"cozying" poems
When, instead of cozying in bed
I wander out there with Kerouac,
Imagining that I am Kerouac
Or some slave who walks upright;
Or a priest without a crowd
With hands and feet tied.
When, instead of snoring like hell,
I am left unimaginative by some;
I am making disgusting Love with shadows unknown
And remain pinned against the wall.
I am some nine year old senile who wets her bed
in fear and disbelief.
Lights flicker and then fade
And the switch becomes a button pressed to send
Someone in raving comfort.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
Even when night becomes noon.
Nightmares haunt me no more but I
Am left haunted by my bed.
Sheets crumpled by tossing and turning.
My bed does not recognize my warmth.
Voice recordings and constant tweetings
Pump blood to my Über active head.
Sleepless nights are well received as my body
Succumbs to sleep.
I live in a different world with five hundred other names
And the ten thousand other Me’s are all in disarray.
(And when the clock chimes at one, two, three ‘til way down six,
There’s a carnival of sorts with hair strands flailing like
Seven sets of arms.)
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And wetting my bed is not a Sin.
I am sinful beyond recognition, as my bed is my witness.
I have had different beds
But to me, they’re all the same.
Some, soft; others, too hard
Or covered in satin, exaggerated by the moonlight. Some, made of wood
While others, with tight springs.
Water’s absurd but so is steel.
Double padding, triple linings, four feet, at times, none;
There’s the car, the guest room, the floor, hospital bed,
A seat next to a complete stranger ---
I make my bed before sleeping
And leave it when I’m done.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And I jump on the bed at midnight.
I am not a stranger to morning tides and the morning shows on TV.
I’m not a stranger at all, no,
And when I sleep, I sleep in peace.
Stranger things have happened
Noons and sudden weekends are no way sleep - inducing; I am left believing
That nights and days dance in my
Sleeplessness.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Keep doing what you're doing
you sower,
oh, how you sow.
You play others
as if they are fools,
injecting them
to steal their money,
cozying up to drain sweet love.
You drop balloons & break hearts.
Think that's funny?
Well, I'm God & I'm really ******
I will reap,
soon sower.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Took three entrance exams, and taking one more this month.
All four are for the most prestigious universities.
They're popular choices for dreamers like me,
But fighting for a spot under their programs
Isn't as easy as others make it out to be.
Do I belong to University No. 1,
Where it proudly adorns and displays its title
As the Top 1 university in the whole wide country?
Sure, I'd love to work with fine, brilliant minds
But the question is: will I survive?
Or, do I belong to No. 2,
Where my father had once studied?
'I'll always be a blue eagle,' he'd proudly say.
I've always dreamed of being like him
I also heard this college had awesome laboratories
Then again, maybe University No. 3
Could be the one for me.
I could continue my heroic saga as a green archer
Cozying up in one of the largest libraries ever
With a book in hand and a heart filled with contentment
Perhaps it's University No. 4,
Which had the easiest exam so far
I've been encouraged left and right by doctors that
Should I pursue my lengthy medical studies
University No. 4 is the right place for me
Where do I belong?
I'll be away from home soon; I'm preparing myself well
For the college of my choice and the reality it brings with it
Here I am, sitting, asking myself again:
Where do I belong?
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
not even two years
and she has mended her heart
stitched back the pieces
and glued it in place
God it's not fair
it's not fair how she
kicked out the memory of Dad
and graciously opened up the door
for Another Guy
cozying up to him and
whispering sweet nothings
the shoe does not fit
while Another Guy woos her
with a candlelight dinner
new beginnings for the main course
and empty promises as dessert
my Dad's picture sits on a stool
covered in dust and dirt
waiting to be cleaned
waiting to be polished
waiting to be looked at
waiting
waiting
waiting to be held again
i am angry
there is an invisible bomb
attached to my chest
nonstop ticking
24/7 ticking
make it stop i say
to no one in particular
the porch light is on
i see the silhouettes of
the woman i once knew
and Another Guy
they're wrapped in each others arms
and i explode
pieces of my heart on the freezing floor
i'm forced to pick up a thousand tiny
broken hearts
by myself
always missing one
a piece of me is missing
is it stuck under a cushion?
did i forget it in the park?
maybe i left it in school?
no that Piece is watching
from up there
Dad's starting to slip away
so i rush to the abandoned picture
tripping over my own tears
and stumbling over my own heartache
i clean up the picture
so my Dad doesn't slip away
too far
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Walking through the hibernating town
Couples holding hands
Laughing
Smiling
Kissing
I thought to myself
Could that be us?
Could we walk along
Frozen paths
Our breath dancing
above our head
Your lips upon my frosty lips
Christmas lights illuminating the snow
Stars winking down at us
Mountains tucked beneath their blanket
of snow
Cozying up by the fire
Blankets wrapped around us
Hot chocolate sips
Laughing about the days
Your kisses melting on my lips
My head in your shoulder
Your heart beat singing me to sleep
Maybe
Maybe one cold December
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
I met him at his house,
stuck the check in my bag,
so many zeroes.
“Large price to pay,”
said his wife, arms crossed,
not liking the idea
of giving a younger woman money
to go deep inside her husband’s body.
I sunk into the old man
as though he was a post-work bath,
and the pain rose off his surface in steam-like tendrils.
I stretched and widened
to completely fill the shell of his large frame,
and after a few seconds of adjustment,
twisted a clumsy hand
to test my motor control.
I slunk out of his rocking chair,
and tripped over his legs as I tried to walk,
plummeting face down
into cat-haired carpet.
The wife
was giving me the stink eye.
“Arthur?” she asked, stupidly.
I shook my head.
Meanwhile, my body blinked awake from the couch
and was overtaken by a large smile,
Arthur’s blissful grin looking
peculiar on my lips.
The old man,
inhabiting my body,
reached out a hand to glide against
his wife’s mechanically smooth arm:
“Come here,” he requested.
She made a face, said she’d be back
when we were done, and left.
Now it was just me and him,
or him and me,
depending on how you look at it.
We laid down on his bed together:
me because i’d become suddenly exhausted,
and Arthur to take
his first real rest in a while.
No matter how I adjusted the pillow,
My wrinkled head throbbed.
We tried to play cards,
but Arthur’s hands shook in a way
I was not used to
so we had to stop.
He kept thanking me over
and over and over and over as i replied:
it’s my job,
no problem,
it’s my job, no problem,
and rubbed away the aches
in my temporary legs.
When the session was over
he bolted out the door.
I couldn’t move without hurting,
but I didn’t need to chase him:
I called him and told him
if he didn’t bring my body back
I would steal his credit card
and his wife.
“Bodies are places to visit
but you can’t vacation forever,” I said.
When he returned he wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“I’m not really a thief,” he let me know.
“Okay,”
I said, skeptical,
putting my hand on my own shoulder
and cozying back into my body,
which was a little stretched out.
I could feel him watch me leave
in excruciating jealousy.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 2:51 AM UTC
~
Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought
grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of
smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls
in the heart of the shopping district,
where everything is on sale
and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to,
shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when
grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties,
for no good reason and
wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit
where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours,
Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where
empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges,
yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator
at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses…
Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge,
hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as
small piles of words are sifted through but not taken
for the sunlight changes everything
and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted,
though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
“I could if I wanted, you know?”
I pirouetted
Full tilt
The room on its axis
Spinning quickly
Wound up
Unwound top
Rhythmically synchronized
With my clenched gut
Transfixed as
You—
Who had traced the edges
Of me
Mapped me
Committed to memory –
Morphed quickly
Became unrecognizable
Your identity
Faded
An old photograph
Outlined and defined
You frame everything I am
Who once was a beacon
Is now a shadow cast
The coldest glance
A knife kissing
Cozying against my skin
Alive, you still haunt me
A shamble of what I thought
A ghost of a man
I’m
Creased
From your tricky hands
NO
Ringing gunshot
Swimming through your ears
Tell me, please,
That’s why you couldn’t hear
I am just a trail of smoke
Dissipating now
An ember
When I once was a blaze
Smothered by uninvited embrace
I am fragmented
But they say
Every phoenix
Rises from ash
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
i asked a friend,
who had been there a few times before,
what was it like.
he told me,
like everywhere you will ever go
it has its ups and downs.
summer there, of course, is the best.
unabashed, careless frolicking
days at the beach and sipping ****** beer.
but winter, too, is beautiful,
cozying next to a warm fire
with whiskey and hot mug of cocoa.
the road there is bumpy
but once you get there it's mostly smooth sailing.
'cept for that rough patch in the middle of the town.
finally I asked him,
how do I know when I'm there?
and he let out a sigh that lasted a little too long,
and he looked me dead in the eye,
and he said,
when it's gone.
May 25, 2011
May 25, 2011 at 10:45 AM UTC
I just want to hold your hand
and walk among the tall grasses and weeds
to that place that you took me before
while the wind blows up against our bodies
and we breathe and step forward in unison
The tall grasses swishing, brushing against our legs
activity of those around us humming in the background
children laughing in the pool,
birds calling to each other in the air,
the sloshing of the water against the embankment
And I look to you and all I see are those sea green eyes
Crystal blue on some days, mossy green the next
And I lose myself,
melting in those dazzling pearls of intimacy
When you look at me with them,
it feels like you see into my soul
knowing every part of me all at once
Then I look away, blushing
because your gaze is so penetrating
that I have no way to respond
without seeming foolish
because you have struck me speechless
All my feelings for you reflected
in the red glow of my cheeks,
I cannot hide from your gaze.
No. Not from you.
As you pull me on, hand in tow,
I feel like I could float like this forever
suspended in time and space,
the world outside melting away
as we dance without music
Your smile embedding itself onto my face
cozying up for a long stay,
my face starts to ache from the muscles of my mouth
not being able to relax,
but I cannot stop smiling
As you clear the ground
I watch you carefully brush away
possible bumps and uncomfortable seats
and motion for me to sit next to you
on the spot of ground you have cleared for me
I plop myself down serenely
My body folding into yours,
your arm wrapped around my shoulder
My head resting on your chest
Peaceful dreams come over me
and as we harmonize
the water becomes a bay
and the spot we have taken up becomes the dock
and as we sit upon the dock of the bay,
we watch the small ripples,
assuming they have a tide,
roll away into one another.
We sit on the dock of the bay
and waste time
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 11:10 PM UTC
Autumn has a way
Of slowly creeping in
Though summer days
Are far from being over.
There is that turning point
Wearing a jacket off season
Cozying up around the fire
When the sky has become so low.
Seasons are already changing
Not ever having set a date
It is a dawdling process
But no one wishes to notice.
What a strange sensation
Like opening a door
That was never really closed
The beginning of something
That should not have even started again.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
on a cold brisk day
following the agonization of my mind
you asked me something quite unforgettable
what brings you joy during your dark days?
i believe my answer was
you see its a mixed assortment of
any flavor of adventure
plane rides to tropical cities
road trips to unacknowledged towns
blasting classic 80’s jukebox tunes
tears for fears / queen / violent femmes
dancing in parking lots with my friends
quaint and unknown coffee shops
driving past state line after state line
autumn blazes lighting up the view
a warm cup of vanilla chamomile tea
cozying up near a fire
to unthaw my frosted nose
my family’s classic movie marathons
popcorn popping in the background
while we soak in the glory of
star wars / james bond /
mission impossible
oh the list goes on and on
you know that
all these beautiful distractions
remind me of the grateful mind
you should possess
for the small blessings
everywhere
step out of the chaos of your mind
appreciate everyday ordinariness
affix yourself in the glory
of the little things in life
i overcame my dark days
in the light of the plainness
of everyday life
plainness shines so brightly
can you see it?
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
Weekend, shorn spoof head-to-toeing,
Sunday sobered...I saw
a squirrel sleep for the first time,
from a second floor, cozying
between pronged boughs.
Tiff-tough puff of a tail, spot-spread
by a breeze.
A split vibrational decision,
raring a decided tree--in this
cellular mockup city, NY.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
~
Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought
grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of
smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls
in the heart of the shopping district,
where everything is on sale
and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to,
shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when
grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties,
for no good reason and
wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit
where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours,
Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where
empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges,
yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator
at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses…
Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge,
hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as
small piles of words are sifted through but not taken
for the sunlight changes everything
and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted,
though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
cabin fever--
snowed out labyrinths
reconfiguring, think:
The Shining.
Santa's trailing laughter.
the orange arms of a
fireplace giving and receiving...
as one cozying up to themself.
with periodic cold drafts breathing
on deeds done.
that which secludes to find...
chestnuts roasting from within, smoke
offerings.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
What I d remember of you
When I leave this place
Is of us exploring the foggy city in the early mornings
Is of us cozying at night infront of your fire place
Playing a deck of cards
Drinking beer with our friends
Of the love that we thought we had
Of the loss we thought we d incurred
Of the emotions vested
Of the coffee beans roasted
You and I posing for the picture
We printed on the mugs as memorabilias for the future
of your unibrow I was once so fascinated with
of my life stories you dismissed as a simple myth
of the taste of your lips
the warmth of your coffee breath
the sharpness of your nose
of the moments we chose
of the takeout menus lying on the floor
of the house, the water and the shore
I am carrying the love with me
The memories and the shared spaces
I would try to move on without you
Without your kisses and warm embraces
Release myself from the shambles of your love
And move on to getting caged by your memories
Keep ruling me my love
For without you I am lost of my many identities.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
I haven’t hit home yet but least I’ve got a roof over my head
Food on the table
Clothes on my back
But it’s nothing like the days I’ve spent with you
The good days- even if there was only a few of them
Working beside you during the day and cozying up against at you night
The pleasure of waking up next you every morning and coming home to quality time, kissing and caressing
No I still haven’t forgotten
Yes I am away from you but I have no peace of mind
My appetite dies as I wonder if you have still eaten
My days turn grey even when the sun smiles down at me
My sleep fades away when I find myself thinking about you at the middle of the night
My skin goes cold when I remember the feel of your embrace
And my eyes flow with the tears that have never been shed
For all the days spent on our bitter fights
Time wasted on cruel words and accusations
The nights you came home staggering through the door reeking of cheap alcohol and cigarettes
All the nights that were wordlessly spent even though we lay next to each other in the same bed
The thoughts of you still torment me by the hour and keep me up at night
But the day after is the absolute worst
No kind words or coffee to wake up to
Only an empty house filled with our old trinkets, and faded memories
Every day I embark on the same quest… of finding my old self again
Trying to relive the days that I vaguely remember and bring out all the pleasures I’ve denied my self
Some days result in triumph but most nights end is tears and despair
It is not my spirit that’s broken but my heart
My aching heart!
that still cannot seem to forget you
but beats with the hope that you will one day come back as a changed man
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
she’s beige, belonging to the tailor-made census censured for centuries.
you know, those clones clinging to a clue and cozying up to epicurean corpses.
bellisima encore, her with the eclipsing ego like some ill-conceived freudian offspring.
woman of gospel – preaching gore, gossip, guile – isle of iconic illusion.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
There's this war within me.
I thought once I learned the truth that it would set me free somehow.
But it has created this bubbling of emotions that want to explode; like a shaken bottle of pop. I closed the lid tight afraid the explosion might **** me like an erupting volcano.
When I breathe a little I know that my fears are just in my head.
My brain likes to remind though that as a child the monster wasn't hiding under my bed but in my bed cozying up to me.
Like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
So how do I trust anyone?
How do I trust myself?
I've been deceived before.
The negative committee in my head likes to tell me I was stupid & naive, that it's all my fault.
But who blames a child for an adults abuse?
That's Not a child's responsibility... ever.
I was always taught to listen to my elders.
I was a very obedient child.
What happens when the people who are suppose to teach you about your worth betray you and use you like you worthless?
I'm not a little girl anymore.
But at times I feel like one,
paralyzed with confusion.
Turns out I'm actually not crazy.
But a lot of crazy things have happened to me.
I'm a survivor.
I'm one of the lucky ones.
Yet I don't feel lucky.
I pray for your peace.
It takes a very broken person to be a monster to a child.
Even if you started this whole war within me.
I still pray for your peace.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 9:02 PM UTC