"embarrassingly" poems
As a bisexual, I fear
Few will want you to be proud.
They will bend your ear
Saying things to you out loud
That would be better left
Totally, embarrassingly unsaid
Instead of rattling around
Inside the cathedral of your head.
Too many try to make it
Seem like a kind of venal crime
To want to make love with
Someone of your own kind
And maybe with the same
Gender with which you were born.
To some it is very biblical
And subjects you to public scorn.
Finding someone ****
With the same plumbing as you
It not only delightful
It can be a dream come true.
It feels correctly natural
And works like the other way
Even though people scorn
And use words like *** and ‘gay’
Or ****** and even taco
Whatever that might end up meaning.
The important thing to me
Bisexuality is so powerfully appealing.
So, those who dislike me
And feel so righteously zealous
That bisexuality is wrong
Are very possibly just jealous.
Or maybe just uptight
Living by someone’s else’s rules;
Not what they’ve learned
And therefore are bigoted fools.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
I've seen you in striped white,
I've seen you in black wrap-around tops,
I've seen you in stilettos,
I've seen you in Fitflops.
I've seen you in the bluest of days,
I've seen you in the rainiest of nights,
I've seen you in the face of the sun,
I've seen you in the wind-full of kites.
I've seen you in the trajectory of life,
I've seen you stare at me with care,
I've seen you in the droplets of water,
I've seen you in every castle in the air.
I've seen you dreaming,
I've seen you back in reality,
I've seen you physically Earthy,
I've seen you emotionally Mars-y,
I've seen you sad and jubilant,
I've seen you troubled, but kept a smile,
I've seen you doubled - in poker,
I've seen you gone crazily wild.
I've seen you in green-blinking nails,
I've seen you return my stutters,
I've seen you stand tall - confident,
I've seen you slouch - don't matter.
I've seen you looking into empty spaces,
I've seen you looking into a tasty plate,
I've seen you doubt yourself,
I've seen you believing in fate.
I've seen you in the bakery,
I've seen you in a factory,
I've seen you in your beauty,
I've seen you in your most ball-sy.
I've seen you in the bus,
I've seen you read,
I've seen you pick up a microphone,
I've seen you speaking with speed.
I've seen you with a newspaper,
I've seen you with an iPad,
I've seen you with a t-shirt,
I've seen you stylishly clad.
I've seen you work hard,
I've seen you studied irresponsibly,
I've seen you proud,
I've seen you flicker embarrassingly.
I've seen you here,
I've seen you there,
I've seen you near,
I've seen you everywhere.
I've seen enough,
I've seen you in extremes,
I've seen you thorough,
I've seen you in teams.
I've seen you verily,
I've seen you truly,
I've seen so much inspiration,
I've seen you guilty.
I've seen "I've seen" 58 times,
I've seen you more than that few.
But I would've seen nothing more,
If I've seen none of you.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
You won't recognize them I bet,
your secrets, even in broad day light,
if they walk towards you smiling,
wearing dark glasses to hide their eyes
in a humid day.They now wear clothes
of different styles to take you for a ride,
even cross dress and change the accents,
they play games with your hazy mind
--the secrets you once buried deep under.
They stand peeping behind blinded windows
prowl as shadows soliciting behind half open doors,.
Time flies in a hurry like migratory birds left behind,
you have to strain your ears too much
to hear even the faint foot falls of the past!
Old memories have changed their manners
they try to distract one with invented details
Like the muffled voices in an attic dark,
on a fateful day so long, your old secrets
speak an archaic tongue, that needs to be interpreted.
One has to be artful as the turbaned village elders
who would for your astonishment interpret
the vocabulary of lizard calls, key to nature's intents.
Or the trained eye of an elder who in flashes
of meteor falls, reads the secret messages of universe.
To get a true sense of your own secret
you have to tread the places they hide.
Make them shed their crusted hides
by which they conceal their true color,
which one has been waiting to see,
with a palpitating heart, walking back
to where one walked once, long forgotten.
That is why elders on days of yore
would exhort, embarrassingly repeat too,
not to have any hidden secrets that hurt
even if breathtakingly beautiful like a courtesan.
In some moment one won't expect
dreadful they could turn and become witches,
with fiery eyes, dreadlocks, and long nails.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
I found seashells and driftwood,
Cans and bottles and much more
Like diapers and picnic stuff
While walking along the shore.
I found cigarette butts and bags
And those horrendous soda holders
That catch on sea life and twist them
In their middle or at their shoulder.
I saw palm trees and jacaranda
Waving in the balmy breeze
And broken plastic lawn chairs
Leaning against the lovely trees.
I found six-packer carriers sitting
With all the beer bottles inside.
I saw pieces of bicycles and big batteries
And I swear I almost sat and cried.
But I had too much to do right then
Gathering up all that random junk.
I carried them to a ******* bin
And I threw it all in, kerthunk!
I wondered for the hundredth time
The parents these creeps had
That let them grow so ill behaved,
And so embarrassingly bad.
What kind of selfish brat can come
And look out on this lovely scene
And throw their ******* all around?
How can they be so mean?
It makes me hope for recompense;
That what goes around come again
And we can stash these human pigs
Into an appropriate kind of pen.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Waking up the morning after,
I can only recall the excessive laughter.
The great vibes shared in one moment in time,
It was all so beautiful, the highest of highs.
****
My glance embarrassingly detects
the frightful fact the mirror reflects.
A bathroom tagged with the night's mistakes,
Rorschach like markings of drinks and rare steaks.
Always said "Yes", lacking all inhibition.
I wish last night I lived its definition.
So I readjust my head and all of the fixtures,
and pray to god no one took any pictures.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
The Frog and The Bee and the Mouse with the House lived together in peace and harmony on the River Louse.
One day the Mouse with the house did declare it was time that he moved out of there.
The Frog and The Bee did not agree and set about convincing the Mouse with the House that he needed to stay on the River Louse.
They sent out invitations to all around to attend tea at half past three.
The tea party was in honour of the Mouse with the house to be held on the banks of the River Louse and hosted by his dear friends The Frog and The Bee.
One by one each creature replied and the guest list rose quickly to Twenty Five.
The Frog and The Bee decided the tea would be civil indeed and The Frog made some scones and The Bee made some honey.
At half past one The Frog and The Bee set up some tables to lay out the tea.
At half past two the tables were laid with the scones from The Frog and The honey The Bee had made.
The scene did look grand, pots of tea and saucers of milk all laid on a tablecloth made of silk.
At half past three the guests started to arrive.
The first of the guests to arrive were The Elf with one ear and The Fly with one eye. The Mouse was delighted to see his friends, the ones who helped get Horse around the river bend.
Next came the Horse and his Master of course to thank the Mouse with the House on the River Louse for his friendship and help on the day that the Horse could not get around the river bend and the Mouse with the House, The Elf with one ear, The Fly with one eye, The Frog and The Bee all pulled together and worked merrily to assist the Horse round the river course.
One by one others did attend, there was a duck who lost his cluck but the Mouse with the House helped him every day until he could at last say "cluck cluck"
Next came a ****** who had forgotten how to weave but the Mouse with the House lay out the sticks until the Beavers memory began to tick and the ****** remembered how to weave.
Then came a beautiful Butterfly with bright red wings. She told the Frog and The Bee that one day the Mouse had found her crying and sighing her wings had faded and she did not look grand a thing of beauty. The Mouse ran back to his House and in his shed found a can that had Paint in Red on the side. He took a brush and painted her wings and now the Butterfly all shiny and bright flapped her wings with all her might.
Last but not least the Mayor arrived with his glorious wife by his side.
Mayor and Mayoress Swan did agree that the Mouse with the House should not leave his friends of The River Louse and they would indeed miss him dearly if he relocated his house.
The Mouse smiled embarrassingly and said "I am sorry he did declare, there's been a mix up, when I said" I must get out of there" it was only to the shops I intended to go but The Frog and The Bee moved too fast or I moved to slow"
The Frog and The Bee and all the guests were all delighted with the news and brought in some music supplied by "Five in a Pen" which of course were all mother Hens and they danced all night until the Moon went in and the Sun came out.
Then the Frog and The Bee said to their friend the Mouse "let's do this again next year, and Mouse can bake cake for the tea, our friends can attend and we'll dance all night to Five in a Pen and we'll eat scones and honey and cake too and we'll do this in honour of all our friends and those who live and work on the River bend"
THE END
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
Frozen
instant
packaged
mass-produced,
my love life and meals
are embarrassingly similar.
Except, every once and awhile,
I dine out! In the spirit of the fifties!
when men were men, and cars were fast
before easy instructions, and lonely, lonely, beeps.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
I love the way
You love dancing in the rain
Freely twirling with your arms outstretched
And head tilted towards the sky
Attempting to catch the rain
Within your mouth
Leaving all of your inhibitions
On the floor
Where the rain carried them
I love the way
You allow loose strands of hair
Wildly fall around your face
As you have a mountain of hair
Atop your beautiful head
I love the way
You always ponder questions
And desire to know more
Than what's been told
Or what meets the eye
I love the way
You separate yourself from
Every
Other
Girl
I have met
Without intentionally doing so
I love the way
You laugh embarrassingly loud
At all of my jokes
Terrible or not
I love the way
You chew your thumb
When you're in deep thought
Or the way you twist your lips
To the side when you're confused
I love the way
You hype everyone around you
Making them feel as special
As you are to them
I love the way
You never strive to be the world's
Depiction of "perfect"
But your own version of it
I love the way
You're passionate about
Well
About anything really
I love the way
You write notes to yourself
All over your left hand
With a blue pen
Which eventually gets smudged
And smeared all over your right arm
And chin
I love the way
Your fingers get abnormally cold
And I always have a pair of gloves
With me
I love the way
You treat everyone with love
Regardless of what others have said
Or of their known history
I love the way
You smile with your entire being
So much so
That your eyes disappear
And I always have to zoom
On the picture
To see if you accidentally blinked
While you punch my arm
But
The only thing I don't really love
About you
Is the way you love him
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 12:53 AM UTC
You know, my love, that the worlds we have each created for ourselves
are galaxies apart.
Our language games are mutually untranslatable.
We never had a chance, my love. Even I know that.
We would never have been able to achieve an understanding of each other
deep enough
to overcome our fear of the unknown, (and utterly unknowable),
that we symbolize for each other.
The logical, brutally rational part of me knows that we could never have made each other happy.
So why must I, though you have been gone now for quite some time,
keep my mind on you all the time?
Why do I still feel this way, thinking about you every day?
And I don’t even know you.
I write this not to try to change anything.
I have lived long enough not to hold out for what cannot be.
Despite my unwanted, embarrassingly unrealistic romantic dreams from Hell,
well, not exactly Hell,
say, from the dark cave out of which fly the blind bats of activated archetypes,
inevitably,
we still would have had to face eternity, or the lack thereof, alone.
You are still looking forward to an eternal life with God and, I realize now that, ridiculously,
I still can’t stop dreaming of an earthly paradise with you.
Nasty business, my love, that we are each in love with an illusion.
What if we lived in a world in which our longed for illusions
were not just desperate self-delusion but pointed at some kind of Truth?
Do you think that would make us happy?
Isn’t it pretty to think so, my love? Isn’t it pretty to think so?
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
Against all common sense,
you still give me butterflies;
I want to tell you without pretense
how my heart for you sighs.
.
My fingers hover over the phone,
indecisive, nervous, cringing;
Since you left I'm so alone,
a kingdom without a king.
.
Words, my usual weapons of choice,
fail me when it comes to you.
I fear you'll forget my voice,
our nights; move on to someone new.
.
It's hard. It's frustrating,
this near-constant low;
Missing you, contemplating,
screaming into a pillow.
.
And memories, little ones,
just flashes of that high,
Bittersweet firefly-suns
of the days you were nigh.
.
These crumbs of text,
an occasional voice note,
Starving till the next,
Hungering for what you wrote.
.
I need you, I love you so
embarrassingly much,
Your smile, your eyes of doe,
the fire of your touch.
.
And yet it gets caught in my throat,
the selfish begging for your return;
so I just pray, in silence,
as I continue to burn.
.
Aug 2, 2024
Aug 2, 2024 at 12:48 AM UTC
we should have
said it right there
that night we danced
to the sounds of our
pitiful attempt of some
song snorting through our
noses. people were looking
then & it was embarrassingly
good, like our own reality show
with no hidden scripts or planned
settings but now people are looking
but not at the perfect-imperfent
memory of what they should have
done or will do but at the silent moments
we share, five months old & i'm still
having a one-sided conversation with
your headstone
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
My heart is embarassing.
It bleeds and cries
And loves too strongly
For it's own good.
It loves as if
It has never been broken,
As if it has forgotten
The countless times
It's been left bruised
And bloodied,
Half alive.
It loves so unconditionally
That I've let myself
Be tossed to the wind
And returned to the ground
At the whims of mere memories.
It loves so pathetically
That I do all I can
To make sure my love
Does not come spilling
Out of my mouth
For onlookers to see.
I keep my passions
And my aches away from the world
So that I don't overwhelm
Everyone else
With the love that overwhelms me.
I can't just say how I feel
I can't just open my gates
Because as much as you would like to believe
That everything inside me is beautiful,
It's as ugly as anything could ever be.
I can't just let you know
How pathetically
Embarrassingly
Ridiculously
In love with you I am.
What if you don't feel the same?
That's a stupid question
I'm sorry
I know no one could ever love me
With the sadness I love them
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Sometimes it's not when you're perfect
That you feel like yourself, it's true;
It's when you're embarrassingly imperfect
That you know that you're definitely you.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Passing a property I felt compelled to the gate
something had drawn me to stop!
An irresistible urge to go inside the property
having to bang on the red door.
Waiting unable to move from the spot
on that nice day I was cold not hot!
I tried to move how I wanted to run
but my body wouldn't move!
The screams were trapped in my throat
why was I frozen here?
Shuffling noises from within approached
as my space was encroached!
I could now hardly breath as the door opened
a wrinkled old woman stared.
With deep black sunken eyes that glared
the pierced your soul!
As my body was drawn into the room
nearby was a witches broom!
Then it turned into a grim putrid hovel
as other witches appeared!
I lost consciousness at that very moment
waking up on a lino floor.
A middle aged lady staring down at me
as I looked up embarrassingly!
Helping me to a comfortable armchair
she told me I was not the first.
Who had been drawn to her front door
on this spot once it was said.
An evil witches coven had been found
but was burnt to the ground!
Seven witches were caught and put on trial
by the frightened villagers!
And here where the place now stands
they were burnt at the stake!
Saying they cursed the villagers evermore
descendants would knock the door!
As they alone would detect the witches call
realising I was caught here.
My mum gave me a locket I had to wear
said never take it off.
Unless I was compelled into a dwelling
and this story a lady telling!
Only then should I open the hinged locket
that contained the ashes!
Of the seven that died throw them it's face
then run and not look back!
I did as I was told running until I was tired
so long as now I'm retired!
It was a big story in that town I use to live
a mystery fire had caused.
The destruction of the historical cottage
it was never solved.
But I gather there was no more trouble
a locket was found in the rubble!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
Her loud voice echos inside my head
Tears pool spilling off my bed
And her hams can, and laughter fled
As life goes on, shes still dead
Just a rewind video I replay
Before sad sleepy eyes go to bed
Weeping, sleeping,dreaming seeming
Try to find the right words to describe
She was the only one I could find
To stay up and create, art, color, life
A garden to a picture drawn in crown
She was the only one around
Who found what I found
Art is the heart of family
Love and life
She found me, in the darkest nights
She helped me understand
The human struggle, to experience
Complexity, she was her inevitably
Embarrassingly, intoxication in both
***** and personality, fatality being
She never took care, her loud voice
Tinny in her last moments here
Her brave soul
Trembling in fear
Grandma don’t be scared
I'm here
Just like you were
Im here for better or for worse
Her heart beat beat beating
Tell its run its ran its course
and when its done ill run some more
Grandma my heart beats for you
that's for sure
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
for Sally A Bayan
Once upon a time, a lovely young woman met a young man beside a pond. They both stood feeding the ducks absently, not really looking at each other. The young woman, in her eagerness to feel what she was feeding, stretched out her fingers to stroke the feathers of the nearest duck but it was further away than what she anticipated, and she fell into the pond. The young man reacted by casually removing his shoes and socks, rolling his pants legs and gingerly stepping his way into the pond to hold out his fingertips to grasp flaying hands and bring the young woman back to the grassy edge. Embarrassingly, she sputtered her thanks and asked if there was anything she could do for him, anything she said....
He asked if she could clean his pond stained clothes, she replied...
No, but if you don't mind the stains, they now match mine.
He looked away and muttered a goodbye.
The man on the other side of the pond watching her but couldn't get to her in time, whispered...
I would have thrown myself head first under you just so you remained without a stain, alas, I was too far away.
As he rounded the pond, and stood next to her, she repeated the same mistake and fell head first into the water, wanting to feel the softness of the duck but, this time, she added no new stains to her dress because two strong arms grabbed her as she fell a breath whispered in her ear...
Don't stain your pretty dress again trying to find softness, it's holding you, right here...
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
i saw a teacher smoking
and thought of mischievous things to say
he looked at me embarrassingly
so i just walked away
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
There was a smell of Devon violets in the air
And the Pig noticed that there was a gentle breeze.
The Duck seemed to have combed his one lock of hair
And he was preparing to drop to his knees.
He fiddled with his apron trying to ****** it off
He was a funny shade of pale pink and blue.
He started his sentence with a little cough
“My friend, you know how I have feelings for you”.
“Yes, get on with it, what do you want to say”.
Nothing could have prepared the pig for the next bit
“My friend, you are my world, my Doris Day
More precious to me than the chair in which you sit.
“Do you want to go out for a drive?
You should have said earlier on.
Now it is late, it is nearly half past five
Very soon the day will be gone.
The Duck spluttered for him to be quiet
He had now a serious wrinkled beak
He regretted now going on a diet
But alas, he started to speak.
“My friend I have something to ask you, would you
Be so bold as to marry me.”
“What! Screamed the Pig. The subject is taboo”
And suggested that he was barking up the wrong tree.
The Duck went violet and embarrassingly stiff
“I didn’t mean to offend, forget it” and ran top speed.
He wanted to jump off a cliff
But knew he might just bleed.
So he hid for three weeks until his face went pink
He went a bit thin, but survived the humiliation
Hiding gave him time to think
Which only led to frustration?
He had to think of a plan
A rapid plan at that or he was in trouble
I will tell the pig I have become a different man
And that I look like the Duck, a duck double.
Then I will reappear as if nothing is out of place
He will be confused, I will be in the clear
He will say I remember that face
And I will have nothing to fear.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
when you're alone, you don't have to defend your motives
when you're alone, you don't have to have five good reasons
or three
or even one
every action has a consequence
maybe every action has an antecedent
sometimes i just don't want to investigate.
it's as if
everyone else lives to.
sometimes
i'm just difficult.
i'm just emotional, i'm just irrational, i'm just impulsive.
but if i was predictable, who would bother predicting?
it's embarrassingly easy to confuse people.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
It's been years since I actually missed her
And its a surprise because I thought I was done dreaming of her forever
Not only did she break my heart
But I grew to hate the things we both shared, like a broken handle on a cart.
At one point during these 7 years I became delusional
Creating a fake relationship for her and I, utterly insane, no?
I wanted her and I to be a thing once upon a time
I considered myself to be a nickel and her a dime
Embarrassingly enough to say, but even before we became friends I had set my sights on becoming her man
Unfortunately, I was too hasty in my confession resulting in my unused plan.
I tried to not let it bother me and I was able to move on eventually
Until of course I found out she was interested in my best friend, not surprisingly.
He was pretty popular unlike me
I, however, wanted to be useful to her so I listened to her "gush" over him because that's what a friendzoned 'nice guy' does ,right?
His feelings don't matter so there's no point putting up a fight.
If she's actually interested in you she'll make those feelings known.
I couldn't understand that back then, but I can now since I've grown.
It's been 7 years since she released me from her life.
I became so jaded and bitter from all that strife.
The nickel that wanted to be with a dime
Can't believe I dreamt about her after all this time.
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 11:31 AM UTC
Those lips: The lips that turned that smile into gold-
So I persist.
As I leaned in, so did you.
So fun and new and oh!
Oh my,
Those lips.
The feeling went from my head and trickled down my spine;
Oh ****
Those lips.
I didn’t know how but ******* my heart felt so fresh,
Because of those lips.
Your smile got so wide and I couldn’t help but blush,
God I get so nervous- those lips!
As I got up, you took my hand in yours,
Oh my gosh,
Those hands.
The hands that have touched previous entities:
Landscapes, buildings, cars, firewood, corkscrews…
…muses.
But those girls had such taste-
Who could resist that touch from those hands!
When you slowly brushed your hand against mine,
Embarrassingly, I hesitated.
Suddenly,
I found myself gradually stroking your head;
Stroking your chin, your nose, your hands,
Your heart.
Was this wrong? Is it selfish to give into a desire?
My fire, my flame, my love. It grew.
I was me and you were you; how beautiful.
It was all perfect, it all felt infinite,
But it wasn't.
We set ourselves up.
Right?
Or were we the ones set up?
A ploy, a “ha ha”, or rather a **** you.
I don’t get it.
I just want those hands,
I just want those lips; that smile.
Wait, those eyes!
Soft, warm;
Secretive.
Those eyes wouldn’t tell me anything,
They were so hard to read.
Was this just me? Can he see what I see?
Shades so deep and alluring,
I get lost in those eyes.
They have stories to tell, and I wanna know more.
Don’t take away those eyes.
But alas, we must part,
Maybe for a little while, maybe for good.
I had fun, and I hope you did too.
But oh,
I love you.
Don’t you see, I get you and you get me.
Maybe it’s just me who sees.
Goodbye my darling dearest,
Au revoir my sugarpie,
Until we meet again.
Your scent lingered on my shirt,
I slowly pulled away.
What am I doing?
Is this wrong?
I should have told you from the start,
You should have known my love,
But it wasn’t right;
I’m sorry.
Now you give me kisses, and I give them back;
For your lips are far too gentle to hesitate.
Your wit, your jokes, your laugh.
Stroking your hair and hearing that laugh.
Your dreams,
My dreams.
My world in those hands.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
Armed with vocal thoughts,
"I" speaks to "You;"
"I" being myself, a rebel-revolutionary,
and "You" being a like-minded individual.
This is a call to arms, my brethren of the pen,
a call to non-violent, passive-aggressive action.
As poets, as shapers of culture,
as heathen warriors of ink and paper,
we are, by unwritten definition, radicals.
We are master isolationists, visionaries,
unwitting weavers of the immense tapestry of time.
Each word, each thought, each image that is
translated from mind to word and deed,
is an instance of your exemplary credentials
in the world of genuine thoughtfulness
and uncomfortably candid philosophy.
"I," as a symbol of myself,
encourages "You," a like-minded individual,
to pick up your threads of thought and
tie comforting commonality into knots
of free thought and controversial honesty
that takes effort to unravel and understand.
"I," a wildfire, challenges "You," standing trees,
to wield your casually intense influence
towards the betterment of our scattered communities.
Draw on historical records,
on embarrassingly personal experience,
on relatable and unrelatable tails
of second-hand hearsay.
Draw on the words of our predecessors,
the ones who waxed lyrical
and the ones who rambled on a tangent.
Draw on the empathetic, mental-link
between "I" and "You" and "Everybody Else."
Take the whole of creation in your hands,
twist and mold it into a new shape,
then plant it in the ground to grow anew.
The words of "I" and the words of "You"
are a seismic catalyst.
All we have to do is trust,
trust in the thought of "You" and
trust in the thought of "I,"
and the poetry in the pages of your notebooks
will take their first, living breath.
h.f.m.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC
Purge mode! Purge mode!
Everything must go!
I haven’t worn these pants in at least twelve months.
Purge!
This was my go to cute top in ‘07, but it shrunk.
Purge!
These shoes are embarrassingly loud, they go “THWUMP, THWUMP, THWUMP.”
Purge!
Once, in this dress, someone mistakenly thought I was knocked up.
Purge!
Cool expensive hat from Anthropologie I’ve worn not a once?
Oh wait, maybe keep that one.
Nah, just kidding, PUUUUUUUURGE!
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
fifty years young and she asks no one
directly,
how will she compete?
she is tail and blonde and thin and all that
='s
pretty,
but,
single and
pretty at fifty,
slender, athletic,
currently unemployed
knowledgeable sports fan,
courtesy of her dad and no brothers
is not good enough
none of it, cuts it
when, in summertime
she only sees
youths coupling and rosy
older men with
young babies rosy
every place,
every restaurant
we take her
(the 19 year old tan,
embarrassingly,
almost bare
dumber and meaner than dumb
hostesses,
all look up,
inspect our arrival,
yes, in need of seating,,
we are three
and stupid youthful smiles,
yes, three, smirking, I get it...)
she slips it
out loud,
@ our "dinner for three,"
loud and yet inaudible
because we all want it to be
invisible unheard
a private thought,
part gasp,
part cri du couer,
wail plain and female plaintive,
can't compete, can't compete
cannot respond with a fatherly
there, there,
for that would be ridiculous,
even insulting
she wandered in and out of
purposeless, prepared for failure
relationships, and now
it is a look-back, lost,
Thirty Years War
find her a friend!
reply, they are,
sad and married,
besides you know,
I travel alone
in the
company of women,
and so by now,
they have stopped asking
it hangs there,
a hanging atmospheric decoration,
till enough seconds pass
and it is restaurant-noise
clinked away,
time erased,
never was said
I kick myself under the tangible table,
so no one else has to,
reminding me that you cannot be
poet~healer to everyone,
always,
try as you might
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC