"fliers" poems
The belated summer sky is alive
with a D r a g o n f l y ballet
Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal
A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath
Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
just this side the
softening sunset backdrop
A synthesis of fluid motion
– darting kinesis –
swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
another summer's
imminent curtain call;
reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
of passing seasons
Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
coming to know
we cannot stop
how life unfolds
The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...
— hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch
and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
in the treetops
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018 .
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
///
ironclad clouds
rain rust
roiling
on streets timorous
tired and torporous
turgid with wetness
windblown
fowl run afoul of
flights of fliers
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
The cyclist on his bike, fueled by sweat of curiosity,
Wondered
Wondered why it was that he could not fly
He thought therefore he became and on that bike of gold
He soared, the heavens a freeway for the blind
Finally seeing :
Earth is merely an elephant graveyard for the angels
The knowledge was a toxic pinball, corroding his insides as dust
He felt despair creeping like smog
(knowledge spoils)
Without thought or command his flesh imploded
Snapping like a boomerang at the end, the beginning
Of the universe.
And then he was a fiery star,
His bike of human mold cast down
(and sweetens)
Without restrictive ears he could comprehend
The slow mellotones of his fellow Fliers, Travellers, Stars
They hummed a warning to the man who was not
Of the hazards of thought
And the universe was silent again.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
a late harvest in Brigadoon
plucked from good earth
by strong hands
hauling
uphill, until
a gentle
slope
rewards
a stiff
back; easing
a grateful
burden
that levitates
famine
[ bushels ]
now
ziggarats
in a root
cellar
a Sumerian skyline
of parsnips and rhubarb
with fennel minarets
where Gilgamesh slept
in a pantry of pagan loot
underneath a corner room
at the very back
of a round
house.
where four seasons bunk with an almanac
mason jars of pickled beets
breathing their own blood
hanging gardens from the ceiling
of the Underworld
like fliers of missing children
on telephone poles
i go outside and wander off
you stay home
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
Among the glitter and the glamour there's a lonely girl
A little diamond in the desert, lost in this world
In the shadows of the city there must be light somewhere
And so we search for answers, keeping faith in prayer
Melanie's whispers float flawless on the wind
So very faint but I can hear you my friend
Your silhouette dances across the desert land
Are you dancing with God
Is He holding your hand
The path of the missing is a long and frightening road
Sadly there are thousands my friend you're not alone
As I watched the news I never ever thought I'd see
Someone I love disappear into a mystery
Your picture is on fliers and in your daughters' hearts
Someone please come forward; we are stumbling in the dark
One lone footprint leads to destination unknown
We will keep on searching 'til you are finally home
Melanie's whispers float flawless on the wind
So very faint but I can hear you my friend
Your silhouette dances across the desert land
Are you dancing with God
Is He holding your hand
Where are yoooooooou Melanie...
where are yoooooou Melanie..
where are yoooooou Melanie
Can you hear uuuuuss
Silence overwhelming what once was filled with song
We miss you Mel..so much that were trying to be strong
As I listen to the quiet, wishing I could hear
You saaaaay, "I am right heeere"
Melanie's whispers float flawless on the wind
So very faint but I can hear you my friend
Your silhouette dances across the desert land
Are you dancing with God
Is He holding your hand
Melanie's whispers float flawless on the wind
So very faint but I can hear you my friend
Your silhouette dances across the desert land
Are you dancing with God
Is He holding your hand
Where are yoooooooou Melanie...
where are yooou Melanie..
where are yooooou Melanie
Can you hear uuuuussss
©
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
From the backbroken fliers over oceans
From between the spiny frills along palm fronds
From Mr. Happy, the chain smoking chaperone of good times
From Mr. Happy’s half-burnt **** coiled in the ashtray
From the disciples of Theravada and the skinny Buddha’s pupilless eyes scanning jocose scansions of jungle
From the tanned holy heads of students lounging in graveled football fields
From my bowl of rice at breakfast in the shade while considering western cities, you are not here
‘You are not here,’ I’ve written in my letters
‘You are not here,’ I’ve typed into e-mails immense
You are not here, my coke head pals locked in the veins of seedy nightmares
You are not here, my penniless friends who mix music in ascetic dark rooms out in Bushwick
You are not here in no eastern Central Park running naked in the night from horseback cops after hours of merciless balling in the bushes
You are not here you fair-skinned beauties in crowded alpine funiculars bearing your aquiline noses holding your hats over the mountains
You are not here my lonely mother waiting by the phone for a call at midnight
You are not here, you are not in my poems, you are not in the distorted notes harpsichorded across my crass imagination
You are not here, you will not be here, will you read my letters home?
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:58 AM UTC
Can you hear me out there
come in
come in
over
Radio Silence
I silence my happiness with a smile
don't look at me
when your ice cream falls from the cone
your baby crocodile tears won't work here
and we both know I'm a great terrible liar
are you still out there?
are you still out there circling that same stretch of concrete
with sunglasses a hoodie and a 20 oz black eye
with your heart on her sleeve
arterial spurts of blood painting these white walls
yes my dear I do love you
now come here and help me hide my hunger
We are having trouble making contact
Roger that
at noon he wakes up and croons at the open skirt of Apollo
well hello sir, might a catch a ride to fire on your chariot?
to the place where Kamel Reds are $2.80
and the diner coffee is good and watery
just like the diarrhea which follows
I'm a jack *** joker with a jester hat on each foot so that when you hear church bells it just means I'm outside of your front door
but **** it
you can find me at the park we grew up in
too scared to jump off the swings at the highest point
I read about Icarus and Mamma aint raise no fools
my self esteem ran away that summer I forgot to close the gate behind me
so now me and my ego, Id, and superego
are patrolling your town
armed with fliers and staplers
but hey, it's all good right?
when the nights are longer
the days shorter
and the thoughts darker
I want life to be one trampoline
like the one we held wrestling matches on in Middle school
can I get a double bounce?
I never lost a game of popcorn in my life
It's on my resume
We are experiencing some frequency interference
Is that you?
can you hear us?
I think we lost him
lost him to the radio silence
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
You see a girl, a running girl
You see her running, you don't know why
"What is she running from?" you ask
She's running from her cage, her life.
She's an untamed spirit, but she's stuck here
drowning in her agony
What cruel force holds her down
when all she wants is to be free?
She's lost all hope, lost all meaning
her pain is deep and sewn inside her
She can't fight back, and cannot hide
So she runs
she keeps running, running.
Her heart is thumping, aching, screaming
like it'll explode and leave her twitching
Pointless crying, harming, hurting
The cuts she's made just keep on itching
Tears are trickling, dripping softly
off her wrinkled, anguished face
To herself she's nothing
nothing
She views herself as a disgrace.
Her parents love her, her friends say the same
but she believes they're liars
liars
Their promises are never kept
they're unpredictable fliers, fliers.
She's lost all hope, lost all meaning
Her pain is deep and sewn inside her
She can't fight back, she cannot hide
So she runs
She keeps running, running
What can she do? There's no solution
Only one way out, it's dying
dying
She's attempted many times before
But now she's tired of so much trying
That girl is stuck in her hell of living
she cannot hide, there's no way out
So she continues on with running
She won't complain, she will not pout
She's lost all hope, lost all meaning
Her pain is deep and sewn inside her
She can't fight back, she cannot hide
So she runs
She keeps running, running
She sees the cliff, the end is near
She runs right off that dreadful ledge
She leaps right into open air
Her last deep breath was at the edge
No one will catch her
She's falling
falling
Falling out of sync with life
It's too late to save her
she's dying
dying
The rocks, they slice her like a knife
But she's no longer falling!
She's flying!
Soaring!
Her soul bursts up like a mighty bird
She leaves behind a piercing silence
Her final words were never heard
She kept on flying, until she reached a place
A place of peace, free of misery
Now she runs above the clouds
At last, sweet bliss
She's finally free.
The only thing to do is run
It's the only way to free her mind
She's running with the wind, the breeze
Never stopping to look behind
As she runs, she feels lighter
Like a load has lifted off
Running frees her from herself
So she runs,
She'll never stop.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
We are out of eternal bliss
Let me kiss the mauve like lips
Let me kiss the cheeks like new born petals
We are out of eternal bliss
Let me lie between your two malleable hills
Oh my love! My love is out of eternal bliss
Your body- where the pearls are dancers
The pigeon’s hairs are your hairs
Let me go to meet my maker! Let me breathe my last breath! We are out of eternal bliss
I want to feel the feelings, you feel for me,
The rhythms of my lines are calling thee
Sing the heart-beat song that transports me
The rhythms of my lines are calling thee
Open your closed eyes, afraid not- the eyes of the heart are fliers
Our fortune is unfortunate we are out of eternal bliss!
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
His eyes were galaxies reflected in the vortexes of her heart
Shimmering nothings she loved to be lost and found in
Whenever he gazed upon a horizon or tabletop or cup of tea
She could almost see
What he saw set off the foreshocks in her own soul
Capricorn kaleidoscopes and faerie fliers
Of flaking eternities and sauntering demises
Eyes brimming with the untold fantasy of the pinned butterfly
He could see over the folds of Time
(carpet smothering bodies of resistance)
Second hands writhing from the slither of reversible realities
Eyes dripping smoke from the burning within him
He had a beauty no one could envy
For he was the eighth wonder
That he managed to survive in this world
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
this dead city is alive with stray cats and missing person fliers, but the locals are dancing
on hardwood floors and [ ferocious yellow drums ] are striking the black-most
and the back-most star, sinks
it's cleat into
banished sunrise
with No End
in Sight !
the pride of most eyes,
too blind
to witness the free
oblivious,
As corn-fed black holes
swallowing the wisdom of crowds... as the unctuous clouds
of our dismay
are ever, ever at play; where the thin pool thickens.
where our blown bubbles French with thick tongues... our open lips
rebuffed to an invisible sheen.
the running of the Bulls is always an Alcatraz in a Free Will.
we dip into shallow cathedrals
where our Mercies slip through
nausea and dank
and Islands
of Less Ocean... where
The weakest Archipelago
In a Severed Chain
Of Dreamt
Events
are you
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
Steamy and hot,
The lady shouts two cents, no! three!
For the loaf of bread
People bustling everywhere
Where they are going, no one knows.
The air smells of baked goods and ashy smoke
Vendors call and cry
An old woman covered in a scarlet shawl
Examines a basket of fresh dates
20 cents a pound
Two people are bent over an old tattered rug for sale
With the design of a fiery dragon on the side.
Only 10 dollars.
Letters and fliers blow across the cobbled street
And the sun beats down
Upon ripe grapefruits
And shining sugar coated buns
The Baker Square;
Where I grew up
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
The morning light wanes
out on open plains
my belly debates
croissants have to wait
All the nylon fliers
like crayons palettes
festival of spectacles
So many favorites
Up Up and Away
a hundred balloons
above lagoons and chimneys
below valleys and alleys
In one strong forehand
a spectacular descent
it looks unplanned
a landing on the grandstand!
There was no flaw
only the applause
at dawn, champagnes flow
I stand in awe
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC
i am just a mom deeply missing my son,
the real boy,
not the story i've repeated about him too many times
and definitely not the face of a teenage boy
who will never age on those **** missing child fliers,
but my son whose voice i can no longer remember the sound of
or whose hair i can no longer remember the smell of
when i would slyly sniff his head
I also miss his lost opportunities
of graduating high school,
getting to grow up,
move out,
date all the girls he could ever want,
falling head over heels in love
and marrying one that would steal his heart,
finding his dream job
or even working at hundreds of hated ones
until he found his calling,
and his babies,
i miss the babies that he never got the chance to have,
but mostly,
i just miss that chicken **** of mine,
Colton.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
I am merely a poet
a writer
an igniter of fire
the designer of a prior desire to admire the harmonious choir
but quick to tire of contriving liars
as the potential buyers hold strangulation wires
about to lay me in a pile of blood soaked fliers until my life expires
and all this illusionary harmony is alarming me
stalling me in its comedy
they think they're disarming me with talks of peace and prosperity
as i hilariously smash their conspiracy theories
as i am seriously furious when i deliriously remove the sanctity from your sanctuaries
sketching lucid rhymes in obituaries as corrupted school kids watch me curiously
i see your timid hands when you approach me nervously
as i hiss cyphers murderously
while you atrociously fumble satisfactory rhymes
i miraculously summon these mumbling mimes
ducking before the holy and unholy shrines
no god but father time
laying low tumbling dimes
still ducking swine from misdemeanor crimes
making local news and the seattle times
as they run and hide with their nines
im packing verbal calibers of all kinds and splitting minds with my lines
enshrined
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
- Joseph Childress
Fold papers
Constructed to float
Like planes
Strip
Through the stripes
Along the lines
And take off
Make off
With much more
Than words written
Actual actions
That lift off
Pages
Origami ornament’s
Origin
Arose from bore
The formal forms
Turned
To sheets torn
Without intent to teach
Amusement
From improper usage
Still fuels
The mind anyway
Away and away
Fly fliers
Beneath the lights
Shone
In a way
More motions
Than moving emotions
It coasts
To another plane
Needless of
Communication
Vacation
Much needed
A cruise
For the piece
That used
To be tree
Now used
To set free
The imagination
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
sun stayed close
today
I thrive on the first
day of the year
I can wear shorts outside
though it came a bit early this year
& I won't cross my fingers
for it to stay
the front porch step
offers little else than the
neighbor
trash-talking
on the other neighbors
everywhere I go at least
one more person
has lost the power to love
I should start making fliers
spread a little hope
but I'm no good with promises
& the cigarette butts she
flicks on my lawn
make me love her a lot less
too
these apartments are
non-smoking
none of us follow the rules here
I let the sun bake my bare legs
a bit more
the babe is trying to eat
dead leaves
I wonder where you
really are
& when you're coming home
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
I looked too far to the left and
it hurt my head to see that
I couldn't easily see
past my own
proximity
past your head and
past my own
past.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I passed by a little old lady
and her grocery bags, heavy,
passing out fliers for a cause
too
heavy
for
me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ads on tv speak
of cancer and her trip up the creek with
eyes that said
she never got to see
the sea, not even
in her sleep.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 5:25 AM UTC
Tum Tum Tum!
“Ladies and Gentlemen,
We welcome you aboard to take flight
and soar in a melting *** of degradation.
Where we file you by nation and
take elation in your degrees,
specifically those on bended knee.
Your angry plees will reach deaf ears,
and no amount of tears
can move
the System.
So sit back and listen to safety procedures:
The seat belt is fastened such,
in order to crush
against dignity.
The overhead oxygen mask will drop
if engines stop
and we need to crash,
the freshest air always comes last.
Lifeboats offer the final cruise
until red sharks *****
on your blood.
And turn cell phones off
so we don’t flood
the System.
We’re not done, so kindly shut up and listen:
The ability to lunch is an epitome,
simply a costly accessory,
just hold your gut,
and allow us to degrade
some more.
We implore you to understand,
for we do not.
In the System you’ll find
no heart,
simply an enigma,
no end
no start.
All lights will be turned off
for the duration of the flight.
Tough.
The enlightened can switch
the overhead lamp,
if you can reach
as far as that.
To encounter turbulence is a must.
For those who do not trust
in us
must be shaken
and rattled.
After all,
eliminate the fight
by eliminating the battle.
We hope you enjoy the flight,
and know you will soar again soon,
from noon to noon
we move in unison,
frequent fliers of
the System.”
Tum Tum Tum.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
A mirror is a perception
A trick of the mind
Try looking in a mirror and saying "I'm ugly"
And surely enough that is what you will see
Tainted looks and lost expression
My nose is too big
I have imperfections, including each and every freckle
I am bossed around by worldly views
Through the eyes of fashion magazines and top model
My thoughts pulse and with each pulse my list of imperfections lengthens
I've gained too much weight
I didn't need that sandwich
I need a hair cut
And a possible nose job
I turn away from the mirror
I look at my hands
I feel my waist
I feel skinny
I feel beautiful
So what is with these false perceptions?
These standards of beauty, only meant for a super human
**** the standards
**** the fliers, the model pictures
**** societies standards of me
Because I don't need them.
I've got mine.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 7:06 PM UTC
Sometimes I miss
the way we would talk
before we knew each other
so completely and thoroughly. Back
then, though it seems eons
have passed, we would only skim
across the surface of the other, touching
lightly, the dragonflies of our questions
creating the smallest of ripples
on the top layer of the pools
that were us, never close
enough to even guess at
the hidden depths. Oh, but we
were playful, back then, glistening fliers
chasing one another, sometimes-
rarely- truly touching, throwing up wings
to dazzle with color, to hide
ourselves, the parts we were afraid
were disfigured and damaged, the parts
that were the only parts
truly us. Slowly, our eyes strengthened,
we learned to see though our flimsy
shields, we embraced, piece by painful
piece, each other’s hurt parts, misshapen
and deformed though they were. As we grasped how
to see, not only look, I think
we both realized we are not truly
dragonflies. Maybe we don’t even know what
we are, yet. But as the murky
expanses of you slowly become clearer
to me, and our waters mingle, I know I truly
belong here. I would not trade you
for the world, but sometimes I miss
the sun-filled, glittering glory
of dragonflies over shadowy pond, touching
only the lightest of touches, playful
and flirtatious and impersonal
and giddy.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
A drop of water falls from a leaf
Splashing to the ground
To set off the fliers in their game
They rocket forward
Their dangling feet graze the dew-soaked grass
And a tiger-cat chases their toes
Her belled collar makes sweet noises
In the crisp morning air
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 10:46 AM UTC
So It’s CLEAR That ...“ ILLUSIONS “ ...
Are Now Being ... PROVEN ... !!!
So ... Alphabet Genders ...
Are Now The TRENDSETTERS ... !!!
From Stage To TV ....
What Was Once Freely Deemed As Being OBSCENE ...
Is Now Being Seen On ... Various Screens ... !!!
Talking of Screening ....
When It Comes To Policing Their Illusion Feeds Screaming ...
Because of The Dealings of Police With NO Feelings ... !!!
Who Really Give Beatings To Those They Be Deeming ...
To Be ... BAD Human Beings ... !!!
But Movements They’re Using PROVES That Their Illusion ...
Leads To Their ABUSING The Truth For .... MISUSING ...
Their Powers Like Cowards Who Live In DARK Towers ... !!!
Like Those ... “ HOLDING POWER “ ... !!!
Whose Truth Eludes Clues That Gives People Proof ...
WITHOUT The Illusions That Keep Them From Movements ...
Where They Stand In Court ...
Due To Lies That DISTORT ...
The Truth For Their Moves ...
That KEEEP ON DECEIVING ...
Like Paedophiles Teaching ILLUSIONS To Youth ...
That Lead To Abuse That Then Hits The News ...
Like ... Calls For Impeachment ...
That Are ******* ... By Proceedings ...
That CLEARLY NEED CLEANING ... !!!
Their Illusions KEEP Sneaking Into Their Public Readings ...
So Folks Be Believing Illusions Where Scheming ...
And Payoffs Have Leanings ...
That STOPS Evidence From Leaking ... !!!
Money Infusion Creates These Illusions ...
That Truth Is What’s Used ... Inside of Courtrooms ...
Where High Fliers Cash Is Used To Pull SCAMS ...
Where Loopholes Are Found ... Due To Dollars And Pounds ...
Instead of Strong Cases That Have ... SOLID Grounds ...
Well Right About Now ....
Illusions Surround And Drown Out The Sounds ...
of Those Who Speak Out About How We’re CLOWNED ... !!!
By Laws That Are Flawed CORRUPTED And BOUGHT ...
By ... POWERFUL Guys Whose Money Now Buys ...
FREEDOM From Truth With Water Tight Proof ... ?!?
Because They Collude With Those In Courtrooms ...
Before Things Are Heard And Public Observed ... !!!
You’re Being ABSURD To Believe What Is Stirred ...
In Pots Filled With Plots Like Those of ... Ridley Scott’s ... !!!
Confusions Polluting ...
MUCH MORE Than Young Students ... !!!!!!!!!!
They’re Dealing In ... “ TALES “ ...
For Illusions To Sail So The Truth Gets DERAILED ... !!!!!
It’s Time For LESS LOOSENESS ... !!!!!
And Corruption Where Movements Are Suitably NEUTERED ...
For These Liars To Hide ... Behind Their ......
...... “ Illusions “ ......
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 6:15 PM UTC
where do thoughts go when they are forgotten?
i find mine weeks later,
scribbled on old show fliers
and scattered around the living room
after nights spent smoking 'til i'm spent,
written on walls, bed posts, bookshelves
in sharpie and black pen while i lay
in bed and lament over loss and being lost,
hidden on crumpled receipts from
store visits where i've spent what i don't have,
that are then shoved into the dark depths
of purses i've thrown into closet corners
only to be found when digging for
something to wear just before laundry day
often times i go to let the words
plummet to the page and i feel stuck,
then i picture the pieces of my past
scattered all around my apartment,
if only i'd keep these lost chunks of my
mind in neat little piles so that when
the blocks inevitably come i've got
miles of material to work with
unfortunately i've got a knack for
foresight in less ways than i'm willing to
admit, so here i sit, wishing for
my thoughts that have wandered away
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Circus Who Cares
arrives by night, places
fliers in torchlight.
Circus Some ****
riding train. Look
where graffiti is facing.
It's true, tracks can divide.
John Hughes marketed lies.
It's true, it's difficult --
But in this cult, none of us
wants to be you.
F < |< 666
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 3:08 AM UTC