"ellipses" poems
Tinanong ako ni Annah
Kung maayos na tayo
Ang sabi ko
Ayon, normal naman.
Normal
Kelan pa tayo nauwi sa normal nalang?
Ah. Naaalala ko na.
Nagsimula tayong maging normal
Nang isang araw hindi mo ko matingnan sa mata
Ni hindi mo ko makausap kung hindi ka titingin sa baba
At kapag naman kailangang ikaw
Ang unang magsisimula ng usapan
Dinaig pa ng kapal ng usok sa kalakhang Maynila
Ang nakaiilang na atmospera
Sa pagitan nating dalawa.
Nagsimula tayong maging normal
Nang hindi na tayo nagsasabay umuwi sa hapon
Nang simulan **** isipin na ayos lang na umuwi nang walang paalam
May kasabay ka kasing iba.
Nagsimula tayong maging normal
Nang nahihirapan na kong
Magsimula ng usapan sa pagitan nating dalawa
Sa kung paanong sinasalamin ng Messenger sa pamamagitan ng ellipses
Ang mga katagang nais ko sayang itanong sa iyo
Ay sandali, online naman si Annah, siya nalang ang tatanungin ko
(Pwede kaya kong sumabay sa kanya?)
Wag na nga. Alam ko naman ang patungo doon.
Nagsimula tayong maging normal
Nang tanungin mo ang kagrupo natin sa kung ano ang gagawin
Gayong ako na kagrupo mo rin ang nasa iyong harapan
Pumunta ka pa talaga sa kanya
Ganyan ka kailang?
Normal naman sa atin ang hindi mag-usap nang madalas, hindi ba?
Normal lang naman kung makakalimutan **** may katulad ko
Na bukas palad na tinanggap ka
Noong mga panahong durog na durog ka na, hindi ba?
At bahagi din ng pagiging normal natin
Kung mas pipiliin **** burahin nalang ang mga nakaraan natin, hindi ba?
Nilalamon ka ng kalungkutan. Nasasaktan.
At isa akong napawalang kwentang kaibigan
Kasi hindi kita napatahan
Sa mga panahong tahimik **** isinisigaw
Ang mga bagay na sa tingin mo ay walang makauunawa
Wala akong karapatang masaktan
Kasi hindi ako naglakas-loob na tanungin
Kung anu-ano ang mga bumabagabag sayo
Hindi ko dapat indahin ang sakit ng pang-iiwan mo sa akin
Gayong para na rin kitang iniwan
Nang hayaan kitang unti-unting kumalas sa pagkakaibigan natin
Wala akong karapatang manumbat
Kasi hindi ko man lang sinubukang tanungin
Kung ano nang nangyayari sa iyo
Kaya mo pa ba?
At hinding hindi ko rin aangkinin
Ang karapatang sa una'y wala na sa akin
Na maging sandalan mo
Sapagkat hindi ko man lang nasabi
Na ayos lang na ikaw ay humugot ng lakas sa akin
Ayaw mo, oo
Kasi sa tingin mo pabigat
Ayaw mo, oo
Kasi sanay ka na sa demonyong kalungkutan
Na paulit-ulit lumalamon sayo
Minsan nawawala, ngunit laging bumabalik
Pagbalik-baliktarin ko man ang sitwasyon
Hindi lang ikaw ang nang-iwan
Iniwan din kita
Iniwan kita
Patawad
Patawad
Pakiusap, patawarin mo ko.
Madaling makalimutan ang mga magagandang bagay
Ngunit mahirap iwaksi mula sa makulit na isipan
Ang idinadaing ng pusong nasugatan at patuloy na nahihirapan
Kaya bilang pakunswelo sa tulad kong nagmahal sayo
Iniisip ko na lamang na isa ako sa mga magagandang bagay sa buhay mo
Kaya madali mo 'kong nakalimutan.
Huli kong bulong sa sarili
'Ayos lang 'yan. Makakausad ka rin. Magtiwala ka.'
Uusad at uusad ka rin.
Kaibigan, patawad ulit.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.
All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
02/09/2010
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
Rhythm of life
Nails tapping on table tops
Beating of our hearts
spin the world right off its axis.
Momma shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die.
Atlas shrugged
And we all tripped as we walked
The pace of our mile,
off by 3.6 seconds.
Trust in our stated axioms
Disillusioned Americans in Paris
Judged by the color of our skins
and the shoes on our feet
No one stops to see how blue it is up there today.
Hurrying through the rain
Our cities never sleep.
Going down South
It’s slower down here.
Sunday’s best and
“God Loves You” stickers when you get your oil changed.
Night train whistle blows
Factory steam pipes squeal
Mississippi riverboats tug and chug
Dictionary.com definitions let us down.
Greatest disasters in history
are when thing we take perfectly for granted
stop working.
Mad cow, mad hatter, mad world
Bad boys, bad wine, bad date
Ellipses, dot dot dots, dramatic pause, passing of time passing of time passing of….
……..
………….
…………………….
Time.
Tw—
Twi—
Twitch. (tick tick tick)
I believe in the abnormal
And the impossible
And I refuse to believe that fictional characters aren’t real
Animals completely understand me
When I talk to them.
Baby missiles fire
From all parts of the globe
End of the world party
Let’s go down in glorious drunkenness
As the beating of our hearts
Spins the world right off its axis.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.
Ellipses.
Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction
Ellipses.
Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection
The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.
We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole
And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
the cosmos
a web of plantary oppositions squares and triangulations
curses and blessings
demons, humans and gods
friends and enemies
each a constituent
a revolving carousel of heavens and hells
the macro, an umbrella of spilling stars
like shattered glass in flames
outer and inner stone & gas planets
wandering infinitely
like strays
others in tight gravitational ellipses and eclipses
the elements of fire air earth and water
from the most subtle formless
to rocks flames oceans and the air we breathe
disjuncture
in a
a mix-meister
a gruesome churning mouth swallowing our delicate membranes
and we wonder
why
we are in pain
why
we are nourished by flesh
as we ourselves are consumed
filled with blood and nothing
and deadened by marking time
all hungry shells
and why
we wither to dust
as do suns and moons
and gods themselves
all of us children of monsters
and corpse eaters
born of magnitudes
episodic collisions
and harrowing creative destructions
the dead living and the living dead
with eyes that flicker only on half a landscape at a time
a holloween
of pyramids and bones
always running from wolves
because we are meant to be eaten
okay my darlings
now
lets try
focused breathing,
and boundless light
lets try
being Hindu
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Still alone
We are not
Maybe Titan
All we got
Mine our way
Barge ore back
Build a bridge
Plutonium tack
Ceramic sails
On solar wind
Terminal shock
Butterflies pinned
On orbital ellipses
‘Gainst starry drops
Spun light and dark
Like judgment tops
Spendthrift starfish
Regenerate limbs
From primal screams
That eat our sins
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
I don’t want to ever find myself apologizing to you today I am saying sorry by vomiting today I am saying sorry by not moving today your face is in my hand & I am kissing it today my body expands like lung cancer I am always writing about expanding bodies I am never not vomiting even when I am really not at all last night I got 4 hours of sleep this morning my headache is full of scraped knees today I do not move today I think about kissing you today I think that kissing you would not be very different from kissing a taxi today I think that I want to ignore you & kiss you forever & ever but I cannot do that if you ignore me today my stomach is angry at the world today I am in love with too many people today I am waiting for the world to thank me & I am waiting for an astronaut, a moon, a lit-up screen, ellipses in your rotten mouth, some beestings in my throat
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
I see myself in light and shadow.
I wipe away “always and never” like spilled water,
when the paradox bothers me.
I dissolved my soft boundaries,
in the name of unreal faith.
So many places, so many faces,
yet another beginning.
I keep rolling a big stone beside others.
The home I dreamt of now exists in my world.
I have found this time, this place
describing what cannot be translated:
a room for uncertainty,
farewells and returns.
I like to stand in the last row,
to see tired bodies.
I whisper good words,
to make the world a little better.
My sovereignty is a willingness
to be an echo,
the symbol, the myth,
or a meaningless element
in the chain of woven stories.
I love metaphors.
I find myself in a forest of ellipses,
that bring unbearable truths.
Tensions, contradictions,
awareness that everything that lights
brings unseen weight.
I am a part of stories,
to vanish into oblivion—
the done past.
The Earth still breathes with me,
or without me,
among blooming linden trees.
So, I want to stay,
to open my eyes,
and be with what remains.
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 2:16 PM UTC
fed the birds.
fed the birds a
book about
my dead
weight.
fed the
birds a heavy.
fed them from
my thin
hands. The words
that live.
The birds ate.
The birds ate words that
lived and always
lived
in
separate
houses. if...
and i mean if
and only if
they
could afford
it.
if these
clever pagans
ever had
a dime.
they found
it boring rich
folk to
death.
i fed the birds
my indigenous
nomads. they dined
in high style...
dined black and
fancy
on
shabby
addicts, as they
hopped
trains . i fed the birds
my
swarthy tribe.
and they supped.
i fed the birds
a monologue
with trains of
thought
the words i fed
them... the vagabonds...
hopped
trains.
of thought.
I fed
the birds.
i fed the birds just
outside.
i sat
and fed them
black light and Harmalade
fed them blackly
fed them with
piano keys; the black
ones, the ones
that radiate
i fed
i watched them. watched
them fancy peck. and peck
and fancy
pluck.
i watched. they dined
on serene defeat
by technicality.
it was surreal
to watch a blackbird
pluck from black
keys - peck
a morsel of glum
from
the black rays, yes.
the black rays with
opposable thumbs
and a
lifeline. the only one i
know forbidding gypsies
with three eyes.
an open
palm.
a paranoid
black radish
white dwarf star
with piano keys
for black rays
of
nimbus, yes
mine is the hand that bites the hand
that writes the book
it wants
to ban, that ain't
a fan
not at all. just an appendage. a pen dirge ? What ?
i fed the flock lots
I fed
the black ones -
with dolls'
eyes...
tucked
under
wing.
i fed them, yes.
a book
about the size
of any welcome
malcontent.
i fed
them sorrows
and ellipses with
adjacent lawns.
wutherings in
stately manors, squatting
on either side
of memory
lane, like
a bourbon and
coke had
practically crawled
across shards
of hard
things to break,
with a drink
in your
hand
and crawled, well blended
down the hatch
of enormous, well appointed
gothic frogs, that -
were mostly refurbished toads
with odd columns.
i fed
the birds,
broke out the
Good
Chi
na
hang the tantrums !
yes
One should expect
a rich metaphor to want to
watch you
eat it's every
word
or
by extension;
lick the toad with 15 rooms,
three stories, unfit for children
and a full staff
of Adjectives,
highly trained
to
short-sheet the Bedlam, and fluff the pillories.
one should sip the liqueur
off the floor, inside the huge
and tipsy
gorgon
and be thankful
for the dank
and
the solid gold flyswatters.
they're complementary. take one
as you leave out
thinking
" toads, eat flies.... so it follows...."
apropos of nothing, on the
' Good China ',
now in the belly of birds, well fed
an unwell.
a book about
my dead-weight's
dream
to eat fewer
flies and
more
steak.
to grow wings.
yes.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
Punctuation marks the hesitancy in this conversation and
I can't help but dwell on words resting unspoken between
commas, ellipses and apostrophes;the
Spaces between letters where sounds sleep, vibrations
strike empty chords and fall short of expression.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
.
•up the
wall... he wou-
ld climb every night
again and again... • every
time he did, to the bottom he
would fall•fortunately aid came
quickly to where he had lain... • on
handsome horses, sat men moustach-
ed and tall • overhead the moon cried
sullen and grim•*oh why does he always par-
take in such foolish endeavour?*•the men hurr-
ied back on thundering hooves to save him
•he laid motionless awaiting to be put toge-
ther•"we're the same, both ellipses, she and i"
•same words he would repeatedly mutter
•*"to be closer to her I will always try•only
then she would know that forever
i'll be falling for her"*•
**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|
|--|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|---|
|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|
|--|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|-------|---|**
.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
For you to understand your self-destruction
must I demonstrate
sweet sugary ellipses
to help initiate dreaming
but what if I postpone
and begin to
talk of inanimate objects
ramble meaningless words
would you call me
as I continued
while you goodbyed
must I demonstrate
force fear upon your intestines
for your eyes to open
from your ellipse induced daze?
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
You can't see beyond the cover
Of this book
The preface, the synopsis is great
but you won't even look
There is imagery inside which is breath taking
and blinding gorgeous.
But will never be read
you will buy a book with a flashy front cover
Never even see me as a potential lover
I could be all you wanted
But my love for you is an ellipses...
Or a full stop.
Because it can never be
because you believe the thin surface of skin
is more inviting.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
One-sidedly decided arrows,
vacillating ellipses;
equilaterally considered triangles,
biased Isosceles;
worlds, whorls, rectangled
squares, afflicted rhombuses;
A self-destructing nova.
The night opens up,
a book of wonders across the sky,
shining in the stars; broken moon;
Wading across ancient expanse.
Flashes of illumination:
lighted mountain bush,
cross rising on the eastern sky;
One look at the visage,
blooming out of this figure
wrapped creeper-like around faint
sight, flower emerging in silver light
out of the shadows: bubbles,
rolling, nonagular, collapsing;
Oh pointless ratiocination!
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
He sees larkspur,
Blue and white,
At the edge of the shadow,
Move in the wind.
His beard moves in the wind.
The pine tree moves in the wind.
Thus water flows
Over weeds.
II
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm:
Night, the female,
Obscure,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.
III
I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.
IV
When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.
V
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts,
Nor the chisels of the long streets,
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers,
Can carve
What one star can carve,
Shining through the grape-leaves.
VI
Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses --
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon --
Rationalists would wear sombreros.
1.8k
What I wouldn't give
to know the comet tails of thought
obscured by your ellipses …
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
her cigarette smelled like
a black rose on a
2:39 am nightmare
full of feelings and darkness into the abyss...
dramatic ellipses...
uh...
evil! dark! mean! bullying is bad! i guess.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
i am a terrible poet.
the words i tied together in attempt
to annunciate
the way your kisses felt
along the soft of my
cheeks were
mediocre and just barely enough.
just barely.
there weren't enough ways that i could describe
the mouthful
of stars that spilled at the seams of my
lips as you gently traced them with warm finger tips.
mm, your finger tips.
your finger tips felt like a personal extension from god himself as
they dusted the empty jars i left untouched
in the forgotten spaces of me.
you held them tightly and filled them to the top
with a breathful of morning secrets
and hidden places to meet.
i found you.
i found you and allowed the words to slip
through my small hands
as you kissed my palms gently and sweetly
and folded them into your own to keep for just a little bit.
(
i could stay here)
i could lay underneath your tired smiles
and messy hair
until stars realigned themselves and directed
me to you all over again.
(
i could stay here)
i could tangle in-between your pale sheets
and make up all the words that
effortlessly translate the way i melted and simmered
at the sheer thought of waking up and knowing you again.
i could illustrate all of the galaxies you whispered
onto the trail of my back with
colors and warmth i never knew
and turn them into poorly strung together,
black and white strings of thought.
you were my favorite secret
and the cause of all of my writer’s block.
(i could stay here)
i’ve lived in florida my entire life
and have spent more days than i can count
under the sun and in the wake of rays that always burned,
but i’ve never felt more warmth than lying underneath
your expired thoughts and eclipsing eyes
as the moon seeped through your broken window blinds.
i forgot what it was like to breathe
until you took my face
sweetly and sincerely
and kissed me.
the paragraphs and ellipses that perforated my parenthetical
sighs of relief
stained the corners of my mouth
and lingered
long enough for me to remember
the after taste of your recycled sunshine
as you left me.
i am a terrible poet,
but a better kept secret it seems.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Standing, soaked, out in a storm, gusts of wind whipping my hair around wildly
Unruly strands sway with the song of chaos, pulling at my scalp, snapping, lashing at my face
My existence is all reality as this whirlwind tempest frantically thrashes about my flesh
In the complex puzzles and foolish games, a simple madness lives, and therein lies my freedom
My tongue and lips sometimes flap boisterously from their spot on my face
And the noises risen up from my throat, and passed through my mouth are meaningless blubberings
Involuntarily, I grin, tasting the nonsense's unique sweetness, and I swallow
My laughter rings out, a vociferous and untameable sound; humor, the voice of a crazy woman
And I spin! Oh, I spin and spin and spin, savagely, in ellipses, ovals, and circle shapes
I've no shame, and this dance is all mine, so I maniacally fling my arms through the air
And as my body makes its revolutions, a fierce smile curves the shape of my lips, wrinkles the corners of my eyes
Inside my mind, wandering - wondering if there's any real difference between elated insanity and that which I crave...
Some people might use words such as eccentric, strange, whimsical, and peculiar for what they cannot understand
So very often I hear these such words being used from those who speak of me
But it is them whom I perceive as being rather off, so habitual and boring, living like routine enslaved, joyless zombies
So unfathomable to me, why most everyone seems to desire nothing beyond a passionless, hollow schedule to, every day, just repeat
Me... I'll race barefoot down a gravel path, through lightning, thunder, and rain, only to feel my hair being twisted and tangled up in the wind
I'll jabber absurdities, laugh like a loon, all while I spin contentedly around and around, until, stupidly dizzy, I crash and fall
Madness pays little mind, stands without worries or concerns, because it believes - it knows, most nothing matters
This is my freedom, freedom that cannot be shared, for what it is, is something that's only freeing for me...
~A. D. Smithson MARCH 2013
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
I feed my appetite with your voice. Your fricatives pirouette on my tongue. Each sibilant hangs on my teeth, then slides off and leaves its wax to pile up in my throat. I cough it up and collect it in a jar. It sits on the shelf in my basement and becomes familiar with the musty cloak of yesterday’s wet laundry. On the shelf, there are jars of swollen strawberries and gritty half-skulls of pears, blackberries like bundles of balloons. But in your jar, suspended in their own sugary liquid, are ripened vowels that arabesque when I give the jar a shake. I wipe the damp film off the metal lid with my thumb. Now I’m sitting in bed at 2:00 a.m., scooping your words from their glass house with a sticky index finger, speckled with seeds, semicolons, ellipses. Each dig gets me closer to your older, sweeter language–closer to what I’ve been craving. The last drops cling to the jar’s lip until I tilt it to mine, and I’m full-bellied, staring at an empty jar. In the bathroom, I slide a finger in my mouth until it reaches my throat and the words come up and fill the toilet and overflow onto the floor, puddle around my crooked toes and stain the linoleum.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
it doesn’t have to mean anything more
than a crumpled up dollar bill in an open guitar case
i hope one day i’ll learn to keep my head down
to keep walking instead of getting stuck in front of windows
it feels like i’m loitering in the parking lot of everyone else’s lives
a heap of squeezed ginger ale cans
and candy bar wrappers crowding my bare feet
i guess eventually i’ll have to leave and find out
things always look better through a side mirror
i glance back and see the orange trees in the median
a runner almost getting hit by a left-hand turn
i’m so glad i didn’t have to watch her die
instead i watch two college students nervously laugh
shifting their weight from one foot to the other
beside the crosswalk button and i sigh a little
they are on one side of the glass and i am on the other
i seem to miss the things i made sure would never happen to me
tuck myself into bed buzzing with the engine of
a snow-covered train, a reckless ellipses
it is comforting to want what i cannot have
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 8:38 AM UTC
In God’s mind,
there was infinity.
a slowly whirling,
glittering,
eternity
of terrifying bright night,
full of
flames that sprinted in ellipses,
and marbled floating globes with
golden belts of grit and sand
all this,
tethering His earth with their
gravities.
In God’s mind, there was
a glassy-toothed plesiosaurus,
smooth-skinned,
dark-eyed,
soaring through the
airy
green
deeps.
In God’s mind, there was
a rumply, wrinkly boulder of an elephant,
curling his corrugated trunk
shaking his curving tusks.
And in God’s mind there was His Child.
In God’s mind there were His children:
heads, feet, hearts,
muscles, nerves,
veins, eyes, and hands and mouths.
all these.
And once upon a time,
in God’s mind,
there was a
small,
feathered thing.
light-boned and fragile,
with a pert, sassy **** to its head--
a daring rascal of a bird!
It had a thin, flat tail like a paintbrush,
that flicked and bobbed as though
held loose in
an artist’s indecisive fingers--
As for the feet, their scales were like a lizard’s
gray, scalloped ones,
fringing eight skinny claws--
such a small bird!
And the wings --He smiled--
the wings were the best part,
those bronzy-edged feathers,
as neatly lapping over each other
as shingles on a roof.
Ah, yes,
in God’s mind there was
a sparrow.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
While it rains
We sit in a window
Looking out waiting for it to stop
Our life goes into a limbo
All this precious time in our lives
We waste on waiting
For something or someone
To happen
We wait for the light turn green
For our laundry to be done
We wait for the oven to preheat
Or for reciprocated love
This limbo we live in while we wait
Gives us nothing but grey hairs
As our precious time slips away
Patience is a virtue
When it comes to the right things worth waiting on
But how much time is wasted in that limbo
On things that aren't worth the wait?
It's a fine line
Deciding when it's appropriate to wait
But it's not worth it when we put our lives on hold
With or without patience
We grow old
In the end
We all have an end
How many of your pages are filled with words and events
Instead of ellipses (...) which is
The limbo we sit in while waiting
© Nathan Pival 2016
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
You Facebook messaged me today.
**** it’s been a month or two!
I remember at Velvet I tried
to be like Lennon to your friend Roxy!
“dance?” I said, raising my arms; eye contact; smile.
She smiled and said, “Oh no that’s ok…”
“Ok, I’m not John Lennon haha…”
Twenty mins go by. I lit a jack.
You and I geeked about Murakami.
I was three Natty bo’s deep. I glanced up; rain fell
Your friend Sara pushed up her huge [ellipses] umbrella.
You mentioned your boyfriend is a Deejay at Flash.
You Facebook messaged me today.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC