"cratering" poems
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'
nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
*its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man*,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the
*other bad good girls,
who got there first,*
but we will write of
nipple-rings and
other crazy songs you sing
it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"
which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear
whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^
Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
<soft spoken intro>
...see your still here again,
.....think your still welcome here?
...here,
huh
Closed our mills, took our jobs, put in down our throats,
Fed us lies, took the pensions, thought we were a joke,
Media all bia's -steal my sentence, voted 'ere to revoke,
Cratering down! Cratering down the steepest slope!
*We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...*
*We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...*
White people,
are raging, against,
The Machine..
So Welcome, welcome...welcome...
To The Machine...
Floyd
I once woke up covered in blood on my parent's steps,
My truck was miles away on the side of the road.
*We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...*
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
*I was happy then, because there were eight.
I was happy because it smelt like ash and ukuleles;
rushing water that could very
very well break my neck.*
I smiled and you smiled back
blinded by a flash of everything,
anything that happened in Decembers and Februaries
and the warm air, lying thick on the back of your neck
melted that flash clean until all I saw -
all any of us saw -
were blinking images of ourselves.
caught unaware and griping but also so very happy.
*It smelt like summer, like tires speeding up, up
higher and higher until we crashed into the sky and fell down,
cratering holes as acid rain.*
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
left our things
cratering the desert;
palms upturned
pulling the pressure away -
soft-words
talking down the crumpled spine of loss.
the sand,
the sand.
if it wasn’t so fine,
would you be able to trust
the mistaking of
abrasion for absolution?
will you be able to forgive
the belief
that a collapse can come
with good intentions?
Nov 27, 2023
Nov 27, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC
There are two moons,
the one I used to cut my wrist
and the one that followed me home,
bathing my blood in silver light,
its round-eyed innocence gone.
My skin glowed white, hemoglobin
starved, celestial, cementing
my place in the firmament,
so that the universe cried with me,
cratering all the worlds with its tears.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:25 PM UTC
just a moments grace
from the rushing roaring
in my brain.
just a little surcease,
a second's truce
between voice in and sane.
i just need to change my focus,
to blankly stare,
for the smallest while not to care.
to have a twinkling and a wink,
to re-adjust the mindset.
to re-sing the refrain,
to desist the cratering battle,
to lay in fields quiet,
to release the burgeoning
strain.
to hear the epiphanies call,
sweet and clear.
to understand life's meaning.
to balance fear and longing,
couarage and strength.
to walk my passage willingly,
all of it's undetermined length.
one quiet moment,
is all i need right now,
in order to adjust my wavering stride.
that and the knowing,
you will walk beside.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
The old man stands in bare feet
on the composite floor,
gnawing on raw potatoes;
a crypt of tenderness
behind a barrier of
golden baby teeth
and thin wire rims.
He swallows ardently
pushing whole potatoes,
passed a sixty-year-old
clog in his throat.
One day, that tenderness
will drop like lead
from his mouth;
each word
cratering in the softest earth
“I’m trying.”
One day, on the back
of his blood
he’ll remind me;
with a mouthful of lead
and a snarl,
he will urge me to run.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC
Pile stone after stone upon my chest
I deserve not the breath that i draw
Brittle bones house a pulse ever softer
As they splinter, caress
With the grace of the moon descending
And force of the guillotine's blade
May the echoes of my death rattle fall upon deaf ears
And be swallowed by the lapping waves
May my bones please the hounds
May my flesh feed the ground
May my heart cease its ache
May the sun rise again
Oh sweet sleep
Still and unending
A calm descends upon the embers of being
The coals cratering my eternal home
As deep as need be to bury these shameful bones
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
The moon shines no more
I could never rest under the sun
That I know to be true
But I'd come out under the moon.
Its modest brilliance, paling before the light of the sun.
But now, even the moonlight burns my eyes.
Instead of brilliant yellow,
I searched far and wide for ashen white.
Now I search the sky
For clouds, to hide behind:
Clouds of all shapes,
Clouds of all sizes,
That replace uniqueness
With transient whispers of specter silence
Where dreams become what?
Dreams Fade
And I disintegrate
The Moon Crashes.
Scarring it's pristine white
With cratering canyons.
Now the sun sinks
Into eclipsing dark.
And I'm afraid, that you'll never find me.
Even if you feel that's O.K.
Who knows,
Maybe it is....
So Goodbye Moon
Your brilliance has lost its luster,
In the cavernous gutter I'm in
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
I feel like rain and every man I meet
Is subjected to me
The cloudburst of emotion and pain
A flash flood of heartbreak and sorrow
I fall until I land in their hearts
All drenched in regret
Their clothes soaked through
Suddenly, with the feeling of me
I silently pour in
With baggage that hails down
Denting and cratering them
Until the levee breaks
A deluge of myself
Until all they can think about
When a storm rolls through
Is how much it reminds them of me.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC