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"handstand" poems
I opened my eyes And looked up at the rain, And it dripped in my head And flowed into my brain, And all that I hear as I lie in my bed Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head. I step very softly, I walk very slow, I can't do a handstand-- I might overflow, So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said-- I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
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212.6k
Rain
I jump into a handstand, flipping my world onto its head. the tree dangles from the earth like my feet in the air. my hands seize the grass as I attempt to hold on. so I reunite with the ground, and my hands release their burdens.
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Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 10:03 PM UTC
handstand.
I once knew a girl, back when my posture was good, we wore matching shirts, jeans and shoes. She kept her hair long, to hide jealous shoulders. All the loud voices didn't have a thing to say. They didn't resonate, hammering on doors, denting ear drums, enunciating mispronunciations. I played football in times square, passing glances and stairs, had rock climbing races to higher elevations. My badly tuned feet couldn't run, ankle bones off key. There's a saltwater film frosting my eyelashes, clinging to my tongue, holding down my yells to the quiet machines that toss boiled eggs in the air. Up to their knees in the dark left behind by streetlights, they rolled up their pants for wading. They lingered in docking terminals, standing still, becoming dust collectors. Somehow we're all just wanderers, citing passages we herd in front of us like mountain goats. Ambling across empty intersections, walking in handstand through cul de sacs, picking up litter from busy streets. Books for readers wear little letters, use big words with four syllables. They showed me how to fence with trains, ride red wagons down hills, win marmalade coated cricket matches. I never judged the typos to be out of place (I accepted the bits they forgot to erase)
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Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:47 AM UTC
I Read the Instructions
How do you explain thoughts That never come to you? Just floating out in front Fluttering Teasing with those unchained wings Beauty is an ugly thing How do you explain a pain Unexplainable When you cry with a straight face And die with a smile walking in a handstand And loving as the fools do With a hand on your heart While forgetting my own heartbeat Sometimes wishing they'd Cop a feel To remember how to be felt It's almost hard to dream Knowing it will end in reality Cognitive thoughts deceiving Playing me recorded records of Happy Oh how I envy the The which possess the earliest form of bliss Ignorance When love was void of those Nagging thoughts of disappointment Hush child And breathe in Feel your cells with much needed oxygen Holding your gasp Waiting for Hurt's end Corruptive Idiotic Dear child Breathe Pain Just fuel to this steam powered Progression Not dead yet So I have to be getting stronger Building a bridge Soon I'll be over It ~Life~
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Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Life
Oil Exhaust Handstand theatre In the back of a van Underground avenue Has the scent of Stale black licorice Melted into the sidewalk The familiar odor of traffic Is a pedestrian substitute For the Old World charm This renovated place Paved over Long Ago
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Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 5:48 PM UTC
Scratch-and-Sniff City
I want the children to stay silhouetted against the sun, doing handstands, throwing their heads down and kicking the cloudy, blue water. They are silly children with no fear of the fall and slipping shirts that expose their human bellies. They are spending time upside down before the ground is lava and before they have to check the sidewalks for cracks, before they are tricked into believing there is a secret underneath their feet and they are greedy, greedy, always looking down with limp arms and hunched shoulders. They throw themselves over the ground again and again. Not understanding that their arms are too weak to keep their legs wading against the current of gravity as it pulses down on the Earth. Or maybe they do know and they are only trying to do handstands, looking for a new perspective, a different world, not the one they are stuck with. They could be searching everywhere for an alternative before they have to balance on two feet and face the fear that will rake in moments of their lives. They already know that fear but maybe trying anyways is what makes all the difference. Perhaps everyone should go home right now and designate handstand stations in their living rooms, throw open the windows, and let the sunlight in because it really is getting warmer or maybe we're all just getting used to the cold.
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May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:42 AM UTC
Handstand Station
I was going to write a poem    about how I stood on the corner after    work, gripping a squishy handlebar with    my left hand and holding K’s flip phone    in the other. My stomach flip-flopped across JFK blvd, down 20th street, and to that little alleyway where I stood alone for a while. An old lady stared at me...    did I trigger a happy memory of her    youth,    or was she just smirking at the beads of    sweat on my forehead and disintegrating    soles of my ballet flats?    My black dress slouched over my body    like I was going to a  funeral. And even though my acro class was yesterday, I still felt upside down. There’s no way I could stay in a handstand that long, but I would’ve done it if it gave me a different explanation for why I was so sick. Inside of me were those cropping rainbow scribbles that I used to make on Paint, you know, the ones that seemed like they could create a picture but ended up turning into shaking lines? I could feel the lack of your presence, I could FEEL your not being there. As the minutes passed and I kept standing and waiting my face drooped and it was hard not to cry right there on the spot. It was just past lunchtime but there was still a steady flow of businessmen filling the sidewalk. They glanced at me but I just looked away because they were my father's age and gave me familiar half-smiles. I said that I was going to write a poem because I didn't have enough energy to do anything but list words, but I guess this just turned into a ****** one.
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Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
Vulnerable
I was going to write a poem    about how I stood on the corner after    work, gripping a squishy handlebar with    my left hand and holding K’s flip phone    in the other. My stomach flip-flopped across JFK blvd, down 20th street, and to that little alleyway where I stood alone for a while. An old lady stared at me...    did I trigger a happy memory of her    youth,    or was she just smirking at the beads of    sweat on my forehead and disintegrating    soles of my ballet flats?    My black dress slouched over my body    like I was going to a  funeral. And even though my acro class was yesterday, I still felt upside down. There’s no way I could stay in a handstand that long, but I would’ve done it if it gave me a different explanation for why I was so sick. Inside of me were those cropping rainbow scribbles that I used to make on Paint, you know, the ones that seemed like they could create a picture but ended up turning into shaking lines? I could feel the lack of your presence, I could FEEL your not being there. As the minutes passed and I kept standing and waiting my face drooped and it was hard not to cry right there on the spot. It was just past lunchtime but there was still a steady flow of businessmen filling the sidewalk. They glanced at me but I just looked away because they were my father's age and gave me familiar half-smiles. I said that I was going to write a poem because I didn't have enough energy to do anything but list words, but I guess this just turned into a ****** one.
Continue reading...
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I do a handstand so that my feet dangle in space It feels as if I am holding on like grasping the memory of you The stars pull me outward but I hold on I do a handstand head over heels for you Love can not be explained like the gravity of this world It pulls me back to you I let it
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May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Pulled
It makes me smile When nothing else can I'll do anything for it Jump a building Do a handstand Sing my ABC's I'll be the queen of comedy So that I may hear its music It builds friendships Breaks barriers It's so special Yet so common Laughter
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Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
Laughter
The conversation tumbles out in ribbons and fall leaves, In stories we all tell ourselves that nobody believes, Walk with wolves in their wolf clothes, costume suits and ties, Watching it all end with deaf ears and hourglass eyes, As the chips turn to ashes, we fall where we please, On grey dashboard tables, on broken church knees, Vulnerabilities remain hidden behind a digital disguise, Where everything that ever happened happened to be lies, Our feet are getting older now, we tiptoe a safer route, Drunk on expensive alcohol, nothing new to write about, I was always left or leaving, maybe I’m already gone, And I want to talk about it, but you turn the TV on, So I stare out the window, and I wait it all away, Repeating softly to myself, We’re all okay, we’re all okay.
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Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Handstand
If your going to cry do a handstand so your tears don't fall look in the mirror and make a silly face so that you laugh instead Grab a peice of paper and write something good about you on it so next time you can read it
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Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
If your crying
a handstand here shake but enlighten her that sink tanks with mats while driven leagues under the sea dissolve a seance with earthly her satellites only survey pride that behold riff in scholar that best compose symphony and virtueless connect the dots
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Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
sub
Well, there. I found it, shins I found, a huge place in the back of the head and locked in bed, maybe id can only pinch with the residue residing Swelling and spilling, the only true bad Smile. The stem ringing and squealing Swelling, kneeling Afterwords, left and sizzle stigmad Talk to your kids a lot. please! Because handstand pushups only make The thing competitive with no Relatable taste And movement from the vital stops Which attracts the secret cops. They're city veins. Swollen, stolen.
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Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Untitled
So I said Continue I'm scared of mistakes This is me Everyone I know Has me figured out Except I Julie Delpy Spirit-animal Soul of **** In the ***** of her holiness Whole I pride in the mystery of mischief I can hold my breath As I hold your hand I can handstand in the face of death I can die laughing at myself Who am I? You have me figured out Why not tell me what you see?
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May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Mirror-image
Me and the guys were cool and cruising, in my mate Robin's new car. The cops had slapped a defect notice on it, and so it was decided we wouldn't venture far. With Robin at the wheel and I alongside in front, we headed via back-roads out to an old dirt track. There was Dale and Steve and Joe and Andy, and they were all squashed up in the back. Six teenage boys intent on adventure, when we finally found dirt road to suit. I can't recall whose idea it was but Joe and Andy, were encouraged to climb out onto the boot. Robin kicked the throttle the car springing off its mark, fish tailing and raising clouds of dust as it sped upon its way. I could hear the sound of Joe and Andy screaming, but I couldn't make out what they were trying to say. Now some way down the road yells and laughter, still coming from the guys riding out on the back. Robin saw the road had been washed away, a two foot ravine cutting right across the track. Robin reacted swiftly and stomped hard upon the brake, I expected to see a cloud of dust but clear as day instead, Was the startled face of Andy as he did a springing handstand, from the hood to a perfect landing twenty yards ahead. Now Joe was a considerably bigger guy, and depressed indent of roof gave me several tips. Until Joe slid out onto the windscreen, giving a human impression of a daytime partial eclipse. Two thoughts forever are stuck with me ever since that day, would we have laughed so hard if Robin missed timed the pedal, But the other one that really haunts and plagues my mind, Could Andy's stunt have won him an Olympic gold medal.
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Jul 7, 2020
Jul 7, 2020 at 6:22 AM UTC
Younger Days
Me and the guys were cool and cruising, in my mate Robin's new car. The cops had slapped a defect notice on it, and so it was decided we wouldn't venture far. With Robin at the wheel and I alongside in front, we headed via back-roads out to an old dirt track. There was Dale and Steve and Joe and Andy, and they were all squashed up in the back. Six teenage boys intent on adventure, when we finally found dirt road to suit. I can't recall whose idea it was but Joe and Andy, were encouraged to climb out onto the boot. Robin kicked the throttle the car springing off its mark, fish tailing and raising clouds of dust as it sped upon its way. I could hear the sound of Joe and Andy screaming, but I couldn't make out what they were trying to say. Now some way down the road yells and laughter, still coming from the guys riding out on the back. Robin saw the road had been washed away, a two foot ravine cutting right across the track. Robin reacted swiftly and stomped hard upon the brake, I expected to see a cloud of dust but clear as day instead, Was the startled face of Andy as he did a springing handstand, from the hood to a perfect landing twenty yards ahead. Now Joe was a considerably bigger guy, and depressed indent of roof gave me several tips. Until Joe slid out onto the windscreen, giving a human impression of a daytime partial eclipse. Two thoughts forever are stuck with me ever since that day, would we have laughed so hard if Robin missed timed the pedal, But the other one that really haunts and plagues my mind, Could Andy's stunt have won him an Olympic gold medal.
Continue reading...
32
Well, there. I found it, shins I found, a huge place in the back of the head and locked in bed, maybe id can only pinch with the residue residing Swelling and spilling, the only true bad Smile. The stem ringing and squealing Swelling, kneeling Afterwords, left and sizzle stigmad Talk to your kids a lot. please! Because handstand pushups only make The thing competitive with no Relatable taste And movement from the vital stops Which attracts the secret cops. They're city veins. Swollen, stolen.
0
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Untitled
the *** machine has begun to breathe on her own. father ***** a brown bruise into mother’s half of my cigarette. I could be doing a handstand in a prison yard or watching as my cell is turned upside down. brother uncurls a finger from his made fist so deliberately I know he means it to be a hard-on. I crush my eyes with my eyes and try to remember the name my son gave to the loose tooth we hung together from a doorknob. was my son told me the puppets need our hair.
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Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
the visits
the demon ***** a child in the dream of yours where it first appeared the mother gets less and less attention for being born the baby uncrosses its eyes at a lone ****** I lose hours to the handstand the occupiers of my city worship proof a mosquito in the gravedigger’s ear
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Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC
slowing
A soul lost makes a good man Perpetual motion breeds success Tossing & turning into a handstand ***** to **** but at least I **** less Never claimed to be your superman But old Clark has nothing on me I write for you and my back bends I've got the touch, I can make you see You never thought I could And I never blamed you The coulds & shoulds & woulds Blinded you to the truth So put your faith in my light As I flick my Bic over a puddle of gasoline Try & try & try as I might Off your thoughts, I can't wean you With the new me and the old you We can do things we have never before So hold my hand now, embracing all that's true And by the end, you'll be asking for more And more And more
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Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
***** to **** (Asking for More)
you're a galaxy personified i know what i mean. you're trying to make it all work your mind is like a dream. one of the dreams that turns to nightmares, because it makes you want to ignore the fact that i can be here and there. (i swear. i'll be good. i say it a million times, but i mean it -- it just gets lost in the rhymes). i'll be standing on the sidelines, pom poms in my hand you're making me so proud i could maybe do a handstand. a window and door will open and you'll walk inside, just like your light, my love, you'll be enveloped by the sunshine.
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Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
sunshine, starshine
When I fall to pices, what if I didn't wanna get back up again? Lay somewhere in the middle wherever it begins and wherever it ends? Never stand again real tall,quite contempt to crawl. It doesn't matter if I'm this side or that side of the wall. If I break a smile I could do a handstand, so my mouths the right way...staying awake at night so I could sleep all day. What if I didn't want to move on? What if this is right where I belong? Listen to sad songs and do no wrong, this life's ***** it's taking too long.
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Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
What if...
We must have forgotten someone anyone no one? well then we'll go on thinking that we've forgotten something anything nothing? and the clock does a handstand at half past six I stumble to the table and have two Weetabix it's usually three, but me I'm forgetful and forgot to buy more, at seven twenty four I close the front door on my way out wondering what next.
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Jul 20, 2024
Jul 20, 2024 at 6:45 AM UTC
Racking up the miles