"dazedly" poems
You forget there's a sky above
Birds don't chirp trees are few
Gone is the hamlet that shaped your love
For a blade of grass cries the morn dew.
Mesh of wires runs over the sky
Air is thick with the reek of petrol
Scare you the trucks heavily passing by
Dazedly you search for the village of the ole.
Here was the home your soul's green abode
Where winter was cold March sprightly Spring
Your feet ran the soil not dusty metaled road
Dreams soared high on boundless wide wing.
Now all around are the townsfolk on race
Ruthless pace crushing ole hamlet's peace
But so is fated by the wheels of progress
That shows the gain more than all that you miss.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.
Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.
Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard
of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.
The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.
Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here
and real. like it always is of course
but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.
Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information
into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.
We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant
plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.
So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards
granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.
What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.
What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.
What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
--------------------
With Both Feet on the Ground
Hello, dear-one.
What say you in this lowly place?
"When twilight traces the terrace,
Touch the torch-sky with the tip of your lip.
A sweet heat
Will draw your willful mind,
But watch! The torch-sky takes:
Heart-stems
Drip
Drip
Petals shower
The firelight blaze, like my root vein,
Spills languid and warm across the sky.
Beauty in elation
But now breathe out!"
--------------------
Then Into Deep Water
Say, dear-one,
What's all this now?
"The blue of night is sweeping over the torch-sky,
And shadows steal swiftly as silent silhouettes,
Come coldly dancing
Do not disdain—dreams form feather-light foam,
And fade heavily in a salt-wash, flooding fervently.
Covered darkly
Step
Step
Shiver forward
From terrace to sea my foot falls easily.
Then the eerie eels entwine in the brine.
Feeling supine
Let the deep creep
Until next time."
--------------------
But the Canvas is Brighter Still
Stay awake, dear-one.
Is there not more to tell?
"The search for halcyon has wrought hush-flickers:
Stars staring brightly stripping night's dark domain.
Drifting dazedly: humorous
'Theirs is a humming neatly humbling hysterias.'
Whispers Nyx, 'Dwelling hinders what dreaming may fix.'
Sleeps slips
Blink
Blink
Morning stands
Beacon! Bright butterfly, beckon bravery!
Billow boastfully—this day will be mine!
Keep in mind,
It's always divine."
Very good, dear-one,
A fine farewell.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
Distilled dreams drift dazedly.
Drumming dares defiantly!
Defeating deafened demons
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
tense, i lie dazedly upon her bed
she whispers and speaks soft into my ear
i hear naught but loving words from sweet lips
i hold her close as thoughts run through my head
the time is now, she takes all my fear
and stands before me, hands on bare hips
a catch in my breath, a skip in chest, thump thump
ecstasy, it be her name, her body its meaning
i'm wet clay in her grasp, asks "why do you roar?"
her answer is now, the bed doth bump bump
upon the wall, i grip it tight, stare 'pon ceiling
"oh my dear ive never felt this way before!"
blinded now to all but her, she looks at me
mesmerize, and i feel so calm, before the storm
mouth open in empty rawr, i cannot utter a single note
she pauses a moment, i plead, destroy me
til moonlight shines upon her furry form
sweet explosion! finally now, my roar within my throat.
my roar echoes from wall to wall, as do her cries
she wracks my form with passionate ******
the finale, memorable, we can't seem to stand...
we lay there, giving up after a few tries
neither move, content in each other's trust
our love knows no boundries, how grand.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
She hammers out a heartbeat,
Clinging to its sound,
A constant noise to bind her,
To link her to the ground.
To keep her feet from slipping,
She follows it in time,
As though it were her duty,
Her singular design.
All she hears is beating,
Blocking other noise—
No tunes of trifling children,
No giggling girls and boys.
For noises are distractions;
They make a mess of minds.
Distraction likes the clutter—
Against her ears it grinds.
She holds fast to her heartbeat,
Latches to its hand,
But finds it too erratic,
Dribbly, like sand.
Up and down it dips and flies,
Makes her poor head spin,
Sending shivers up her spine
And tremors down her chin.
She’s lost her steady rhythm,
Lost hold of the sound,
The beat that duly held her
Anchored to the ground.
Her mind can’t find its footing—
It panics in its stead,
Lets inconstant rhythms
Muss her weary head,
Lets the twang of heartstrings
Orchestrate her cares,
And tangle with her fancies
And trip her down the stairs.
It sends her stumbling dazedly
Without a steady beat
To keep a constant tempo
And keep her on her feet.
She tends her bumps and bruises
Desperate, now, to find
Some steadiness to cling to,
To hold her glassy mind.
But nothing seems a constant
Except erratic sound.
What, then, can withhold her
From sliding off the ground?
What can keep distraction
From tearing through her head
And keep her fears from springing forth,
From crawling to her bed?
Can she fight this madness,
This urgent need to seek
Some constancy to bind her?
Or is she just that weak?
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:29 PM UTC
i am having the same old conversations
with the stars up in the sky;
supine, i ask them how much
of their beauty lingers within me
not much, i think.
silently, they stare back, blinking dazedly
i think i might just sleep now,
and let them blanket my dreams:
cold and dead and burning out, alas, like me
but still shining just enough
to soften the blow of nightmares
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
swirling through the crisp December air
snowflakes glisten in the light
streaming from windows that showcase trees
adorned will sparkling ornaments
and shimmering stars.
twinkling in the distance
from the peaceful, stoic cathedral
are the bells that sit high in the steeple.
i discern the haunting, glorious tune of
o holy night.
a song that is captivating and overwhelming
with its understated power
hidden in an almost melancholy key
that leaves me frozen in awe,
though i've heard this song before.
i startle as a child and her father stride
swiftly by me on the icy sidewalk.
she slips, but he gracefully scoops her up
and places her gently on his strong shoulders.
her contagious giggles blend with
his easy laugh - a sound as stunning
as the exhilarating chorus of the bells
this laughter now harmonizes with.
i'm lost in the melody of happiness
until the two disappear into the warmth of their home
and i'm again alone on the street.
memories brim and sparkle in my eyes,
simultaneously flooding my cheeks and my mind
and for a fleeting moment, i sense him.
his strong hand is in my small one,
squeezing, so i'm aware of his loving presence.
but a cold gust of harsh winter sweeps in
and he is gone and it is only me.
my mittens wipe away the memories
as i dazedly continue on my way
to my house
breathless from the emotion of yet another
blessed Christmas season
filled with the tragic beauty
of days spent rifling through distant,
yet starkly distinct memories
of the loving embrace of my guardian angel.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
I've got a tingling all over me
The kind that makes you howl
And I think I'm losing it babe
I'll throw my clothes off
Just to scratch at this itch
After all, everything's better in *******
I'll dazedly watch my skin blush
Shy at the attention it's getting
From the fingers being raked across it
My freckles won't be the only geometric thing then
I'll have parallel and perpendicular lines
****** squares and rectangles
You wouldn't believe the roaring that fills my mind then
When I see that miasma of pinks and reds
Telling me that I don't deserve anything
Especially not you
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
“I’m going to become a nun,” I announce to no one in particular between Sprite sips.
“You’re Catholic, I suppose you could,” Lisa says, with a mouth half full of pizza.
“Why do socially distant guys look extra attractive?” I ask dazedly.
I reach my hand out slowly - towards a sweaty, chiseled, guy entering the pizza place, who looks like he’s just coming from the gym - like someone lost in the desert reaches for a mirage of water.
“No!” Lisa says, protectively lowering my arm “you’ll just have to put him back.”
I sigh. “I want to do something interesting or shameless.” I say.
“Don’t we ALL.” Lisa agrees, knowing all we have ahead is 4 hours of reading.
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 8:40 AM UTC
Merry Christmas Eve,
From the fog among the trees.
Lazy haze draped dazedly
Is our California freeze.
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 8:08 PM UTC
I used to say labels were nonsense.
That’s easier to say when your not stuck dazedly in chest deep mud, befuddled to how you even allowed yourself to get this far in
I’ve come to terms that i pathetically need a simple word to fall back on, a carefree shrug and the word “friends” simply just isn’t cutting it for me anymore.
Time always gets in the way, at least in your case and what a big ****** time tends to be, selfish-oblivious (Maybe I’ve begun talking about you)
.
My brain hurts from the constant back and forth thoughts pinging around my skull.
My migraines have come back with a vengeance, sometimes I imagine they’re you.
They say men’s thoughts get stored away in square compartments, tucked safely away and organized, free to visit another time. while a woman’s thoughts are similar to spaghetti
.
I use that as reasoning to why you stay so calm ( i always make up excuses for you to ease my rage).
I need peace and you’ve brought havoc over me, thing is you probably have no clue.
I’m afraid, out of my comfort zone and my trust is laid out on a counter with a knife beside it
.
Your call
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
the sea opens
& my crimson chamber
Became alive for a while
Brick walls became clay
And stretched their hands,
Multiple hands
Towards
You
Like You did
Desperately, Dazedly
In mirror pits
Towards me,
Towards us
& Fingers moved towards each
Other
in mirror halls
But can hands,
Can fingers
Seize the water?
Well, they tried
Like summer times
Weave shades
with scents
Ivory-hued
And to think i haven't tasted
A sweet rest
For over half a year
and now i drift sleep with
Heavy sighs
In place of breaths
& peace is
more than forgotten
Being immortal is a curse without a doubt.
& the sea closes
Nov 26, 2022
Nov 26, 2022 at 2:06 AM UTC
6 0’ clock
and the string of doors on the block
creak open in unison,
The briny smell of sizzling, leathery bacon accretes,
Seeping forth from pale shutters,
Peeling past the cars, stripping beige paint off the sides of houses.
The morning drizzle, forming tiny rainbows,
You would think it was acid rain,
melting away the plastic people.
Midday, after only an hour passes
and white wine splashes
like crashing waves in the crystalline stemware,
Where orderlies dazedly rescue their children from the montessories
Where power lines crack like whips,
So generously oozing sustenance to babes.
The civiliter mortuus, roam their undead domain,
Like a swarm of cockroach wasps
speed walking in parasitic pairs
darting through Safeway aisles,
Demolishing houses of white chocolate, and roasting sweet nothings
On the new George Foreman Grill ™ .
Every house on loan to apathetic debtors
They come to yours with their holy letters
PTA, … IRA … NSA … HOA
They proselytize, prioritize
Themselves over forest bears and wolves,
But where only hedge trimmers growl
The only Tuesday sounds are the behemoth
Devouring your trash,
And where leaf blowers asthmatically howl.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC