"burts" poems
when arrived, feels like home
like a bubble, like a dome
peaceful people all around
enjoying this crazy sound
so much colors, crazy figures
all this smells pulling my triggers
intense, incense, aromatic
be tense? no sense, just be static
entering, meeting the fellows
or should I just say some jellos
wiggling with the rhythmic music
for us this is therapeutic
waves of sound hitting my face
punching hard with deepest bass
I believe that things will turn
I choose not to be concernded
this 'so crazy, this 'so good
here we find the greatest brood
jewls of every generation
some eletric, others pacient
colored waters, not for thirst
only if you need a burts
shining patterns underneath
make it hard for me to breath
then the sun comes up for us
contributes for the new buzz
now you see who's there with you
and who didn't make it through
sunglasses get pulled out
soon the sun will loudly shout
soul, mind and body fused
into one nice breakfeast juice
that's when people start to leave
not what I like to archieve
"I will stay", I always say
until the end of the day
molly, goa, lucy, prog
buds and buddys, love and fog
I'm so glad this moments caught me
this is just my type of party
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
These days drag on
while I drag on my finely
rolled cigarette of relief
But the relief is only a hazy
mask, fading with every lash
that falls on my cheek
My hair is too weak and
unkempt, for days spent
inside enduring darkness
take a toll on one's
mentality and physicality
I am a shell of who I used to be
Lips stuck together, crooked spine,
fingers jammed from carpel tunnel
Apathetic eyes grow weary from the
vast toxins that reside behind them
seeping through like an absorbent napkin
and rung out with listlessness
These days drag on and on
I hear the same songs
and make the same motions
I miss the fresh air and
the sound of the ocean
I almost miss the faint
smell of burts bees on
your lips--I'm sick with
nostalgia and dying for the future,
hating the present, wishing these
days would drag to an end
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:26 AM UTC
The rain pours down
and my hands feel each drop
as my frown gets drowned out in the storm
my happiness burts like the sun threw the clouds
I embrace the thunder and the lighting
because I know this storm will pass
and the light will bake my skin
God has my life from here on out
and I'm perfectly okay
being swept away in this flood
of emotion.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
*Crushing losses, filled with sorrow
Landslides, in perpetual rain
Endless canyons
In the center, of my heart
With its magma, flowing down
Not in burts, but as seas
Crawling down, the open wounds
All around, to protect
From the sky
Every morning, a new sunrise
But not seen, just the clouds
With teardrops falling
In the tunnels, of my heart
Winds are blowing, smoke arises
As the sun, comes rushing in
Wounds are closing
Canyons filled
A brand new ocean
I wish to swim*
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
Burts bees mint lip balm, I can still feel it, smell it, as if it were on me,
And I sit there and watch her overly apply it on her lips, I can feel the presence of
Innocence and bike riding up the winding trails towards Kensington and
there should have been a sign that told me to stop where I was going, to prevent
me from traveling to a different state of mind where affection was insignificant
and where losing myself was a crime
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Tumbling out of bed after a long night out
(my head hurts)
after hanging out with friends at Beach *** Burts...
I put on my office face that morning like a pair of worn out shoes
I'm sad that day/I've got the blues
I let out a sigh
somehow managing to survive the 405
In my car I down my Starbucks
spilling it down my dress shirt
I'm mumbling to myself ***
I put a blazer on to cover it up
My boss cheerfully says "Good Morning"
inside my head all I hear is...
(Oh, please ...Shut the f-up!)
Wandering to my cubby I find my spot
pushing papers around all day
it's 5 o'clock n' my brain is shot...
(I should work out tonight)
Instead I find myself numbing up again
because the rat race seems like it will never end
(I need to write that book - I need to write that script)
I need a vacation...
I wanna check out - I wanna get ripped
All of this responsibility feels like such a burden
(I feel like Tyler Durden)
I've got car payments now/and rent to pay
(Do I have a choice...
Do I have a say?)
~Paradise has a price~
to live in the Golden State...
(I'm surviving)
I have to put food on my plate.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
a little walk outside
look at the sunset light, gently wafting through the chilling air, and take a deep breath
feel the warmth of dim glowing nostalgia
listen to the fading susurrus of some last remaining leaves aloft between frail twigs
do you perceive their hushed conversation with all those carefree drifting snowflakes
heralds of the coldest, of the calmest of all times
rich in hazy grayness
rich in homely coziness
are you excited about upcoming burts of dull childish laughter, scattered by agile winds, amongst bright shining white plains
searching for a name of this feeling
expectation
excitement
wistfulness
anticipation
all at once
welcome wintertime
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 7:17 AM UTC
I wonder if I truly am a poet?
I put pen to paper and write some verse.
Whatever comes into my headfirst.
Does that make me a Poet, I ponder?
I consider what i write and what does it mean?
Am i truly any good i wonder, is that still to be seen?
I write about things I see, try to capture it well, if possible a little story I tell.
I write about my feelings for my loved ones present and past.
About my marriage, children and grandchildren and how we have a blast.
Does this make me a Poet I wonder?
I write about daily happenings in the news, some horrific stories, some written to amuse.
Am I truly a Poet?
What makes a Poet good?
Is it clarity of verse
Putting others not you first
Is it being able to write short burts, Haiku style
Long stories that make people forget for a while
I guess what i am trying to say
Is, do you put pen to paper to have your say?
Write some lines in a journal every day?
Write some verse, no matter how short?
Do the lines rhyme, of a sort?
Then welcome my friend
You are a Poet
You should celebrate and let everyone know it.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC
I made a bet today.
If I came home
To a gloomy, empty house,
I'd say it's over and end it all.
But today was different.
I saw my father
Sat on the table
Eating his lunch.
He was never home early.
He spends the night here to sleep.
And the rest of the day at work.
Never had time to talk.
He called me over
"Son, let's eat."
With barely a smile
I take my seat.
He says "You're home early"
I nod and chew away.
A spoon or two later, he asks
"Tell me about your day."
It was lazy, the usual,
And spent alone like any other.
Is what I'd say
If I could be honest, father.
My father finished his meal
Gave me a pat on the head
And went back out to work.
"Goodbye son, stay safe okay?"
It was weird to me.
We barely ever talk.
But It felt warm for a second.
For second, then I brushed it off.
I thought I was alone again.
Time's about up, right?
But the bedroom door opens.
And out comes my sister.
She slept like a rock.
She woke up at noon!
But she's a grown up, older than me.
That's bound to change soon.
But like a child with a request,
She says "I wanna watch a movie!"
"You're old enough to do that yourself."
"But I can't decide which."
She says "Tell me what's new."
"The Greatest Showman?
You really wanted to see that."
Her sleepy face lit up, "Yes!"
So I play my copy of the movie.
And watched the logos fly.
The intro plays
The minutes passed by.
A young P. T. Barnum sang
My sister tries to catch the song.
So I sing alongside her to help.
And she got the chorus before long.
I swear, she's two years older.
But she's like a precious child.
She stared at the screen with glee
And a smile so wide.
I felt oddly warm to see her that way.
Like the smile was my doing.
"I like this movie!"
"I knew you would."
"It's weird though," she tells me.
"It's weird to see Wolverine singing"
She burts in a heap of laughter.
I couldn't help but feel warmer.
I came home with a bet today,
Like my life was on a coin toss.
But now I feel stupid.
I wouldn't miss out on this.
So maybe I'm depressed.
And maybe the world's a bit rough...
But days like these,
They'll keep me happy enough.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:58 PM UTC
Listen
the waking grass singing
a hymn
of spring
look
fish in the river
sketching a picture
with colorful inks
the sound of spring
carries a beautiful dream
the ancient laughter
blue gentle skies
soft calm breeze
shy flower buds
decorating a desolate forest
on the quiet
windowsill
there's sweet story
of swallows
burts of intoxicating jasmine
the heart is like
a kite flying
around in the sky
in search of it's
own share of clouds.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC