"fringing" poems
I gave myself to you,
surrendered to desire.
What I thought was toasty warm
turned out to be a fire.
You built me up
with words of how
lovely I could be.
All I had to do was
promise to never leave.
You ripped apart my confidence,
stripped me to the bare.
Pulled at my fringing seams
until nothing was left there.
You fed me lies of love,
kissed me with your
sugar coated lips.
You made me unhealthy,
your sugar made me sick.
By the time I tasted love,
you had fled away.
I should have known
you would never last.
Sugar has a habit
of making things
decay.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
Fathers faking false feuds
french folk fills fun facts
fringing fat failure flips Fredricks fame
Frappe from France
Fit from Finland
Far from Fiji
Flat fix from Florida
Fini finished!
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:24 PM UTC
You damaged my heart
Damaged like shattered glass
Glass that cuts through the only thing keeping me together
Strung flesh that is fringing with tears of sorrow
Once was glowing but now dimmed and dark
A foggy maze with monsters and clowns
Laughing
And now invisible
Unanswered questions
Unanswered moments
With only footprints remaining
Soon to disappear
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
In God’s mind,
there was infinity.
a slowly whirling,
glittering,
eternity
of terrifying bright night,
full of
flames that sprinted in ellipses,
and marbled floating globes with
golden belts of grit and sand
all this,
tethering His earth with their
gravities.
In God’s mind, there was
a glassy-toothed plesiosaurus,
smooth-skinned,
dark-eyed,
soaring through the
airy
green
deeps.
In God’s mind, there was
a rumply, wrinkly boulder of an elephant,
curling his corrugated trunk
shaking his curving tusks.
And in God’s mind there was His Child.
In God’s mind there were His children:
heads, feet, hearts,
muscles, nerves,
veins, eyes, and hands and mouths.
all these.
And once upon a time,
in God’s mind,
there was a
small,
feathered thing.
light-boned and fragile,
with a pert, sassy **** to its head--
a daring rascal of a bird!
It had a thin, flat tail like a paintbrush,
that flicked and bobbed as though
held loose in
an artist’s indecisive fingers--
As for the feet, their scales were like a lizard’s
gray, scalloped ones,
fringing eight skinny claws--
such a small bird!
And the wings --He smiled--
the wings were the best part,
those bronzy-edged feathers,
as neatly lapping over each other
as shingles on a roof.
Ah, yes,
in God’s mind there was
a sparrow.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
on soft feet the children
move on the leaves
tumbling up the color
and waste of warmer days
I wish we had
forever to cross this place
dust blue foliage fringing
the rocky edges up from the water
and air
and history
behind you quickly
the black cockatoo
plows the tight air
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
If only you knew
The poems I wrote about you
Every gaze left unrequited
Every time you rustled the leaves in this garden
And I had to turn myself invisible
Because I could not let myself love you
Because I knew you'd never love me back
Not in the way I wanted you to
Fall comes and I hurt
Sights of couples stacked on benches in parks
Even the leaves collide more consciously than ever
But here I am still
Pinning for a touch
Here I am sitting in your car
Watching the windscreen wipers go left and right on this rainy Sunday afternoon
If only you knew
How oppugnant my mind was too
Even the trees dance
Even the trees dance?
Even the trees dance!
I warned myself not to get into this trance
Even on the nights you wrap your arm around my shoulder when I'm hardly myself I know
Nothing warm is gold
And it will not stay
Even when you brought me away from the fangs of the safari
Even on the dusks you've saved me I know
All you do is tie
And cut
And tie
And cut
Our strings
And how well I played the fool to all your tricks
But you will never know
You will never know
Like the tattoos on your back that you will never read
Like the airs I feign that you will never breathe
Because you will never
See the way I look at you
When you turn the other cheek
With your eyes on someone else
I wish I was different so that you could learn to love me
Just words hanging in the air now
A comical portrait of self-destruction when I look back at the words I've written
So necessary
Fringing on insanity
Harping on a monster without wings
Still I had the last laugh when I
Played the fool to play you now these
Scratch marks mar the charms of your tattoos
But you'll never see them just as how you'll never see the ink I bled for you
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
I see a lot of Night Moths by day
this year
they battle along
ground level contours
they risk powdered tissue wings
whapping against your person
I question their mission
and wonder what cause
would be worth
such perilous behaviour ?
***
Spider descends on a fresh thread
new project ?
Changes its mind
re-spools itself
***
autumn sun and breeze
weeds fringing a vacant lot
settling quiet in me
***
i stop
rabbit is still
rabbit blinks
agreeing to run away
i step and rabbit runs
***
Birds grounding themselves
energy conservation for Winter ?
they feign at being flightless
and eat ground level berries
Oct 31, 2021
Oct 31, 2021 at 5:47 PM UTC
I sit on my sectional, a witness
to those vulnerable beings
pulling at scarves,
yanking at gloves
clutching at down jackets
I find great entertainment by this.
They have waited until November
When I have resided in frost
since last October
All year long
I held onto turtlenecks of impulsive irony
I bore
thirteen layers exactly
of self pride
I wore gloves religiously
that were knitted out of masochism
and egocentrism
And I drank from cups of hot cocoa
brimmed with whipped irony
during the month of June
I was far to eager
Now these glorious beings
surround me
clinging to warmth and long john material,
sitting closest to the hearth
All I can do is laugh
I searched for a shell
in June
I decorated a tree of longing
in May
I reached for a fringing
frolicking
frock
in July
that would
:gasp:
keep me warm
Fahrenheit resided in
pelvic bone
fingerprints
desperado
and seduction
None of it warmed my bones.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
it seems to me that the child is beheaded –
there is not much to look at in this paling weather.
moderate climates douse their bleak, blank face-ovals,
their frigidity has no relation to stone,
their silence, loveless as a fabric is torn wild
by a rabid dog, dragging it senselessly against the furniture.
outside, the whiteness bears no reputation of laundry
impaled to clotheslines: frilling at the collarbones,
fringing at the high afternoon, distinct flutings
of iridescent night-gowns,
they want the life of some lovelorn progeny.
the scald of water is his trademark – it seems innately natural,
those who, someone else lauds the **** verdigris
of trees, able to tell how immense the stasis
of the darkness is, outside when all homes bellow
a concatenation of absences:
it seems to me the child is guillotined at this
moment, verily, in moderate climates.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
My first thought is
I love you.
I want you.
I'm scared to go farther.
To hurt you.
But I still wonder if you'd let me.
This love and pain and wonder
Is eating me alive.
I worry constantly.
Especially since the pain
Will not be mine.
I am scared that
Our feelings will fade.
Wash away like a memory.
I'm scared to go farther.
To drive you away.
But I still wonder
If you'd stay.
This curiosity kills me.
Lightning in our skies.
Fringing the ends of my heartstrings,
Encasing me in my own lies.
My mind tells me
something is to come.
All I need to know,
Is that it's false.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
The wonders of the world
Fringing train track paths
Cities of concrete gold
Buses with lingering laughs
Conductors wave to asphalt old
Birds flutter in stone-cold baths
Colors become slightly more bold
As windows sweep the street light past
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
I walk through the main door, heaving my gaze on every little thing I could see,
Daggering signs of unkempt mess, spread all over the floor,
Fringing little pieces with signs of dust obscured upon,
Every little memory I could reminisce, every solitary object thinkable,
And I realize, that I’m standing in the same living room,
Which once filled with unmeasurable content, Is now long forlorn,
With the walls brushing out It’s colour, floor musty, ceilings ambiguous,
Belted, I stride towards my parents’ room, still average sized, albeit dullish,
With the purple colour turned pale white, windows covered with hefty dust,
Spots where there were perfectly sketched paintings, now withered,
And my small buried light of hope dashes, bursting into flames.
Next I enter my room, the place where it all began,
All the hopes and ambitions, the curious revelations,
The curtains, once a heavy shade of blue, were now worn out,
The walls had spit out it’s true colours,
And the essence of the cologne was still there, but rotten.
I stand for a while, motionless, allowing the memories to rush down into me,
Eyes closed, while my eyelids flicker, as if reliving it all,
Shredded with the load of despair, I walk out,
Through the living room, and as I ponder upon all the long buried mystical memories,
I close the main gate, lock the house,
And keep the key exactly where I found it, under the rugged doormat.
The nameplate read “Home”.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
A graceful death,
That's what she always wanted.
No one has to mourn her.
A sound sleep and smooth slide to oblivion
Flesh turned to ashes and strewn to feed the wind,
If that's the only way she could "go places",
So be it.
Surrounded by people
Clambering for just a peak at perfection.
Given her good looks, She was used to attention.
But this does have a quality of a celebrity.
Skirt wrapped around her endless legs,
One feet crossed over the other;
Gloved fingers absently pulling at the pearls at her throat
And her face...
Her face.
Serene in quiet acceptance
Eyelashes fringing her cheeks,
The red lipstick was perfect.
No not perfect, it was angelic.
Who could have thought
A picture of such serenity would have
shattered glass on the mangled car roof for a bier.
This was her leap of faith indeed,
Alas the let it be the final adieu,
The show is over.
Take a bow, Love.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
All within the dyed robes of rhyme,
and the subtle dispatches of sinful woe...
Enchanted in wisdom; a pilgrim's trot,
waging and waling at the spot.
Fringing at the hands that drew his fate,
ever so lonesome in his wait.
With scattered fears, roaming earth,
in search of what, truly, is dear and dirth.
There is much freedom, need I say, in passing time...
In the careless precision, pattern, and chime!
Dearest dreams, do float away,
and water my sight, with not grief this today!
While sweetest passions, of ides a-due,
devise in garnishing thoughts of two!
Later mine hearts, when candles do,
shalt guidance us to all, when I am through!
And when thine waters cease further fall,
all virtues when on then, shall hitherto stall...
Beware of that widow, that mocks at our night,
in pitch perfect light, stings mostly she might!
for when golden braids,
spike at God's feet,
away, shalt thy singing,
make surely we meet!
A.r. Bazian
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
The welcome sun gilded, the mighty seven mountain peaks
As fingers adorned with rings, they lay aloft our eyes
Beneath our feet, the silent sleeping snowy snake
Conquered on the kiss of cold, a cambered frozen line.
The eternal night of valour, written in silver past
Still shining in the faces of unshuffled uniforms of bravery
Twenty daring sons of motherland, in the ticking clock of darkness
On the giddy throng of foes, fallen lightning strokes.
Time was what they need, till the distant succour
They fought an infinite war, fringing their martyrdom
Until the land kisses, the unclouded moment of victory
For the present cradles to sing, made their last salute.
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 2:56 AM UTC
Hint: see his sonnet on his second wife Catherine, specifically the line--"...vested all in white--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVII)
Snow. Was last summer traipsing through a tale
Of mirey puddles? Ah. Tis wet fr'intents,
But with frore air presiding all's white hence
Or icy, like the curving claws that hail
From silent eaves, no scimiter--in pale
Excuse for fancied heights--but fringing thence
The void twixt roof and far below, a sense
Perchance of grasping in their scope's detail.
I look out half surprised all's buried fer
The umpteenth time, as flakes cavort now through
Unnumbered hours likeas soft mists in tour,
Sip that espresso foamed milk crowns anew
In thoughtful silence, not unlike that pure
Calm listning as snow falls in silence too.
17Feb19a
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
White roses hook sleeves
in a hot rain park
as we hurry to leave
a new fringing dark
of clouded eaves.
I drink mezcal, you sip
soft wine, we kiss
at the bar as storms slip
through streeted air
with a springing hiss.
Lightning lashes bare
angles of pink night.
We lean close, share
Sunday's appetite.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 4:19 PM UTC
Lying behind succulent lips
dressed in tiny pairs of wings
paranoid of consigning their souls to the skies
for the sun is briskly fringing their limits,
below them lies reflections of broken tongues created
by inkling souls
petrified to let pungents' of truth slither through to
my heart
because they know that it needs not beauty but endurance to sturdy,
the truth.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 8:38 AM UTC
Grows the night, tremulous passage nigh
Aught of earth ushered my boat of hope
Tint of virtue brightening cressets
Lights of love, I left behind the shore.
Grows the night, for the glitter I rove
For the lost heaven fringing my fate
Hue of kindness, I shown in the land
Eased the pain of death, while grows the night.
Jun 10, 2020
Jun 10, 2020 at 12:36 AM UTC