"counterbalancing" poems
love is
our unkept bed on a Sunday morning
clothes thrown on the floor
candles burned down to no wicks
sleeping off last nights tangled limbs
on the grey leather couch
infinity in crystal blue eyes
palm to palm, fingers entwined our lifelines cross
counterbalancing personalities complete the circle
protective of what is within
so familiar our anatomical embrace
we breathe shared air
beats in autotune, universe intact
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 5:12 AM UTC
***My fortress of solitude
solidifies regret
counterbalancing justification
with waning self worth
It could be worse
and I am imperfect
so I stay in this place invisible
seen only in degrees unworthy
But here alone
I can pretend I am strong
the truth hidden
by what I cannot show
Words are my friends
where my thoughts
are my enemies
Still, I remain
Not bad enough to leave
Just horrible enough to keep me hidden in this isolation
ashamed to show my face
afraid to be free and learn...
it's all true***
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
“I write blurt by blurt, edit once, then post and send it out like a puppy”
that is learning to walk, impossible to walk straightly,
thank gawd for walls and laundry baskets and single sneakers
that obstacle us into trouble, opportunities always a near
but never fatal crashing,
and our whisking swishing tail is an ever
countervailing, counterbalancing
waving gesture of
“oops,
there we one goes from nearly, nearer, almost another
nearest disaster
*that is the style of substance of how I write
headlong smashing, bouncing off walls,
regrouping spindly words into a balletic
clown show,
startling off in a new and unforeseen direction,
scrambling energy like three sunny side up eggs,
whistling and crackling and popping,
god, this writing stuff is **** tiring,
so much easier to respose,
chew there upon,
selectfully taste and spit~select
a single word,
picking the appropriate apropos,
taking a nap in between,
then
recommencing
blurting
blurts
of escapading words
that tumble out,
falling all around,
requiring reassembly like
an impossible-to-put-together
new toy,
anyway,
here for you to play with
for your sensory pleasure
is my latest greatest
blurt,
which rhymes with
dessert,
which I will imbibe
after eating all my*
vegetables.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 4:47 PM UTC
the light of day peers in through the blinds
the darkness of night lurks into every room
and I am torn
between both;
longing to avoid loneliness
and longing to be left alone
and I am not sure how to achieve happiness
with these two aspects
counterbalancing
so bitterly.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC