"cushioning" poems
You kiss me the way
you set the sun:
Deliberately sinking me further
down, then leaving me
suspended just beneath you.
Your mouth smothers mine,
cushioning the sound of explosions.
Nails etch a language onto our skin
leaving raised lines of calligraphy
that we'll read in the morning with a smile.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
I've been at hundreds of funerals
Standing beside Fathers
Soon to be posted to Peru
Or to missions for black African babies.
They'd sprinkle caskets like Spring rains,
Burn incense to smudge the dead
With rising smoke signals.
Sounding the advance.
I witnessed pain in the front pews,
The kneelers with thin cushioning.
I prayed fervently for a whosh of wind
To sweep behind me,
Billow my soutane,
And lift the lid;
Prayed for the candle flame to flare,
For the body to rise
As Rathgar did.
He was a faker.
Not like what I saw.
Up close.
On Friday mornings.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Submissiveness:
give into man. silence yourself. his word is final. rush to his beck and call when he is angered. we are wrong. man is dominant, and woman is soft. if man is the bone, we are the gushy cartilage cushioning his fall. body dominated and composed of bone, but we are the organs that keep the body functioning. forever being transplanted, while our men are broken. submit.
Purity:
save yourself for man. wait for him with all your white so you are not tainted. innocence upheld. it is all for him, only him. wait for him to take it all, whenever he desires. be pure.
Domesticity:
the home calls our name. it is our calling. our knees bound to scrubbing, hands tied to kneading because our family needs us. we are to be the slaves of our homes just as we were to the white man. permanency of pressing collars that are not our own. domestic labor.
Piety:
we come from the rib of adam. without the presence of man we, ourselves would not exist. for this reason, we worship. we worship to reiterate our purity, to maintain our sanity when others challenge our virtues of womanhood. the lord is our shepherd. we uphold our lord. besides our husbands, he is all that we shall want.
womanhood.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
Deeper than the captivating shape it has,
Lies a greater purpose it stands for.
So vast and strong,
It rotates laterally
and extends at your will.
It stands strong, defying gravity
cushioning you for your comfort
and holding your pelvis still.
So appreciate it for more than it's curves;
stand tall and thank your behind
when you bend.
For it is greater than
it seems.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:25 AM UTC
I am so disappointed...disappointed in love.
It had unlocked so many closed doors and exposed my eyes to beautiful sights.
It had my heart pounding out of excitement and my tummy in knots.
I would close my eyes and feel the warmth of your hug engulf me in its ecstasy...
Ecstasy defined as "a state of being carried away by an overwhelming emotion".
It felt like I was swept away...lifted off the ground and hung up to soak up this Love.
I had no reservations...since this love showed me sights I never knew existed.
It had my highest level of thought twisted in gold rims and candy floss...lost in the fairytale that always ends happily.
Love. Love. Love.
Words formed little bubbles of thrill all around my imagination.
Cushioning any doubt I might have. It smoothed the rough edges and made the difficult seem easy.
It had me looking forward to a life with you.
Looking forward to the fights and smiles, the laughter and cries.
I used to tell you your laughter brings so much joy to my heart...
Love. I have so many things to tell you. I have so much I want to share with you.
I am upset, disappointed...yet I am excited and I still love you, love.
When you came along I belonged to the fragile kind, the dreamy kind, those that believed in the impossible.
My heart got strengthened with each day, my poems building my broken soul.
I can still see you, every second blink has your wonderful face floating by.
I blink harder to try and remove any trace of you...
Love. Feels like you tore out my heart and smashed it against a high concrete wall.
You wore your biggest boot and kicked me in the guts, making me question if I truly deserve you.
Love. It had me writing endlessly about the golden embroidery you were adding to my tapestry.
Tapestry that details the path of my life...you my Love have been added onto my tapestry. Like it or not.
You are there, blending in with the adventures of my life.
I will remember you, forever think about you...Love, You will settle in the depths of my being.
Stacked under the "Lost and never found".
Time to move....
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
every time he touched me
i felt him memorizing me like a wreck
every time she touched me
i felt her heartbeat caught in my own neck
they are problem solvers.
i had cushioning companions
fuller and calmer than me.
perhaps someday i'll tell them this
if i ever learn to handle it:
the open, raw closeness.
In the meantime, i'll remember her
laughing into my legs
immersing us in the soft hair from her head
and his enchanting voice
inflating my lungs;
the simple gift of speech in bed
the moment right before their contact,
a few light-years away from being.
the moment between shine and its reflection,
just a hollow eternity to all the space in between.
company?
I starve for the long moments
that thick time of silence together
feasting on whatever he just said.
community?
I crave gazing at an orb of truth
wholly understanding one another
a vague sense of being like her family.
civility?
honoring the ghosts of our realities
and remaining gravely touched
by the mortal ritual at hand.
I couldn't deserve either of you
just promise me you'll understand
or at least try to
get the **** off my land
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
Can't we just be us for a second?
And stop the conformity
End the uniformity
And become people
Can't we just be us for a moment?
And stop the yes ma'am
End the yes sir
And become equal
Can't we just be us for a while?
And stop the judgement
End the competition
And become simple
Can't we just be us for a day?
And stop the cushioning
End the lying
And become real
Can't we just be us for some time?
And stop the worrying
End the fearing
And become gleeful
Can't we just be us for today?
And stop the striving
End the climbing
And let ourselves free fall
Can't we just be us?
And stop the normal
And show we're
Exceptional
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
on your first moment of being alive
you’ll wonder why god’s in the sky
and how the ***** of your soul
can’t grab hold of the air
to steer you to die
and on your last day you’ll attest
that the plane in your chest
can take the air from your crumpling house
and fly you to god’s bed in the clouds
the clouds will spray and dazzle
with lightning purely designed to unravel
all the twine lashed around your heart
that keeps it form flying out into the dark
of some columbonimbus forest
where the pine trees are black
and you’re only a tourist
through the trillions of droplets of static
don’t panic
you won’t become static
if your being is healthy and your course erratic
through the eclectic college of higher thought
and liar’s losses where
what you said you’d ever do
is who you are and it is you
flowing through your floating soul
far away from your crumpling home
and what you said you’d never do
is who you are and it is you
and it’s flowing through your dying blood
tainted brown with air and mud
and who you are is how you fly with
wings of soul and ***** of lung
piloted by how you die
with tar and drink and merrier things
than you’ve ever known in a crumpling home
because flight is happy and death is euphoric
and falling is a trap sprung by calling for nothing
but concern and disdain will slash at your face
like raindrops cushioning a pilotless plane
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
I get sent socks at Christmas,
So I can have safe walks.
When I tell my friends about this,
Everybody talks.
There is no innuendo,
Nothing to confess.
Without those cushioning blankets
My feet would be a mess.
I know a friend who knits socks,
In many different hues.
So long as she keeps knitting,
Our feet won’t have the blues.
So Wendy sock it to ‘em:
All that stitch and purl.
Make them good and roomy,
So our toes don’t have to curl.
No chance of any frostbite,
With these things on our feet.
For comfort on a cushion,
These socks just can’t be beat.
Paul Butters
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Only men remember the names of their cars,
the make and model and the year they got them.
They can recall the feeling on their thighs
from the cushioning of luxurious leather
as they slide in with a longing sigh.
There is no will power known to man
that can keep their fingers from caressing,
the steering wheel spinning in their fantasy drive.
Eyes scanning the dash to inspect the odometer
praising the low mileage of where she's been driven
fooling himself that he's the driver that counts.
If only they understood the true lust of leather
comes in the form of wedges or stilettos,
and not only noticed when they're kicked off.
Which, by the way, are Pradas,
sold by Neiman Marcus,
bought last month at Fifth and Grand.
Sep 3, 2009
Sep 3, 2009 at 12:31 PM UTC
You held a gun to my head and called it a love letter
whispering, "I'd do anything for you
except die."
But you still sang for me, that night on the rooftop,
our legs dangling off the edge
and pinprick flowers cushioning our fall.
I think I understand now why some storms are named after people.
You were a perfect storm. You swept me
off my feet, darling, and you never put me back, did you?
there is a creature inside my skull
trying to get out what happens
if I cannot contain it as well as I should like?
The world begins and ends with you,
angel, dawn and a pearly sunrise against my throat,
hands clasping mine like a prayer.
Paint me in blue, stars dying all around us. This is how you will know me.
This is the only way I will let myself be known.
Starved and dying and silhouetted against the rising sun.
You've seen this all before,
sweetheart. You've seen my neck,
my collarbones, my hips swaying like a breeze.
This is nothing new.
I'll wish on old trees and memories
and storms tearing down the earth one town at a time.
I feel in all the wrong ways, a thousand and one
errosions of faith
Don't ask me why I do not feel like you do
Ask me how many stars are in the sky, ask me
about the scar on my left cheek and
I will answer you. I will try.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
It takes alot
Loving you in these shoes.
It isn't horrible.
The way they fit.
The way they look.
Loving you in these shoes of mine.
It doesn't take much effort.
To slide my feet in.
Tie them, before a single step is taken.
Knowing all that goes unseen.
The padding & cushioning.
The flex of each step,
The urgency of how I long.
Revealing how much I've thought of you.
The many steps and puddles these shoes have walked.
They aren't waterproof.
They aren't well protected from wear & tear.
Loving you in these shoes of mine.
They are far from dress shoes,
Not even close to casual shoes.
They aren't the type of brand shoe everyone is in line to buy.
Stacy Adams, Adidas, Jordan.
Loving you in these shoes,
No one knows where to find them.
How many times they've come loose.
How many times the cushion has been replaced.
Loving you in these shoes of mine.
Knowing you've checked the tags of the name brand shoes.
The appeal of readily available colors
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 2:18 AM UTC
For the third time, I’ve found myself *********
in the reality of how I was perceived
by the people who passed me on the sidewalk,
or who met me at the party, or who
took my heart and collided it with their hips.
And by now even I know that I should know
how the rest of the conversation will go.
My cheekbones will grace the slander
of a compliment skewed, a lust
for my body ruined by misplaced intentions.
My agreement
to go back to his room was never welcomed
by my head, but instead
the sad bed with its sheets already turned down
waits for me and I hate it. I hate it
like an insomniac hates sleep, like the sun
loves ice cream.
For the third time, I’ve found myself smashed
into a wall of circumstances, appearances
cushioning the blow. My pretty face,
my pretty face, my pretty face!
God, how I’d love to put on a show
so you could see how my mind tumbles
across all the roads I know I shouldn’t be crossing.
How my eyes dance on every temptation just waiting
for the hand to be dealt, for the bet to be placed.
For the third time, I’ve let myself be bound
by the vibration of reassurance, by the ring
of a telephone. I’ve lost
a part of myself in you. How haphazardly ineloquent
it all seems in my nightmares, how blessed
the rest of the world must be to know this pain
and be able to stop themselves from feeling it.
How dark
it is under your seat
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
I love the conversations that we have.
There's no rush involved
A certain amount of logic or
Anything otherwise overbearing.
We might not say that we love each other
in the sense of coming out
& Saying the words, but
We do so in a more fun generously
Giving way.
If I ever slouch or have something
on my face you tell me in a way
that doesn't feel remedial
Or wait until I reach your train of thought,
which could otherwise
Feel embarrassing.
A mutual understanding in patience,
Filling an empty space in my bones.
The cushioning that relaxes and eases
Tension.
No matter how goofy or if we don't see
eye to eye.
You're the only woman I want
To fall asleep on, while
You fall asleep on the couch.
With three perfectly good explanations
Down the hall
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 1:42 PM UTC
My room - womb:
Self-furnished surrogate;
Protective and exclusive;
Umbilically attached to the Other
Via electrons and electromagnetic waves,
Stimulating half-dead neurons;
Nourishing; pseudo-social life.
A womb - my room:
Self-imposed cocoon,
Refuge and retreat;
Amniotic psychic cushioning,
'Tissue-like; apathetic swaddling
Absorbing impacts of buck-shot cultures;
Allowing light mixed darkly - melancholy.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Exhaustion.
body melting into itself, cushioning
reality with hazy unfocus.
i feel fuzzy around the edges,
static buzzing in my ears.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
I want to fall asleep with you
inside a flower or a peach, with pits and seeds
cushioning our necks
they shall love us through their organs
like man
the difference is
that nature asks, may I love you
before they begin to.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
The loyal support we address as a ‘friend’.
There for you when you feel like breaking,
When the tears are overwhelming,
And the sadness unforgiving.
They will stand by your side through sun, sleet and snow.
And when you need them most they will be your pillow.
Cushioning your fall when you drop from great heights.
Comforting and faithful,
Never failing to make you smile.
Cause at every wrong turn,
There will always be a friend.
Someone unlike any other,
That stands alone above all the others.
Be thankful for their friendship,
Be thankful for their love.
Be thankful that even though you may be weak they remain strong,
To pull you to safety when life feels just, wrong.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Feel the lush green grass
seperate your toes
cushioning your soles.
The scent of spring blossoming,
wafting around you
the sweet scent of
yellows, purples, oranges and pinks.
Invited by birdsong and butterflies,
get lost in paradise,
warm sun on your face
painting the dawn in hues
of blues and golds.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Faeries & goblins, angels & demons
in the sky above
or on the ground below
make a wish on a
dandelion clock, watch the pieces
dissipate into the
cloudy blue skies
as a rainbow forms
amidst droplets of rain
peal away those petals
off the daisy braided flower
we must all eventually
f
a
l
l
from our seeming grace
be that a leaf, a branch
snowfall, even you
we all fall apart, in this
torn up land
collapsing like a snowman
melting in the heat
puddles of water
glazed with ice
how you stare at your reflection
in that heaven made pool
of crystallized water
lightening diamonds
gazing closer you lose footing
face downwards you tumble
lost in a fabricated mirror
measuring your self worth
dream state or nightmare
truth or dare
it becomes your wonderland, the
gateway to your dreams
those angels and faeries
will surrender their love
cushioning the blow with those clouds
they'll let you ride that unicorn over the rainbow
those goblins will stitch you into custom
fitted couture
majestic carpets pass with lovers of before
fantasy? reality?
are they merging as one?
unable to think or feel, was she
living or dying?
was she over the edge or still hovering
above
flashbacks of life
making their place known
in her dreams she is usually
dying
these were the ones that
were the best she ever
had
she knew she wouldn't go to
hell
as hell was her place on earth
so maybe heaven awaited
and this was her chance.
© Sia Jane
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Exchanging
recommendations under flickering lights ! we transpose the nature
? of our insect-like movements
$
with the slick of our collars,
our dull-shine badges.
Eye
makeup
arrayed in sheens
to blow your eye's burn
away
back into
the cold of space,
where you belong
the skirt of the star's burn,
to sear you (un)clean
without alarm.
with a certain sweltering silent charm
Somewhere, saturations swell
in non-
casual ******** singsong.
Klarity is substantiated.
Forgive a whiff into cigarette dust.
Into reticulated (t)rust.
✙
How many leaves
connect
to form the tree's glow?
I'm sorry for asking
now
*I must go*
...
Forbidding madness
with a
keen
brow-
bent
glare
ballroom harpies
chase you backwards
down
a
flight
of
stairs
.
.
.
*what is this caution
here cushioning me
porous like bed foam
harm eating me slowly*
?
smirking consistent smart
a loneliness for hatred
.
.
.
Tear me up for what is holy in me
crumpled 'piss-poor' regard, it's a satin-shure smile
I am churning and I know (not the exit)
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
You came to me, sat facing me
Not knowing one another
Trust hovering waiting to be earned
Stem straight backed with suppleness trampled
Vulnerability would not escape
Your bud delicate, yet tightly closed
Time favoured us with consistency
Week upon week we met
Tracing the weave of your emotion
Winding through tangled threads
Tears buckled up and fastened
Your well was empty
Warmth began, seeping into us
Cushioning your jagged edges of pain
Tears pooled and slithered silently
Your lips their channel to taste
The salty trickle, identifying
The gradual thawing of your soul
It quenched your parched heart
Nourishing its wounds, opening up
To tender shoots growing, searching out
The warm back of the sun
Melting your resistance to change
Rallying you with self discovery
Fresh strands of hope poked
Into daylight asking for direction
Roots began to soak up, trusting
The food of life, reaching for air
With the breath of self acceptance
And the prize of freedom blossoming
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
I will probably stand you up on end,
the way hair rises for
electricity
uprighted, sure,
though not exactly how it’s supposed to be
I’ll play the current
and you won’t be what you were,
or at least always have been
And whether that changing
and charging between us
is right or wrong
is up for interpretation.
And speaking of interpretations,
you could wind up trying to read my signs
even though they won’t be signs,
unless I make them signs...
like warning signs,
or danger signs,
or maybe the kind of signs on old road posts,
weathered and worn,
and illegible
or maybe the kind of picket signs
that tells you all the ways
from which you can leisurely choose
on some sun dusted road
with your options spread at your eyes
and your feet
and hopefully, your heart
and you could choose whichever direction
that you think you know you want
And my words will most likely make you strain to hear,
though it may be a song you don’t understand,
like those of birds flying together distantly,
whom no matter how you concentrate,
are still a different species,
singing a foreign tongue,
who make you feel
and make you know
with a sadness or determination or both,
that until a melody is made solely for you,
you will always just be dropping eaves
And speaking of dropping,
I could cause a loosened grasp on things
the things you can touch,
and the things you can’t
and the things I can’t
will all be forgotten,
dwarfed,
at least, seconded
by my growing presence in your mind
you might imagine me as an Alice
oh my poor, shrinking wonderland
you didn’t stand a chance.
And it’s possible those things,
you know,
the ones that you let drop,
will clatter to the ground,
from your forgetful, or, unconcerned fingers,
and when they are grounded,
discarded,
leveled,
lowered to my toes,
that I may see a higher view
But, perhaps, just maybe
you’ll find that,
though they fell,
though you let them fall,
that I didn’t let them b r e a k
perhaps you’ll see I will have made for them a haven,
cushioning, cradling and made up of only the softest matter,
six thousand thread count kind of stuff,
likefeather down,
eyelashed cheeks,
inner cloud,
your words,
and my kisses
And when you finally come down from my initial high,
it’s probable that you’ll be so dazed
and dizzied
that you must look at your feet
to make sure that you are still standing
and that is when you will see
that in the moments when you forgot
the importance of your things, that I
did not
And I could not let them
clatter, shatter, smash
and that though they dropped,
because of me,
they are still intact
because of me
and when you see your things,
ones you loved but forgot you loved,
that they are all
unbroken,
is when you will know you can love me
wholly
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
She was the centre of my universe,
and I, the eye of her storm,
the soft centre, cushioning,
calming...
I wore her hurricanes like wings,
her fires like a second skin,
and all of it was beautiful.
Terrifyingly, startlingly, strangely
beautiful.
To feel her heartbeat next to mine,
in perfect sync, the rhythm of the
skies and heavens. The meeting
of two souls, tainted separately
yet, together, fierce
and free
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
you can never under-estimate the humanity
of one example,
as you already exampled undermining
the humanity of "you", or whatever choice
of pronoun that befits your idea of superiority -
as said Japan attacked, China retaliatory -
Mongol kept apart - bereaving Scandinavia
bereft due to the European ploy fancy;
you can never under-estimate the humanity
of one example,
as you already exampled undermining
the humanity of "you", or whatever choice
of pronoun that benefits with your idea of superiority -
as said Pearl Harbour: war against war
rather than war against society - indeed modernity
with the man in the high castle rather than
i'm the king of the castle - whereby the softened
consonants rather the hardened vowels -
ð adjacent of j - verifiable ðe- or -dje,
dje - or thus extreme English definite articulate of θη -
i won't give you answers, forget it ****
i don't have a lifetime or likened vein of thought -
variations of f and some vowel, θ- e-i -φ - gobble up
a blah... due to η we endow θ with a calibre of vowel necessary,
fully... eta is like a missing diacritic on emicron, shortened,
ah **** epsilon - one and the same...
still involved, softening, duck-quack-and-feather cushioning,
i admit it's regardless of being 90 years of age
skipping rope and boa entanglement to myth
in memory of a life actually lived -
the stink of my great-grandmother's apartment
the coal-set-piece of what could be a baking oven...
the whole place was scented in ferns...
i don't know why, ferns, it was just ferns...
it wasn't Parisian perfumes, it, was, just, ferns...
it was't the next trend of clothing, it was just fur,
you watched your neighbour's television because
you didn't have your own... ferns! ferns! ferns!
the myth told to children about a golden fern leaf,
the myth of Gutwin and the bee that stung my shin -
it's so long ago, i wish it remained,
all i have is America i'll never see, ever hear,
ever touch, America is just an advert, it's nothing,
all i have is America i'll never savour, ever feel,
ever know, it's just abstract, all i'll get from America
is Apache alcoholism as worth writing about
rather than taking a selfie... and that's about it...
otherwise i'm left with kardashian celluloid -
globalisation really has made London a village
and Abridge a capital.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC