"frameless" poems
Making all the small mistakes,
we move on, from one gig to another,
with our head up-high,
and our ear glued to the railroad track.
We walk backwards, surrounded by defective traffic signals
and multi-toned car horns – an impersonal Trojan toy horse,
with too much space inside our frameless carcass
to be filled by an empty soul.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
*blood stains her canvas
congealed crusts, fresh streaks
frayed corners and edges
the tattered toll of pain, loss
how best to depict my love on her
overlay her with beauty
to develop a patina of care over time
reduce her suffering to pentimento
her landscape shifts constantly
with the quality of her light
I must blend to the shade of her mood
her want...her need
work from the palette of my heart
in the spectrum of my love
paint her in courted color
every tone of every hue
brush her being with my caress
creatively styled to her moment
pastel tenderness...primary strength
bold strokes of passion...bright splashes of spontaneity
to portray for her a frameless existence
of unlimited intimacy and peace
but she does not rest on my easel
and I am merely dreaming of the art of love*
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
**Each day passing by in a wild-eyed dash
In truth my soul fell aside, but bluer birds still doth call
Missed that cardinal harken when I set down my last two cents
Kickers of tricks, scroll-ers of myth, bottlers of ships
Knew it all along, just couldn’t stiff the rest
Refuse to capitol, refuge atop the pious politic that steeps these hills
Is it not hard to tell? The meanings of what buys in bulk
The people is we, of what sells slicker than plot itself
A minority rule, hid reasons from majority fooled
That is working trade class, taught to chain drive
The gleaming sheen glowing green, crowning jewel¬¬¬ is as mist and steam, fleeting as the wash of this worlds seething seas
We, the misanthrope of being, bloom in the warmth of idea
Only to recede at the water mark high of each our lives
Authenticity bless the distant time, costless venture to each about die, salute through another caesars’ dilated eye a definition
Eons in annunciation; immortality flashing by
Reverence cannot lie, not long at least neathe a chipping patina
Gold leafed by the hand of man, coerced creations’ fondling finger tips strips thin, leaving us then to watch the weathering
Not a one may ever remember for too quickly or too timely
Arrives dismemberment, a cyclic certainty, often relegated falsely
As loss or gain, truly misspoken frames for reference
At any given attempt to render the language of tongues, oh speaker the son of the morning shamelessly ****** by predecessors increasingly lavish
Phonemic savage; life running rabid, splicing love over the atom
The simple one whom tends a patch of what he calls “cabbage”
Knowing always the wordless truth that is his field fallowing
Unconvinced by everyone, save himself if nothing else
Penitent candor dangle, frameless wonder can you hear the thunder?**
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
Thumbs
anxiously poised
slightly above the qwerty
like little frustrated court stenographers
with other places they’d rather be.
Head
full with more memory than words
worlds away
dancing naturally
in the synchronized but broken
rhythm they used to call love
in a time before they took away its name
and comforting rules.
With broken glasses,
thumbs stumble
frameless
into awkward silence.
Nerves
trembling,
close the phone.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 4:36 PM UTC
I've never collected trading cards
Though I once collected stamps
Until one day
The catalogue stopped
Sending them
I never followed the
Dewey Decimal System
In any place other than
The library
Where I spent my
Childhood days
Falsely convinced that the building
Was at least a block
Big
I've never been patient
For anything but a doctor
Though I once waited
Ten minutes
For the bus
And only got up to pace
Twice
But with her, I find myself
Collecting memories
Of snapshots I've taken
In my mind
Of her fingers
Tracing my face
And holding my hand
Gently
Because I'm never sure
How confident I should be
When holding her hand
Of her lips
As she talks
About things that
Excite her
And I watch them
Hearing her excitement
And wanting to kiss her
Of her teeth
As they are revealed
When she smiles
When she speaks
And as they bite me
I want to make her smile
When the world goes
Boom
Of her eyes
So beautiful
Framed by glasses
Or frameless
And looking
Up, around, at me
Displaying her emotions
And other
Evasive thoughts
And I can't help wondering
What runs through her mind
But it could be
The same that runs through mine:
Unfiltered bliss
Of her hair
The way it tangles so
Easily
The way it reflects
Her and matches her
And how the first time
We went bowling
I used it as a blindfold
So she would be surprised
When I
Kissed her
But with her, I find myself organizing
These memories
These thoughts
This unbridled energy
That is the happiness
She brings
The organization reminds me
Of a library
Or the TARDIS
Because in here with the memories
It seems bigger
And I might be a madman
"But it just may be a lunatic
You're looking for"
But with her, I find myself patient
I can wait
Steeping in happiness
Like oolong in a clay ***
Getting stronger and stronger
The longer away I am
I can grab my
Bag of memory
And every moment with her
Builds my supply
Like nothing could get me down
Not now
Not for the predicted future
And sure Chaos
Is hard to predict
But **** patterns, I'm making a beeline
For her
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
*Flamboyant darkness,
Frameless frames.
Acetone visions,
Two tone transitions.
A night drenched in radioactive dreams,
Through slowing chemical split streams.
A million visions downstream,
Flowing midstream into mainstream,
Escalating the extremes off-screen,
Whirling into aquamarine.
Remorseless eternity,
A beautiful insanity,
Buried in tranquility.
For my heart is filled with celestial vengeance,
Her cauterized love stains,
Etched in me with her spectral prophets.
Reveries from her past,
Fragments built to last.
Sizzling me into a fragile sculpture
And echoes resonating & void the rupture.
- 02:59AM*
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
for sent a skyline to the day
a kiss with wings of smile.
(these lights of Yes you call your eyes
are blessed with skies of deep array)
let’s talk too little and say too much
with words of forever in our slightest touch.
for when feeling is hearing
the breezes start singing
of scattered songs in the air,
(unsounding, but ever there)
when all my notes of frameless bars
sync with the rhythm of your fateless stars.
for the world is a cube rolling on and on
through every kind of time and place.
and i feel quite blessed and prepossessed
that all the pieces of our universe fell
so that even the Fall could have guessed
the way i would breathe the scent of your grace.
for life is a dreamboat flowing along
the river of time through silence and song.
when older is sooner and younger is late,
and the earth is a picnic too out of date,
although we’re quite busy with everythings to do
i’d happily share my dreamboat with you.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
light leaps lengthwise
purging this promontory prismatically
awakening all us awestruck
shameless sleepyheads, spying
delicious daylight drowning
out obscurity and occlusion,
frameless fixtures focused,
beams bouncing back between
emphatic eyelids,
leaving lenses lacerated,
despair defeated,
darkness destroyed.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
A frameless door.
Staggering in its height.
Shallow in its dull colourful haze.
A bottle of emptiness.
Hiding behind its shattered glass.
Speaking in voices only the unfamiliar can understand.
A lid closing all lightness.
Foreseeing only the darkness.
Staring eyes. Staring out of a windowless window.
Picking green from ripened soil.
Avoiding contact.
Leaving all the importance.
Speaking in whispers.
Closing the empty barrel.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
_Pale-faced beneath twilight’s awning, shadowed time skips
A beat measured in dust motes and attic silence;
Frameless ether holds its breath and portrait likenesses
Swivel eyes right, suspended between the minute and the hour;
In sequence, Whittington’s chiming sepia tones wring out
A tulip of port and one last cigar from drapery long hung;
As floral meanders unwind from a walnut casing
Inlayed with the gamine whimsies of our cherried youth._
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
“Ah Palinurus, you were too trustful of the calm sky and the sea.
So you will lie, a shroudless form on an unknown strand”
The streetlights dawn at dusk
like imitations of the sun.
And the perfect flowers of the
perfect garden fronts enclose
and curl their eyes within.
And we close.
The twilight tears of night surround
the somber sights and sullen sounds.
The single hearse goes by, goes by
blackened by the starless sky.
As watchers watch with their dark eyes
not afraid to cry
and we wonder why
the earth is in rotation
but there is no
revolution.
Oh the dive and the descent…
for the waterless, washed out years spent
on nothing, shedding petals like flowers
on the dirt
are nothing
but straight lines on refill pad.
So, I’m sorry to all of you
But I would rather bathe in the sun-sewn air
streaming through the bronzing leaves
than breathe the air
of your sordid torn tomb
where your heart aches
like a desolate sun
in the dry, withered realm
of reason.
Now the road is vacant
and they have nothing to see,
so the docile dozens on the street
with their frameless figures there
stand and stare, unaware
that the heart is a shape
and the soul is the sky...
so today we fly.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
D
eath is a gray lady; waiting and.
she is whitely quiet but always niggling the
bones in our frameless panes. pale cheeks stained
onyx rivers or. ash skirt fluttering in no breeze. felt
but heard whispering in our.
dEath is a solid nothing. or green stems bent withering
petals dry under and stiff. blooming never more ever more.
a manure tree odoring better than.
death is a noise unheard blaring
but death isn't your delicate plush
perfectly imperfect perfection. in my cleft
stunningly dim. death is. waiting and.
a silent riot of colourless gardens frozen
infinite decay. a notion so sweetly bitter.
death is a gray lady!so cometo my sheets and spread
your legs and salty tears and feathers gently or.
peacefully scream deAth in the rapture
of
my
palms and.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 11:02 AM UTC
Branded with a label
Stranded in a cradle
Am I Cain or am I Abel
Lay your bluff on the table
Clean blank slate
So pure and fresh
New name plate
New bag of flesh
Soaking up each and every sound like a sponge
Poking around on the ground until the first lunge
Provoking all the named big people's fears
Evoking emotions expounded over the years
Choking up all your elders with so many tears
Joking evenly with all the adults now your peers
I remember when you were nameless
unimaginable wide open fate
In your own world you were blameless
No need for a happy plate
Naked and free you can be shameless
Unaware of your birth date
Boundaries were open and frameless
For time you couldn't wait
Now join the adults and the aimless
Racing down life"s interstate
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
pitter-patter
p i
t
t erp at
t
er
pit t e r
p i t t e rp a t ter
minute feet
a s
l h)
p
(s
in dappling puddlespuddling
in
half lit
hallways
as grandfather's clock coruscates deep
vibrations through this midnight hour
i
peer
through
the
vine
caked
frameless translucent notion of thought
onto
the pasture of this my memory
of
a
midnight
past
;
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 12:23 AM UTC
I am searching for my bones;
fissured and brittle,
scattered haphazardly amongst full, upright skeletons
between the hairline fractures lie Polaroids of moments,
I slid them between the spaces so they wouldn’t fall out,
I took the sharpest point of lead to all the surfaces and traced the pattern of our descent;
– mine,
have you seen my bones?
I am sifting through dirt and sand to find them,
through shrub and bush,
through strewn sweatshirts and muddy shoes;
the archaeology of my body is missing,
I am weathered;
decayed and holed
I give each bone away in the hopes that maybe later it may be rediscovered
I gave you my wrist for you wanted to write upon it how much you want to hold on to it
and I gave you my pelvis to grasp and grip as I feel yours slide against mine
and I gave you my foot to pick up and place where I should be.
I feel extinct –
do I exist without that which holds my mass of muscles?
I collapse under their weight
I strung up my fingers and hung them around your neck to feel them on your chest when I couldn’t
I broke off that rib and moulded it around your coffee cup to see every morning when you inhale its bitterness
do you read what’s written on the fissures?
I know my writing may be illegible but you must strain, as I did, to see –
those Polaroids are fading; the landscape of the ocean you once photographed is disappearing into white
I am aimless, frameless without them
I am searching for my bones
to gather,
and pile
all in one pit;
a hole of calcium:
built, hollowed frames
and take a hammer to them all;
a mallot,
send shards of bone soaring
I cannot have them in my possession,
holding my poor structure,
my amorphous figure,
and neither can
you.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
I am a picture without a frame,
not hanging on a wall
but my image still remains.
I am matte not glossy,
postcard size for convenience.
You can have me with you,
take me wherever you wanted to.
I am a pretty picture honey,
a picture without a frame
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
Got got by bobby heady sleep eaters
Learned a living frameless
Never would I change this
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
I don’t know this place anymore
The faces aren’t here
The souls don’t linger just a moment
Conversations are void from the blank frameless canvas on my screen
JP caught the last train out
I was told he waved a silent goodbye
To the nobodies standing on the station
Eileen and Chris with their beautiful words
Fell apart and drifted away from us all
The winds of change taking them to the most remote places.
Eileen is dancing with the pixies and making wishes on stars
Chris not so
Gabrielle beautiful girl
Head so strong and wiser than her years
Has her head in a book or a family to raise or a degree in wisdom for all of her days
Paddy
Now paddy can be found down by the stream
Anyone who knew him
Will know what I mean
The fishes are high and the summer is long
But from this place your spirit has gone
Bathsheda
She ran
(And I mean ran real fast)
To the hills
where she runs free
Screaming obscenities
At anyone who might pass
A doff of the hat
A piece of that cake
A moment of connection
Make no mistake
A women of word
Who won’t take your fooling
But for that chocolate cake she would be drooling
Lily oh lily
Oh lily my love
I think you were sent from heaven above
You warm my heart still
But your not of this place
And it’s never here I glimpse your face
Gonzo
My friend
With a smile that hides the reality of a man
Your darkness I love
Your sorrow I weep
But away from here
The burden was too steep
Richard
Now what can I say
You just got up
Left the front door open with no poetic note to say good bye
We yearned
We missed
We adapted
Then we all left
The glue had gone
Helen
Let’s open a bottle and drown all our tears
Well we could
But your not even here
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
My vision was flawed
& clarity was restored
astigmatism corrected
giving unobstructed
sight and a healthy outlook
Designer frameless with
compelling style & flair
resting comfortably and
weightless on my bridge.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 5:02 AM UTC
do forgive you, dearest enemy of mine,
In your name I shall raise a glass of wine!
Your misdeeds were but a blink in my life(?);
Do not worry (if I am honest) I wish no strife.
I forgive you from the bottom of heart -
After all, in my life you had but a little part;
Towards you I hold no grudge or malice
Your name is not accursed in my palace.
I forgive you, even when I care little of you,
I forgive you, my dearest foe, because I loathe you.
I fear not of sin,
I embrace it and all that’s (supposedly) wicked,
One of the kind I am, out of all the souls restricted.
Restricted and limited by world’s laws and morals;
Men are imprisoned in their “peaceful” quarrels!
Democracy is an idea foolish and so overrated,
The word being rotten - that is directly related!
You see, my Dearest Enemy,
I forgive you fearlessly.
The men have lost their true identity!
It is failure that reigns in clear hegemony…
I forgive you…
Because that is what would annoy you!
The world have lost its battle of its feeble life.
World's end was by your metaphorical knife.
I forgive you, kindly,
Yet I refuse to name you.
Thus you shall be nameless,
Formless! Frameless!
But the Hope is not all lost.
The human mind will defrost -
Your reign will be over, forever
Right ideas will be merged together.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Brokenhearted and distraught
your eyes like rifles
loaded and cocked
enraged and disgusted
with their whites blood shot
You aim your gaze
when the lever engaged
and depart from the room
like the white waters rush
All your rage hung around the house
it lingers like soot clung
to a burnt out fire pit
Soon I'll be begging for
your return if
not by midnight when the candle burns out
You're back-and-forth always pacing
scattered like the wind blown rain,
but your image is quickly beginning to fade
with storm shadows racing
across moonlit drapes
sliding as darkness frayed from the shade
Nightmares adjust to the crest of day
plunging over the steepening cusp
of a burnt orange skyline slipping
from the horizon into tomorrow's dusk
Air inhaled as oxygen
has failed your breath now poisonous
The iron in your blood
corrodes metallic
flaking fragments settled in rust
Smoke lingers on the wall
clinging like a frameless picture
cockeyed and covered in dust,
with loosened staples brushed to the floor,
blackened as pieces briskly
burn into a crust
Sunlight reaches through a slit in the curtain
reflecting off of floating debris
spotlit against this grey smokescreen
Fire bellows between
load bearing walls,
bathing in kerosene cider and bourbon
Stay engaged despite an
eyeful of rage
staring down the barrel of a rifle's gaze,
assuredly fueling this fire to the
brightest and bluest of flames
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 6:02 AM UTC
As an oak will not grow in another's shadow,
so too our struggles, solutioning with reality
while as one and three, a couple in harmony,
must also be independent to whatever degree.
Thus, being as water, yin, and as air, yang, we
find a dance gestured by seasons of romance.
The choreographer's mind's path undefined,
like last moment's awe makes way for this one's.
A canvas with frameless frame and reality
as the brush painting us, even it's shadows
speak of light. Beingness as gleaned meanings
for all to share, seen through, if we were there.
A cacaphony, symphony heralding
song of the Universe, Earth and spheres.
From adagio, staccato, through to avante-garde.
Life sung accompanying the abundance of joy's Spring.
As poetry's music fathoms the depths of our heart,
heights of our intellect and imagination,
breadth of our spirit, well of our soul,
alluding to the unknown saliently.
Also, climate crisis demands a bond of Earthlings
stronger than ever before, and he or she
must be at the fore', if they want their progeny
community, partner, humanity to even live.
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 1:03 PM UTC