"creeking" poems
I'll be your raindrop
if you'll be my window pane
or
I'll be your wet blouse
if you're caught in the rain
Be my asylum and
I'll be your criminally insane
and
I'll be your stock options
if you'll be my net gain
If you were my trap
I'd cordially be your reeking dead mouse
or
I could be your wrap-a-round porch
if you'd be my creeking old house
I'll be your idiot
if you'll be my quick thinker
and
You can be my Bud Lite,
I'll be your binge drinker
I'll be your loser
you can be my laughing hyena
or
You can be my cougar
and I'll gladly be your half-dead zebra
Be my ****** predator
I will be your self-defense class
or
I'll be your censorship and
you can just be your own **** ***
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 11:08 AM UTC
Silent swing on the tree,
half-broken,
creeking as the wind blows
Doesn't really look like much.
They're talking of tearing it down.
If only they saw...
Yes, it is abandoned,
and has no significance
neither to me nor to the world,
but that is its significance
A singular, physical unit abandonment
in its prime manifestive form.
Unhidden, unmasked,
painfully present for everyone to see.
How many more of them exist?
Nowadays, they just tear them down
or put a pretty facade on
It's hidden,
but it's still present,
just covered up.
I guess we're just modernizing the world,
personifying it,
to be more human.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
These days I hate being told about my strength.
I hate being handed a title branding my chest
With a word so full of magnitude.
I am discovering not that this world has taught me strength,
But that it has carved creeking creavices of weakness.
Straight to the base of my bones.
If I should ever walk past,
You are more likely to hear my
Fault lines shaking earthquakes
Through every fiber of my woven body.
Lately I have no peace of mind to find some sleep.
I"ve been scraping the avenues we paved together
Knees broken, ****** hands,
Praying to find a piece of you.
My eyelids refuse to give me darkness
With such a measured distance between us.
Knowing that you will not be there,
Playing symphonies through my ribs as I wake,
Is too much a burden for my tired heart.
Can you tell me, where is the strength in this?
I can no longer look at my mother
Without some shame swelling
A fierce sea inside of me.
Waves of my mother's failure pummel my gut.
Yet I could never tell her this.
Could never say that she
Ruined my life,
Put me through hell.
Fed my childhood to the mouth
Of the monster of addiction.
Knowing my innocence was spilled as blood,
A sacrifice to the God of her fix.
Ten years later,
I still cannot look at my mother.
Now tell me, what is the strength in this?
Loving me is a death wish.
For I will drain the life from you.
Facing such a world with these hollowed out eyes,
I cannot do so on my own.
Make sure to keep you distance,
Too close and I will bind our wrists
With rope a burning indian.
So when the knife comes down,
I will not bleed alone.
So tell me, what is the strength in this?
One year since flashbacks of things,
I never knew I remembered.
When the darkness comes I
Cannot close my eyes without
First feeling his hands,
His eyes,
His breath.
I cannot love myself,
For disgrace of the woman he sculpted out of me.
So show me where is the strength?
I hate being told abbout my strength.
I hate being handed a title
Branding my chest with burnt crooked lies
I hate being granted a word so full of magnitude.
My shoulders weren't crafted
To hold such weight.
You may never find that in me.
So if you call this strength,
Here take a look
At my book of weaknesses.
How much strength do you see in me now?
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 9:44 PM UTC
Knock-knock
You suddenly go into shock
When you hear the knocking at your door
Then the creeking opening it more and more
As the stranger enters the room
You see he is not wearing a normal costume
"Trick or Treat"
You feel your heart beat
He then starts to stagger
Closer to you with his dagger
As it jabs your heart
You feel your body and soul come apart
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
When every other breath was smoke
Sprinkling hiss of night
Copper and blue
Creeking amphibians
Disturb the foggy blithe
What do we not hear
When the time has yet to cease
Unto the darkest shadows of now
Ringing in the buoyancy with
Its epileptic fright
I can't understand the friction
Of old love and fault
When there is no clarity
In the ones i can't combine
I will breathe in my own conviction
By the route of the
Bathwater's wake
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
Within The Heart Of The Rose
The blush enfolds the richest glosamor at the tip of your fingers that’s where the wonder lingers but
thats just the outward adorning go within to depths go beyound the veil you have ventured into nature’s
sacred dwelling cool night mysteries rest until the suns warmth leaves a fragrant excited exposoion that
ever so gently wafs into the consiscus vessitudes that draw a myrid reponses the creeking tree over the
vale this loving tale decribes its host ultimate tender nature so fragil a degign with pedels that there
greatest strength seems to be in the pixel colors they produce tilted forever in spectaculars arraying the
gradual play of light ever so softly engages delightful excitement would I speak of love then I must call
your name nothinng else is so fitting spill forth emotional waves they trully never languish they would
only slightly touch the water suface then from this enrichment go forth speaking all that lovers
demand and long for it trully resides in the heart of a Rose
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:11 PM UTC
Early Summer,
Cherry Trees Blossom,
Sitting in the moonlight,
And two a.m calls.
The soft scent of perfume,
Whisps in the air,
Take a deep breath,
And take a listen.
Early birds chirping,
Crickets creeking,
Hands touching,
And marsh-mellows roasting.
The guitar strings strum,
The crowd starts to hum,
You close your eyes,
And cherish this moment.
It's full of heaven,
It's full of life,
It's early Summer,
Where Cherry Trees Blossom.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
it just appeared on the tv screen
like black bold letters on a computer
set at the largest font
there
between the two chatting faces
sitting at the table in a restaurant
upon the white wall
TOM
it just appeared
my name
and then faded away
the faces kept chatting
as I slapped myself
hoping to find that I was dreaming
but I was not
I was awake
someone had just sent me a message
a message that they were here
I could not move for several minutes
my heart raced and a cold wave
cut through me like winter wind
through a cheap coat
the shadows danced in a different manner
the chill I felt could not be subdued with blankets
the cracking walls and creeking floors were now alive
on this night
in this house
the haunting had begun
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
I thought about the way you used to say my name and I am tired of your voice.
I am tired of the constant deafening ringing in my ears when I hear them speak of you.
I am tired like old abandoned buildings creeking, waiting to collapse.
I am tired of empty promises
And the endless calls you said
That you wouldn't forget, like how the
Elderly in the old folks home wait by the phone just to hear a second of reassurance that they haven't been forgotten about.
I'm tired of the way you say my name.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
The common desire to define ourselves is defeaning and my ears are ringing. I'm searching for the foundation of the sound, the definite core where I grow from the ground. I have the power to water my basis but instead I let the impression of myself through anothers biases dry up and dust away. I'm kicking rocks below my barefeet, hoping that when I spread and share my air the opinions of who surrounds me wont pollute it to the degree where I can no longer breathe. And now im rocking back and forth in this creeking wooden chair, the roots of relative minds rested below me reminding me what was once there and whether or not something tangible will result when the inevitabilities of life chop me down and leave me bare.
So I guess until tomorrow, or a week, a month, a year, I'll disintegrate into the soil before any of my peers and it won't hurt so bad to be left alone when I know their roots above still continue to fully grow.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
the girl on the stairs saw nothing
heard nothing
no shadows
no creeking wood
no killer
words mangled
and twisted
and cut
fall out of history
silent lies
treachery
like a virus
poisons the truth
hides the light
grips the throat of all those who knew
and every breath reminds them
until their last
that they were seduced
by evil
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
the door creeks
"Ah, I've been waiting it for weeks."
"It's surely the Reaper, the final undertaker."
waiting for nothing
"Maybe, he has another job. The door creeked, but he sent one of his helldog to do the job."
the void avoids my thoughts
"Hellhound or a fluffy bunny, stop me feeling so moody."
"Somebody, take my thoughts and take me voice. Not to feel more sore."
waiting
creeking
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 2:55 AM UTC
Giving him all of her happiness,
She watched him walk away,
Leaving her empty once again,
Without a thought to spare,
Never looking back,
He walked away gleefully as if he were renewed.
Led forward by his hopeful vision of a future,
His presence disappearing,
And all she saw then was a door,
A dark, creeking old, blue door.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
To kiss your soft lips
Warms my heart and
Two hearts entwine
Kussing under the moonlight
With whispers of love
Blowing gently in the wind
All through the night
And we dance beneath
The creeking trees and
The river sings a sweet refrain
While shadows waltz on
The meadow's plain
Lover's tonight kisskng
Under the moonlight and true love
Is in the air tonight and the
Little crickets play their serenade
A timeless bond begins to shade
And we're kissing beneath the stars
So bright it's a peaceful sight
A love so true and a love so special
Felt inside our heart's tonight
And this romantic night a perfect dream
A whispered vow beside the moonlit Stream two lovers kiss
Tonight and we are
Forever bound in love's
Enchanted land.
Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 9:51 AM UTC
On those 2:00 a.m. February mornings, when I get up to **** death is in my
creeking bones.
As I thumb through memories in the old family photographs, death smiles back, in black and white.
He hides in the shadows of the lined up pill bottles, like toy soldiers on the nightstand.
But when I lie in bed and look for pictures in the smoky stucco ceiling, I see coffins and funeral pyres and I close my eyes and grin, because my friend conquered death and took the
fear out of
the grave.
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC