"coincide" poems
As we vibe,
I slip and slide
into your in-slide
and slide deep inside
till our bodies coincide,
as one, we ride the rising tide.
As we vibe..
I show you a different side,
of your insides,
from me being inside.
Our physical interaction
guides the chemical reaction
that touches your soul
and blows your mind.
Our bodies confide,
in each ours confines,
until we find,
supreme satisfaction of a different kind...
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
The
warm whipped cream
dripped from her succulent lips
thick liquids drips
smooth tastebuds sips
big long strokes
deep penetrating licks
sensational vibes capsize our hips
riding each other's waves like two crossing ships
mesmerized as our two worlds collide
and coincide like nature designed us
to co-exist we a twist
two organisms sharing a gift
shifting from the present to the moment
relishing in the sensations before they cease to exist
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Toco tu boca, con un dedo toco el borde de tu boca, voy dibujándola como si saliera de mi mano, como si por primera vez tu boca se entreabriera, y me basta cerrar los ojos para deshacerlo todo y recomenzar, hago nacer cada vez la boca que deseo, la boca que mi mano elige y te dibuja en la cara, una boca elegida entre todas, con soberana libertad elegida por mí para dibujarla con mi mano por tu cara, y que por un azar que no busco comprender coincide exactamente con tu boca que sonríe por debajo de la que mi mano te dibuja.
Me miras, de cerca me miras, cada vez más de cerca y entonces jugamos al cíclope, nos miramos cada vez más de cerca y nuestros ojos se agrandan, se acercan entre sí, se superponen y los cíclopes se miran, respirando confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose con los labios, apoyando apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio. Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua.
Julio Cortázar.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
There is a place beyond the tawny grass and the scattered trees
It is a place void of flowers and of bees
A place where the lion and cheetah do not reside
It is a place where those unfit won't survive
The sun won't pierce it
and the waters only collide
the brush is too thick
even the trees don't coincide
Dare to explore this place
you will see
in the heart of darkness
no man can be free
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Sunday, I am eating a
grapefruit, church is over at the Russian
Orthadox to the
west.
she is dark
of Eastern descent,
large brown eyes look up from the Bible
then down. a small red and black
Bible, and as she reads
her legs keep moving, moving,
she is doing a slow rythmic dance
reading the Bible. . .
long gold earrings;
2 gold bracelets on each arm,
and it's a mini-suit, I suppose,
the cloth hugs her body,
the lightest of tans is that cloth,
she twists this way and that,
long yellow legs warm in the sun. . .
there is no escaping her being
there is no desire to. . .
my radio is playing symphonic music
that she cannot hear
but her movements coincide exactly
to the rythms of the
symphony. . .
she is dark, she is dark
she is reading about God.
I am God.
8k
Dark hair tied back.
Blue eyes pointed front and center.
Tats two on her back and shoulder
Black stocking satin strap.
Knee-high; hard to measure.
High - heels they just climb forever.
Spread thighs hypnotized his eyes.
Deep breath watching her chest rise
Wide eyes she looks posterized,
long strokes that disappear deep inside.
Deeper sighs I can feel the vibes,
nail marks across his chest,
blood dried just follow the X.
Move slow make her want it more,
said wise speaking from experience.
Handcuffed cause she likes to be a deviant.
Lips sealed, around his **** like she’s practicing keeping secrets.
Hair tied back cause that’s how Sir told her to keep it.
Legs wrapped around his waist, at a right angle, so Sir can reach it.
open wide like Simon says, She reacts so, Sir doesn’t have to repeat it.
Firm grip on her waistline, but there is no wasting time.
Twitching hips, tighten his grips, as she whines,
in joy of the loving being deployed.
Toes curled the pleasure can’t be denied.
Slip slide the more she moves the harder he grinds,
smooth ride the way their bodies coincide.
Deep ****** they combust, as they collide,
come inside her, like a gentleman,
he gives her, a piece of his mine.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 3:17 PM UTC
It's an old question.
Pilate asked.
Keats told us.
It's what we believe.
A lie is truth.
Some lies may coincide
With my truth,
But never quite the same.
There's always a bit of truth
In every line.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
the body of this poem is about two bodies, sometimes poetic things are ***** and sometimes ***** things are poetic things under the dirt of what i'd been taught my whole life about my virginity. i was told that if i lost it i wouldnt be able to find it again. i was not told about a boy, tall and skinny and blonde, blue-gray eyes, i was not told that i would kiss him, i was not told that my kiss would be his first. i didnt know at the time that summer would collapse into one moment, i could never have guessed that two crazy transgender boys could coincide with virginity as strongly as we pressed our bodies together. i was fourteen years old and my body was a choppy pencil sketch of anorexia and rib damage, of breast tissue and scar tissue, of anxiety and hipbones. he was fifteen years old and to me he was beautiful, everything strange and weird in our brains was erased and forgotten, fogged up with our heavy breathing. i am wrapped up in firsts and lasts and the first time was not entirely the world-shattering that it was built up to be, we were built up, and then i forget why we stopped. but we stopped. but we stopped being far apart and afraid to tell each other how close we wished we were. we learned how to commit heavy sins, the kind that make you feel good. we learned that our relationship is textbook unhealthy, but unhealthy people means unhealthy partners means unhealthy- means **** off, we are trying our best and **** you, this is what love means. this tangle of fingers. we learned that we have to not only have secrets but become them. we didnt have to be taught what it feels like to need someone. we didnt need to learn how it tastes to be absolutely sure of something.
my entire life i was taught that i should save myself for a man, but instead i let go of myself and loved a boy.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
Don't we two hearts oft seem to tread
on common sands? A common thread
appears to bind with no great dread,
with not a word, between us, said.
The rhythm of your ebb, my flow,
as fate takes us where we might go,
so coincide, suspicions grow-
is there some plot we can't yet know?
Your face I see, in maddened crowd,
with silence that echoes aloud.
If coincidence, I'm wowed-
if cosmic hand, it should be proud.
As subtle as sand on the wake,
who knows where next our waves will break?
Adrift on currents we both take-
The Cosmos makes no such mistake.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
You can assume what you want you're probably right
This is a never ending story
A special heart broke apart is the downside of favoritism
To live today with a awfully wedded wife
Can coincide with the upside to fablism
Can you stand up with or aside a revolution
It's still a time of movement
This is the start of a revolution
In the mind of a mover who constantly dreams of destruction
Fail or win
Now that's its over
You can become addicted to the fact that you want it back
Just that very dream or memory
Can leave you so high
That a skydiving crash would feel like a descent towards pillowed daffodils
Now histamines flare up
Now swollen about to pop
You've never been so high
The perfect quality to qualify the high you have
But quantity Is the one thing no one can grasp
Have none to share none
If you don't have it for yourself first
You can't give something you don't have enough for even yourself
This is the blank meaning for inspiration
For inspiring an unborn child
Maybe it's the missing meaning
Blank blank blank
It still means nothing when nothing is there
So why take this walk
Why write lines the continue to feel like nothing
Why scream on top of the mountain of the faintest echo won't reach the mightiest of ears hearing to tell the world of an achievement
That no one fortunately cares about
An empty sentient being
It's more interpersonal than that
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came accross and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:20 PM UTC
my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.
my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less
poetry. peace surrenders,
souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.
words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!
serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly. I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…
if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
dust has collected in this once filled room of my mine
it's floated and settled on the last few things left behind
spellbind
windchime
now i can say this empty space is all mine
8 years of pacing this room
8 years of shouting at the moon
8 years of sleeping til noon
just to ignore the fact I meant nothing to you
so much anger has made home in my bones
the way you used to speak about me felt like being casted with stones
I used to try and drown out your tasteless, colorless tone
you type "she's dramatic" in a text on your phone
I expected this feeling of indifference to feel free with no stop lights
yet this empty space
and this empty mind
coincide
with what I've known this whole time
that all too familiar feeling of restlessness has come to an end
and even though there are still memories burned into my head
I don't believe I have anything else left unsaid
I envied your callousness
I despised your self-righteousness
and i ached at your lack of consequence
what caught your eye was never my elegance
but rather my callowness
as the ice in your drink swirls and melts
and you're blaming me besides everyone else
as your anger starts to swell
just remember it was me who wasn't treated well
we can keep our heads down while our eyes meet on the street
while you pretend I don't resemble meadowsweet
and that we never danced in my kitchen with me on your feet
but
to be honest
in the end
we were always offbeat
when you chose to secede
I found you to not be an aesthete
if you could agree
to be without me
this story is begging to no longer be told
so maybe I'll revisit this time of my life when I've seen how my life will unfold
til then my king is fallen on this chess board
my feelings are buried far past the sea's shore
and I've finally
stopped keeping score
Feb 25, 2022
Feb 25, 2022 at 2:02 PM UTC
Every day, a new sentence
prepared in our heads
We try to plan out our lives
but they never coincide
I'm looking up to the sky
With all these questions why
thinking that I'll get answers in reply
I can't seem to think straight
Thought I had all this sense
But I can't find the change
And every day I check,
that a new day has come
But I'm a song stuck on repeat
one that sticks in your conscious for weeks
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I’m stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
And this is no real story
Just thinking out loud
Through fingers, I keep typing
Hoping this will connect
Maybe someone out there
Needs something to which they can relate
And I've felt those feelings
where you spiritually connect
In others writings, It's a talent
Which is a blessing to possess
I'm trying to find that spark
That helped me light up the dark
Haven't written in so long
But I know this is somewhere I belong
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I’m stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
I've written a bunch of verses
Unfinished works, Sometimes it truly hurts
losing motivation for something
you once so dearly loved
It got you through all those hard times
Now you won't even take the time
To write out some lines,
think of some quips and rhymes
Try to define yourself as a poet
Get those emotions out
With a pen and paper now
So that you can show it
And all those who need to read
So that they can see
there not in this alone,
They're in this with me
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
©2017 Written By Benji James
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
Exposure,
plenty of light,
nothing uncovered,
or too much left unknown.
Through the lens, which he can't see but only thoughts and ideas he scatters through his shutter.
The rain can be captured quickly and in large amounts.
The press of a button and the stress is released, a flash of light and lightening coincide
crash
electrify.
Fighting the storm, protecting his truths and love.
He still trudges ahead; heart in hand.
Recording his sight, capturing the beauty.
Making it home, he doesn't think twice, he places his heart back in its chest and moves on downstairs.
Walking tall and soaking wet,
avoids looks or stares that come his way.
Piecing his mind back together, missing pieces lost outside in the horrible weather.
He'll keep on aching and asking himself questions, as slowly as the night air dries his split hairs, he can slowly rethink the choices he's made.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
Tethered feathers sing their long lost songs in solos that were once symphonies
Falling from swan-like wings of a lone angel and floating along a reflecting stream
The misty haze graces both water's surface and the resting angel's skin
Making the glow from her shining halo all the more evident
See as she sits inside the arms of an elderly weeping willow
Fireflies gracing her satin hand as the glow from her skin does billow
The natural string quartet of the crickets under a full moon's glow
A silent moment in a place and time that mortals may never know
Looking upon the star studded sky that is her open field
Flying with the grace of many a dove whose untamed beauty shall not yeild
Yet landing on dirt ridden ground to see whatever it is she may please
Trickling tears coming from your eyes at the sight of such travesties
Oh angel, if feather must fall, then let it, but not one tear from your eye
At this hallowed sight and glorious eve where Heaven and Earth coincide
And if tear must fall into the waters under the arm of the willow tree
May it harden into the whitest of pearls so I might keep it here with me
Let sultry glowing moonlight be your constant company
Filling the darkness and contributing spotlight to your scene
May silver moonlight and silken feather compliment each detail
And pray the moon does not fade away and break this scene, so frail
Dear hallowed breath of the midnight hour, take note of this rare time
So you may utter this instant in this poet's ear and turn it to hallowed rhyme
The instance where an host of Heaven indulged in a glimpse of Earth
And with a tear turned into a pearl showed what our instances are worth
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
By the beauty of a mountainside,
Or songs that give me chills
Every sight – a hollow view,
I look for more and more
Every sound – an empty cue,
Nothing to answer for
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
Ten thousand times I must have cried,
Then smiled – lied – with skill
Everything I see today
Will be, tomorrow, gone
Every sound will fade away –
A shrill inside a yawn
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
Does Meaning ever coincide
With life, and hope, and thrill?
I dream this dream, within a dream –
No substance, light, or power
I sing this song, without a sound –
My voice, the wind, devours
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
I might as well be groping blind,
Deafened – senses killed
I long to see that final sight
And hear that final word,
To show me Something in this night,
And assure me that I’ve Heard
---
But…
Maybe, I never, seeing, See
And never, hearing, Hear
Because the problem is IN ME:
This heart of death and drear...
This heart, it must be satisfied;
This heart, it must be filled!
For, we all see from deep inside;
The heart always distills...
.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
I look through your eyes and I see our future
I see our love
I see our goals and aspirations come into life
Then reality hits me hard like my bottle of chapel sweet red wine crushing the floor
That our love is "non licet"
Against societies expectations
Against family beliefs
Beliefs that have been sown into my magnificent brain
**** that!
I broke the barriers
I don't live up to meritocratic expectations
I live for love
You are my love
I love you
Our energies coincide with one another
You are my "forbidden" soul mate
Just as these words flow
So does my love for you
Meu rei
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 6:22 AM UTC
some times i feel
like i got ******* on the deal
like democracy, politically
is mocking me, that's how i feel
fake news in times of need
empty promises don't feed
the needy getting left behind
pride getting pushed to the side
empathy and cold hard cash don't coincide
instead of big steps forward
we are falling behind, in a time,
where we, have no time for wasting time
generations of generations getting left behind
after generations of generations, its like genocide
our values dont match our history
told from either side
we should have learned something
instead we just let it ride
playing games with our future
using the hands of time
chasing our heads with tails
its only a matter of times
before we catch up with reality
and it blows our minds
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
We hardly fit with our jagged edges
and our heavy breathing, our holes
don't even coincide. Our symmetry
is imperfect, as imperfection can be.
We can't call it home. We're too
edgy to ever do so. It doesn't even
come close to that feeling of
comfort and love. We're not in love,
nor are we friends by any means.
Hardly acquaintances. We wouldn't
lift a finger a finger to help the other
No, this isn't home, love or friendship.
Our weapons are still on us. The poison's
hidden in the secret compartments of the
rings we gifted each other. We never
believed in anything but practicality.
I specially sharpened the blades I
brought with me. I know he loaded
some 'special' bullets in his gun.
We deal like this, like rival gang leaders
It's the only thing that has remained
the same through all these years,
frighteningly comforting in it's stagnancy.
It doesn't even come close to companionship.
It's definition lies somewhere between
hatred, addiction and need. Quiet intimacy
will prevail between us and anyone who walks in,
feels like they're intruding on something a bit
more private and clandestine. Though no one
notices, our spines don't relax even once.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:48 AM UTC
Baby, why you playin',
I know you feel the vibe?
Body language speaking my lingo
And your smile coincide
Saying things with your eyes
That type of silence never lies
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 6:17 PM UTC
Though the flight
is
fleeting
it
goes down in slow motion
the
glitz of the flip
coincide with delusions of grandeur
in
retrospect it was oh so money
the
coin
landed on the flip-side
and
left most hanging out
in
anger.
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 12:37 PM UTC
The lights all up around me
They dance and flicker
Swirling up and down each tree
As the music gets quicker
What a colorful holiday
Something new around each bend
We climb into Santa’s sleigh
And begin to ascend
The clouds fall below us
As we are launched into the sky
The turns we took were brusque
But the heavens never felt so nigh…
...
...
I cover you with a quilt
For the sleigh keeps climbing higher
Towards your hometown we tilt
I wonder, what will transpire?
There’s something big in the back
Is it full of coal?
Perhaps there’s something else in that sack
A doll, a plane, a little toy troll?
Perhaps we will find out
Your hometown draws near
Rudolf raises his red snout
Followed by the rest of the reindeer…
...
...
They shift their gaze
Towards a landing strip
People down there in a craze
We must look like a spaceship
They angle their flight
Right down the middle
It is quite the sight
And the thrill makes us giggle
What’s going on down below?
I ask Santa sitting up front
“I don’t really know”
He says as a reindeer grunts
“They must be waiting for you
Down there, to see what took place
For you came back with her,
That’s not exactly commonplace”
I look back at you, and you meet my gaze
Together we’ll get through
Of that I have no doubt
The sleigh is landing now
There is no backing out…
...
...
Santa pulls up on the reins
On the landing strip the sleigh glides
Only stepping out remains
As we do, the crowd divides
There in the middle
Surrounded by curious people
Stands a man with thumbs he twiddles
He looks more nervous than you or I
I grab your hand and look back again
This is it, we feel suddenly shy
Now’s not the time, so confidence we feign
We look forward and meet his eye
He looks at us and gives a sigh
“Dad?” you say
You look back at me, with display
Introductions are made
Feelings are conveyed
We no longer stand in a masquerade
Everything is out
The closet has swung open
We have nothing left to hide
You squeeze my hand
I coincide
As we look to your dad and wait
…
…
He looks at you with love
Then he looks at me squarely
Before he can say a word
Santa breaks in and shouts “let’s all be merry!”
The crowd breaks into laughter
As Santa sates the air with a magic
And joy fills everyone’s thoughts
Your father looks at us again
This time, with a smile, he simply nods
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC