"grooms" poems
Don’t go, hold onto your colour bowl,
never lose your paintbrush,
not even at the twilight.
Someone's smiling on earth.
It can’t hide forever.
Maybe hidden but not far—
could be only behind a lock of hair.
Black is not only black.
Look beyond, it could be all fair.
Gently raised and softly lit
on the moonlight’s field
These forever-calm shady groves,
piled up on the night's pitch-black scene,
are ahead of the curve in silent reading.
Behind these out of the box line-ups
by the middle, the stage composed
for the thrillers that rock and roll
An incense is still burning
the sundown burns down into ashes,
is still breathing, smelling the scent.
Yesterday will revive and comes tomorrow
keep an eye for a moment or two.
Follow the glow, gazing in the night
and slip into the grove
for they are in the know
is a veiled beauty, earth’s silhouette,
drawn down to the moon!
All the starry fireflies on the stardom
love to drop down and join the moths
Around this tucked away silhouette,
charming beauty down the moon.
Only on the earthen ground it grooms!
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
The church bells chime,
Suddenly the door flew open,
There came my gorgeous bride,
In an embroided white dress,
A veil on her face,
Red lipstick on,
She walks down the aisle,
Her father gives me her hand and leaves,
The reverand speaks a few verses,
But when we share our vows,
I was so stocked and there was so much I could've said,
But I had to stop myself.
I thank God that you came in my life,
You are my angel,
That sparkled my life.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.
"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.
Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.
At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.
"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.
Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.
Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.
The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.
On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.
To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.
But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
The eye can hardly pick them out
From the cold shade they shelter in,
Till wind distresses tail and main;
Then one crops grass, and moves about
- The other seeming to look on -
And stands anonymous again
Yet fifteen years ago, perhaps
Two dozen distances surficed
To fable them : faint afternoons
Of Cups and Stakes and Handicaps,
Whereby their names were artificed
To inlay faded, classic Junes -
Silks at the start : against the sky
Numbers and parasols : outside,
Squadrons of empty cars, and heat,
And littered grass : then the long cry
Hanging unhushed till it subside
To stop-press columns on the street.
Do memories plague their ears like flies?
They shake their heads. Dusk brims the shadows.
Summer by summer all stole away,
The starting-gates, the crowd and cries -
All but the unmolesting meadows.
Almanacked, their names live; they
Have slipped their names, and stand at ease,
Or gallop for what must be joy,
And not a fieldglass sees them home,
Or curious stop-watch prophesies :
Only the grooms, and the grooms boy,
With bridles in the evening come.
4k
An ant is just an ant my son
An impact it wont make
But a million ants will move the world
A conviction you won’t shake.
An ant is still a living thing
It eats, it breaths, it works
It runs in an environment
Where the hostile spider lurks.
It works in regulation
With a thousand brother ants
To a strict cooperation
That achieves communal stance.
An intelligence is present,
A timetable has been set
This organized endeavor
Makes it’s success an winning bet.
An ant makes love, it rears it’s young
It grooms it’s brother’s hide.
And if enraged an ant will fight
A foe a thousand times it’s size.
It’s glittering antennae
And it’s shiny compound eye
It’s economy of movement
And compulsion to deny
Involvement with any cause
Apart from that one sent
By the Queen Ant’s regulations
At the Ant God’s monument.
I am moved with admiration
For this tiny creatures heart,
It’s commitment to community
And resolve to set apart
All individual aspiration
And selfish action of it’s own.
To gather condiments for nest and Queen
Compelled forever more…to roam.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
17th May 2008
Nov 28, 2009
Nov 28, 2009 at 11:53 AM UTC
What was known yet unseen
was a king and a dying queen
holding their last kiss good bye
That day the kiss died
He then ordered all his men
to bind all lovers in his den
Every embrace ever lied
The day the kiss died
The Judge and the Law
all came to find flaw
In any poet or guide
The day the kiss died
Finding two lovers, that spoke
of how his and her lips broke
Evidence, they could not hide
The day the kiss died
They cried,
*“We hold and we touch
yet it’s not enough in as much
a kiss can’t be denied”*
The day the kiss died
With a kiss hid in their heart
They tore them apart
and took them aside
The day the kiss died
Children chanted, *“the kiss of death
will draw your last breath.
Don’t or dare to no longer abide”*
The day the kiss died
And all the people they wept
and the sweepers that swept
the sad streets, they sighed
The day the kiss died
In lace they all dressed
in hope to lay the last kiss to rest
In a coffin to confide
The day the kiss died
That night,
Artists repainted the sky
Lanterns hung high
In the black rain they cried
The day the kiss died
While white doves bled red
It was heard and it was said
even the angels cried
The day the kiss died
The clowns in all places
Painted a frown on their faces
for all grooms and the brides
The day the kiss died
Old widows slept as it seems
waiting for their dreams
nuns by their side
The day the kiss died
The romantics broke doors
of bottle shops and liquor stores
yet the wine had all dried
The day the kiss died
Yet, still up north and down south
lovers, for love, open their mouth
welcoming death near and wide
The day the kiss died
May 14, 2023
May 14, 2023 at 3:44 AM UTC
A firework
Of brightest colours
Dances slow
Beneath the stars
Torches and candles
Iron braziers' light
Glowing warm
In blue midnight
Gowns of silk
Fineries of all kind
Whirling in solemnity
"A dance, do you mind?"
A thousand miles from sorrow
High society indeed
La crème de la crème
The very best of breed
Extravagance never is
Too extra for those ladies fair
Gossiping girls, all of them
"Oh, look, this lady's hair!..."
Gentlemen bowing
Talking with hushed voices
Trading, socializing
Polite merchants' noises
"This daughter of mine,
She might well catch your eye..."
This just a market of brides n' grooms
An exchange, !!one truth for a hundred lies!!
Gossip girls and merchants noble
Less n' less real knights and dames
Nobility used to mean heroes, and protection
But long extinct, those once bright flames
The only light there, now,
Comes from a stake pile in the debris
Burning bright, but in truth all hollow
This great bonfire of vanities
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 8:35 AM UTC
The rhyme of the poet
Modulates the king's affairs,
Balance-loving nature
Made all things in pairs.
To every foot its antipode,
Each color with its counter glowed,
To every tone beat answering tones,
Higher or graver;
Flavor gladly blends with flavor;
Leaf answers leaf upon the bough,
And match the paired cotyledons.
Hands to hands, and feet to feet,
In one body grooms and brides;
Eldest rite, two married sides
In every mortal meet.
Light's far furnace shines,
Smelting ***** and bars,
Forging double stars,
Glittering twins and trines.
The animals are sick with love,
Lovesick with rhyme;
Each with all propitious Time
Into chorus wove.
Like the dancers' ordered band,
Thoughts come also hand in hand,
In equal couples mated,
Or else alternated,
Adding by their mutual gage
One to other health and age.
Solitary fancies go
Short-lived wandering to and fro,
Most like to bachelors,
Or an ungiven maid,
Not ancestors,
With no posterity to make the lie afraid,
Or keep truth undecayed.
Perfect paired as eagle's wings,
Justice is the rhyme of things;
Trade and counting use
The serf-same tuneful muse;
And Nemesis,
Who with even matches odd,
Who athwart space redresses
The partial wrong,
Fills the just period,
And finishes the song.
Subtle rhymes with ruin rife
Murmur in the house of life,
Sung by the Sisters as they spin;
In perfect time and measure, they
Build and unbuild our echoing clay,
As the two twilights of the day
Fold us music-drunken in.
2.2k
"good luck," they think it means.
brides, grooms, hell, even the kids in the club.
and the notion that the phrase comes with the
shattering of glass under a custom print napkin--
just wrong.
it's important to be mindful of what mazel tov means in
that moment, sure, but it's also
important to be mindful of what mazel tov
means in the everyday. the ritual.
see, mazel tov means "what good fortune."
and I know, I know, sounds pretty
**** close to "good luck."
but think about the glass.
all these tiny pieces to pick up
and you say, "good luck."
have fun picking up the shards.
don't cut your finger.
saying "good luck" in that moment
makes you an *** but "what good fortune"
sounds like you got something up your sleeve.
and you should. in this life, always. always
a few tricks. you know when I was little,
my mother asked me what I wanted to be
when I grew up and I told her, I said,
"I want to be a magician."
her response, "you can't do both."
she's right. that's no profession for an adult,
but you can be an adult and a
magician on the side, as a hobby,
that's alright.
wait.
what was I talking about?
magicians, magicians, oh. tricks.
how else are you going to get by?
mazel tov is a mind trick.
see, we say "what good fortune"
when the glass breaks to reframe the
situation. what's your reaction
to that sound? your ears perk up--
if ears can actually do that, I don't know--
the hairs on your neck stand up.
I guess they can't really stand in the conventional
sense, but, well, you feel the space of a room.
and after that beautiful sound, and I mean beautiful,
you are forced to take everything else into account.
you don't want anything else to break. what matters most,
you know? that's why we say "what good fortune."
I'm delighted to know something as worthless
as glass has broken. because now I'm more
careful with what's valuable to me. right?
you spill soda on a cloth seat in your new car.
mazel tov.
now you don't have to be paranoid
every time your nephew climbs in with an Icee.
it's material crap. just crap. you're alive.
you've got a car. be thankful for what you have.
reframe, you know?
your girlfriend, your wife leaves you for a
former high school quarterback turned
owner of a lawn service company.
another casualty of the sweaty, lemonade-fueled fantasy.
once again, mazel tov.
you are so lucky you didn't spend the rest
of your life with her. the glass shattered.
it's a beautiful sound.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
my god, you embody admirable beauty
you replenish all the good when my world is crashing
with waves so persistent these rocks must remember
the importance they leave when the tide begins to fall
i'm dying to know, has this sand always been so white?
i find peace in the piles my car is collecting
i beam at the worlds these rocks are collecting
communal homes, no fighting; just beauty
my pale limbs get lost in sand so white
shortly revealing themselves as waves come crashing
sometimes i stand on that rugged pier and i fall
awaiting the swallow of the sea, forgetting what i shouldn't remember
here, the wind is always changing, it will never remember
these impeding worries I've been collecting
it may not be strong enough to catch my fall
but it floods my lungs with beauty
for a moment i feel this high is crashing
a seagull grooms his messy feathers, searching for the white
i tell the gull he's beautiful, despite his lack of white
he distracts me from what i shouldn't remember
in taking flight, i envy his crashing
colliding with the water at such height, i grasp the shells I've been collecting
i notice the tide receding from its path, revealing more beauty
tripping over sand, i race to the pier for one last fall
i attempt to leave but the oceans current begs for another fall
the powdery sand on shore grabs me by the ankles and i'm glowing white
i am flattered by this playful behavior, i'm grateful for its beauty
with you, my dear, my peace of mind is all you must remember
rest assured i will never abandon the memories we are collecting
for it is you, i run to when my world is crashing
i swiftly dodge the sudden rain so violently crashing
in a dreamy state, i observe the drops as they fall
still, my shoes are soaked from where water insisted on collecting
in my rear view i see the sand converts to mud and is no longer white
it doesn't matter though, its not the way i'll remember
a storm could never retract genuine beauty
recounting the days moments, drenched in beauty, i feel my body crashing
time is limited when trying to remember as my eyelids fall
white sand is all i see and i'm buried beneath the pillows I've been collecting
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
I dressed up for a wedding that day.
We drove far to get there.
The wedding wasn't for me
But I felt like I was getting married
Because when you are free
I feel free.
They say preparing for a wedding is stressful
But you never had a crack in your smile.
I was born here
So by default I was already apart of the family
Kind of.
More like the sixth removed cousin that everyone forgot.
But I'm still a citizen
I get to eat some good toast at the table sometimes.
Yours was a bit burnt but you still ate it as if it was French toast.
You made me think I had pancakes and vanilla froyo everyday.
But when I truly feasted it was at your reception.
You said I do to America
Along with other brides and grooms.
And in that moment I felt full with love that tasted sweeter than that invisible vanilla froyo I never had.
I think we all were in love that day.
We were equally unequal with everyone in that room.
Maybe the one you married didn't actually love you in that moment
But I heard these arranged marriages are like boiling water
So perhaps it will grow over time.
I'm not sure but how could anyone not love you?
Congratulations on your citizenship mom
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Once more, an embarrassing suit forced on him,
Picked out by the woman he'd loved
More than his mother, more than himself,
Sixty years and a few short months.
Strange how women have power to choose
Public attire for the men they love
As babes, and boys, and grooms, and now....
What is he now, lying so still in his new suit
So stiffly, awkwardly at peace?
A shoe-less traveler tucked into a box
Wearing a suit with an open back,
Hair finally combed the way
She'd pestered him to keep it.
"Oh!" she says,
"He left his wallet by the bed."
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
*Like a pin on a spike
the dim light creaks dull bright
and fungus glums in the 'tween
as it might... and a yearling takes a day
to bring about the long, wrong night
as amber drools
from the lungs
of a stunted
kite,
the
wind is an idiot
pruning the sun
from a
suspect
sky.
how we talk in the interim
is nuts, but the lust
excels.
it grooms the pollution, and yes
it threatens the fresh blood
of our last regrets.
but... yes
fathom the windmills
of our mangoes
as a fruit -
Less.
some other joy that -
has a boy gone
more less
than
kept.
and
crease the wrinkle
in your starlight
to moon
if not to
breath*
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
The daughters of India are migrating birds
As brides, they fly with the bride grooms
To far off places of different weathers
And come back to their homes in only festive seasons
We are worried about their wounded pride
Their separation we can no longer hide
As parents we have to bear the emotional tide
We console ourselves they are at their soul mate’s side
Only parents understand the real suffering
Their offspring becomes a distant bird in spring
We don’t know what happens to them in autumn
Their health the cold weather may weaken
Why can’t they stay with mother and father?
I think the Hindu custom is very cruel rather
No sister or brother likes to forego their sibling
Her soul mate might be a king
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 4:06 AM UTC
A seagull grooms.
The harbour sleeps.
The sky a-stir,
Responsibility creeps.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
*
When sensual arousal
emerge in a crazy,
childish mind,
my kissable lips
glow and blossoms;
my suckable nips
blow and grooms;
and my lazy,
spicy body becomes
a green valley;
where cherry
fruits grow and
ripe in autumn.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
1
O' sprite full Maia, come attire our lands with your boundless prize-
Of joyful swelling by the nature's pleasing bloom,and green surprise,
To sprout a floral bedding,round the yards and shades for worthy dales;
And birds will spin their adorned bowers over the dewy boughs and vales.
2
Hail! to you goddess, deck the forest’s lingering beauty, thus come:
Let streams to flow across the thick and- bushy meadows over your prime,
For hawthorn white and lilies to bud, and converse fragrance in air,
To wind down our minds with breezes- blow,groovy lifts cool us lighter.
3
Mid mate of months, come and show your
primeval splendor and glee,
While south is praising vintager’s autumn,
North's propitious spring does fly,
And make the country lush with garden- fruits,the sweetest scents they spray,
To fill each rose with flavors long,
for all the ardent grooms they pray!
Come Glitter, glitter ***** rays-,
and sun is warm in moderate mood;
Behold! the coming of her-,
bees gathered among the newly buds
Nithin Purple from 'Halcyon Wings.'
REFERENCE:
*Maia— Greek goddess of May month
*Hawthorn—A spring-flowering shrub or small tree of the genus Crataegus.
*Vintager—A person who harvests grapes for making wine.
***** rays—Attraction of sunlight towards flowers, showing a dependency.
*Sprite—Middle English: alteration of sprit, a contraction of spirit.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
Snows of Winter, heat of Summer,
Two times, two worlds.
The Twins, they dance.
Winter King, in darkness reigns,
Death and darkness, ice and cold.
A crown of thorns upon his head,
Clothed in shadows, hidden light.
Magic dark and waning sun.
Tettens, Woden, Hermes stalks,
From the Castle of Weeping comes.
Summer King in brightness reigns,
Life, rebirth, light, and heat.
Winged crown, light rebounds,
Clothed in fire, born in light.
The sun it rises, warms the land.
A Child is born to warm our hearts.
Lucet, Lucifer, Morning Star,
Riding forth on wings of the morning.
The Twins, they dance,
The passing year.
Light, then dark, then light again.
Two Kings reign, both to die,
Two grooms for oh blessed Night.
Life and Death, Light and Dark,
Ever changing, ever the same.
Snows of Winter melt and thaw.
Heat of Summer takes their place.
Out of darkness shines the brightest light.
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 5:01 PM UTC
Call it stupid
But feeling not at all
Light-hearted and romantic
On St Valentine's day
I pedal off
Without thinking
And follow my front wheel
To arrive among brides and grooms
Bouquets and buttonholes
Limousines and vintage Rollers
And even a flippin’ horse-drawn carriage
As I cycle into Gretna
Marriage-Ville, UK
On St Valentine's day
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 12:51 AM UTC
.
returning to my childhood home in thought
returning to mallard quacks tolling
and the hour toiled
by ever thirsty church bells
cold damp rock house with ammonites
and belemnites coiling in the walls
and a cooling ichthyosaur
futilely trying to swim in the silty soil
struggling to catch prey
beneath the foundation
its darkness is rummage
.
a flush lawn planted nilly and obscene
monkshood mint cotton grass and ling
warm mentions an evening fire
and the family room
i'm mooding through the memory
and it grooms apart organic
birthing not river not smoke
rat sized earwigs take to the air heat
over the boiling tar garage roof
and i return home back through time
child swinging on thick vines suspended
by the yew over the stream
the willows dapple and paddle
the fir trees return
fierce sproutings of involving shade
ridding the house
of the intruder new extension
riding time back
and the caravan my parents
would later park on concrete
is swallowed
the storms of a bad year return the old wall
at the property edge
and the cottage reforms an ancient pace
with its surroundings
.
it's no longer my families claimed place
re-seemed with ghoulish history
the workhouse returns
and files with hard poverty
the wall punches through
in what will be the kitchen
and the cottage runs through long
with the neighbours space
dormitory takes the whole upstairs length
and the legend of the garment thief
drops ghost and rumour to live again
and then all this too flees out of history
.
rushing back through time
and this all sinks into the levels
swamp life takes over
and the ammonites
moisten with anticipation
prehistory is sprout to begin
.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
The stables
where horses
snort and move
and grooms work
and sky dull
and greyish
Alice walks
holding on
for dear life
to the hand
of Mary
the one she
has chosen
to be her
new mother
fingers red
with washing
chores and things
but it's warm
as she holds
the hand tight
Mary talks
of cold nights
noisy bed
attic mice
and spiders
in corners
of the room
Alice says
I could stay
in your room
keep you warm
cuddle up
hold you close
as I did
with Mother
in her bed
before she
was locked up
with illness
of her brain
Mary sighs
feels the hand
in her own
small and warm
small fingers
tiny nails
pink and pure
different class
than her own
we will see
Mary says
stable sounds
horses snort
their large heads
looking out
big black eyes
large white teeth
busy grooms
at their work
Alice looks
inner fear
but draws near
wants to stroke
Mary lifts
Alice up
her red hands
wedged beneath
small armpits
mother's love
smells the soap
in the hair
on the blue
pinafore
Alice smiles
feels the horse
smooth and hot
on her hand
Mary holds
feels the heart
beating soft
as she holds
Alice up
to the horse
secret child
adopted
in her heart
none must know
of this love
secret pact
lift her on
a groom says
Alice thrills
lifted there
Mary holds
the groom laughs
in loud barks
in the blood
this horse love
the groom says
Alice smiles
happiness
shining out
of her eyes
Mary holds
her tightly
keeps her there
on the horse
safe and sound
then later
after that
lifts her down
to the ground
as the horse
with the groom
walk away
come on then
Mary says
let's go back
your father
will wonder
where you are
Alice nods
holds the hand
soft and warm
wants to be
close to her
but she sees
by the house
Nanny stand
arms folded
grim features
dressed in black
Mary holds
the child's hand
tighter still
walking back.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
1.
Cry not, little sister
'Tis but the way of t'world.
2.
Seigneur's pleasure hold fort,
No doubt
Give in to
Prima Nocte.
3.
New bride's
.......sweetest petals......
Ravaged.
Greet sad grooms
Parcel undone.
S T , 12 April 2013
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
A veil masks the bride from a groom, covered in black and soot.
The dirt, built over so long, now forces the two deafened to each other.
They do not understand the other anymore, it doesn't not seem the bride cares.
She may take the veil off but chooses not to.
She enjoys the ignorance of her happy isolation, unwilling to face the world again.
Love has been abandoned from her eyes and ears, she sings to herself assuming she is happy.
Her make believe casts the groom into madness, unable to remove the veil unless she allows him.
They are not wed, she misses the world but wishes not to get hurt again.
The groom understands but wants to change it, though his counterpart is unresponsive.
He waits for her to take the veil off, for them to talk.
Patiently, he wants not to disturb her with muffled noises through the soot.
He looks at other couples and fair maidens, but cannot leave while hope remains.
The hope of a love restored keeps him kneeling at the alter, and drives him insane.
He wishes not to abandon her, for he loves her madly but knows he has done wrong.
He has built the soot on the veil and he knows it.
He can take away the caked mask but only if she lets her.
He is told such is a lost cause, not even wanted by his wife-to-be.
He is unsure what she thinks, though he hopes it is of him.
He wants so badly to be with her, but he knows only time will tell when she will take the mask off.
Worse yet, he knows not whether her decision is final: her taunting no and her agonizing taunts.
He wants her back so very badly, but he does not know how she really feels.
How do you abandon someone so close?
How do you leave someone you love?
How do you do what you think is right and prove your worth?
You fight.
You use hope as your shield, faith as your spear and love as your sword to fight adversity and right wrongs you don't deserve to amend, because everyone has a spark of good, and those truly sorry will prove their worth with all their might, no matter what the cost.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
as a human being shoved up the earth
there is value in being worthless
as i sit now i can see the beautiful life that i could've taken
at once the mystic seas of the mind could be calmed
hair is fleece
a rotten trigger
light hitting the iris at different angles
often leading to a notice of terror
a key-note of anger
the day when turtles lie on their backs
and give up
far up the mountain
the dowry is paid
from the grooms family to the wives'
as it should be
they dance
the magic is in the look
the feel, in the scenery
hearts far out of body and out of sync
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
I received the news, this time exactly:
Nine-thirty-two in the evening.
A Saturday, the tenth of April.
Listen carefully:
run beside the surf, but know
the ocean is not your friend.
There is no smile in the way the waves
drown swimmers, the way they founder
mighty ships and save the sum of our loss
at the bottom, buried with the silt.
But could you so quickly hate the ocean?
Pain grooms itself, wants to be known
unsolicited, wants to steal away,
wants to bury its cold hands,
wants to wail but also to hush,
to quietly bristle in a bed of tar.
To wipe its face clean. To
seek love, and then to forsake it.
I cannot calm it - could never calm it.
I have no balm to blunt it.
We stem our grief as easily as blood from a wound -
hold your arm where the shell cut it,
on those sharp sands, and nurse it 'til it ends.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC