"decibel" poems
I use to write of pain and tribulation
mmm I've always just been looking to feel the greatest sensation
senses at peaks, they peak when they peek at the sight of elation
I've always taken to sealing all my stories away
in notebooks with binding finally looking to fray
because the pressure they hold brings such a dismay
Binded in between faded blue lines
I swear im fine
I swear im fine
in these lines of what could have been mine
and I'll lose it all in this glass of wine
where red bleeds to black
and I've done away with that
The great purge of endless words
heard by no one other than the mad man
running through my head screaming that I can
do anything I thought my mind and limbs had banned
from the realm of possibilities
Because pain ought not be sealed to live an endless life
So I now write of hope and dreams
and the endless possibilites
that stretch from the cities and into the trees
finally dancing down into these seas
but I'm also writing
of wishes and laughs and smiles too
because what else can you do
there are only a few
who know everything is new
everything we knew
can be lost in the great blue
that paints our skies and seas
carrying away the bundle of keys
that locks pandora's box
and leaves us with happiness and cheer
Because happiness can be carried in anything as simple as a tear
racing down the lines of your cranial
that houses your greatest fears
From the lines of light blue to the minds of the hopeful and the true
And words of optimism should live
And breathe and smile and laugh
In the hearts of the world for a lifetime and I digress
In a habitat so vast
With horizons reaching from sky to sky
Drowned in blues and red
I'm glad to of found you at last
We're left to defy all that society presents as lies
I wanna speak at an intimate decibel
Acknowledge your flaws, don't be bound by them
Open your mouth to nothing coming own
Settle down in your head and make a home
I just want to compliment your soul
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.
Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.
Stage two:
Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.
Stage three:
***
Stage four.
***
Stage five:
As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
Skinny *** Poem
(8/11/2014)
Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
They picture perfect future families with puppies and kittens,
but for me something was missing.
I just wanted to be happy.
Maybe my vision wasn't so great though,
because 'happy' looked like it had 6 letters to me, and spelled 'skinny.'
People used to throw bricks at my glass house.
Shouting that I’d be skinny enough to slip through cracks.
Cracks of life,
cracks of struggle and strife,
cracks of everything not nice.
They'd tease me and say I looked like I smoked crack,
when I'd lose weight,
I'd gain it all back,
in the form of their extra hate.
But I didn't feel skinny on the inside.
Although I had skinny bones and skinny skin,
brittle enough to break within.
Under the pain of that pang
as their bricks shattered my glass house.
Tell me, have you ever been afraid of words?
Thoughts can be terrifying but once turned to spoken word,
that in turn will turn to shouted word,
that in turn will turn to incoherent nonsense.
Which starts a sensation of ear drums ripping,
being sawed in half immediately,
no time spent ticking,
by shrill shrieks and violent vocalizations.
As if a sound wave could burst your body parts faster,
no, more efficiently than a barrage of fists.
Because it will know exactly where to strike,
in fact, it will sneak through your solid surface,
into every single crevice,
knowing where the best place to hurt is.
All it takes is a whisper strategically said in your ear,
'skinny.' 'skinny.' 'skinny.'
I could feel it float away from me,
carried off by the wind.
As if a sound wave could carry an army of statements,
piled up and armed with bayonets of every decibel level,
ready and willing to siege each individual joint crack and muscle ache,
being pushed under imposed stiffness.
It will ooze out your pores, as if your fat face was an instrument amplifier.
They thrived on the thrill listening to my shrill shriek.
As I stepped on shards from my shattered glass house,
And stared into the million fractures,
each a broken reflection of the million me’s I could be.
But none of them skinny... enough,
skinny for everybody else,
but never for me.
I’d envision each day, blood drops staining my glass carpet.
Each ounce of that luscious red,
each day left my body filled with an ounce less of dread.
An ounce less to fit into a size small shirt,
and 30 inch waist Skinny jean.
My body became my own private ****** machine.
Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
I just wanted to be happy, I mean skinny.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
When you tell me I have thunder thighs,
your intention is to offend.
However, I take this high compliment, and I thank you.
Thunder is the most powerful source in the world.
It can bring even the strongest man to his knees, weeping.
When you tell me I have thunder in my thighs, I thank you.
Thunder roars and those in its presence fall dead, silent, powerless.
You are essentially telling me that my thighs have enough
power to absorb any and all power, and for this I thank you.
You must think this is an insult because you're scared of thunder,
scared of power. Of my power. I feed off your fear and
my energy increases, and as it does so, I thank you.
I harness the thunder in my thighs and use it
to scream when my voice isn't loud enough.
For the dramatic decibel increase, I thank you.
I have more thunder in my thighs alone than
you have coursing throughout your whole being.
So, go on, call me thunder thighs, I'll only thank you.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Love:
Affection, Admiration, Lust, Adoration...
There are at least 65 different definitions of the word.
Feelings that inspire books of poetry or expressions of love unheard.
How is it measured?
Perhaps with a caliper
to measure its depth and breadth.
Or with a sound meter
To measure the volume and decibel or the whispering of a breath.
Could you measure it in pints or cups or ounces in a measuring cup?
"My cup runneth over"
Can it be measured with a thermometer?
"I'm burning up."
How heavy is true love - can it be weighed on the scales?
Can you measure love with a compass - to what degree does love prevail?
Can a speedometer track the speed by which one falls in love?
Or an odometer measure the distance at which love can still be felt?
Can you use a syringe to limit your doses of love before it's lethal?
Can you attach a heart monitor and check how a lover's heart beats faster
or the health of their love - strong or weak?
Can the rhythm & harmony be counted out on a metronome
Can a polygraph test prove it is true?
Can the magnitude of love be measured using a microscope, binoculars or a telescope - maybe Hubble. How does one know how to bring it into "focus"?
How mysterious that love is so indistinguishable, so immeasurable, so evasive & yet SO BIG!
Yet no one - except for God - knows the true measure of Love & its ability to heal, to hurt.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
there in the wilderness
all things go to live
and all things go to die.
she stole my shirt and hatchet
and took to the woods.
hacked out the heart.
traded one wilderness for another. city into
trees.
she needed to breathe
and wring wet socks, relax, and study the mycelium songs underfoot.
she she she, like a marvelous
new love.
the grass and green stuff woven.
canteen replete with wheat nectar
or half-batch whiskey.
needs nutrient,
the seed so new.
needs space,
the daughter as she grew.
what tempest breaks the trees and old heads
of mother timber?
perhaps deep-winter,
to test the fiber of a florescent forest fleek.
she built a chikee from fallen arms of a sprucewood soul,
drank water from a clay-thrown bowl
and granola to heat her bones.
new fish.
the river is cold on glacier blood.
new day,
driven beyond the random access roads & cobalt blast-holes stretching
gulches bloomed in chaparral.
up they crawl along monumental spine and shoulder,
giants sleeping.
she she she, live a marvelous new love.
the wonder is seen.
the wilderness lived and remembered
by girl or elk bugling their high-decibel poems
when ready.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
past wavering lights
B. Serrano and Bagong Ilog
love struck us down — sees no votive
clearing of the fog or a word sharper than any blade wrought from frays.
i have a photograph of you
somewhere in the ken of my silence
and on it paints lightsome hue
and sometimes pale when it rains.
KM 24 on a blue alloy and underneath,
a Baguio — some memories we keep
almost left by the last carriage homeward
from too much fire in our hands
only tremors could extinguish both
striking a balance and counterbalance;
the frequency of the electric and the
immense decibel of lions drowning
the disquiet. some places or some
looking back makes you want
to lose yourself in slight wonder and when
a memory comes back with the dreary
weight of its forgetfulness,
we fall asleep traipsing the steeples
of our dreams of each other
all-telling, still dizzy with the pirouette
of some distant longing bracing
the fall, triggering our darkness
and shooting out
ourselves, small,
love striking us down. arraying a triplicate
of hazy trails forking all roads
and we cannot find each other again;
throwing stones rippling
multiplied waves by the sea arriving
at separate mornings beneath
our feet,
bends on the bludgeoned curves
of love and hate ascertaining something
so unsure as a door agape and swiveling
in tense wind, tender is the night
and love continues
to smite us down, locking in, predatory precision,
running away, and away, and away
from the ache of it all.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Composing Hallelujah
Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.
So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.
Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.
My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.
Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the psycho-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?
It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,
Depression
I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.
So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.
A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:
Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?
-
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
i am sitting in a cold and very much crowded room.
a sea of nameless faces, attached to 10,000 bodies, filling 10,000 seats.
a cacophony of voices and footsteps and shuffling figures, "pardon me."
small pieces of silence peeking through the static of hums and murmurs.
out of 10,000 - i catch myself looking for one face in particular: yours.
but all i can manage to pick out are not-quite's and hard-to-tell's.
in a room filled with 10,000 faces i'm looking for yours
(because it is all that i see when i close my eyes)
in a room filled with 10,000 faces your name is echoing in my chest.
each letter, ringing in my ears, crawling up the walls of my throat, desperate to escape my lips
and scream with every decibel i posses the power to create, "where are you?"
in a room filled with ten-fucking-thousand faces - the only one that matters isn't there.
m.f.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
She's the attention grabber
Attention all!
Her attention to detail
Is noticeable
Notice not me
The attention *****
Lackluster childlike smile
Is such a bore
The limits are nonexistent
Working like a piston
Notice me
I'm noticeable
Do not appreciate
My childish jokes
I'm here for your entertainment
I'm not a hoax
Cast a glance in my general direction
I'm only looking for alittle affection
I'll yell it at the loudest decibel
Notice me
I'm noticeable
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
dog
all night long
dog
your old song
dog
all night long
how
your friends
yelp
growl howl
dog
your old song
dog
all night long
dog
mad decibel gall
dog
your old song
dog
one pelts stone
dog
guard flings stick
dog
your old song
dog
your old song
dog
your old song
dog
all night long
run
dog
run
dog
run
early
tomo'
morn
dog
catcher
prowling
run
dog
run
dog
run
run
dog
run
dog
run
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
Let me inject some insight into your windpipe.
The things I'd do to you in a dim light - the sin type.
Lace, hair up, high heels, low patience.
A taste; cold hearted with warm embraces.
Divvy up my intentions to evoke your inner beast,
Rummaging thru to devour my winner feast.
Appetite for destruction, thirst for the unconventional,
Back up, head down as the walls resonate your increase in decibel.
No celestial being within these walls when the mood hits,
Deuces, I'll make you see the light more than twice; my stamina defined: ruthless.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
Hanging on
with my teeth
in a hurricane
that's grief.
Rushing through
crushing me
breaking you
is there any more that it can do?
Power lines and taxi ranks,high street schools and country banks all in the air
where the hurricane brings nought but pain
and it always seems to ****** rain
when the winds outside decide to ride on the wings of daemons.
Then
the silence booms out ,shouts out to a waiting crowd,quite quietly
as if another decibel would bring the chaos back from hell,
and the people crawl like wounded ants
with feelers outstretched, looking for their habitats and listen to the
growls from dogs and smiles from Cheshire cats and budgies wearing pork pie hats
the world goes quite insane every time a hurricane
comes storming through
I think it's time to move away somewhere,say like
Kansas.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
I fell in love with the way he keeps himself
so full, so sure, so arrogantly handsome yet so humbly beautiful
I fell inlove with him for all the times he stayed
through all the beating, through all the cheating,
through all the bad and good
I fell in love with his words
the way they roll out of his mouth through the clever words he speak and into my soul, he envelops me with every decibel he forms
I fell inlove with him, because he is true, because he is him
I fell in love with the way he looks at things that astound him,
the way the crease forms between his bushy brows,
you know he's thinking, you know he's about to say something
you know when he looks at you, so straight into your eyes you would think he has feelings for you,
so deep into me that the brilliant comeback I've thought of all of last night has crumbled and vanished only to be replaced by you
so then you caught me, words, out of breath, out of mind
you asked me, "what do you think?"
I thought, of how unpretentiously gorgeous you look
of the tax computation that made you question yourself, if u were in the right course
i thought of why you were so inlove with her,
I think of why I love him
but I think I'm in love with you
So I said, " I don't know"
eg
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 7:47 AM UTC
Oh, Danielle
your voice carries south
and whistles
through the ages.
Oh, Decibel
your sound hollows out
and compounds
through the stages.
Oh, Wishing Well
full of stagnant doubt
and rusted,
wasted wages.
Oh, Danielle
your voice naught without
keeping me
in cages.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC
he only loves me when he’s drunk and I know that is wrong but i cannot stop my hand from pouring the bottle
and maybe if I wasn't so afraid of being alone I would not answer his 3 am call
perhaps if I could feel his skin against mine one more time the numbness would go away forever.
his kisses taste like raspberry ***** but that’s not why I get drunk off him
there is something intoxicating in the way he slurs my name
beckoning me to his dark silhouette
as his nose is pressed against mine his hot breath fans over my lips
“i love you”
and in that moment I forget that he is on drink number 23
in that moment I cannot remember the taste of the tears spilled over him
I cannot remember the decibel his voice hits when he’s had too much and the dog is giving him that look of disappointment and the the TV is too bright
when he kisses me I forget the time he forgot my birthday and the temperature of his hands when he leads me upstairs
there is something in the way he holds me that gets me drunk off him, but he only loves me when he’s drunk
and maybe one day i’ll love myself enough to not need his love
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
Day is passing
Slowly through my finger tips,
I try so hard to tighten my grip,
eyes have gone blind,
I befriend my mind.
*seated next to a stranger in a bus-
hoping to hear from someone else that the day is meant for us*
Their words have turned me mute,
denigrating my decibel to a minimum,
cultivating a web for all the voices that were dispersed—
I still haven’t decided if silence is a blessing or a curse.
*Thing is no one told me that life is long, and that I have to continue the journey no matter how isolated I was.
No one told me how much I should participate in the creation of my existence, that I should perhaps keep going because no one will ever wait for me*
There is nobody
treading the grounds alongside
deserted people,
gambling with faith in such a beastly place,
perfumed with slavery and discrimination;
despair and racism,
rubbing off a scent of alienation,
even that becomes a consolation.
I shouldn’t make this place about me,
growing fangs and horns in solidarity,
show me a world where all this don't persist,
How shall I go on looking like this.
There is nobody
*My mind is a sanctuary,
They live and die in my memory,
Every single stranger is me.*
Where have I arrived today?
I try so hard to disappear from everyone, that I end up even more lost in my own destination.
How did it become this beautiful?
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
Wading through the mire and sinkholes of contingencies
I move gingerly, quietly, gasps merely whispered
upholding propriety and pragmatics of
housing association bylaws
enough to make me consider mowing my own lawn
but humans are human, co-exist as they say
And although I detest your husband's cigarettes
I am quite sure blowing smoke back
down the air vent would not be as effective
as your decibel oblivious obnoxious self, imitating my lustful voice
I am a reasonable woman, truly a lady, preferring mature consultation
But the fact is, honey, if you imitate me again
when summer air re-invents lingerie season
the two of you might want to go outside for that smoke
because you haven’t heard anything yet
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
A false accusation
Leads to a truth,
And a breakdown;
A realization
A growing issue;
A breakthrough.
I see you as a virtue;
Limitless we argue
You hold belief in divine right
Even as I rule your day, like light
Calm you down, like night
Oversee your thoughts; I am your sight
You are the exception
The flaw to my opinion
A breech of my dominion
You are the devil’s minion
You’re the catchy hook in every song
The heat that makes a summer night so long
The passion that makes love feel wrong
You’re the motive that makes a liar strong
A fear in all my dreams
A decibel in all my screams
Turn my tears to streams
Collapse my walls to broken beams
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 11:28 PM UTC
goaded by a stereophonic monotone:
a flumine voice waxes with lovelorn dregs.
i heard the plump word of rescue
dangle from the heady decibel of song,
winterward, blue-veined and stillicide.
no more, shall the wind traverse the impasse of the verdigris. the incertitude
of beginnings sigh ultimately.
o people, your darling children soldered
to your denims. o rosefrail and sightless
bannerets — we mourn such coming.
it sleuths with a tangle of fingers
underneath fringes of flesh-warmed
draperies with a different temperament
as moderate as climates in squandered tropics, flows with a truth wishing it
more of the untruth:
never shall return, in faraway lands,
never shall look back and lay in prairies
attenuated, continue to sing oblivion.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
sense the essence
audibly seen in the butterfly's
shimmering iridescence
flapping its wings
at hummingbird speeds
conducting tones
of concentric rings
emanating matter
& meanings of things
soaring through volumes
of decibel dimensions
embedded in grooves
of mass intentions
measured in tomes
of cultural moves
toward concrete walls
of gaseous oppression
sold in vials to
quell our depression
of what?
our souls don't fit
within their cubes, nor
diamonds, spheres,
pyramids or tubes--
they sink into love
like black holes in time:
with unstoppable force
toward all that's sublime.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 1:56 AM UTC
Writing,
Drawing and painting.
Woodworking,
Welding and making.
Circuitry,
Electronics and more.
Pneumatic, mechanic, IC chips galore.
***** in the veins,
skewed and torn.
Hangovers battled, and seemingly won...
...as the body grows numb...
...limbs waking in hazy hum.
Roll another,
Tobacco makes its mark—
Lungs defiled,
Body failing,
Cherries burn brightest in the dark.
Lets call some lucky,
That they knew from the start,
Yet I continued hoping,
He would come back and restart.
The years draw on,
The day the pickup drove away,
I screamed for him,
Did he hear? check the review mirror and then accelerate?
Children of my own, a wife, and a home.
5150,
It's waiting....
It's ready, patiently prone.
Context needed,
Needed for concepts to churn
Listen closely.
A decibel past a whisper —
A Truth heard from the urn.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC
Where do forgotten stories lay?
Perhaps a quiet, bleak graveyard with blank graves
as nobody sings the words from these pages nor
nourishes the barren brown dead grass ground with any praise.
What happens to a love once extinguished?
A self-sustaining universe expanded so much
all the stars snuffed and smoldered--life choked out
as once burning heat now colder than the dark side of a glacial moon
echoes in a vast dark void of blankness.
Can two diametrically opposed beliefs exist in the same room?
Or does bloodshed have to follow
because mind-numbing decibel blasting arguments
turn both mad with bloodlust rage until the one stabbed least is left standing?
Is it better for people to give a **** or clean one up?
Where's the best place to visit for people
who are ******* fed up with the bureaucratic
red-tape dotted line terms of usage world
but don't give a ****
What's the difference between sports and Hollywood?
What happens to the truth when we've told a lie?
Is it like a battered and bruised wife,
bleeding from the nose with ripped hair follicles on the ground
or does it simply drink away the abandonment on the rocks to forget?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC
as we laid there
in the false light from the ceiling
I felt the need to ask you
how there came to be
two oceans on your face
above a smile when parted
let out pieces of your mind that
I tried to catch
how, in fact, did I come to know
you under those black-rimmed glasses
under a once impenetrable wall
of stone and ivy
how can I drink in
every decibel of your laughter
while knowing I will never drink
from your mouth
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
a talkative beast
spewing half truths
and half lies
confident as the kid
in your class who
always raised his hand
to mouth
the wrong answer
a kettle on the boil
whistling absurdities
shrill as
a woman who
has waited an hour
at the rusty tap
with a blue plastic bucket
to find the last drop
trickle away
a menagerie of vultures
salivating in unison
at moist corpses
in the street and
swooping on the dead
for a quote
like eager students
waiting for exam results
to be plastered
on the notice board
a mercurial mistress
who breaks
a different bed everyday
for limp men desiring
a high-decibel
performance for
a two paisa act
culminating
in a contrived
******
an electronically enabled
carrion crew
reducing pillage
to inches of column
on newsprint
a veritable feast
isn’t it
with Marie biscuits
and steaming tea
there is no escaping
this monster
of many heads
and one tongue
for it whispers
a worldview
its gait
insidious and stealthy
as it pounces
on sheep who
then bleat
its platitudes
as the truth
and nothing but
the truth
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC