"hoodied" poems - Hello Poetry

toothless junkies rifle through trinkets hearts leaking tar onto the bus’s gummed out floor hoodied heads bow begging for a break or a stake in the heart or a steak half burnt trees flay flash by pray for one less day dogs chase the beat up clunker yellow gnashing blindly at the machinery screaming dust in the world’s face I hate Mondays 4/19/11

0

Apr 25, 2011

Apr 25, 2011 at 8:16 AM UTC

kate-crash

i hate mondays

toothless junkies rifle through trinkets hearts leaking tar onto the bus’s gummed out floor hoodied heads bow begging for a break or a stake in the heart or a steak half burnt trees flay flash by pray for one less day dogs chase the beat up clunker yellow gnashing blindly at the machinery screaming dust in the world’s face I hate Mondays 4/19/11

18

it begins crisper than november, still, chilly, ice blue sky, then warm, then cold, then crazy frigid, wind cat-yowling, and on the windows, frost feathers that do not melt all day. the solstice sun creeps warily across the south horizon, glancing brilliant off frost-sheathed trees, so cold the very air is frozen-- sparkling ice crystals float rainbow colored like dizziness before my eyes. Christmas eve starts grey and windy-- rain at two and snow at three-- the huge flakes my mom called "horsebirds". And just at sunset, a patch of blue, a sky tunnel for those tiny reindeer. Christmas morning, four together, first time in years we all are here: Best-Beloved, sad eyed lady, maker of donuts and hi-test coffee, sings a bit, weeps, smiles; the Exile returns, hoodied, shy smiling, coffee in hands, and heart full of plans; and Carborundum Starshine bursts in the door, in corduroy & goofy hat, Paul Bunyan beard & glitter cheeks; and i am here. Talk and cookies, hugs and pictures, Merry merry, the peace-pipe passed, carols on the radio, the scents of spruce and tangerines. the "week between" a roller coaster, t-shirts one day, parkas the next, wind that moans like Marley's ghost, and snow tornados on the road. new year's eve and big soft snowflakes, sparkling lights and laughing shouts-- on the street, drunken kisses and auld lang syne-- but not for me, i listen only; there's work tomorrow, quick to bed, a brief flight, all-night jazz and sleep. time tomorrow to begin again. (1-1-14)

0

Jan 3, 2014

Jan 3, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC

meri-f-clason

december diary

it begins crisper than november, still, chilly, ice blue sky, then warm, then cold, then crazy frigid, wind cat-yowling, and on the windows, frost feathers that do not melt all day. the solstice sun creeps warily across the south horizon, glancing brilliant off frost-sheathed trees, so cold the very air is frozen-- sparkling ice crystals float rainbow colored like dizziness before my eyes. Christmas eve starts grey and windy-- rain at two and snow at three-- the huge flakes my mom called "horsebirds". And just at sunset, a patch of blue, a sky tunnel for those tiny reindeer. Christmas morning, four together, first time in years we all are here: Best-Beloved, sad eyed lady, maker of donuts and hi-test coffee, sings a bit, weeps, smiles; the Exile returns, hoodied, shy smiling, coffee in hands, and heart full of plans; and Carborundum Starshine bursts in the door, in corduroy & goofy hat, Paul Bunyan beard & glitter cheeks; and i am here. Talk and cookies, hugs and pictures, Merry merry, the peace-pipe passed, carols on the radio, the scents of spruce and tangerines. the "week between" a roller coaster, t-shirts one day, parkas the next, wind that moans like Marley's ghost, and snow tornados on the road. new year's eve and big soft snowflakes, sparkling lights and laughing shouts-- on the street, drunken kisses and auld lang syne-- but not for me, i listen only; there's work tomorrow, quick to bed, a brief flight, all-night jazz and sleep. time tomorrow to begin again. (1-1-14)

47

I was up early -- silently watched the sun climb over the land, life, and over a calm, crisp breeze -- a breeze that fell and floated down in periodic consistency almost like sets of waves -- the kind that are small and roll casually in groups towards the shore sliding up the sand and beach relaxed -- these are the waves with the grace and pattern usually only found when the tide is slack and undecided -- when nature is between ebb and flow -- between high or low. This time of year is the "seasonal slack-tide". It is as though summer was the easy living of a high tide where the fish filled one cooler as friends emptied the other. The shallows were at depth, and life erupted in abundance-- Now the metaphorical tide is starting to slip back out to sea; however, there is this time right now. An annual gap of such brevity where it is neither summer nor fall -- where the water is calm and waiting to leave in the same fashion that the weather, daylight, leaves, and women wearing lots of skin will soon be gone -- this is when the wind whispers like the calm water of shifting seas reminding us that the channel is still deep, the days are still long, the world is still is green and alive, but change is coming -- winter is coming -- the shallows and shoals are rising and soon upon us. She also softly encourages us to reflect on the summer season -- to be thankful for the harvest allowed from the light, heat, and rain -- from the time with friends, around a grill, late nights of laughter, and the experience of living among the explosion of life. I love this time of year. I had an amazing summer. These were some of the thoughts that shared the sunrise with me. It was a beautiful morning, and while I suppose the passing of summer should be bittersweet, I was nothing but smiles as the wind and mild weather not only had me 'hoodied up', but it also liberated a shower of barely yellow leaves from the two walnut trees in the backyard -- it was unmistakably autumn, and it was absolutely perfect....I plan on doing the same thing tomorrow morning -- take a moment and be silenty living in the now -- take a moment and enjoy the seasonal pause because the tide is shifting, and the suspended moment exists for none of us.

0

Sep 29, 2014

Sep 29, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC

william-david-eudy

Seasonal Prose

I was up early -- silently watched the sun climb over the land, life, and over a calm, crisp breeze -- a breeze that fell and floated down in periodic consistency almost like sets of waves -- the kind that are small and roll casually in groups towards the shore sliding up the sand and beach relaxed -- these are the waves with the grace and pattern usually only found when the tide is slack and undecided -- when nature is between ebb and flow -- between high or low. This time of year is the "seasonal slack-tide". It is as though summer was the easy living of a high tide where the fish filled one cooler as friends emptied the other. The shallows were at depth, and life erupted in abundance-- Now the metaphorical tide is starting to slip back out to sea; however, there is this time right now. An annual gap of such brevity where it is neither summer nor fall -- where the water is calm and waiting to leave in the same fashion that the weather, daylight, leaves, and women wearing lots of skin will soon be gone -- this is when the wind whispers like the calm water of shifting seas reminding us that the channel is still deep, the days are still long, the world is still is green and alive, but change is coming -- winter is coming -- the shallows and shoals are rising and soon upon us. She also softly encourages us to reflect on the summer season -- to be thankful for the harvest allowed from the light, heat, and rain -- from the time with friends, around a grill, late nights of laughter, and the experience of living among the explosion of life. I love this time of year. I had an amazing summer. These were some of the thoughts that shared the sunrise with me. It was a beautiful morning, and while I suppose the passing of summer should be bittersweet, I was nothing but smiles as the wind and mild weather not only had me 'hoodied up', but it also liberated a shower of barely yellow leaves from the two walnut trees in the backyard -- it was unmistakably autumn, and it was absolutely perfect....I plan on doing the same thing tomorrow morning -- take a moment and be silenty living in the now -- take a moment and enjoy the seasonal pause because the tide is shifting, and the suspended moment exists for none of us.

1

Fall? No, it was Autumn. Autumn, I carried on my shoulders; Up onto the platform waiting for a train.... Autumn... Heavy loaded sun on our bare necks and heads I'd inhale, I embraced you. Lightly sweet sweat salted dry heat sun baked scent of your hair on the verge of combustion. Spending weekends adorned in silly string, Chalk monsters and animal escapades, Super bubbles, Sand pies and climbing Up and down the playground As I figured out how to be a father in thier sick and twisted game of sherades. I crouched over and watched you as you slept once. You awoke to find me watching you. Smiled up with an infants brilliance That satisfied with breadth and stride, endured, reverbed, in moments that would ride, Forward out from the inside as if it were eternity... Foolish me. Fixated on the smiling baby Swaddled in her innocence and infancy before me. Walking your neighborhood in summer night. To escape the tension of the mom and dad fight, We looked up at the night time sky too see Although you couldn't really talk then, "Look Autumn, Crescent moon..." "Crescent moon" she said, after having pulled the baby bottle from her hoodied plump cheeked mouth and pointing up to the cloudless purple sky moonlight captured perfectly and Slivered in her eye as the swarm and carousel of shadows watched from dark corners and curtains of the houses we were walking by... "Ben!! Ben!!," her baby voice shouted. Never having said my name before, Crying from the stroller Imitating her mother's neglected cries, I returned and kneeled on the floor to hold her... Sleeping... At my mothers house, In my little brothers bed, With you and your freshly bathed soft wet shampooed head; Intoxicating, infatuating... Fumes that once consumed are liberating restraining vivid pin and check point cause worth celebrating... Buckling your safety belt, the day before your fifth birthday, after explaining why I had to leave, even I misunderstood. "Be good" I said... Before you rode off in the backseat of the car with your grandmother at the wheel... "Remember Autumn" I told her before I left "...Remember..?"

0

Sep 28, 2017

Sep 28, 2017 at 2:27 AM UTC

EyesLikeDesertDunes

Autumn

Fall? No, it was Autumn. Autumn, I carried on my shoulders; Up onto the platform waiting for a train.... Autumn... Heavy loaded sun on our bare necks and heads I'd inhale, I embraced you. Lightly sweet sweat salted dry heat sun baked scent of your hair on the verge of combustion. Spending weekends adorned in silly string, Chalk monsters and animal escapades, Super bubbles, Sand pies and climbing Up and down the playground As I figured out how to be a father in thier sick and twisted game of sherades. I crouched over and watched you as you slept once. You awoke to find me watching you. Smiled up with an infants brilliance That satisfied with breadth and stride, endured, reverbed, in moments that would ride, Forward out from the inside as if it were eternity... Foolish me. Fixated on the smiling baby Swaddled in her innocence and infancy before me. Walking your neighborhood in summer night. To escape the tension of the mom and dad fight, We looked up at the night time sky too see Although you couldn't really talk then, "Look Autumn, Crescent moon..." "Crescent moon" she said, after having pulled the baby bottle from her hoodied plump cheeked mouth and pointing up to the cloudless purple sky moonlight captured perfectly and Slivered in her eye as the swarm and carousel of shadows watched from dark corners and curtains of the houses we were walking by... "Ben!! Ben!!," her baby voice shouted. Never having said my name before, Crying from the stroller Imitating her mother's neglected cries, I returned and kneeled on the floor to hold her... Sleeping... At my mothers house, In my little brothers bed, With you and your freshly bathed soft wet shampooed head; Intoxicating, infatuating... Fumes that once consumed are liberating restraining vivid pin and check point cause worth celebrating... Buckling your safety belt, the day before your fifth birthday, after explaining why I had to leave, even I misunderstood. "Be good" I said... Before you rode off in the backseat of the car with your grandmother at the wheel... "Remember Autumn" I told her before I left "...Remember..?"

47