your touch was my grace,
our grind was my pace,
way made love,
like tongues make taste
I feel in love with your paste
it likes your body was laced.
between your legs,
inside your body,
became my favorite place.
Hand at my sides,
my gripping your waist.
One look in your eyes,
giving passion a new face.
Touching your body,
emotions erupting,
Adrenalin gives race.
I can hear your heart beating,
as your blood starts to race.
our bodies interlaced
from the inside,
You can feel me inside
I'm so deep, your fingers dig in
as your brace.
Pleasure is pain,
and its writing across your face,
the slower we grind,
the further your mind goes,
to that distant place.
As your hips whine,
my waist line sets the pace,
as my mind plays rewind
I press forward, like the present is time
and I'm living it in real-time
still amazed by your grace.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
Twas the night before
Hawaii islands on the radar
A monster opened the door
It shoulders a storied scar
Of the last time, it hit its mark
Rearing its ugly head, ahead of pace
As the eye looms '82 in the dark
Wrinkles on this eve sit sadly in boldface
Kauai sat once in unnatured infamy
It sunny shores hit once by the beast
Clouds of villains played in that symphony
With the next generation looking to feast
As the residence brace for the worst
Of the monster stepping on its paradise
With category four winds and cloudburst
The hope is that the monster plays nice
With the Aloha Spirit preserved with leis
In place of bold headlines of strung wrath
Hawaii can pray rays of light in the coming days
Willing the monster to take a different path
Logan Robertson
8/23/2018
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
It's strange
how childhood felt
like a train ride
that would never stop
like reading a book
with an infinite number of pages
But now you're 19-turning-twenty
and the train has finally
come to a definite stop
the tracks have changed its path
and you've reached the end
the epilogue
It's time to move on
move along and grow up
step off that train
and on to the next adventure
close that book
and start a new chapter
Be brave and brace yourself
for there is more to come
beginnings can be daunting
because it also means
saying goodbye to a life
you've lived and loved.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
if someone tells me that jealousy does not exist
on this earth
i will tell them to look deep
inside my heart
and see the jealousy that courses through my veins
i yearn for someone to talk to
even if it's just a random person anonymously on a random site
and i yearn for a cutesy little skype conversation
with a complete stranger
and i yearn for people to ask me to go places
instead of me asking them
and i yearn for them to remember me,
and i yearn for them to remember my name
and that it's leeza, not lyza
and that i have feelings, too
and i hate this back brace
and that i just want to laugh with them
and i don't want them to laugh at me
and i just worry so much
and i am jealous because they are concerned with
grades and boys, grades and girls
and i just try to fit in
because i am jealous.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
The ladder,
The one I’m forced to climb.
A lack of friction, I seem to find,
As I take the rung into my fingers.
And the vertigo sensation lingers.
I know my lesson,
Why should I persist?
Brace my feet, step up, and
Slip.
The question:
Should I give up
And fall regardless?
Or continue
And say I tried this?
With this knowledge, then,
What good is
The latter?
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
Air is no thing
Or so I thought
But it pushes
Gently, at my skin
Separating
Edging its way in
Through my pores
And in my veins
Sliding swiftly up
To brace my brain
Filling spaces
That once I thought
Was nothing
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
it's another early AM when salt tears splash my face,
they sting, but they are daisies compared to the swords I have endured with you.
it's almost half a year since you took what was not yours to take,
with your mumbled excuses and your dismissive gestures.
i brace myself, the pain looms again, i shout at it to GO AWAY,
the reminder of what you did, but it is a pain that paracetomal will not subside, because the pain is a memory;
the increasing anxiety, the thought of you inside of me when i did not want you to be there.
GO AWAY.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
.
***Ancient games
tell tales of dust. ||| A story drawn
from the lips of two poets.***
~~~~~
It's the wits that **** not Queens of ivory or ***ink. ***
Charged with coal strokes, scraping up the lies.
Pawns & Knights slip between the grasp of the sun, leaking into* lion jaws of Leo.
Shifting these granite plates, ignoring the Rooks common price of aslant.
Here we have slain kin, crescent traitors that backstab the night and battlefield.
Closed doors and trap floors, trade me a tie, swindling your tactic ruts.
Reality never got the noose around our necks, check turned into manslaughter, and kingdoms ripped asunder by the roar of Jupiter
Get up, get up, get away from these liars, they can't have your rank or your fire.
Peak a notion, this match is spared by a luft.
Toss away the pride buried 'neath your dusty skin, it don't matter no more if death has you by the lips.
Silence is a language too in our eyes of earth.
Take my hand, knott your soul into this downfall, and brace yourself for the wreckage in our bones.
The Sword of Sorrows will fall 'pon your shoulders, not to slay thee, but to dub thee a new day.
The drums of war will knit the lyrics in the sky,
singing:
"The mighty sharpen their fangs, the weak sharpen their wisdom"
~~~~~
I'm tired of your wishbones, and golden scales, give me the hard-earned truth.
Hot coals of honesty may you tread upon, shadow-bitten remorseful may you be, don't stray off the course of Ursa major.
The North star isn't the one I follow
It's the moon with all of it's phases,
Eclipsing and crescent, tipping the sky with it's beauty.
Now let this sink further than any soul has ever sunk,
no man could ever
*rule the moon.
~~~~~~
***Shoot on command,
C
h
e
c
k
m
a
t
e***
~~~~
You could drag me to hell and back and those words wouldn't mean anything.
Let this downfall become a downfell,
Because last I checked
"Wolves worship the moon"
and I have broke it's reflection in the water
*Just
by
throwing
s
t
o
n
e
s
.*
.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
If I'm a plumber then she's my princess peach,
if she's Zelda, then I'm her Link.
If my life was Contra, then she's my Konami Code.
Can't you tell ny Lady is the subject of this ode?
If she's Curly Brace then I'm her counterpart Quote,
Seriously, I'm in love with her if you didn't catch it I left a few notes,
If I'm the Belmonts, then she's the vampire killer,
if I'm Michael, she's my thriller.
If I'm Pac-Man, then she's my Miss
If I'm Alucard, then she's my transformation into mist
If I'm Kirby then she's waddle Dee,
quite frankly this is getting sappy so I'll get to the point.
I love this girl more than a stoner loves a joint.
(bonus points if you can name all the games referenced, and the Konami Code)
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
We lay together in darkness as your hand trails down and rests between my thighs.
Your light caresses send me shivering into a world not entirely my own.
Your fingers dance in me, sliding through puddles, finding hidden doorways I'd thought long gone.
I brace your wrist, fingers encircle.
Don't stop. Never stop.
Aug 9, 2022
Aug 9, 2022 at 9:33 PM UTC
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
imagine you're standing at the edge of a beach, looking into the water. it's a beautiful beach, the best you've ever been to.
the water is pure, the sand is soft.
and it's all yours, this wonderful beach. as you're standing there, you see a tsunami approaching.
you can't believe it, this tsunami is about to tear apart your
sacred beach, and you with it.
you yell, you scream, you think of everything possible to try and stop this tsunami from coming, but on it rages.
it reaches you and you're immediately knocked off your feet, drowning in the mad water.
it pushes and pulls you in a million different directions
and you choke on its waves.
do you fight?
of course you do. this is your beach.
the tsunami has no right to be here.
you'll be strong and fight until this tsunami goes away. and so you do. you kick and you swim and you keep your head above water and finally,
your feet reach the ground again.
miraculously, when you look around, your beach is still intact.
the sand is still soft at the touch,
and the water is the purest of blues again.
but you're barely able to catch your breath for a second before you see in the distance another tsunami headed towards you and your wonderful beach.
you can't believe it.
again its waves swallow you and you're not as strong as you were when the first tsunami hit.
do you fight?
of course you do.
..right?
it's harder to keep your head above water this time,
and the waves pull you under until you're at your breaking point.
you don't know which way is up or down,
and when you reach the ground again,
this time it's your knees that touch the soft sand,
not your feet.
you're shaken. a little weak, but otherwise okay.
you get to your feet, look out into the water, and your heart stops. another tsunami headed your way...
you're not sure you're going to make it as the 8th tsunami
takes its turn on you.
you've been underwater for minutes and you can feel the last of your oxygen being used up.
it's your instinct to fight, but how much more can you really give?
your body is weak and your mind isn't far behind.
do you fight?
do you fight for your beach?
you think of its perfection and it dawns on you that no one in their right mind would give up a beach like that.
so you should fight.
shouldn't you?
you don't know anymore.
is it worth it?
the beauty of the beach is matched by the terror of the tsunamis.
it's not possible for you to have one without the other.
you don't have to make your decision this time,
because as your still deciding,
you feel your back rest upon the warm, soft sand.
you're lying down and you don't even have the energy
to lift your head up.
but you hear it.
you hear the terrifying tsunami racing towards you.
i hear the terrifying tsunami racing towards me.
do i brace myself for the fight?
do i stand up and face this tsunami head on?
do i keep still and accept defeat?
will i let the water rush over me and stop fighting?
..what would you do if it were you?
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
I cracked the window to my past
wondering, hoping, I was strong enough to bear
what was left of the pain
of the life I’d left behind.
But the pain, still real, erupted inside
ripped wide the scar.
Blood and tears combined, exploded
and filled my mind and soul with fear.
I feel myself slip down that lonely road again
being drawn down that black ribbon;
its blackness seeps in through the cracks in my soul
and muddy the joy I knew.
How can I brace myself against
the tide pulling me,
holding me,
enveloping me,
and dragging me down
until I no longer can breathe
beneath its endless waves?
I fear now I may never be so strong
as to face my memories.
So I entomb these behind a mighty shield
like the Chernobyl of my past.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 12:07 PM UTC
If I close a Door I want You on the other side with me
If I close my eyes I want your light to shine through my eye lids
When I Grit my teeth and pull away will it keep you away Forever
I can’t kiss away Suspicion
I won’t in brace Distrust
With a Reputation like that
You’ll be sure to brake something I can’t replace
When my Conscience evaporates from this Heat
I find our simple situation controlled by complex chemicals
All the things you just don’t understand
They just slip through your sneaky fingers
and I will too
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
On days like today
weary I lay,
The delicate flower
is how I am portrayed,
I pray & I pray the rain & wind does not blow me away
I brace myself as I sway with roots gripping the grains.
I grip & I fight in hope of a better tomorrow & today
As I feel as I am just along for the ride,
I start to lose faith through hours of the day.
the clusters of ghastly dark clouds begin to separate,
& The rays beaming through the clouds are breathtaking.
With light & warmth I begin to bloom,
& so do the emotions that were gloom.
When I was in doubt my feelings became frayed,
My experiences helped me blossom from The Delicate Flower I was portrayed.
{RP}
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
I saw those wildflowers you seemed to speak of.
Down that road you seemed to speak of.
On that bend, near that brook you seemed to speak of.
By that spreading oak.
All of this was spoke
by a closed mouth and hushed glance.
And those wildflowers
so wild in the white,
Starry in respite,
danced me into the night in fragile breath.
We spun, we spun,
The light drops and I,
to flail catch a bit of snow,
I lost them somewhere,
So wild in the white,
Flowers with their lightening dresses,
Tresses all alight.
The blended somewhere in there
So wild in the white,
Dancing on and into evening
Into the night, into the night.
Dear love,
how they brace me for a grace
that I cannot handle.
A grace, graceful
So pretty and then so pure,
those wildflowers you seemed to speak of,
and of yet so unsure.
They truly were beautiful beyond the words you never shared.
Don’t think upon your loveliness
Be sure, my love, be sure.
For those wildflowers were all of you
and your silence stored.
You and all your silence stored
that I so adored
I wish to seem to say right back
Of the way you seem to speak this way,
That down that road I know I find,
On that bend and brook I find,
Underneath the oak I find,
You to have and hold as mine.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
There is no chill like autumn's air
to brace a poet's soul.
The thought of chocolate on the stove
speeds up the evening stroll.
My dog must stop to sniff the air
and savor scents afoot.
While I must simply watch my step
and where each one is put.
The signs of Halloween abound
for "Tricks or Treats" is near.
How wonderful to take a walk.
I love this time of year!
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
The ****** of the east and west,
At Your recovery we all rest,
Lord is merciful but the people are not.
Clocks tick and the days goes by,
I'm afraid that you will never be forgotten.
The west will dangle you
Before the eyes of thousands.
For all the thousand things they want
Your agendas are quite right I'm afraid,
Perhaps they thought metal was the answer.
They were afraid as well.
Showed, praised and written about,
Cherished and awarded.
Our dear malala.
I can't help think,
Perhaps you're a puppet
And west the clever puppeteers.
Brave as you are,
I know for sure now that
You don't stand a chance.
Life might be short but it seems like an eternity.
For change is what you want,
You don't reside with the enemy,
You don't accept their awards.
When a government can't assure us change,
What chance do you stand with your words,
For you are just a girl with a bullet hole.
And half this country is drowned in illiteracy.
Brace yourself sweetheart,
Cause you are just another girl,
Where millions others are fighting a real fight,
All you do is befriend the woeful west.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making way to their front row seats
****** in nose
hanky in hand
and all colorfully draped
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties
*now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?*
Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:
*don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?*
These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
as members of the congregation look on with envy
*pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!*
Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in
for governance
It’s a bewildered state
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"
Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
What is beauty?
Is is the piles and strokes of powder and paint we slick on our faces each morning, evening and night because we think it makes us look better?
Or is it our white, black, or yellow skin, maybe clear, covered in pimples or freckles, round, thin or a shape with no names?
Is beauty the so called 'perfect' women we see on the runway and on magazine covers, the women who starve themselves?
Maybe it's the women who weigh a ton or have to shop in the plus sizes, break a sweat when they climb a flight of stairs or order more than one main course at a restaurant?
Is beauty our skinny, chubby or obese faces, stomach or limbs, is weight merely just a number and what really matters is what we think of ourselves? What we see in the mirror every time we stare at our gorgeous bodies and faces no matter the appearance?
Is beauty the blue, green or brown in our eyes? The price of the clothes that we wear or the quality of our material possessions homes or cars?
No
For beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and if you let that beholder be someone that cannot really see what truly is inside of you...they don't matter
That beholder may be hard to find but someday you'll find someone that's kind and kind enough to say to you what everyone should hear once, twice, twenty times a day
They will say, baby you were born this way so stand up, be strong, smile that straight, crooked or brace-faced smile because it's the smile I dream of waking up to everyday
They will say, bat those beautiful lashes to show me those breath-taking eyes that I want to stare into for hours on end no matter the color
They will say give me a hug time and time again because I love having my arms around you no matter if I can feel your ribs or if my hands can't clasp together on the other side
You ask why?
Because you're beautiful
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC