"foxed" poems
A domino pile are my notebooks
and the bottom thoughts
hold my wand.
Unleashed with certain and schemes,
the past asking what ends meets means.
Walking somewhere
going through,
But be careful to slay the monster,
what a story can become.
Once the swift master,
now a slave to my dog.
The Archer and Orion,
Apollo and Venus shining.
Battle for my sake.
It is, there minds and souls
weaved from foxed cloves
the slip in space and rhyme.
Just in my skin as a stitch
and storm to sailor's plight,
"Oh my captain, Ishmael
Sank into the night!"
Leaning Tower now breaks
inside,
opened window to the sunrise.
Tap. Tap.
Went the sound of ink,
Ocean breathes me
I breathe the sea
princess and
pea
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
No facade elaborate enough
To adequately conceal
The inner-conflict
In which I am embroiled
No crooning of comfort
Can delivery me peace
Or forestall my mind's
Eventual unhinging
No foxed, tattered pages
Of forlorn loveletters
Strewn with stark promises
Can resurrect my will
My compass confiscated
My map of reason
Torn and trampled upon
My future at the mercy of shadows
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
You are like an accidental good read that was left undiscovered;
The kinds where I never want the story to
come to an end;
The kinds where as I flip the pages, I do not feel like I know the plot better, but rather, there's so much more to know about the story;
The kinds where I know my heart would feel heavy as I'm reading the last page because then I wouldn't know what to occupy my waking thoughts with, except how morose I am that it had eventually come to an end.
The kinds where years down the road when the pages are foxed, I'd reread the book and fall in love with every single word all over again.
And although I know that you'll definitely be an accidental good read turned best piece of writing I've ever read,
I keep you on the shelf, unread,
because I would rather feel contented just seeing you sit prettily untouched, than be left devastated to see the blank leaf at the end.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
If I unlocked my pages,
Would you read me?
If I showed you my chapters,
Would you remember my details?
If I opened my heart to you,
Would you accept me?
If I let down my walls,
Would you care for me?
If you ripped one of my pages,
Would you mend me?
If you scratched my cover,
Would you heal me?
If you completed me,
Would you toss me out?
If I didn’t intrigue you enough,
Would I be forgotten about?
If I served my purpose,
Would I be kept near forever?
Or would I return to the shelf?
Collecting dust,
Never again to be cherished or touched.
Until the silk of my pages lose their beauty becoming foxed.
As if I were not recently in your arms.
Enjoying the warmth of fingertips slowly turning my leaves,
Adoring the tender gaze set upon me,
While nearing a closing inevitably,
Why should I break my seal for you?
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Hear the hounds
I among them,
hillock,
brook,
hedge.
You've out foxed us,
but I live in hope
to get you yet!
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 8:39 PM UTC
My son walked up to me one day
He said, "Hey dad?"
I look up from my book
And there he was with that quizzical look again.
"Yeah son?" I ask gently.
"Dad, why do foxes run away from people?"
I looked at him patiently
I had not a single clue why on earth
A fox runs from a boy.
"Have you seen a fox?"
"Yeah" my son said, "He was orange and scared."
"Well they have every right to be afraid son."
My son, my dear son, turned his head
And calm brown eyes.
"What are they afraid of?"
"Well humans, for quite some time,
Have hunted foxes.
We took their bright orange fur and the meat on their bones
And we swallowed them whole.
We also took their homes
And made them our own.
We didn't thank them
And I think that's what hurt them the most."
My son turned his head again with that quizzical look
And he looked outside the windowsill.
"I'll be right back" he eagerly said,
And he jumped out the door into the backyard.
I got up from my chair and look outside
To see the strangest thing to date.
My son walked up to our brushes
And out popped a fox.
I opened the window to shout to my son,
But first I heard something sweet.
"I'm sorry fox" said my sincere son.
And wouldn't you believe it,
That foxed bowed down
And disappeared in the brushes.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
she's all foxed up,
but me i'm an empty mess.
in one of my favorite songs by fall out boy
she's a little black dress.
the party is happening elsewhere,
i know i might sound whiny but come on
i don't mean to be rude, or mean
but i have to deal with my old, conservative parents
who have such redeeming values but are so boring
okay not my mom but her emotions run her life WAIT!
OK, WAIT! I am doing it again.
I'm allowing myself to be this thing
Let me show you how this happens in motion,
I give up on it,
Let me show you how I'm king.
And I ******* will, Will
I remember you cheating on me with Will!
The party's happening elsewhere, where you are,
my ex-girlfriend, who told me I was paranoid
who said I needed help but she was cheating on me! GASP
What a terrible thing, what a terrible ******* thing
To have gotten so mad about. Cause nothing, NOTHING NOW
Is going to get in my way. Pure white empathy rings in my synapses,
It will snap into action and find what it's looking for
A culture of volunteers, out there in the world.
Witty fingers clip away at awkwardness, form a truly impressive
set of musical skills. My linguistic mind is roving,
Singing some mysterious song in the universe, the meaning of which
I don't even know! She's all foxed up
And look, some handsome ******* devil in the mirror,
I think I know him.
I think we'll have
To schedule a rendesvous
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
She may think its silver-tongued
Or truths been spun;
Such traits have vexed me.
No nose to grow,
Deceit once shown,
Upon no Book can she confess me.
These lips of snake
and cunning ways
out foxed the truth
that's all to plain.
All eyes can see,
Alas 'sept she,
The majesty
of my ******
The seeds of doubt
I must route out,
No weeds can grow
amongst the rose.
Can't make her know
or presuppose,
Blind faith
leads down uncharted roads.
I know that as she lays with me,
She feels my heart beat,
Stutter; Frenzy.
A stomach knot I cannot shake,
butterflies contrive to wake.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
In the velvet whorl of a gentle rose
In the softness of a swans feather at night
Voices come to whisper secrets
Bringing the fragrance of storms
The dark here is silent yet without silence
More an absence of swarming bees
I can feel you like a veil over my face
I can hold you in my emptiness
We make deals with mirages and keys
Days fracture around us like foxed mirrors
Time yawns like an abyss before us
Morning is just one more unopened door
If emotions are ghosts, we are haunted
My heart is a house you call home
I can feel you look over my shoulder
I can feel your hand on my brow
Dragonflies sing at the window
Bringing kisses and moonbeams inside
Snowfall in the middle of Summer
Tears hanging on every star
Your voice rises round me like a sanctuary
Aching lilies gifting us solace
Tomorrow holds the promise of rainbows
But for now, l’ll just cradle the moon
And you
And you
And you
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
The lies covered my earshot to deafnotes that were read counted times hatreds authentication procrastinating puritanical eyeshadow diluted from candor noise woke her sweltering the feats quickly attacking of life's genuine spellings to host no weekly that the fact was facetious quek drew certainly rose down the caterer which proposes thorn merks foxed a face so the drops adhere till dust the answered questions remained questioned answers flashes of an told tell of the Gods to kind keening haunting caresses sinisters honesty wallowing together your unheard stares
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC