"garter" poems
An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass
Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps
Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying
Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”
That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of stupid-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress
Some images just stay with you, ya know?
July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Hindi matigas lahat ng bato
Hindi lalago ang halamang nakatago
Pero kung bubunutin din naman
Anong silbi ng pagkakakilanlan?
Itaas ang kamay kung ginawa mo ito:
Ituro sa kapatid na bakla ang tito mo,
Kung gayon, ito ay duwag at gago,
Tingnan bilang presong kulong sa kandado
At kung sapatos ni kuya, suot ng ate mo,
Walang alam ni isa, pero sa ina sinabi mo
Nasaksihan ang paglisan ng nagturong pumorma
Narinig ang galit ng ama, sigaw ay "imoral ka!"
Putang ina, lahat iyon ay narinig mo
Hindi na kaya ng sentido mo
Mali ito, mali ito ang pilit ng lipunan sayo
Iwaksi mo, iwaksi mo, at tatanggapin ka nito
Sa oras na lumabas ka, wala ka nang pangalan
At araw-araw sa buhay mo, tila umuulan
Ng husga, ng ismid, ng dura sa sahig
Tawag sainyo ng kasintahan ay bawal na pag-ibig
Tomboy, bakla, bayot, tibo
Araw na binigyan ka ng ngalan tila naglaho
Binato ng panghahamak na gusto mo nang lumisan
Kaysa tanggapin ang galit na pinagmulan ay di alam
'Mahalin mo ang 'yong kapwa'
Banggit at turo ng May Likha
Pero bakit may galit ata
Nagpahayag nito't nagsalita?
Hindi ba itinuturing na kapwa sila?
Na kasama **** lumaki, magdalaga?
Kalaro ng chinese garter baga,
Kahit alam **** lalaki naman talaga siya
Ang saya na dulot niya di mo naalala
Nang minsan sa kanto'y sutsutan siya
Sapatos lang daw at k'onting barya
Tiningnan ka niya, ikaw ay tumawa
Saan ba ang lugar sa mundo para sa kanya?
Mahirap bang sabihin, katagang, 'tanggap kita?'
Tingin mo ba'y karamdaman kanyang nadarama?
Oh bakit nakangiti ka? Nahawa ka ba?
Kaya ba't ka umiiwas nang nalaman mo na?
Bilang kaibigan, oo nabigla ka nga
Pero 'wag mo naman sanang isiping
Naisip niya minsang ika'y makasiping
Alisin na natin ang malawakang pag-iisip
Na pandirihan ang kakaiba, pero subukan **** sumilip,
Lalawak ang saradong takip
Sana isang araw ang hangin, magbago ang ihip
Maging magkasama, pantay-pantay sa ibabaw ng isang ulap
Nawa'y mga anak nati'y maranasan, ekwalidad sa hinaharap
Matapos na ang inis at galit
Pagmamahal ang pumalit
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
#090316
Naabutan mo ba ang Chinese Garter o 10-20?
Luksong-lubid, Tagu-taguan, Piko o Patintero?
Alam mo ba yung Yes or No?
Gumuhit ka ng kahong pahaba't
Hatiin ang mga ito, marahil mahabang proseso
Mahalukay lamang ang tamang istilo.
Titingala't magtatanong, "Yes or No?"
At may magbabatuhan ng boses ng pagsilong.
Paano kaya kung ganoon kadali
Kung kaya **** magpatawad
Nang bukal sa puso't walang gitgit.
Hanggang kaya mo nang ipaubaya ang galit sa Langit,
Hanggang kaya mo nang lumaban na may sariling paninindigan.
Pagpapatawad
Sa mga nanakit sayo,
Sa mga nasaktan mo,
Maging sa sarili mo.
Kaya mo ba? Yes or No?
Bumisita ka sa Palengke,
Tiyak bistado mo ang 'yong sarili.
Hindi ba't pag mahal, humihingi ka rin ng tawad?
Pag di ba pinagbigya'y galit ang ibabayad sa Tindera?
Oo, mahal kasi; sobrang mahal
Kaya sana'y lambingin ng "oo" ang "patawad" niya.
May oras para sa lahat;
Maging sa paghilom ng Bayan,
Sa pagdidildil ng Asin sa sanlibutan,
Na Siya ring naghasik
Ng mga butong nagkalaman sa Lipunan.
Bahagi ka ng Tulang ito, isang tulang pasalaysay -
Payak at walang bahid na pagkukunwari.
Ibabalot ko ang tanong na "Yes or No?"
Batang 90's, iba na nga pala ang timpla't
Magkakaubusan na naman ng mga letra't himig.
Sige, magtatapos ako Sayo,
Pagkat Ikaw naman ang taya sa buhay Mo.
At ito na marahil ang Pagtatapos
Na Ikaw rin ang Panimula.
(P.S. Tapusin Mo, sa muli nating pagkikita)
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
He was large as frogs go
Fist-sized happy rotund dweller
of backyard pond
Garter snake large, too large
with his ominous yellow stripes
and jaws to take
a larger than average mouthful
Choked by abdomen's girth
Legs drooling from his glut
Before the victim's even hit his gut's
digestive juices
Kid with hockey stick makes him puck
for his sin
Frog makes desperate
slim swim for rocks
Where he lies in recovery
from shock and
teeth marks on his belly
Underdog gets defense from phone call-- Eve
150 miles away
intercedes
Frog gets mercy of a transport
to another backwoods pond--
to find his life
forgetting trauma
Suns himself and swims
Eats the bugs
and ***** the froglettes
of another day
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
Your truck knows it all
It contains our whole relationship
It knows the beginning, middle and end
I loved seeing those lights
Knowing you were driving to come pick me up
It made me really happy
And sometimes
Even a little nervous
But in a good way
In the summertime
We had the windows rolled down because it was hot
In the winter it was cold
But we'd find a place to park and make it July warm
I almost lost my innocence in that passenger seat
We did so much in that truck
We talked
Laughed
Shared
Kissed
Argued
Cried
Stressed
Freaked out
Held each other
Loved
That truck knows it all
Those camouflage seat covers still hold our passionate sweat
The drooping brownish red ceiling absorbed all our words, feelings and keeps them there
Even today
The plastic in front of the gas gauge doesn't feel as whole without one of my pictures covering it
The center console probably still holds one of my notes
Saying how much I love about you
Who knows, the glovebox still may hold my garter
The lace with a tear on it from prom
When the truck heard you say you didn't care anymore
That truck holds everything
All the feelings and emotions
Maybe not so close to the surface anymore
But it will never forget the stuff you've let yourself unremember
That maroon Chevy still loves me
Even if you don't.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
THE TROUBLE WITH TIGHTS
The trouble with tights, they dangle.
They’re very annoying at times.
When around your ankles they slip.
Snag them on the garden gate.
When on the way to work, they rip.
Just as you’re in a mega dash.
They really are such irksome things.
Tights are laddered, cash all gone.
Still need to carry on.
Of course, they have their other uses.
Will fix a broken fan-belt well.
Maybe a robber of the money institution, will find them a lovely disguise.
The only bank robber ever caught.
In possession of a pair of long nylon ears.
Stockings are much sexier.
Lovely soft and silky.
For whenever you are feeling *****
Who ever heard of wearing tights, beneath their wedding dress?
Wear them for a date.
When pretty woman goes out hunting.
Just to find her perfect mate.
Surely, stockings must merit the order of the garter
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
716
The Day undressed—Herself—
Her Garter—was of Gold—
Her Petticoat—of Purple plain—
Her Dimities—as old
Exactly—as the World—
And yet the newest Star—
Enrolled upon the Hemisphere
Be wrinkled—much as Her—
Too near to God—to pray—
Too near to Heaven—to fear—
The Lady of the Occident
Retired without a care—
Her Candle so expire
The flickering be seen
On Ball of Mast in Bosporus—
And Dome—and Window Pane—
2.2k
She wore yellow shoes on her wedding day,
They reminded her of the sun,
She wore a blackened garter,
To remind her of what he'd done,
She wore a deep green eye pencil,
To remind her of meadows true,
Red upon her cheeks so pale,
Enlightened her eyes cold blue,
She wore a clinging silken gown,
Caressing her curvy form,
The brightest white, as white as snow,
That glistened in the dawn,
Around her neck a silver chain,
As silver as her hair,
She sat alone, elegantly,
In her old dusty armchair,
Fifty years had passed away,
Like the flight of an albatross,
Her shoulders weighted heavily,
As she carried her burdened cross,
For on that day, her wedding day,
She waited and waited more,
He never showed, and left her there,
He'd left her alone once more,
She stared into the looking glass,
As her life had passed her by,
But every May, she wore the dress,
And a tear fell from her eye,
She wore yellow shoes on her wedding day,
They reminded her of the sun,
And now the blackened garter,
Lay on the floor undone.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Sleeves of scars
and a garter of silver lines and burns
oh the hurt I've endured
Seated by the fire as a child
Lord knows I've had thoughts like this for a while
I'd dwell on the discretion I took
brooding over every hook that snagged my flesh
made a mess
of the little girl I never was
and they who shook me
pet me from the inside out
must have forgotten to what degree
their consumptive hands made me bleed
God how I wish they could see
every stain left with or without cause
was provoked by their nostalgic applause
but I don't even blame them
It was a conscious disease
perniciously eating
still chewing at me.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Ripped curtains,
angry clowns
a bottle of absinthe
on the table stands
' that stuff rots your brain'
he says & she smiles
& pours herself a little
the angry clowns
try in vain to mend the curtains
he knocks over
the bottle of absinthe
& she raises an eyebrow,
fixes her garter
outside, the cardboard moon
plays with the dark,
they kiss,
a youthful painter paints them
having paid
for his latest brush
as usual
with *** & lies
a white lily in a vase
looks on
silently
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
Such a snake you are,
poisonous words dripping like venom from fangs under bitten lips,
striking at the ever-so slightest nudge of your tail,
retreating and hissing for help from those you belittle;
Do I really seem like such a foolish little mouse,
slave and prey to your every whim, every change of mind?
I'd like to think not;
For your cussing and fussing, screaming and shouting,
while throwing a little hissy fit, is not proper etiquette,
even for a reptile such as yourself.
Such a tiny wriggling thing must be put in its natural place,
relocated to where it cannot bite the children
to where it can go find others like itself,
away from the big scary predators that might hurt it;
Humans, cars, bikes, cats, dogs, oh the possibilities are endless,
but you wound up in my path, unlucky you,
a demonic and unforgiving rage personified;
If you are a snake, I am a dragon,
if you are a fish, I'm a bloodthirsty shark,
darling don't you see how this works?
I've dealt with you long enough, you pest, you ungrateful little thing,
my mercy is off, our truce is through, now God only knows what'll happen to you,
did you think me to be a kind human being?
Well, I guess you're mistaken, so take a number, sweetie,
I'll call for you when I'm done sending others to the graveyard,
for if you think I'd even hold you at the top of my list,
you're sadly mistaken, yet again;
You should probably stop trying to predict me,
stop blaming me for each little thing,
for a predator can't be blamed for taking out pests,
nor animal control for relocating vicious creatures;
You silly little snake, do you think yourself to be a viper,
when really you're just a common garter?
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
i remember that day in the afternoon sun
the garter snake passed lazily through the tall yellow-headed sourgrass
or maybe time was edging toward stillness
as it so often does in mental replays
there was cold, clear water in a tall, clean glass
that sat still at the end of your fingers
the sunlight hit the sides and it came through the water tilted
at the same angle as your head as you smiled
i saw the condensation on your hand
and wondered if it would feel cool against my skin
or if all I'd feel was the warmth of you
i could feel the glaciers melting
drop by drop by drop
and a warm, soft wind
covered up everything
on the day your love came screaming through me
you had oranges and lemons in a canvas bag beside you
different hues of summer in that pouch you brought along
there were seven different kinds of light welling up inside of you
you smeared citrus pulp all over me, in laughter like song
gone too quickly to tell you I longed for you to stay
gone to good old east rutherford three thousand miles away
i felt the warm surge blast my mind
coming in from behind
on the day your love came screaming through me
in the fresh light of day
i felt something falling away
on the day your love came screaming through me
*i remember that day
time was edging toward stillness
as it so often does in replays*
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
my 30 gb iPod
the garter from my senior prom
a tiny golden cross that had
faith & hope
inscribed into it
the base to my son's car seat
& his monkey mirror
my husband's suit jacket
& seven years of my
life written into
various paper journals
with colored covers
these were all stolen in the
first car I ever owned
her name was Lydia
*"She was the most glorious creature
under the sun."*
that comes from a
Groucho Marx song if
you didn't know
my Papa used to sing it to
me all the time
anywho
she was a 2000 Dodge Neon
painted black
two stickers on the back
"COEXIST"
and
"SUPPORT THE ARTS
KISS A MUSICIAN"
I got her my first year
of college from
a man who's like a father
to me
we've been through many a
busted radiator hose
& flat tire
last summer my husband was on his way
to work when Lydia gave out on him
so he left her at the side of K-15 and MacArthur
in Wichita
& told the cops not to tow her away
'cause he'd be back for her
when he returned after his shift
she was gone
nowhere to be found
a vanishing act of pure mental hell
& unanswered questions
to this day
I miss her terribly.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
And so it begins, this tale of woe,
As a howling wind began to blow.
She brushed her hair one last time,
And set about her perfect crime.
Anticipating the sound of key in lock.
She glanced herself whilst taking stock.
She could not help but stop and admire,
Her provocative sensual ****** attire.
Black matching lace expensive Lingerie,
Purchased especially from town that day.
She carefully rolled her stockings on.
Any sense of guilt had all but gone.
Placing her feet in her killer red heels.
Reminiscing how he liked how they feel.
Consoling herself as the widow Ms Carter,
As she hid the capsule in her French garter
In the kitchen now the lights are dim,
And the candles flicker, flicker for him.
She hears the sound of his key in the door,
As she prepares the meal, a meal to die for.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Lost in the fumes of a cloudy exhale
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water.
My remains are scattered somewhere
between boyhood and gutter trash.
The present is hardly of concern
when the blankets of mud offer such astounding
silence.
This swamp was flooded with the prosperity of quitters.
-
The face of the street I grew up on
has been radically warped and distorted.
Leave a good thing to the elements long enough
and you’ll see it begin to degrade.
Dust gathers and mold begins to creep in
from the moisture lingering in the air.
It happens to our childhood toys
just as easily as it happens to the people we know.
-
Everything still holds the same shape;
the same structure that casts a shadow in memory,
it’s just that now the cosmetics have worn off
and you can see the tired lines start to show.
You can hear the creak of arthritic wooden steps
to front porches where old kin with liver spots
sit and drink a shared Ice House 40 oz. while spitting into the wind.
Cavities from a candy coated childhood.
-
There are strangers in my old home,
that place where my uncle lives
surrounded by VHS tapes, pictures of Brett Favre,
and reminders of dead cockatiels.
The biggest struggle is trying to recall
if he was always this way,
or did it take a forty year dope binge
for the hoarder to finally stir?
-
I wrote my name in the sidewalk at the foot of steps.
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water
and check under the bushes for garter snakes .
My stomping grounds have been wiped of footprints
and grandma’s violets don’t come in very well anymore.
They cut down the walnut tree, and got rid of the porch swing.
No time for whimsy, no time for strays.
The cicadas will sleep for ten more years, ‘til summer.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
(By Sir William Topaz Crawford-McGonagall, Poet and Tragedian, Grand Knight of the Pink Garter)
'Twas a Monday morning, in late February
When the clouds were covering London, thick, dark and heavy
(A beautiful city, when the sun is shining,
But not if it rains when people are out dining)
And waking up in the morning and looking at the sky
I felt quite sad, and moved to sigh
Because not only was the weekend over
(Which, having to go to work, I easily did discover)
But alas! the darkness made to sink my mood
(And that was not very good
For being in a low mood takes away my joy
And makes me feel like a grumpy and unhappy boy)
An Lo! The forecast was for more to come
Until Saturday or Sunday, at least, no chance to see the sun
I tried to think of things to do
Which would, perhaps, make me feel a little less blue
Despairing of the weather, I set to work
(Because in order to earn money to pay the bills, one must not shirk)
And bent like a Trojan to my labours
Hoping that happiness would be repaid as a favour
And slowly - oh joy and great day! - my mood it turned
And the harder I worked, the brighter it burned
So now I do not worry about the weekend
Because after the week which it subsequently sends
Another weekend itself there appends
And it all seems to work out quite well in the end
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
**his body is bread,
made of dough kneaded
through generations
she knew.
he sensed her cannibalistic urge,
even before, from her irregular breath,
now, under her garter belt half untied
he feels
a knife.
he knew she was
the exquisite red wine
matured in the
wooden barrels in darkness of time,
found only on the table
angels dine.
her blood red
intoxicates even from a distance,
he desired the sweet and sour
of her tender flesh,
goosebumps infest like pox
when he closes his eyes
and imagine
licking clean the chalice
filled with her.
The jealous moon
looking down at them,
from her high perch whisper:
"You are made for each other
no doubt"**
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC
Crushing out handclaps like cigarettes
white noise whispering from each speaker
song long over but the melody lingers
codas in my mind, over the reports of car alarms
and muffled conversation
loose plastic groans of the office chair
Another clean night viewed thru slanted blinds
cold feet bare on ashy shadow carpet
smoke in the air, streetlights slit in beams
memory slips, hands type toward
a dreamlike place, some lost day
I set it straight
crippling nonsense intense
packed tight with grilled cheese and avocado
Cazadores and cranberry push back sleep
tiny cardboard boxes fill me
******* fluidity, one brown duck
among the aggressive others
that look on your face
riding a rusted bike on your birthday
your smile luminescent
around the lake and then
perhaps a beer and a hug
potential tumescence grabbed and poked
eating rusty water from an old brown glass
leave a leather letter, a leather gun in hand
garter belt memory, a trombone face
a cardboard avocado, a lost refrain
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
Dancing by,
A dead eyed darling,
As passersby cry out her praises:
"Such energy!
Such passion!"
She shrugs out a smile
As her shoulders start
Collapsing in on themselves.
Wear long sleeves
To disguise decaying flesh
And frankincense and myrrh
To disguise inevitable death,
Shaking hands with toothy monsters
And hand-made paperweight professionals
Who enter the threshold of accidentally
Pulling off a frail finger.
Pinned to a board of ages,
Chronically captured chronologically wrong:
"You seem so much older! You are so mature!"
Placing, onto fifth-grade-science-project bones,
A corset of expectations and
A garter of gold,
The tiny bird of a girl
Can't hear her songs over the
Sound of her body giving up.
Bury your wishes for me next to my corpse.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
.
We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
I feel it creeping
the urge to bleed
to drink scotch
to wear tight leather pants
and tee shirts or ripped tops
or some dress that leaves little to the imagination
with a corset and a garter underneath
matched with towering heels or thigh high boots
I want to skip town
to kiss new men and ladies
to rouge my lips and cheeks
to cut my hair short
or grow it so long
to cut my arms deep
and buy a motorcycle
and date a guy who smokes
who swirls gin
who always takes charge
has no problem making decisions
and outwardly looks down on me
who calls me young and naive
and loves me that way
and says i'm sexier for my innocence and youth
and is much older
and flaunts that he could leave
who pulls my hair hard
and picks me up with ease
and kisses my neck
with smoke rich on his tongue
and likes me better in flats so he can feel even taller and stronger
and who keeps an arm around me when we go out
so that everyone knows i'm his girl
and loves to kiss me on the subway and relishes in the looks we get
and looks at other women
But he loves me
and knows what i'm worth
even if he wont say it
he needs to miss me when I leave him
when I skip town again
he will miss my voice
my kisses
the sweet words I use
my laugh
my body
the way I move
what I do when the lights are out
and how he let out some ****** deviant from within me
And the simplicity of my love you's
how nothing in our relationship was a show
I want to break outwardly
to make these mistakes
to stop clinging so much
to the past
to ideals of true love
to my virginity
and everything i'm told to want
I want to wear black instead of pastels
and bleach my hair white
and make the boys want me
for once, let them want me
I feel the urge creeping
but instead I will stay home
slippers on my feet
Earl Grey in my hands
record scratching out some Fleetwood
with my sweet flowery clothing clinging to nothing
I'll do my yoga
clean my room
and finish all my homework
I'll call my boyfriend who loves me dearly
who I think I love, though others tell me that is not so
because I want for a different life
though I deny that he needs to become my life
I'll write some poem about human nature
and tell my perfect boyfriend not to smoke
I won't tell him how hot smoking is
I will spend time with my parents
do some more yoga
take my anti depressants
do the exercises my therapist told me to do
and wish I could change my life
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
Fowl meadow grass - Glyceria striata - the striations
on the lemma. Drooping rachis
a weeping willow of a grass.
Recurring periwinkles, myrtle, Vinca.
Helicopter petals. Evergreen leaves.
Escaped from gardens, alien or native?
A little further by the spruce stand
a new mustard, cuckoo flower - Cardamine -
with pinnately compound leaves. What a find!
A good day turns bad.
After you've died, one of them dogs digs up your grave.
You may sit in the rain and think.
Maiden pink.
The dark circle inside the flower
a g-string or garter.
O to fail well. To lay low. To live long.
To run slow. Feel the hill. Pressing down.
Do less. Until one thing's done well.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~
My first love, so soft and steady
When did you become so frail
Since the veil I lifted from your morning face?
When did that constant heart of yours
Wane and flicker in the dale
Your cheek pale as a brush of garter lace
That pocket watch I forged with love
To last a lifetime give it here
Though I fear to play at God, I need more time
Marilyn, drink your tea and sleep
Worry not what I do with fire, with brass
This will pass pumping cogs in motion all a-chime
Now
Let me rest my head upon your chest
Listen intent to the rhythm
Of you still here with me
I cannot hold fate off forever but
Hold me dear, at least a little longer
Before you go.
tick. tock.
.•*•♪ღ♪••.¸¸¸.•¨(¯'’•.¸(♥)¸.• ’´¯)¨•.¸¸¸.••♪ღ♪•*•.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC