"heaping" poems
(a tribute; if mere words could be enough)
~
the life of this River,
'tis an unending stream;
is an unpublished book,
its current fast at flood;
a flow that washes clean,
all the gathered debris;
its words like diamonds,
sparkling neath its lapping
waters at its river bank;
a sound refreshing,
hushes the rush in my mind,
calling to my soul.
where does the river go at night,
and whence flows its waters
when hidden, out of sight?
its flow is eternal to the sea;
a place of waters gathering,
of floods heaping,
of reflection's seeking,
where still waters lie,
where the hand of friendship
holds and lifts all who venture
to its depth where feet
can touch no longer
the point where most
would flounder
become a place of calm
of peaceable retreat without
and deep within
a flow of tears for thee!
~
*post script.
a heart on sleeve composure,
for he who knows the River best!
who's breath is water deep,...
who's heart beat its very current!
added 12-13-16
my dearest HP friends, i want to thank you for this Daily and for your generous words, though i cannot truly claim this credit for my own. those of you who have walked these halls with me for a few years will read between the lines and will know precisely for whom this tribute is written. he is become to me one of a small handful of poetry mentors and it was a moment of great appreciation for his artistic talent that inspired these words... words that tumbled from this pen as a rush, and in mere minutes. such is he, that he inspired this spill of words; a flood that i would not claim for my own. to he who knows, thank you, my friend... this River... these and this belongs to you!!*
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.
Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.
Stage two:
Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.
Stage three:
***
Stage four.
***
Stage five:
As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
Your lies were dipped in bittersweet chocolate;
with a heaping amount of caramel sauce drizzled on top.
I gobbled up more than I care to openly admit;
in fear of what others will think and say.
After enjoying your momentary treats;
came the truth;
with so much salt, it was baffling to eat.
A.K.A
(10 w)
The lies I ate, but
the truth I couldn’t take.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
like many of you
I enjoy being a poet
of keen irrelevance
a literary luminaire
of solitude
a lost writing ghost
a megalomaniac haunting himself
a waiting oracle
waiting
for the occult muse door mouse to tap dance
whispering night babble
or having a cooked chicken fly into my mouth
while i take searing snapshots
of erratic images
puzzling them into words
from boundless burdens
of heaping intestinal bluesy aftermaths exodus of conscience
bruising my self like a ********* in heat
on out of control run-on rants
and blood razor drenched mysticism
while real men drive earth movers
drink bruskies
and kick ***
hustling time share Chinese handcuff contracts
and up sell social justice platitudes
fit for pie in the sky levitating hysteria
lives shatter like red ice
in endless cacophonies of skull clobbering effacement
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
and no one lets me down
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.
Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.
Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.
Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.
Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves
It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay
It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers
It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales
Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song
Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!
At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
Some are laughing, some are weeping;
She is sleeping, only sleeping.
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;
There the wind is heaping, heaping
Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping,
By the cornfields ripe for reaping.
There are lilies, and there blushes
The deep rose, and there the thrushes
Sing till latest sunlight flushes
In the west; a fresh wind brushes
Through the leaves while evening hushes.
There by day the lark is singing
And the grass and weeds are springing:
There by night the bat is winging;
There forever winds are bringing
Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing.
Night and morning, noon and even,
Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven:
The long strife at length is striven:
Till her grave-bands shall be riven
Such is the good portion given
To her soul at rest and shriven.
4.4k
Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake.
It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure.
As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss.
And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens.
"Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'.
Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded.
The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode.
"Two steps from hell," she sings.
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
A little pinch of guilt
A sprinkle of passion
A touch of desire
And a heaping spoonful of desperation
For good measure
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Everyday’s affliction with what we know is missing
Countless moments wishing that fishing was as simple as whistling
Remembering that willows wither in winters un-warmed
and wandering wonders willfully repose when rivaled against ripening woes
Come closer potential memories of exposes’
Clothes skydiving with expectations of faceplanting into the floor
Lady classifications disguise the actions depicting a *****
Heaping hopefuls cascade over glistening gazes that persuade the perilous to lay dormant
Come closer to the oops
That second guess in the back of your head that taps the shoulder and says go
That same go that was an initial no and now corruption has spidered the criteria
It seems the cat may have found the trick to the ball of yarn
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
i sink my fork into a heaping bowl
twist and turn to form a roll
swirls around, i salivate
no longer can i wait
i indulge and it feels so good
tastes so delicious just like it should
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
*how many ways may i undo you ...
each sublime
i crave your vermilion waters
copper gilded plush
falling to my hungry naked mouth
drug euphoria
drooling ***** toy
as i stroke your ankles
with tender fingers
and brush your delicate feet with my lips
before i lift you
floating girl
and you lose yourself
thanking God
for the inconceivable pleasure
of unbearable pain
as you are split and ruptured open
oh pink flowers splashing
in a stained tub
of
blood like a blotter
sanguine perfume
mouth melting kisses
heaping vulva's detonations
adorations petition
am i not vulturous
holding you in my warm arms
while i whisper in the caverns of your hollow breath
that you mean the world to me
i drink rain storming from torrid gates howling
from your cleaved ******* and unfurled belly
your eyes
moons trembling
immersed in your fathomless yawning soul
as you take your last breaths
tell me baby
is it tender cruel
are angels kissing you yet
are you caressed by powder pearlescent clouds
are you butter on the lips of God
while dark curtains flutter and shut
while i weep and convulse
in heaping waves of ecstasy
there is only you
like
heavens thunder*
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
*i saw you
i saw your fiery eyes
it was like looking into a cup
unstoppably filling up to its brim
yours, abundantly filled with vehement grim
so uneasy it was conjecturing your mind
gave me a reason to unwind for a little while
tell my why
all the pretends and quiet sighs, enshrouding whats from behind
what it is there inside
why do you need to hide
thy precious heart with no choice
but to turn itself into an agitated smoldered iron
strengthened heart, furnished like art
you are a burning metal amenably hammered by many foes
far more drowned with the empty souls
where are you, where is the real you
how did your soul turn so blue
let me condole
drilling poles amidst the cold
rendering you a hand and something to hold
I will find yours
along with all the lost
long hoarfrost
waiting to be accost
along with the alley of souls
growling down the holes
in line, next to mine
unleash a shine, your spirit so divine
let your caliginosity be replaced
all be thy grace shall be embraced
this time, fearlessly
without minds controlling slavery
cutting the negativity and
ignoring life's declivity
see yourself walking through the flame
no more lames
without the shame and doubt getting burnt
stepping on with something learnt
now you are changed, well-transformed,
someone born to aspire, died meant to inspire,
honey you are retrofire, firing in the night sky
but not as heaping as an empty pyre
but as fierce as an enraging forest fire*
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
**November 5, 2010 at 2:59 am
{Inspired by Dr. Boshra 3agban, Nizzar Qabani}
You're a woman;
created from the Greek myths,
wrapped in the veil of my fantasies,
Reborn from all the phoenix ashes,
You're the history of my life, miss;
it bounds u not..no years no seas,
you grant the moon those glaring flashes,
So I never sleep at nights to see thy gypsy eyes,
It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams,
You're a woman;
Carved by an angel's hands,
& made from the diamonds of verse,
Veiled in the golden cloak of my dreams,
A deity from some mystic lands,
Glowing through my murky universe,
Born from heaven's springs & streams,
Your tidal dormant waves through me they arise,
You're a woman;
Greater than Aphrodite & Athena,
You're the endless music of the lyre of pan,
You're the gauzy clouds that may make spring a winter eve,
Picturing you ..Tottering...is the ****** of me,
Thy swift stalk...gazing at you; forever I span,
arrayed in thy mantle of every hyacinth's leaf,
That sings the odes of love in me heart they incise,
You're a woman;
Caring not for time or years,
Neither aging nor death can touch thee,
You're the eternal rose of all the nerieds,
Knowing not no pains or fears,
Thy treads' rhythm lurks through me,
Your love's a religion, belief & a creed,
& my prayers from now forth art thy drowsy sighs,
It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams,
You're a woman;
Drest in the Elysium stars,
With pinions of an angel of life,
Fretting on waters of rivers of Eden,
Healing my feeble searing scars,
Heaping my ardent fires that thrive,
With dewy kisses That're unforgotten,
I've never lived before...now I realize,
You're a woman;
Of wavy hair & wavy weather,
Of blushy cheeks, like of the primrose,
Nestling these lips gushing with love,
I pledge my heart & soul for a feather,
Of thy wing that flips & shows,
Sublimity with that dimpled smile of a dove,
That holds all the answers & whys...
It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams....
******
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
Cocky yet humble,
Yelling at a mumble.
just another contradiction,
Self destructive predilection.
Smart enough to know better,
Yet too dumb to care whether,
I'm dead inside and rotting out,
Or simply just living with doubt.
So the story goes,
Only heaven knows
Why I do the things I do.
I just wish I knew.
Tall, small build,
Not strong willed.
yet willing to finish the mission.
Watch my plans reach their fruition.
Stuff four friends in a white panel van,
Keep them on the road as long as I can.
So we can fit our piece in the puzzle plan.
Cause I'm nothing, simply nothing without any fans.
So my hair, it grows,
And the wind it blows,
Hopefully in the right direction.
To the next intersection.
Evil, yet good,
And Misunderstood.
Idle hands, busy mind
Produce horrific crimes.
Play with emotions to sway
People's affections swing my way.
Yet never carry out the ***** deed at hand.
I'll call it a conscience, say never again, but I'm just a man.
My eyes wander,
Will's getting stronger.
But it's just too hard not to see
Or adequately appreciate beauty.
Calm and enthusiastic,
Dull but charismatic,
Maybe a dash of eccentricity.
Throw in Some single minded duplicity,
Add in a heaping helping of guilt to top it off.
Let cool for twenty years and let the odor waft,
Then you get a blue eyed, brown haired ****** bag.
Who wants nothing more than his childhood back.
So much for growing up.
So much for no regrets.
I wouldn't mind staying young,
But time just won't relent.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
High up above the open, welcoming door
It hangs, a piece of wood with colours dim.
Once, long ago, it was a waving tree
And knew the sun and shadow through the leaves
Of forest trees, in a thick eastern wood.
The winter snows had bent its branches down,
The spring had swelled its buds with coming flowers,
Summer had run like fire through its veins,
While autumn pelted it with chestnut burrs,
And strewed the leafy ground with acorn cups.
Dark midnight storms had roared and crashed among
Its branches, breaking here and there a limb;
But every now and then broad sunlit days
Lovingly lingered, caught among the leaves.
Yes, it had known all this, and yet to us
It does not speak of mossy forest ways,
Of whispering pine trees or the shimmering birch;
But of quick winds, and the salt, stinging sea!
An artist once, with patient, careful knife,
Had fashioned it like to the untamed sea.
Here waves uprear themselves, their tops blown back
By the gay, sunny wind, which whips the blue
And breaks it into gleams and sparks of light.
Among the flashing waves are two white birds
Which swoop, and soar, and scream for very joy
At the wild sport. Now diving quickly in,
Questing some glistening fish. Now flying up,
Their dripping feathers shining in the sun,
While the wet drops like little glints of light,
Fall pattering backward to the parent sea.
Gliding along the green and foam-flecked hollows,
Or skimming some white crest about to break,
The spirits of the sky deigning to stoop
And play with ocean in a summer mood.
Hanging above the high, wide open door,
It brings to us in quiet, firelit room,
The freedom of the earth's vast solitudes,
Where heaping, sunny waves tumble and roll,
And seabirds scream in wanton happiness.
2.8k
put all the words
in the world
in my two hands,
each a microscopic dot
of near invisible,
teeming, heaping,
ricochet intersecting
colliding,
cell splendid splitting
leaping,
until they,
wordlessly forming
a sign inquiring,
in neon flashing:
“What did I demand of them?”
”New combinations,” my reply.
how we
laughed together...
as they procreated
My Happy Request*
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
It's been a long while
but I've no trace of time.
I'm covered in brown mud,
piled over with rusty
red and orange leaves.
I lay at the foot
of what now,
is an old friend.
It's not easy
to get much sunshine
the large Oak's roots
are what both isolate
and keep my company.
I'd been loved
a long while
but that story
is an old life lived
a memory
that became a fantasy
time stretched
until it's bonds broke.
They tried
to recover me,
for a short while
for something
that mirrored
commitment
at such a young
and impressionable
age.
They hunted
in and out
of trunks
of the large Oak's home
never to find
where I lay.
Embedded
in October's leaves.
Yet,
distance
didn't make
the heart grow
fonder.
I'd been lost
and long forgotten
at the brink of dusk,
at the ring
of a more warming
love.
They came back,
once or twice,
to test
the shaded wood,
the darkened dirt.
They came back
until leaves
covered me
eye-high.
If they were still yelling
for the track of my presence
I could no longer hear them.
Even if
they were still scouring
built-down woods,
I could no longer
see them
allow them
to catch my eye.
Even if they still loved me
I could no longer feel them
covered
by cracked dirt,
and crumpled leaves.
The roots
had become my lover
now
grown to hug
my rounded hips
my heaping
dirt-covered
smile.
The wind
doesn't play with me
much
only to allow
a sweeping
kiss of leaves,
or to pick
the dirt coat
from my back
and donate
to a better cause
the warming
of a seed
that tiny
Christmas Rose.
I quit
listening
long after
I quit
looking,
looking for the boys
that had once
loved me.
Only then
did he come
sticky handed,
dressed in metal,
and armed
to save
a princess.
Engrossed
in his enactment,
poking swords
at my Oak
demanding
emptied branches
release
his Rapunzel,
I saw him
catch glimpse
of my rounded edges.
I
didn't notice
until
I looked up
into those
adventurous
eyes.
He knelt,
gigantic
in young age,
he plucked me
easily
from my big
Oak roots.
He wiped
dirt
from my body
slowly
and softly
like I was
new-found
treasure
Like I was
the gold
every child
hunts for
in their own
back yard.
He ran
his rough thumbs
on my edges
never lifting
his eyes
from his fingers
on that short
walk home.
He rinsed me clean
under
warmed water,
wondered
about my stories
then dusk came.
I was tucked
warm
under his protection
under that imaginative
mind,
and the boy
made me his own.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
she is a dream that wakes you up desperate to return to sleep
so as to feel her again, so as to be lured in irrevocably deep
she is as a dragon is when unconscious on the ground
harmless in speculation, not moving, just a heaping mound
stay wary lest she strike with her closed jaws that ache to bite
you will bleed then thank her lavishly with the foundations of your might
for even sparing you the smallest slice of pain from her sculptured lips
for even giving you the privilege of her attention in small strips
she is my dream, she is my glory, it is my spirit she has caught
and i will always be naught but her ever fleeting thought
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
I don't know where, if it will end.
Refuse to voice or recommend.
To treat what ails us is pretend.
Slips through fingers apprehend.
To help more than to hurt,
reflexive sunny disposition
which can cradle sallow sleeping stoic pride.
Distinguishing the dirt,
collective run beside conviction;
acting ladle heavy, heaping, terrified.
Leave things better than you found them
Received our debtors stand; surround them.
I wonder if to soothe what ail,
under apprehension prevail.
Therein lies each us, our grail -
our demons sinking in each nail.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
I read the book of Samuel
I read the story of the Israelites
Of how they rejected God
“We want a king!” they demanded
“We want to be like other nations”
Rejecting God’s kingship.
The same God who brought them up
Out of the ******* of Pharaoh
Out of slavery in Egypt
The same God who gave them victories
Over many nations and wars
The same God who had fed them
For forty years in the wilderness
Same God who had proved
Beyond reasonable doubt
That He is the King of kings
A Lord above all lords
They chose to downgrade!
I was swept away in a mind journey
As I thought of how it must have felt
To be rejected by your own children
Repudiated by your beloved
Disowned by the very people you love.
My heart bled!
The heartbreak was unimaginable
The pain was excruciating
As my mind pointed fingers of accusation
I couldn’t find befitting words
*“Foolish Israelites!”
“Unrepentant idiots!”
“Stubborn generation!”*
And as my mind went awry
Heaping insults on God’s people
Raining accusations on them
Judging an imperfect people as myself…
His still small voice whispered
***“You are all the same”
“You have done worse”***
Then it struck me
Like a lightening of a million volts
I am the Israelites
I am the very people of God
I am the same ones I condemn
I have betrayed God repeatedly
I have chosen sin above my maker
My iniquities know no bounds
I have trivialized His blood
I have made a mess of the cross.
*I am the “foolish Israelites!”
I am the “unrepentant idiots!”
I am the “stubborn generation!”*
My heart melted into tears
Shame covered me like a cloud
My head was bowed in ignominy.
Unable to speak or move
I lay there, weeping at my wickedness
No words were spoken
But I felt His arms embrace me
In acknowledgement of my repentance
I never deserved it
But He loved me nonetheless.
I pointed one finger at them
But three pointed back at me!
© Raphael Uzor
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, 'Father, who makes it snow?'
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
'The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall! '
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
Shadows taste like unanswered crickets and last years leaves.
This question crawls in your skin
as you try to wring the answers out of *******
There is no right or wrong
in the realm of exo-skeletons
so the crickets sing as
I part the earth and
come on your sacred soil.
I know what I am.
You are my sugar,
white and heaping.
There is only this.
There is only now.
You are here
and I am there
and I will choke on these
shadows the way you choke me
behind your lovely lashes.
Don’t die so soon,precious;
I have many flowers to
spread on your skin.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
The jury
nooses around their necks
deliberate
which is more pernicious?
my volatile explosions of anger
pent up frustration
boiling over with haste
delivering painful words
to her ears and heart
or
the child that is my heart
left unkempt
embarrassed in its neglect
for so long
anger came calling
an unwanted nanny
resentment in her bag
two spoonfuls a day
heaping
till love and hate
fornicate
producing a passive-
aggressive
"Beast of Burden"
one you can't nurture
or let go
... regret
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
Love’s not simple, God knows it’s not.
If it is simple then it is not love.
But to make it simple, to make it seem simple,
I am sending it out to you, word for word,
Line to line, poem after poem.
I am handing it out to you
Like a million dollar contract.
I am making you feel it, touch after touch,
One halted-touch to the next,
Sadness and happiness.
So forgive me, if I burden you
With all love’s complexities.
Forgive me, if I am heaping it
At your feet, all this confusion.
My heart is only boat tonight,
And you have every right
To own the ocean.
My mind is only wind tonight,
Yours is a closed window.
Our hands were the shiest couple,
And our elbows were French-kissing
For quite some time now.
So I have a liking
For what I cannot have.
I think it is quite clear.
Don’t pull me in.
Don’t push me away.
Don’t tire yourself.
Open the door
Or just have it closed.
But please forgive me,
If I knock at your door
Forever, for I love you,
And I love you, simply,
With all its complexities.
I am offering you
A key to an opened door-
My heart.
Use it well.
Forgive me, dear,
But I love you,
And it is
That simple.
© 2011 J.S.P.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC