"etches" poems
this makeshift democracy
yearning endearing
breeding festering aristocracy
petrified on the sidelines
black hispanic asian european
the manifesting minority
which built this republic
political policy withered to marrow
echoes of Washington
fade in graves marble halls
politicians etches unsheathed
to feast in bribery sorts
the gleam of monetary value
blinded patched pockets
burning the fabric
to be later devoured
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
It is said that insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results
Call me crazy because I will repeatedly repeat and never learn
Maybe I don't want to learn because I love the cycle of yes and no and mostly no
Even though it kills us both
We are insane because we know that it is wrong and that's the way it has to go
And yet we try, and don't try again and again
And the pen etches into the page the same stanzas
The monotony sounds like harmony
Because in our insanity we are happier and unhappier than we will ever be
I would rather die waiting for change than to be without your sweet disappointment
To relent and reclaim my sanity would be a tragedy because I would have to write new stanzas and my pen is too in love with our poetry, to welcome a new subject
For the sake of my pen (at risk of her heartbreak) I will reject the cry inside of me to run to reality
While the hurricane proves pathetic fallacy outside of our window
We breathe lunacy and embrace
Insanity
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
She paints her hips the color of her blood
the way she paints the water light blues and greens.
Except the cuts on her skin aren’t beautiful
not like the trees and branches in the painting for her sister.
That razor hitting her skin and spilling her blood
it’s far different from her paintbrush hitting the canvas and spilling paint.
She etches her skin with this blade
the way he etched his lungs with smoke.
One is visible to the eye if only they look
The other is hidden and can’t be seen.
Both are deadly
but one of them stopped and the other has not.
The numbness takes over leaving her cold
She lays on the bed staring at the ceiling feeling nothing.
The girl hates it so she grabs that blade and finds a new spot to cut.
She winces as the blood begins to drip down her hip
and feelings begin to form in her chest again.
The feeling may be pain,
but to her anything is better than nothing.
The girl knows she needs to stop
she knows that on her hips
there are no beautiful pictures in blues and greens
but tragic stories written in nothing but blood.
The tale of a girl who would rather live in pain
than die in numbness.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
FIREBIRD,,,,Firebird,,,, Winging thru the Air. Colors of GOLD and FIFTY more. Wings are AGLOW with such a Radiant FIRE , That create a LIGHT which ETCHES the SKY ! I wonder oh Mighty FIREBIRD, are you a bird of distress? OR: Perhaps ONE who will be bringing to me Pillows of HAPPINESS ? YOU Shine and Sparkle in the Sky like Diamonds HELD from Heaven ! FIREBIRD,, Firebird,, have You come to take me away ? Put Me in the OUTER-REACHES of the day ? What can I say to such a GIFT,, My Bird,, My Firebird,, WING,, WING AWAY .. Is it "CLOUD-FLYING" you're bringing my way? Will THERE BE *ROOM for Special Guests, I REQUEST ! ! The FIREBIRD whose wings so Stir the Air, As I wait for the ADVENTURE to SEE that which has been UNSEEN !~! HOW could ANYONE Believe that such a HEAVENLY ride Does Exist ? I discovered YOU, Just beyond that Rainbow. AND instead of answers brought to me, I Found that ONLY Questions Dominated my MIND!'! "AND"__An Overwhelming desire to Tell the World, IF, but by searching, YOU CAN BE Found? OH,, Beautiful FIREBIRD, WHERE oh Where do I Begin To TELL??
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 10:47 AM UTC
*The red light of the sun
Slowly descending
The sky is all I see
It’s never ending
We could fly
You and I
On a cloud
Music on the hillside
Piano in a villa over there
Violin below
Fireworks above
A beat – a beating heart
Someone begins to sing
The red light of the sun
Slowly descending
The sky is all I see
It’s never ending
We could fly
You and I
On a cloud
Is this place real
The ocean below
The red sky above
The music
Romance on the wind.
Sing with me
The wind plays with the leaves
The weather turns colder
But as long as we believe
Love doesn’t get older
We could fly
You and I
On a cloud
Only after one leaves
Does this place become real
A crown jewel midst a rocky cliff
A place so beautiful its
Memory etches itself into your soul
Food to die for
Drinks to fight for…
On a journey of the heart
There’s so much to see
When the sky is dark
You’ll be right here
Right here with me
Good morning I vow*
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Why are you sad? I asked, giving him a kiss.
It’s because every time we part,
I always have this longing of
Wanting more time with you, he said.
I always want more of you.
It’s always never enough —
A day will never be enough,
He told me with solemness.
He looked up at me and made a promise:
I promise you I’ll be the man,
The man that will spend all eternities with you
And I won’t ever be tired of it.
I love you, that’s why.
I love you in all the curves and edges —
All the patches and etches
In my temporary body
For now, I’m becoming that man;
Slowly, but I will be.
I’m not saying that I will grab all the stars in the sky
Because then, all the glimmer in you will disappear.
All I promise is,
I will be the man that is right for you.
But for now, I’m only becoming
More than the man of your dreams.
I gave him a shy smile and thought,
You will be the man, I know,
You’ll be the man I’ll spend my entire life with.
But for now, you’re still my rose bud boy.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space
A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face.
A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream,
Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.
It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory,
Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary.
Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle,
I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.
With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet,
I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit.
Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose
Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe
As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes
And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly.
I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this",
As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.
And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack,
Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack.
Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago",
And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
He stood a little over six feet tall, with eyes as sharp
As when glass etches its way through the thick skin of my soles
He was a pretty boy, but cold, with a tongue that tasted as sweet
as the candy canes during christmas time
Did I love the pretty boy? I often wonder when I sit at night dragging at the roots of my thin hair
Crying over the time he crushed my pride with a few words,
sharp as daggers etching its way into my chemical receptors
Sending me into a state of ultimate desolation, of depression,
of pain I could never imagine I would have to suffer through
Pulling on my uniform at 5 am, forcing the smile on to my pale face, drained of life and blood that begun to bubble into my chest,
A pretty boy made me wish for death,
I can't seem to forget,
When I cried out in pleasure, clutching to his toned body, a foreign feeling to my inexperienced self that left me as stiff as rigor mortis
The pretty boy,
With eyes freezing akin to the ice that fell during the coldest winter,
words as sweet as roses with thorns,
etching its way between my thighs, tasting the little innocence I had left
The pretty boy,
Still lingers in the deepest part of my memories,
In such a short time, I let myself become enveloped into the arms of death
in the cloak of an angel,
The pretty boy,
I wished he had come back to me.
The pretty boy,
That doesnt think of me in bed with the woman he truly loves,
her voice, not mine
That captivates him at nighttime
The pretty boy,
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
She blinks.
And such an ordinary unnoticeable movement
Creates movements in places he never intended to landslide.
She's a super natural rip tide
She's an extraterrestrial tour guide
To the universe
Of his dreams.
The
Space
Of her smile
Sends his pupils rocketing space-bound.
The black holes of her throat are cautiously slippery,
She wants him to drown.
She's ******* him down
Down
She's gathering him up
And escorting him around
Like shooting stars in a moonlit sky
His pupils search for the skies in her eyes
And she blinks.
She etches the disguise of his demise in her memory,
And she tattoos her name in his heart with permanent ink.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
Do you feel that pain Dr. X?
That desolate, dreary feeling that slowly engulfs at your deteriorating gray matter.
Causing you to plummet down the spiral staircase of eternal confusion.
Do you miss your happiness Dr. X?
The light at the end of the tunnel that you held so dear, dims as the minutes tick by.
You took my away my bundle of hope and now she took away your bundle of joy.
Do you hear those sounds Dr. X?
The echoes of my laughter ringing through your ears as your serene world slips from your fingers.
The frigid, emotionless knocks in the middle of the night as the reaper collects his missing dues.
Did you see that Dr. X?
The smile that etches across my lips as your essence of life crumbles.
The gentle hands of the galatic karma steadily grasping your throat as your last breath becomes imminent.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
Paint each tempered vein
Time for us to begin
Love is dreamt within the pain
Passion in the tailspin
Each word that cuts like knives
Etches in the soul
Never good at holding on
Even worse at letting go
Blank stares grasp onto me
Chilling my very bones
A seashell called love in an endless sea
Senses dulled, skills unhoned
Making up words, wanting something in turn
Promises worth ****
Choices made and choices lost
Perfectly off pitch
Time a constant except in death
A warden to my jail
Looking for a key inside of me
Tired, tried, failed
Peel back this skin, searching in depth
For a reason, crazy or sane
Time to look within myself
Search each tempered vein
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
Etches on a page
Scribbled next to history
on blue-lined red margined paper.
Just a doodle; an unconscious thought
forgotten at the bottom of a trash bin.
I'm the distraction used in sleepy situations.
Not enough beauty to be focused on
Only a compliment to your already perfect complexion.
Always supporting. Never supported.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
walking down childish roads
I weep spotting something rotten
a tree
& I wonder before tying my shoes
in a church
guarded by senile eyes
I think to myself
why must I hold
in my fleshy heart
one becomes itself.
& below after years
of walking & soaking
structures & small
soiled gatherers
I see teal stained pages
smeared red, white
with the doings of our past
only needing a page in books
to breed fear in rosy hope.
looking before as a camera wants
we fly into the upward
quickly with enthusiasm
a smile etches our glossy face
& we see me
someone is here on my road
I stay calm
next to me sets the biggest
jaw I have or will see
sure there are greater
in numerous numbers
strange unfathomable flanks
ranking from mine
created from my rust
& our immense patience
seeing or realizing
there are strange silences
between the peace you held.
no I don't care
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Going home from visiting a friend
I have walking this same path
Walked this way, countless times
Up a slight hill of a lonely street
To a desolate alley in summer darkness
But I need to take a call of nature
So I start to relieve myself
To **** against a unyielding wall
And I am blind to those behind me
Two youths of eighteen or nineteen
I feel the liquid pouring down my leg
Then in seconds it is a ball of flame
My left leg, burning in pain, agony
I turn and they are running and laughing
Leaving me alone and I feel the skin burn
I kick the right shoe off my foot
And intend to take off these burning Jeans
But the foot is a ball of orange flame
The liquid had not travelling down the leg
It had gone into my shoe, burning from inside
I am shaking, in my shorts in night summer heat
I try kicking this fire out against the wall
The agony has taken my mind, insanity takes the pain
Unknowing, three toes snap as I continue to kick
But the fire burns on, with the smell of burning flesh
No one is there to help me, I only want to sleep
Concrete steps keep me from reaching safety
From this alley up to the waiting maisonettes
So I hold the rail, and force myself to climb up
And still the left leg burns and the pain returns in fury
I make it and there is someone in the kitchen
The first maisonette that stands on the corner
He sees me and he sees the flames that hurt me
He looks at me in horror, and then there is screaming
The screaming is coming from me, I can not stop
The man comes out with a bowl of water
He throws it over the burning foot and I pass out
I awake and there is a neighbour holding me
I see people all around me and I try to remember
The pain and memory come rushing back
Firemen are there now, hosing my leg with water
I hear a crackling and realise it is the leg
The screaming starts again, and it never stops
Coming deep inside of me, for this madness to end
And again darkness takes me as my mind shuts off
I am in an Ambulance, but I do not feel safe
They are out there and could still come for me
Why did they do this? What did I do?
I never even knew who they were
And the horror etches deep into my head
That was years ago, and I still carry the scars
The leg was saved, full thickness burn
Skin grafts rebuilt it, but it still breaks down
Three toes amputated, the big toe and ones next
Yes it still haunts me now and it always will
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 3:24 AM UTC
Anybody etches the longwave, tadpole lyrical,
and its a poem (woa- teakettle, tweaker)
Satellite poem, thunder poem, ******** poem.
Sevens sluttiest angel writes a eulogy so beautiful that we give her the title of funeral director.
We just give it away. (Its still only a eulogy)
I have ten toes and ten fingers. Ive counted on them. I wrote a poem about getting
a bikini wax, and its still only a poem. A joke. Only tadpole lyrical. I wish it had a
revolutionary hermit to choke it with fingers that taste like black pepper and motor oil,
and then to rake its fall crumbles into ruffles,
and then all aboard the sci-fi fantasy. /Radiant,
radio the masses, raffia slipping, I got the zipper of my winter coat stuck in orbit, you sea/Ive got a poem to
write about synthetic jungles deep underneath our cities, lush with fiber-optic
wire, you say. Air rich, the mountain.
Find yourselves in dungenous traps: dead-blue thou art.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
If I could still hold you,
In the palm of my trembling hand,
In the depths of my fragile heart,
In the whispers of my restless soul.
If I could still hold you,
In the shadows of sleepless nights,
In the echoes of forgotten dreams,
In the longing that seeps through my veins.
If I could still hold you,
In the silence of empty spaces,
In the void that your absence created,
In the ache that lingers, refusing to fade.
If I could still hold you,
In the fragments of memories,
In the pages of a love story,
In the etchings of a bittersweet past.
If I could still hold you,
In the tears that flow like rivers,
In the laughter that dances on my lips,
In the moments we shared, forever cherished.
If I could still hold you,
In the depths of my imagination,
In the realms of a parallel universe,
In the hope that defies all reason.
If I could still hold you,
In the symphony of our intertwined souls,
In the symphony that plays on, undeterred,
In the symphony that refuses to end.
Then perhaps, just perhaps,
Even in the absence of physical touch,
Even in the void that separates our beings,
Even in the vastness of this universe,
I could still hold you,
In the tenderness of my love,
In the strength of my devotion,
In the essence of who we once were.
For love knows no boundaries,
No limitations, no constraints,
It transcends time and space,
And etches itself onto eternity's canvas.
So if I could still hold you,
In the depth of my being,
In the essence of my existence,
Then know, my love, that you are forever mine.
Oct 15, 2023
Oct 15, 2023 at 8:47 AM UTC
the glass reaches out and grazes my cheek
its cold grip encompassing me
the surface shiny and sleek
it etches deep into my soul
every single imperfection
each taking their rightful toll
much, much too much
so sorry to tell you
binding's not that good of a crutch
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
Catatonic inscriptions etches through my textile discernment
Insidious cycles of turmoil encased within a festering distress
Uncertainty obscures my comfort into a chaotic complacency
Transforming the subtle movement of thought and bewilderment
Through the re-occurring sequences of paranoia and my uneasy psychosis
Haunting the whole of this psyche and the mental state I've come to fancy
A tell-tale apprehension of merriment and contentment may be a dismal reality
All the while being obsessed with the unfavorable outcomes I conjure within
But, I can't get enough of the disarray that breeds within my frail skull
So distant from what I feel in the ecstasy of my self-selected normality
The meek proposal of sanity has little to hold against these crooked grins
As this chaotic thought process leaves rationality as a vague ideal to null
Expansive introspection has no limit to what is perceived as validity
And, to be enveloped in the ambiguity and delusion of fact is so enticing
We all know that we've all come to recognize the fabrication of our own truth
The futile attempts to obtain an immaculate conviction in pure solidity
Is so wondrously perfunctory and constant as the life that i'm living
That I dread the day of departure from this hysteric observance of aging youth
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
A shadow of night
Hope festering among stars
My heart clutched in
The palms of my hand
As thoughts wield into luminous scars
A lost affection resurfaced by light
A habit, that is
Whispered as time etches Her might
And through the weight of Her fists
Need not to dwell for what is missed
So I collected the remnants of my heart
And began to ask from my very vain soul
What yet that is not the light?
I turned the coals from my eyes into rubies
And my heart opened to the entire world
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
the moon is a whisper
on my bedroom wall,
she's ten times louder in my head
her name is a tide
it pulls,
it tugs,
it etches itself
on the inside of my eyelids.
every blink is a memory i didn't ask for
her laugh-
uninvited
but welcome
always
the bed is too big
for one body and this much longing
some nights
sleep forgets me
other nights
she replaces it
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 10:31 AM UTC
the agony of endless clocks
burning deep red digital hours
into equally deep red eyes
like coming off hallucinogens
time etches into your mind
with endless delirious atrophy
screaming meaningless words
into the blackhole of your thoughts
******* you deeper into realms
where the night is ungodly
and you are an animal in its midst
breathing silently in the silence
facing a grinning monsters kiss
that will shoot you with adrenaline
right as you wish to close your eyes
right as you wish to close your eyes
the sandman trips another line
in the murky distance a siren cries
"degenerating madly on the floor
love the ****** we ask for more"
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 12:12 AM UTC
*The rouge from your supple lips
decorate my face still.
It's warmth radiates from
my cheek as ignited senses
beg for more.
The gentle red contours tingle
through my flesh as it etches
it's imprint onto my very soul.
You've conquered me with one gentle blow.
My only purpose for continued breath,
is to be kissed by you once more.
~~~*
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
In the finer lines of my Mother's eyes
where backroads lead to secret tears
much is spoken when one explores
the map that etches those many years
expressed in smiles and subtle stares
when the world is harsh and cruel
calm washes through your tested soul
that stings of ridicule
in the finer lines of my Mother's eyes
life's riches are retained
and the wells that feed her loving child
through those eyes are sustained
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
scientists say that a fingerprint develops when a baby is only 12 to 19 weeks along and that it is impossible for two people to develop the same print and although i believe in science i am still hoping there is a chance that someone in the world might have the same etches on the tip of his fingers as you did because to find the same hair colour and the same eye colour and the same smile is almost too easy but your touch against my skin made even the brightest of fireworks envious and darling something like that is irreplaceable
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
I remember back, to the time when I was numb.
All the way back to one of the darkest times in my life,
I remember the face of the boy who shined through my darkness.
I remember the first person to make me feel again.
It was one of the most excruciating things I'd done... feeling again.
You were like the ocean, and I, a grain of sand.
It felt like you ripped me out of my comfortably miserable little beach
and swept me out into your sea and proceeded to drown me.
But you had no idea of the effect you had, you were just being the sea.
I remember the first time I met you, my gaze swept right past.
And then you spoke.
You made me laugh, and it hurt to laugh but it felt so right.
Even on my darkest days, you'd be there to make sure I could smile again.
You'd always do everything you could to pull me out of my pit.
You became my best friend and I fell so hard, oh how I fell.
That's what hurt.
I wasn't allowed to love you as I'd wanted to.
You had your girlfriend and she was so sick and she needed you.
I watched you, dying to make her better.
You didn't sleep. You barely ate.
I noticed the etches on your wrist and my heart shattered.
There was nothing I could do for the boy I loved.
I wish there had been something I could have done for you and for her.
It's been years since I last saw you.
I still think about you all the time.
I don't think I could ever forget you.
The one I couldn't have.
The one I should've had.
We would have been so good.
It's funny..
I know you loved me too.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:46 AM UTC