"foreword" poems
Haply but Sweetly, Serene Volumes mix
And Summer's Fornication took its toll
Please don't React. I am not here to fix
Those very Clouds you hard-worked to install
My name is Supporter; Though it sounds strange
To write this Foreword which read too extreme
Trust me this fully; I am well within range
To lend you my Honest and Golden Ring
Indeed Family does matter; Much on Sport
An Athlete like you needs Supplement Prime
This I can assure: They Love you formore
Never to betray your Sensitive Time.
Much grateful am I to scribble this Verse
Now win your Medal; Let Nike converse.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
(Inspired by article below)
I.
Continuity
your filibuster egg of sand
dazzled curiosity
with creaky shell of hints
heaped upon the tedium
of knowledge's unfurl undeterred
by encyclopedic impatience
Assurances of rip(Van Winkl)ed
economics shooed paper strings of
revelation like anarchy-powered
taxes summoning a foreword
to anachronistic campaigns
of environmental friendliness
II.
Meanwhile years
have been filed down to flashes of
chronology for continuity's organic rebus
However long it took
the economic karma to fall into the
abodes of hedonistic pharaohs
it was instant
Skin that ruled behind the constitution
of allergic breath
bailed on the bones against their most
sublime intentions
Limbo-treading landlords
huddled in their mummified freeze
after breadline bashers scolded them
with the spoils of a new brand
of pyramid scheming
Robbers of the coffin palaces
stole the intimations of identity
theft from today
Immortality and freedom
were compelled to share a meaning
like estranged siblings
or bound dynasties
I(a).
Abydos
how you coyly toyed with us
with a diversion bordering on monolithic
04 23 14
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Welcome, welcome, one and all
To watch me Rise and watch me Fall
Though both at once? I cannot say...
The Status Quo changes day by day
Follow the path my choices make
And do not try to understand them, for your own sake
My mind, its' thoughts, worries, and desires
Is not a places for fools, evil, or liars
The words written here, foreword or crypt
Are written by me, my own script
If you can stand my sarcasm, whining, and glee
My hopelessness, anxiety, and desire to be free
Then welcome, welcome, one and all
To watch me Rise and watch me Fall
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
I sit upon a curb waiting for a bus
That may never even come
I am the girl they call broken
Damaged goods
Because I love to the point
That love is taken from me
I sit here waiting for that bus
Wondering if you were looking
Foreword to seeing me
A boy walks by holding a bag
I couldn't help but to wonder
if there is someone out there
waiting for him like I am waiting for you
Nerve's kicking in
Stomach turning
Tapping my fingers upon this screen
I have so much to tell you
But can't think of the words to say
Because I sadly tried to end my life today
I finely reached the bar
where supposedly you would be
Im now sitting here waiting
hoping helplessly that you'll find me
Checking my phone repeatedly
Still no text to see
This damaged goods
Is arching from
Her head down to her knees
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
I remember the jaw dropping moment of you walking into creative writing for the first time.
I remember passing notes daily
I remember the first time we went downtown with our drunkard friend.
I remember sitting in the cold in front of the pond and listening to you ramble.
I remember how happy I was.
I remember how hard I tried to impress you.
I remember it all like it was yesterday.
I remember you going missing from class.
I still remember the stomach churning worry that came with it.
I remember you coming back just to leave again
I remember the years we didn't talk. They were lonely.
I remember seeing you go the first time in forever.
I remember sitting in that swing and holding back tears as I confided in you about how sad I was.
I remember the absence of you again.
I remember sitting at the bus stop talking to you before I had to work.
I remember the night you had a small get together and invited me.
I remember how hard I smiled for the first time in years.
I remember coming over and spending the night with you.
I remember the ****** tension.
I remember laying in bed and inching closer.
I remember how cold your lips were when I kissed you for the first time.
I remember rolling around in bed naked and taking candid pictures of one another.
I remember being officially unofficial.
I remember walking to and fro my house to yours.
I remember you playing guitar.
I remember vaping until we were dizzy.
I remember you getting the text from your ex
I remember losing you to your ex
I remember the devastation.
I remember still seeing you daily.
I remember how awkward it was.
I remember you telling me you wanted to be with me.
I remember then running to meet you half way.
I remember hugging you as if to pull you into my body.
I remember him losing his spot by your side.
I remember fighting.
I remember hating it.
I remember still seeing you and talking things out.
I remember kissing late into the night.
God I remember so much.
I remember going downtown with Dessi.
I remember realizing how deeply I love you.
I remember the pain of missing a night by your side, it's like a bruise on the bottom of my foot.
I remember all the days I spent keeping you company at work.
I remember getting pulled over with you in the car.
I remember the look of dread.
I remember with no regrets.
I remember your smell from 4500 miles away.
I will remember and cherish every second we spend at one another's side.
And with all these memories behind us in such short time
I know that when I turn my head back to watch my steps I'll see all we have to look foreword to.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
lower your lids, lap at liquid luxury
feel the flutter, flood of fire, fleeting--
bring your lips to the liquor, illegal lethality
forgo the former formalities, explore further, you're fascinated
i'm listless lately, lackluster from liquor's lullaby
forgetful and foggy, focused on feeling the friction
labors of lust, light-headed, lead me lightly, love me
**** me*. **** familiarity, **** me fast, foreign fingers
lower my limits, leave your legacy on me
lead. i follow, feeling foolish, little foreword:
be too forward. leave me lying, flesh flushed, limp and loyal
every fiber filled with life and lust: i finished first.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
I hold my cards
close to my chest
on this night that is
oh so close.
No fan
to blow
air into my face,
not that it would
matter anyway.
The air
would just
remind me
that it is hot
this summer night.
I am drinking beers
while the fruit flies
are sharing with me.
No sense
in picking them
out of the cup..
more will arrive.
The woman
who lives upstairs,
how can she ride her bike,
on such a summer night.
I hear her,
it's the sound
of rowing,
a creak-creak-creak.
88 Willow,
the building with eight dwellings.
Through the open window
I hear a dog barking,
maybe two, three blocks away.
This building that I live in,
where the walls
are so thin
you know that
they have ears.
Have ears to hear.
Creak-creak-creak..
the woman is rowing,
her rowing machine rows
out into a great big sea
of imagination,
where there
is every kind
of sea creature
that you can conjure
up in your mind.
And her
boyfriend, a fine
painter and sculpture.
He wants to do the
cover of my next book..
And I think, like that's ever going to happen.
My good friend
was over tonight,
he told me a story about
how he proposed
to his 'maritime' woman.
She cried and she cried
after she saw the ring,
not because it was so small,
but because she was
beside herself
in joyful delight.
I envy what it is they have,
but what they have
requires work, hard work.
They have one tried and true
partnership.
We talked about
reaching out to extended family,
as well as brothers and sisters in blood.
Me, of my own,
my father is turning eighty.
Eight decades and I know him not.
He fought
in the Korean War
and I've yet to ask him
about it.
Not once in my life time
has he even smelled
the wartime memories
that I am sure waft up
on occasion.
Now back to 88 Willow.
There is a drunkard
living in a basement apartment.
His legs are going
from wet brain.
He only calls me when
he is drunk.
He has two drinks and
he starts fumbling worse
than a line backer
intercepting
a foreword lateral pass.
I don't want to move,
though I know I have to,
to keep on keeping on,
I've got to move,
I have to move.
© 2013
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
But it's as if you’re ****** into the page on which you sit so precariously. You realize his eyes have become weird again, throbbing to the beat of your love. He looks away, leaning back on his hands, arms taught. And you sit as if alone, watching him tear a piece off your history and craft a paper airplane from your devotion, fingers gently folding and creasing, lovingly shaping, his head turning, focusing, admiring. And when he is satisfied, he throws it with a flick of his pale wrist. It sails beautifully through the air, buoyed by affection and adoration, leaping through the gusts with pride. You reach out a hand willing it to come to you, wanting something so tender for yourself, for your gasping heart. But as you lean in, poised with glory, a thief melts from a burning tree, morphs from the shadows, an ugly, beaten creature, scaly and peeling. It slinks foreword catching the plane in its mottled claws, pinching it slightly as your lover lets out a small gasp, eyes widening. The creature places it inside the steel bars over its heart and suddenly the thing changes and becomes lovely, blooming and whole, an infection of grace and slender frame. Fragrance floats back to you as you cower and your lover looks at the lovely figure descending upon him and you scream and scream, seizing and foaming, something mad, unwanted, hidden from sight. But he is no more than smoke; naked body drooling, jagged blades protruding from his back; and where his heart should have been, there are only iron bars. He turns and howls, an alien sound, unreal, lips curling back, twisting and forcing his screeching notes into your chest smothering your mind. But finally you have had enough; finally you understand, finally you find strength to pull apart the stitching and release yourself and you fall.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
water's gravity
moors me to this dome's prison.
washing me to plush blue
is the dream of hands
that puts me out of my sleep's premises.
the bane of existence tingles
the flesh and the suds rise
altogether with the squalor
of its own meaning.
my old hue languishes into
a burgeon of slosh and no friction
nor word could rupture me anymore.
and the scent dangles
mid-air, where all perfumes are born, with sorry fountainheads
peaking through the ordeal
of this sonata.
water makes music with skin
as froth takes to sea, the exhaustion of brine -
all disquiet in foreword
and finality
hung clean, in the backyard
of ordinariness, of consummate asepsis and its breakable concepts,
ready to be worn out
by a day's grime and back to
its fate once more, all of us.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
Standing beneath black skies' hush,
cold rains' fall a stimulating touch
bringing rise to forbearance
forcing stormcells to pressured positions
above our expanse.
These words escape to nothing.
Thick air mixed in
with each vowel of smoke,
straining to glimpse beyond
those choked fragments.
I caught your shadow
skirting the edge of visions
and slipping past my bounds.
You were cloaked in millennia,
time soaked from downpours
seemingly lost of origins,
be they long past
or still forecast,
you were,
falling drops rolling
from silken hair
still bruised in memory,
forgoing present presentation
to reacquaint opportunity
with overlooked encounters.
Soaked to soul,
the ripples spread quick
stepping to the plane of...
...wait,
where are you...
when are we...
...will you be?..
...or have we been
lost in relativity
and escaping in
each word I breathe.
Comprehension critical,
compassionate clouds constantly
reminding of drowning you out,
professing this changing view
in hallowed hurricane whispers.
An angel you became,
living upon these grounds
your plague, living on,
earthly existence anathema,
each second foreword
another progression of
decreeing beating heart
a final concerto, Ava Maria
your soliloquy, serenading
dreams in a missing tongue,
with dying tone
and a pulse set out for loan.
Loneliness my investment,
appreciating until the light was blinding,
pain breaking anthems,
scaling back to feed off
what was left.
I missed our true nature until it was reflex,
illumination only brief glimpses of a passed future,
grief developing to timelines sutures,
bleeding blending was
and has,
with will be still the memory
I'm forced to foresee.
Broken in neutrality,
droplets still caressing the shadow
skirting the corner of my eye.
Your life was short,
I let us die far too young.
Consider it your sacrifice,
the reason for the crying clouds
whose pain soothes these brainstorms
vented through cigarette breaks
wasted pouring words
to howling winds.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
I reassemble,
The wind flows backwards to your hands,
I am returning from whatever version of “beyond” you choose to believe,
Each particle caring a manifest blessing back with it.
Perhaps tears flow up your face, retracing the progression of grief down your cheek.
Or maybe I was an awful at the end and in rewind you whisper “dead is ***** old that god thank.”
But either way that is the past… or the future,
It isn’t prudent to examine such distinctions now
It’s movement not direction that matters.
My form is re-forged by fire,
My bones smoothing in the heat
My flesh hardens from liquid to coalesce around my uncooking muscles,
And still I rewind,
Personality and character drifting through the cobweb wrinkles of my skin,
Till somewhere in the dynamo of my body my heart finally beats its last *** ba”… and then it’s second to last.
How strange is a life lived backwards?
Would words taste different in my mouth, have new meaning in rewind,
Would I find satanic messages in my everyday phrases or just speak in nonsense, a string of “a-blah-blah” that takes too long to be made sense of.
How different would my actions be?
My hands could peel away bruises, unbreak eggs, and **** insults out of the air
Yet who would be responsible for these miracles,
Some dreadful foreword version of myself.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
If there is any that think they can go beyond my despair then let them try,
Ever since that day, I have lived a lie, the lie of living.
It wasn't me who was wrong, it was the world
the same one that is now in great peril
What do you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat? Win by any means
Do you stain your hands with evil to destroy evil? Do you survive by killing the weak and feeble?
Or do you remain steadfastly just and righteous, pretending evil is the rightist.
If strength is justice, then is powerlessness a crime?
I have signed a contract with a devil,
To defeat evil, I must become a greater evil
You can't change the world without getting your hands *****
Perhaps this is what I have always wished for since that day. The loss and destruction of all. That's right, one must destroy before creating. In that case, if my conscience becomes a hindrance to me, then I will simply erase it. I have no other choice but to move forward.
This here is the foreword.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
I lay myself open to you...
Like a thumb worn novel
aspiring to be a classical romance...
coming off as a cheap
dime store
rag
My lines less Tennyson and Shelley
more Micky Spillani
yet feel the warmth of each page
once pressed against
my aching
breast
for it heard my needful heart
tasted my tears
Read between the lines
find the nervous boy behind the man
all fingers and thumbs
typing out words his Tongue
could never
speak
Each comma each fullstop
an anxious
drawn
out breath...
as I thought of you discarding me
in pursuit of passion
yet know the foreword and the photograph
do no justice to my ache
for you
to find me
there amongst the metaphors
waiting...
for you alone
to know the real me.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Nothing left for me to say
I refuse to hurt you
But you're love reaches many, my love is selfish
I can feel you miss her
I know why you cry
A part of me Is glad it's not me
The other part sees the severity of this
I wish I made you feel those passions
But I guess I knew what I was getting into
I never should have expected you to only love me, let alone love me most
My heart is so empty and cold
And yours grows And expands white warmth and cant seem to shrivel in the cold, leaving you empty
As your tears pour and your soul aches I only wish I could mend it
My heart is broken for you and myself because I can never be her,
And I only wish I could make you forget with my love
My heart hates her for what she did. And I wish you could be happy with her where your heart belongs
Life is a cruel game sometimes you can't help who you love and I know she would choose me if she had the choice, but love is not a choice
Sometimes I wish her passions were as innocent as mine and I was the only person in her heart
Her love is bigger than I, it is bigger than she understands and I put no blame on her for loving another
I don't Deserve her heart as a whole
What love have I given to have it ?
I've always beloved you must pay it foreword
My dear Emily I fear your love and admire it so, your depth is why I love you so, so unlike me ,so beautiful
If I could only see you love the one who you deserve, and feel the love back
But on a selfish note , Isn't it a tragedy it's not me ?
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Human Incubation
The world painted us with mud and it harden
She allowed us to see beyond the cracked dirt
Even though millions denied their own worth
She recognized that our path belong to us
Everything in us is beautiful even when life is ugly
She didn’t permit us to play victim
Our wickedness is only a distortion due to self-hatred
She promoted love through pain
I know sightlessness can still bring forth opportunity
She knew change was absolutely essential to move foreword - FK
Rest easy Maya Angelou.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
Use my shoulder as your pillow
let my body be your bed
let me be your warmth and comfort
when the laughter's all but dead
Let my arms always enfold you
let them be the words unsaid
when all you need is endless silence
and a place to lay your head
Let my kisses be the lyrics
to your heart's unsteady beat
as your breathing breaks the silence
and yet makes us both complete
Let my love be as the curtains
that keep others from looking on
as we count the blessings offered
and regrets now dead and gone
Let my need of you be noted
in the margins of my eyes
where you pencilled in your beauty
and underlined it with your sighs
Let my want be always wanting
let your presence ner' sedate
as you paint yourself upon me
as both sinner and a saint
Let the scars that others gave you
be the gifts I take away
as I offer up my body
as the prayers you never say
Let me be the one you run to
when you've no where else to run
and I'll hide you from yourself dear
till your cryings all but done
Let my concern be the bindings
on our lives as books unread
where the foreword says I love you
and the titles enough said.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
The thing I look most foreword to
is being able to tell you I love you
without the fear of someone hearing me.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
Fall in love with a writer,
If you want to be granted immortality.
But beware,
If a writer falls in love with you...
They will carve you in history.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 7:30 AM UTC
Curtains:
It comes to a point when the party is over
No celebration can last forever
Lets move foreword until the last horn is blown
I no longer run into the fog because all is unseen
I am patient as I wait for the smoke to clear
I climb mountains instead of flying overhead
My body is cleansed of all sins, as I tell no lies
Let love ****** me, as I take her hand
I feel good, as my freedom becomes natural
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
I remember the time
that our love was strong
and we thought of the future
never pausing, never wrong
about the feelings we had
singing our love song
But distance separated
and the past became the foreword
and we met new people
and our lives continued onward
finding ourselves new loves
so we could move forward
We are happy where we are
but sometimes I think
of what could have been
should have been, us on the brink
spending the rest of our lives
together, two hearts in sync
And when I am with the one
who I am going to be with forever
for the rest of eternity, I am strong
but when I was alone I would still favor
the thoughts of us, longing to be
oblivious, just longing to endeavor
It was hard for me to live
with a heart that is torn apart
between the love of your life
and the love of your heart
wishing we could go back
and give our life a restart
I realize that we can never be
but I am not upset, fate has align
I am faithful to the core, tried and true
And this pain her touch can make resign
And while your face is in my dreams
when I wake I kiss the face of my Caroline
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
Fear does not exist.
Fear does not control you.
It is simply a product of your imagination
brought to you for the sole purpose
to make you question the possible outcomes
of a convoluted situation.
Fears reason of existence isn't to hold you back,
it is to enlighten you with the ability
to move foreword.
And before you blame it,
remember that with no fear,
the core values of humanity
would cease to exist.
-s.s.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
(Foreword: the word Gvgeyu'i (pronounced guh-GAY-yoo-ee) in the eastern Giduwah Cherokee dialect, means both "I love you", and "love" as a noun.)
Gvgeyu'i
by light of fire
'neath full moon's gaze
and shaman's drum,
the young brave
and the princess fair
dance alone where day is done.
Gvgeyu'i
he hears her say,
as embers dance
between the two,
the flames give way,
to passions blaze
'neath starlit sky
ancestors' view
"Gvgeyu'i"
he echoes back,
never turning
tail to flame,
"Gvgeyu'i,
my sun and moon,
even if you don't
feel the same."
Gvgeyu'i
the spirits chant
enchanted by the
dancing fire.
The longing lovers
drip with sweat
as voices crack
and muscles tire.
Gvgeyu'i
the princess sighs,
the spirit-flame
glows in her eyes,
Gvgeyu'i,
her lover true,
utters back her
lovelorn cries.
Gvgeyu'i,
they sang with glee,
the night, the silence
echoed, too,
Gvgeyu'i,
they sang together,
and followed it with
i-go-hi-dv.
(Footnote: i-go-hi-dv is pronounced "ee-go-he-doo" and means "Forever")
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
I have remained in silence and solitude for quite some time now. Yesterday, I encountered Pascal for the first time. I was so moved by him that I decided to murmur from the bottom of the well in which I currently reside. The following is just pointless minor thoughts about him and, the most hated form of writing. a haiku or two inspired by Pascal.
#1
Hands over your heart
Belly facing the moonlight
Back riding the tide
#2
Where do I belong
Does gravity have family
We get along fine
#3
When I look out past the moon, the things I see have already occurred. From the opposite point of view, have we already occurred? They told us to prepare for our future when we were growing up. Our time here is quite short, to describe it generously. I like to think that staring into the night sky gives my soul a chance to get a head start. I hope it isn't considered cheating.
#4
We look up to space
It does not look down on us
But we are noticed
#5
Truth is just a definition. I never took the time to look it up in a dictionary. Every dictionary was originally created by a human. That means somebody was the first to define truth. I think I need to read the table of contents, maybe even the foreword. Who has a signed first edition?
#6
The sea pulls me out
Secrets splash into my ears
The tide returns me
#7
"One pascal is the pressure exerted by a force of magnitude one newton perpendicularly upon an area of one square metre." He wasn't named after the complicated equation. I doubt he even has a water proof calculator.
#8
My rambling will seem utterly pointless to anyone, but myself. Worst part is that I won't even be able to see these from the stars, but I'll still understand my current self at some point. Maybe we can share perspectives, if you ever find me. Please don't search for me, search for yourself.
#9
No double digits
The silence shall continue
Thank you for living
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
I want a blanket named crash
and a pillow named home.
Save tears for the foreword,
I'll return before long.
Sleep-sing me, Glasscatter,
the metal twists sweet.
The headlight's no Source.
Let oil, as blood, seep.
I turned, not for nothing,
little bird in the road.
We took flight, singing softly,
so glad that it showed.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC