"freighting" poems
_[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]_
_(Winter-export)_, the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. _(Thick lips; quick still-hunt.)_ I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. _(Glimmering isle)_; my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. _(Parsecs quaking.)_ You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me… Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks _(freighting gemstones)_; King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.
_[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]_
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Enlighten Me-
I’m always underestimating self-master bating-
Graduated-
At the top of fund frustration-
My motivation needs money relations-
The contemplation of money making has my mind at a constant hating-
My breaking patience-
Has my mind like a **** relating-
Regulations of all my banking-
See my bank account disintegrating-
I’m suffocating-making payments-Late fee statements-
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Racking bills my back is breaking-my nerves are shaking-
Shaking more than I anticipated-
Now I’m here with a life to fear-
Writing till my mind is clear-
Writing till I feel what’s real-
Writing till I seal a deal-
Multiplying-
Adding-Subtracting-and dividing-
Signing more checks than providing-
It’s suicide I’m not denying-Rhyming trying its crucifying-
Clocking in before the sun is rising Grinding flying hoping griming-living life nine to fiving-
Its re-revising-Re-defining-Rectifying-
More so that I think I’m hiding-
Killing with finical violence-Violating my banks alliance-
Maxing plastic so fantastic now I need some re-advising-interest rates have a grown man crying-Million dollars seem so un-winding-
Now I’m whining-
Constant buying-
Gas rates got me into biking-riding-fighting-
Just surviving-any discount seems so delighting-winning lotto seems o-so-righteous-buy one get one is so exciting-
Boot leg buying I ain’t lying-
Being broke is constant rewinding-It’s reminding-so relying-over drawing is my new binding-it’s confining-so I’m finding-Making takings of my disliking-Making takings that are so dang freighting-dollar scratchers are so inviting-
But this realization is so enlightening-
Moving as fast as a bolt of lighting-
I’m asking you G-d to help me like this-
I’m feeling the pain and I think I might just-
ROB ME A BANK-
BY:
RICHARD ITSKOVICH
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
words are bones of the dead
exhumed by mind or God or worms
to serve as the razor’s edge
carving trenches along
tongues where words are hung on tips
of innocent cliffs above guilty shores
while dreams unravel their threads
to shed narratives even nightmares
fear to tread;
the labyrinth from ear to eerie
plunging fathoms beyond waves
into oceans without words
where context meets
space;meaning meets time
swirling currents
before your eyes
focusing your sight
into a thousand words
of blistering might illuminating
recesses with signs of life
clung fast to the boiling point
of excitement possessed by ecstasy
ebulliently freighting sweet air
to the surface
where the survey concludes
that pollution occludes all reasons
as to whether or not
the will might’ve brought
a word or two from
original thought.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
Angels cry beside my shadow
Looked up to the stars and you will see
The scroll of your life passing you with no remorse
Every now and then let go to the uncertainty of your hands
Derail once before by a freighting
desire of walking back to a dark corner
Darkest moment seeking my other face
Sensibility lying on the road to heaven
Promised to bowed in silence
As my tears flow through a river of sadness
The believed of eternity flows through my veins
True to the game, the streets still singing the song
Mothers bear witness to the unborn pain
Claiming for the struggle of righteousness
The blazing sensation of lust
Sweetness of love, blooming inside a rose
A flame burn inside a fatherless child
Drastically I feel the pain closing the door
The state of mind lingers and devours our sanity
On the top of a mountain my lungs clear a path
For the last breath of infinity
Expend a life time with a reflection of her
Chasing you through the woods, Shook a silent whisper
Serve one purpose, the light…
Her soft touched came through, and left me breathless
Long jeopardy reclaims my senses
Waiting for the massager to deliver me
From eternal fire…
Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 2:36 PM UTC
Van Gogh’s ear sings tales all night
Soulful moaning over mind’s eye sight
Antagonize the heart and turn the eye
A visitor to the heart or passing by
From this spring that we all drink
What whispers all the thoughts we think
Lunatic genius with eyes turned in
Tell me where my mind has been
A freighting tether is shelter and cage
Where the writer’s pen touches page
Ink’s fossil trail bleeding from my pen
A history of where my heart has been
To go and not say in doing so
Beyond this point no words can go
With feet of clay and hand to chalk
I’ve come to hear Van Gogh’s ear talk
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 1:51 PM UTC
“i don’t know where i’m going…but i’m not coming back here.”
you blurted out,
loud enough so we all could hear,
unafraid and unapologetic.
i was upset at first, but then
i was suddenly glad.
you were always bigger then this place.
i had to be happy for you.
you saw that big something
out there,
and you were the first to notice the freighting rate at which this town was drying up.
so,
go then,
there are other worlds then these.
these dried up ghost towns hold nothing but rotting piles of memories,
discarded beer cans and
the few of us
left behind.
i drown that part of me that wants to clamp down
and hold you tight before you notice the cage door shutting.
i know you are not a pet to be kept,
but the sight of your bright colors is enough to make me miss your song
and drunkenly beg you to stay.
fly away little birdie.
you were always bigger then this town,
bigger then this skeleton crew of
drunk could have been somebodies
who always remember way back whens, when things were better.
when we didn’t have to choose sides and
decide if we were staying or going.
fly away and leave us with the memory of what you were to us.
you can be the star of the stories
told over and over,
laughing,
choking,
dripping red,
wiping our eyes and telling of the times
we were lucky enough to be there.
you were always bigger than us,
and we all knew this day would come.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
Ever darkening the trees slowly take the sun.
Ever thickening the trees surely rule this trail.
Ever freighting trees making you have to run.
Ever attacking trees start causing you to flail.
Ever persisting they will do all that it takes.
Ever exhausting you soon fall from their wrath.
Ever defraying all of your major mistakes.
Ever realizing this was indeed the wrong path.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
They will try to fool you, tell you that retooling our factories will fuel the economy, making life better, it's an alpha bet from the ruling class, set the men to work again, to line their pockets with gelt again and then,
we'll be scrapped.
They tap into the psyche of people like me, but this ship is sinking, the Captain can't see it, it's caught in a whirlpool and there's no one to free it.
Alpine Cathedrals buried in mountains as grey as Welsh slate
where the men broke the tiles that covered the World.
And the old pits where Miners crawled flat to the coal face
to break out the fuel that heated our homes.
They're freighting us out to the Mausoleums, no doubt that my turn will come,
the industry that made me and the ones who came before me are being dismantled, sold off in auctions and spoke of in whispers like the ***** secrets they keep.
Still they'll try to fool us, tell us we're dreaming and all the while scheming,
but the pits are gone, the quarries, the lorries that fed from them, the communities, the men and their lives, children and wives, schools and they're still trying to fool us.
If we've never had it so good, where is the coal or the wood for the fire, where is the food and the clothes we can't buy anymore, where is the bottom drawer where we saved for those rainy days.
I'll tell you,
it was burnt with the rest and now no chairs for the guests that will never arrive,
to survive we lost it all.
They or them are the same ****** men, there's no difference, their politics are the shame of the system, we should get rid of them, but they won't allow it.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
...?...?...? I wonder how wonderful life is I wonder. I love life does life love me? We me how can it be? My daddy always warned me that there is something out the door I won't want to know. I found out what it was it frightened me knowing what I know but now I know so my daddy can't warn me no more . Oh life is freighting but not so wonderful.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
I can never make eye contact
You see the eyes are a portal to the soul
And seeing someone’s soul can be freighting
Especially when they don't want you to see it:
The light
The dark
The anger
The happiness
The sadness
The life
The death
The longing
The emptiness
The truth
I don't look into people's eyes
Because their soul screams at me through those small apertures
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Rhymes have their reasons
Time has its place
All anguish bestowed
On a soul’s fall from grace
At the darkest of dark
When the clock chimes midnight
The fears of the wretched
Fuel the devil’s delight
Each click of the clock
Greatens a freighting despair
Tick after tock
Twelve o’clock
Is almost there
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
Night is your "Hair" with a silver there is no despair.
Arms are the branches your matter is a tree swaying in the ice cold breeze.
This fantasy is moving and jumping.
Held green light for the animals to walk threw to get a drink of water as the machines halt until the next day at noon.
Trees screaming for help a smell was contrasting all senses.
There alive as me and you are and with out them a planet turns to dirt and dust.
So hinder there strives is some what of a must busting there medal hulks are our diffusion sketches.
An artist only sets with a brush and his thoughts to examine a fair leaf fall his path of imagery ideas.
Off he goes to explore, its landing with an ideal he transits its area
Flairs filled the sky hammers slowed there strikes in boarders of agreement.
Bigger machines with solar panels came in with drones of saws for higher yields of wow.
A budget was none for there pockets were ships and canals.
The wolfs and deer cast a moon kind of spell with there egos on edge they'd beyond there hunger for flesh.
Men what's in our sky, I see its blue and crystal and mist in a breeze.
The men all ran fast he couldn't believe then the machines rusted every so instantly.
His plains were erased it was to be seemed and then on he could weep.
Nature is not like "Gold" it does bring money although it will slow breathing when gone.
So maybe this could become a song when paper planes are all that's left.
And medal doors and medals shelves.
Medal scathes your face when you open up your door.
And a melody is produced and nature smell like s'mores.
You hear it now at least for now.
The sounds of tents unfolding and being set up.
Because its summer again and smells of nature that are unbending.
Arousal your heart beat with astounding.
Your skin gets goose bumps the first sight of deer dropping's strange at fact no its just appraising.
Ants and stick also insects climb trees in fun surviving.
When a man in a beard came up hiking.
He seen this tree man was it becoming his exciting.
The insect move faster from this man of in freighting.
And hunker down and give off a sting of flight to give him something he would much not find he like.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
This morning I had, a terrible dream
It was the end of the world, which stuck in my head
It made me scared, it made me scream
This face in a cloud, a cloud in the sky, a ski with no sun
A burning red face, with burning red eyes
Was it Satin or was it God,
That then said, we’d be better off dead
It came and went, from time to time
It sat there and looked, with a face that is sound
It’s stuck in my head, this face that’s so real
It’s freighting beyond belief, it felt so real
I woke three times, why won’t it stop
Why is it there, it scared me a lot, why do I care
It was only a dream, which was stuck in my head
Why did it make me, scared when awake
So scared, that I wanted to be dead
I write about it now, while stuck in my head
This dream that I had, this dream that fades away
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
There's a noise outside
a rustling of Autumn leaves
the candle in the pumpkin has gone out
and someone is trying the front door
The house is locked up tight
yet I do not feel safe
my curtains are closed
yet I am compelled to look outside
So I pull the curtains apart slowly
there's a face at the window
a face of murderous intent
pressed with killing eyes wide
This is my halloween nightmare
this is the freighting death of me
I have a knife in my hand
holding tight in the corner of my room
It maybe one or more
wanting the death of me
but whatever happens
it will be the death of me
A window shatters above my head
someone is in my bedroom
now coming down the stairs
with a blade with my name on
So it's my time
my time to die
this is my Halloween nightmare
this is the death of me
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
And on this sluggard
mattress find me
slipping
from a cast
of frazzled intrigues...
A continental tiredness
has undermined
all frequency,
alleviated
monologues
and more...
Gone
overboard,
abating, freighting
ingots by the pocketful
To soothing leagues
of mazarine,
I
dolphin
down
invisible
While
off the prow
of Longships Road,
the morning wades in tall
A nascent scent of wet light glares,
cetacean skinned.
Invincible.
Oct 30, 2021
Oct 30, 2021 at 4:39 PM UTC