"chafes" poems
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
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122
A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon—
A depth—an Azure—a perfume—
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see—
Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle—shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me—
The wizard fingers never rest—
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed—
Still rears the East her amber Flag—
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red—
So looking on—the night—the morn
Conclude the wonder gay—
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!
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Sure the fatigue would come...
Infiltrating the sanctity of our skin,
gripping our muscles
and chafes us within.
Right down to the bone.
No doubt the fear of future days
would eat at us raw.
It would gnaw at our minds...
Debilitating thoughts that would *******
no one else but our own.
Of course the seeds we've planted,
mightn't see past the layer of soil
in which they're embedded.
Seeds hidden in the ground for future reaping...
They mightn't flourish to meet the harvest
and greet the hand which would
welcome them full grown.
Most likely the days before us
only show of dark clouds...
That constantly scare us.
But today...
Has time and space for us to exist.
Today has a crisp sweetness wafting through the air.
Firm, unwavering ground beneath our feet.
So let's claim today because today is ours to keep.
Today we share the returns...
Of the sweat and the tears that in the past
we've sown.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Every hour of every day,
In some clichéd way,
I think of you
At least twice.
I’m a friend,
I know.
You say it too much,
It chafes me raw.
Are you really that dense?
Or maybe it’s a ruse,
A system you’ve devised
To keep me at bay,
Because you just don’t feel
The same way.
I’m crazy about you,
I admit,
If you saw me now,
You’d recognize the guilt,
Brightly scrawled across my face,
Like a neon sign:
The coffee, the talks, the long walks?
All excuses,
Preambles for profound, passionate **********
That never materialized.
I don’t think it ever will.
Adieu! Farewell my friend,
I wish you all of life’s best,
I’ll cross the sea to forget you and rest,
Sail somewhere faraway,
Like Portugal or Paraguay.
Then,
On a lonely afternoon,
You’ll phone for yet
Another friendly talk,
Expecting me – your anchor, your rock,
Steam will blow out your ears hissing:
‘She is missing! She is missing!’
Will you sigh and say,
‘Ah! My Love has gone away’?
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
If the universe is expanding and
All is in flight from the center outwards,
If what is close soon shall be far;
If all is slowing by miniscule degrees
Until the whole **** lot is frozen;
If every thriving life will cool; if I am
Mistaken and you are not the fool
I hoped you were; if you are;
If, in the vast ending of this story,
It is not the plot but the syntax
That chafes against you;
If you are a mad creature,
A dissonance in the hum,
If you can be defined by your name,
And you think there is anything to be gained
In your coming to the front lines,
If you think you can slow the creeping cold
Of mumbled words and sideways glances,
If you will not be cowed or numbed -
Gather your things, say your goodbyes
And come.
Jun 8, 2011
Jun 8, 2011 at 2:15 AM UTC
Sweat and rubber
Chafes against my toes
Polish chipped like a porcelain doll
Hurling juvenile patter around
Like drops of sweet rain
Cooling the smouldering tirade
Flying on horseback
Wind twirling non-existing
Scalding coils spurt up limbs
Bubbling out in incandescent mirth
Linking and tripping
Stumbling doggedly along
Ridged gelatinous arcs
Superior to the first incline
Propelling ever up
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
An army of little girls
poke dandelions through the skin of
every man who could hurt them.
Blades in a briefcase, hide several
between their legs
until the wetness chafes her
right where the dark funnels
stop. The big people and his crosses –
armpits made of porcelain then dug
into little girl gardens,
a meadow of dandelions scrawled:
we do not give you ourselves
but we will give you our blood.
Their masculine fingers could not win,
too harsh for bald skinned little girls.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
cure yourself by finding another boy, one who wants to hold
your fingers as you lose yourself in flaxen
starlights.
cure yourself by singing until your throat chafes
like sandpaper.
cure yourself by telling yourself that you are the moon,
and the moon is you, and she is laughing with you,
shining for you, waiting for you to glimmer.
cure yourself by finding the right people, the ones who
grasp you with splintered paws and souls
searching for whatever tastes like bubblegum.
darling, you won’t be cured right away,
take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute,
don’t forget to watch the sun
rise, to smell the coffee with shaky fingers.
cure yourself by watching the cream dance with the
shadows.
bruises are only
temporary.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
In times when the heart is lodged
somewhere between the brain and the throat
I try to force it back
down to its chambers, before I choke,
or before it strangles my head's precious, antagonized gland.
There's only one way to avoid
certain tragedy, and that's to look, feel, taste.
It's either make mental tracks-
run and jump- or drown.
It's at these moments when I start
playing tricks on my mind.
Doing this is easier than you may think.
Just stop all thought,
for the mind's constant churning
chafes the heart.
Now, allow your hungry eyes to sidle
to and fro- let them wander-
dare to wonder about what hasn't,
but don't idle even for a minute
on what has, or what couldn't.
As long as you can avoid relapse,
you might even venture into what could,
as long as it's new and fresh.
As long as it isn't some woeful inquiry
growing stale since last night.
Then once you find yourself daydreaming,
or better yet, DOING,
you are halfway there.
You've made it uphill
and only need to coast down-
down the lovely unkempt slope
of impulse without crashing.
Do something new,
preferrably silly- stay
away from dangerous-
go somewhere new,
talk to a stranger,
eat something expensive,
drink a little, burp loudly.
Go wild, steer away from crazy,
but cruise through hilarity.
Bombard yourself with creative juices,
**** your phone,
bury your watch,
put on your shoes and let yourself laugh.
Once you've had some laughs,
cue up some Planet Earth
-Kung Fu's good too-
roll a joint.
Smoke it.
Grab a pizza,
fall asleep with the television on
then wake up with a smile on your face.
Trust me, it won't come off in the shower,
and trust me your heart's ok.
You're gonna be just fine.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
I tread on the tightrope
Suspended between thinking too little
And thinking too much
I balance precariously
Tiptoeing towards optimism
But humanity sways me
And I shakily creep
Towards despair
The costume chafes
There is not enough chalk on my shoe
The lights are too bright
And a pearly bead of self-awareness
Trickles past my temple
And drips on the dirt baseness
A thousand feet below
And yet--
The crowd smiles
And gasps
And cheers
And claps
And I am reminded
That everything
Is a show
So I smile
And I bow
With a flourish
And I soak in the adoration
And try to forget
That the struggle repeats
Each night
In each town
But the show can
And does
Go on
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
strip me of the defenses i wear
to protect myself from the cold
shoulders, the wicked stares
slip the armor from my speech
and reassure me
that i do not need it here,
past the judgment of the daytime
take the stony demeanor
from where it chafes against
my soft skin-
let it lay, discarded,
on the floor with my guardedness,
my cynicism
let me be the angel
i have learned to smother
let me spread my wings
without bruising them
on mankind's abrasive habits
here, where sin is not forgiven
but rather accepted
have me whole and nothing more
with no more negative
space-
in this room,
mold me, with accepting hands,
into what i always was
into something small, something
honest, something trusting
let me let my guard down
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
Once again I’ll blame the weather
that I can’t get it all together
and wrap the tethered, skimpy shawl
of concentration around my mind
Frustration penetrates in the wind
and chafes away with hourglass Time -
who falling tactless through the illusion
tries to
b
u Me
r alive.
y
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
genius is snapping at my dragons. feel free to ask them. they’ll barter hard tongues
and won't apologize for mad hatters. but this. This matters.
it ungathers. It unravels and the sunscape chafes on the void's tatters.
but it rathers you know me now,
than meet me at crossroads.
it's your call.
come
from your unexamined life
and be sitting with your eyes
like two mouths.
they will speak when spoken two;
when i give you all...
and you want me
too.
hello. my name is unsung. and That's the song.
don't get me wrong; but right your vessel -
and
this ocean will float your devils
with your nephelim. with your unbridled elan.
be sweet. keep your feet unplanted, but be enchanted by the road you're on.
find me in the thicket of unbearable seeing.
you will be me -
for the moment you release
' things '
and imprison Nothing.
of course
you'll need a cauldron
to rehearse your heresies
as often.
may i suggest
a new
guess ?
a question that suits you
better than " what the **** ? "
and has feathers ?
can we do that
and love each
other ?
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Sigh
I wish he was here
Sigh
He won't leave I fear
Sigh
You wont believe what was said
Sigh
It's easy to slander the dead
Sigh
What it is to be warm
Sigh
To feel without scorn
Sigh
The need to be safe
Sigh
An embrace that chafes
Sigh
Where are we now
Sigh
No feilds to plow
Sigh
Wrap yours arms around me
Sigh
We'll be what we want to be
Laugh
Happieness, a piece
Laugh
Freedom of release
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
We're taught to move on,
To be strong!
Shake it off, champ!
You'll get 'em next time!
Except this isn't a ******* baseball game is it?
These losses aren't ephemeral,
And loving the ghost of someone,
Is like dragging a cinder block
Tied around your neck
Your delicate skin chafes, tears and bleeds,
And as you gag,
Perhaps you wish you'd find yourself
In a lake with that cinder block
Gurgling, staring eyes wide
At the block to do something!
Haven't you loved it so?
Bubbles rise.
Fade to black and remember
Your thankless love,
Remember how you held this torch,
And became a martyr for no one
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
The wistful wind tugs at me,
Willing me to come out and play.
I can see it tickling the barren November branches,
See its aftermath in the chaos of crunchy leaves.
Cotton-tail clouds yield before it,
And it wriggles into the core of flustered students,
Who flee from it and clasp their jackets more tightly about them.
I embrace the breeze, its chill enveloping and ensnaring me.
It brings moisture to my eyes and chafes my chapping lips,
Yet it is within this maelstrom that I am reminded of my own vitality.
I am hyper-aware of my own temperature,
98.6 in stark contrast to its harsh ice.
I can feel my blood pumping sluggishly,
Steadily, beneath my fragile skin.
I am reminded of my own mortality.
The pulse could cease,
And the universe would not stop its song.
The fish would stay in rhythm and harmony,
And there would still be new life and beauty.
A sobering thought, but freeing as well.
I am not the center, not even close.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
In my own skin,
I fit like a glove.
In my own skin,
I look as I always have.
In my own skin,
I look in the mirror
And see someone unfamiliar.
I slip into my skin,
And it irritates my entire being.
I slip into my skin,
And I feel like I’m sinking.
I slip into my skin,
And for so long I wriggle
In order to lessen the struggle.
I move in my skin,
And the material chafes all over.
I move in my skin,
And the resistance grows stronger.
I move in my skin,
And it doesn’t seem changed at all
To those who don’t look and never see me fall.
In my own skin,
I fit like a glove.
In my own skin,
I look as I always have.
In my own skin,
I’m screaming for my life,
and no one’s here to listen.
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
Sometimes
When the moon is up
I think of you,
More
Than when it isn't.
Out of a sense of fear
More so
Than anything else.
A security blanket.
Under that blanket
We'll hide.
You'll reach far down near me
and
Touch glazed candies
and
Pull away shy,
because you don't understand why you did.
We'll bury ourselves deeper into the
Fabric squares our families made us into.
We'll make ourselves comfortable to
the texture and the sounds they make
When it chafes our skin and nails.
The doors will open,
hallway lights will prey on the dark and
We'll snicker rubbing our toes together.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
the crust on the bread we break
chafes the palm homely
as we twist the loaf of our repast
releasing the heat of hot embers
growling in the brick womb
of our rustic ovens...
crumbling aglow, after the dough
has risen like a Christ
to a crisp.
long after the yeast has spat hollows
in the flesh of our sour toast.
it burns unburdened
beneath a barren grill, inconsolable.
croaking smoke and ash.
pitching cinders up the plume
Promethean.
it is the morning.
so our wolves will have
their rabbits
as our pendulums,
our mortality.
but the feast is not our bread...
it's the crumbs.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
In this chair is where I'll be,
It is where I will be when I write the grandest novel.
In this chair is where I'll be,
It is where I will string together the most magnificent predicate,
I will sow my words to make the most wonderful sentences.
In this chair is where I'll be when I watch it all come together,
A Voyer to the construction of a spider web of fiction,
Spun so gracefully.
It is a lot to behold in such a chair,
a chair in which chafes the fringe of my buttocks.
A chair that wails.
It is very old, and its cracks are showing,
for after all it is little more than a dying tree,
mutilated for our comfort, though,
it has become my own discomfort,
In this chair is where I will be,
When I purchase a new Chair,
and the that is where I will be......
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
I saw a picture of you today
And I thought,
"You are the most beautiful person I've ever SEEN."
It took my breath away.
I love you.
I am in love with you.
When I am in your arms
Nothing else matters.
When I see your face
I melt with joy.
When I think of you
My soul glows with awe.
But darling
I know I am okay, underneath all that desperate love.
I know I am. Somehow.
There's a bit of something there
That never was before,
Something solid.
I am so glad
That sometimes I have a lucid moment
Within the insanity of loving you.
Not-
Never!-
When you are next to me,
For then I can't imagine even breathing without being near you.
But when you are absent,
When you are absent
Sometimes I am not sad
And I'm thankful I've discovered the duality
Of worshiping you
And enjoying my life without you always in it.
And it's not perfect-
I've spent a lifetime fearing this change.
My life has said to me,
"To let go is to forget, and to forget is to lose everything.
To trust is to be unprepared for damage.
To breathe is to allow a weakness you can't afford."
There are many many moments when your silence
Chafes at my wrists like rope,
When I panic, drowning in the loss of you
Even though I know it isn't a permanent one.
But...
There are many moments, also
When I think of you and smile
Even though I know you are not thinking of me
And that
Frankly
Is much more progress than it seems like.
That is more faith and calm than I've ever been able to offer someone
I'd bring down the stars for.
I am working for this.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Greyblue overwhelms my eyes
as fog and cloud covers the sand
Stretching beside me
I step forth, leaving family behind
Lost in wonder.
Salt intoxicates, tempts my nostrils
Enticing my feet forward
The coarse sand grows soft
As it greets the water,
Melting at its touch
- my toes relish the taste-
Natural
Water rushing around me
Below me
Through me
Rising as I willingly sink in
The endless ocean hypnotizing me
Like the sirens it holds, singing to
The voyager within
A voice, now not so sweet
Stern, concerned, worried,
-motherly-
Calling me back, forming
Crossroads to my young mind
Amphibious
A tadpole
Drawn between reality and - safety?
Pulled back
The sand chafes my skin
As I walk back to the world I know so well,
And the future that remains a stranger.
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
You need to go.
And I don't know how to do it.
I don't want to forget you, to cut you off. I don't want to shatter my love for you.
There has to be another way.
But... you need to go.
I can't keep waking up sore every morning. Raw.
I can't keep talking myself out of tears.
I can't keep wondering why the hell you matter to me, and abusing myself for caring about you.
But I don't know how to do it. It's not in me to extinguish a love.
I have sacrificed every part of myself at least once to avoid it.
It has been the single thing I am unwilling to do.
The one unwavering line in the sand.
And I know where this leads- this trying to erase it.
I know because I've tried,
In pain,
In desperation, to destroy a love before. And I couldn't do it.
I threw more and more at it, unleashed every weapon I had.
And by the end...
I had caught the rest of me in the crossfire, and the only thing that remained untouched was that love.
You need to go.
But that will happen again if I try to uproot you from my soul.
It is a humbling lot. A prideless realization. That I must wait.
That I must serve the part of me that holds me captive, the only part of me I know as indestructible,
The part that reigns because nothing can dethrone it.
I must bow to it, because I like what else I am.
I know that even if I tried with every ounce of courage and hatred I have built up over my years to demolish my love for you, the dust would clear,
And it would be the only thing about me left.
And I don't want it to be.
I don't respect it enough to let it be my defining factor.
And so I sit and stew and wait, for it to loosen its stranglehold, or for you to come back.
It is a prideless thing. And I am a proud person.
And it chafes every single day.
And I swallow it, and go on.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
The eventual "later"; come and gone, why haven't I heard back from either one?
I left myself open to keep them safe, to be taken advantage; leaving chafes.
Protecting and returning by their side, thrown, tossed around and asked to abide.
Abused and used to find their happiness, left alone with your thoughts in the darkness.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC