"freckling" poems
It’s one of those nights
where I miss the way you breathe out the stars when you laugh,
freckling the sky’s velvet skin with drops of
gold.
Your lips were the sun
which I orbited myself around and
your eyes the moons which pulled my tides.
The Milky Way that was
your skin
felt just like Heaven beneath my touch
and your lips on mine ignited an incandescent
supernova.
And as I lay here now
I think back to the
black hole
that collapsed our celestial world.
All that we knew died.
Not with a whimper,
but with a
bang
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
*She dances, possessed by the haughtiness
That inhabits the children of pureness.
She spreads her locks over her heart,
Eglantine and amber, equal in parts.
She cries for herself, in a cruel ******
Her tears, flowing daggers in her soul of wax.
What are these insolent games she plays?
Teaching her shadows irreverent ways
And nurturing a hectic stillness.
What voices haunt her murmured boldness?
Her lullaby, pillowed by destruction
Hummed solely out of her own compassion.
She waves to her cousins, the silver lights,
Painters of the robe of the summer nights.
She burns ,as them, freckling the darkness
With a light, a fragrance, and a caress.
She is passion, a witness, a deity
Existing, not for light, but for beauty.*
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
darling
let us fill our lungs
with corruptive smoke
and descend into delirium
so we may appreciate the moments
when our breaths consist
of purely air
let us drown our stomachs with poison
so we may savor the potent mix
of acid and alcohol
searing our throats
and numbing our skin
let us sink our teeth
into the ripe flesh
of the forbidden fruit
and swallow the pit
while we´re at it
let us drink to forget
and kiss like careless strangers
as we bury ourselves under bodies
so we may feel something other
than the weight of the world
let us dance beneath a storm
not of rain
but of blood spilling out
of open wrists
with mouths gaping
and hearts shattered
let us relish these blurred eyes
and hazy memories
as our hands touch
but do not meet
let us hold each other too tight
skin bleeding into skin
nail marks freckling your back
i can no longer hear the music
so let us sing our beautiful lies
take my hand
and let us run through grayed streets
with reckless abandon
and as we go
we can pick the roses
allowing their thorns
to imprint new scars
between our fingertips
let us tear the feathers
from a white dove
so we may weave ourselves
wings to fly
to touch the sun
and steal icarus´ name
let us ignore our ambitions
and explore extremes together
let us shatter our expectations
and as two beings collide
let us breathe each other in
and indulge as if it were
our last moment on earth
darling
let us taste death together
x.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC
are you collecting the old counts of how
they slaughtered your son and his power-hungry heart,
twenty three knives to the torso,
the killing blow delivered by a beloved friend?
or are those the scrolls that you wish
dust would settle over forever, relics and reliefs of
everything you see behind your closed eyelids.
a politician’s mother
must be all the more clever; her son will not
be going into battle to die with honor
but rather with deceit. give her-- you-- a laurel wreath,
the irony of the goddess nike standing
golden over the tomb of your son: emperor,
caesar. mother of summer, of boiling july,
are you not the sun? are you not the constellations
freckling burnt pale skin? are you not
the fiercest and brightest of warriors, quietly,
without warning?
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
I stepped outside long ago
if only to step some more.
This cool wind
so unlike Florida.
A welcoming to
embrace.
It'll be gone far too soon.
My neck finally tires
hanging like a bowling ball
tied and held
to one most old
and weary rubber band.
My eyes come up
on a night everyone knows.
We all have a color
coating our pupils. Mine are blue
and guilty of ogling
even if this common sight grows
sadder and sadder
until it becomes
truly sad.
Many bright dots
freckling the sky--
and what body isn't
without imperfections?
--so much ours
so many.
Too many.
Those builders
of our own time
those without grasp
of selflessness
have such themselves.
Stinging night's veil
both by presence
and prominence.
with naught subtlety.
They shine beyond all
that have ever shone.
Illuminating
glaring and blinding.
We are not so receptive
down in the dark earth
where neon signs pollute our eyes
until the sun dusts it away
only so we cringe
and close them again.
What then can a satellite show?
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
I get dolled up
For no good reason.
Hair and makeup
It's that season.
To get dolled up
With no where to go.
No one wants to party or hang out.
So I'm stuck, dolled up, alone.
What a doll face I have
So pale with light freckling.
Pursed lips, pink tint
Bright eyes, sparkling.
A cute curvy doll.
With dark chestnut above
Graced with a pretty face
That no one will love
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
Freckling the sidewalks: puddles.
All a-bloom with oil, dirt and the reflections of flocks of birds --
Swarms of starlings winging around spires like maypoles.
At the ***** of the skyscraper’s spire: clouds.
Cradled into blueness by springtime, whispering away their last agonies of rain.
From their final cadence comes a tear
That tear dripping into those puddles making these ripples
Unwrinkle through needle-point skyscrapers, ribbons of starlings
And reflections of clouds.
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 11:31 AM UTC
Sometimes my heart holds a
bubble wand and blows sternly,
pushing pops of cheer: wispy
lavender spheres, reflecting a
burgeoning sky, floating up, defy,
defy. Carried by the winds of
sighs, encouraged by the whistling
of leaves on whooping branches,
and the shrill song of grass
over a coliseum mounting in dew;
gladness freckling in the sun
and racing to have run.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
I want to taste your constellations
Freckling your galaxy
I want to feel
Your sunburst kiss.
Guide my hands
Around your orbit
Where I can drift
For eternity.
I am your satellite.
Your daybreak smile
Constantly in my head
Running revolutions
During my day.
I could get lost
In your cosmic gaze.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
I like to lay in the cosmos;
Stardust freckling my cheeks
and hanging from my lashes,
it’s residue on my finger tips.
I dangle from the stars,
Saturns rings around my waist,
Neptunes blues in my eyes,
Jupiter’s storms in my heart.
I dream and dream and dream,
among galaxies and supernovas,
perfectly at home
in the void of space.
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
Spring is an awkward age –
she is transition, change,
the taste of heat but the smell of rain.
She is braces, bunches, tiny daisies
freckling a face.
She is the puzzle-pieced laugh
through a gap-toothed smile,
the hands that touch
through a broken space.
Winter has taught her
not to fear the dark,
but she still remembers
what it is
to be lost;
hence, she is little flowers
peeking shyly
at the frost.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
I can taste the huckleberries ripe on the branches
stolen from the fairy garden in the early summer
when the ravens weren't looking.
I stole a lot of things as a child.
I stole the UV rays from the sun,
tanning my alabaster arms
and freckling my shoulders.
I stole winks from boys in my third grade classroom
while the teacher had her back turned.
And I might have sold those winks
to other boys
for an extra juice at lunch.
Maybe I committed petty theft as a young lady,
taking the air from someones lungs,
******** in their light-bulbs and
blowing a fuse.
I'm a thief,
taking the light from their eyes
and the bullets from their guns,
I stole smiles
and never gave them back.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 4:12 AM UTC
Two people walk into a bar:
A woman, early twenties, permed-up, puffed-out hair
Horn-rimmed glasses thicker than coke bottle bottoms
Fresh out the ivory tower eager to learn eager to become who she needs to be
Parlez-vous français? She does,
Her tongue speeding over conjugated verbs
Flying effortlessly through another language, she is ready
To move to Paris, la ville de l’amour,
The City of Lights, the City of Untold Possibilities
She is ready, she thinks,
To fall in love.
A man, earlier twenties, close-cropped, clean-shaven hair
Sea-green eyes and 20/20 vision-placid ocean
Fresh out Basic Training eager to act eager to become who he needs to be
Do you read me, Sir? He does,
His spine rigid from standing straight and tall,
Hand crooked at his forehead in an involuntary salute, he is ready
To build fighter jets with his oil-stained hands
To build a life for himself with his carpenter’s fingers
To build a house on the stability he thrives in
He is ready, he thinks,
To let someone in.
Two people walk into a bar:
A man, an Army graduate, an old soul
A woman, a College graduate, a kind soul
Guitar riffs floating from the jukebox drift through the air,
Playing the background music for newfoundlove story.
Two people walk into a bar:
Friends introduce them to each other,
She thinks, Those green eyes sparkle with the sun freckling his cheeks
Reddening his hair.
She thinks, Maybe he’s the one.
He thinks, That perm really works for her frames her face what a pretty smile.
He thinks, Maybe she’s the one.
Two people walk into a bar:
Sit down, have a drink,
Share some laughs, funny stories,
Break the ice with awkward questions,
Eat some food, too shy to share it
Get some drinks, guzzle liquid courage,
Dance to the jukebox buzz
Look a little silly but pretend they don’t care.
They don’t care.
Two people walk into a bar:
Maybe they leave hand-in-hand,
Maybe they hug goodbye at the door.
Maybe they think about each other and call right away.
Maybe they set up more dates, more bar trips, more laughs.
Maybe they already know that they are in love.
Two people walk into a bar:
Their history writes its own punchline.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Fold and fold - endocrine leaf lets the wind
Unwrap and re-blend; the butterfly begins
Cram, dance; a league of sin
Reckon the world rolls away - The End
Death swept into the recycle bin
Smiles are sorcerers freckling the skin
God is the mandible and chin
And She is the rhythm that turns me in
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
Wading in and out like giants,
Titanic winter feet, brushed through like marble
They caught nothing.
They scraped against he canvas of the sky,
and where their curious fingers touched the
Low hanging fabric of the air
they sent pin-pricks of fire blazing through the night.
Almost gentle, they ripped trees from the ground.
Not from spite, simply to see
Where their water crawled
when they went to sleep.
They held the leathery trunks above their heads and looked into them,
freckling their perfect ivory faces with the black of earth.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 9:48 PM UTC
your eyes shine
bright like the stars
freckling the night sky
illuminating the blackness
your soul radiates
golden like the sun
awakening life everywhere
its rays emanate
caressing the rugged terrain of the earth
bringing the warmth
and the light that you are
to those around you
if your soul is the sun
then mine must be the moon
glowing solely through
the splendor of the
scintillating sun that you are
a beacon of light
guiding a lost soul home
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
dark hair
light eyes
tone fit body
he’s a perfect guy
smart with wit
this is it
I can say
please take me away
to this man
with a freckling tan
he’s beautiful
and says what’s right
he’s wonderful
take me away for the night
*…sometimes I’m taken over in butterflies
for a perfect guy with light green eyes*
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
If I ever have children
I’ll teach them about god
On
Family road trips
In a mini-van
With a candy wrapper carpet
And warm melted crayons
In the seats grand canyons
As the Arizona sun sets
Over the Copper State
Where you could almost swear
It was the red dusted desert
Painting the sky
Rain-less-bows of color
With broken butte brush stroke
Across the restless desert
As you twist around in your seat-belted
Body of eight years old
To the rearview window
Of an AC blasted
Softly singing stereo
Escaping out gaping windows
Leaving nothing behind
But a heatwave
Trying to settle down
Tire teased dust
For the evening stretch ahead
That you think might never end
As if god was using the road as a string
He had tied tightly to the family car
Carving the way though
Salty cactuses drinking licks of sand left by
Dirt devils dancing across the graves of
Lizards
Who pretended they didn't exist
But couldn’t fool the hawks
Who watched and waited
For more than just a lost tail
Or a forgotten story
But something clay
Concretely carved in to caves and caverns
With rock and bone
Something solid to hold on to
But my children need to know
That an existence is a slippery thing
Like the color from the buttes
As it slowly drips off the sky
And back into the sand
Leaving speckles of white
Freckling the blackness
Swirled with little
Tizzles of light
As homage to the desert moon
Whose crying stars for
Coyotes
Howling in time
To the crickets metronomic harmonies
Singing the desert back from its camouflage
Life bursting breath though
The earth cast shadows
Breathing heart beats across the land
That's just been
Brought back to living
And if I ever have children
I'll teach them
That this road will never end
At least not where we expect it to
Because god
Isn’t who
We make him to be
He
Doesn’t string us along a road
But he holds the world on a string
The End.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
all of my hearts feel injured
out of each mouth a separate tedium
unaccounted, all unaccounted
the ticking of this tongue flat and gross
in the stupor of days and-
and you are dead in the East
pale horseless East
freckling
falernum soaked feathers
for fathers
fatherless East, now
and farther
over the terminating sea
you have left me, here
and how sick I have been
how unimaginably quiet my bald mind can be
I touch my own forehead, lest I forget myself
I do not even recall, who I am talking about
I find myself in the strew of night, ineloquent
and helpless
how easily, I flicker
not even a copy of myself
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Sad reflections from
donated dreams.
Charity's
fallen embers.
Like a high UV index
they burn right into
your skin.
Freckling
your thoughts with a bit of compromise.
Close your eyes
to the possibility
inertia
has made itself at home.
You'll feel it, feel it
right to the bone.
But you crossed that bridge
long ago.
In the time of
tranquil misgivings.
You gave consent to
sin by offering up
your sons and daughters.
Drowning them
in the shallow end of dissipated water.
Sing hymns
all you like.
Piety
is not for sale.
And the angel light
that hits the wall
is not in the shape of Mary.
Evil always figures into
these things.
Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.
So burn your prayers
on a stick. Roast them
in the campfire. You'll never turn
to God until you lie
dying. Broken and heaving.
Asking for forgiveness.
Which a man of cloth
will grant.
Such a charmed life to leave.
Only it's a cheat.
A spoonful
of circumvention.
Making you feel
warm and clever
as you bleed out. Regrettably,
your vacuous heart
sailed off on the Greta Garbo
and mortgaged
your future for such marquee.
Banking on the
here and now.
From this there can be no redemption.
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 8:26 PM UTC
stars twinkled around me
until i had to notice them
until i had to open my eyes
they breathed across my skin
and planted themselves
deep inside my aching chest
i was filled with their light;
i took the leap upwards-
a journey in the celestial sea
i lost myself in the eyes
of jupiter, venus, and mars
freckling my skin like dice
the constellations drove
in donuts, around the sea
pouring themselves out
space was everything
space was always there
in waves of varying gravity
i rode asteroids into
six different shooting stars
until i held the world
the cosmic microwave
filled me to the brim
with it's premordial sound
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
long breath raked out, length of
day. thought pattern diffusing;
shadows cast on a broadening strip,
wallpaper hung close. stolen breath,
an orbit about you. consistent
glow. hinging on ripples, cut around
this field by clear breeze. branches
stretch, churning in the swept
air. held aloft, in their self-arrest.
i do not echo. this frictionless glimmer.
the vanishing extent to which i
can stop falling.
oh, but i do not want to. not
this time, sweet. each day reaches
out with tender hands, to pull
me up& out of this cavernous maze;
undoing meaningless shovelwork.
i find myself, under boughs, amidst
flowers. it's only slightly difficult to admit
this smile was smeared over
my freckling jaw, for nothing,
save for you.
even birdsong seems pale in comparison,
distant bells, ocean mist; undertow
beneath soft waves rolling
from your lungs to lips.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC