"carousal" poems
She and I are cut from the same branch, from the same tree,
planted in the same soil.
There's not much difference between her and I.
The time that is spent with her seems to play out like a scene from a theater.
With her on the other side of the small table as we
sip away from the same ice cream float.
When we're done, she grabs my hand and drags me to the
place where happiness is always worn.
The amusement park.
She shows me the bright carousal in the center
of the park.
This is her special place and she wants to share it with me.
As we ride the colorful horse,
my eyes meet her gaze of infatuation.
After the ride she decides to drag me to go get some
cotton candy.
My hands and lips are sticky from the cotton candy.
My eye meet her constant gaze of infatuation.
It's the end of and we both lay in a tuffle of grass,
holding each others hands.
As I turned towards her, our eyes meet for the last time.
*"Thank you for the memories of cotton candy pink"*
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
I imagine you a bloodcurdling scene,
with your
avant-garde of conscious stream
slaying syntax
smearing words
like the battered wife
whose entity shadows identity.
and your rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
revolves a continuous, endless carousal
repeating controversies
without just end,
just being
oh, You voodoo Queen of rare success
how does this convince the modernist?
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:05 PM UTC
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…
Alison Wonderland.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
"Every survivor of ****** assault deserves to be heard, believed, and supported."
Rainwater of
the Elysian fields,
you assuredly do
like to drown your winged heroines?
You write them as strange
bitter narratives,
spurious to the calling
or as a bit of
bloodletting go.
The history formed around either
her breaking at the seams
upon the witching hour,
and her own home village
pillaging her claims
in the bonfire;
Or the arcane notion
no woman shall give testimony
against a neighbor
on the occasion he's a man.
Yes, she cried 'no' at the temple gate
Yes, she repeated such entreaties
But she'd also been into the ale
and wore an overtly
fetching carousal dress
you incensed.
Let her dam break
Let her try and flood us over
you mocked.
She was only a wayfaring angel
one reckless bird of passage
What type of wounds
could she inflict?
How easily you lost sight
of her will & halo
becoming stronger than fright.
Down she poured in antipathy,
until covering your gaping mouth!
It wasn't rain that killed you,
for you were the rain,
it was her blood calling out
that finally did you in...
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 8:09 PM UTC
falling into subterranean sleep, I notice such blackness
bypasses a pinprick of light; dreams are avenues
to enigmas presenting themselves as someone forgotten.
sleep laves labyrinths with incandescent sequins.
everybody is strange here, interlocutor commune,
still yet nothing I can understand – better be braille, or
contrapuntal dance, but still you uttered nothing;
your locutionary silence seeks no contentment.
i have never heard such riot
of laughter toss me out of sleep. perhaps it was our undoing,
our deepest, secretive entrails unloosen us in such fashion
worth depicting as obscenely courageous, the width
of arm-span the size of outstretched islands, and stepping into
that particular wideness, are my small feet traipsing
swiftly throbbing in the heat of choosing:
to go or to stay – cyclic spectacle that eschews
dailiness that I know I may have forgotten you in faces
of lampposts, the pared skin of onion, the gleaming washlines,
the white feral on the rooftops, a blank piece of paper,
a munificent Bulacan sky, or any sky at that since
they are all bleached and they arrive not with wind but
with lashes: the color of white that flagellates, that blinds,
that oscillates in space which is then reduced to the
back of my hand: I know this. I know all of this.
we were not naked, yet something
buried in the skin reveals itself disarmed, mumbling
an earnest palaver of questions I have no answers for.
what happened? where are we? should we just – die?
an echoing reverb, or simply a song – a metronomic
carousal of swan-song I have heard before persists
and maybe all this time,
we have been awake, in separate cities.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
The darkness always feels so calm
before the dawn comes to life.
A beam of light
that ends the night,
but we move on...
Paper boats sail down the street
til' they're swallowed from underneath.
When we capsize
it'll change our lives
but we move on...
Our lives are all the living we get,
so don't waste your days with regrets.
We all make mistakes
trying to do things great
then we move on...
This land has been ***** by time,
divided by our borderlines.
We all clash our swords
and **** our lords.
then we move on...
It's a system for the greedy men,
while others die in suffering
If I could I would
and I feel I should
but we move on...
All they want is for us to conform;
to wear a smile with our uniform.
Life's a carousal
that spins us all
but we move on...
I'm trying hard to concentrate,
as the stars begin to constellate.
We'll connect the dots
and the truth will shock.
then we'll move on...
A people who bury their dead,
showing compassion without turning their heads.
But will all that love
send us up above,
when we move on?
And as the clouds roll in with the rain
it carries those boats down to the drain.
We all love to float,
til we've lost all hope.
then we move on...
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
Around and around,
there is no end.
Just continues forever
When I was a little girl,
I loved spinning.
Rides at the park,
the slides took me on an adventure.
I would twirl around,
Just to feel my long hair blow in the wind.
Dancing, Singing, and Enjoying.
That is what I used to think.
Now circles are different.
I'm falling over, tumbling down.
I am no longer enjoying,
I get nauseous, I can't handle.
I'm getting dizzy by my thoughts,
When can I get off this carousal of confusion?
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
You hold me together the way bobby pins keep the hair out of my face. Keeping the distractions hidden from my eyes.
Spinning me in circles, except not like a carousal, but like a blender, slicing me into pieces at the same time.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
I prayed,
a silent prayer
my eyes open and heavy on him,
settling like dust on his edges
dancing like the soft sputtering kisses
of the candle light
beside our bed.
Feeling safe in the shadows and light
that play all along him,
across the celestial lay of his skin
and parade behind his eyes
I prayed.
A silent prayer to empty skies
to the soundless indifferent void
To the absents of god
That I have always known
I prayed.
A silent prayer deep behind my personal truths,
Just in case i'm wrong
just in case he is right
silently in still of night
I prayed
"thank you, for him.
for the carousal of his mind
and fire in his chocolate eyes,
for the warmth in his smile.
Thank you for his devotion
and his sharp sincerity.
thank you for the solar system
rest
upon my arm,
enigmatic, polarized and stunning.
grin induced heart beat thrumming,
thank you
for my goodnight and loving morning.
For the way he takes my hand
at night when he kneels to pray.
For all of this
If you exist
I need to say
I thank you."
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
My thoughts are turbulent.
Like a clothes dryer, round and round –rumbling.
At night, these thoughts become a hurricane.
Dark clouds congregating within the spectrum of my mind.
A drizzle quickly turns into a heavy downpour,
Engulfing my sanity.
It’s as if I am consumed in flickering flames of orange and yellow.
They are dancing around in my head,
Burning my stability in its path.
Reflections of my life are rippling towards me.
Who I was, who I am…
The floorboards are creaking under the weight of all this pain I am carrying
This carousal ride is continuous,
My mind is spinning and everything is becoming dazed.
My thoughts are turbulent.
Like a clothes dryer, round and round –rumbling.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
my essence and my being
my awakened spirit within my soul
my fire and air
my despair and my desires
the carousal in head
spinning round and round
the pendulum in my mind swaying
back and forth
back
and forth
back
and forth
keeping me in balance
keeping me in place
with you
Which is all I ever want to be
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
In a dream, in a life, in a future yesterday, the world is completely different from one lily-pad step I took on the fourth of May. 21 years spent ogling these maybes, these otherwheres, these fantastical infinite people and these wild infinite loves and intense infinite failures I could have had. I spend much time pondering them, but never wistfully, just thoughtfully. I regret none of the nowhere I am, so I wouldn't wish it away, but because of my reckless mind I wonder regardless of reason and logic.
But today, I wondered what if I stopped letting myself wonder and started letting myself dream.
I spent most of those maybe 21 years locked in a tower were maybes were the only hopes I had. But, below the tower as I now am, maybe maybe isn't all I have anymore. Maybe yes can be my new maybe. Maybe why not can be it.
As a writer, by condition i ask what could have been, what maybe could happen, but I struggle with why nots. With the bravery of a careening carousal ride or the average person of my age. I have let an inkling suspection that the world may **** me deter from all adventure. I've worked on it, but the acidic pinpricks on my skin make me cower like all alien-fearers should.
But funnily, I feel like an alien. So why not brave the danger by brandishing a hook and baring my own blood?
Today, I listed all the maybes I could be, and decided I should try some. Maybe I won't do them all. Maybe I'll hate them. But maybe I shouldn't give a **** Maybe I should stop looking back and seeing all the turns I took that culminate in a loss of some wild experience, and look towards what is happening and see the maybes that lie before me.
Maybe I could have been a crack addict. Maybe I could have fallen in love with a different him/her. Maybe I could have drunk acid and be staring at my skeleton bones from the smooth waters of hell.
But didn't.
So maybe, instead, I could be a yoga lover, and maybe my hair could be green, and maybe i could get over my fears of being even a little bit cool.
Just maybe.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
I keep my life in a over night bag
I need to be medicated so I won’t feel sad
I want off of the carousal
I got sold a ticket headed straight to hell
Oh these days I just feel like ****
I’m so simpleminded I’m an idiot
I don’t wanna die but don’t get me wrong
They say life is short but Iv been like this for way to long
So set all sails at half mass
Ill someday get there but not so fast
I’m to Blame for all my mistakes
I’m sick of sappy memories leaven me with the shakes
You know I love you but I’m not the one
You can definitely tell I’m my fathers son
I don’t want to be here so don’t act surprised
I had a dream we’re I actually died
The word of death leaves with a awful taste
I just wish for my memory’s to be erased
I want to disappear find something new
But I don’t want to disappoint all of you
So set all sails at half mass
Ill someday get there but not so fast
I’m to Blame for all my mistakes
I’m sick of sappy memories leaven me with the shakes
You know I love you but I’m not the one
You can definitely tell I’m my fathers son
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 11:38 PM UTC
my sins are destroying me
tearing at me piece by piece,
all my mistakes and my hopes
my hopes that reach up to the sun like Icarus on wax wings,
destined to burn up in the cosmos and send me plummeting
round and round i go on this carousal of my demons
its all in my head but i cant stop it
maybe next time i just wont fly so high
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC
Descending upon a barren desolate wasteland
a true zone of infinity
and depth one sees the crutch one
carries into the ocean of plenitude
and gluttons bearing torches
snigger under death breath
breath death
smoking cigarettes
in the carousal of fools.
The carnival of errors,
Life itself.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
The ride is
a sickly set of statues
circling,
an ornate beauty
of predictable movements.
A carousal of fools,
stallions set stern in silence,
a caravan
of unwilling men
and women
that never stride
outside
the pre-ordained.
I watch them
still as mannequins,
eye set in the same positions,
seeing and thinking
the same thing.
They do not listen to
or hear the words I sing
when I try to bring
them their freedom.
The circle stops,
plastic bodies drop.
Paint chipped
they all dip
and rise no more
as I go on to explore
everything, alone.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
"WE therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into
corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body..."
I am hundred years dead
And the water is dread wide —
Hunch I my head against the wind
Straight from the shoulder, H/E angst,
But goes my algorithm awry —
Memory nipped my insanity yesternight...
... ... Mortified right I was;
Ain't cotton to lovers for years...no...
Could slip they my pious sleep away
By a little sleight of hand...
Love is a briny deep, but sets at the shore,
Vaporizing the Vistavision — and
How all the dreams that sound subdued,
Not to be assayed and to be limited not,
Follow the spells of fatuity's skill sorcerous —
From the cradle to the pyre
Chased I the broken velvet sky; let
The sacred shudder to ask what toxins they contain;
Eventide breaks from pain to fountain pen,
Count I thy decrepit blessings —
Brain crying dearth,
heart...peopled by void,
soul acting out an enigma,
shadow wounds up to sleep —
Thou water not wet...
Their carousal is on a carousel ride —
Awaiting my high the next low tide...
Come thick with me and be my thin,
We shall die down, but hang in;
The sun liar mounts and rains my croon,
Spy not quicksand, we pink moon —
My, my, a thousand-spring-dead - I!
The balloon did spring not a leak; still
I'm suspiring time —
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 5:37 AM UTC
From black and brace strings lightning plank
Walking lines of dimming lights.
With ease eyes fade in eternal sea
Carousal bottomless pit of familiarity.
Hands hold fighting ****** brevity
Flight of Soul’s simple longevity
Fog of gray
Bring dusk and dawn
For those who stray
Must blend immiscible,
Or you will pay
And parish hollow.
Born to old warm then cold
We find familiar footing
Last gasp past flash our legacy and crown
The wisdom bestowed on you
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
psychosis grips, grins.
Blink.
Shake my head.
Take a sip of gin, make the gut glitter
touch up brainwaves
rainbow palisades carousal ride around repeated word again left right up down **** me wheres the ground movie movie I'm the star listen wait, let me out the car.
Grips. Grins.
Sip. Gin.
Cycle.
****
How do I scream with written word? It would take a page or clever words but all I have is a sound. Doesn't translate.
Then again, nothing does.
Grips.Grins.
Sip.Gin.
Cycle.
****
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC