"graize" poems
She is like an indie film played backwards, just a bunch of beautiful pictures.
And her eyes roll like rizla between the italian mans fingers.
She smokes with pouted lips, as if ready to kiss her lover.
She looks the same when he pulls on her hair and glides his tongue over the skin of her neck.
And she smiles the same smile when his teeth graize her *******
Her eyes also roll when his hands hold onto her waist and she remembers the lipstick stain she left on the end of her cigarette.
She leaves the same stain on the rim of his .... forefinger.
‘I don’t know why I like you so much.’ He whispers into her curls.
‘It’s because I remind you of hash and tobacco.’ She replies.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
I will write a story.
But it is not for you.
And nor is it for me,
but for the tide that goes in and out,
everchanging,
gaining and losing,
winning,
yet never reaching an end,
a ****** a finale,
spending its eternity just moving against the sand till its belly is rubbed raw,
but no pearls will be formed from this graize,
no beauty found in its torture,
only pain and sorrow and lost souls
and a mournful wind that sweeps and stirs the sea into a fit of emotion,
into a writhing curling mass which is lost to all and which all is lost to,
but nevermind, for we are on the land.
And so the sea is left,
forgotten by us,
as we live,
and thrive and jump and play,
left to its own ruin,
its own regretful demise,
maybe one day it will rise from the sand that rubs it bare,
in a wave of foam and fury,
to revenge upon us who turned our backs,
left it in neglect,
in disgust,
as we ran about in our wealth,
our bellies clean of wounds
hardly rubbed by sand,
who could have offered shelter from the winds fury,
or comfort from the abrasive grit,
and deliver unto the oceans wound
a pearl of comfort
so that it may enjoy the peace and health
which we take for granted
but then
what reason for us
of two legs
to interfere in such ruin
of a thing so different and seperate to our own
so far from us
and complete in its seperation
that we may forget
and by such slip of mind
enjoy our comforts
unperturbed
uncaring
for any suffering
or demise
other than our own.
so far it is, so far
and we would much rather stay in here
warm next to our open fire
than shift to the rough stormy sea.
they will have to save themselves
it is not our cross to bear
But then perhaps I was mistaken.
It seems we are no longer on the land.
But emersed too in the ocean,
seemingly as endless as the pain with which it binds us
they are not so far or different as they seem
This story i tell, it is for you and me both,
but mostly for the tide, the pull, the current, the sea which has dragged us down,
and been dragged down by us
through our own lack of care and
our neglect,
is dragging us and together we sink,
drowning in our foolishness,
they are not so far from us
nor so different
We waited for them to be saved
as they drowned
if only we had stopped waiting,
waiting for the sun to rise,
to turn their water into air,
a mighty pearl to free them from the wrath of the waves
the wind which traps them in dispair
and now, in turn, us
we starve
stripped of our wealth
yearning to be back
by our fire
warm and safe
in ignorance
of their reality
and suffering,
Surely if we could go back, it would be different,
we would lend some wealth, our hand of glory
gift upon them a pearl
so they may not be so troubled
and we hear, as a whisper ripped from some time long ago,
on a far distant shore, in the haze of the sun;
Nevermind, for we are on the land.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 6:53 AM UTC
He is the repercussions of a broken heart. I cannot be bothered to pick up the pieces and sew them back together and so I reach out my hand betwee the mosaic of bed sheets and graize my fingertips on the surface of his skin.
I don’t dare delve deeper.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC