"encasement" poems
I need a hug,
but not a quick,
lazy hug
during which the touch feels like less of a comforting gesture,
but more of an awkward happening
with limp arms hanging like gigantic weights,
pulling you into the floor.
Not one where you aren't ever really sure if you should hang on
for just a moment more,
or if you should let go,
and release into an uncomfortable silence
that lasts until someone coughs hesitantly.
The sound reverberating through the atomosphere,
leaving a heavy draft of atypical embarrassment at the contact,
waiting for someone else to bring up some random topic of discussion
to break the icy and heavy silence.
No.
I need a real hug.
The kind where someone who loves you see your pain
even though you might not say anything.
Reading the waters behind your smiling eyes,
seeing the hidden hurt behind your irises,
they grab you,
perhaps by your slightly shacking shoulders,
and pull you into their warm encasement.
Holding you tightly
and safely
in their care.
And the two of you just hang onto this affectionate moment
of profound concern among brethren of a species
The kind where time seems to stop
in admiration of this subtle outpouring of unified allegiance
before which the universe bows.
I need the kind of hug that demonstrates a fierce loyalty.
Devotion that knows
should the object of such intense friendship fall into the pit,
from whence none return unscathed in some way,
they will throw down a rope
a foothold
a salvation,
and they will pull that person from the depths of the darkness
maybe even at the risk of falling in themselves.
Yes.
That is the kind of esoteric gesture
that can be so impactful on those in pain,
regardless of whether that pain be great or small.
And should you find that you receive love like that,
treasure it.
And should you find that you give love like that,
never forget how special and rare someone like you is.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
The black night’s ebbing tide
erased the only remaining hints,
the cresting long ocean swells
did not cleanse without a trace.
Adrift and lethargically bobbing
seaweed entangled teakwood box
of water-logged photographs, drowning,
surrendered from the heart of the sea
Like molted wild feathers cast ashore with the tide
to the coarse specks of rasping sands,
Darwin's dream in an emptied sea-bubble popped,
dissipated into its own haplessness,
bestrewn about an untrodden seashore
Washed out snapshots of life’s disregarded minutia
enchained to an ordinary forgotten Kodachrome moment
left out to the consequences of the ever fickle tides,
abandoned happenstance spilled by chance
upon another undiscovered world
The warped and bloated wooden box encasement,
hoary with swollen furrowed woodgrain s,
wearied by an enduring measureless moment adrift;
as if an ill-fated message in a misbegotten leaky bottle,
corked with marooned good intentions,
and images of disappearing dreams
flung out shipwrecked in barnacled azure glass
beneath a sky so far away
someone you used to know
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Ingredients
My fingers skate along the sleek surface if the finished cedar box , although it has been varnished it still somehow finds a way to harness a whiff if the scent to push in my direction every time I open it . Recipes , basically a conjugation of ingredients , when melded together in perfect amounts , create a complete meal, my recipes , amassed from a lifetime of existence , instances collected individually , and blended on to the parchment that is now being filed amidst the rest of the nourishing collections within this wooden encasement , I have organized them based on feelings, " moods " the perfect ingestion , for any experience , it is well acknowledged that often we find our way to someone's heart with the perfect recipes , food for the soul , but this is my collection of food for the heart, this box contains a life's worth of poetry , little daily doses of not soul food , but food for the soul , little inspirational quotes and quills , for any emotion that may full our belly with that hallo feeling that comes with chaos , our emotional nourishment , which is why you will never find this treasure in the pantry with the rest of the " cook books" for this has a place on the corner of the nightstand , along with the rest of my hopes and dreams .........
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Reckoning gaze, learning ropes, knotty pine encasement, knowing what the box looks like from inside is preeminent inimitable. I was so certain last year would be it. Likely even, I thought the same the year before and years before that, all whilst whittling away, planks of this coffin, scratching to get out. Sealed in a fate, this vampiric rising, doomed to eternity of night crawling. Yet, by no means has glamour of Hollywood realm flickered any sheen, this direction. Not all vampires can afford tuxedos. Grosgrain lapels, and red satin lined capes do do wonders for former stars of silver screen, but this succubus prefers his naked lot. Apparently, malignant rogues who lie amongst worms don't always have the wardrobe to go with it. New Year's resolution: a tuxedo, perhaps some tails, and somewhere to wear them.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
As the sun begins to retire for the day, we sit here in my black, 1965 Lincoln Continental convertible, gazing upon the glowing city skyline that is illuminated in orange and red, a perfect complement to the burning house at the bottom of the cliff.
This shared moment couldn’t be any more perfect.
I look over at her.
How did I get so lucky?
With her I don’t have to talk. I can simply enjoy her company, me eating a vanilla cone as she inhales a burger and fries.
Food gone, she looks longingly at me, so I extend my right arm to share my ice cream.
She is so adorable. Her inherent beauty is magnified by her quirky imperfections, especially that slight under bite and scarred face, some scars more pink and fresh than others.
The sun finally disappears, and we are cloaked by the black, star-filled sky. I continue to marvel at the smoldering house, taking it in, processing it, and developing it as if I am a photographer in a dark room.
Reaching for the ignition, I pause. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes for a very brief moment. All I see is the pathetic expression on his face, his struggle. And those ***** cuss words he spat at me – if only I had had soap, but I didn’t. I lean over to Casey and take off her collar, throwing the encasement of her old life out of the car and into the endless mystery that lies beneath us.
The blisters on my left forearm begin to sting and throb, the heat disrupting the stillness of this reality.
I need a bag of ice and a bottle of whiskey.
I can’t wait until we are settled into my apartment, enjoying that cheap air conditioning as we cuddle and watch re-runs of the Andy Griffith Show.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
heLLo,
DeLusion,
DARLING
AgAin AdMIRING
LovelY LAdY LibERtY,
Flame Held High shIMMERING;
BOth BOok And EYES OPEN,
ON a pAth to the HORIZON,
ON this vAst glIMMERING OCEAN.
Left HER ON AN IsLANd fLOATIN,
While CLoSe to our bUST,
ThIS CLUSTerfuck jUSTICE;
Both wrapped in our SHEets,
IT iS SHE who corruptS US.
Book BlindfOLDed,
SCAles SwAYed,
CApITiliSIC enCASEment;
PAth PAVED wITH,
gOLD BrICks EMBLAZED wITH,
EMBLEMs rESEMBling
SLAVE SHIPS.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 7:02 AM UTC
The torrid slushing slosh and evening moondown temperature of green-boiled cauldrons
We drove—not we, just I
And, branches falling, found my way
Blind and in a roundabout
I removed my sheathened corpuscle
My metal encasement and violated the elements of fire
Sorrowful electricity and fate blots out all headlights
Those cares—those cars!
SORGESORGESORGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
You hold on, now
You keep trying
And I’ll be back
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
Opaque irises await those who uncover the un-burial mound
Oafish sockets containing them like marbles
Open to the elements, decaying with their corporeal encasement, shaded by
Oaken leaves that remain unfallen, while
Obsequious maggots go about their task of cleansing the remains
Paralyzed in the final moments of their mortal coil, the bodies lay stagnant,
Pacified only by the removal of sentience.
Pagan rituals surround such corpses, and the intrepid discovers
Patiently await the arrival of some necromantic spirit.
Quasi-instinctively, the pioneers of the superterranean mausoleum
Quell their fears and remove the bodies from their conclusive locale,
Quantifying their deaths by the armaments and metal carapaces upon them.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 12:44 AM UTC
You gave me your heart in a poetical way.
I figuratively hold this anatomically incorrect symbol in my hands…where do I put it?
For though it terrifies me, I know it is precious. I am worried of it…but I can still feel its warmth and I want to keep it close.
I cannot carry it. Absentminded as I am, I will place it somewhere and it will be gone forever.
I cannot keep it in my pocket. It will go through the wash and I will get it back shrunk and shriveled.
Maybe I will open a door in my breast and place it with my own heart…
But that is grotesque.
This perfectly symmetrical, immaculately red symbol cannot sit next to my own, lopsided, beating flesh!
The juxtaposition would unravel the facade and leave me with…what?
Nothing?
A puff of smoke?
A second heart, beating opposite my own, wearing me down?
Or would the disappeared symbol instead free its meaning throughout my body, disintegrating into tingles that run along my spine and down my arms and legs, that make me shiver imperceptibly as my motion is suddenly guarded, and yet pull up at the corners of my mouth, causing me wary warmth, this oxymoronic push-pull
- -
this feeling that makes me want to fight-or-flight to attack or recede inside myself that starts my adrenaline rushing from unwarranted panic yet also makes me want to freeze time as I close my eyes and smile slightly to bask in the redolent warmth to pull my extremities close in order to let them experience what starts in my chest and then stretch into a star for this feeling to extend its reach to my edges and further
- -
Then this symbol, this encasement of hard metaphor, becomes unwanted.
Its protection, previously so needed, becomes unbearable.
How can I hold it in my hands, in my pocket, coolly perfect, frozen in shape, knowing what it holds inside?
How can I not grit my teeth through the disquiet, the sweaty palms and surge in my gut, knowing the halcyon happiness that lays beyond?
I will not suffer this symbol to stay intact!
I will scratch lines in its colour!
I will peel its icy layers off one by one!
I will ****** it to the ground, and **** its sweet juices from the cracks!
I will descend upon it until it bursts, its shards transforming sweetly into its message.
Connotation broken into denotation, truth unobscured by this superfluous poetry.
This sensation, this meaning, this feeling, this actuality, this state, this phrase
- -
this i love you playing across my body running through my hair
- -
It simultaneously freezes and thaws me.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
if i was stuck in a cage
it would be made of toffee
thick strands dribbled in the form of an
old fashioned bird cage
with no door to open
made of toffee
brittle, yet not indestructible
enough tears will break it down maybe
slowly dissolving the sweet encasement
until the thick strands
are able to be broken
then maybe
i'll be able to escape
fly the coop
away from the tears
but for now:
i'm pinned
in a toffee cage
crying enough tears
to be able to break out
my sweetened cage
....
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC
I want so badly to believe in something. I’ve stripped myself down from all the filth and cotton. I have untied the skin and bones and ligaments to find truth of my structure. I don’t know if I belong in this encasement. I’m out searching, coming to grips with my fingerprints. They are my own. Do I deserve the skin enclosing my organs. My esophagus burns with revelation, but my eyes still don’t sting. My heart is on fire, but yours hasn’t left its roots. I’m out searching, coming to grips that I am grounded in these cells.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
Emotional scars, not wounds, document
the totality of my Life experiences;
even though my spirit hasn’t yet shed
its temporary, earthly encasement,
this fleshly clay of human brokenness
cautions me to always be ever mindful
of my blessed Lord and His sacrifice.
Pretending to overlook the preciousness
of this gift of Life, that was bestowed
to me, was an act of absolute foolishness
that kept me apart from Him; ignorance
on my part, insured that Grace flowed…
until my insight was lovingly obtained!
Being honest, with myself, allowed me
to be humbled and bowed before my Lord.
Through genuine vulnerability, I gained
my connection me to a God of redemption.
Though I have suffered, like many others,
I’m not alone; a pained confession of my
brokenness led me towards… His Salvation!
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
for a while
you were my home
for a while
you were holed up in my chest.
we made blanket forts,
set up christmas lights,
threw pebbles at traffic,
and soon,
we were unable to distinguish days from nights
then i took you for a tour
into my soul, through my delights
I lead you to a mirror
my dear
that's where you first saw you and me
but you only saw your scars
and i still tried to show you what we could be
but at the sight of yourself
you lost what could have been ours.
you ran away
leaving a trail
running through me
and soon
your words became my skin
your smile, my cells
my arteries were open and gushing
but you were constantly hushing
lest anyone hear my heart bursting from its encasement, underneath your heel.
and now, memories of blanket forts and laughing snorts can't drown out the howling wind blowing through my open chest.
where we used to play.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Unseen memories lurking in corners,
behind closed doors.
Abuse etched into the ink free remains of my elastic encasement.
Violet streaked vixens, dancing naked.
A circus,
of disease-ridden saviors and meek starved profits.
Lips parched, cracked corners split in two.
Outwardly reaching,
Forever stagnant.
Water must be diluted for me to sip.
While I choke.
Immobilized. Incoherent. Suffocated and still.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 7:41 PM UTC
We are the flame that consumes the wick,
we are the wick that burns down the column of wax,
we are the encasement of wax that melts from around the wick…
all these we are,
thus giving the “candle of being”
it’s cadence, it’s heat, and it’s brilliance,
from struck match to flame out to last drift of smoke…
beyond that,
is more than what we are
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Rose, God bless thee.
How quick you were to go
into a world so bitter
from roots you did not know.
Your beauty hath betrayed thee,
it steals thy youth away;
for now a lonely glass encasement
encases your decay.
If you had been a daisy,
your youth, your life, prolonged,
how lovely it would have been
to feel the earth so long.
Rose, God bless thee.
How putrid life must be
flattering the eyes of those
blind to your despondency.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
Remember how we floated that night?
Minds pulling up their anchors,
And allowing free motion;
An escape from the docks that are our bodies.
The solid encasement of ourselves left alone for a while,
As the stars invited us in.
We were friends and clung to each other in our journey.
Distancing the impending reality.
Separating ourselves from the surrounding truths we’d never really believed.
We flew,
And we swam,
And we were.
Drifting in eternity.
Aware of those around us,
But happy for the moment in oursleves.
Do you remember how we were?
So content in our secret movement.
Releasing our beings,
Freely,
Gladly,
Relenting control.
That night when we floated.
And we were together.
Remember how we were happy.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
You cast your name over
like silted reeds in the river,
on land
a thick covering of daub and wattle
sought your intention;
the wish to encase others in your space.
Such foolhardy fascination bears a cost,
like ubiquitous cochineal dye pools
Your dreams harbour barriers
as wide as your course strides permit,
the wilderness of banishment beckons
for as long as your fortitude remains
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
I see that bubble you roll around town in
and I can sometimes make out those mumblings,
calls of, "Looking to find my soulmate!"
Funny, vibration of laughter surrounding you
has not burst that solipsistic fizz and froth
Don't you hear yourself reverberating?
In your echoic encasement
Oh how you shine
In that mirrored concavity
And you love yourself so much
How could anyone else even come close
This is your soulmate speaking
Glinda, you haven't been a very good witch
lately
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC
A tiny spec of time...
for me, an eternity.
As my soul travels from this encasement,
into the dimension of where our dreams collide...
Fluttering feverishly,
these tattered wings of mine,
never lacking the luster of the silver that dusted your heart.
My light,
becomes global,
an atmospheric phenomenon,
intangible,
as I tangle the woven web,
spreading beams to capture what was once,
only mine.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
Imposing despondence annexing hypnogogic state escapes;
dominating
Precariously constructed walls;
stifling
Presentiment projected, callous shadow castles;
towering
Looming structures of concentrated contempt;
ensnared
A solitary luminescent casement;
revealing radiant retreat
Evanescent relief...
Enticing evacuation from encasement;
a Dusty Miller
Flourishing amongst debris and ruin
The first sign of life...
in years
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
The soft encasement of our footsteps on damp grass,
cold which slowly seeps into my cloth made shoes
eventually to carry up my ankles, through and through
we sit on the old trailer, looking up
to a sky of but few stars, most hidden save the dippers
and our small talk begins to chorus with
the symphony of the night while we grant ourselves
permission to bypass such warning labels that
we've been wearing for the past year.
The past is the past, or so I've told myself
you've endorsed this new policy of "no regrets"
and sweep your tongue not only over my neck
but across beliefs held close for so long
I know not what to do with you, for I am leaving you
to an unknown I've learned of over and over again
merely by walking the same path in circles with you
and those circles have permeated a spell around my heart
which tends to seek, and return to you.
The change that corresponds between us displaces goodbye
we've tried so many times and the word is not strong enough
to cut the stem that is our understanding of one another which
stretches out between us over a sea of all that is flowing forward
dividing our worlds, placing us on separate sands
though we sit so closely now that our gazes still connect
in the dark where the moon hovers in a cloudless sky
and you've missed each shooting star that has flown
for the entire time, you were looking at me.
In bodies ever so familiar, our recognizable outer shells
we relax there for a while
because in the name of human decency, in our closeness
you and I may be gazing up at the stars talking about cats now
but I know that this is how we are waving across a vast sea
and if all of this flowery talk
is to be swallowed up by the night's shadows
as the cold continues towards my core and drives us inside
as our steps are forgotten by the damp lawn
I know, for truth, that goodbye does not quite blanket our history.
Yet, may a good-night lay to rest such things.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
A cracked record pirouettes upon its cherry oaked coffin,
Listen closely to the requiem for my ravine.
Can you taste the a’s, the b’s, the c’s,
The spearmint flavor of cool jazz prancing along your tongue.
A eulogy for the mind.
Our memory is not like it used to be.
Light driven through unshattered glass.
Reflecting amongst particles, a burnt hay fulgence.
Before this home, the welcome mat was upside down. An encasement. A confinement.
A rigid sweater, crafted of jagged straw and course hair clung to my skin.
I could never leave. The smell of chemical potpourri coming from that pyrex plate,
leaving the nostrils flaring in metallic bliss. The taste of frosting.
Same faces entering, different ones departing. Friend on the couch fearing ****
Me in bed fearing robbery.
A visitor in my room. Masked. Too dark to see. He apparates from view while I shriek in silence. Alley cats in life threatening quarrel in a deaf man’s yard.
He comes again unwelcomed, I dare this time to challenge.
The drugs are done.
Heroes are seldomly forgotten.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
an uninterested archaeologist studied the bones of eight
dead citizens who had a gradually tightened their grips around our dreams, tapering
as furling curtains swathed the incoming light, swirling, forcing it into nonentity
one would steer the ill-fated course of all.
bury the hatchet that was used to hatch you
put all of your eggs into one spermicidal basket
only the heavy-handed preamble to my funeral
could weigh against such lofty comparisons
we commuted to separated isles, each with their own emulation of truth
with cathartic perspectives, trees wait to abed in your predestined lynching
placing viney nooses into mother nature's scrapbook, a cherished keepsake,
your freckled dna, an infinitesimal page in her tattered cookbook
only in an afterworld will you be allowed to read your book's foreword
know that there is no snooty producer to create for you a cash-in sequel
they all watch you from afar, hungry, salivating
failing to make a distinction between your life and demise
their story's nothing but an interminable sad ending
a null conclusion with nothing to conclude
it holds its breath, crosses its fingers
hoping again to come through
as I placed defeat to my temple and squeezed
I veered into a claustrophobic brick encasement
colored with lifelessness, detachment
and learned infinity is combustible;
an unfolding polygonal paper
forever unwrapping
I've walked with wrecked leagues
casually entered fiery caverns
and the chilling daytime before me,
never is it compelling
I resigned my mind, contemplated grave comprehensions
redid everything, coughing opuses, deftness, drugged insight
my tactics turned to taciturn. no one was conducting
the open metaphor of your eyes, rendering
internal captions. endless captive renditions
my adoration:
the thickly-caked rust in the kitchen faucet
if you catch my spotty, deposited
despot eyes in direct sunlight,
you'll realize their dimness
staring vacantly
into oncoming traffic,
looming passages
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
Take the unseen snow and cover me with it.
Make it into a blanket around me.
I can hide my head there in it's sanctity, and
No one will even know.
And upon finding me cold, lifeless, dry breaths,
Someone less encumbered will utter
a few words that would never encompass me.
And some would cry for their loss but not for mine.
And the darkness would carry me away,
To a simpler place for me.
A place where no thought could break through
The icy encasement I made for myself.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 5:20 PM UTC