"cozied" poems
We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?
And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father *that ******* in Ottawa;*
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.
You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.
How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.
We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Dear tired soul,
I have been on that couch many times before
The empty sheets that sit at your feet
Before falling to the floor
The empty pages of memories you flip through every night
Before gracefully falling asleep as the last tear falls on the pillow cases
Stained with liner and half-met dreams
There are moments you stare out the window
The sky so bright you close your eyes and go back to that all too familiar place of darkness
The same hiding place you've led yourself in for years
Thinking no one could find you and your imperfections there
But praying that someone will
I have lured myself in the same corners you've cozied up to, tired soul
Made a home out of the shattered pieces
Of distant, repeating glimpses of the past left after the free fall
My heart has sunk deeper and deeper
But take peace in knowing that as it sinks, it does get stronger
And that one day it will learn how to resurface itself without you even trying
Dear Tired Soul,
Despite the world's constant feeding of negativity towards their conjured up idea of selfishness,
I want you to know that it's ok
It's ok to put yourself first
It's ok to let go
It's ok to take a break
You can not move forward if you do not take the time to pry yourself out of the chains that have dragged you down
Seek consult from those you want to emulate
These things do not make you selfish
They make you better
Do not force yourself to pretend
Your bones have quivered long enough
Your muscles are tired from holding up to their "perfect" standards
You were never meant to be perfect
You were meant to beautiful
You are beautiful, and will always remain to be
Dear Tired Soul,
You are loved
Beyond the stars and the skies above
Your maker has caught every drop of sin from your body
You need not to worry any longer
Seek rest in Him who gives you the strength to open your eyes each day
Take pride in these little accomplishments
Cover your ears from those who tell you otherwise,
For they do not know the excruciating ordeal you go through each day you get up from bed
The sudden battles that errupt within yourself
Whether it be 10 stories high looking over the city or on the ground when you look over your scarred wrists
Of whether you should give up, or give yourself another chance
Open your heart to what He tells you
And wait for the day when the suffering is over, and the crying shall seize
You are tired, my dear
But you are far from being defeated
I hear your pleads, as I have heard mine sounding the same
You will be alright, tired soul
We will be alright
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
It was a weird hour when the sun towered
To be slick with moonshine
Cozied shirtless in a rope hammock
Belly-down like my six drunk buddies
Living loose and talking sweet
To bottles now empty of *****
So what is there to do?
Nothing, and that’s a cold fact for high noon
In summer, season of mumbly toasting
But when the humble glug-glug-glugging
Is done with, I’ll tell you, you
Have not licked liquor, not done your part
It’s us who got the moonshine start
Today, you turned your back on white whiskey, yes
We did the work and if it should hurt
I apologize we didn’t want to offend
If it’s the alcohol or if it’s the heat I can’t tell
But who knows why blood boils?
I can see that good-natured drinking
Is the drunk man’s toil
But we’re workers at heart, aren’t we?
And not many are better than us
Except for maybe the rice
Slumped over its stalks, fat on moonshine
Cure-all for the sick mind
Friend to all comers on a humid day
The clear sticky juice that burns all the way down
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
lovely, these pages I sew
for sadness I know not to tamper with like a joke -
a sick joke that people find amusing.
I do not find that kind of joke, or you to be amusing.
I clasp my hands tightly together, interlocking knuckles
and sit very still while the company is antsy to inspect
me for any weakness.
(I am always assuming everyone is out to judge me so rashly)
I am straining my back and the very moment I slouch,
I will fall into the pit of self-irritability,
yelling at myself because my bones persist on frangibility.
God! am I ever good enough?!
(I am always judging myself so rashly)
I want to buy myself a cottage near a swamp, hoarding
the repugnant slime near my fireplace cozied up reading a book.
you may trespass; I am willing to share this (hell) with you
if you wish to get so close to me.
I do though, (at my best) suffice
lingering around buying myself something nice (you could put it)
when I'm aggravated, I tend not to listen
not even to my own advice.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
the night is
still
dark
quiet
there is a distinct
chill
breathe
gently steams
from my mouth
seen only in the
light of a poets tablet.
the first bird is yet to wake
i am alone in my early mornings prowl.
too cold for the little grey cat
and too early for the human companions, they all remain
abide... cozied up and asleep
as i search the dark cold
night
for meaning.
in the distance the kookaburra cackle and chuckle
dawn has come...
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
The tread on yer shoes aint there.
The tread on yer shoes aint there nowhere.
Worn out beyond compare, the whole pair,
so you slipped off yer **** and fell down the stairs!
Ya hollered and yelled the moment ya fell,
but no one came to help!
A loud KABOOM, but no one in their rooms
could even hear ya yelp!
It rained that night ya stepped outside
to a nasty tumbling blunder!
Cuddled up, cozied up in our beds
cause we all just thought it was thunder.
Stomp Stomp Stomp like an old wet mop,
you was mad as a hornet's nest!
Had to sit through what happened to you,
and you made sure of it!
Said you was out there just a cryin for help,
while everyone just stayed put.
You reminded us again of what happened to you,
then bent over and showed yer ****
Not sayin that this matter is a funny disaster.
But seein that yer fine, don't mind the laughter!
Better go get new shoes today,
or this might happen again.
Land on yer **** like that, I say,
and you might just break yer chin!
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 1:46 PM UTC
He laid out some towels
She set a bucket right on top
The outside pitter patter
Echoed closely by drip drop
She plopped down on the couch and said
“I hate our leaky roof…”
He cozied up right next to her
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute!”
The dog had left a pungent gift
Spread out across the floor
They tied cloth over their noses
Prepared to go to war
They scrubbed the ground on hands and knees
He, unusually mute
She poked his side with smiling eyes
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute!”
Baby two cried till blue
Every other hour
And baby one learned to run
Too young for such a power
People seemed to judge and stare
Her cheeks turned rosy red
He raised his voice, ignoring glares
“It’s cute! We’re newlyweds!”
She zipped up the dress
He escorted down the aisle
And gave away his baby girl
His heart in full denial
The newfound silence of their home
Was echoed in his head
She played their own first dance song
“It’s cute, we’re newlyweds”
Years spilled by, the kids had kids
Less heed was paid to clocks
Days now passed in reading chairs
With simple meals and long walks
They shuffled down the sidewalk
At a careful, measured pace
Their scooting right in sync,
A peculiar kind of grace
She paused to rub her fingers
His hands were also wrung
She raised her deep-set eyes to his
“Do you ever miss when we were young?”
His wrinkles seemed to lengthen
As a gleam came to his eye
His mind replaying memories
Of leaky roofs and a youthful bride
Then he looked at the woman beside him
Drooped by the weight of long life
And for a moment he stayed silent
Overwhelmed by his beautiful wife...
“I don’t miss when we were young
Though time has worn us down
The love I had for you back then
Cannot compare to now
I’ll brave a thousand achey bones
Just to take slow walks with you.
Besides,” he took her hand in his
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute.”
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 12:08 AM UTC
This crazy old man rambled verses of the bible in the middle of central park
No one cared to listen
He was just a crazy old man
Thin, malnourished, his wrinkles deeply embedded in his paper skin
Gave him the illusion of being wise
Though he had no idea of what he ranted on
The poetic flow of his words caught my ear
And pulled me in
"Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
I pondered a while pacing through the park trails for the meaning of all of this
Night had fallen when i came across the old man again
Cozied up under a newspaper on the bench
His bible was placed under his head
And in my ear
When i realized I had lost all things
I had lost you
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
Stagnancy living
in colorless morning.
sunflower sunshine disconsolate
the rooster sings
eulogies and clamored verses
ringing alarm bells in cockcrow
cough drone weary eyes
dew-tied memories of
reverie weepy
aching legs and chest pains
cotton cozied pills crashing
underneath plastic caps
prescription taps
Tylenol Benzedrine
relapse body thinning
cities wearing
ergonomic tragedies
encircling business quarter
daffodil rooftops
steady rain descending onto
varnished sidewalks.
Addicts pirouette dazzled the
hazed-minds dreaming of
Aprils and consistent harmonious
ecstasy visions stampeded
by the brickwork flickered with
lamplight demons overcast this illusory Babylon
trembling flesh retreats into the shadows it came
and nightmares remain similar to days before and after.
Recycled horrors lightning flash abhorrent death
whether they be wearing black suits or black robes
scythe or satchel the wide eyes scour gaunt alleys
for fixes to fix the monotonous life bewitched
with false material variety anxiety deity
Desecration City express way to depression
oppressed people hide away in simultaneous acts of
camouflaging fireballs
spiraling into decadence.
Diamond days few and far between
communal woe reverberates through skins
and skeletons in opening of top story windows
during Winter. Despite the fragrance chaos,
pandemic paranoia,
extinguishing elation,
All bodies continue to be
alone.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
I'm avoiding the shower,
because I don't want to watch the remains of you circle down the drain.
I'll have to watch your scent peel from my skin and disappear into a greedy steamy cloud.
I'll look down at my body and miss the way your fingers looked holding the notches in my hips, and then it will remind me of the view from over your shoulder as you hold me deeper into your chest, and that will make me mad with the thought of your face buried in my hair.
I'll wash my neck and accidentally pretend my hand was yours thoughtfully caressing the nape, and then I'll lean my head on my hand and pretend it was your shoulder and linger there a little too long.
I'm avoiding the shower because, I've come to love the dirt cozied beneath my fingernails like I am beneath your arms.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
Coming into credence of the surrounding,
As the perpetual cycle met like a race track.
Current presence dim lightly with another solstice beckon,
As winter takes the sunlight for yet another annual walts,
While moonlight hover more frequently to a sound of a violin.
The inner heart wrapped around a blanket,
Cozied by the sleep of hibernation like camp fire.
The beats come into a trance,
And radiance come to a halt by the darkness,
For it is the reign of fall that cover sun like a shrouded veil.
Such is the time of gloom come to a reflective meditation,
For all imagery end with a last note of a piano,
And seared thoughts say good bye with the vibration of it's strings!
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
I fell in love with a boy. He was sad.
He curled up next to me in bed one night
and he cried on me.
His tears soaked through my shirt:
"I have no answers"
he whispered into my neck,
and I felt the tears roll
down my collarbone.
He cried on me was we made love together,
and I felt his tears burn my skin.
With each tear more of his features
melted away.
My love's skin dripped off,
droplet by droplet, onto me.
His tears stunned me with their heat.
As he dripped away, a rusty metal frame
emerged from under his flesh.
As I pushed him away,
his metal joints creaked and his rusty skeleton
flaked onto the bed.
I was in a puddle of sweat
and I was unreasonably calm
as I cozied up in the heat off his tears -
in the puddle that was once my love.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
I've never seen black or white. I live through a vision of grey filled with reason and understanding.
I don't have opinions, I have views. I see both sides, all sides, I see everything and feel nothing. Sometimes I'll see nothing and feel everything because feelings are fleeting but time has always been my companion. Time to think, time to seclude, time to make time when sometimes there is no time to be given. I think when I was a child my first step was a step backwards. A step not into life, but secluding myself from it. I will always have a hunger to see and go and do more but I've taken what I've been given and stepped backward to see and feel as much as I can. Always living in that farther place has made me believe I'm not experiencing what others experience. I watch and observe and I wait until I'm finally cozied up in a small shack at the bottom of a memory-filled place somewhere. Anywhere.
I don't think, I know. You truly are you surround yourself with and the areas that surround you. I know I will never reach my own personal enlightenment, or maybe happiness, until I'm in that happy place. So in the meantime I remain the minimalist I was born to be, letting few things into my grasp and few people into my life because I'm waiting for the day I can pick up and leave and take my first step into life.
In everything there's a double meaning.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
He was a sad boy
and it was even more sad how deeply
I was in love with him.
He curled up next to me in bedone night
and he cried on me.
His tears soaked through my t-shirt.
He coughed, sputtered and sobbed
as I held him, until, finally,
he fell into a fitful sleep.
I knew he was awake again
from the renewed heat and wetness
of his tears.
"I have no answers," he whispered into my neck
and I felt tears roll slowly down my collarbone.
I felt him grow stiff against me,
and he cried on me as we made love
together.
I felt his tears burn my skin.
With each tear, more of my love's
features melted away.
My love's skin dripped off,
droplet by droplet, onto me.
His tears stunned me with their heat.
As he dripped away, a rusty metal frame
emerged from under his flesh.
He grew rigid. I pushed him away
and his metal joints creaked
and his rusty skeleton
flaked onto the bed.
I was unreasonably calm as I cozied up
in the heat of his tears
in the puddle of a memory.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
One of these days you'll be cozied up in bed, big blankets enveloping you as the heat from your coffee cup warms your fingers and makes your nose run.
And one of these days you'll look over, the sun peeking through the window making you squint and you'll see your lover in their most peaceful state, hair awry and a spot of drool on the once clean pillow case and you'll wonder how you ever got this lucky.
One of these days you and your lover will slowly make your way to the kitchen and while you get the pan, they'll get the ingredients.
And as you wisk away at the pancake batter they'll turn on the radio and urge you to sing along to some bubblegum pop song about love written by someone who has never really experienced it.
And you'll laugh, setting aside the unprepared breakfast and grab their hands, romantically slow dancing with them on your cold kitchen floor in nothing but undergarments and big t-shirts.
One of these days everything will fall into place and every night you'll come home to the love of your life and talk about your day and how it would've been better with them by your side.
One of these days you'll spend the night in, building a small blanket fort around the TV in your living room.
And you'll watch your favorite movie but it'll be a good thing you've seen it a hundred times because you won't really be paying attention.
And one of these days as the movie nears the end and tears ***** your eyes because the guy never got the girl, your lover will kiss you gently, then passionately and sooner or later you'll both be tangled between the sheets and they'll be kissing every inch of you, loving every piece of you without hesitation.
One of these days the mornings won't seem so cold, the sky won't seem so gray, and the nights won't seem so lonely.
And one of these days at 2am you'll think about how you almost didn't stick around but then your lover will pull you closer in their arms as they sleep and you'll think about how you sure are glad that you did.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
I feel in my skin
in my hair
in the backs
of my eyelids,
that if there was one
house in minnesota that felt like New York - -
this would be it. Quiet dead of winter, the street filthy out the window,
people wandering the cold dark streets in the night sky
me, cozied up on your paisley couch with a cat warming my feet with its soft purr,
drinking a glass of sweet red.
you, typing emails for your union organizing, and playing your favorite jazz record for me. Me,
in love with you
You, loving me,
as silly as it seems to me.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
A week's respite is quickly guilted by the call of institution,
resounding inside our ears, harangued to not be...
beguiled we sigh with inadequate sorrow
tricked into self-degradation, Then finally, we're back
Alas!
inside cozied up, yes man! Writing down enumerated tasked
unraveling us back to the scorn that earlier was reversed
Under a rough stack of paper
And an ever-beating heart
Under a disillusioned smile
And a blanket of anxiety
That's been pervaded by Ritalin
signed by the future I call myself to...
Smile!
sigh
relief
comfortably numb
Thank you sir
may I have another?
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
every fiber of my being knows
that you will forever by my love.
i wonder if it's possible
for any one to love you
quite as i do.
our days draw closer to an end
and we've been saying that
we are just friends.
but i think deep down
we both know
that we were made to be lovers.
we were made to be a pair.
i found a home,
cozied next to your soul.
i know, in your arms,
everything will be alright.
in your arms i find
my own personal Promised Land.
Mar 5, 2020
Mar 5, 2020 at 11:18 PM UTC
In college, going home was always a reprieve
Well, until it wasn't.
Those awkward moments when you'd walk in on an argument,
Or when you had chores again
Like slipping back into your childhood skin
But it was a little tight, constricting.
But home made my chest hum,
No matter how tight the skins I wore became.
Home was a historic ranch with a view of the skyline
It was washing dishes with a view
And spending more time on the porch than in the living room
Home was the first place that actually felt like more than just a house.
Home had a yard, and friendly *** who mowed it
Home was walking outside to the smell of fried dough
Mouth watering for a fresh doughnut down the street.
Home was a garage turned art studio,
Bugs and all
Home was fighting over a single, small bathroom.
And it was just a couple minutes walk into the city.
Cityscapes, always changing.
Now, home is a green field, awaiting development
Home was ripped from beneath us like the run down houses two summers before.
Home is gentrification,
Only a few steps from the balcony of wealthy young professionals
Cozied up in their overpriced studio apartments.
Home still smells of doughnuts
And the driveway in the sidewalk is still there
Home still brings back our perennials,
White, purple, and pink.
Home cannot be taken from us,
She is woven into our very fibers,
But she can never be touched again.
Home was sold, beaten, bulldozed, and cleared away.
Home is just a memory.
But I will still drive by,
Smell that sickly sweet air,
And pick some of her flowers.
Here's to you, my love.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
For all the times I can't be by your side
I forecast the future...
You,
Me.
I hear wedding bells in my head,
I think of watching movies on the couch together
I feel your body cozied up to mine at night
I sense that we will always be together,
And every time I picture these moments, my stomach erupts with excitement
And it's uncontrollable
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
They are waiting,
In a little black box
Wal-mart rings,
The best we could do
To prove our faith and fidelity
They are waiting,
All cozied in white silk
Snuggled together
Exactly like we should be
For all eternity
They are waiting
For us to remember them
To put them on
To show them off
To all who want to see
They are waiting
For you to come home
And see their rust
And polish them back up
To restore their former glory
They are waiting
Here with me
Like you should be
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
#*Deciduous trees stand side by side
Branches entwined
A crow couple, cozied up on a high branch
And the sun shone upon the two
The morning light, a beautiful sight
Below I stood, watching the two
As the brown leaves fell like confetti
Smiling in hues*#
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 2:28 PM UTC
I want to be reading
A geisha’s memoir
Sipping tea with you
Comforted
By your calm expression
like that undisturbed puddle
behind your parent's house
is that puddle still there?
or has it dried out like our love
Reading so fervently
as though it was a race
between the words on the page
and the excitement in your heart
It feels like home
cozied up next to you
in that single sized bed overflowing
with love and blankets
Its just an illusion
There is no you
It’s just me
Reading a geisha’s memoir
Alone without a drop of tea
10/04/08
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
It’s Election RAGE AGAIN
Yet here I AM
Cozied into a very appreciated bed
With widely opened window and
Blue October skies
YES
Bluest October skies waft thru
To kiss my right nostril-n-cheek
Unchanged GREENEST leaves
Cling tightly to a transient's home
Patterned harbingers of Spring & Easter
Last VISAGES to Summer
Looming doom remains willfully un-ACKNOWLEDGEd
Looking SO brave & permanently stable
We've wistfully learned this isn’t the case
Via Charlotte’s entwined web, she’s coached us quite well
That garbage truck’s beeping
I hear you
A block or 2 away
Tuesday’s circadian cadence
No amount of voter’s RAGE will stop YOU this time.
Lastly is a beautiful MAN
My SENSITIVE
Wholly LOYAL
GOOD HEART
Rummaging downstairs
Self CRAFTING a HOME roasted morning bean’s brew
This is the stuff of LIFE to love and LOVE well
Thank You
My GOOD guy
For ALL that YOU DO
Without Pomp
Or Circumstance
Or MAJOR cultural praise
Such quietly EXHIBIT-ed LOVE
Is NEWsworthy for sure
So go ahead campaign RAGEr!
Rage on…RAGE ON
CNN thanks you MIGHTily.
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 2:37 PM UTC
I think about you all the time
But especially times like these;
the twilight hours.
The moments when you would be
Cozied up behind me,
Taking deep breaths,
Tightening your grip,
Bringing me closer to your heat,
Telling me, with your body,
That I am yours.
That you are mine.
That we belong..
That we are doing the work
Of the divine;
Caring solely for eachother,
Healing one another.
And as I drift further into you,
I am possessed
By words and images..
Thoughts I'm scared to imagine
But cannot ignore.
Because you are my muse
And these are the confessions
of the Inspired.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC