"glasshouse" poems
I destroyed the pretty.
It's all emptiness now, what do you expect? You can't expect me to trust you further! Why would you let me break?
I destroyed the pretty.
It's not the question if you trust me, it's the question if I still feel a needle in my arm. It's the question for love and pain; a heart attack in a field of broken Roses.
Why can't you break me further? I am done, and you took my lifesaving essence.
How may I feel betrayed today? If it wasn't you that destroyed, oh, but it was me.
I ruined the pretty, I destroy the last lovely, I broke it.
One was left, now two are shattered.
So give me pain,
pain to ban the feelings,
pain to ban my life decisions,
pain to ruin further what's already lost,
has always been meant to be lost.
God why does it hurt so bad?
It's not like heartbreak,
it hurts like betrayal
and it hurts like death.
The feeling of death, deeply sitting down, wearing me out like a broken glass of beauty.
I threw you down, Glasshouse
Pretty
Beauty
I destroyed the pretty all the beauty is what I took away.
Shattered on the glass wood floor.
Death crawls up my spine like a spider to its to be killed prey.
I can't hear you anymore, how could you???
How on this earth dare you???
You left me!
You let me break you.
Why would you want that?
Isn't one destroyed body enough?
Isn't my misery beautiful enough?
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.
i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic
no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.
at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.
for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.
the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.
this is my spring love,
this is bliss.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
*Lightning Enchantress & Her Diamond Absolutes,
Moaning Fluxes Of Her Satellite Pursuits.,
Phantasmal Intents In Her Indigo Silhouettes.
***** Eyes & Animatronic Bliss,
Her Cherry Lips Calling For Her Symphonic Kiss,
Inimitable Raindrops & Iridescent Perpetuity,
Condensed Laments Of Her Kaleidoscopic Sphericity,
Purple Palisades & Platinum Charades,
Pheromone Verses Of Her Propelled Shades,
Shapeshifting Reveries Of Her Hourglass Fictions,
Charming Archangels Concealed In Her Convictions,
Glasshouse Perspectives Emitting Luminescent Predictions,
Magnetic Canvas & Her Stainless Vibrations,
Her Aesthetic Amour Diffusing Amplifications,
Satirical Saga In Her Spiritual ******
Lyrical Charlatans Of Her Velvet Creativity,
Crystal Flowers & Supernatural Dreams,
Befuddled Effigies Of Her Cryptic Realms,
Her Feral Gleams Illustrating A Prophetic Queen.
- 02:32 AM -*
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
the old man that lives
in my head...
woke up today and said....
nuthin new under the sun.
at sometime son,
we all be...
fakers,
takers,
****** muck rakers.
if you think,
you above that.
then...
you must be livin,
in a window-less,
glasshouse, son.
sitting on,
stoneless ground
and smilin...
cause you just don't know,
how downright, dumb,
you be.....
take it from me...
we all born into sin
and we all sometimes,
still like to put
a toe tip in
and swirl it all around....
see what can be stirred
up
see what can be found...
it's what we do with that
slime
that makes a man, gentlefolk
or street-grime......
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Barry loughton was a great bloke
you see he liked Aussie Rules and Fitzroy was his team
he had a hobby farm as well and i liked the idea of when he told me that
actually Barry was the man that changed me
you see he liked watching the FAT and he liked writing his poems
he liked the old style cricket and we joked about seeing the other half live
I liked Barry loughton, he was little but he was nice
you see when i watch TV at home and a show like the Glasshouse
or ***** laundry comes on, i think of him
Ir was hard when i found our he was dead
he fucken hung himself, WHY WHY WHY
since then I went backward because seeing his happy face and knowledge mind
was all i liked, we went to the war memorial him and my mate Dan
but i am searching for him, what me being Cronus and all
and i found him
Barry Loughton is now Darcy Tadich age 10, who is the latest inclusion to the Neighbours cast
I liked Barru loughton’s stone in the shoe poem
have you ever gone through life with a stone in my shoe, I do,
well Darcy has that stone now
can i tell you one thing, barry was a very happy choppy when i rang him up
we talked about his trip to the Bradman Museum and trips with his son
now, i wish 10 year old darcy all the best after his last life was a terrible suicide
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
I like old glass windows,
how they’ve blurred and frosted over
looking like the back of a used postage stamp
everything behind them a shadow.
I laid in a conservatory, a glasshouse,
after ruining your relationship.
The green things just barely hid me:
I wished I had been some place more antique
less inhabited, less cared for.
I wished I had not been seen.
Leaves danced out insults, all were true,
*** tourist, homewrecker, and everyone knew
because I became proud to have hurt her
when I had only meant to hurt you.
To run would have been preferable
although wine-colored flora may tango up my
ankles, spiral to the belly of my heels.
You know how my feet seemed ******
in the red Georgia clay?
Yet the arch remained clean, elevated by itself?
That is how I was,
ripe and daisyed in a surrounding brick.
I wished I had not been seen,
rather purchased a futon set that is not more
than a silhouette behind stained glass
and ended myself as well I as did you and her.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
I walked in the park
To put myself right with the world.
I thought, ‘I’ve worked all day
I owe myself this time.’
Mid August and the late afternoon sun
Was already peering through the trees.
Was already forming lengthy shadows,
I thought, ‘Summer is on the wane
And there’s been so little of it.’
Away across the valley
The city is winding itself up up
For a Saturday night.
Lights twinkle and boom boom
Of the bass bins in the boots
Of the chavs’ motors boom boom.
Then the sirens start and the girls shriek.
Over the hill, past the lake,
And into the Rose Garden
Empty but for an elderly couple
Strolling strolling under the canopies of roses
The shade gloriously dark green
The shade so inviting to sit and watch
The geese launch into their evening flight
To scatter over the chestnut trees and away.
I sit where I’ve sat these many years
Usually alone, and at this hour,
And in this season resting in the perfume
Of Meg Merrilies and Harrison’s Yellow.
And now you’re here! I see you
Walking through the Gate of Two Storks,
Past the glasshouse with its cacti and vines,
To sit beside me with your brightest brightest smile.
I am so full of happiness in this day-time dream.
I am so full of happiness you are sitting here.
Your voice is a real as the rustle of your dress.
You rest your left hand on my right arm
And gently so gently stroke the golden hairs
Towards my fingers oh so gradually.
I hear the sweet breath of you,
I smell the sweet scent of you,
You are my dearest dream
My heart’s companion, my gentle lover,
My dearest dearest friend.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
My DNA has lost its way
I don't know who I am
the double helix strangles me,
can anyone untangle me
or would you leave me dangling,twisting,eroding
slowly in the coding,hanging from the lowest
common denominator,
apeman, ape man ,no escape man
it's all relative
we all sit in the glasshouse and
pretend
that we all live.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:07 AM UTC
Someone should explain to my parents that I have
very good reasons for liking other girls – for example, fields of flowers.
My mother, the gardener, must see the way our long hair
meets and forms an orchard
when I sleep beside a beautiful woman. Translucent
wrists, veins folded into a glasshouse –
if she wants to know how I can hold another girl’s hand, tell her that.
Farthest thing from unnatural, tell my mom
about how she and I build whole habitats when we touch – earth’s
parents, this is our offspring
trailing up everyone’s spine, curling around raspberries
as a toddler would climb onto furniture. Tell my parents that
I am not a lesbian to spite anyone, but
because I loved Mother Nature so much I thought there should be two.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Such
revealing
beauty
lies
within
tragedies
of
reflection.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
Mimosa pudica retreat
Humid glasshouse, rainy day
Pane-separated from the world
Exhaling foggy vagueness
Colours run wet
World through window walls,
a distorted Monet reproduction
Morphing, mixing, mushy
Each canvas exists for a sliding second
Glass and breath
Collaborating through condensation
Our fuzzy-haze masterwork
Panoramic gossamer lens
Magically softens
spiky, scratchy, sharp, crispness
into a smudgy simulacrum
A kind deceit
Frowns, scowls, growls,
and bared-toothy rage,
all smeared
Gently redacted
Calm, dreamy, pillowscape broadcast
Impressionist buffer
In muted pastels
Reality in artful disguise
Remoulded for ease of consumption
Sugary spoonful of subterfuge
Sifting, sorting, selective
Incomplete and fragmentary
Blur-clouded brain-break
Intermittent extra distance
Breath-focused,
soupy-warm,
momentary masterpiece
Just for me
Until my leaves unfurl
Oct 4, 2024
Oct 4, 2024 at 8:32 AM UTC
kneel down at the church and hope to God he's listening
****** mary was always crying, always looking up past the ceiling, the choir always singing about cleaning your heart because jesus wanted a clear glasshouse
what's that? is it the beat of my stained heart or the gasps between tears in my room?
my loss of faith only came when a new feeling knocked on my door: love
but it wasn't the "normal" love that i had been hearing in preachings –forget that, it wasn't jesus loving me or some boy trying to get my attention, it was a girl– which was so taboo in my house and school that i didn't even know that was possible.
three words came out of research: homophobic, homosexual, lesbian
I looked past the ceiling when I realised caught feelings for this girl and when she asked me out I prayed to God, the one we were taught about in preachings, that this would be worth it, that this would last long, that this would be supported love–but forget it, he wasn't listening
I tried calling him, i confessed, i mentally and physically tried to clear my glasshouse. I went to church, i got prophecies told by the local preachers, i sang and quoted the bible, where was he? where was he when i needed him when my parents told me to stop loving her? where was he when my depression came around and decided to ruin everything? did he let me down on purpose for not following his rules? and when i found out that other religions existed, was he punishing me for sinning? Questioning his existence under the catholic faith turned him into a deception
And what was the point of that? Teaching me how to be a better human being by punishing me and shaming what i thought was okay? Love is supposed to be okay, love is supposed to be supported and supportive, love is supposed to protect and be protected –and all i get is being thrown out to the curb because i found love? Because it wasn't the "right" kind of love?
jesus, i hope to god you're not listening anymore
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
Have you ever wandered to the beach
But didn't get to see the shore?
Have you ever spent centuries trying to sleep
Although the sun, never have risen anymore
Have the walls within you shattered like a bullet through a glasshouse, but you failed to make a noise?
I once had a dream
I have visited the black long dresses people I once loved at my funeral
I tried to escape but the flowers they have laid above my casket formed an unbrokable shield
A sadness so deep with it's no longer a feeling but a madness with no cure for
You poured salt over the wounds i seeked for you to heal
Grab my hand
Pull me away from this sea
I'm drowning though I once knew how to swim
Pull me away from my misery
Cure this insanity residing within
Rescue me, I cannot stand on my own two feet
Rescue me, have me yours to keep.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
yo **** the media the press
and all they stress the south linked with the west
ya get two of the best i guess
you muthaphukkas thought i was dead
naw just took a power nap as i slap
the industry with these dusty *** raps
I'm platinum plus plus check my artillery surplus
we got killas on every corner
do what i wanna and how i wanna
smoke mirajuiana with some killaz in Tijuana
Mexico don't flex though **
unless ya wanna be in the ground
sounds of H-town so bow down bow down
as i let my clip ride bound to be a homicide
you can run but ya cant hide
from the south or westside
we connected like bonny and clyde
now show me that whooo ride?
check the pumps by my side thats how we ride
guerillas with a bunch of triggers don't call us ******
call us finanical settlers like the rockerfellers
did they tell ya
that I'm an enemy to the establishment
dollaz n sense i see you running to the fence
but cant get over
cuz these bullets stick to ya head over shoulders
so ya life is over
call out for the Jehovah
ya know ya dead ****** red
and you quote what i said
take to the magazine
i pack magazines **** you and ya skinny jeans
i prefer gangsta **** with suits on
like Al Capone
beatin' on my chest like King Kong
protector of Skull Island while y'all smilin' im wildin'
no koolaid in my blood
we keep it true **** the FBI NSA and they crew
revolutions in position pistols is grinin'
castin' stones at glasshouse and watch the White House get doused
up in flames by angry citizens growin' deranged
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Your reddening face transformed into a swirly Van Gogh painting in front of me,
The tears swelling in my eyes acted as the water put to the canvas,
My eyelashes the paintbrush,
Every blink causing the colours to blotch and streak before me.
The last kiss sounded like an entire glasshouse shattering,
There became an uproar in my head,
Chaos broke out.
You were still in front of me, although this time you didn’t treat my wounds,
My feet were cut from the glass but you didn’t tend to them,
My blood was spilling across the floor but you didn’t help me to mop it,
Not this time.
Not anymore,
You said you had run out of bandages to aid me now,
You said it had got too much,
It had got too much for you,
For you.
I am the one drowning in my own blood and it has got too much for you?
I cling to your arm, expecting you to haul me out of the depths as you usually do,
But your skin begins to dissolve,
You turn and leave,
I sink lower and lower into the cavernous darkness that I know all too well.
Slowly but surely the darkness slithers beneath my fingernails, slicing back my flesh,
The darkness makes a home within my body,
Claiming it as her own,
Driving home I see a possum that had been hit, I realise our hearts are beating in a similar slow, pulsating beat, we are both being left to die.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
I am not ill, but
covered in moss and milkweeds:
green skin. blooming hair.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
I’m going to be honest
I never wanted to put down any piece of this nature again
But anytime I woke up, I want to write about you
What could I possibly write when I am not much of a poet
And it appears as if no metaphor could satisfy my admiration for you.
And then, I want to speak to you
Not only because I want to know how you are,
I also want to unzip my heart to you,
To tell you that you are the joy in a glasshouse, you are beautiful, magnificent and heavenly adorned and I yearn for you.
And then, I realized that my speech tract couldn’t let out the words from my heart.
Sometimes I wonder why this is happening,
I know, I could talk like a parrot anytime I want to
But I got slides like a carrot when I hear the vibration in your voice.
I must have written some similar stuffs like this, hoping that somehow you’ll jump out of the page and feel exactly as I feel,but fortunately all I get is thanks.
You know, I also love chatting with you but anytime you replied
It appears as if we are like charges, so we repel (I won't know what next to say).
The amazing thing is, as all these keeps happening
These feelings I have for you keep getting stronger despite the fact that it seems we are not so connected
But connection isn’t love, you are naturally attracted to my soul.
Though I could not find a perfect explanation to this puzzle,
But I know from the deepest part of my heart that I love you.
And this love is patient, it’s strong, it’s not a deception but true, it’s not Haram but Halal
It’s hopeful and powerful, it’s not my choice but divine just as you, is an attraction and irresistible.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 2:41 AM UTC
On a static evening
Couldn't move my hands
Couldn't wait again
The mechanism's been failing
Couldn't look the other way
Couldn't think of something else
It's a glasshouse I'm living in
And the air has filtered in
I'm breathing all of time and space
And feeling all my wounds and theirs
It's probably some word you said
Or a strange movement someone made
The colors of the streets at night
That displaced something in my head
Is there anything good to say
Anything that could make a mends
Gathered the strength and closed my eyes
Trying to fly over myself
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Now really peep the game though
Gotta change my scenario
Sit back and charge a cigarillo
Stop ******* with them kilos
Hopped from a Benzo to low low
Glasshouse with the pokin' 84s
Foes is hoppin' guns is poppin'
Body droppin'
Once I let off aint non stoppin'
Claimin' I'm insanity in these streets
Wish I never met pistol pete
Cuz of life he greets
In the presence of where
Darkness meets
And enemies love to compete
But everyday is a battle
Stuck In a. Give with 24 **** hours to live
Yeah
So beautiful life used to be
Well hell naw lets turned
Back to slavery
Where all of my peeps used to see
Bright and sunnt
Locked in whips and chains
For the entertainment industry
Now that I gotten a little wiser
My mind explodes like a geyser
On the earth in the wind
Blowin fire hot as a dryer
To my flows I kick ya desire
Many rhymes come in a style
Been a wild since I was a child
Played foul never did I smile
I'm givin sonic booms like guile
Been while
Since I step on the scene
Mean as Joe Greene
Aimmin' macks at soft peens
Being a hero ain't what it really means.and it seems
No matter how hard I fight live
I only got 24 mo' to give 24 hours to live
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
beauty
shall live
her life
inside of the
glasshouse of
pains and lies
i am sure
while
beauty lives
next door
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
this is an autobiography
that was never meant to be
by ruined writing
in close proximity to my imagined enemies
most people look at you and see
what they want to see
what they want you to be
when they try to talk to me
like I’m coasting in fantasy
like I live in liquid dreaming
like the point wasn’t missed completely
like I love to hate myself constantly
destroying yourself is easy
when you already live in hiding
learn this, protest that,
protest, protest, protest
with plastic signs over the child labor on your back
do your best and use all your influence to help
when your done throw all the clothes and signs in the trash
use, use, use, each piece of your contracted shell
let me come into this, let me come help
a barn-burning beast/\waving a rawhide flag in hell
and in the confusion of the swell
the world would pause in violet while i immolate myself
I just want God to help
finish what he started
when he crafted a trenchant well
filled it with poison(left to our own devices)
formed a base with rotting corpses(and the wings of fallen angels)
then crafted a mountain of material wealth
where he strokes his giant Lucifer
over the sad orphan eyes of heavens window wells
teach us something that is ******* worth knowing
away from self importance through blunted stories
please show me - echelon these KINGS
faceless banners raising war torn cities inside of me
or show us how to take old bones from peaceful death
and transmute them +multiply them into water and bread
or how to relieve out my pores
and bleed out this stress
or to how fall onto the floor
and end up somewhere next to heaven
lights:
friends of friends of friends, magnanimous pretense
exit, we escape to enter again
nights:
drinks and lead
absinthe, escaped just to enter again
life:
it’s reaching for a bottle high up on a shelf
Never learned how to live after spilling milk
makes me panic hard alone and wanna **** myself
death:
glasshouse debris pours out
and the skin won’t grow back
nails curl onto coffin doors
with all the SAD/] SAD\[/SADDD
where the parasites are only Jesus
with diamond fangs and silver masks
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC