"choirs" poems
#*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter
For this I wish forever
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
softer than touch of mother
Your eyes dazzle with no glitter
For this I stare o're yonder
Locking jewels with coins of others;
Leaves throbbing chests emptier
Your form flows as gentle rivers
For this I grudge past swimmers
Glory bequeathed to the winner;
drown will the losing suitors
Your voice humbles angel choirs
For this I listen eager
Songs molding seraphs from satyrs;
in harmony with nature
Your being stirs wildfire
For this I bear the pleasure
Ethereal flames dance together;
fueled by spiritual tethers
You are my love light of summer
For this I waded winter
Glowing 'bove, spring was made greener;
blooming nascent desire*#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And so the Pu'erh and Jasmine Lily
pearls are covered, my attention on
the Phoenix Eye pearls, and I peel back
the foil of a small handful. Ainhana had
carefully remove the infuser and I pour
in the pearls, listening as they gently
hit the glass.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As soon as Ainhana places the infuser
back in the tea *** I turn the sand-dial
and watch the cream sands run, and the
pearls steep. I dare not let it run for the
full five minutes - I find the perfect brew is
made in three. The pearls now unfurl, the
green leaves now floating. The clear water
turns into the colour of the finest champagne.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After three minutes, Ainhara pours me a cup,
the aroma itself puts me more at ease.
'Do not waste it,' I tell her, holding the
handle and saucer. 'Such fine pearls can
be steeped twice, and I will make sure that
I treasure every single cup.'
'Yes, My Lady,' She says with a curtsy.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With my eyes closed, I blow away some
steam and proceed to sip short and brief.
It is a pleasure that is most welcome, indeed!
Teeming with the fires of the Phoenix itself
and caressing my tongue with floral sweetness.
A delicious moan escapes me as I relax in
my Summer Throne.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My breathing is calmed as I look at
the horizon with redolent eyes.
The choirs sing as I drink such fine
ambrosia! By a cup of Pearls, mine
own eyes feel inspired, as I think of
the lovely vision that is the Phoenix
that is born of the lotus.
Adieu, stresses of Court!
Adieu, plagues of doubt and anger!
Thy Queen is now jocund dove.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Truly the finest Jasmine Pearls I've
had in years!' I beam. 'Be sure to share
this with my fellow Kings and Queens.
Especially Queen Kim. In such a golden
hour, we shall become Dream Children,
to be lost in gardens of distant China.'
'Yes, My Queen.' Ainhara waves her hand,
Semui and Ilazi now resume play.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As I sip once again, the summer
showers come. Lo! My gazebo
glistens! Cleansed by the light,
and life for my fields of my
fair gardens.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
This blend cleanses the fire of my heart.
This blend casts out sorrows for me to
drink beauty.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
A liquor the shade of champagne with
the flames of life budding from a
delicate flavour.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The Phoenix merges with me, for I
am the star of the morn that graces
my Aurelinaea!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Such a blend of elegance in my tongue,
a heavenly euphony. How I'm forever in
awe of the power of
my Jasmine Pearls.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
Sweetly does the rain
Sing against my window,
As it stirs the lavender
That caresses my nose,
Growing beneath my window as
My mother planted it there to do.
Wary do I grow of counting the
Lines,
Groves,
And cracks in my ever changing ceiling.
I try making out images instead of counting, Lacking creativity all I can see is
White,
Frooved
Clouds.
Dusk is capturing the world now and
The rain has finished it’s melody,
The insects and frogs
Take the stage and
Somewhere in the distance
Is the cry of a lone hawk,
Maybe feeling left out of the insects and frogs Choirs as,
He cries
His sad
Song.
Pondering as to what the
Hawk’s story is
And as I ponder
I begin to hum
A soft melody keeping time
With the frogs and insects,
Maybe I am feeling left
Out like the hawk?
A breeze joins in,
String up the glories
Smell of lavender again
And cooling my face as it
Comes through the open window
I slowly drift
Off
To
Sleep...
...zzz
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
there are chains on my desk,
you cant see them but i can,
in fact i can feel them.
i can feel them tight around my neck
pulling me away from my soul.
they slowly drag me 'forward'.
my grip on freedom weakens as the links tussle my neck,
the singing of birds fade and become more distant.
singing choirs cease to sing.
the sun shines differently,
its a dim light with no glimmer anymore.
i see less colours now and my muscles ache.
i move less, smell less, feel less.
its cold as i subdue to the pull.
my clattering and rebellious steps form rhythm
my legs conform as i march in sync with all the same misfortunates around me
dragged and dragged we march
there is no point to resist
now we march
confidently we march
but our souls were left behind
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
#*You are my love light of summer.
For this I wade through winter.
Glowing 'bove, the trees are greener;
blooming nascent desire*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone make a heart bleed
girl, you got me on both my knees
praying you'll also need me,
too, to finally be complete
or otherwise reach life's peak.
*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter.
For this I wish forever.
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
softer than touch of mother*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone cause ex's envy
girl, you got her so **** ******
she blames you as much as me,
too, as love for you made her weep
and revealed her love is cheap
*Your voice humbles angel choirs.
For this I listen eager.
Songs that shift the course of rivers;
in harmony with nature*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone so romantically
girl, you got me frantically
writing you some poetry,
too, and I hope you now can see
that maybe I'm also sweet
*Your soul ignites wildfire.
For this I bear the pleasure.
Ethereal flames dance together;
fueled by spiritual tethers*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone spark fantasies
girl, you got me crying, "please, please!"
that you never take the lead,
too, cause this would be a done deed
if you wanted it to be.#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich]
In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
birth,
Man mastered the mammoth and horse, and Man was the
Lord of the Earth.
He made him an hollow skin from the heart of an holy tree,
He compassed the earth therein, and Man was the Lord of
the Sea.
He controlled the vigour of steam, he harnessed the light-
ning for hire;
He drove the celestial team, and man was the Lord of the
Fire.
Deep-mouthed from their thrones deep-seated, the choirs
of the æeons declare
The last of the demons defeated, for Man is the Lord of
the Air.
Arise, O Man, in thy strength! the kingdom is thine to
inherit,
Till the high gods witness at length that Man is the Lord
of his spirit.
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Ice cold hands, fire warm heart
oh my dear, I never thought we'd part
like this, oh **** where did you go?
I thought we only just begun the show!
Knife fights and fist fights, the whole nine yards
the tent is hung and the choirs have sung
I fought so **** hard
up on a noose my emotionas are hung
Welcome to the Carnival!
where you come to **** your thoughts
and all this time I hoped to see
some amazing theatricality
yet you left, with my heart in your chest
I couldn't imagine it would end like this
I came with such a heart of gold
now empty space is all i have to hold
the tables have turned, can you see the burns?
the pieces of heart, left broken on the floor?
oh magic man, show me a trick
a distraction take me away
in this place, I cant stay
the claws on my skin and bones
I dont want this anymore
-n.s.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise,
From love's deep slumber and from death,
For lo! the treees are full of sighs
Whose leaves the morn admonisheth.
Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
Where softly-burning fires appear,
Making to tremble all those veils
Of grey and golden gossamer.
While sweetly, gently, secretly,
The flowery bells of morn are stirred
And the wise choirs of faery
Begin (innumerous!) to be heard.
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Crazy feelings flood my paper
As my pen begins its
Ritualistic dance.
Insane voices fill my head
Upon the possibility of
Second chance.
Silence speaks the truth
When angel choirs sing
Their songs.
It’s not what you have,
But who you have
When you no longer belong.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 3:55 PM UTC
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note.
Chert
The piano draws an arc of rhythm
rising then falling.
Above
two choirs of wind and brass
exclaim, fanfare, mark out
shorter, determined
gestures of sound.
The procession, almost a march,
becomes a dance.
Alone
Two choirs of wind and brass
become four couples
whose music weaves
from complexity a simplicity:
Chromatic to Pentatonic
twelve becoming five.
Prase
Four stopped horns,
five extended tonalities.
Together they wander
a maze of Pentatonic paths;
alone, and in pairs, as a quartet
they discover within
a measured harmonic rhythm.
Tension: resolution
. . . and surrounding
their every move
the piano
insists an obligato,
a continuum of phrases,
absorbing into itself
the warp and weft of horn tone.
Sard
Oscillating
in perpetual motion
the full ensemble
occupies a frame
of time and space.
Flutes, reeds,
double-reeds
brass, piano,
percussion
mirror-fold on mirror-fold
layer upon layer
overlapping.
Yarns of threaded sound.
Tuff
Without a break
the mirrored oscillations
patter pentatonics
on tuned percussion
of marimba and vibraphone
whilst
a batterie of drums
lays down
shards of beaten rhythm
against this onward
folding of tonality change.
In the background
a choir of winds
flutes and single reeds
waymark this recursive journey
gathering together
cadential moments and the
necessary pause for breath.
Marl
Relentlessly, the motion is sustained,
piano-driven,
a syncopated continuo,
rhythm-sectioned
amidst layers of percussion.
Adding edge,
a choir of brass and double reeds
amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms
providing impetus for
phrases to become longer and longer,
ratching up the tension,
ever-denying closure
until the batterie
delivers
a conclusive flourish.
Paramoudra
Pulse-figures of winds.
Motific cells of brass.
Both
negotiate a stream of
fractal-shaped tonality
expanding: contracting.
A blossom of fanfares
folding into
pulsating layers
of tuned percussion,
flutes and reeds.
A dance-like episode
absorbs a chorale.
Four horns in close harmony
against the continuing dance.
A duet of differences
flows into a cascade of chords
in closed and open forms.
The piano supports
brass-flourishing figures
before a final stillness.
Heartstone
In gentle reflection
the solitary piano –
a figure in a landscape
of collapsed harmonic forms -
presents in slow procession
the essence of previous music.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals
Singing the winter’s harmony of uniform beauty.
Love is the song of the soul, singing to God.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets -
sun and moon lit
In the skyey hall festooned with fleecy clouds –
Around the sovereign Silent Will.
It is the thirst of the rose to drink the sunrays
And blush red with life.
‘Tis the promptings of the mother earth
To feed her milk to the tender, thirsty roots,
And to nurse all life.
It is the urge of the sun
To keep all things alive.
Love is the unseen craving of the Mother Divine
That took the protecting father–form,
And that feeds helpless mouths
With milk of mother’s tenderness.
It is the babies’ sweetness,
Coaxing the rain of parental sympathy
To shower upon them.
It is the lover’s unenslaved surrender to the beloved
To serve and solace.
It is the elixir of friendship,
Reviving broken and bruised souls.
It is the martyr’s zeal to shed his blood
For the well-beloved fatherland.
It is the ineffable, silent call of the heart to another
heart.
It is the God-drunk poet’s heartaches
For every creature’s groans.
Love is to enjoy the family rose of petal-beings,
And thence to move to spacious fields -
Passing by portals of social, national, international
sympathy,
On to the limitless Cosmic Home –
To gaze with looks of wonderment,
And to serve all that lives, still or moving.
This is to know what love is.
He knows who lives it.
Love is evolution’s ameliorative call
To the far-strayed sons
To return to Perfection’s home.
It is the call of the beauty – robed ones
To worship the great Beauty.
It is the call of God
Through silent intelligences
And starburst of feelings.
Love is the Heaven
Toward which the flowers, rivers, nations, atoms,
creatures – you and I
Are rushing by the straight path of action right,
Or winding laboriously on error’s path,
All to reach haven there at last.
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Heaven
. . . Have Mercy . . .
Rest, rest, rest, for ye be none,
pitiful Fallen One.
Quivering bows flow over grave strings
bassoons and basset horns ring
pounding timpani’s announce:
Master of the Holy Choir
- - Renounced - -
Vain, fluttering heart
sublimely denounced, scorned;
fouled, ousted:
Horned.
Wailing strings, bassoons,
basset horns, thundering kettle drums
lift angelic voices to glorious requiem.
Pleas for Eternal Light’s remain
in wings refrain.
Heavenly Chorus' cradle to sustain,
mercy to soften
disdain.
The Holy Oracle contests --
to no avail.
Siblings’ choir protests.
Beauty beyond measure,
Angel of pure, Divine tessitura,
Absolution for Thee?
Foretellers of dark illusion
open Holy Scriptures to reveal
the drone of Eternal Damnation:
trumpets of ill
drag Thee to Hell.
Deep, ephemeral rhythms
exalt dancing strings,
seal destinies -- Kiss The Almighty King.
Glory be unto His Majestic Reign,
Will Supreme,
Tremendous,
Powerful, Holy Being.
Scribes record,
recite this dreadful day,
condemn Thee: Fallen One.
trumpets lament, strings mock
this unholy, forbidden way.
Bows flutter -- a memoir
of redemption.
Cries of confusion
dissipate
into muffled choirs,
murmurings
of deliverance.
Delicate chants
beg for forgiveness;
a Soul’s salvation, fusion.
To no avail!
Turbulent strings strike the Holy Duel
in wrath, writhing hatred,
majestic wings tumble --
twist to wrenched ******
Death devours, Birth becomes
the Fallen One.
Angelic dissolution --
distraught, agonized Ethereal,
Eternally beautify
these ghostly, trembling
winds, strings, harpsichord, drums.
Voices of brotherhood remembered,
cushion Angel’s earthly descent.
Breathe into infantile genius
heavenly symphonies
to sweeten a life
trapped, scorned,
condemned,
mourned
Love of God: Amadé
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
honoring the glass artistry of Dale Chihuly
A rainbow of serrated globes,
Friends to the water lilies,
Floats in a sculptured pool.
A surreal yellow glass Medusa
Woven through a white crescent trellis
Gleams in the midday sun.
Choirs of chrysanthemums
Sing with multicolored flora
Blown from molten soda, lime and sand.
Sheltered in a geodesic tropics
Orange herons stand on legs of glass
Amid living palms, bamboo and wild orchids.
Towering blue spires
Lift skyward out of the soil
While butterflies dance
In the misty veil of a waterfall.
Nature and the shimmering world within
Happily converge in the florid vision
Of an effervescent man with a patched eye -
A man called Chihuly.
October, 2006
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
She came down from a mountain
Higher than the valley she's been in
She broke down like an engine
On a highway towards forever once again
She says "I don't know where my life is going", but
Baby, nobody knows
Just take a breath and do what you've been doing
True angels wear everyday clothes
She lives inside the mind of a mercenary
Staring down the barrel of a gun
She's tired of the weight they ask her to carry
And her back has been broken for so long
There's choirs that will sing of her memory
Like a fallen queen with silver in her hair
As the flowers bloom and God starts descending
To touch her hand and take her anywhere
She says "I don't know where my life is going, but
Baby, nobody knows
Just take a breath and do what you've been doing
True angels wear everyday clothes
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
Measure my love in starlight
And set the sky ablaze
Measure my love in words
And eternal speak my beloved’s praise
Measure my love in raindrops
And overflow the seas
Measure my love in sighing
And make storms from a summer breeze
Measure my love in music
And hear all the world’s choirs sing
Measure my love in riches
And make every pauper a king
Measure my love in heartbeats
And deafen every ear
Measure my love in laughter
And banish every tear
Seek to measure my love as some might wish
By consulting the learned or wise
But each effort will fail, because such a scale
No mortal thought can devise
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
I showed her what the books meant
While we spent
Countless hours chasing butterflies
Travelling thousands of miles
And she’d quote something
Once in a while
As I struggled
To keep up with the adrenaline rush
Seeing her blush
In the woods along the river
We’d set up camp at night
All I knew was fright
As she held me closer tight
She’d show me the star
And I’d name it right
Every single time
And I’d make a rhyme
To suit her line
When she said something
But I'd lose
When she’d put up a fight
Arm wrestling or jungle trivia
It was her area
In that she’s a star
At par
With the flowers who blossom
In the *****
Of forests
Both thinking
As if they own it
She’s a delight
Like the moonlight
You get to see
After the sun’s long gone
And it’s mad time to be
Adventurous about the things
Human beings
Have forgotten somehow
She dances to the tune
Most ears can’t hear
I just had to bear
A little while with her
And here I am
With my feet in the air
As the rain pours
And I find the choirs
Sung by translucent pearls
It’s been a while now
And I must write another poem
It’s going to be about her
And nature
Wait, aren’t they the same?
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds
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A fairy
who
only
flew
under
the fall
of night
met her
lover
under
the songs
of stars
in choirs
of light,
they rest
under
the petals
of a white
rose, her
lover asks,
“how can
I find words
to paint
beauty
with my
lips?”
to which
the fairy
says to
him,
“why do
you feel
the will
to open
your
lips?
all that
slumbers
awaken
when
the eyes
alone find
beauty”
they
gaze
upon the
white
lanterns
of the
dark
in a
ripple
of tides
in the
leaves,
the wings
of a bird
drifting
as a
dream in
awakening,
the fairy
rises with
her lover,
amongst the
moonflowers
and violets
above,
they flew
by lunar
guidance
towards
a field
of indigo
shades,
they descend
and softly
rest upon
the yellow
hearts,
the fairy
turns to
her lover,
and says,
“the
leaves
sing as
our own
tale, in
symphony
with the
delicate
branches
of our veins,
we lie
here and
hear the
music we
once had
sought to
hide, we
wished to
write about
it, rather,
we closed
our eyes,
for the ones,
as us, who
tightly
caged
their
words are
the ones
with the
deepest
wells of
feeling,
we are
living,
breathing
oceans,
clothed
in skin,
living tiny
moments
of poetry
every
hour,
don’t
you
see
this?”
to which
he says,
“I do,
and here
it comes,
the
golden
light”
it arrives,
in touch
of all that
it sees,
and the
fairy
whispers,
“let us
sleep,
and
return
as specks
of time”
they close
their eyes,
the bird
rests upon
a lone
tree,
the peace
of the
Idyll, in its
picturesque
eternity,
still prevails.
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 2:18 PM UTC
I twist and turn,
Suffle in my
Hospital bed.
The drum of
The dextrose drops,
Plays as the background
For my despondent lulluby.
Clickering and clackering;
The white feet
On the frozen
Hospital floor
Feature the vocals
Of the weeping relatives
I do not know.
A chorus
Of morose songs
That bellow
From the valley
Of faded faces
Dulls the senses
Of the patients
In the ICU.
Doctors wearing
White garbs
With darkened eyes
Whisper to each other
Like a cult gathering
With prayers
And curses
On their lips.
They appear
To me
Like snakes
On the tree
Throwing sins
And travesties
To the
Invalid saints.
I, fight fervently
Against sleep.
Although almost
Twenty-four,
Am a child
Again.
A child who
Detests sleep
Like the plague
That took me.
In this hospital bed
I start my vigil;
A pilgrim to zion
Daunted by
The task before him.
Beset on all sides
By treasures
And trinkets
That would
Want him stray.
My eyes serve
As the lamp
To which
My body,
A servant,
Keeps alight.
In wait
For the return
Of the master.
An encounter
To rekindle
The bond
In childhood.
A chance
To decide
Which fashion
It will end.
So eyes,
Stay alight,
For your oil
Will only
Last one night;
Keep the fight.
Despondency
May fill these
Final moments
But at the moment
Of the master's
Return
The chorus
Of faded faces
Will turn into
Choirs of angels
And there;
Sleep.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
Heaven's gates open in beat with my eye lids
As we stumble in sweet confusion
We can taste the air as an ostrich wine
And the only sounds are angelic choirs joined in mirth
The walls are painted scenes blessed in eternal movement
With God himself scribing the tales
Telling stories of triumph merged in harmony
And penmanship worthier than any poet
Men docilely behold grace itself on the walls of heaven
Ever worthy of the eyes of mankind
Of those who stole a glance turn to gold
And immortals join in ritual
The sense of sight, light, is portrayed as holy crystals
Incandescent stalagmites create divine paths for righteous to follow
While those lost in damnation are lead to eternally fall
As the path lingers the walls inspire a revelation in ones heart
Blessing all who listen, with God's word
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
Marie's in-laws start bashing the bell,
a Quasimodo supper for the reckless, the insane.
It's two hits of Lily's blue, four pocket shots of ***
it's the backdoor, it's the snowstorm, it's the 100th of December, it's the cell phone;
it's nostalgic.
I call Katherine, my sweet Indian princess. She talks in Mexican smoke rings,
and laughs only in a bed of Peruvian blues.
Marie describes her as, "Uh-huh, her", and Katherine's James describes me as, ******
So, when Katherine picked me up behind States Street,
I licked her espresso skin, I kissed secondhand, and benediction, benediction.
Choirs of angels moved me, while we ****** under moonlight in her drug supplier's driveway.
I pulled her hair, beads of sweat danced and gleamed around me,
I got a call, I got a call,
I finished and took the call,
"Hello. Yeah, I'm sorry. Just stepped out for a second I'll be right back. Love you too."
Back to the mundane with a enough fix of fantasy to get me through the month.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:07 PM UTC
Check errata, pressure chests,
minds of razors edges, vie to
stress knowledge for the win:
You second guess yourself, then.
Flip the cold and oddly coded
engine as if you're blind to it.
It's happening again, now.
Verses nurse the wounds.
Wounds nurse the verses.
Pain's slyly subjective hooks
have hooked the meat of me.
Like accountants slicing numbers,
I slice the mountains into soft shapes.
Earth and water, earthen urns, hold
Life to carry, to gift, or, to displace.
Choirs sing on high, of rightful things.
I was frightful, once. With enough
ignorant vehemence poured upon me,
poured upon me, a bath in love's less
eager refuse, has turned my dreams, too,
into excrement, excrement. Utter ****
I was excited, once. I swear I was.
Holding out for ****** touch, left cold,
hopeless and wanting when the only
validation, validation I was taught
set my value in cash and beauty, cash
and beauty, two matters of strict
adherence to social standards, but what
if two fat, hairy legs make my tongue wet?
What if otherness keeps me lonely?
What if it keeps me lonely? Can I take
that pain, after all, into the ground of my grave?
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
Miles and borders
wedges
Wanderlust children
locked in the Sun's hula hoop
claim visions of sugarplum prairies
Downplayed mountains
speckle the globe
like tectonic acne
Topography's tease
The paper was so promising
Dimensions spawn
in the tatters of ambition
like fused particles of
colloquial bridges
Keyboards sprout vocal chords
and philosophies huddle under
shy amusement
humming to the hymn of a discovery
wrapped up in the chords
of enraptured choirs of fingertips
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
When you were five
Your mom told you you could do anything
That you could reach new heights
That the stars were just a mile marker
Your life was just beginning
That you were unstoppable
My pep talk was a little different
You see no matter how high my heart soared
My body was scarred
My mamma said you can walk today
That sitting up won't feel as bad today
That the scar down my back was my beauty mark
That one day it may even be my trademark
Well that might be true mamma but i don't need a trademark i need a childhood
One full of sticky fingers and princess stickers
One of training wheels and a smile made of orange peels
To say i never had these things would be a lie
I've seen disney
I've had a mud fight and said you missed me
But through every laugh through every smile i had the hospital on speed dial
After 15 surgeries and about as many years my life began to change
Because with every scalpel
And even more taxing battles
My body became mine again
After three months of hospital jello
And promises of it will get better tomorrow
My legs finally belonged to me
When i said zig they didn't say zag
When my foot hit the floor i didn't wanna burst open like a chip bag
It's been 12 years since my life truly began
Everytime i walk in the room i hear the choirs of angels singing
Because I walked into a room
When i think about my life
I'm not clinging to a maybe
All that pain is nothing but a memory
But i will not forget my journey
I will never walk a straight line
Or run a marathon
But there are some things that i will do
I will be sure my past does not define me
I will not be ashamed of my disability
I will tell the world my story
Cerebral Palsy is not a disease
When you walk down the street and see me there is no need to flea
No you will not feel sorry for me
Cerebral Palsy is not a burden
It's a challenge
IT is a struggle
But it is one i happily will carry because this is who i am
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC