"encircle" poems
O MY LOVE, COME WITH ME,
LET’S CLIMB THE MANGO TREE,
ITS GOLDEN FRUITS ARE RIPE,
FULL OF SWEET MEMORY,
LET ME LIFT YOU GENTLY,
TILL YOUR HANDS GET A HOLD,
THIS WARM ZEPHYR HAS MADE ME,
SO STRONG AND SO BOLD,
LET US CLIMB WITHOUT SCRATCHING
YOUR FLAWLESS IVORY SKIN,
MY LOVE WILL GUIDE YOU THROUGH
BRANCHES THICK AND THIN,
YOUR RAVEN HAIR CASCADING ON
TO YOUR NECK SO SLENDER,
SHINY NEW LEAVES OF THE MANGO,
SO DELICATE, AND SO TENDER,
SIT CLOSE TO ME ON A LOFTY BRANCH
TO HEAR THE SOULFUL KOEL SING,
LET'S SWAY WITH THE BREEZE
LIKE SOULS ON A SILKEN STRING,
MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER
YOUR LOVELY FACE SO CLOSE,
SUN BEAMS DANCE ON YOUR LASHES
MY PRECIOUS VELVET ROSE,
YOUR FRAIL HANDS ENCIRCLE ME
LIKE CREEPERS HUGGING THE BOUGH,
YOUR WARM EMBRACE ENTHRALLS ME
TO KISS YOUR SHAPELY BROW,
YOUR SWEET FRAGRANCE INTOXICATES
AND AMONG THE CLOUDS I FLOAT,
LIKE A BUTTERFLY EMERGING FROM
A CATERPILLAR’S UGLY COAT,
WE SIT THERE FOR A LONG TIME
SUSPENDED IN SPACE,
I AM BUT A CONTENT SLAVE
TO YOUR HEAVENLY GRACE
LET MY LIPS LINGER ON
YOUR SOFT PETALS SOME MORE,
TILL I ETCH IN MY MIND,
EVERY BIT OF YOU TO THE CORE,
OH MANGO TREE WE NESTLE
IN YOUR MASSIVE ARMS,
LOST IN THE MYRIAD MISTS
OF ONE ANOTHERS CHARMS,
WHEN OUR YEARS ARE GONE ONE DAY
WHEN WE ARE AGED AND SPENT,
UNDER THIS GREAT MANGO TREE,
WE SHALL PITCH OUR FINAL TENT,
UNDER ITS VAST CANOPY WE SHALL LIE
LOOKING AT THE STARS,
OUR BONY FINGERS ACHING YET
TENDING TO OUR SCARS,
MY MIND’S EYE SEES YOUR WRINKLED FACE
SMOOTH WITH AN INNER GLOW,
SOFT AND BEAUTIFUL AS EVER IT WAS,
AND YOUR LOVELY DARK HAIR FLOW
YOUR FLESH AGAINST MINE
FEELS JUST AS YOUNG AND WARM,
OUR HEART BEATS MERGE
LIKE BEES FLYING IN THE SWARM
COLD TOMBS ARE NOT FOR US
NEITHER MARBLE NOR GRANITE,
UNDER THE LIVING MANGO TREE
FOREVER WE SHALL UNITE
OH MY LOVE, COME WITH ME,
LET’S CLIMB THE MANGO TREE,
YOU ARE LIKE ITS GOLDEN FRUIT,
AND FOREVER YOU WILL BE.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 2:29 AM UTC
I scream and I dream
I frown and I drown
A sea of melancholy engulfs me
The wave caresses my cheek, then passes by
As I begin to make my way down
I remember what I 'd forgotten
And people appear, crystal clear
Faces I knew
Bodies I touched
Souls I explored
They silently muster what I've become
Hollow features and lifeless limbs
They look like dolls grown up
There are more and more, until I lose count
They encircle me, one desperately tries to speak
Only to be silenced by the sea
Now they grab me by my arms and carry me down
to the bottom of the sea, where my feet touch ice cold ground.
Surrounded by statues of sand
your face lights up this dark place
like it always used to.
A confident gaze, a wry smile
you haven't left for a while
You've been here and I've been somewhere else
we've been in the same state, but never the same place.
You open your mouth and words break out
They sound artificial, like they're from a tape recorder
They echo back at me from everywhere in the sea
“He who travels to the bottom of the sea
Has learned oh so many things
But if he ever goes back up again
all those things he will forget.”
And now here I am
Alive and awake
Pouring cold water over my face
Staring in my bathroom mirror
and it stares back.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.
The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.
A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.
Yet still... It grows.
A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.
Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.
Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.
And still.. it grows.
The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.
The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.
And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.
The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.
Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.
Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.
And still.. it grows.
Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.
Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.
They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.
You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.
And now... I can't grow.
So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.
And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.
Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.
And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
We lay together in darkness as your hand trails down and rests between my thighs.
Your light caresses send me shivering into a world not entirely my own.
Your fingers dance in me, sliding through puddles, finding hidden doorways I'd thought long gone.
I brace your wrist, fingers encircle.
Don't stop. Never stop.
Aug 9, 2022
Aug 9, 2022 at 9:33 PM UTC
Standing in a room of hundreds,
a cacophony of voices rising
to form a moving mass
of noise and confusion.
You look down at me and smile,
swing your arm up to
its familiar position on my shoulder.
I encircle my arms
around your waist,
their rightful place,
and wrap my brain
with nothing but thoughts of you.
And inside my mind,
a quiet peacefulness settles.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
His nights are restless, endless dreams
of young men climbing ladders.
The ones who stop to fix their vests
are left below, row after row
there seems no end, distorted faces,
silent screams through bottle bottom glass.
Twenty winters wishing that
the dream might finally end,
he tilts his head and looks at God
above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall,
his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins
of lesser men but for him there is no comfort,
he can't escape the scene of drifting death
and flotsam, sailors drinking blood
from swollen corpses, greedy
in the eyes like the sharks
that encircle them.
When daylight comes
still no relief, he sits among
his salty sheets and chokes
on waves of guilt. Deceit
will always be his master,
every day no different
than the rest
except,
today he’s had enough,
the dead,
they will not cease their torment.
Twenty winters waiting
but the dead won’t go away.
The boys who stopped to fix their vests
The man with gaping wound in chest
The burning wreckage going down
The screams of those who soon would drown
The oily water thick as mud
The utter chaos, flesh and blood
The rabid thirst he could not quench
afloat in pools of human stench
He goes outside and lies upon
the grass, a Navy Colt revolver
in one hand, a toy soldier in the other,
he puts the gun against his head
and pulls the trigger.
Twenty winters
Twenty winters
Rest
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
No, you cannot join in.
Unless of course you also want the backlash that comes with kissing girls in public?
Take it-
please
share the homophobia.
I have had enough to last me 18 years of shame
no, this is not a game and you do not have the right to take photographs of me while I kiss her.
Unless of course you are a photographer
here to celebrate our queer love in all of it’s natural beauty.
For my love does not exist for your enjoyment
we are not the characters in your fantasy novel
my love is magical and you cannot publish it.
My love rains all over your non existent parade because your homophobia does not exist at pride
wide-eyed boys
encircle us as if to say that our mouths brush only so that they
can paint the picture,
but you do not belong within my self portrait
you will not dip your ***** brush into my rainbow coloured paint set.
Clean your homophobia into the water
for our love is art
but you are not the artist
and my love is not yours to keep for later
for wanking your anxieties into pleasure whilst you turn my pleasure, into anxiety.
This, is plagiarism.
Copyright my love.
For I should not have to be aware of who is watching
or pointing or shouting or stealing, my love.
So put your hand down your pants and think of your homophobia.
No, you can’t come now
no, you cannot join in.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Poppies blossom like open cuts.
Ripe and red, they fill the air
With a cloying sweetness
So potent anyone downwind
Must shut their eyes and breathe
Through open mouths. Tasting
The breath of flowers, they grow
Nauseous and afraid.
The fields sway in the hot breeze
Until they resemble an ocean aflame -
It is here, among these poppies, I have
Found the blood of the Earth.
It is moist and toxic, an acid eating away the soles
Of all that wade through it.
How many gaunt, pale bundles of bone
Rest below these soft, red petals?
No one dares to count.
People do not fear such
Lovely things - if they’ve only seen
Pictures. How nice it must be
To know nothing of poppies
But their color, their shape.
They seem almost beautiful -
But you know better.
You have stood waist deep in the
Malignant fields, breathing the air
That slowed your limbs -
Turning your arms and legs into pendulums
Swaying to the beat of the buds
That encircle them -
Until you knelt, weighed down,
Nearly submerged by saccharine terrors,
And cried, hoping the water leaking from your heart
Would put out the fires you find yourself embracing.
After all, during the darker hours
Any light is better than no light at all
(Or so something whispers in your tired ear).
You know the horror of poppies -
But still you have yet to plunge
Past the black eyes of those red beasts -
For when the wind blows clean, cold
Air to you what do you do?
You raise your arms and let yourself
Feel as though you can fly -
And one day…one day
You will look down
And see yourself above
A ground free of poppies.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
These birds of war that encircle the sky
painted dark by smoke from fires engulfing
events here: every one of them spawns
an illusion, spreading in all directions, until
no twig is untouched: everywhere only
the Mistletoe. Fragrances of the deep night
by the ford under the moon, silken hair
soft for touch under first rays of the golden
morn, images, return broken like imprints
on the ramparts; where now, those oaks
of love that sustained our passion for war?
Years sunk into the quicksands of greed,
After nine winters, now only the Mistletoe.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Morning Rainbow
Myriad prismatic crystals,
refract the morning sun-streams -
painting layers of spectral arches
across the misted horizon.
Eyes turned to the western skies,
we suspend our meteorological selves
acquiescing to miracles unveiled before us -
un-beckoned and scarcely earned,
proffering thanks for the radiant epistle
of healing, hope and promise,
artfully encoded in transfigured light.
Synthetic Refractions
A luminary ballet takes center stage
when synthetic refractors come to play:
crystal pendants bathe our foyers
with dazzling swaths of color.
Hazy coronas encircle streetlamps
discovered by headlights through the fog.
A science class prism slices light rays
into pre-ordered spectral strata.
If the sky denies us a rainbow,
we can always fashion one of our own
and we do!
Spectral Sound
Before there was music,
bird songs brushed our souls
and the murmur of woodland streams
held us captive by their banks.
Soon we learned to sing and tint the air
With prisms of wood and wire and metal
and to color soundscapes in our spirits
With songs of wonder, joy and longing.
Before there was music,
bird songs brushed our souls.
Robert Charles Howard, 2019
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
The body remembers, though it has been
four years since the summer you shattered your
knee but still limped out across the continent
to Boston to see him you idiot and
this is the fourth summer you've placed between
yourself and the last pin and the last *****
your body remembers, though in the
torturous lengthening of fused and toughened tissues
the bad leg is finally catching up,
and the scar with its ten numb inches of
puckered track has come to fade bone white
against your skin
but it’s still stored somewhere
in your sockets or cells and when you fall off your bike you still cry
Though you’re not really hurt your body remembers
So that when you’re confronted with their engagement photo
(you didn’t even know he was seeing anyone)
the darkened garden at the Plymouth Plantation
begins to bloom up around you before you can stop it
like a seizure or a vision, and you’re there again
trespassing after him through shadowy pines
and night-damp atlantic air
to where the white chairs encircle the altar.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
My Lady:
Oh, can you dance, can you dance strong
until everything below turns into pure gold?
And do you see this precious sunrise as a gift to all of us?
Do you number the sound of the whistles in the wind?
For I have a year more to love, to breathe, to see life with you.
My dear, my dear do you see that everything
is filled with new power and new strength?
Would you hold onto my voice
like I hold your hand and feel forgiven?
Before every desire falls from my lips,
do you know how to run free?
For I have the melody of life & second chances
engraved into my hands.
Can you hope - against the teeth of wolves
that encircle our own feelings?
Will you fall upon your knees when heaven forgets your voice?
So when you lose hope and strength,
you will find me again and again.
For I found the power that destroyed
death so that you can see everything new.
Do you know how to love,
like the endless numbered stars?
Will you write His promises in your heart
so that you can always hold on?
So when nothing makes sense and
all desires fades, we will rest in adoration.
For everyday the angels are taught
how to describe His great love for us.
So behind the winter rains and winter season,
we can dance into the sunlight time after time.
Until the moonlight falls by
will you sing with me until we touch the sky?
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Around me architectural mastery:
sycamores, embankments, enduring ionic pillars.
I round a walkway bordered by trees,
enamel thawing, gliding off their low leaves.
Beneath the late-May’s pounding sun,
through the glittered trees’ reaches,
a gazebo crackles into sight.
Children in their prime, sunbathers, a wistful portraitist
encircle it carelessly:
a leisured chimney; the billows of life.
The foliage escapes into the river,
purplish, palpitating, cyclic creases
receive the dewy notes.
Kayaks licking acacia-gum-edged
ripples sputter and slip
through reverberations
of leveled white-water terraces.
Blackcurrants in clotted cream
slide on the plush lips of a young passerby.
The 8 above a doorway
dances motionless, silent in my periphery;
“Nicolas Cage just sold the spot”
pops from unknown lungs
inside the Circus crowd.
Unacknowledged, half-proud
hands built the Roman baths
alone, closed-in by such grace,
forgotten, then as now.
I wander these ancestral lanes
more or less alone, the same.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:55 AM UTC
⊙
*Luke 12:49
“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!”*
This wasteland, desolate vegetable garden
No crops will grow, no sun will shine
No cool breeze to clean the air
of the smell of decomposition
Just dead things, the decay of man and dreams of hope
Which my black boots stomp on
I walk the ruin in silence
I walk past a monster sleeping by a tree
Turning, frowning
The monster is me
Its eyes are as red as judgement day
As red as the faces of the condemed
Those who stare at the 144 000, wondering if they are worthy
As red as the blood ********** in this ancient garden
This is a battleground
Oozing with pain, pleasure, splendor and misery
Even if Pythia already circled the loser's name in bright red
Allowing the victors to trample holy ground underfoot
Before they disappeared
But me
I stood here
Feeling all feeling being drained out
I walked past a monster weeping by a tree
“Everything good must come to an end,”
Mystery says
Pursing her lips
“And so must everything wicked
But the memories
Those which encircle their victim
And slowly tighten like great snakes
Suffocating their prey
Those last forever
And if those memories last forever
Then how can one remain pure in heaven
Without thinking about sin
Temptation must surely creep in
Poisoning the mind until it is consumed with the idea
Who is pure anyway?”
I know she is lying
(Turning)
But her words are surreal, slurred, seductive
(Frowning)
I look inside my heart to reassure myself
(Turning)
There is hope
(Frowning)
But there’s nothing there
(And the monster is me)
In the vegetable garden
A ruin
A wasteland
I stand
Not really existing
⊥
⊣⊙⊢
⊤
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 2:07 AM UTC
She nods and sighs
amongst the conifers.
Evergreen sap coats the
rug of needles beneath, and
the wind covers her skin
with rippling gooseflesh.
A little black balloon lies
beside a bindle of rigs.
The moon robs and blinds
her of sight, shining so
very brightly into her dilated
pupils and hidden irises.
A single rusted spoon glows and
A stolen church candle smoulders.
Her golden locks encircle
the crown of her cranium
in a halo worthy of stained-
glass windows.
Rubber tubing is tied off
above her collapsing veins.
The fallen leaves under her
protruding shoulder blades
stretch out for miles in a
pair of clipped wings.
With a final rattling cough
the light leaves her eyes,
and dissipates into
the punctured skies
as she quietly fades,
and dies.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
*
where I live
now is very hot
it's the dry desert
mountains encircle
the valley where
the rainbows lay
for short breaks
on periodically
sprinkled grass
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
Diaphanous silk skirts glide gracefully around tiny ankles attached to perfect legs.
And the string quartet plays in the background.
Strong hands encircle a tightly cinched waste
And breath brushes against a neck.
Then the clock strikes midnight or the alarm sounds.
The spell breaks, totalitarian reality invades.
And dreams flutter away, evasive and light,
Like diaphanous silk skirts.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 2:51 AM UTC
*hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins*
Crane sees Phoenix
and in Plum Tree Garden of Scents
Plum Tree Arms
Encircle Double Mountains;
Pine Reaches for the Skies
Drunken Monkey Jumps
and Pheasant Sings
and White Pearl Slips;
Dogs Unite and Clouds Merge
Tiger Bites and Lion Roars
Grand Dragon Withholds
Jade Gate Opens
Jade Stem enters
Wild Boars stampede
and Cherry Blossoms Fall
Drunken Monkey Sleeps
White Pearl Smiles
Drunken Monkey Awakes
and Blue Pearl Awaits -
and again Serpent on Rock hisses;
Wheels of Legs Rotate
*hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins*
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:26 AM UTC
Dobby's ideas,
Are more of a glitch.
Flesh memories,
Buried in a snitch.
Life is tough,
And such a heavy fight.
When dark times encircle you,
Remember to Turn on the light.
Weasley twins are strong,
More like human beaters
The world is not divided
Into good people and death eaters.
For in dreams,
We enter a world entirely our own.
Turn to page number
Three hundred and ninety four.
Dumbledore smiled,
Everyone has bad days.
Snape replied,
Always.
The people we love,
Leave us never.
The stories we love best,
Do live in us forever.
Cause the books we truly love,
Right back, they love us.
Draco, Dormiens,
Nunquam, Tittilandus.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Lo, another Ramadan dawn breaks,
millions more feelings of solemnity fill the air.
The time to bid farewell is upon us,
a moment both heavy and sacred.
O blissful Ramadan, brimming with purity and reflection,
when hearts and homes open wide, embracing all.
Prepare to leave, adorned with the beauty of Allah’s bounty:
Your movement like déjà vu moonlight,
your grace as delicate as the finest Muslin.
Let every rose from the garden encircle you,
a garland of farewell.
In the golden hour of dusk,
when Iftar and Suhur beautifully intertwine,
the sweetness of the evening fills the air, nourishing souls.
With a nectar of kindness, bid adieu to every friend of nature
their essence lingers in memory,
sweet as the moments spent in devotion and joy.
'Alvida' - a farewell not of forever
but of waiting until we meet again.
Draw the last stroke of parting on the canvas of the sky,
leaving a promise beneath the rainbow.
Parting with the crescent moon, hearts overflow with hope
O Ramadan, until we welcome you again,
let the essence of your purity and peace remain with us.
Farewell, O holy month
Your parting leaves behind a trail of light,
guiding us until your return.
Mar 31, 2024
Mar 31, 2024 at 6:54 PM UTC
Soft and silky you cross round my neck
You smell like tinted ***
your color makes me worried
for I cannot run
You encircle
hold me down
Yet your warmth is
so confound
you bring color from my cheeks
a tribe of specks and fleets
your spindled gentle down
easily sets me down
As I slowly die
Tears rundown and fly
for the scarlet brings me to defeat
my throat scattered with ribbons
as a Red Scarf flows down
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
I am the fire that holds the glow
of a hidden flame that captures
all that fall within.
As all my fire flowers around me
bellowed by every heartbeat.
As many invisible doorways break
open and all is awakened in air of ruby
reds and orange flame, as they
burst and bloom.
I am the fire that swallows all fire so
shout at me more little drill sergeant
for you light my fire.
For I will explode all over your anger
and blow you out like a little candle.
As I am a colossal fiery breeze as turbulent
winds encircle like a forest fire I engulf.
My coat shines and glows with orange
embers fanned by a million life times
of survival.
The power of my radiating heat melts
bones like ice in boiling water or the
hot sun against margarine.
Dare you look into my stare take a dip
a little swim and I will reignite your
flame.
I am the WILD Tiger never in caged by
any shouldst or ought to for I am a free
and my path always open for me to seek
fuel for my flame.
As my fire is never suffocated by conditions
or rule as I possess all the space around me.
Like oxygen I **** it all in while exploding into
higher spaces much greater places.
I feel the taste of LOVE and HATE as they are
both painted upon my tongue and feed my
appetite.
Like two sticks Love and Hate I rub them both
together please give me more smoke and fire.
You rub your soft injustice against my hard wood
I will bring you storm clouds and flames.
As I fight for right as naturally as gravity is
pulling us to earth.
I will transform any situation never stopping
to ask if I can as I throw myself at anything.
I wash souls of petty despair as they bath
within my glare.
Come close to me and I will hold you tenderly
in the nets of my sight like hammocks
in my eyes.
Let me lick and sooth your many wounds
as we together we softly purr.
Purring sweetly together like a V8 engine I can
slowly restore all your strength and power.
I pounce and spring of solid rock that feels
so soft and elastic like rubber.
A thousand coordinated sparks ****** themselves
forward as they blaze a trail to fast for the brain.
You will be liberated when you find my fire
rocket blades ignited we will dance and play
through time.
So much can be gained when running with the
Tiger, caressing air with a watery velvet.
As you slip through a jungle with a silky strawberry
orange flame, how we Love the beautiful
Tiger's Flame
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Breathe.
Warm caress against your skin,
tendrils of love embrace you.
Playful whispers and
whimsical sighs take us
on a journey of
love.
A breath of passion
enriches our lives
as we breathe in unison,
keeping cadence with the sounds
of nature.
We are surrounded by life,
by love,
by desire...
our flame adds to summer's
heat.
Relax, my love.
I will encircle you with
a rapture which takes your breath away.
Remember, my love...
exhale. Let stress and pain
emit from your body as my adoration
holds you.
Recline in the arms of
my devotion
and remember to
breathe.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
To it, I've never been.
but I've dreamed of a place where everything
is coated in corn and comfort.
Wished the past had taken me,
can't help but feel it was about my skin.
Cactus candy and cowboy boots.
Zydeco and haunted hotels.
The voodoo Frank sang about in the end.
The horns sound the streets.
Close curtains, be discreet.
Encircle the barest neck,
with colorful beads.
His family reunions
made me realize I'm on my own.
Until I met a prettier soul.
I don't kiss frogs for love.
I forget the ease in slime.
and let the grease define
an unhealthy outlook.
Sip another lime or a sour.
A ginger begs the hour.
Lonely never leaves,
but warmth is a soco shower.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Your words are precision Bombs from slow junkers,
Exploding between my ears. there are no bunkers.
My response tumbles out stuttering like anti aircraft nests.
They hit smoke at best.
The alarms in my brain go off suppressed by tears discharged
Heart, Trust, Ego, Friends over the years the shards.......
Your armaments know where to hit and cause most damage,
The sarcasm of your arsenic love language.
Plumes of fiery emotion flare up, soon loves smoldering cracks .
I dodge your heat seeking adjectives, they encircle in packs.
Cold nights afloat clinging to this yellow deflated ego. falters
Awaiting hope in pirated waters.
Our love is war
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC