"hikes" poems
my bones stick out
so much
I should feel good
like fat
like privilege
and power
but these things are fleeting
like my body
like the conversion I had
with you
I never meant to bring
up semi truck
cabs
artist’s sketch
tables
I only meant to move you
into the city
like a good friend
like a walk in the park
or a trust fall into
the pool
blues
I say
this is the strife they
sing about
and everyone loves it
and eats it with
peanuts
allergies?
no thank you.
green smoothies?
no thank you.
a good morning text?
well, maybe if I still
like you
if I can still stand
to be in the same room
with myself
to go bowling
to go on hikes
to meditate
all these things
I hate
and my bones
they’re smooth
and splinter when
bitten
and my bones
they glow like
uranium in the
mirror
good morning blow
good morning blush
good morning white boy
good morning,
Andrew
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Sitting in Circular Quay in a bistro on a warm winters day
dreaming while watching the tourists and ships sail by.
As I eat oysters and drink the day in with my wine,
past memories wash over me.
Morning teas, chats, and paper bark trees,
hikes through the bush and walks along the beach.
Watching dolphins play at dawn
and fishing the waters on New South Wales shores.
The Harbor Bridge alight with Bicentennial Fireworks;
a surreal beginning to this adventure.
Wringing every drop from days spent,
finding a new world with each step.
Discovering myself through the wisdom and eyes of you,
maturing, becoming my own.
Like family, you’ve been both mentor and friend,
carrying me through fire and back.
My life was undone as I first saw your shore.
Feeling my heart would break
with our first goodbyes,
unknowing that an permanent bond had been forged.
Tracing back over the years since we met,
I’ve been given more than my share.
Making me ponder how I have been blessed,
to count you as a true friend.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
It's been raining all night and day
And I know just what you'll say
You won't go out when it rains
Except to hike a mountain range
But I long to be with you
Hold you tight the whole night through
I want to be your hiking trail
Or the sea on which you sail
I long to be your fairytale
Let you explore in all detail
Just want to be your hiking trail
Forecast says rain again today
So in your house you decide to stay
Won't go to parties, run errand or shop
When outside there are raindrops
When it Rains you go on strike
Cept maybe for one of your hikes
I want to be your hiking trail
Or the sea on which you sail
I long to be your fairytale
Let you explore in all detail
Just want to be your hiking trail
Doesn't matter rain or shine
I just want to make you mine
We could go out or just stay in
Either way with you I win
I just want to be with you
To hold you tight the whole night through
So let me be your hiking trail
Or the sea on which you sail
And let me be your fairytale
To explore in all detail
I just want to be your hiking trail
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC
In the old house up the hills -
Yes, the one that gives you chills
Whenever you walk by its fence -
Lives someone who, no offense,
Looks like she'd puts kids on grill.
Children, puppies, all she'd ****
For food.
Lady who, probably, likes to
Know the places each kid hikes to.
There she, later in the day,
Waits for village kids to stray.
Some will die and some live on.
Who? That really depens on
Her mood.
Some say that she used to snitch,
Others say that she's a witch!
Nobody was ever in
The house whose walls are made of skin.
Nobody would ever dare
To set their foot on the porch where
She stood.
They'll never know that her kitchen
Smelled like flowers, most bewitchin',
They won't see her paintings, neat,
Her living room where you could meet
A fire giving warm embrace.
And alongside her fireplace
The wood.
Now, if you got in, you'd stare
on stinky fish bowls, everywhere,
whose cloudy water calls for changing,
and rooms in need of rearranging.
But since you never really tried,
No one knows the lady died.
Yes she's dead for good.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Hollyhocks, sandals with socks
Knickerbocker glories
Salty air, old caravans
Magical bedtime stories
Fish 'n' chips, sticks of rock
Climbing fragrant evergreens
Endless hikes, stunning views
Sandwiches with sardines
Long car rides, minor quarrels
Enid Blyton audio tapes
Forever etched in my memory
Our annual escapes
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
*sunset, sunrise hikes ~
Trillium on Blood mountain ~
true love song blooms
yogasutra song
hiking appalachee trails
with two i love
Rhodedendrons clap,
lush applause to Springer's call--
water in the sky
a tuskless walrus
chases me up the ladder--
crowds smile through glass*
.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Dedicated to Autumn Nolen and Katie Ormsby
Sewed little pink stitches,
all over my broken heart.
Soothed my worries
with sweet words
and reality T.V.
I had forgot how important,
friendship is.
Late night talks and afternoon hikes,
little black dresses and curling irons
Our hands interwoven,
laughed through dark streets,
and bright rooms.
Smoke and sunshine and sisterhood.
I am so thankful,
to have friends like you.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Tokyo
By Anthony Caceres
Flashing lights, Flashing people
Blurs of the past come to haunt
Blurs of the present come to taunt
Blurs of the future come to flaunt
Sitting here by the bus stop
Watching people fly by like the airplanes above
Everybody set their bodies to fast forward
While I’m rewinding as slow as I can
Reading the latest manga as I get ****** into the lights
Like some late night ramen
I feel like I can walk on air
A skywalker
I can’t escape the death walkers
I know
But I can slow them down, to a point
With a late night text
and the horns of rampaging cars
Busses and Bikes
Awkward mannerisms
and long hikes
Tokyo is far away
But as long as your still here with me
Tokyo will forever stay
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
Long hikes and motorbikes,
Cabins, starlight, kids and tykes,
Parents, and mommies soon to be,
Gather at the greenest tree.
Spirits in ******* are unbound,
Where the silence drowns the sound;
The victories that love has won.
We are never far when we are one.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
Thirty three years we go back,
Of course I think of you when I hear it.
Thirty three years of listening, questioning, understanding...
Of course I think of you.
My mind isn't a spigot I can turn off
and forget the water that flowed through.
I think of you when I was proud to be your wife,
proud of your accomplishments.
What does she know of those?
She doesn't know you.
She doesn't know you.
She hasn't loved you through the rages and disappointments,
through the utter giddiness of new fatherhood,
through your father's death,
your mother's pain.
She didn't thrill with each promotion,
plan homes,
plant gardens,
hope for thunder,
dance in the rain,
live on bagels for lunch,
play badminton in the dark.
She hasn't dried your tears over a son's illness.
She didn't play bridge with friends
or know their son who died,
the tow -headed little boy who made us think of becoming parents.
What comfort can she give?
She doesn't know you.
She knows this creation you've become
in Hollywood jeans
and weekend hikes without attachments.
She knows your daughters as bait--what a great dad--
your sons as accomplishments;
your wife as an anchor
who held you down, held you back
when all along I thought I was your support.
She doesn't know you.
And neither do I.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Schizoaffective bipolar type is hell’s disorder.
It is a whirlwind of the curious mind.
A fusion of emotions, brick by boring brick.
Thoughts askew and twisted like twigs.
Mania, depression, and psychosis sleep together.
Producing a break out of pandemonium.
Exulting energy, dejection, and voices taunt.
A battle within that seems to haunt.
Medication and therapy, tools of aid.
Will tackle hell’s disorder and put it in Pandora's box.
Be wary and do not open it no matter what.
Or the symptoms will crawl over every inch of your skin.
Put the pain in the past because you can still live your life.
You can work a 9 to 5, go on hikes, travel, and ride a bike.
What is something you look forward to? They always ask.
I sigh and answer: freedom.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 1:23 PM UTC
I love my early morning hikes
in the Georgian-woods,
where alone
I glide along,
my feet carrying me
through the zephyr-mists,
upward on the granite stairway
into the disappearing stars
& onto the bald-summit.
Happily,
I stand exposed
on another sacred-peak,
one of God's gifts
for wayward hikers,
smiling.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
A place to spend your holiday
A place of peace and getaway
Pack your bags and grab a flight
For Fiji is awaiting your atmost sight
Early sunrise, cool sea breeze
Waterfall wonders, you'll surely freeze
Hikes like no other, activities you'll enjoy
No dangers, no creatures no forest toy
No roaring lions, no slithering snakes
No bears of any kind that awakes
Just wild birds chattering their plea
"Come on humans, why do you flee"
People friendly of all races
Sometimes its hard to tell their origin by faces
Food of great delicacy on a bed of island chill
You'll not be disappointed when you'll get your bill
White sandy beaches open to all
Bonfire activities often on a roll
Special island dances and firewalking by natives
So much to do, plan your island motives
Just now I see a big cruise ship docked at sea
Why not come down and enjoy
A small piece of heaven, my Fiji can be...
©sim
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 4:21 AM UTC
I don’t know how to tell you
that you make me fall in love
with being alive
so instead I’ll tell you
that since I met you I’ve found
beauty in a rainstorm
and sometimes at night
when I feel so close to giving up
because it would be easier than
missing you
I hold my breath and listen
as rain knocks on my bedroom window
and I’m reminded that the first time
you touched me
lightning coursed through my veins
and brought me back to life
like a kiss in a fairytale
you woke me up when I didn’t know
I was sleeping
I don’t know how to tell you
that before you
I traveled three frames
behind everyone
as the world sped by
and words fell from lovers mouths
after they had already walked away
I struggled to catch up
with jumbled words
that tumbled through my trembling lips
but I was always too late
so I became mute to save myself
the heartache
and when you came along
I had forgotten how to speak
so I stayed silent
instead of admitting how much
you meant to me
I know that if I were lucky enough
to be heard by you again
I would tell you that I want you
in the most mundane ways
like Sunday mornings with iced coffee
and menthol kisses
—like listening to you sing in the shower
and watching your eyes light up as you laugh
I want summer evenings at the beach
bowling dates and early morning hikes—
I’ve never known how to tell you
that I will always take you for who you are
and what you’ve done
so I tried to show you through
good morning texts
and words of affirmation
but I need to stop assuming
you know what I mean
when I speak in metaphors
so I hope someday my words find you
and you’ll understand that for me
you were never a phase
and I can only dream
that you can still see the rainstorm
you unleashed inside of me
all those months ago
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 10:01 AM UTC
with the cost of petrol being so dear
one is forced to drive in low gear
the engine cannot be at full throttle
as it will use more than a seven pint bottle
replenishing the petrol tank is a scourge
and from our wallets it does vengefully purge
it is quite frightening receiving those petrol dockets
for they leave a humongous hole in our pockets
soon everyone will be walking or riding a bike
they'll not be able to take the petrol price hikes
each week we're at the mercy of the oil giants
they are making a lot of dough from their clients
they've got us over a barrel pardon the pun
and we're running scared of their pistol packing petrol gun
public transport is the best option for us to take
at least that will not of our dollars forsake
petrol prices are of the most dire concern
and I can foresee our hard earned pennies set to burn
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
Golden sun sets on the concert house;
The hellish day, it’s now been dowsed.
Asphalt night and onyx skies,
Crowds and crowds of endless size.
Yet it rises on the wooden stage;
Burning, scorching, lunar rage.
Curtains of lapis suspended,
For a show that’s highly splendid.
The bands, they take up their instruments,
Checking function with much diligence.
The azure slides, the crowd’s boisterous,
Let’s send them home filled and joyous!
Strum and strike, music sounds and hikes.
Mystically does it flow, no break or pause.
Number after number, avalanche of applause.
Now they’re screaming and whistling! Yikes!
The night wears on, and sapphires glisten,
In skies of turquoise and warm transition.
Marmalade sunrise, it goes on and on!
But nowhere in the hall is there a yawn.
The crowds recede like biped cattle,
An endless, drunken, random rabble.
The next noon, the hall’s still defiled.
Music echoes in their heads, meanwhile.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
A square, white, four bedroom, one bath country home
With fourteen kids, parents and much family love
We didn’t have abundance: fiscally poor
But we had each other: banked on our family
We shared our victories and or trying pain
We were a modest Scottish Catholic Clan
Isolated, we were not to our immediate clan
Our uncle’s lived within a trot, fifteen in his home
We kids worked and played on the farm without pain
It was an adventurous labor of extended family love
We worked, laughed, cried, and played as a family
In the early years, we young ones were anything but poor
However, in grammar school, we learned the meaning of poor
And materialism and envy, outside our cloistered clan
But together we lived and loved as a close nit family
Sure we had disagreements, not material goods, but a solid home
White paint peeled on the outside, yet inside was painted love
Still, there were poverty jokes, ridicule and masked pain
Every family has strife, baggage, and superfluous pain
Our parents didn’t drink; we had faith, yet fiscally poor
Ole Dad plumbed toilets; Mom slaved in the house, both with love
So we wouldn’t trade riches for our impoverished meager clan
Summer berries to pick, winter sledding, spring kites, and forever home
Kickball games, splashing in ponds, nature hikes and family
We were not taught to show emotions, hug, not an “I love you family,”
Albeit, an honest, polite, and proud Scottish Clan
The old house was eternally warm; it was our forever home
Until 1999. Dad passed from cancer still money poor
Yet rich in the knowledge of family and that his true pain
Was never saying that word; on his deathbed he whispered “Love”
Though our patriarch was laid to rest, we rose with the word “Love”
Eventually, the house was sold, but always one huge family
Mom spends her days in a retirement home remembering her clan
As time passes and memories fades, it lessens the pain
Of the loss of a noble father, economically poor
Yet with a strong work ethic, church, and love, built a home
Fourteen children now forged fourteen homes on love
Many, still, financially poor, but rich in forever family
Correcting mistakes that caused pain, while perpetuating our clan
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
She feeds off my dedication
and
Lives off my Love.
Don't dare tell her how I feel
because that becomes a Power.
It is nolonger my choice to her.
She grabs ahold and hikes it above her head-
Taunting me;
Teasing me;
Daring me.
I reach for it-
Yelling;
Screaming;
Threatening.
Maddened with the authority I gave her.
Strickened with the will to ignore
but
Unable to adhere.
Sooo...
My eyes water
and
My tongue swells.
My mind dictates
but
My body lays ignorant to its wisdoms.
I know what I can do.
I know what I should do.
I know what I would do-
If only I didn't ...
Love her.
"You ain't goin nowhere," she says.
I want to scream, "Oooh yes the **** I am!"
But
My head just dips in that "youre so right" kind of way
and
The Vulture struts away- Proud.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
while the lady in the ballroom
hikes up her sparkly dress
and tosses a drink in the face of her lover
and the prince has his eye on a
slim, red little starlet who tosses
his head back with laughter and cunning
the little mouse darts between their feet
learning more about patience, courage,
and forgiveness than
the owners of the shoes will ever
ever know.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 4:24 AM UTC
I'm not yankin' your chain, pullin’ the wool over your eyes, or any of that ****
This is the job man.
Fly a plane, build a bridge, climb a mountain- do it man. Don't limit yourself.
Unless you’re not that adventurous guy, I mean, that's cool. No inner drive to be outgoing: That's cool, that's cool, I get it, stay with us… work at the Laundromat. There are so many benefits to a Laundromat. Good… well decent money. Not much real work, we operate machines, so whatever really. But the chillest part is, we get to see the creepy stains people have on their clothing... and have a good laugh behind their backs.
These stains tell stories.
Pilots are sweaty under their arms. This tells me they are confined, cramped, caged, we are free in our own little Laundromat world.
Bridge builders have industrial stains; no regular old machine will get those out. We are chillin’ working for the same pay they are at a quarter of the effort. Hikers are even worse. They are soaked head-to-toe in sweat for a view from a postcard- idiots.
It may not be as stimulating as flying a plane; as as helpful as building a bridge; as monumental as hiking a mountain; but it’s the superiorly important.
We are doing the world a huge service. Without us, there would be no uniforms for pilots, no clothes for the bridge builder, and no hiking gear for the mountain man.
Buck up, life could be worse, you could be a more useless guy with creepy stains who flies a plane- builds a bridge- or hikes a mountain and then overpays us at the Laundromat to clean his clothes.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
i have plenty of dried leaves and hot water at home, but my winter self hikes four miles in the snow for a cup of tea.
i know more words than i had ever hoped to understand, but i still shuffle them like tap shoes to place meaning on my notebooks.
i have seen mountain views that make me weak in the knees, but i still need to see what else the world holds, and if that makes me reckless beyond being someone’s wife, then so be it.
I understand that the life that I want is not one that should be kept up with or stood alongside, but one where I deign mystery into my own flesh and mysticism into my own sky
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Tea sprouts wildly
by the roadside:
jade splayed fingers
flaming the earth
in warped green flicks.
Mild, astringent,
the aroma drifts
into the
triviality
of the present.
Looking over
my backyard fence
toward the road,
quick, damp-green scent
antiquates my
vision: Eisai,
holding seeds from
Kyoto, hikes
across border
hills into a
feudal Japan.
The tea-lined road,
framed by my
imagination,
is an anachronism,
a snapshot that’s
double-exposed.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Tax hikes and waging war,
is this what we elect them for?
*** scandals and **** pics,
the life of a twisted politic.
Controversial and persuasive adds full of ****
Hoping that you pick them thinking their the right pick.
False words, fake promises, the key to victory.
They're just in it for the money, not you and me.
They lie,
they cheat,
they ****
they steal,
and they will never reveal,
their real motivation,
to run our nation.
Do they want to lower taxes?
Do they want to end a war?
Do they want to stop starvation?
Or recognize a genocide?
Do they listen to the peoples cries?
Do they listen to our pleas?
No, they're just in it,
for all the money!
Tax hikes and waging war,
is this what we elect them for?
*** scandals and **** pics,
the life of a twisted politic.
Controversial and persuasive adds full of ****
Hoping that you pick them thinking their the right pick.
False words, fake promises, the key to victory.
They're just in it for the money, not you and me.
They're liars!
Scam artist!
They are the average,
twisted politic!
Rise up,
lets rise up.
Lets fight for our rights,
for democracy!
We are the brainwashed!
We are the hypnotized!
The media is our enemy!
The media is full of lies!
Now rise!
Rise!
Rise!
Or die!
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
When You and I
Waylaid in wilderness
And the path is lost!!!
I shall shower
My love on you
Everyday, in new ways
Love dainties host.
My soul into you
I shall pour.
Each part of body
Will be an island tour
With loving glance
My heart will click
The choicest kisses
In silken shades flick.
On every island
An age will be stake
In each age love’s
New flavor and shade
Sometimes as lotus
I shall bloom
Sometimes as
Jacaranda zoom.
Panorama shots
Of love arcades
Flowers and trees
Make cavalcade
In it love’s sweet
Fragrance blows
Love birds tweet
Lilting music flows.
From age to age
We shift our stage
We shall bind ever
To new cage
Where pain and hunger
Do not strike
Life unfazed
By price hikes.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC