"easiness" poems
Not so much grey today, despite the weather
Feeling lighter, an easiness, cells filled with helium,
You look brighter she says,
I have had a shave and my hair cut, I reply
She smiles, I smile, we laugh
The day feels well oiled, little resistance
Or maybe it is just me,
Either way I'll embrace it and slide on through
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
So the school bags are gone.
Summers sweet songs,
sweeps through the village,
the Sports Day is on.
The egg and the spoon,
the three legged race,
Mrs McGinty ends up on her face.
The children delight
a comical sight,
her legs in the air
those old tartan tights.
Those days,
that simplicity,
the little things, that stay with me.
Those clear skies,
I remember still,
the easiness
and sweet free will.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
I look up at the chaos around me
and see.
I see people saying their last prayers,
Waiting for their fateful endings,
I hear the church bell toll in its last call,
I feel the suffocating heat from the burning buildings,
I smell the smoke from the ignited city,
I taste the desperation in the air and the bitterness of regrets.
But in the middle of this tumult,
One thing stands out;
One person.
A little boy stands there in a tan attire,
dark gray ash contrasting his almost-white hair
and tears stains on his ivory cheeks.
A grim expression marking his features,
He shakes as if freezing
and although the heat has almost become unbearable,
he stands in the middle of the flames
barefoot yet unharmed.
A scythe lays at his feet,
and a pale horse stands by his side,
making his small body look even smaller.
As if feeling my stare,
he locks eyes with me.
And as the world burns down,
the reflection of the cataclysm in his brown eyes
and the look of innocent incomprehension he wears
is the single most heartbreaking thing in the moment.
Suddenly, I do not care about the screams and cry of the despondent goners.
I do not feel the harsh scorch of the burnt remains under my bare feet.
I do not mind the tears welling up in my eyes due to the fumes.
They are but a distant reminder of the atrocity surrounding me.
I can only focus on the strange guilt reflected in his warm eyes.
From those same eyes, a tear rolls down his cheeks
And as it reaches his dimpled chin,
he raises a little hand to wipe it away
And then waves at me.
I do not wave back,
too stunned to move or react,
But I could tell he did not expect me to anyways.
With one last look,
he picks up the scythe with an unusual easiness
and turns to walk towards the flames,
the horse close behind him.
And soon, they are one with the flames.
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
Have you ever been
overwhelmed by such a
feeling of nostalgia, blanked
the color blue and a song, a smell, the
light from the windows from so long ago
when you were young and the clothes you wore
were tight, stretchy and entirely juvenile but
the easiness,
minimalistic heart
what were you worried about then?
what was I worried about then?
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
For through these moments
and all of this time
Was an instance of
releasing the control
Of looking for sincerity
in spontaneity to be real
To seek instead a way
of being that just flows
And in doing so giving
trust to the surroundings
With hands and heart held
open to whatever happens
So that there is no worry
no contemplation, no undoing
Instead what is found is
simply grace and easiness
Then the calm rushed in
so silently yet instantaneously
With sweet dreams of the
sunshine tomorrow brings
Jan 13, 2023
Jan 13, 2023 at 11:37 AM UTC
I could not read the music
And so I stood bewildered in the concert hall.
And I do not know why my fiddle mourns a sadly lament.
My guitar sings out danciful tunes
And my banjo beckons all to rejoice.
My mandolin calls with the air of easiness
And my tin whistle whispers with an angel's voice.
But my fiddle,
My poor, lonesome fiddle.
It is full of minor keys
And wrong notes.
Painful melodies
And sorrowful tones.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
I wanted to come home to a riddle that has already been solved, and crush the snow that has already fallen
I wanted to draw a picture that has already been outlined, and eat the meal that has already been cooked
I wanted to love the boy that has already loved me, and wipe away tears that have already fled
I felt selfish in voicing these frivolous wishes to even myself, a desire of continuities
A yearning for ease at everything in life
The emptiness of a freight train houses nothing but fallen whispers of an angry wind and the immaculate darkness that hides the emotions
The loudness of the one-track mind, suffocating wishes with plastic bags in hand
Swerving on and off the tracks like in your worst childhood nightmare, where it never ended
A purgatory of life- living while dead, or dead while living?
I tied my shoes at age 5, ignorantly crafting a fantasy world inside of my head where everything that required a struggling effort fades, and fades quickly until it skips the obstacles and leads right to the reward
A self-entitled structure of my cerebral cortex where I find them all sitting around waiting for it to take care of itself
And I cannot fast forward anymore because I am 17 and failing at life
The crackling essence of my entire nervous system breaking down at the mere thought of futures
Where I cannot wrap my wishes in pretty bows and let them come true
They do not listen to lazy 17 year olds with bambi eyes and mascara-run cheekbones
They salivate to little girls catching shooting stars in their hands and begging for the ease of life to rest at their fingertips
Now, all-knowing, wise, they let the yarn of dreams come undone until the visibility of easiness vanishes right before you
I want to come home to a story that has not yet been written, and watch the snowflakes that have not yet fallen
I want to draw a picture that has no direction, and eat a meal that has not yet been cooked
I want to love the boy that has not yet loved me, and wipe away tears that have not yet fled
I feel open to this new idea of uncertainty, a desire for discontinuities
A yearning for adventure in every part of life
The bustling aspect of the city burns my feet into the ground, holding me with nothing but the uneasiness of the cracks in the sidewalk and the illuminating lights that never fade away
I sprained my ankle at age 12, conclusively believing I would not make it through, but discovering the true talent of healing
A humble version of a once perfectionist attitude, I become accepted into the world of Reality
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
you float like an enchanted nebula in my mind,
pass like the clouds inside my veins,
are the easiness of breathing in my dreams
you forget me for millions of seconds in the imaginary time
you are more real than reality itself in your spontaneous combustions
so that I destroy you each day inside my bones,
I ignite the narrative of dawn, the blueness of your ribs
I forget about you like I forget crying in the aliveness of lovers
I need to forget you like one forgets faraway explosions, storms and miracles because I love you with all the songs of the wind,
the wind that spreads the seeds further away from each other the same way the flow of mystery so precise is carring us further and further away towards ourselves
Jun 20, 2023
Jun 20, 2023 at 6:53 AM UTC
He loves me.
The single yellow petal falls like I fell for you.
He loves me not.
Another drops to the ground like my heart did when you forgot to call.
He loves me.
The softness of the flower reminds me of your kiss that night under the stars.
He loves me not.
The inaudible sound of the section being ripped from it’s origin almost sounds like my heart did when I realized you deserved more.
He loves me.
The easiness of pulling the petal resembles how easy it was to fall in love with you.
He loves me not.
The small scar in the top corner of the delicate foliole disenchants the image like the ones on my wrist did to the way you looked at me.
He loves me.
I grab on to this last petal like I grabbed on to that last, “I love you.”
He loves me not.
This tattered, empty skeleton of something once breathtaking will never truly be able to convey the hollowness of my being when I lost you.
He loves me not.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
somewhere in time everything already written
this marvel how everything meets anything
that belongs to a togetherness of darkness
I've been touched by this easiness of travelling
the path between garden and perfume
I've played the fool who believed images
so ready to commute in an endless still
pursuit of the chimera of truth
you know, there is this hidden dimension where
time and space haven't invented their names yet
cause they annihilate each other endlessly
there is this pain like a worm in an eagle's sight
so sensitive the spring of words
that time touches us with this wonder
a merciful road between chance and necessity
all the hope of a blind dawn in my writing hands
like a morning awaiting its silence
there is nowhere to hide from pain
in the end
Sep 30, 2023
Sep 30, 2023 at 9:12 AM UTC
Mary, Oh Mary!
I wish you would have seen it Mary!
They were floating at such slow pace,
As if they were oozing from one another
And then slowly seeping back together,
Telling complete stories without words,
Never stopping,
Disappearing and reappearing out of the Blue.
Humans were once peaceful like these clouds, Mary,
Although only for a while.
They still try to mimick one another,
To complete eachother,
But now there's all this sin.
It feeds off us,
Stops us from respecting and sharing.
It enjoys the chaos so effortlessly created by the easiness of indifference.
Help me make it stop, Mary.
I want to care again.
And maybe, just maybe,
We'll open the others' eyes, too,
Before we lose all hope.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 3:04 PM UTC
soft, cold tread
of careful footsteps on the ice
and it's so ironic
that i'm holding your hand
to keep from falling
and i thank you without thinking
a knee-jerk reaction
to each time you make my day
while inside my head the obsession
replays
asking myself in circles
twisted, burgeoning circles
is this just the game again?
and i love that rush
icy lights above, hard seat below me
and then your mouth is soft on mine
in the middle of everywhere
and i have trouble opening my eyes
when you pull away
and i am ashamed when you notice
the shifting colours in my cheeks
because i am afraid
to betray
the easiness with which i sink
into you
we are too familiar, you and i
too similar, too scarily in tune
and it didn't take long, did it?
where did this comfort come from?
these questions carve my tongue
into ribbons, and yet
you never notice
when yours meets mine
and the guilt is swallowed
before you can taste it
just in time
and i ask, again
where did this comfort come from?
or are we just two people
in the middle of winter
taking solace in the warmth
of each other?
will we part ways easily?
somehow, i find myself
dreading that experiment
where did this comfort come from?
this heat that spreads
across my chest
and through my stomach
and down into my frosted knees
as the cold melts away from me, forgotten
like the hour and the place
as the wall behind me
is crushed into my spine
and i am strong again
our bodies create a hole in time
so perfectly fragmented around us
and the clock fades into grey
tugging at my fears
and i want so badly
to keep feeling this way
all through winter
for as long as i can
but
i just wish i didn't care
where did this comfort come from?
and will you meet me there?
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
all grown up and here i am
a child again
you've taken me back to the easiness
of jokes and meaningless words and smiles
that mean nothing more than happiness
childish tunes of light footsteps
and heavy touch of hand on hand
and cold air burning cheeks bright red
and heaters bringing out the best in our ability
to just lie still and complain
about things we know don't matter, and besides
with you, it's all a joke, it's all a game
and yet there's a seriousness to the smile in your eyes
that pins my chest to yours
and my mind to your words
and it's this combination that keeps me here
after hours, after the walls have been emptied of echoes
and the windows are darkened by cold and near-midnight
with you, growing older and younger
and happier
simple words come to mind
so here they are
let's keep growing together
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
Another day in the tranches of life, crawling like a limbless animal.
Dragging its limp torso by clenching its teeth on the ground.
Honor roll human centipede.
Butterfly-to-(NEVER)-be.
I am doomed to life's muddy labyrinthine vortex
Bent and helpless.
The more I try to escape it, the more I choke on the dirt.
Acceptance.
Hello, maze of sick souls
Golgotha is thy name.
Everybody's crawling and carrying their wooden cross.
Attached to their spine like a set of broken wings.
Nailed to the cross -oh, manmade Gods of the tranches!
Half-and-half deities, artificially made in life's hellish laboratory.
Nailed-to-the-cross demigods.
Deceit or beliefs do not exist here,
In this church of mud.
At least there is some comforting easiness in doom, in this acceptance phase.
Faithless, tortured, honest souls, calling this maze home.
Home, sweet home.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
She’d been my best friend in high school, marked by her pale skin, cynicism, and lovely smile. She was unique, hard edges softened by square teeth, arranged perfectly behind full lips.
It’s odd to think it’s only been year, now, her hair has been cropped short in the French style, her eyes hide behind enormous polarized aviators. Her navy tank top worn thin, bra straps exposed. Her jeans rolled short, revealing rubber flip-flops that’d been on her feet since high school. It felt strange, like I was seeing a relative I hadn’t seen since I was six. I could see her changes, taking them in as we made awkward conversation, free of the easiness we used to share. Something was off, and continued to pull my mind from the strained conversation. Just as she’s told me her aspirations of being a French major, I see it. The Hard “f” exposing what I was trying so desperately to find, it’s occurrence has impacted her gait, her presence, her attitude. Her teeth; now chipped, broken, browned. The vicious despair surrounding her started seeping in to my brain, my eyes, my teeth. I can’t resist the pull behind my eyes, drawing me back to the new-found flaw. The infallible feature I’d always expected, disfigured. Gone before I wanted to let go. My best friend finally exposed in front of me, no witty sarcasm and smile to hide behind. I couldn’t comprehend the context of the ruin. An abusive relationship? Drug Addiction?
A fall, certainly, farther and faster than I’d ever care to see. Harder and more dreadful than I’ll ever know. The fall the world can see, the tragedy only I can hear.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC
I already miss it,
the lazy crawl of time,
hurried waves across the water,
fast cars glinting under the yellow sun.
I miss the easiness of good-byes,
with the knowledge of their flimsiness
in this drawn-out frame of time,
long days
and warm nights,
the flight of feet across pebbles and sand.
I’d live there forever,
memories replaying,
never growing tired of those colours,
only tired from the day;
and yet
two or three hours will do it,
curled up with the imprint
that a warm body makes next to mine,
and if they’re there,
really there,
that’s fine.
But summer is when I don’t mind
being alone at night,
because I’d rather be perched on those rocking slats
of old wood,
water lapping at my heels
as they tease the water.
You could plant me here,
roots digging down through the cracks
and around the ancient tires
that keep this dock afloat;
you could plant me here
and I would grow.
I have grown
in these months,
as I always do,
mind, body and soul
drinking in the new words I learn
and the songs that repeat endlessly on the radio
and the lyrics I find in my head,
only to dig up later,
much later,
and put to wistful chords.
Bare toes,
freckles emerging,
hands seeking refuge in each other,
tinted glass peeling
to reveal more of the interior;
the leather seats
and empty bottles
and eyes lined with smiles
that show through those perpetual frames.
I’ll sit and wait
for as long as it takes,
until that shimmering sun takes its leave
and the only light comes from the old lampposts
that stick out of the water like totem poles,
protecting their darkness.
And when it’s over,
I’ll sigh,
summer escaping from my reddened lips,
you
escaping from my carefree arms,
sand washing from the creases in my old denim shorts
and trickling down the drain,
and I’ll move on.
I always do.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
A little ball of brilliance,
occasional stroke of genius,
has trouble finding Jesus,
but practices her patience.
Her mind? No problems speaking it,
so she never valued silence,
and depending on the season,
her shoes are just a hindrance.
Yet lady follows every sequence
achieving her achievements—
chooses paths not quite so lenient,
drums those patterns not quite so seamless.
Despite the lack of easiness
she never masters the art of grievance,
but lady loves with a vengeance
and makes love with ******* vehemence.
Although lady was obedient
and always vowed him her allegiance,
lady never found it quite convenient
to be inconveniently a convenience.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
AN: There are no errors. Every word, every space, everything is done on purpose.
Call it creepy.
Call it weird.
Call it masochistic.
I don’t care.
You don’t know,
you can’t fathom
how it feels
to see your blood well up
fill the tiny little channels
in your skin.
Watch your skin turn red,
then fade to pink,
then finally to white.
You don’t know
how it feels
to see your blood reach up
toward the stars,
dying white to red
in a matter of seconds.
You don’t know
what it’s like
to have your whole life
hang in the balance of
a pushed up sleeve.
To harbor secrets
so much darker
than the darkest of guesses.
You can’t know
the feeling of a defaced cross
forever imprinted in your skin
when you press you arm against
something flat.
You can’t understand
the easiness of a trance.
The lack of thought,
except maybe
“look how pretty”
or perhaps
“Bleed, bleed, bleed!”
You think you know
the pressure of-
not the blade,
because that’s not all
I use. More-
sharp objects,
but you don’t.
You think it’s all emotional,
bring mental pain to
physical pain.
or it’s a pathetic plea for
attention.
or it makes me feel better.
or I want to fit in.
or .
or.
or.
All this psychological
devaluation.
It’s all
wrong.
Chemical imbalance?
I guess we’ll never know.
I’m sure as hell
not getting
tested.
So you can throw me away
and lock up the key-
or is it the other way around?
No, you’re out of
your mind.
You want to overanalyze
me,
over complicate
me.
It’s simple.
I want to see myself
bleed.
I want to see what’s supposed
to be on the inside
on the outside.
Why does there have to be more?
Why do you have to blame my depression?
or Mommy?
or Daddy?
Because that’s the most widely accepted
excuse?
Rather than the truth?
Why would you rather believe
lies?
It shouldn’t be so hard
to find a name for this.
A name that doesn’t also apply
to biological disorders.
That’s not what this is.
This is something
solely
in my brain.
Neither
nature
nor nurture
but
a neurosis
that simply
is.
I have a
neutral
relationship with my
‘disorder’.
I don’t try to do away with it,
and it doesn’t try to
**** me.
But you don’t believe that.
It’s not healthy.
It’s bad.
You spout off meaningless
factsstatistcs
about suicides
in my age group.
How some
-emotional!-
cutters
accidently go too far
resulting in their
death.
SHUTUP!
I know what
you’re saying.
I understand
the statistics.
I know why
you’re concerned.
I get it.
But I’m ok.
Honestly, I am.
It may not seem like it,
I know,
but I swear it’s true.
I’m ok with who I am.
I have no shame.
Really.
You don’t know
how this is.
so just leave me
alone
and help someone
who really needs it.
Because I.
Do.
Not.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
God gives us instructions on how to
Love the Stranger-First Begin with a
Love that is most natural that cannot
Be denied. Let us say it is for your.
Child a forever one if ever there was
One-a commitment for all time freely
Made to all that is loveable-the gift of
God. With this we sight in the future
Another time is now seen close up and
What we see is altered and instead of the
Beloved child there is a stranger and an
Accuser who tells you it is your fault-that
You failed to love as you ought to have-
Worse still it is true and you are indeed
Responsible for this Alteration-this stranger
Who you said you would love forever but is
Now your accuser-Indeed it could be anyone
Another who you do not know and never met
Would be easier to love but it is not the easiness
Of Love but its faithfulness; its strength to be true
To its beginnings that overcomes in the end-So we
Learn that it is possible to truly love, to love even
A stranger because we do and knowing this we know
All. All we need to know because we know God.
The One who is the stranger is our Beloved
Child
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
“I love yous” waft through the room
As erratically as weeds growing in a garden.
Constant notes and hugs engulf me
To the point where
I’m suffocating.
Like in a plastic ball pit.
Every time I try to pull out
I sink deeper and deeper.
Though I’ve considered returning the love
So equally,
It was more for the sake of easiness
Than true reciprocal feelings.
Or was it?
Maybe I feel so suffocated now
That I can’t think,
Can’t comprehend the cataclysmic
Underpinnings of the situation.
But how do I ask for space
Without jumping to another planet?
The Earth’s pull is too daunting.
The innocent image of
Gluing our hands together with Elmer’s
Reverberates through my head.
I don’t want full escape,
Just a blessing for another
Path in life.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 7:45 PM UTC
Every time I talk about writing-
My writing, my
Frivolous scribblings-in a
Negative light, you tell me,
"You have to write 200 bad poems
Before you can write a good one."
And I have not known you
Long enough to understand the
Nuances of your speech but
I have learned, quickly, that you
Are poetry
Now, this might sound cliche but what I mean is
That when I see you with your bony knees and
Isaac Newton hair my heart
Dips backward in between my ribs the
Fluid motion of your mouth flipping into a grin is a
Chain reaction to my own smile your
Piano fingers stained with ink or paint or dirt caked in life,
In adventures, are their own language and the way you move
Them when you speak makes a dance, a
Twisty tango of gyration and gesticulation.
Exhaling clouds of smoke from your lungs, you
Frame your forehead with tobacco laurels
And I don't worship you, no, but I admire you,
In the way that you cultivate goodnaturedness but
Hide behind it
In the way that you discuss bigdeal things in a
Nobigdeal way
If you wonder why I like you, it's because you are
Honest in a way that is raw and I've never
Felt someone cut me in two with just a gaze.
You are nervous energy and social anxiety and bred to live in nature.
You are suave in a lanky way and still unsure of yourself.
You are a star collapsing in on itself blazing so bright before you
Burn out.
And I want that.
I want that easiness and integrity and
Dancingontablesbecausewhynot and
Singing a song you don't know the words to in a rubberduck voice.
And I want you.
I want you to want me, to
Want to understand my nuances and quirks and hopes and fears and
Why I cringe inside a body that I never belonged to.
I want your poetry for myself.
So if I have to write 200 bad poems before I write 1 good one,
Regardless of where it falls-and where I fall-
This one is for you.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
The easiness that comes with loving you is frightening
I've never really been that good at anything in particular
But I've never wanted anything so much as I want to spend the rest of my life with you
To hold you every night while I sleep
And kiss your face every morning when I awake
So the question is not,
"Do I love you?" or "How do I love you?"
But rather,
"How could I ever stop?"
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Children's laughter,
fading echos.
Hidden deep; rooted within the wood.
The smells of forgotten coats and dusty carpets,
as we squeezed inside the family's wardrobe.
A secrete, kept within a child's sacred memory's.
Distant reflections hanging on the fabric of the colorful cupboard.
Our savored innocence, smeared on into adulthood.
Giggling, as we played.
Conscious of the time we bared.
The simple purity of a child's endless games.
How we've forgotten the easiness of the virtue of being young.
The transparent need of just breathing you in.
Two friends, growing beside one another.
One a boy and the other...
Well, she is a girl.
A girl,
No, not something so vague--
A woman,
Who's lips, burns with a redden kiss.
Our childhood stored within the endless wardrobe,
the lust of our youth, suspended forever in dust and wood.
Hidden within the fading echos of times since lost.
I never told you how I love you,
but I carved it into our wall.
A♥J
The mark forever branded.
On my soul to bear.
We are human,
no matter the age.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I speak these words as I lock them away.
To the back, hidden beneath the skeletons in the closest.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
A noose around my neck, these words they are.
A dead man hanging with flowers adorn to crown.
Grown mans tears,
fading with echos.
Hidden deep; rooted within the wood.
I loved you, why couldn't it be so simple?
fin
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
You sit there
devout in your intentions,
Deeply sure
that the path laid
is the path surely taken.
Frozen in my views
merely
kneeling
before alters of instituted obstacles,
feeling, pleading with myself
that what is set before me
is a fork with a middle way
taking my own trident
to absolve into paganistic
views of this world
where each objective
has a celestial voice
my comforts are
within knowing
and not what I try to understand
This is my mind thwarting fear
but repeatedly left in complacency.
Giving answers to my own questions
While my self interrogation
Never has been set in this time.
But always focused on the future
With a pessimistic view of the world
So that I can be secure
not be shocked, and surprised
To prevent myself to be mechanized
To form thoughts away from obscurity
So that I will not compulsively lie to sleep
I need to be difficult, and serious.
I need to be a person that gives them self
Hardships, days that put others to quickly raised flags
Because for some unexplainable reason, easiness, failure, and simply being stationary
Never has kept me defeated, but has provided me success.
I know myself but not well, but enough to realize my faults, and actions
My mind is always thinking, moving, caring, reasoning, and limiting itself
Because I am still simply a human trying to use sense in this world
We forget we are human;
We lay frozen in these carnal desires
We need to melt away
And be mindful of our winters
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:33 PM UTC