"hallelujahs" poems
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Dear New Poet:
Then I'm your man,
your very own
Northern star,
one leg up of a
3 legged stool,
upon which all,
we, enthroned poets,
the world-over,
do rule
the honor you
bequeath me
to be,
a first follower,
your very own
first responder,
it, cannot be
disdained
nor
diminished
this instance,
this birth,
a novice revival,
heart transplant,
makes it
the sweetest blessing
to be the first—
let us be
the quencher
of a desert thirst so long
in the parching,
the throat burning,
by a desert sojourning,
of a now ending
forty times
four hundred years
so come to me!
message me a message,
find me a find,
your poem fine,
so now we vow,
our embrace will
ne’er be broken
give me this
honorific!
let us together
be terrific,
raise our glasses,
with arms entwined
toasting you and
all that mind and
breasted chest of yours,
full bursting from
its future~contains,
of which,
its full release,
brings a fuller life
for us both
I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
and a First Responder,
for all who needs a leg up,
so step upon my heart,
it be but a first step upon a
ladder with no top, no end ensighted
my legs are as old as time, but,
measure me not by the rings and
the metered scales of gray hair aging,
shock of white, a cain mark, wizard-wizened
but
by the muscles
of my deep affection,
the solemnity of this,
my irrevocable promise
this,
the blessing
we both make and earn,
when you write,
and while we wait,
in quiet attendance -
for all of your good works,
your kept promises
Blessed
are You Lord our God,
Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life,
sustained us until now,
***allowing, allying, and
alloying***
the treader of treacherous waters,
reader, writer, swimmer,
to reach, meet, embrace
and greet this day,
this new born poem,
with hallelujahs
whispering and shoutings
together,
as one
in one, of one,
one
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Sunday morning
Let the Hallelujahs
Come
And let my
Grandma
Tell me
Im a sinner
And im lost
As if
I
Dont
Already
Know
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record
of all the times i have been left,
all the times i have been unable to leave.
i wonder if he thinks to himself,
"when will she learn?"
as if he feels my heartache too.
i picture god with a furrowed brow,
hunched over a typewriter,
beginning me again and again,
a mountain of crumpled paper at his feet.
but somehow -
he always ends up at the same point in the story
where i am all ****** palms
and half-hearted hallelujahs
propped up on bruised knees.
spitting up blood & teeth at his feet screaming,
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?"
but he doesn't answer.
and i catch myself wondering if the silence
is his way of punishing me for making a deity out of you.
after all, the bible says he is a jealous god.
i could've sworn there was a verse somewhere
that said you weren't allowed to love anyone other than me.
but now that i think about it,
i probably took it out of context.
if i could add a parable to those already existing,
it would be how your chest
felt like church under my head,
and how i thought to myself,
"this is how it would be if he loved me back."
or how you fled my bedroom like a crime scene.
i am still bleeding.
i won't tell you how many times
i cracked my heart in half
trying to be what you wanted.
how my lips on your skin felt judas.
now i am waiting for god to begin me once more,
hoping he'll leave you out of the plot this time
because i don't think i could stand to lose you again.
see, rumor has it he knew you'd leave
and has been trying to make it up to me
since before we'd even met.
my song is one of repentance.
the wood finish from abandoned pews
rotting under my fingernails.
i made sacrifices you didn't ask for.
i have never known
whether my inability to abandon people
is more a strength or a weakness
but so far everyone i've ever loved
has turned into an exit wound,
and myself into a flickering no vacancy sign.
- m.f.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
When our tears are dry on the shore
And the fishermen carry their nets home
And the sea gulls return to bird island
And the laughter of the children recedes
At night
There shall still linger here the communion we
Forged
The feast of oneness which we partook of
There shall still be the eternal gate-men
Who will close the cemetery door
And send the late mourners away
It cannot be music we heard that night
That still lingers in the chambers of memory
It is the new chorus of our forgotten comrades
And the hallelujahs of our second selves
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
501
This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don’t know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—
4.2k
Turkey hunting with his pappy
The dogs let loose into the marsh
Birds flew out, and guns went off
The end result was rather harsh
Willie Joe jumped first at nothing
Shot at turkeys in the air
First shot missed, but hit a target
He'd shot Jim Joseph in the ear
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun
Jolene was all set for college
Had a baby on the way
One quick fling in the hay with Joseph
There was nothing left for her to say
Joseph stood and did deny it
Said that Jolene told a lie
Jolene's daddy got his shotgun
And with no wedding, Joseph'd die
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun
The wedding went off without trouble
Both families were there in force
Jolene's dad had brought his shotgun
The best man was old Joseph's horse
The moonshine flowed like holy water
There was no jar that wasn't filled
And through it all, poor pregnant Jolene
Wondered who would end up killed
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun
The preacher preached and people listened
Amened here and there throughout
A few well placed hallelujahs
Praise the lord was heard no doubt
All dressed in black with eyes just shining
He couldn't have done smiled more
For who in town knew that the preacher
Owned the gun and ammo store?
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
And the preacher would refill the gun.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Your lips were made for Hallelujahs.
Nothing less will do them justice,
and nothing more exists.
When granted the joy of life's creation,
their Maker sang into the heavens
and choreographed their dance.
The breath that passes between their mountains
carries with it the secret signature
of death-defeating hands.
Your lips were made to form sweet praises
with all the spirit and humbled passions
your heart and soul enlist.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
It smells like loneliness outside.
The smell of a hot dog on a grill after a storm,
mingled with propane and cigarettes.
The smell of solitary.
A string of “cold and broken hallelujahs”
no longer dulls the senses.
It’s senseless anyway.
I eat my brown rice in front of the sink
and I am reminded of the taste of Play-Doh.
It’s funny how loneliness creeps in on the wind,
the cars’ wheels in the rain,
the braking of the bus,
scuttling of squirrels...
Maybe a hot tea or toddy
(maybe something stronger)
will keep this autumn-ness at bay.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
Evolve
Evolve in me through Energy
Evolve in me through Salvation, Resolution and Restoration.
Evolve in me through Healing and Meditation.
Evolve
Evolve in my Growth, in my Future and even through my Transformation.
Evolve in my Breakthroughs, my Worshipping and my Dancing.
Evolve in my Hallelujahs evolve in the Lord Our God
Evolve in Faith and even through Love.
Evolve; Evolve
A shi
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
through the grating hum
of forever closing locker lids
they sing textbook hallelujahs
we are the quiet ones
stalking hallways
like burnt words under
shuddered breath
our skin is calloused
to rip your shallow daggers
and teach you painless peace
so when you sleep
imagine we are drifting
about your eyelids
a breath away
from bruised
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
Stones from Heaven ---pourles enfants de Haiti "Whatcrime what sin had those young hearts conceived That lie bleeding torn on a mother’sbreast... The human race demands a word from God."--Voltaire, " Poem on the Lisbon Earthquake" (1775) the flesh of the city blends its blood with the dust ofearth's gravethe devil quake broke the bones of their beds with itsterrorist bombthey could see the day light of death in the beaten air feel it in their prayerful souls as the some time glad daysun fell into forever's darkness and all the all reeked with theashes of fearwhere is the loving God of married hallelujahs? all the poor man's houses falling falling "amid thedeepening gloom"into a tomb for sons of promise and green daughterstheir pleasure and pain drowned in a ghost of tears lost like raindrops on the grey face of the bottomless oceanvanished like the passing shadows of stories in theimagination of cloudswhy oh darkened God of stones God of the Word God of Heaven? in the once bright light of a schoolyard's promise silencenow bleedswhere young eyes yesterday shouted from their books a beliefin tomorrows now the living dead carry their bodies with loving worms on the gallows of their bent backs wander the veins of thebeaten streets chanting horror's verbs black angels mourning the flesh of222,217 in mass graveswhere is the open hands of God the prodigal Father? they lie down forever in the weather of their sorrow withthe innocent deadweep for the seed of their breathless children in the bloodlit city of gospel sorrow no glad to be home families no wined friends with hope'sholiday songs no loving child's prayers or whispered shut eye no sweetgood nights no these good soldiers of Jesus' hosannas are the inspiredblind no moreto the womb of endless night no to the forsaken God of theirbrambled *****
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
there was a morning that awoke
to dreams of you
holding coffee mugs full of your words that you could never speak.
[for my hands were full&clasped;
with the covers of another lover,
but you held the chalice closer
so as to keep it warm until
I emerged from my slumber]
& there is this evening that feels
glimmers&flashes; of a new awakening:
awe & wonder & immaculate passion, too.
[the covers are beginning to recede
as I emerge to the brand new season
& reach up for the mug that awakens
& renews
& answers my questions
in the language that you&I; have always spoken
in our secret places]
come back to me, I plead,
even though I am the one who left,
& it has not been easy…
but I would like to unwrap the whispering whatifs
that have comforted me timeaftertime
since the day we first met:
whatif
our fingers intertwined &
whatif
our embraces became eclipses &
whatif
our paths intersected
& stayed that way on a journey for some time?
[just think of all the things we could see
& feel
& write
& listen
together]
destinations, destinations;
we’d be walking in crooked lines
composed of our mistakes, unpredictable emotions,
but our honesty & forgiveness would correct our straying.
[& we’d finally be moving forward
somewhere,
which is better than backward
just about anywhere
--especially to all the places we’ve been:
heartbreak &
harm &
holding on to who we’ve lost--.]
so you shut her door,
& I’ll burn his bridge
& don’t be afraid to sing Hallelujahs as I
fade to slumber on your porch in the rain,
for just because the seasons will change,
doesn’t mean that I won’t be standing here
to cover you in the midst of autumn leaves
& fears of Falling.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
We’re under a vast illusion.
Somewhere along the line we
came under this impression and
somehow we think that
we’ll always have it all together.
Always have all of our
strings wrapped
perfectly around one finger.
That the earth will always
spin the right way.
That the weight of the
metaphorical world won’t tip our
planet’s axis .2 centimeters to the right,
uprooting the ground from
underneath of all of us
suddenly and all at once
the balances shift,
Kristallnacht.
A German word.
It means, simply,
Crystal night.
The night of broken glass.
The night of broken people and
shards of lives.
The night everything fell
apart, suddenly and
all at once
the scales re-arranged themselves,
Kristallnacht.
Mid-way into a thousand year
reign of 12 years.
The end of the beginning and the
beginning of the end.
The definition of destruction and the
physical representation of a
bubbling and spontaneous
hatred.
You see, we’re under a vast illusion.
We think that the world will
always look this way,
That we’ll always be
young forever.
You see, she used to run through
meadows, picking
wildflowers and daisies,
blowing dandelions and making
carefree wishes.
Running barefoot,
arms splayed out,
heart all akimbo through
fields of forget-me-nots,
singing about how he loves her,
loves her not.
Not a care in the world.
Then the riots started and
she couldn’t explain why
the meadow she used to
run in was suddenly full of
stones with names tattooed on the
front with a date.
Overnight, the balances
shifted and that 6 year old
girl seemed to age 10 years.
She saw it all.
Beautiful faces, beautiful minds.
She saw the world fall apart like
fluttering hearts and
butterfly wings at midnight.
People coming back together
in a huddle of broken
promises and forgotten hallelujahs.
A 1000 year reign cut short.
She saw the end of the
world as she knew it.
Saw the careless hatred
decimate her carefree meadow
of daisies.
She began to sing a new song.
Picked a handful of
forget-me-nots and
chose to love
like she did
before the night the world ended.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
seethe ~ bubble up as a result of being boiled,
<>
sunrise was 714 am in nyc
this perfect fall day,
chilled to perfection,
a white wine of a day,
so imbibe,
only later does it
heat up up and onwards
to the temp where the
walkers/joggers/runner recite
hallelujahs and hosannas while
moving at their own chosen pace,
in a state of warm southern comfort,
never a racing
lest
the poems
now seething, boiling-burning
bubbling up inside
into the atmosphere explode!
all of these
early warming~warning inspirations,
now~expressed,
realized flickers of
original ex-impressions,
cannot be contained in
an open field unsupported,
these
breech babies each,
in a pediatric ICU,
demanding an
instantaneous airy concoction
to Earth’s atmospheric
literary intoxication
they use:
up hard, a dice roll,
who lives
who wilts,
that docs cannot but
obey
the fetus’s insistence,
many instructions,
push pull breathe,
must the. be given forthwith
through to our
servile waiting
uterine fingertips,
for we human are just be
~ings,
nurturers of
verbal artifacts
that never die
in
an~always~at~the~ready,
in service to
the great conceptual,
poetic in/justice
Oct 23, 2024
Oct 23, 2024 at 3:33 AM UTC
~~~
Testimony & Majesty: Oh God, Why Do You Inflict Me?
~~~
Morning dawning...
Thickened whitened whipped cumulus
come crossing,
no frenzied froth,
moving slow royal, stately,
as if they are the pride of a
celestial navy,
peaceful ships,
crossing from my portal to your port,
traversing from my shade
of the blues,
over to you, poet,
to your personal screen-adapted
CinemaScope version sights
This wind buffets,
re-directing my
morning~borning hallelujahs
this wind, nameless,
call it chipper, fulsome and volatile,
a proud pusher selling a waking up
near-chill pill,
to accompany the real+imagined
armada of nature
it, near and nearer
to you,
to the sky we inhabit+share,
its ***** stiffening energy,
makes some
hide inside,
not me,
I'm outed by the
harsh welcome~touch of this
realized reminder -
who is the master,
who is but
an obedient servant,
choicelessly writing his
psalmist morning devotions...
another poem of sky, cloud and wind?
*Oh God why do you inflict me?
with this time after time obeisance
when I am
metaphor drained and disabled,
abject of adjectives,
simile frowning upside downing,
have we poets not done our dutiful
illuminating your bountiful works?*
yet here I am,
a soul surviving,
incapable of resistance,
your frosted creatures persistent,
wrest my visions into prose,
to add to your overly full Facebook page,
with more fawning praise...
*Angered have I, you, for now nowhere,
tropical rain squall tells all,
humans are toys,
born to serve,
silence your complaining~explaining,
and from nowhere with
rapido intensity rising,
down pours drops of scornful
water whippings,
demarcating our
incoming existence inequality...*
and yet with your
yang and yang,
a reproach for me,
for as it waterspout pours,
it also pours sunshine,
a mystifying warning
to the put-upon poet,
that in the admixture
of nature and life,
all is conflicted,
all is tremulous beautiful,
and now is the
due time...
*due, you,
to complete this treatise as
testimony to majesty...*
~~~
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Okay so one day I'm 17 and in love with a Xhosa boy whose love is tin packed sardines wrapped in a dozen hallelujahs and the next an Artist who drinks way too much and cheats a whole lot more and I'm back sitting on my bed saying the clicks altogether wrong and telling you you're dead to me , I'm swearing to myself I'll never love another creative again and craving for the way you touched my waisted like old photographs and enveloped your hands into prayer when my shirt came off. I left 6 countries for yours and crawled underground so the border guards wouldn't see me . I loved you in a way that meant my fingerprints turned into lines of photographs and my identity was you , was you, my identity was you.
I hanged myself on paper clips and signed my name on your walls and danced without a care and tied my hair up and laid down on your word and covered canvases with paper and drew sticks of mistakes because my identity was you , my identity was you.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
you don't hear from hear from him for
years
turns out he has been living two little blocks away
a strange lawyer calls Sunday morning,
your presence, requested, suggested at the arraignment court,
as soon as possible, to get him
released from overnight lockup on his own recognizance
sure enough, the Judge asks is the father present
and I stand and he sees me and says set him free
into the custody of that old ghost in the last row
a month later
we sit in my car,
at 11:00pm
engine running,
our mobile phones, side by side
charging from the same source,
waiting for his lawyer to call
somewhere in your huge file of poems
entitled but as of yet unwritten is one called,
***the words rational and children are rarely used in a single sentence
together***
oh yeah, Leonard's reminder?
some hallelujahs
come cold and broken
~
5/31/17
500am
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 5:13 AM UTC
Mushroom clouds hang thick with a special guest appearance by a menthol cigarette.
The same color box you carry in your back pocket.
The same chemicals in your lungs live inside mine.
I can feel you pulsating behind my eyelids while
I mouth the words "I'm sorry" at your telephone number.
I don't even know what I'm apologizing for but
I miss you terribly and
I hate myself for not talking to you.
Please don't die.
And I pray to god
"why do you make me so sad?"
And he won't tell me a **** thing
Him and you like keeping secrets from me.
While he gives people sermons hallelujahs and amens
I get an echo of words in my head.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
With a broken Hallelujah,
I sang you to sleep;
And at your wake,
Eulogized the many marathons
That you ran to find yourself,
Or scurried haphazardly,
After the self that you struggled to keep.
You know I waited for you,
Up on that mountain top?
While you searched tirelessly,
Almost desperately,
For that pin drop silence,
In the midst of all the cacophony.
By: Lulwama K. Mulalu
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
The makeshift congregation packed into the church.
Hands clasped in broken hallelujahs.
Consecration of this community.
Guidelines for the faithful, faithful for tonight.
At least for now we can be one.
Trascendental divinity, like a silent wind flowing through
Public servants to ourselves.
We are the Church.
Sewn in the fields of the faithful.
Strewn through life like an empty chalice.
Filled with Merlot.
Hear us Father for we have sinned.
Glory to you.
Buffet Catholics asking for salvation.
Forgiveness sandwiched between the bread and pasta salad.
Repentant.
Offering up prayers for the ******
Quick to judgment.
With the ferocity of Charlemagne.
Partial acceptance into our open hands,
You made a valiant effort.
Sign of the cross with water blessed.
Genuflect.
Kneeling on the pews, praying for peace.
External.
Internal.
Oh! My children! God will have mercy.
Part of the flock for once
Maybe twice
A year.
Not even staying for the full length.
The faint smell of frankincense.
We offer you this gift.
Ceremonies steeped in tradition.
Rosebeads hung from the wrist of regulars.
This mass is being said in memory of…
We offer up these prayers for…
The meek will inherit the Earth.
If we leave anything.
Cynics questioning.
We’ve found hope in a paperback on a bookshelf.
Who is our shepherd?
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
to never know when I'm going to stop. each new girl topples out over the last, already midway into her own ******** her own catastrophe. to be out of control. to be constantly out of context. to live once or twice removed. to see kaleidoscopes in every drawn eyelid. to deal with the repercussions of the Other's actions. to only feel Whole with eyes closed & voice in hallelujahs. to hate being used, yet need it, crave it for the feeling of being wanted. to have sound hallucinations. to feel empty chronically. to feel emotions suddenly turn off. to rattle & shake under the lightest of pressures & thrive in chaos. to be distracted into dysfunction. to love. to love everyone except me(s). to mark my body with insults. to rack my mind with misgivings. to never be understood & to always be overestimated.
--
but to love. to always be humble. to always see others before self. to understand other's pain. to have so many bad memories, thus revel in every good one. to live in the emotional gutter then feel euphoric when crawling on level ground. to know that normal can never become extraordinary. to blow minds often, feel **** in my own skin. to be open to unexplored territory. to love often, powerfully, uncontrolled, chronic overflowed rivers, oceans of oscillating passions. to see kaleidoscopes in every drawn lid & know that others will never be mesmerized by the odd beauty i find ordinary. to close my eyes & raise my voice. hallelujah. hallelujah.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
We were told we were born sick
Though we never felt ill
We met in Sunday school
And over the coughs of other children
That hacked out either verses or mucus
It was never clear which
I asked you for a paint brush
And you stepped over the damp tissues
Thrown defeated on the ground
Like offerings at a precession
And you’d painted next to me.
We were told we’d always be sick
But we never looked ill
When I accidently bumped your elbow reaching for
More paper
Our blushing cheeks the color of alter wine
Bore healthy smiles and warm glows
And after countless more Sundays
When the men in funny neck ties
Came around to give us crackers
In the shapes of pills we couldn’t swallow
We decided to hide them in the sleeves of our robes
And we watched as all the other children
Grew sicker while we grew stronger
Even though they drank blood
And we’d sneak off to drink wine.
We became the heretics of hallelujahs
AWOL archangels
And we were never bed ridden from illness
In fact we yearned for the outside
Disregarding the warnings of germs
That ran rampant there
Figuring that was why they made the
Church’s steeple look like a needle
We wanted freedom nonetheless.
They told us that we would catch the flu
By holding hands
And when we were caught contaminated
They told us to wash our bodies off in the water
And you looked at me and I looked at you
And we agreed that we should-
But not this water, not here
So we grabbed hands again
And you with your free left and I with my free right
Pushed through the double doors
And as the light poured in the chapel
It scorched the priests but for us it baptized us whole
And now we tell ourselves swimming in the sea
That became our holy healing water
We’d only ever be as sick as others let us be.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
@niamornimo
What do you do when you're at the edge
That place that you keep
Landing in...
Over and over as though a melody?.
When waves of emotions stir up
As tears fight,
Trying to escape my eye lids
Maybe wash off the pain in my eyes.
Religion, relationship, career, purpose
Nothing makes sense
I'm at a loss here
What's with me
Do I enjoy the roller coaster
And why is it always painful
This knife stuck in my
Heart
Stuck., as my molten blood
Burn it down,
Melting it from it's metallic state
Consumed completely into dark
The horror.
The voices, the mock,
The evil laugh,
Of him winning
Ha!...you're a seven remember
The mass that should
Predict the future behind you doesn't measure up,
Your face is pale,
Your eyes dilated,
Your knees sharp...decide whether you wanna be a girl coz ha!
Your short fat fingers ugh! Pathetic!
What was God even thinking trying to put up all this?
You're the definition of mess.
At that dark corner
I smiled,
I chuckled and in the middle of a chuckle
I broke a tear
And laughed hysterically
For the sick joke.
Striding slowly to the mirror.
I see my reflection
I'm not sure what they saw
When they were saying all that
Coz I don't see it.
I see a reflection of God
Maker of the heavens and earth
Can't believe it broke my heart
Listening to their empty
Pouts
Maybe I forget how perfect
His work is
I hope I'll snap in time
To appreciate the rhythm
For the hallelujahs we to raise
Coz everything He created was good and perfect
So next time you
Find yourself doubting
His master piece
Consult The spirit that
Hovered over the waters
When the earth was with no form
Helping the Father complete His work
Which was affirmed good.
Not forgetting Him breathing life into
You and placing you
Where He called good and perfect.
Let His words flow out of you
Changing the slow rock rhythm that keeps living you hanging on the edge
And dance on those sharp
Thorns coz even though the snake
Bites you,
The poison won't harm you.
Maybe you're a small girl which
Is perfect coz you have a big God.
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 4:17 PM UTC
Halfway through yesterday are the words I forgot,
To stash inside your closet.
Lost hallelujahs for your too charming smile,
Halt, just shy of, "In a minute!"
You would like those thoughts -
Those full, careless thoughts -
Forever slipping into,
Politeness.
The too-telling giggles,
Hidden in slick eyes,
And smuggled in,
Feigned aloofness.
Meet me at your mind's found corner,
In its lipstick and hot-combed hair.
We'll share some words,
That we've never heard,
That will sneak us off to whenever.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
I began collaborating with the old western ghost towns,
constructing the basics to whip my luck back into shape.
Yet, I hoped to find guts and glory from
the time chasing stories played out on the big screens.
I wanted to talk to God from the pavement, so
I let my knees kiss the asphalt with the idea
He'd give me some sort of incentive to leave this
small hellhole called home.
I welded my toes deep into the road
maybe to come across some kind of faith.
I let my fists get a contact high with the rocks
gathered in piles on each side of me.
I made love to the ground, hoping it'd
love me back,
but then I focused on my ears and I couldn't
hear the hallelujahs anymore.
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 7:11 PM UTC