"brail" poems
I swear that I see god when I look you in the eyes
And when you smile at me a new universe is made from the Big Bang that is my heart beat
People say good things come in time but I think timing is irrelevant
because when you're in love time doesn't exists
Time is a child at two in the morning tiptoing around to try not to wake it's parents
But it doesn't matter because time could be a marching band walking over my body and I still wouldn't notice it
Because my love will always be timeless
If I could read your fingerprints like Brail, I would allow you to write a story on my body
And then I would read myself, from beginning to end learning to love every part of me the way you do
The same way I love you, relentlessly, uncontrollably and unapologetically
I don't believe in destiny but I **** sure believe in miracles
There are 7.12 billion people in the world and I got to meet you
You see when I'm with you I swear I could walk on water, and turn the water to wine as I pass
I know when we hug I've never been closer to God, and he speaks to me through your heartbeats
He tells me to remember to breath when I'm around you because I often forget
That's why there is no one in the world like you, people would drop dead while you take their breath away
And me? Well You can keep my breath, and every other part of me because now and forever I'm yours
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
1. Grumble
Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping
of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women.
A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail
and a passing girl hears
a crack, yelp, **** She turns to help
but the grumbleman is gone and the pug
with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car
is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom
wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof
in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing
dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica
she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips
She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel
the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound
in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn
shut.
Anne stood,
picked out her fathers bones
Veronica had sewn into her
pillowcase
and
she
danced.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball
where did we go?
blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become
how wrong have we gone?
well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders
way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.
And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.
You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.
I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
The music
Somehow
Managed to be
Manifested
By the duo
A deaf girl
And a blind boy
Worked
To create this work
Of art
One reads
The notes allowed
While the other strokes
The keysIn synch
They play together
Brail fails
To satisfy the imagination
And the
The hand signs
Signal
Your handicapped
Incapabilities
In case instability
Isn’t enough
To remind her
Reminders forgotten
By forging talents
Forming
As a Shaper of souls
The
Lost and found
They create a presence
Presented
As a musical performance
The conformants
Go with the flow
And accept their fate
Society tells
This peculiar pair’s
Tale
Is unlike any other
Fate begs for a chance
To show her powers
While the duo denies
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:36 AM UTC
As the blue moon climbs over the Potomac River,
I lay my tired body down next to the planted field.
Momma tells me that I’ll turn 13 tomorrow; my birthday wish….to be free
Like brail, the scars on my back speak to the humility in my life.
My dog Jip lays beside me and with a warm tongue conveys everything will be fine.
It’s the early fall here at Georgetown University
My name is Cornelius, Cornelius Hawkins and I write these words so you know my plight.
Here with me are my father, mother and 2 yr old sister.
We toil the field from dawn to dusk…the salt herring and cornmeal give us strength.
And my hands are forever clinging to this rosary and I pray God will hear my prayers.
I can’t begin to tell how afraid I am each and every day.
I try not to dwell on our strife and struggles, but day dream of downright happiness.
My family and our ancestors before us have been confined to slavery for 200 years.
Momma always says “There is no slavery, just ignorance”.
I hold her words near and dear to my heart and I never give up hope for a better life.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
sip on this game direct from the tree of knowledge
im trapping in the forest; nocturnal like that owl,
im that black panther, ninja on the prowl
highly melenated, ALL BLACK, no darth vader
highly medicated, NO SNACKs, or now and laters...
never chasing paper nor running for the mayor, haters looking for a savior
its clear they don't love their self
I'M riches in my health, stash crystals in my wealth
if your calcified then you don't feel me like felt
you buckle under pressure why purchase cheap belts?
call me Mr wizard as i place you beneath my spell
unlimited vigor feather light on the scale!
even if i were brail, still no one could touch me.
if life WERE a ***** i bet she'd bee UGLY
non the less that phrase stands uncorrect
13 LOVE 13 Raspect.....
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
my hand writing isn’t flowing
curving cursive
like a finger teasing down your spine
it’s rough
like the goosebumps
i wish i gave you
i want to decipher the brail on your arms
but i am not bold enough to touch you
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 5:40 PM UTC
What if the walls of your rosebud,
can read the bumps of my tastebuds,
as if they were brail,
and you discover all the lies
that it once formed into sound?
How truthful would my tastebuds feel,
if it headliner in the paper always read,
"I am changed" in the daily news?
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Hazel Eyes
with liquid gold,
once flickered glances,
now reckless ghosts,
etched in brail on my skin and bones.
Grey Eyes
freckled with icy blue,
gazes at me tender,
stares at me hungry,
trying to absorb the sight of me.
Afraid he might lose the likes of me.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
I like to read ***** poems
In a clean pair of slacks
Dead sober
On my hands and knees
I like to read ***** poems
In brail
Fingers like travelers
Searching for mounds of filth
I like to read ***** poems
In church
Battling old women
In there Sunday war garments
But most of all
I love reading ***** poems naked
With hands raised high
Screaming loudly
In hopes that some filth rubs off on my life
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
Subliminal messages they all give to thee
Telling me to reveal to their family
All the things they said to me.
Out there mouths the tales are told
After the casketing the letter X
With their arms I do fold.
Penning these words a gift I have been given
I write for the dead and I write for the still living.
Many a story, many a tale
Before it is to late there’s a special one
That I need to write that is in brail.
It’s time to lock your music box now
Locking you in forever your helping me on my quest
I hope to see you again someday soon
Till then have a good rest.
(SirCARSr. 9-04-13)
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
These scars lay on my skin
Delicately placed by surgical blades
Carefully crafted into my skin
They are art
They are a part of me
As always
I love these residual lacerations
This brail across my body
Telling my story for me
To those primed to receive it
The soft pink tissue raises slightly on my right
Agitated and stretched
Red from my inability to afford
Additional healing time away from work
Imperfect
Uneven
Visible
Beautiful
I love these pieces of myself
I love watching their journey
Through recovery and lifting
Feeling the changes tingle across my skin
As my body begins to trust me again
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 10:17 PM UTC
Where do I begin?
Should it be at the height of fog hours,
doping up infallible images of affection,
among sifting smugness,
end over end in my sun-stroke mind?
Should it be it all tore down from closed doors,
every imperfection, every cyst, reworked by
some sort of Mortician,
consumed by grandeur for his practice?
Or should it be at the exact
moment
that all was realized– astuteness to
how fragile every meter of my unused offal really is?
Second to sick second, and day to well day,
all woven itself into a tapestry thats harder and harder to recall
Sew the squares, and caress the texture with tips of printless fingers
Each inch calls– no, howls –out into the basin where I sit
Howls of pain
howls of stone
howls of criticism
howls of analysis
ripping through the brail that's sung to the bone
Tell to beg, where do I begin?
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
In the dark velvet lining of a humid gilded box
is a little china doll:
a delicate charm for her grandmother's gold bracelet.
She lies languid. Her sinews are chains and her bones glass.
Light swarms through her: a mess of wispy snakes.
At noon
it bounces wildly like the pinball game
she's heard so enthusiastically described
in a wildly raucous rock and roll song.
Tentatively she reaches for the stars painted through her hair
raised a bit like brail and hot to the touch.
They're made of fire billions of miles away.
They have halos radiant at midnight.
At midnight
the humid gilded box
is damp and muggy and she twists and wakes
sullen with panic and covered in stardust.
The grime of the moon coats her gingham dress,
collected as she skidded to home plate.
Precious Darling,
Bless her heart,
for unbeknownst to her the humid gilded box
is within a teapot,
upon a shelf,
within a cupboard,
beside a grandfather clock
that chimes at each curly hour and rattles the gilding
so that as the hours pass - as the days disappear:
her darling little precious box
dims like the tapestry her grandmother hung
to mourn the grandfather clock.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
idiosyncratic motions define circular thoughts and notions
grasped ideals let go in the oceans of confusion
scrambled morse code messages spelled out in brail
depict battlefields and hospital wards
sanctuaries for chaos, chapels for the wicked.
devils hidden beneath PR departments and counsels.
Put into place to distort and misplace,
the bane of clarity, cancer to the soul.
More should and could be made of this
Alas aesthetics argue and compel us to believe
lost in external endeavors, spiraling into catatonic outbursts.
Has this become the norm? We've been conditioned to accept.
The body of a man, running on the fumes of better days.
Left with nothing but ideals looking forth to better ways.
We've succumb to society and its rule.
The leader points his fingers, declares them wrong
and we play the fool, drinking from the puddles of congressional drool.
Wrapped around their fingers, yarn to their spool, we've let them mold
and take rule. Sold our souls, made way to power tools and flashy jewels.
It's the gift of "freedom", buy and consume. Don't worry about this,
they'll handle the rest.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:55 AM UTC
I.
Upon entering into this new life
One must remember to forget
So many things
So that we can come into this natural again
The osmosis of skin within the carefull
Language of rain
Motorcycles grunting to the welcome of the wind
The treadfast of shoes among the open breath of sidewalk
The old pages of a lover
Opened and left upon night
Till the ink and the darkness have become
The same shifting shadow
II.
So many of us enter into this
Silently
Without warning
This skyline and street signs whisper a symphony
A song that is etching its genesis of notes
Upon my bones
A pale brail story that wanders
So close to the lips of this city that one might think
The very buildings are leaning down
To steal them a kiss
This is a festival
For teeth and fingernail
For wrist and hip
And the ever elongating spine
III.
Let us come to claim these trespassers
Just as this city has come to claim us
The same way we claim
Our shadow when we
Turn away from the sun
Such things we leave upon arriving
The endless dust shimmering
In the rising dawn
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 8:42 AM UTC
come and kiss me
leave your fingerprints on my chest
imprinted
like brail
because i am blind to how you could
possibly
see me in any other way
than that reflection in the mirror
staring back
glaring back
swearing back
each morning.
tattoos of your every touch
black ink borrowed from the pen i wish
could inspire you
move you
grace your back
let me draw all over you
my doodles of 9/11
and how the people fell
my doodles of animals
and how they fall in love like the people
who fell.
let me make constellations
from your scars and moles
name them after the names I'd name my children
because i wish you had come from me
simply because i have always dreamed
of creating something so beautiful
it took my breath away
just by blinking.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
There is no denying it
Love has us
It won’t let go
Two things stand guard at the gate
Preventing this entwinement from blossoming
You
&
Me
You can’t give up your security
I can’t give up my freedom
It is that simple
No need for Dr. Phil
Oprah can’t intervene
This one was already written
We are a storybook
Unfolding
Page after page
Line upon line
Each chapter takes us further
Into uncharted lands
We are a mystery to one another
Like Japanese brail to an English blind man
We fumble through each other
Foolishly – carelessly
Intent on discovering the ending
Never minding the here and now
Wanting a relationship insurance policy
Full coverage
With an anti-heart breakage warranty
And a heart breaking liability
It’s a win win
Yet no one really wins
No grand prize
No parting gifts
Just good byes
And watering eyes
A sharp pain in the chest
Followed by nights without rest
These are the symptoms of un-groomed love
When tender love and care
Turns into a nightmare
And two adults find themselves
Taking a night course
In third grade flirting
No means yes
And being mean
Is the synonym for
“I really like you”
Confusing **** ...
I know
But it sure beats settling
For just any
John or Jane Doe
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
it was the library
down by the corner
where Oak
and Pleasant Street
crossed every night
that I first saw you.
rugged hands
shifted the pages
of a worn-out Catcher in the Rye
when two spent faces
met one another
like gasoline
sparking up a dimmed campfire.
I took you home;
the sun rose;
and somewhere in between,
when the sheets were dancing
and my fingertips
read your skin
as if it were tattooed in brail
was the moment
I became a writer.
Copyright © 2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
I read you like a novel
Finishing you in one sitting.
I browse you like a webpage.
Clicking every single link.
I study you like a text book.
Preparing for my final exam.
I feel you like brail.
Comprehending each and every ridge.
I know the tale you have to tell.
It’s written in your face.
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 10:11 PM UTC
Starlight, Starbright, first star I see tonight...
We have all heard the rhymes,
But sometimes the rhymes are a distraction
Limiting ones vision to a single infinitesimal celestial speck
That we perceived to look upon first
When the whole sky has been opened as if to greet us
And show unto us the mysteries of the universe
If only we know how to read the scrambled brail that are the stars
To listen to the Morse code that the twinkling lights use to signal us all
He who cannot look at the night sky and smile to himself
Cannot be said to enjoy life
For all that is life is contained in the celestial, ethereal bodies
Not foreordained paths but freedom of will,
Life is just the playing field for free will
To determine our eternal resting place
Whether it be Chaos or something a bit more orderly
Me?...I’ve got money on Chaos
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
No
You say "you don't know her
She's brilliant
she's understanding
She's the best person I've ever met
she's my hopes
my dreams
(gone)"
A fantastic character
I hate to always be the bearer of truth,
But, I've read her cover to cover
She's shallow and superficial
She puts up a facade of a unique individual and yet she's just within the boundary of normalcy.
I've examined all of her (superfluous) pages of work
And they only skim the surface of humanities skin
Circling around the moles and scars that pucker truth-
Brail for the the blind
I've dug deep within her words and read between each space bar
And there lies no feeling- no emotion...
Sheer unintended apathy
Still-With many attempts:
She doesn't capture the essence of regret or sorrow
She merely spits at its feet
And it shows
Because the pain she displays vanishes
From her readers
From the pages
From the words
From the letters
From the simple spaces
From the idea itself
And yet this somehow captivates you
Yet unbeknownst to you- you are not regret, nor are you sorrow,
You are simply embodying what she barely grasps in hopes to find what lies beneath for yourself
But you're burrowing into someone who hasn't yet lived or loved-
Who can't describe the burning bubbles that pop in your eyes from the tears of contempt
Who can't fathom deflation of breath in your shallowing lungs, nor the dam constricting your veins' blood at loss
She can't break down completely with you dangling along
So
She
Keeps you just within reach to describe something she encounters
Something she caused
Something she can never embody because her "emotions" are a half lie:A secure defense
For power over others
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
Peer deep within my eyes
and you'll see all I despise.
Inevitable pain between the highs.
Love is gone, said my last goodbyes.
All I ask is for some company please.
My soul is forever in a deep freeze.
From me, you took all but this disease.
All my dreams float away like a breeze.
Your face is forever printed in my mind
like brail that is provided for the blind.
Passion is everywhere, yet I still can't find
myself in this darkness, my soul unrefined.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC