"glaucomic" poems - Hello Poetry

Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy, And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon. I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here, now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard, being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already, I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious. Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me… My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again. Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.

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May 25, 2013

May 25, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC

federico-portello

Haunt

Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy, And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon. I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here, now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard, being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already, I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious. Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me… My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again. Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.

11

tonight--my walk there was fog, a rare vapor on these prairies perhaps there because I had just read of London, and German bombs falling through its mythic miasma, though the only sound that disturbed this nocturnal glaucomic vision was a lone siren, a fire truck, vanished into the ether, to save a life I suppose, since there was no fire there was, on the next block in halogen haze a fox; I know you you ate the fat black pet hare the neighbors mourned tonight, you, and I were on a stroll--I tracked you just to see your fine tail, hear your soundless pads on the pavement, knowing the sight and silence of you were as rare as the misted air then, a truck came its lights making you disappear and waking me from this cold perfect dream

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Dec 8, 2014

Dec 8, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC

spysgrandson

the fog, the fox--not a poem

tonight--my walk there was fog, a rare vapor on these prairies perhaps there because I had just read of London, and German bombs falling through its mythic miasma, though the only sound that disturbed this nocturnal glaucomic vision was a lone siren, a fire truck, vanished into the ether, to save a life I suppose, since there was no fire there was, on the next block in halogen haze a fox; I know you you ate the fat black pet hare the neighbors mourned tonight, you, and I were on a stroll--I tracked you just to see your fine tail, hear your soundless pads on the pavement, knowing the sight and silence of you were as rare as the misted air then, a truck came its lights making you disappear and waking me from this cold perfect dream

33

What is happening to me? Rather than growing up into the tree, that I'm meant to be I am becoming the monster I always knew The monster I never looked up to Who never lived under my bed It has been said Rather next to my bedroom You take the life out of me, and it's way too soon I am only young This little tree's life has barely begun You feed me worse than Oliver's gruel "Sir, can I have some more?", no you absolute fool... No, I do not want anymore of your negativity Shoved down my neck, regrettably I am going to say goodbye when I am done Done with you, the moon, and I the sun Perhaps my rays were too much for you I ended up blinding you, too Glaucomic ... You say I'm blinded by love Take it, shove It **** You're meant to know more than me And teach me how to be But I guess I'll settle for this monstrosity

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Jul 8, 2017

Jul 8, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC

saplingn

Moon, sun

What is happening to me? Rather than growing up into the tree, that I'm meant to be I am becoming the monster I always knew The monster I never looked up to Who never lived under my bed It has been said Rather next to my bedroom You take the life out of me, and it's way too soon I am only young This little tree's life has barely begun You feed me worse than Oliver's gruel "Sir, can I have some more?", no you absolute fool... No, I do not want anymore of your negativity Shoved down my neck, regrettably I am going to say goodbye when I am done Done with you, the moon, and I the sun Perhaps my rays were too much for you I ended up blinding you, too Glaucomic ... You say I'm blinded by love Take it, shove It **** You're meant to know more than me And teach me how to be But I guess I'll settle for this monstrosity

25