"freights" poems
•
will
you take
me into your
space...•cradle
me upon the
sultry limbs of
your nebulous
grace•the expansive
arms of the universe,
where peaceful
slumber awaits•your
poetry laden comets,
bore abundant love,
all towed in freights•
gingerly drinking in the depth
of your face•seemingly blindfolded,
i'll tread each dark crater•my head in
a swirl of your majestic trace•
where I would stumble upon
V a love ever so... V
/ | | || \
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( INTERSTELLAR )
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Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
-- about th'only way
to describe the noisy human highway
of rue saint catherine.
today (march 15th -- 9:22 AM) it is
full of hurried to'ing & fro'ing of general populace.
myriad hums of conversation. honking. shouts. ringing --
mixed w/belching of big trucks (freights) rollin' along
rises up 5 floors
and washes over me like a wave
while out on the balcony christening
the new season with a fresh pack
hacking a little (ah that crisp smoky air of dying winter!) for all
the ants to hear while the mists rise & ride & rise.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 9:44 PM UTC
The address of a melon. Table
hopping water, never happy enough with
it's last meal, especially after five hours.
San Antonio freights full of fire pokers
ashamed of how much salt they put
on the skillet.
it's just jello, I say, you can never have
too much salt
I shudder at mystic growls. Howling
through eyes. Did I meet you there, or
was that just another imagining?
Straight back and waiting. Middle
finger thumping, my feet just tapping.
I sit in a two days wait, a moment
passing. In the sudden it peaks,
it is gone.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
Don't get me wrong or let the wrong picture be painted
There is plenty in this mad day and night world to be romantic about
But the total collection of my generation gets too romantic to me
This generation isn't even how I pictured it
What happened to the rucksack revolution
The Gary Snyder dharma bums criss crossing the United States with thumbs outstretched, hoping freights and carrying their whole lives on their backs
That is something I get romantic about
Was it really that hard?
Or was it simply easier to stay at home to watch daytime television or evening television or whenever the hell you watch television
I admit I watch television too
And it's certainly no means to an end
But there is gotta be more to this crazy life than that
I don't feel romantic like my generation does
My generation rarely feels romantic about jazz
Jazz is some of the most unapologetic music I can stomach
You will never hear a jazz song that doesn't breathe into your soul
I am getting tired of your romantics
I am tired of feeling like I have to live my life by pouring deep love emotions from the well of my heart into another human heart
Half the time I want to love the whole world
The other half I want the world to leave me to sit and sulk in peace
If you want, ask the two that I've dated
One may not remember but ask anyway
Ask them if I was ever romantic
Ask them what it looked like
Ask them how it felt
Understand that I am the great black sheep of romantic expression
Understand that there is hope even when there isn't romance
Understand that there is hope in every beat of our silly human hearts and every flicker of an eyelid and finally understand that even if someone says they don't feel romantic about one thing or the next, understand that doesn't mean that they don't feel love
Love and romance are all just silly words we give to what goes on deep down inside where we can never see but can always feel
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
○
_I go in_circles for the clock is in twelve
Abusing the moments Yea! my time pendant
Thus,restraining your blemish the prudence to blot
○
The sweet sweet lullabies, and the soothing words in shelves
Keep echoing my heart,how susceptible its to the rots
I made you my queen so you took me for a treasured-peasant
○
You plagued me your freights
And left me in the dark,passions drunk in passions,its was all lust
When I fell flat to your vintage-wine dust
So day after day,and night after night,you rouse me to blate
The thousand tempest tears
That noveled the stories the wretch fear-ed
But,though I'm lost in lust, and of no home
You mean everything to me,so I shall still search,for you,my throne
○Untitled○
○Historian E●Lexano○
It's a sonnet...14 lines
Divided into six lines○sextave
And 8 lines ○octave
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
Late in the dark night,
with the stars a-light,
away from the freights
of everyday life,
I pretend I might
be with you tonight.
F'only you could see
the reason I recede.
Please understand me.
I internally
struggle to out speak.
Know why this must be.
My soul is tortured.
Now as I muster
strength to not falter.
But I much rather
be here together
and love forever.
Late in the dark night,
with the stars a-light,
away from the freights
of everyday life,
I pretend you might
fall for me tonight.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
An umbilical cord
Grown from my backbone
To assure a structure, a stronghold
In humanity's songs
Holds me from eternal darkness
To halt me from expanding nothingness
Yet to sight the stars' brightness
Their uniqueness
It holds me from behind
Makes sure I don't fall in line
The darkness amongst light
The foul upon the stars
The empathy of an everlasting night
To keep me from an unimaginable fright
Away from gaze of awful heights
Never ending falls, suspensionary freights
A body full of thoughts
Hollow mind cuts out draughts
Only if time could be stopped
I'll build an horloge in my head's clock
Steer me to a fantasy
Hold me for an eternity
Back down for a better me
I try to keep my sanity
For him
Me
The better me
The almost me
That could do better than I could think
Better than I would think
That would act at the thoughts to blink
Probably I shouldn't blink
Rehearse my fidelity
Work on my infidelity
A plane to eternity
For an end to a better me
An umbilical cord
That strucks my bones
Hard as a stone
I think it's trying to make me whole
Or to erase me
To think like everything
So I could become a sibling
To this cloned society
To accept the poverty
To fall for the beverages
To hold accountable the rich and the wealthy
For all problems that comes to think
My head is its own place
Not an ordinary place
A fantasy type of heaven place
Where only I belong place
The umbilical cord can't reach
My thoughts, mind, how I think
But it reacts Every time I blink
That I may act like everyone I see
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 3:18 PM UTC