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"halfway" poems
The weak breeze whispers nothing The water screams sublime His feet shift, teeter-totter Deep breath, stand back, it’s time Toes untouch the overpass Soon he’s water bound Eyes locked shut but peek to see The view from halfway down A little wind, a summer sun A river rich and regal A flood of fond endorphins Brings a calm that knows no equal You’re flying now You see things much more clear than from the ground It’s all okay, it would be Were you not now halfway down Thrash to break from gravity What now could slow the drop All I’d give for toes to touch The safety back at top But this is it, the deed is done Silence drowns the sound Before I leaped I should’ve seen The view from halfway down I really should’ve thought about The view from halfway down I wish I could’ve known about The view from halfway down
0
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 9:53 AM UTC
The View From Halfway Down
Teen sits in his room reflecting on the walls and tables Sometimes this place is a cafe and is a little bit unstable Crosses his legs, forgets the dread, self-hood brings him back from the troubles inside his head Take his hand, lead him out the door, stoke his fire a little bit more Adolescence, Adolescence be free Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me Rests his head upon the floor, even the most grotesque things won't bug him anymore Young man doesn't watch them dance, he knows he must grow his own steps before they slip through his fingertips Adolescence, Adolescence be free Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me Young man, be your own man You're halfway there, so don't disappear again The cafe is crowded, yet you're not alone, not stuck in one place like a drone You move across the room, bright and tall, and never again going to fall Like you did the day before your soul returned to just being a kid Adolescence... you are adolescent.
0
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Scene 3: Adolescence
Life is like a pizza. You crave for a larger one, thinking that you're hungry enough to finish everything yourself. That's like yourself 10 years ago, wanting to become an adult. Now that you're halfway there, all you want to do is go back to being a kid. Sometimes the pizza is too hot, and you've got to wait for it to settle down before shoving it down your throat. The same way, life gets a little rough sometimes, so you sit and wait impatiently, till it gets better. Sometimes, the pizza's too cold. So you heat it up a little. The same way, life gets a little boring sometimes. So you get yourself involved in **** that doesn't necessarily need your attention, under the name of "you only live once". Some pizza toppings are pushed away, because you don't like how it tastes. The same way, you neglect people just because you don't like them. On the other hand, you can't get enough of some pizza toppings. They're too good to stop eating. Those are like family and best friends, you just can't stay away. Although sometimes too much of the same topping makes you want to throw up, you order it the next time anyway, just because you like it. All said and done, at the end of the day, you finish the pizza. That's like death. You really wish there was more pizza, but there's just no more. Sometimes, there's too much, you throw it away. That symbolises suicide. When there's too much to deal with, and you just end it. The only difference is, you can always order another box of pizza, but you can't order another box of life.
0
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Life vs Pizza
Life is like a pizza. You crave for a larger one, thinking that you're hungry enough to finish everything yourself. That's like yourself 10 years ago, wanting to become an adult. Now that you're halfway there, all you want to do is go back to being a kid. Sometimes the pizza is too hot, and you've got to wait for it to settle down before shoving it down your throat. The same way, life gets a little rough sometimes, so you sit and wait impatiently, till it gets better. Sometimes, the pizza's too cold. So you heat it up a little. The same way, life gets a little boring sometimes. So you get yourself involved in **** that doesn't necessarily need your attention, under the name of "you only live once". Some pizza toppings are pushed away, because you don't like how it tastes. The same way, you neglect people just because you don't like them. On the other hand, you can't get enough of some pizza toppings. They're too good to stop eating. Those are like family and best friends, you just can't stay away. Although sometimes too much of the same topping makes you want to throw up, you order it the next time anyway, just because you like it. All said and done, at the end of the day, you finish the pizza. That's like death. You really wish there was more pizza, but there's just no more. Sometimes, there's too much, you throw it away. That symbolises suicide. When there's too much to deal with, and you just end it. The only difference is, you can always order another box of pizza, but you can't order another box of life.
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1
late at night, i lie awake thinking of things i should have said all the mistakes i've made and signs i should've read then think about what i can't live without you, front and center in my mind sometimes it feels like halfway love almost, but not quite still, parts of you make me whole who i am and who i need to be i think of love letters that weren't torn up feelings of blue and green when i'm without you blank page, artless innocence i realize how dependent i've grown to you and feel the need to create a distance sometimes i look up at the purple sky and wonder if you're looking too i gaze at the colors and the beauty of it all though its beauty would never compare to you
0
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
purple sky
<><><><><><> Talk nerdy to me It's my thing! Use words so pedantic They're obtusely romantic Let's politick and homilize (For philosophy use French and Chinese) We'll ramble until we're halfway wise Or let's invent a new word, at least Talk nerdy to me SNL and X-Men Then note the plot holes With a trendy quill pen If you can't talk nerdy to me, Just be yourself. That's also gutsy
0
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Talk Nerdy to Me
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets Spastic changing voices like a record out of line Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
0
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Worn Out By A Hurricane:
this is how it happens it's the last day the temperature will be above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit until February you're not looking at the date it's just the end of November the middle of the night in the middle of a road at the end of November the hum of this small town hurts your ears you're stuck in a dream where everything you see turns into a weapon this is how it happens you knocked back sharp, amber liquid to make this place feel a little more okay and it only worked halfway no matter how soft the edges are you bruise your hips when you run into them in the dark you're ******* on your fourth cigarette when a police officer pulls over and asks how you're doing today in the too-bright white of the headlights the sick taste of Red Stag sticks to the roof of your mouth the mouth that you're moving into a smile the mouth exhaling plumes of smoke at the ground you're okay "i'm okay." you don't tell him what you're really doing you're really taking all of your thoughts about stopping your pulse for a walk you don't tell him you've been chasing ambulances all night long please, officer don't leave me alone, you don't say he tells you to have a good night and drives away and this is how it happens the moon smiles at you with every single one of its tiny, sharp teeth nobody but your cat finds you in that bathtub nobody but your cat watches you rise from red water watches it drip drip drip from every chasm carved in your left arm nobody but your cat saw the soft animal of your soul shiver from the cold that day it's the first day the temperature dropped below thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit inside your chest
0
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC
i tried to **** someone once
this is how it happens it's the last day the temperature will be above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit until February you're not looking at the date it's just the end of November the middle of the night in the middle of a road at the end of November the hum of this small town hurts your ears you're stuck in a dream where everything you see turns into a weapon this is how it happens you knocked back sharp, amber liquid to make this place feel a little more okay and it only worked halfway no matter how soft the edges are you bruise your hips when you run into them in the dark you're ******* on your fourth cigarette when a police officer pulls over and asks how you're doing today in the too-bright white of the headlights the sick taste of Red Stag sticks to the roof of your mouth the mouth that you're moving into a smile the mouth exhaling plumes of smoke at the ground you're okay "i'm okay." you don't tell him what you're really doing you're really taking all of your thoughts about stopping your pulse for a walk you don't tell him you've been chasing ambulances all night long please, officer don't leave me alone, you don't say he tells you to have a good night and drives away and this is how it happens the moon smiles at you with every single one of its tiny, sharp teeth nobody but your cat finds you in that bathtub nobody but your cat watches you rise from red water watches it drip drip drip from every chasm carved in your left arm nobody but your cat saw the soft animal of your soul shiver from the cold that day it's the first day the temperature dropped below thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit inside your chest
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47
As the shape all sun tore up the curtain of blood and ululation, everything in Tunisia, as stricken by a wand, came to a standstill, and slipped away from the senses - Even rivers stopped. Medjerda* froze halfway through the descent to his destination, as he realized he’d been making a fatal error: pouring forth all his passion into the ocean. So he stopped, retracted his course, re-collected himself, and started flowing backward, toward the source in the Atlas that had bidden him farewell. In his spear head there was a design: start a new chaos in the valley, in which there would be a sweet-water lake and sailors drunk with sunbeams, sweat and pleasure. Butterflies would flutter around the scent of mint and bluegreen rosemary. Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake would come, unannounced, In the rays of the nightlight of the fluttering night to watch her self shoot the scene of representation. The river, now swimming in his own water,   carried the sky on his shoulder, while an ant and a grasshopper, holding a basket together, watched the new scene. As the figure all sun appeared , reason melted; imagination her hazel eyes opened. *Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis. © LazharBouazzi, June 16, 2016
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Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
Ode to the Tunisian Revolution
Pain brings out the best in people And somewhere in between In the middle of good and evil Is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen She radiates on golden airwaves Among the valleys of time And halfway down heaven's stairway She blows your doubtful mind There's dishonesty in honest men Somewhere beyond the grave And when they get lost in it There's no woman they can save If falling for you is wrong Then I don't want to be right Sing with me, uncertainty And stay with me tonight
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Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
Right and Evil
I was never looking into you I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas Of course I didn’t know it was me looking into me this was the mirage of my desire always in the shape of a question mark and you a sweeping mystery oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling between pain and principle like blazer and tie or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie (it was like you were making an effort!)) It was *** but it also wasn’t *** (I am empty I am full) I keep building up and up and up all these images in my Mind (which never shuts up) (a never-ending narrative She spins and spins and succumbs only in those rare and passing circumstances) constructing people like buildings only the scaffolding is imaginary and when the architecture folds in on itself soulless and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me why do I still get so surprised so stung so lonely in that hollow and distant way (like your Mind is echoing in on Itself)? My Mind is like quicksand devouring streams of memory with ease forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same sharp edges and all praying for a satiation in some distant future She knows will never come Only here in this tiny universe can I spell out anything resembling rationality from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind Only here can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts and try to puzzle them together until they make sense until I can separate “Me” from “Reality" And what doesn’t make sense what I need to understand is why I feel so beset with this heavy magnetism that overpowers me to the point of paralysis (with little to no room for breathing) and why it was you who pushed me into this feeling and you who is still pulling me along far past the threshold of my resistance and I am done and it stings
0
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
If I Figure Out The Source Of Your Power, Can I Unravel It?
I was never looking into you I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas Of course I didn’t know it was me looking into me this was the mirage of my desire always in the shape of a question mark and you a sweeping mystery oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling between pain and principle like blazer and tie or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie (it was like you were making an effort!)) It was *** but it also wasn’t *** (I am empty I am full) I keep building up and up and up all these images in my Mind (which never shuts up) (a never-ending narrative She spins and spins and succumbs only in those rare and passing circumstances) constructing people like buildings only the scaffolding is imaginary and when the architecture folds in on itself soulless and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me why do I still get so surprised so stung so lonely in that hollow and distant way (like your Mind is echoing in on Itself)? My Mind is like quicksand devouring streams of memory with ease forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same sharp edges and all praying for a satiation in some distant future She knows will never come Only here in this tiny universe can I spell out anything resembling rationality from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind Only here can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts and try to puzzle them together until they make sense until I can separate “Me” from “Reality" And what doesn’t make sense what I need to understand is why I feel so beset with this heavy magnetism that overpowers me to the point of paralysis (with little to no room for breathing) and why it was you who pushed me into this feeling and you who is still pulling me along far past the threshold of my resistance and I am done and it stings
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64
We were friends but i wanted more, I wanted you whilst you wanted someone else. I wanted you to touch my skin, more than you wanted too. We could have intwined in the bedsheets together, but you were already in someone else’s arms. I wanted forever but you wanted forever with someone else. You left me with nothing but memories and the smell of you on my sheets. You left a stain on my soul an ache in my chest. I was addicted too you, and i was a faint memory at the back of your mind. I fell in love with you when you weren’t willing to meet me halfway. I wonder if my clingyness, sadness drove you away, to someone else. And im still stupid enough to care, because you are you, because nothing else matters to me more than you. You only cared to fill the space of loneliness from your last whilst you waited for your next. You left a hole in my soul. I left you with the satisfaction of knowing that i will always be there no matter what pain, suffering or upset you have put me through because i care too much to forget you.
0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
I Wanted You
I wake up in the morning and put on a pretty dress, My goal is to stun, amaze, and impress. I make it about halfway through school without fuss, But around 5th period I’m written up because cleavage isn’t a must. I’m getting punished for my own set of double D’s, Because the men around me get erections from a passing breeze. If kids in high school can’t control themselves, Why should I be the one punished for my huge shelves? Why are men not taught to respect women, But I am told I look slutty once again? You’d think boys would be more than their ***** by this time, But as of now cleavage is still a crime.
0
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Cleavage Is A Crime
You who goes by "Lonely" Yes you, who reads these rhymes Please pause here for a moment I won't take much of your time You see my friend, I'm lonely too In the dark with paper and pen So I'm writing you this poem and signing it "Your Friend" Though I'll prob'ly never see you nor ever know your name I do not need to see your face nor know your cash and fame I do not care what color you are how short or tall or fat I'm weary of all these parties and creeds So, for a moment, forget all of that Yes you, dear friend, forget with me Inhale this moment serene where we are not opinions or castes Just two humans with two glowing screens Be human with me, simple and pure For a moment breathe deep and feel free then should you have the time, and a halfway good rhyme Perhaps write a poem for me. Signed, Your Friend
0
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
To You
You’re my number one You’re my one and only Yes, the only one I want home waiting for me I can’t tell what’ll happen If our feelings change In one way or the other Id love you just the same Ill spend my very last dime For now, its all for you And if it reaches forever Well, who knew I'd fall so deep in love I can’t get you off my mind You’re my first priority Any day, any time We’re halfway there We’ve made a mark It’s been 6 months You still feel that spark? Coz it’s been 26 weeks, Around 182 days, That’s roughly around 4, 368 hours And countless number of ways That you’ve given me happiness With your every kiss and hug, It’s like the fourth of July in me I’ve got a bad case of the love bug So yes, you make me gay With you, I’m ecstatic You already know I’m so uncool And such a hopeless romantic So let’s just keep going I’d like to know you more I’ll study your very being And still love you till your very core So I’m sorry, babe If I ask for forever I know it’s all uncertain But never say never Happy 6th month And thank you for teaching me To stay strong And wear my heart on my sleeve
0
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
January 24, 2011
I remember the first time you tasted champagne. As the golden nectar effervesces down your throat, you whispered my name. I raised an eyebrow and wondered why, you said, “You’re everything this glass contains.” They tell me the tale of Dom Pérignon who said, “I am tasting the stars” after a sip of his own creation. You’ve always loved me like I tasted of stars, and I loved you like you put the stars where they belonged. We made the mixture of magnificence, until we were twisted too much on the shelves. Pop, bubble, hiss--- all shaken up everything we bottled up spilled down until nothing else is left. I was champagne until I became your problem. And somewhere in between the lines, we got lost in translation I didn’t know where to find you, didn’t know how else to meet you halfway, but there was pain whichever path I take. I was already walking the track for the exiled, I didn’t realize right away. Others hide a ring in the glass, But we put the problem in the champagne, babe. Soon it will taste differently to you, All sweet and sparkling—no strings attached like it used to. But the stars are no longer where they used to be. Every sip will wash down any trace of me, until you forget. But it will forever linger on my lips; and I’ll always remember it all too well.
0
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
Champagne Problems
i told you i loved you in a violet sea under a setting sky a magnificent orange kissed your cheeks before i could do it myself we were intertwined and the youthful night lied before us covered in our own colors our love was even more handsome and stirred between us we were blind to the others and halfway drowned in burnt sienna when the sun had gone we filled the empty night painting the earth with the color of our love
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Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
the color of love
As the shape-all-sun tore up the curtain of blood and ululation, everything in Tunisia, as stricken by a wand, came to a standstill, and slipped away from the senses - Even rivers stopped. Medjerda* froze halfway through his descent to his destination, as he realized he’d been making a fatal error: pouring forth all his passion into the ocean. So he stopped, retracted his course, re-collected himself, and started flowing backward, toward the source in the Atlas that had bidden him farewell. In his spear head there was a design: start a new chaos in the valley, in which there would be a sweet-water lake and sailors drunk with sunbeams, sweat and pleasure. Butterflies would flutter around the scent of mint and bluegreen rosemary. Through the flutter of the midnight hour Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake would come, unannounced, to watch her self shooting the act of representation. Now swimming in his own water, th river carried the sky on his shoulder, while an ant and a grasshopper, holding a basket together, watched the new scene. As the figure-all-sun appeared , reason melted; imagination her hazel eyes opened. © LazharBouazzi *Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis.
0
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
Ode to the Tunisian Revolution (re-vision/re-post)
You feel like you're a million miles away far from me at another place where I can't be. I wish I could see you. I wish I knew what your voice sounded like. Let the ocean waves roll over and let the sun set so the stars will appear, and be my guide to you. I just haven't met you yet, but when I do I'll never leave your arms because you'll be my coming home. In the dead of morning you'll be there with two cups of tea. There wouldn't be anything I didn't love about you. I hope your eyes shine when you look at the world. You notice how there is so much to explore and you'll be left craving more. You'd suggest we adventure out and I would already have your bags pack and be halfway out the door. I would never get mad at you. Not even when you spill your coffee all over my poetry. I'll smile and kiss your frown away telling you that it's okay. There isn't anything I wouldn't tell you. We'd bury our secrets together in our backyard garden. We would sleep so close together at night, fearing the edge of the bed. We would everything and nothing. We would never let our love for each other grow hungry. The stars always shine brighter when I think about you. Do you see how they shine? That is all for you. I know I'm still young but I can't wait to meet you one day. I know you're out there dreaming about the day you'll meet someone. I hope that person you think about is me. Even though you don't know me yet. But that day will come and it'll go down in history books, trust me.
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Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
You're My Coming Home
You feel like you're a million miles away far from me at another place where I can't be. I wish I could see you. I wish I knew what your voice sounded like. Let the ocean waves roll over and let the sun set so the stars will appear, and be my guide to you. I just haven't met you yet, but when I do I'll never leave your arms because you'll be my coming home. In the dead of morning you'll be there with two cups of tea. There wouldn't be anything I didn't love about you. I hope your eyes shine when you look at the world. You notice how there is so much to explore and you'll be left craving more. You'd suggest we adventure out and I would already have your bags pack and be halfway out the door. I would never get mad at you. Not even when you spill your coffee all over my poetry. I'll smile and kiss your frown away telling you that it's okay. There isn't anything I wouldn't tell you. We'd bury our secrets together in our backyard garden. We would sleep so close together at night, fearing the edge of the bed. We would everything and nothing. We would never let our love for each other grow hungry. The stars always shine brighter when I think about you. Do you see how they shine? That is all for you. I know I'm still young but I can't wait to meet you one day. I know you're out there dreaming about the day you'll meet someone. I hope that person you think about is me. Even though you don't know me yet. But that day will come and it'll go down in history books, trust me.
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43
Invisibility isn’t a super power. It’s a state of being. It’s being asked if you’re new, halfway through the school year. Its sitting by yourself on the ground, in the hall during lunch. Watching group, after group, walk by, not even noticing you there. It’s seeing everything, being everywhere, but not being seen. Not truly being there. No, invisibility isn’t a super power.
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Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
Invisibility Isn’t a Superpower
They set off from white rocks, red geraniums, blue tile, and let the green sea lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves. The stony islands that were home were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic but they hunted the big fish, the giant whales  with human eyes who rolled and sang and swam in oceans a continent away. They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta - Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain, neither of the old country nor the new: Halfway there and halfway gone - secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors. They sailed into unknown waters, south around tropical shores where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage rose in clouds around their heads. Then north, and north, north again to colder waters where sea lions barked and lunged at the strange massive wooden beast that coursed the waters, strung with brown bodies swaying on the lines and cursing the sails. North still they swept casting contemptuous eyes on the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles of the Sea of Cortez. Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca, the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers, they chased their smooth grey prey, riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island, herding the leviathans onto their spears, adventurers with an audience of only gulls and sky and seal. Until they sailed too close one day to a rock-strewn shoreline and saw the golden hills. Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home with orange poppy jewels at their feet, missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary. The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil rich and brown and loamy waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa, fertile and heavy with sweet promise. And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled. The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home, called and wept and waited in vain for the sailors   - beached and grounded - cutting not waves but earth, tracking seasons not whales, seduced by dirt.
0
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
San Joaquin Sailors
They set off from white rocks, red geraniums, blue tile, and let the green sea lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves. The stony islands that were home were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic but they hunted the big fish, the giant whales  with human eyes who rolled and sang and swam in oceans a continent away. They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta - Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain, neither of the old country nor the new: Halfway there and halfway gone - secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors. They sailed into unknown waters, south around tropical shores where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage rose in clouds around their heads. Then north, and north, north again to colder waters where sea lions barked and lunged at the strange massive wooden beast that coursed the waters, strung with brown bodies swaying on the lines and cursing the sails. North still they swept casting contemptuous eyes on the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles of the Sea of Cortez. Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca, the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers, they chased their smooth grey prey, riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island, herding the leviathans onto their spears, adventurers with an audience of only gulls and sky and seal. Until they sailed too close one day to a rock-strewn shoreline and saw the golden hills. Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home with orange poppy jewels at their feet, missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary. The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil rich and brown and loamy waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa, fertile and heavy with sweet promise. And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled. The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home, called and wept and waited in vain for the sailors   - beached and grounded - cutting not waves but earth, tracking seasons not whales, seduced by dirt.
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59
Halfway through the journey Winter came to stay The ones I met along my path Chased the cold away Memories of twisting Beneath the starry sky Kept the wind from swirling in And pulled my spirits high. Once I was a singer, Though po-ems tinged my dreams. The journey saw an end to that And waking- raced from me. Shattering and scattered Like stars across the skies Out of reach and far away; I wished on while I tried. I never really minded though Or mourned the goals I lost For losing each and everything Was freedom's exact cost. Explaining this to others Was pointless to me though For how can others understand The open road's my home?
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Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
Ode To LDR
It was down in California Where the light hurt my eyes I couldn't hear my thoughts or find a reason why It was down in Louisiana Where all my friends were now When something went black and escaped into the south So I went into the city Of whatever state I'm in I can't tell if it's New Orleans or if I'm drunk again I buried all my secrets In a tarnished leather book At which only me and the universe can look   Thank god for himself For he's given me pain And if it's someone else You can erase them with blame So I jumped into a truck Driven by border clerks But halfway down to Mexico, I knew this wouldn't work They had it in for laughs At the expense of broken hearts I know they meant no harm but they were tearing me apart The flag above my head Only made me feel sick Someone tried to sell me love but I knew it was a trick But when the sun finally fell And the stars shined on me I understood what people meant when they told me I was free
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Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
A Weekend in the South
Looks like you need a drink... What'll it be, let me think... One thing you should know, Little Miss, I'm not a bartender... I'm just winging this... Hmm... Arc in a cocktail shaker Filled halfway up Throw Melz in the mix Just a dollop Let's see now... Spoonful of rhymes Make that a table Few drops of Conor If he's up and able Almost ready... A touch of Tea Maybe a tad more A dose of Frank In a little pour Just about done... Cap it up Shake that shaker Pour it out Top with Silver Ahh... In a cocktail glass Now sprinkle with Dani Let's not stinge Sprinkle aplenty There you go, Hon... Take a full swig When you see the bottom, your pain wouldn't seem so big...
0
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
Bottoms Up!
she was hot, she was so hot I didn't want anybody else to have her, and if I didn't get home on time she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that- I'd go mad. . . it was foolish I know, childish, but I was caught in it, I was caught. I delivered all the mail and then Henderson put me on the night pickup run in an old army truck, the **** thing began to heat halfway through the run and the night went on me thinking about my hot Miriam and jumping in and out of the truck filling mailsacks the engine continuing to heat up the temperature needle was at the top HOT HOT like Miriam. leaped in and out 3 more pickups and into the station I'd be, my car waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch with scotch on the rocks crossing her legs and swinging her ankles like she did, 2 more stops. . . the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell kicking it over again. . . I had to be home by 8,8 was the deadline for Miriam. I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal 1/2 block from the station. . . it wouldn't start, it couldn't start. . . I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the station. . . I threw the keys down. . .signed out. . . your ********* truck is stalled at the signal, I shouted, Pico and Western. . . . . .I ran down the hall,put the key into the door, opened it. . .her drinking glass was there, and a note: sun of a ***** I waited until 5 after ate you don't love me you sun of a ***** somebody will love me I been wateing all day Miriam I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub there were 5,000 bars in town and I'd make 25 of them looking for Miriam her purple teddy bear held the note as he leaned against a pillow I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink and got into the hot water.
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Hot
she was hot, she was so hot I didn't want anybody else to have her, and if I didn't get home on time she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that- I'd go mad. . . it was foolish I know, childish, but I was caught in it, I was caught. I delivered all the mail and then Henderson put me on the night pickup run in an old army truck, the **** thing began to heat halfway through the run and the night went on me thinking about my hot Miriam and jumping in and out of the truck filling mailsacks the engine continuing to heat up the temperature needle was at the top HOT HOT like Miriam. leaped in and out 3 more pickups and into the station I'd be, my car waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch with scotch on the rocks crossing her legs and swinging her ankles like she did, 2 more stops. . . the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell kicking it over again. . . I had to be home by 8,8 was the deadline for Miriam. I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal 1/2 block from the station. . . it wouldn't start, it couldn't start. . . I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the station. . . I threw the keys down. . .signed out. . . your ********* truck is stalled at the signal, I shouted, Pico and Western. . . . . .I ran down the hall,put the key into the door, opened it. . .her drinking glass was there, and a note: sun of a ***** I waited until 5 after ate you don't love me you sun of a ***** somebody will love me I been wateing all day Miriam I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub there were 5,000 bars in town and I'd make 25 of them looking for Miriam her purple teddy bear held the note as he leaned against a pillow I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink and got into the hot water.
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