"hems" poems
You answered just a little too fast.
It surprised me.
I haven't seen you in about a year,
And I am realizing I've missed you.
It surprised me.
The last time I saw you,
And the time before that,
You were intoxicated.
It surprised me.
I haven't seen you in about a year,
And I am realizing what you are to me.
It surprised me.
You are a dress without hems or seams.
I hardly know you but you are beautiful.
You are the bullet in the rotating cylinder of the gun to my head.
You dig through my skull and explode my amygdala.
And force me to love you.
You are the jam in the barrel as I pull the trigger.
I fell to the ground in realization:
You both killed me and saved me.
It surprised me.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields
In what myriad guise it wraps!
At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal
Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil
Sometimes a deep sensation
A strong surge of emotion
Permeating every atom
Pervading from top to bottom
It heightens the pulse
And makes every nerve convulse
It has left kingdoms fall asunder
And many a mighty man - surrender
Often, like dew drops falling from above
Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove
It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody
Changing every sensation into rhapsody
As beams of silver cast by the moon
Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon
It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart
Filling the void and leaving no dearth
Love sublime, sure like a candle lit
Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit
It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright
Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt
As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers
Music to flute or shade to bowers
Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores
Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes
Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised
Nor be stifled or be construed
Love puts all other things into place
And hems life with a lovely lace
Love is all we seek and too scarce to find
A magic thread by which hearts are bound
Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around
And cures all the ills that surround
Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Blindness haunts the king who seeks
In vain do riches question
- but-
A beggar with a poor man's coat
Receives the greatest wisdom.
We, of sound and sturdy mind
Sniff rich bouquets of vanity
-but-
Fine wine is pressed by she who raves
Her hems stained with insanity.
Old men would have learn'd much
Had they been thus styl'd
-and-
There are no wiser phrases brought
Than those of a child.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
Lend me your eyes.
So I could fill them
with the bursting stars.
Telling tales of the spellbinding universe,
singing songs of exploding suns...
and of splintering quasars.
Lend me your thoughts.
So that if I may,
write of them.
Fantastical scribbles of love
and praise.
Meticulously lined
and carefully stitched...
with immaculate lace at the hems.
Lend me your breaths.
I'd catch them as they fall...
between the words you would say.
Merging mine with yours...
introducing colour...
and vigour
to my monochromatic world of
black, white and grey.
Lend me your heartbeats...
for mine thumps erratic.
As if beating in silent mock.
I depend on the steadiness in yours.
So they could usurp
the ticks of worldly clocks.
Lend me your hands.
Palms up as a sign,
perhaps as an invitation...
for me to take them.
And maybe...
hopefully fill them...
with mine...
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
617
Don’t put up my Thread and Needle—
I’ll begin to Sew
When the Birds begin to whistle—
Better Stitches—so—
These were bent—my sight got crooked—
When my mind—is plain
I’ll do seams—a Queen’s endeavor
Would not blush to own—
Hems—too fine for Lady’s tracing
To the sightless Knot—
Tucks—of dainty interspersion—
Like a dotted Dot—
Leave my Needle in the furrow—
Where I put it down—
I can make the zigzag stitches
Straight—when I am strong—
Till then—dreaming I am sewing
Fetch the seam I missed—
Closer—so I—at my sleeping—
Still surmise I stitch—
4.2k
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Promenade of Colors
reality ought to fade
watermarks on evening lake
the Lad idling was awake
Torments of Agony
the fear of ambiguity
a broidery of epitaph
toiling the stars up the top
Free of Delusions
impassive feelings strut
to the unknown that fogs
and hems over the mutt
Dashes of Silver
passing vessels of desolate
coxswain sighting out for love
moon bobs from the lake
Willows of Empathy
humming of Mississippi
-a friend that greets
the lake gave its peace
Signs of Eve
the breeze whispered
a wisp of eyes uncluttered
the Lad unshackled
Artistry of Sky
as spirits begins to fly
I was full astound
my purpose, now I found
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
You round up because what difference is a quarter of a inch
Heels, depending on the size, will make you the average height
Leggings and sweats will bunch at your ankles
Shirts become dresses, but only for you
Dress hems hit the floor, but only for you
**** skirts become **** dresses
Having to hem every single pair of jeans
Sleeves. Sleeves are far too long
"Petite" clothing doesn't fit either
Step stools are your best friend
Jumping for something that's just out of reach works too
Constantly being mistaken for a 16 year old
(Even if you are turning 20 this year)
Being used as an armrest by someone who thinks they're funny
Stuck in the front for every group photo
There's that awkward height difference between you and everyone
Standing on tiptoes and having the guy lean down for a kiss
You hate sports that require tall people, like volleyball and basketball
And yet, you wouldn't change your height for the world
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 6:51 PM UTC
I took ten random words from a dictionary and used each of them in a line, in the direct order I chose them. All the words acquired, start with a capital letter. I want to hear others attempts! Give it a try, and list your title in the comments! :) Enjoy!
an Agricultural paradise, we control mother nature's life
Overmaster's of her laws, her reigns we hold precise
our Alimentative elixirs? From her womb we choose to thieve
her Hems we tear and take our share
a Ghostly life to lead
her Briny tears an ocean
she's still Endearing and motherly
yet we treat her like a ***** Bathhouse
pure Artificial stupidity
i truly pray for her Ascension from humanity.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
I wear white
I wear white
I wear white and stare right back at
the other end of the world
The hems of the loosely fitting traditions
Barely touch the ground anymore
I wear white
I wear white
White like the chalk on the blackboard switched from
right to left.
Aimless and bereft of the desert I once called mine,
I walk alone
I wear white, I wear white
As I have done for 14 hours
and 14 years
7000 miles on the screen and 2 more up there
to be precise. It faded for every mile
Just as it has been doing since the day Darwish died
I wear white, I wear white
A different breed of Semite than they're used to
Not walking but flowing almost
as contradictory as "poutine Arabesque"
The routine wears my jaw out
as the vowels twist from right to left
I wear white, I wear white
Not just quite there yet
Not even close
Not even halfway to the surface but then again
I suppose we've always been at ease at the depths of the sea
Pearls and black gold abound
I forget that sometimes in between
intermittent bouts and doubts of "3arabiyun ana"
As if that's what makes up the anatomy of an Arab
As if that's enough for you, Khaled
I wear white
I wear white
Or at least I tell myself I do
Leave myself open to the prospect
of life starting anew
Forcing myself to see it through
See life through your eyes
Or are they my own **** you ?
Tell me for the love of Christ
Call me by name and don't
bury me under the empty discarded photo frames
that you stockpile
I'm calling to you, Walid
And will keep on calling
And trying and burning and aching and failing and dreaming and irritating
like a bad itch
I sink under it all and push it all off step 3 repeat as necessary
I scream in the tongue that you deafen your ears to and pull at the beard you've tried to shave off
I pluck at the horizontal heartstrings you've tried to mute
Above all, I wear white...
And I fight.... I fight.....
I FIGHT
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
232
The Sun—just touched the Morning—
The Morning—Happy thing—
Supposed that He had come to dwell—
And Life would all be Spring!
She felt herself supremer—
A Raised—Ethereal Thing!
Henceforth—for Her—What Holiday!
Meanwhile—Her wheeling King—
Trailed—slow—along the Orchards—
His haughty—spangled Hems—
Leaving a new necessity!
The want of Diadems!
The Morning—fluttered—staggered—
Felt feebly—for Her Crown—
Her unanointed forehead—
Henceforth—Her only One!
2.8k
I don’t think I fear anything more than being rejected; I have been rejected more times than the counting a 5 year old knows
Little kid isn’t afraid to jump in puddles, splashes of mud cake his jeans hems and droplets of mud line on his chin to cheeks to his hairline and
He does his little dance out in the street if he hears his favorite song play, he sings lullabies in broken voice, messing up all the words, but smiling nonetheless
He is fearless, careless and blind to the world’s cruelty. what happens to us? Does society change us to such an extent that I rather not post anything than post 2 lines on which I am going to judged mercilessly?
I hate it, when you don’t reply to my texts, I hate that I am left hanging up in the air, hands outward, toes clinging on to metal bars so I don’t fall off
Tell me what is wrong with me? I am not afraid to hear it. Just tell me why can’t you like me?
What is so wrong about me? Days like these I want nothing more to go back to being a 5 year old; I had nothing to worry about,
just pouring flowers into white sheets ,colors that ran out of petals and trees that looked more like a nest of green lines
And dancing, round and round, like a ballerina, laughing, giddy, looking upward in the sky, smile so wide that if lifted my mom’s health problems and money problems that plagued my daddy
I don’t think I want anything more to be just wanted and needed; nobody ever makes me feel that way,
I always feel like I am an extra, on the movie set, I just really want to be ****** of someone
For just once, I want to be free, away from the clutches of ravens, I want his fear of rejection to just vanish, and so I can do crazy things, and figure out who I am and who I am supposed to be
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
These days
I am too cold
My palms are at rest
Down for the long winter
My coordination and
dexterity will hibernate
And I'll cloak this poor body
With anything I can
An almost married woman
Clings to the hems of my sleeves
With thin fingers
With scissors
There to cut away the warm wool
With wild eyes
and a bitter mouth
She gathers my coat in a basket
Unravels all the careworn fibers
To cast upon her empty loom
As though she'd spun them
Casts off newly sewn kisses
Threadbare affection
Muttering crossly about the weather
And how the sun
does not melt the snow
She is only my friend when
She can touch my bare wrists
Give me white hot iron to hold
And ask me if I'm warmer
Only my friend when
She can graze my skin in surprise
Wrap my hands up with stiff yarn
And ask me what burned them
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Illuminate my eyes with impossible outcomes
oh, my imaginary solidarity
someday our angles will tangle
and we will be rounded
worn down to sawdust
from the friction of
rubbing elbows
but not today
no not today
I wanted to be the sky
I wanted my molecules to
terminate and permeate
into mush
I wanted many things
that I could not have
and looking down upon
this sewer city with
lights and rain puddles
I realize how far
from the ground I am
how far from the ground I
have come
sandy shores and seashell hands
i'm struggling with the idea
of rolling up my trousers
tucking away the clean fabric
or letting the dust collect
onto the seams and hems
into the creases
around my eyes
I do not want those things
that I can not contain
and I see myself free-falling upwards
into the ocean of seaweed and pearls
if only I dared more
if only I tried
oh I wanna try
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
A Beautiful and A Bitter Shroud
When I was little, I found a magic box,
tucked under the eaves where
we were told not to go.
Something compelling about the
forbidden, triangular space,
sealed off by lath and plaster,
made me resolved, beyond curious.
I kicked and pulled until plaster shattered
and wood cracked, delightfully.
The large box was filled
with silk, organza and tulle,
the proud-worn gowns
of my mother's college days.
At those ***** she danced
in them, hair coiled up
and earrings sparkling.
It was not about the men, I knew,
but her need to be admired.
I don't recall a punishment
for opening the box
but she relented and allowed
my sister and I to put on
her finery and pretend.
We wrapped them round us
and twirled to imaginary waltzes,
stepping on long hems so many times
that the gowns all came undone.
The rags were put away
and the room sealed up.
In my youth I recall but a few
times Mother gave in
and let us be children
or fairy princesses for a while.
Now she is old and finally
trying to wrap me in her shroud,
to make resentment drag me down
and envy of me, crippled with self-hate.
But that no longer works
and I tell her, finally grown
that this is not allowed.
I summon up pity and vague sympathy,
even if love left long ago.
I tell myself that
everyone dies alone.
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 4:16 PM UTC
Applied rouge on the cheeks
Tied a glittering necklace round the neck
Putting heavy makeup,
Over the stubble on her shaven chin,
She looked into the mirror
Through its cracks, saw a million bits of her/him
Those images sneering at each other
She felt trapped in a wrong body,
With its contours n’ longings mismatched
“Where do I belong”?
“Where do I fit”?
These questions plague her incessant
A rough stone with sharp edges
Too hard to be chipped down
Cast aside by the mason
That can never go into the making of a Cathedral
She walks around in haze
Life seems a twisted maze
Each time she tries to claw her way
She sees only walls that hems her in
Before her lingers the stygian mist
Phantoms of darkness surround her
The winds of change swiftly blow
Seasons come and go
But she is tied down in her chains
An anomaly of creation
A curse and a taboo
Swallowing stigma and abuse
Each day waking up with a start
Knowing that she is neither a woman nor a man
But a non binary... an accursed TRANSGENDER
Inviting snide looks
And sniggers from onlookers
People call her a ******
One divided between the selves
A hapless denizen of an inhospitable world
Disowned even by parents
Though flawed and far from perfect
She is human, one of a kind
And needs to be seen through the eyes of God!
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
Gaping voids attached
at velvet hems reveal
An oscillating, silky shrine
of serpentine appeal
A sacellum of spit
where crimson vipers preach
A sermon dispossessed of words
on biting without teeth
Two lithe reptilian wrestlers
in acrobatic trance
To recompose the primal theme
from the procreating dance
They sway in mirrored unison
as heaven’s gates converge
They lick their tongues in twisting prose
and gustatory tones emerge
In this bacchanal of senses
where feelings taste of spoken sights
The serpents molt beyond their essence
onto a plane of new delights
There they share a sounding vision
muscles blink in harmony
Hissing iridescent rhythms
At last, the panting cyclopes
reach the art of seeing
eye to whispering eye
through the instrument of speech.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
Standing by my window
I hear
the wind passing by.
And all the melodies
that sweep along
entailing tales
from far and wide.
No hems can
block its passage.
No men can
halt its march.
It just whirls by
leaving a trail behind.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 8:29 AM UTC
37
Before the ice is in the pools—
Before the skaters go,
Or any check at nightfall
Is tarnished by the snow—
Before the fields have finished,
Before the Christmas tree,
Wonder upon wonder
Will arrive to me!
What we touch the hems of
On a summer’s day—
What is only walking
Just a bridge away—
That which sings so—speaks so—
When there’s no one here—
Will the frock I wept in
Answer me to wear?
1.8k
He gave me a ring
With its facets glazed and cracked
Insisting it was once his great-grandmother's
She who
In rot-edged vintage photos
Wore a mink stole and flapper beads.
_________________________________________
She pulls at seams
Takes up and brings down hems,
The stole pushed to the back
Of a web festooned attic
In a steamer trunk slapped with decals:
Moscow
Austria
Monte Carlo
Rio de Janeiro.
On cold days she wears it again
Dancing to old melodies on rough boards
And when she hears the front door slam
It's made to disappear in haste,
Her engagement ring clacking
Against the trunks flip locks.
That night as she makes biscuits
For her breadwinner she sees
The crack, the chip
Through a glaze of milked flour.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven it self for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then, believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
1.7k
Dear Sarah,
I think I got lost a bit there in the patterns of your dress - stars splattering over the hems of your skirt like a never-ending physics class.
You ever studied the constellations? Because speaking of, I think I've gotten lost too in the way your voice sounds like a nebula cracking open. Your eyes travel at speeds laced with infinite decimal points, each glint and blink slowly chasing down light particles - which is to say I cannot seem to grasp how flustered I really am by you and how your poems always seem to leave my lungs screaming for more air.
Staring at your face makes me feel like I'm trapped in a vacuum.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
She found a propeller in Portland
and carried it all the way to Eugene
under her arm, this western artifact.
Says she’ll turn it into a necklace,
use it to press through the crowds
of people reaching at her hems.
They hold the sidewalks down
as she passes, waiting like wildflowers.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 3:49 PM UTC