"chinaware" poems
Curled up beneath the duvet
knees drawn up to chest
inhaling the smokey scent of my fleece
sown fresh nostalgia
I remembered how
we laughed and ate off chinaware
while sipping out of plastic cups
sitting by the fire pit
in the backyard
my eyes wandered
towards the woods at dusk
and I breathed
realizing we are just specks of dust
that glimmer in the light of our Creator.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha ...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you'll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she'll ask:
my god, what's the matter?
and you'll answer: I don't know,
I don't know ...
7.2k
today I had my tea
with no sugar
strange
no difference
everyone must realize
how quickly it
can all disappear
the woman, the man, the job, the cat,
the boy with leukemia in Hong Kong,
your chinaware
crushed against the hardwood floor,
the blizzard, the aged wine in your cellar,
your beauty, your wit, 3 birds on
the telephone wire
and all your left with
is
desperation
dissatisfaction &
disillusion
and the waitress with kind eyes shaking you
you awake in the middle of the night
asking what is wrong
what could possibly be wrong
and you reply
I don't know I don't know I don't know...
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Chinaware arranged
On a dining table -
A spectacle of silver
And breakables.
The clock strikes another hour
Yet no figure enthrones itself
At the opposite side
Of my seat.
Clutching my eyes
To the staircase
Of the chamber,
I wait patiently...
Though the food have gone cold.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 2:32 AM UTC
Synthesizing, compromising my semantics
I warp the story for the glory of romantics
You roll your eyes and say my lies are just my antics
And it's true, but it's for you, I'm sycophantic.
My need is frantic, transatlantic, it's gigantic
We feed off pain but the most gain is when I'm manic
I fear you'd run but then the fun for you's volcanic
So full of shells we call ourselves we're, like, satanic
Stay, play, pray that we like it this way
Love me like an addict just don't mean what you say
Cause if you do, and it's all true, life's a smoke and I'm your ashtray
If you'd rather be dead then you can't love me in the right way.
You're Chaos, I'm Calypso
You taste sweet on my lips though
Numb 'em up like yayo
I think I want some more though 'cause
Synthesizing compromising your semantics
You warp the story for the glory of romantics
I roll my eyes and say your lies are just your antics
Hey, yippee, you're just like me
We're sycophantics.
This beautiful madness we support like Atlas dive into the vastness and embrace the blackness
Rip into my skin I'm a succulent cactus, please survive the poison the pain's to distract us
We'll never know what makes us grow
Without the lows I could not flow
So let's be brave, **** Plato's cave and ride the wave 'till we're depraved
Because boy
I want to take care of you
I want to share with you
Lay bare with you
Because love is pain but I'm not scared with you
Walking on air with you
Electric chair with you
I'd cheat on myself for an affair with you
Dance Latin squares with you
Break chinaware with you
I'd be both baby and mama bear for you
Play solitaire with you
Make liquid air for you
And you're the worst and it's not fair, it's true
But if my name is blue
Well then I love you too.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
What if your memories shattered like a plate, dropped from a kitchen table?
Would the fracture screaming through the porcelain cut through the darkest hours of your life, stopping you from saying those words that killed a flame you had with someone you weren't ready to part with?
Would that break in the chinaware cut through the air, and stop his hand from coming down on your cheek, already stained from your running mascara because of the words he said?
Would these memories have changed?
I think no.
Much like a broken plate, after a certain point, you can't go back to those nights and stop yourself, stop what they did, much like you can't go back to the second when your elbow brushed that plate just enough for it to topple over.
There's not much use in crying over a broken plate, but you can clean up your mess, and get a new one, a better one, and learn, to be more aware, for when that plate is about to fall.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC