"hexagons" poems
Soft as snow you lay your body down
and let the rain tattoo pretty patterns all over
your imperfect skin, let it
fill your gaping mouth, and creep like
clear crystal slugs over your nails, exploring all
your forbidden territories and seeping
past your skin. Like a lover,
pitter-patter, the weight of a single word/raindrop
can crease you up.
Pure blue, sleek seal skin you have,
smiling in the sunshine with all the yellow
rays and all the light pink transparent hexagons
sparkling the sky.
Clear as turquoise water stones,
your eyes open and stretch their potential,
lashes all dark and thick and water-splattered.
Softer now you smile. Needles out and
skin soaked in rain and sunshine.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
i could not feel anything but your grassbeats under my fingertips, quicker in the anticipation of neck-snapping.
"i hope you know that we are so very sorry about the accident. there will be measures taken to ensure that nothing like it occurs again. freshly, our extremely sincere apologies."
the curve of bird spines decorated my eyelids, question marks displaying assumptions to the turnablindeye world.
"no, sir, you are the one who is incorrect. the blood you see isn't really there, look at it. look at the transparency of your hallucinations."
october grew three heads and shredded the chunks of grass it ripped from the ground, spreading you as mulch across stranger's flowerbeds.
"three hours ago, a messenger twicely found you screaming and ranting about various invisibilities on separate corners in this very city. can you explain?"
i stood on curbs and spoke for change, spoke through three woolen ideas to the desperately closing ears of people that refused to look quietly at themselves, look at their thoughts without noise.
"no. we have broken you. there are not voices, nor stars, no hexagons spelling curses onto your forehead. look at me! sir, you are undeserving of a name."
ghostings are immensely entertaining things. i hope you'll come on one with me, some time after i ***** my thoughts back into their shoulder-blade space.
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 6:12 PM UTC
i see the stiffness
in you smile
this christmas
tears from crocodile
was all you got
was all you need
but on afterthought
why does this impede
me so much more
than it should
if i was to ignore
would it do any good
i do doubt it
for it does
clot and knot
every neuron
spawnss great
hexagons
pentagons
and other shameful shapes
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Waxwork crystals
on window panes
and ledges
collecting sun
in precious hexagons
to return
illusive light
of feverish summer
to an earth that’s
lost its luster.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
It’s probably not that you were awesome
(but you were)
It’s probably not that it was worth it
(but it was)
It’s not even that you deserved it
(but you did)
It’s that your words became an apiary
And all my bees built honeycombs with the curves of your face
Now your words no longer come
nor does your smile grace me
The sweet honey has drained into the jars of my heart
And I’ve tried to forget you
but the syrup on my tongue remembers you
it puddles into the hexagons of your name
whispering like bees wings
I strengthen myself with sugar
and beeswax feeds my flame
that I harvested on a day my feelings decided to dance around you
like bees they nestled in your flowers
How long will I eat of your honey?
How long will your sweetness remain in my memory?
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 10:50 PM UTC
A glorious fruit
Hanging casually on a branch
Split from the navel to the jaws
Blood red insides exposed to the open air
Extended Hexagons packed in tight
Layered with skin around skin around skin
Separate little cubicles
Filled with chemicals
That change lives
And sometimes
The lives of birds
(They pecked into my pomegranate)
Ants and growth and decay and filth
Swarm the ****** wound with unbelievable skill
And understanding
I choose to not let this one go back to the earth quite yet
Some would say I’m a hippie like that
Quickly carried to the operating room
(The kitchen)
Slammed on the operating table
(The cutting board)
First incision made
(Broke in half)
Guts
Spill
Everywhere
But deep inside
Surrounded by the ants and growth and decay
And filth
The most glorious Rubies
Packed with care and understanding
Nature never ceases to amaze
Its capability to produce such pure
Uncontaminated raw potential
In an environment of such decay
I suppose we do have a chance.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
Dancing forms – wings askew
Balancing on one foot or flying?
Pipes or lutes?
Heads bowed to the music
Or to see the love drops
Floating?
The geodesic dome
Grows from the foliage
The silver hexagons over a
Glass biome – layering,
Mating
From within the prickly pines.
The love drops – like candy liquid,
Oranges and reds and yellows
All for the girls.
They’re eaten so quickly.
Only a few blue for the boys.
The boys would rather climb
The glass surface gripping tightly
To the steel pipes
Then jump hard – diving
Into the shallow pool – hoping
To gobble up a little girl
Before she tastes Love.
Pan laughs and plays his pipe
Watching the children play.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
_______________________________________________________________
when I was a kid,
I used to color,
*I used to color the whole page,
inside,
and outside of the lines,
like how out of the box I was,
you couldn't contain all of me in a box,
even if you had boxes,
I'd escape,
and break free,*
When I was a kid,
I colored inside,
and outside of the lines,
*while in school they told me how I was out of line,
I was far from out of line,
I always made sure I was inside the lines,
but sometimes,
sometimes its as if my imagination got the best of me,
and I got to escape there conforment,
even if it was for a second it felt so great,
as if I was in prison and I got to go outside for the first time in years,
my adventures in my head couldn't break through to the real world,
like reality came in and arrested my imagination,*
when I was a kid,
I stopped coloring outside of the lines,
and only colored inside,
*To feel like a square peg going into a round hole,
as they tried to shaped me into what the saw to be as standard,
shaving down my unique edges,
like it was a crime to be so different,
as if I saw them try to expand to fit my square ways of thinking,
not once had they thought it could work out better,
then lining the squares and triangles and hexagons and countless others up,
to get sanded down to be as close as they could make them to be to a circle,*
I'm not a kid anymore,
I'm much older now,
I still color inside the lines,
to make my beautiful pictures,
and sometimes,
like when I was a child,
I color outside the lines,
*because sometimes no one has to know,
when you've made a masterpiece,*
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
This man has a gun pointed at me,
that extends from thumb to index in an L,
at me from his hip.
I can't see much through
my hand. Reflexive, if dampened
by a gristle of curiosity.
Weight shifts from foot
to toe to ball to other
foot. He doesn't speak
to me; to the floor,
but his gesture comes at me
through the atmosphere or
whatever analogous high ground he possesses.
The tip of the pink barrel
menaces like a treble scream
or a broken blackboard.
Shift. Shift and a look around.
It must be done quickly, he
looks at her to ask permission.
I imagine her too cold
for response: atoms
held in hexagons to keep
that inevitable crack from
toppling the salty gravity.
However they must speak
through the superaudible
for her stolid fluidity
resolves his change
(changes his resolve)
and his eyes stop dead on
me.
The laughter of that trigger
rustles through skin
and plays with bone.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
How do I love the unlovable?
I cannot walk any further for you.
I keep digging and need a new shovel.
I have walked miles just to look at you.
I walked in circles and squares and hexagons.
What more can I do?
Are you even here, or are you gone?
I want to love you,
but you won't let me.
It can't be me, I've thought this through.
For, I have loved many.
Have you ever loved at all?
If not, take away my shovel
and hand me a saw.
I can't take this anymore.
Can't you see me begging?
I've been your lady and your *****
Is there something I'm forgetting?
I'm starting to think the door is closing,
or maybe it already has.
Now I have to break through a window
and I'm going to get cut by the glass.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Tick
I yawn to the alarm
I drag my feet to shower
I tug on matching clothes.
Tick.
I scarf down plain cereal
Find socks, then put them on;
Cover with scuffed shoes, and I am done.
Tick.
Ihear the whirring of my engine; Soon
I park, I walk in,
I pretend to learn, I wanderlessly walk out.
Tick.
I stop at the red hexagons
Iwork five hours straight,
I go home to rest on my pillow
Tomorrow's the same day.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
I am seer of thine in Abernathy
but squarely this divineness fore
my essence will describe
with maturation on my side whether
or not this dither fantasize will deduce gold hexagons
that mix a feather awhile and let dolce vita thrive
a supremely superb undulance in ubiquity here.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
and as i tap on my keyboard making noises unspeakable i notice that
somewhere between the Y and the I is a U, and I wonder why apple would set up such a cliché
a metaphor I would want to use in times like this where my writing is vulnerable and uncouth
i can’t even be angry with you, against you pressing on your V line since
i knew the movie was bad
i mean i just knew it as soon as the VCR ****** in the thick, boxy, tape
that this film was going to be just like the others— immature and messy,
you were unable to articulate the simplest of my sentences
insert line here
you didn’t even look new, you weren't even an opportunity
you told me you were willing to be the elevated beam in my single music note that we would create harmonies even my mother would like to hear
but she hated you
and you didn’t understand why I liked Bach more than Mozart, or why I didn’t like Mozart at all
you weren't a gentleman, but I am beginning to think those don't exist until well into our 30s
when our hearts are tender enough to feel empathy
you don’t deserve a poem, or the image of heaven
the capital letters you rained in my text messages made my eyes open a little bit wider
i went to cvs and i bought the twix the blanket and the *****
we used to do that together
asian men still write me poems for the morning, i walk out of dorm rooms with water that never knew the cold
and my head it; pounds from dehydration, its been a while since I’ve been in love
but some us are
in love i mean
the dumb ones, the despicable ones
how are they achieving something the kids with 4.0 gpa’s couldn't make an equation for
insert lines here
and why the hell do i keep looking at my phone, waiting for your name to shine bright telling me what to do what to say
insert lines here
why did you sleep with her, on her, side by side, parallel making hexagons and trapezoids keeping me out of the loop
why did i say ok
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
On this side
I mouth words
through steel
hexagons and
hope someone
hears, because
I really am the
parts of a society
that people have
come to hate in
a backwards
country.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
1.
the walls are built of shapes
triangles and circles and hexagons that do not
fit together
like we once did
we are these mislaid figures now
2.
the moon comes out at dark
but when I feel dark
I will not come out of my room
3.
the oilcloth catches my tears now because
you are too busy
to notice that they fall
it is like I am trying to hide
the weather
give a big umbrella to clouds in the sky
4.
the veins are taunting me
again
5.
the password to my email
is the last syllable of your first name
how average of me to want to **** myself and
keep talking from underground
6.
can I still apologize for holding your
heart hostage
as a dead-girl walking
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Carrying an in-built GPS
Dancing to the suns direction
*** with pollen, honey
Its a way of life. You try
Jumping on a super fat slug
wiggling her body parts, laying
millions of little wonders
soaked in nectary hexagons.
That's my privilege
perversely pollinating
thousands and a queen mother
all in a days taking.
You watching. Cannot even dream
such luxury and for safekeeping
an arsenal exists on my reverse.
for those who question integrity.
Author Notes
Couldn't b said better.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Please tell me i'm not as forgettable
as your silence is making me feel
listlessness in conversation
The white sky, blank. Sour air.
No emotion, no feeling
The rustling of the music on the radio
voices coming in and out of frequency
almost like the faint voices of myself in my ear
calling, begging for me to get over it.
I thought we were tessellated,
but were both a handful of hexagons
that just don't sit right.
The days are going so slow,
but my heart is beating so fast,
thinking about us.
The truth is,
you could break my heart in two,
but when it heals it beats for you.
Because love defines all,
everyone needs love,
you would let yourself get hurt
go beyond and above
over and over again just to prove to yourself
that they are for you,
just accept it!
...But its not for me to say stop trying,
because if he came back i would most certainly
lay my clothes down for him to walk over.
He is precious.
And he knows it.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
Stark in his nature fleeing the authorities
He barely perceives the shocking cold under his bare feet
The snow crunches as his toes grip the concrete
He accelerates across the land as hexagons spin in his vision
Complaints from surrounding society echo across the property
"Get down on the ground and stop what you're doing" the responding officer murmurs
The zombie man sprints across the snowy sidewalk away from him.
Blood runs down his hands and torso as he is physically confronted by officers.
He breaks through their grip running back where he came from, attempting to escape to a warmer place as he breathes in mace.
No one will open the locked front door to the building
As the light reflects off of his skin, he is tackled to the sidewalk and handcuffed on the ground.
He scrapes his top teeth against the cement on the sidewalk to distract himself from the physically unbearable sensation and licks a cigarette **** off of the ground and swallows it, saying goodbye to his world.
He looses consciousness and passes across the realm of consciousness for a brief moment, seeing that life continues. As he is rescusitated, he feels as if a better place lay across the plane he has recrossed. He slightly regrets his recent actions, anxious to see the consequences and their requirements of him.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
Circles and Squares May 24 2022
what’s on the agenda for today?
the pre-summer soil is softening for the till
and time is fast ripening on the vine.
seventy-two silly angels are swimming sideways through the ethers
sowing sacred seeds of sacral energy
and so blooms celestial clusters of protons and neutrinos.
we’ll reap a golden crop of Elysium wheat -
come this Autumn’s Comanche harvest moon
because the fruit lives in the harvest
like a bee in the hive
like a house made of hexagons in the sky.
place the left hand over the heart
place the right down upon the belly
breathe deeply from the sacrum
everything is gonna be alright.
two hands of woman and man
feel the heart thumping
plasma and prana pumping
the sun and the moon orbit according to fated rhythms…
everything already is alright.
‘things are that which the word makes them in naming them’
cleaved from the tongue
your word is Law.
tilt your head back
blow prana vayu in the sky
watch the egress of the thunder clouds fleeting
and the bending and the bowing of the rain.
our eyes are two prisms
refractors of the Light
they vibrate together to make an octave
like a dial tone just behind your brow.
your heart is a silicon satellite
picking up on all the waves and boson particles
magnetizing
synthesizing
so many shades of green I almost ran out of canvas
feel the space open up wide inside your sinus
and wide horizons of your mind
the Spirit is gently rapping
tapping at your inner door-
the door of Brahma-
the Brahmarandhra-
unlock the latch and let your Self in.
take heed of the Sacred Feminine
her compassion is boundless in the bottomless night
and even unto the highest firmament
the crows are there cackling in a happy ******
hear the echo in their caw
the morning birds are pecking at the sun
giant sine waves from little bird lungs
thai elephants doff their tack and saddles
even also the claw bells and mahouts and all the bronze.
there is a deep well hidden behind our sternum
behind the high fencing of our hearts
Shiva dances there inside a lotus flower
and all we hear are the circles and the squares
what's on the agenda for today?
my voice is barking octaves
my eyes, they are two prisms
my body is a shrine.
by: Jordan Gee
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 5:42 PM UTC
What is JWST? An innocent Q.
But deserving of prose. I knew just what to do.
It's ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ jwst our first space flower,
Unfurling it's hexagons.
Golden petals that thirst for ancient photons.
Jwst the thing that can see so much further than we
would have ever dared dream in the last century.
So you'd think it'd be hard to see our backyard,
After red galaxies melding with CMB.
But it's shadowy seat is what gives us the treat,
Of our hard to reach planets in infrared heat.
James Webb Space Telescope
Keeps surpassing all hopes.
30 years to develop. At least twice we went broke!
A 10 year orbital cosmology store.
It survived through max Q, and keeps giving us more.
30 years in the womb. Twas a legacy born.
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 11:19 PM UTC