"empties" poems
son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or
sidewalk chalk.
mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt.
of god & country.
of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied.
he skates.
the concussed ****** of booming youth.
omega he:
to the wolf pack outers.
breathing love of summer, he
is the son drunk on hi-c
& burping.
watching teenaged supersoakers yodel
on a bridge.
florida.
son sneaks out late to rationalize
the city’s features
under strange light & love of nightly people.
boy sculpts body out of beast,
turned dark corners.
arrives swollen.
his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab
with flood light electronics taught to worship
the shred.
mother rattles the blender
on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed
& nearing with hugs.
blister-itched.
glossed folds of scar tissue.
those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates.
with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations
from outerspace & pigeons explode.
son’s ears bleed, &
the television goes unwatched.
he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing
his legs into iron-rods
or wands of summer anthem.
cold war.
he empties sugar-sweat & toxins
into the storm-drain.
essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend
of ghosts.
a three legged dog lay in the shade
leisurely watching the boy skate
on endless.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.
My blood was a river that ran
Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved?
No? Her displacement was involuntary.
Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time. The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light. A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.
I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Light the lanterns and watch them float higher.
Can I pick out a few stars and hold them?
Can I bask in their light and their fire?
Tonight I vow these stars will not grow dim.
The dark blue sky is an endless canvas.
I plan to paint my life in its blank space.
The cold, brisk air brings about a clearness
My mind empties as I walk my own pace.
The music that comes through my headphones gives
Me a purpose and the darkness of the
Night gives me the strength and want to forgive.
City lights cannot vie with a nova.
The sun will come tomorrow but I will
Be looking for the first star from the sill.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
My gorilla wears tennis shoes
He reads the paper and sings the blues
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla, he's a sensitive guy
I took him out for a wedding, and man did he cry!
Tears all down his tie
Well, he can drive most greens from the back tees
But his putting brings him to his knees
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves pork and beans
He rides a scooter in his cut-off jeans
My gorilla, my gorilla
He can make a mean souffle
He's great with omelets, but his specialty is flambe
So I eat one every day!
He's been working hard on a half pike
But his cannonball empties the pool
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla is so much fun
He buys taquitos for everyone
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves tequila with lime
He's taking classes at a school for mime
Cracks me up every time!
Well, he's looking cool in his "white face"
And his French beret looks oh so fine
My gorilla, my gorilla
Oh yeah...
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
A hollow takes root in my heart,
I watch helpless
as this cavern empties
its once warm elixir,
now cool as coal
on a bed of dying embers.
suddenly,
trepidation surges
upending my
quiet comfort
while voices whisper in an upswell
"this safety on the razor's edge
is an illusion
and must be returned
to the debt ridden sea!"
slowly the mist settles,
revealing the great divide.
I hold my breath
and go under
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
High on the O2:
Red Rossopomodoro, Wagamama,
and on the bus shelter, Marc Jacobs,
and again higher,
Habitat,
then Metroline moves past.
It's the 113
to Oxford Circus,
and the 13 to Victoria:
Thrilla Lives On,
shouts the slogan,
while National Express has
All Set For Take-Off.
They're gone...
It calms
empties,
nothing much
just the red lidless eyes
of cars
two, three, four dozen pairs
hover
over the asphalt road.
Where...
where am I?
Ahhh, yeah,
in the Oriental Star,
the road seen from a table and stool,
waiting
for food.
Where have I hailed from?
My lover's womb.
No, no
NOT THAT!
The North Star, yes:
A pub on the Finchley Road,
Where Tottenham beat Liverpool 4-1
A pyrrhic victory!
Over a couple of beers.
Warm years, and tears.
A sense of place,
a home, a nest,
Receding in the traffic
Of a busy road,
Waiting on noodles.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
Nails clawing through shirttails
Trying to hold on
Desperate not to let things change
Faceless people turn their backs
Glasses shatter half full
Only the empties remain
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
You know it's time to talk
when the teapot empties
itself, forgotten steam
whistling in and out
our ears. Tell the truth, it's
all about the mist, crawling
in and out of our heads.
delicately painted china
empty of all but dregs
spilling out patterns
depicting surprises
unreadable to all but the blind
changing the addictions
to colorless schemes
of the bitter sweet taste
lingering on our tongues
uncurling to let out the truth.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Moment by moment
Life drips out
And empties the soul
Of living
Full and contented
Living is not meant to be
Each moment passes by
Bringing its own emptying-ness
Scouring another few bits of happiness
To dump it in the trash of memories
And experiences
To live on
While life is being wasted
On living
In and out of belongingness
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 7:26 AM UTC
You liked her because her cheeks were pink,
And her lips were red,
And her skin was white.
Her face was like a Valentine,
And you were ready to give her your heart.
You liked her because of the black hair,
And smokey eyes,
And dark magic.
She was a witch
And you memorized her palms,
Hoping yours would be a spell
She didn't know yet.
You liked her, even when it stung.
She was like looking at the light in the dentist's chair.
She fried your retinas.
Your fluorine-filled mouth gagging you with cherry
While she got high on laughing gas.
You loved her, with the pink light bathing her
And your red lipstick thick on her lips
And her calloused hands squeezing your heart purple.
You love her hard enough to **** Cupid.
Cupid is pink, turning white.
The blood empties
Like cherry syrup.
The sky is dark.
Her lips are purple.
Your love is a crime scene.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
It hides, hoping not to be seen
Preys on the innocent life
No one can tell it has been
It cuts into you like a knife
Secrets are kept from you
What others fear to tell
You want to hear what is true
Because you have been to Hell
They make friends into enemies
Because no one likes to say
Finding out, the soul empties
The coldness never goes away
Why did they not tell you from the start
And keep what they knew to themselves
It would have stopped a knife to the heart
It would have released hidden jars from the shelves
The wolf would have been outted long ago
Then this shiver would not run down my spine
I feel like I was the last one to know
If only someone had given me the sign
So let us put an end to wars that never should be
Let that wolf in sheeps clothing be exposed
Join as we were before, a friend and ally
Let this knowledge you share be imposed
The truth needs to be heard, to be shared
Because the rest of us will listen, will hark
Let the ****** be seen, let it be scared
Shine light on that kept in the dark
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC
There are so many shadows on the planet.
The ones of the living, bodiless, moving along, appreciating the complicated road the humans are taking to enjoy each beat of their heart. But then there are others.
Shadows inside of those who live.
Hiding beneath the flesh lies an empty carcass of what used to be the poem of a life yet to be lived. Hiding beneath lies a ruined soul waiting to be picked up by death. You do not always recognize those who have died inside. They know how to put up a front, but… the inside is rotten and empty and sad and destroyed and I wonder how you can possibly live a life like that.
The real question, though… is how that happens? How do you die inside? Does it happen all at once?
Someone tells you they do not love you anymore, and everything goes through you, your heart, your soul, your happiness, everything vital just crushes down and breaks all over the floor in an invisible flood of despair that swallows your entire being?
Or is it done slowly, almost imperceptibly? You go through the motions, you smile and laugh, but somehow, the laugh empties itself out, as if, suddenly, you only had one reserve that would never replenish. The reserve runs out and the laugh is empty. The smile faints into a neutral expression, and then it's gone, too. The rest follows the same path. After a while, every gesture, every word, every look is empty. But the change is so subtle, almost natural. And no one notices. And you are the last one to leave. Your body is a shadow and you are gone.
"As good as dead".
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 6:13 AM UTC
I am often told that love will leave me breathless,
But I hope I never know a love so greedy as to steal the air from my chest,
For I have memories of a time when my body was oxygen starved
And my lungs unable to draw in breath,
Bogged down under soupy pneumonia that clung to my innards
With vice-like, snotty grips.
My mind is sometimes lost in the sensation of frantically
Drawing air inward,
******* it into my chest with great gasps that never alleviated the burning of my lungs
Or the way pins and needles tingled down my limbs.
My brain cells were consumed with desire to force O2 to bind with the red blood cells churning in my veins.
The air surrounding me was dense with particles that refused to aid my survival,
No matter how much effort I exerted to the contrary.
Sweat dripped off my too thin form and pallid skin
As I drowned slowly from the inside out in a room full of doctors
Until they finally placed the tube back into my throat to breathe for me.
The pain receded as oxygen raced back into my cells,
And I marveled for a moment at the fact that I could not feel myself breathing,
Couldn't feel the rise or fall of my chest.
The mark of my vitality was absent,
And yet,
I was very much alive.
I remember what it was to be truly breathless,
The blind panic that seized me before finally giving way to a wish for death.
It's because of this I hope love never empties my lungs.
I want a love that makes breathing feel safe and exciting,
A love that feels so gloriously alive that I am acutely aware of my chest rising.
Love should always make breathing feel like both a right and a privilege.
It is a privilege to love her and be in her presence.
But I hope she never leaves me breathless.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 6:25 PM UTC
So stick up ivy and the bays,
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing.
And mortifies the earth and all
But your wild revels, and loose hall.
Could you wear flowers, and roses strow
Blushing upon your ******* warm snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto music, masque, nor show:
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate;
But to the manger’s mean estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a check to pomp and mirth;
And all man’s greatness you may see
Condemned by His humility.
Then leave your open house and noise,
To welcome Him with holy joys,
And the poor shepherd’s watchfulness:
Whom light and hymns from heaven did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your load.
Who empties thus, will bring more in;
But riot is both loss and sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.
3k
O ***** king.
***** O ***** king,
what bitter thing is this?
what shaft, tearing my heart?
what scar, what light, what fire
searing my eye-balls and my eyes with flame?
nameless, O spoken name,
king, lord, speak blameless *****
Why do you blind my eyes?
why do you dart and pulse
till all the dark is home,
then find my soul
and ruthless draw it back?
scaling the scaleless,
opening the dark?
speak, nameless, power and might;
when will you leave me quite?
when will you break my wings
or leave them utterly free
to scale heaven endlessly?
A bitter, broken thing,
my heart, O ***** lord,
yet neither drought nor sword
baffles men quite,
why must they feign to fear
my ****** glance?
feigned utterly or real
why do they shrink?
my trance frightens them,
breaks the dance,
empties the market-place;
if I but pass they fall
back, frantically;
must always people mock?
unless they shrink and reel
as in the temple
at your uttered will.
O ***** king,
lord, greatest, power, might,
look for my face is dark,
burnt with your light,
your fire, O ***** lord;
is there none left
can equal me
in ecstasy, desire?
is there none left
can bear with me
the kiss of your white fire?
is there not one,
Phrygian or frenzied Greek,
poet, song-swept, or bard,
one meet to take from me
this bitter power of song,
one fit to speak, *****
your praises, lord?
May I not wed
as you have wed?
may it not break, beauty,
from out my hands, my head, my feet?
may Love not lie beside me
till his heat
burn me to ash?
may he not comfort me, then,
spent of all that fire and heat,
still, ashen-white and cool
as the wet laurels,
white, before your feet
step on the mountain-slope,
before your fiery hand
lift up the mantle
covering flower and land,
as a man lifts,
O ***** from his bride,
(cowering with woman eyes,) the veil?
O ***** lord, be kind.
2.9k
ONE LAST KISS
© mpijanowski
I have fought the feelings
And emotions inside
That fills and empties me,
Like a fast rolling tide
There are moments of pain
Of sorrow and hate
Leaving me to ponder.
Many hours of late
I love you honey.
It’s your presence I miss.
And I terribly long
For that one last kiss
But the greatest pain of all
That hurts me so deep,
Is after giving you my love
I can’t have yours to keep
To have you by my side
Always longing for more,
And have you feel the same,
To mutually adore
You see my love; I have given you my heart
And revealed the depths of my soul
And now I am left feeling hopelessly empty,
Paying this immeasurable toll.
It’s selfish I know
to feel this way
But it’s how I feel,
each and every day
Always hoping and praying
For the next time we meet
For you to allow me, once again
To feel complete
And rest assured
I WILL see you again
For it’s not a question of if
But a question of when.
And when that time comes
I’ll be in total bliss
For no longer will I wait
For that one last kiss.
Dec 24, 2009
Dec 24, 2009 at 5:27 PM UTC
PART I: ADRIFT
Madness passed Misery
and bumped into me.
We travel together now,
Islands lost at sea.
Ahead, Tomorrow rides,
pinned to the sunrise.
Yesterday dogs us,
marking our tides.
Empty atolls pass
on windborne paths.
Now homes to only bones;
more dead outcasts.
The Ocean never laments
or attempts to make sense.
We just wander across it
until living relents.
PART II: VAGRANT
Lagoon to lagoon,
harboring my tether.
Giving me shelter
from daily storms.
Lost in the masts,
a paper boat.
Taking on water...
as expected.
A lucky hook
snares the soggy craft.
Dried and opened:
a cry for .
When no reply came,
a folded flotilla
Whitened the water,
a cry now screaming.
This harbor now empties.
My travels resume.
PART III: DREAM
The sea fades to gulls, and then,
a delta rushed with mountainfulls.
I've become a salmon fighting upstream,
an island lost in a riverbed dream.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Nothing hurts when I'm alone,
As I drink the sweet poison
That empties my mind.
How unkind,
This substance can feel
So fresh and fine,
Without a thought to mind.
As I run for fun,
Through streets of unknown,
Not knowing who the ones are
Vibrating my phone,
As they text and call me
To come back home.
A smile creeps on my face,
As i'm restless and dazed,
In a hypnotic haze,
For one can only suffer
The very next day.
But alas,
The day has come,
And I for one
Awoken by a
Frosted memory,
Of one late night,
Turned into a horror sight.
Was I there?
As I meekly glare
At the ones who care,
Standing before me,
Beginning to stare.
I hear silence in the air.
Not one feeling I remember,
Not one feeling I forget.
I wake up in a cold sweat
Of utter guilt and regret.
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 3:31 PM UTC
Don't tell me
to get used to disappointment—
that my hopes should always
stay close to the ground.
Because defeat
doesn't complement my complexion.
But if you insist upon saying it,
pass me my lipstick.
Just like Ms. Molly Ringwald,
I'll apply that **** with no hands—
a wet, slick shade of red that reads
with confidence and promise.
And just before I slow kiss
the half-empties from your lips,
I'll slip something half full
into your pocket.
Neatly folded, on lined paper,
it will read:
*You see, hope is like having a ****
What’s the point in even having it
if you can't manage to get it up once in awhile?*
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.
My blood was a river that ran
Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved?
No? Her displacement was involuntary.
Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time. The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light. A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.
I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
This hunger
isn't fun anymore!
I am this vessel full of ***
that never empties its heavy load
The hunger is killing me
and keeping me on my toes
The hunger enhances everything,
yet makes me sick!
My ***** is wet, my eyes also drip
All I think is your body, all over me
You're my favorite wildest sweet...
It's lashing out at me - I just can't be
The hunger is deep, the hunger is extreme
it is, i swear it is
Every single night, in my bed,
gasping for relief
I need you to **** me quick
I need to fly with your kiss
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 9:43 AM UTC
thoughts a festering wound
gathering and multiplying waves
racing from the depths
oblivious
I gaze
through
the crowd.
passing faces all blank outlines
penciled shades quivering
ghostly hums curling my ears
pain
twist
and
i hear.
smashing the misty trance
a distance toll of a temple bell
taps on my glassy clamour.
all
empties
flashing
silence.
© Malintha Perera 2014
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
He seeks truth in places of no good.
He flies high in places where others stood
Still he cries tears of perpetual sense.
A chameleon
his outer vesture cloaks his identity.
Unyielding
He plants his foot in the dirt.
Tangled vines tie his toes
contrasting his poetic prose.
Left dangling in the temptress spider lily's web
the noose tightens
as the old boy sings.
A fist with two thumbs
he raises like a martian.
Strangers illegibly write him
off.
A Jekyllish laugh
empties the mucus from his lungs.
Eons of inhaling senseless knowledge
he finds a second breathe to speak.
Words slice the web of lies
spinning silk into impenetrable pride.
Raw and uncut
his diction polishes diamonds
before were only rust.
He wakens every morning
Anew defiant face.
Contradicting himself
a joke
he cackles everyday.
The children who say he's changed
are correct.
But the chameleon found his true colors
somewhere between the lines
of white and black.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Walking in the morning fog,
icy patches, watch those missteps,
the mist it hovers, street lights
get glowing eyes, squinting, sizing
up their appetite, as you are devoured
going forward.
Then out of the soup that tastes like
every asthmatics worst nighmare,
comes a howl and a growl,
we will call him greybeard, and
it was weird how a grown man,
growled and howled while he
sat on frozen wood, at five fifty-six AM
and growled and howled at the
glowing eye above him as there was
no moon.
He never saw us as we moved past,
picking up the pace we moved fast,
he must have ice in his veins,
ice on the road, and sidewalk,
veins of light and in his body,
must have been the hand sanitizer,
coursing through his veins,
having a howling goodtime,
with the cold empties lined up behind.
DWE012014
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Who said that
watch the moon
but can't touch?
Truly a full moon picture
broke the mirror.
Stacking all of it
the sky fills the full jar.
Empties it though
sparing a piece
to every shining star.
Yet a full moon Kohinoor
eyes on all the stars
no one can touch!
Aug 31, 2022
Aug 31, 2022 at 8:44 PM UTC