"flashlights" poems
No, it doesn't happen
Through secret glances
And shy smiles
Nor does it happen
When you gaze into ones
Deep crystal eyes
It doesn't happen
In the midst of flashlights
Or romantic background music
It happens
When you see deep within
Ones soul
Not just the window
But the whole house of emotions
It happens
When he grows meadows of daisies
Inside the ugliest parts of you
It happens
When he caresses your tear stained face
In 2 in the morning
And holds you like you're gold
It happens
When you're upset over him
Not being there for your little fits
It happens
When the suitcases under your eyes
Are packed
With thoughts of him
And only him
It happens
When you're too young
To fully comprehend
What the universe holds for you and him
But what if
At a tender age of fifteen
You know he's the one?
The one
That holds the perfect fit
To your broken soul
It happens
When you least want it to
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Spilled ink.
Old film.
Crumpled paper.
The click of a shutter.
Pens dying.
Wiping lenses.
Flashlights under the covers.
Struggling with a tripod.
Daydreaming.
The Rule of Thirds.
Tattered pages.
Beautiful sunsets.
Coffee shops.
Skittish animals.
3 am.
Cropping.
Always thinking.
The horizon line.
The frantic search for pen and paper.
Frustrated with trying to capture the beauty of the world In a small package.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt
Or what disfigured and unsightly
Cousin did you so unwisely keep
Unasked to my christening, that she
Sent these ladies in her stead
With heads like darning-eggs to nod
And nod and nod at foot and head
And at the left side of my crib?
Mother, who made to order stories
Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear,
Mother, whose witches always, always
Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder
Whether you saw them, whether you said
Words to rid me of those three ladies
Nodding by night around my bed,
Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.
In the hurricane, when father's twelve
Study windows bellied in
Like bubbles about to break, you fed
My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine
And helped the two of us to choir:
'Thor is angry; boom boom boom!
Thor is angry: we don't care!'
But those ladies broke the panes.
When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
Blinking flashlights like fireflies
And singing the glowworm song, I could
Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
But, heavy-footed, stood aside
In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
Godmothers, and you cried and cried:
And the shadow stretched, the lights went out.
Mother, you sent me to piano lessons
And praised my arabesques and trills
Although each teacher found my touch
Oddly wooden in spite of scales
And the hours of practicing, my ear
Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere,
From muses unhired by you, dear mother.
I woke one day to see you, mother,
Floating above me in bluest air
On a green balloon bright with a million
Flowers and bluebirds that never were
Never, never, found anywhere.
But the little planet bobbed away
Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here!
And I faced my traveling companions.
Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born.
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.
3.9k
When there is no sun
and no moon around
The darkness reflects
Night shines the brightest
Flashlights take us places
to make our way through spaces
the time moves slower
and dark clouds hover
blinding black surround
and echoes of voices of hounds
the heart freezes
we sleep till late
Keep our eyes closed
to protect from the truth
Hands on every surface
finding the path out
Hoping to come across
morning rays coming through glasses
Urging to wake from
this terrible nightmare
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
Faces only remind you of
How lonely you are,
You say you've swam too far
Into the sea of your regrets
That I am your lifeboat
But didn't you hear
I sank long, long ago?
You've been searching
For a new home,
One that doesn't creak
Or shudder at night.
But homes are not people
And your voice cracks
As you point out
There's a welcome mat
By the front door
But I never answer
When you knock.
It's been a while since
I started attracting
Strangers with flashlights
To search me like
A haunted place.
I finally realized they
Were the ones that
Needed scaring away.
It's so odd to think,
You once told me
You saw beauty
In clifftops,
And I thought you
Were talking about
The view.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
There is noone above me
Beside me
Infront of me
I am my own anarchy
My inner soul of
Wisdom for that I have lived
For long and
Suffered twice as much
I wandered through the
Gazing abyss,
Flashlights of every submarine
I swim with my inner coward
The color of your eyes
Has been withdrawed
In the arms of sleep on a
Moonless night. On a
Windy day
Thunderstorm took me away.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
For Sam Cook and Michael Lee
While standing at Marshall and 140th
the lightning over the horizon begs me to come to it
it's like the flickering streetlights, seeming like silent firefights,
simply asking to be looked for.
When I still elementary,
I used to watch the sky as the bolts shocked the earth
and I'd count:
one
two
three
Until I heard the boom and crack of thunder
three miles away, at least, the fourth graders said each second was a mile
it could have been true, it could have not, yet still I watch the light.
The flickering of the fading streetlamp tells me that this moment is not going to last forever
that it will not be heavenly or touchable, but it is there
and it wants you to touch the light as it flickers like a strobe light
like kids playing with the tabs of flashlights
and like the first discovery of light switches
and I'm reaching out so far.
Trying to grab hold of a piece of simplicity,
of normal,
of what I can always find:
Mistakes and wounds
and trying to hold on
Because lately, it seems like the only places we want to flicker are in the clubs.
Standing on a planet where illness and difference are cause enough to torch cities.
We like to light the fires and we like to watch them burn,
but we could care less about what their burning
and it seems like the dark ages came and stayed,
But like tributes to Guy Fawkes say:
*A man can be killed and forgotten,
but four hundred years later an idea can still change the world*
So I think as I stand at that intersection
watching the streetlights and the night's light bulbs flicker on and off like the light in my head
I can feel my fingertips prickle and I seize that moment to reach for the lamppost and final destination
those kids are flipping tabs faster and faster
my hair is at attention
and I can feel the race.
For a second,
everything slows down.
The streetlight stops flickering as my fingertips come upon it
and the lightning illuminates the sky
I can feel the breeze push my hair to this minutes path
and for a second,
I have something.
I pull my fingers away from the light and it returns to its flicker
the lightning fades away
and the boom comes in.
And here, standing at what once for me was Marshall and 140th
I realize,
that all I have
is all
I'll ever claim to know
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:48 AM UTC
Leaving a love message
After the machine's beep
Delivery failed
I am in Pixel Maze's
Escape garden
With green grass
On Genesis walls
Flashlights are switching
On and off
Rapidly
Walking by ethnic purple demons
Their gold hands
Hanging
Over their several heads
Static at the summit
They freeze
In prolonged pauses
They don't even exist
But our eyes still torches
Consistently
Music is thundering down now
From the heavens
With electro nodes
Intertwining
Am I that out of it?
And I never really left
That haunted warehouse
Watching evil trees
Awake now
By the nightfall
They are dancing
By father's campfire
Slicking my hair
I am jumping
On polish mushrooms
We don't even like him
I hear him Tolling
Church's bells
Resurrecting guilt
On immature Sunday
But I don't want to listen
He is reading again
Those antique diaries
Hours fly by
Won't listen
Uneasy by his discomfort
I find that magic carpet
And i elude
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Me and the homies
built
up
a foundation of beer bottles in the corner of the living
room
that slide
down
when we play our music.
It's a pyramid
of transparent brown
********** bodies.
We stick our tongues into mouths
that will never fully be
ours,
and throw each new brick in the corner
with a clink,
*******
our
pants
and waking
up
in
entrail pools
of their digested innards the next morning.
A brown shimmer
like flashlights on the lake
bounces off them
bumping against our hips
and
mesmerizes
our upper thighs
and
inner groins.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 9:13 PM UTC
I cleaned out an old drawer
of odds and ends.
paperclips and the door to a battery case on some remote
an orange candle stub, from Halloween I think
batteries and four flashlights, though only one worked
and parts of things I'm sure made sense to keep at the time
I have no idea what they are now
I cleaned out an old drawer
of things forgotten
my daughter's picture in a setting unknown
a letter of gratitude from a friend, for what?
a postcard from Barcelona
graduation announcements for a friend's child
I don't think I sent a gift
I cleaned out an old drawer
of memories and my past
a ticket stub from an evening with Isabel
a newspaper clipping of my son in scouts
old mother's day cards from the kids
New York City subway map from October 2001
Memories of adventure and affection
I cleaned out an old drawer
and sorted, discarded and remembered
batteries went together in a small box
old fortune cookie notes in the trash
memories dusted off and replaced
out of the drawer and back into my heart
My life has cabinet drawers
stuffed with junk and trash mixed with treasures and tools
I think I'll clean my cabinet more often
To organize things that I've needed
like my mom and dads enduring affection
kind and playful friends'
Throw away useless things
like anger, resentment, and regret
to make room for treasures
And to be reminded of what has been
a real childhood of play and discovery
magical children and the wonder of them
my beloved's steadfast love and respect
I cleaned out an old drawer
and found some peace.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
I don't know what I'm doing,
I don't know where I'm going,
I don't know who I'm being.
I keep getting asked this riddle
for which I have no answer,
An answer with a riddle
I can't decipher.
I'm only trying to be
the vision I'm a seeing
but it seems sometimes
so meaningless to me.
I can only nod and smile
as my words are delivered,
I can only look at the door
and wonder who
it was that stole the mirror.
I know somewhere
a breeze is blowing
but it isn't inside of me
I keep watching my shoes
waiting for one of them to make a move.
I don't know what I'm doing
I don't know where I'm going
I don't know who I'm supposed to be.
Where do you look when you are so lost
and can you tell me
what will be the cost
to find one's heart's desire,
I don't have the answer.
I don't know the road ahead,
a rearview mirror floats in my head.
The darkness is on either side
I know I have these flashlights
hidden somewhere inside.
Listen closely
you can hear your name
calling you,
But this time instead
down the road
I will go.
I don't know what I'm seeing
I don't know what I'm feeling
I can't find the road to being
I only know what I've been told
I only know what I believe
my mind has been known to deceive,
I don't know who I'm trying to be,
I guess I'll find it as I go,
Moving on down the line,
One more time.
You can come along with me
but only if you want to be.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
There was a girl
who danced in the city that night,
that April 22nd,
all along the Charles River.
It was as if one hundred men were watching
or do I mean the one hundred eyes of God?
The yellow patches in the sycamores
glowed like miniature flashlights.
The shadows, the skin of them
were ice cubes that flashed
from the red dress to the roof.
Mile by mile along the Charles she danced
past the benches of lovers,
past the dogs ******* on the benches.
She had on a red, red dress
and there was a small rain
and she lifted her face to it
and thought it part of the river.
And cars and trucks went by
on Memorial Drive.
And the Harvard students in the brick
hallowed houses studied Sappho in cement rooms.
And this Sappho danced on the grass.
and danced and danced and danced.
It was a death dance.
The Larz Anderson bridge wore its lights
and many cars went by,
and a few students strolling under
their Coop umbrellas.
And a black man who asked this Sappho the time,
the time, as if her watch spoke.
Words were turning into grease,
and she said, "Why do you lie to me?"
And the waters of the Charles were beautiful,
sticking out in many colored tongues
and this strange Sappho knew she would enter the lights
and be lit by them and sink into them.
And how the end would come -
it had been foretold to her -
she would aspirate swallowing a fish,
going down with God's first creature
dancing all the way.
1.8k
flying laser concept
shooting down airplane
flashlights for cops
getting dissacsciative
instantly distroying
dazers on your car
weird sound things
warning warning
hit the brakes
it's not a deer
good ****
have you ever seen him?
Star wars kid?
The good 'ol days.
Before there was any kind of like...
I bet he's huge.
There he is.
**** can happen.
Expandable pole.
Destructive laser.
All talk, no walk.
Death rays.
Forget my blowtorch.
Let there be fire.
Let it rain.
Targeting him.
That's stupid.
**** this spider.
Did he?
Huge ******* spider.
Brightest spotlight ever.
Can't escape it.
Pretty good shot.
It's gonna die.
Choke it out.
Go to the end.
Sad.
**** a dog.
Hot in here.
People like motherhood.
Is that a ferret?
Don't drip on me.
Pennies on the floor.
Are you jealous?
I had a bad case.
Gotta get rockin'.
Something we both like.
Look at Harold.
I might be goin' down.
I've been goin' down.
People do the work.
Enable it.
Consume battery.
Bring it to a nine.
Should be easy.
Catchy and fitted.
Going viral.
Pyramid scheme.
I'm on the top.
The fastest.
The most accurate.
A community project.
It's a contest.
Easter eggs.
Enable fun times.
Enable opportunities.
Making it happen.
Shocking update.
It's getting there.
Few more sips.
Wooowww Wowww Wow.
Got 'em.
Sad day.
Pack up everything.
Say hi.
Bring her chocolate.
They like attention.
That **** ferret.
Sorry I got somber.
We got to be heroes.
Might be a good idea.
Nice seeing you.
Goodbye.
Au revoise.
Hard to say goodbye.
Concept of sleep.
Three all nighters.
One more thing.
Sweet dreams.
Bye.
Thanks.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
She took in the light
Of flashlights
As though a sun
Warming her
To perfection
Her feline smile
Unmoved for hours
Despite her heaving breaths
Unrelentingly fed
To the fading bulbs
Where she waited
For him
In the dim
Until the door opened
And he
Walked in
Lifting her
As he sat down
Laying her on his lap
In his chair
By the window
Where he
Brushed her
To sleep
Just once more
Once more
In the golden glow
He had seen before
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
restless summers swimming in lemonade
my shiny janes and your
mud sloshed loafers
swayed like the gulls of our
crayoned fence of a sky
daisies you would crown me
with rings of weeds i'd wed you
lightning bugs stain my lashes like my
fluorescent tears you brush away
dewdrops on my rose embroidered cheeks
i continue building forts armed with flashlights
with puppets of shade that guard me till morn
again i am locked within my tower feeling your
weight of shining armor as you take my locks as your stairway
but the night fades within you
i let down my hair
but you are not there
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
was among the lanterns again
flashlights again
among the stars again in the middle of the world
again among the planets again among
the sun again among the paints again
among the lamps all over again
again and again among the lanterns
I walked boldly along the streets
I walked along the streets and walked on and on
I went boldly and boldly to the streets
but why and where did I go but why
but why and among the lanterns I was and
among lanterns and among lanterns and among
only lanterns and starlight
28.09.18
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
We don't have to wait,
Halloween comes every day,
Shadow figures on their way,
The side show
The freak show
The funhouse across the bay,
We go there on purpose every day.
My light is kind of
fading I can see it
in the mirror
I can't quite see my way
to make it there today.
Your flashlights
in this funhouse Darkness
continues
to light the way,
for lost and wandering souls
as it has every day.
Humor
Grace
The soul whisperer
A lone long walker
The warrior spirit
A solo ocean swimmer
The darting eyed organizer
with the heart of gold
A stand-up comic
The old old sage
willing to fight it out
in the bleakness factory
every day.
As I make my way
to the exit sign
I can hear the five o'clock
screams
the lobby scene
cops dragging
a woman
screaming my name
I go anyway.
For those kind souls
left behind
as
the listener hums a tune
in his own mind
closes the door
one last time
with a sigh,
finally
has left it
all behind
saying
a
short prayer to the passing
of time,
for those who put their
love and compassion
on the line
in every way
every day.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
hello, love.
one day
i would like a library
a whole library, in our very own house.
I've already started collecting, you know
(things like that take a lot of planning)
books, i mean. collecting books
from second-hand bookstores and thrift shops.
floor to ceiling to floor, the room will have books
and millions of golden threads leading from the pages,
connecting our little corner of the world to the rest of it.
to London in 1854, and Iran in 1990, and India tomorrow.
we can walk into our library any old time
and amble right on through to anywhere.
mom didn't like to buy me many books as a child
oh, yes, she taught me the importance of reading
we read every day, and for that i owe her my life.
but we didn't buy them
books, i mean
because i'd read them too quickly
a day or two, maybe
and so we used the library
want to know something nerdy?
i was probably the only nine-year-old in the city
to have the library card number memorized,
all fourteen digets.
did you know they max out at 30?
books, i mean.
30 books at one time.
We will read to our children every single night. we will act out the stories; we will help them see that the stories are just as alive and breathing as they are. you can be Peter Pan, and i'll be Frances Hodgson Burnett's Sara Crewe.
and when they are old enough, they will read to themselves every day as a chore, like making their beds or unloading the silverware. hopefully they won't see it like that, like a chore. hopefully they will become addicts. they will sneak flashlights into their rooms and read underneath the covers after bedtime every night.
but we'll never ground them for that.
instead, we'll take trips to the library
and teach them how to dream.
all my love.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
I was marching down the crowded avenue
When I realized my hair was covered in kerosene.
Eyes flash; memories appear.
Bitter lips and kisses just covered in lies.
I was as stainless as the flowers in my hair;
The ones you picked from the garden.
I was as passionate as the ocean;
Always coming back to kiss the shore.
A sweet love, a love as wonderful and
As vibrant as the floral perfume around my neck.
The same one that gave me a rash.
Once we held flashlights, escaping into
The dark and hollow night alone.
Two hearts ignited on fire.
But flashlights always run out of battery,
Right?
I breathe in the salty ocean air.
I detect traces of you.
A ratted baseball glove.
Faded mint soap.
Stale potato chips; always crushed.
Nights of March play over and over;
Leaving and leaving and lying.
You talk of
Nightmares of dead flowers, wasted love.
Dissolving all bonds of emotion.
All I can see are flames.
You held the knife,
But I was destined to burn.
I was holding the matches all along.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
we’re riding in your best friend’s car
where yah tell me that I’m cute
I just bow my head and say
you’re pretty cute yourself
you put your arm around my shoulders
and tell me I’m adorable
my body responds by touching your leg
my head just thinks “how can he be mine?”
he sings outloud, “please fall asleep so I can take pictures if you
& hang them in my room”
I just close my eyes and bob my head
to this tune that reminds me of you
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
The hoods go up, the bandanas come out.
Their day really starts, when the sun goes down.
Geared up with paint, backpacks are full.
Armed not only with colors, but triggers to pull.
No stops in the stairwell, it's straight to the top.
Hope you grabbed your inhaler, in case of the cops.
The last couple steps are slathered in ice.
Their will to go higher it really entices.
Reaching the rooftop, the flashlights go off.
But the rooftop itself just isn't enough.
Steel rails to trail, the water tower is their peak.
Their names and their tags, voices to speak.
So when the city looks up, from I-75.
Their beacon of art, is kissing the sky.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors
sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes
paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night
flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed
wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls
fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power
so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us
still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
We pull
the Humboldt
out of the water.
Sometimes
they eat each other,
and we pull
up
shredded hooks
clotted
with white meat.
Sometimes
they
scramble
underneath the surface
and the film of water
separating us
from them
becomes pink and flashing.
We pulled up
a black
saucer
of an eye
one night.
It clung
to a hook
by
pink strings of optic muscle.
Our flashlights
put little continents of light all over its placid, black surface,
and I felt human sadness
some type of animal-human
empathy,
it ****** me up so much
that I threw the line overboard
again,
almost hitting Nestor in the face,
with an un-baited hook.
Our hauls
are getting smaller.
The carnivores
used to jump
into our boats,
slicking
the planks with an excretion
the consistency of placental fluid.
Now,
sometimes dusk burns
as
we yank
seaweed,
seagrass,
and
toilet seats
over the prow;
our bodies tenebrous;
straining with the line
like warriors
stabbing the sea.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC