"hoops" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Flora and Fauna, the sisters of Season
Of Spring and of Summer
Allow now our drummer
To drum out the beat
For the feet of the sisters
To glide and to creep
Like the encroaching sleep
Which may perch on your shoulder if we cannot keep you awake
And on the edge of your seat, sir.
Now the former, sweet Flora, will finger the flute
While the other continues to glide and to slide
Like a sequined Venetian harlequin bride;
And now Fauna will mimic the movements of bird and of beast
As she graces the work of our landscape artiste
And all is completely unfeasible
Completely lacks reason
We guarantee.
Presently
In the eye of the beholder
Sweet Flora seemingly draws from the aether a lyre
And with flourishing fingers she plucks from the heavens
A song of the seasons, a pagan ode to Pan!
Behold! No aid of hoops, no strings
The vestal-virgin-harlot sisters sing
Of beautiful Persephone
And with unseen damselfly wings
Ascend from mediocrity
All melody forgotten
All the drums create cacophony
And you will find serenity in chaotic monotony
Now let this climaxing crescendo banish all your sorrowing!
No more that light; no more that sacred realm
Life’s door was dappled gloam; now all is black.
A man of wax with saintly, hollow eyes
Devoid of sin, devoid of love and light
That golden room is lost – you can’t turn back.
Now love has lost its lustre - lust lost joy
And coy eyes turn to watch the empty man
Struck by eternal beauty, and condemned
To haunt the broken world of mortal men;
And shrilling wind caresses empty hand.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
i found a bag of dog **** in an old winter coat
and remembered that it belonged to me
i mushed it in my fingers and remembered the food i had
it was brown like the ground
this **** hadn't been seen in years
it made me want to play some hoops
i call up my homie snoop
he said one sec im taking a ****
i say...
how ironic
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
*break
astonishment at perception
of
a third-world child making it
up that totem-pole
amidst paltry conditions
even
beyond the half-way mark*
1.
a standing man
in silent message
and the woman in red
with thin-sling shoulder-bag
holding lipstick, weekly-ticket and purse
oh, how she frightens honchos out their skull
draped round her sister's head
shroud eternal
coughing
sore
2.
grannies recount lively griot-tales
where hope is never barren
young boys play in swamped dirt-trails
drawing absent father-figures in the sand
the wind has carried them off to mines
deep in the crust of earth's ire
adolescent future sits on labour-farms
where keen spirit is dulled with worthless hops
keeps the sly farmer happy
and he tells them the fruit is free
yet they've already paid for it
manifold
when she reaches twenty
she will have at least two kids
whose lives lie in the granny's luxury
while she runs off to the golden city-lites
to jump through higher hoops
for ****** spoils
all cheapened by long-term neglect
3.
there lies hope
unlost
in every girl-child
who goes to school
who finds encouragement
from words kindly given
if but from a stranger
*no hand-me-outs
no forlorn begging*
she...
the empowered mother of boys
will
help them to grow
into young men
of such sensibility
as to keep their hands
to deeds of honour
who, in turn
become fine fathers to daughters
they love and cherish
raise to be
luminary
*each step up
from that totem-pole
such a steep climb
strengthens invisible wings
and unworldly rewards
and when final rung is reached
heralds
untainted take-offffffff*......
S T, 27 aug
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC
I am not a ****
It’s a shame
If that’s what you see
When you look at me
I’m not a gangster
Or a rapper
I’m not the images
Plastered all over T.V.
I’m respectful to women
I was taught this
By my mother
I’m willing to fight
If the cause is right
But mostly I’m a lover
…A good book
Despite
If you like
It’s cover
Compassionate
Thoughtful
And considerate
Of others
I’m not lazy
I'm not a thief
I'm not a criminal
Who runs the streets
I work at least
60 hrs. per week
And don’t be surprised
When you realize
I’m very articulate
When I speak
I’d rather read a book
Than shoot hoops
On a basketball court
Music is my passion
And I write poetry for sport
Love is my drug
And I put it
Into everything I do
It’s pure
Strong
And addictive too
I bet you won’t see that
On the news!
I am not a ****
So please don’t assume
You could be missing out
On a good friend
Don't let your preconceptions
Resume
Don’t keep your mind closed
Open up
…Make room
I'm not a ****
I am a MAN
Try to get to know me
Then you'll find out
Who I Am
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
Misunderstood in a world of the regular
My thoughts stay odd when theirs stay similar
Imaginations with more loops and hoops than a circus
They call me weird some call me crazy
In a world of my own
At least here I'm king with citizens spawned from my twisted thoughts
Loved by few understood by none
Still not as lonely as they think
Not insane yet on the brink
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
Recall when you feel
of course you don't
don't mean to interrupt
it sometimes makes me forget
when the nights have been so numb
you don't even remember routine
a vicious cycle of not remembering
when even vicious is not visceral.
Person per person
Have told me their ruts
It takes time to get out
For me, fruitless yells of 'get out.'
Instead of ruminating, you stew
Instead of contemplation, you fester
Instead of crescendo, you ******
Through hoops of negative feedback loops.
You sink until beyond your point of bearing
Every cell in your body becomes saturated
with pale thoughts that make the water dry
so dry, you become breathless of a different kind.
Except it is known well, and only you know
you hide it, because these thoughts crave isolation
don't show among people so they won't be affected
but its because these thoughts know you're far worse
You can't function during nights
yet it still knows how to engineer
the perfect circumstance to keep descending
to that nadir which has no bottom.
People make you sick
Things once enjoyed, tire and bore you
Ideologies are far away on a plane
You could never catch
Because the fever you caught
Makes you see the ends
Don't justify the means
It all seems so pointless.
bombardment, attrition, unrelenting.
And for once, you are granted a small reprieve.
The morning hungover from intense thoughts
Happy that for once
I don't despair to just be.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
I thought you'd left us, long ago
desolate on a swing
rocking stale, dry grass and still air
crossing
never quite the hurdle
lost
unaware
sweating youth in this humidity
I thought we'd never make it past the
rusty red and brown of weathered fences
like
felt moun
They
tains
Made of dirt
(guilt)
and an endless turmoiling scent, still fresh
I thought you'd forlorned us
h e a v y r a i n and warm bodies
standing next to oxidized hoops
one adjacent to the other
The haze of the heat hard, but not impossible
to withstand swaying like the gust of wind, swaying
the blazing sun and my open palms swaying
Why was it here that it felt like you left us
stumped,
unaware,
consuming with no
idea of the Greater
2.
W H A T was it about inner cities
And skin that would tan
Or resist the sun
that made you mutter murky words
judgement
that made me hike a
K
A
E
P
that for so long made feel like a (lost) traveler
unable to come find my way D O W N.
Still on a mountain top
Never quite crossing the hurdle.
That’s how you wanted me
A
B
A
N
D O N E D.
3.
But my tongue made sounds
copper pots and plastic measuring cups
became the pious accompaniment
of a song sung inwardly
until it manifested
Words on lips
Lips willing to kiss the purple clouds made out of strange fruit and a high border walls over my hand and back
4. A Swimsuit and a pool that could cool
me
small children see the cicatrixes
But I walk towards the water; I have long abandoned shame.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
I left this carnival,
or so it seemed to be.
My views have
Changed. Good or Bad?
I won't be the one,
To say in the coming years.
Girls with hula hoops,
Boys watching in awe,
How fantastic the
Colors seemed to swirl.
Like the fallen leaves
On a windy day.
But not the trees
are mainly bare, as
the circus crowd
Gathers around to
Catch the acrobat if
they should Fall.
Outside on the dirt path,
is me. sitting in thought,
Talking to more then myself.
The trees, grass, and
The earth listened to
my many tricky questions.
Why can't life be
Like tonight.
With all the vendors,
music, and travelers.
I tried to hide from
the rising sun, instead
my body made me absorb,
every bit of light.
The sun was the reminder,
To return home and
be in this other life.
More free then the
bird floating above me,
I thought of people
and the whole world.
No money left in my
money clip. I found some
water. I saw the ring leader
of the carnival and,
She eagerly smiled
"Life is what you make it."
No help this was, as
more and more contradictions
Sprang from my mouth.
Again she just smiled, so
Pretty was her smile.
Early that morning,
I tried to talk
to other beings, spirits,
but no truth was found.
Then like a lightning
bolt hitting a tree,
and causing fire everywhere,
The answer hit me. On
the ride home, I had
The same pretty smile,
as her.
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 10:49 PM UTC
I am
tired of not being respected,
tired of being taken advantage of,
tired of being told what to do,
tired of being accused,
tired of always being wrong,
tired of silent conversations for hours on end,
tired of wondering why i’m not good enough,
tired of apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,
tired of your twisting of words,
tired of your apathy,
tired of your ruthless blunt comments,
tired of missing your hot touch on my bare skin,
tired of wishing you cared,
tired of trying so hard for someone who doesn’t give a **** in return,
tired of analyzing my every move for your “peace of mind”,
tired of jumping through hoops to impress you only to realize you arent at the show,
tired of being on the brink of saying goodbye only for you to win me right back with one of your dazzling smiles and gentle hugs,
tired of being spoken down to,
tired of feeling small,
tired of hiding parts of me that are too loud for you,
tired of frowning when i could be smiling,
tired of sobbing when could be laughing,
tired of hating myself when i could be loving myself.
i’m so **** tired.
i’m so god **** tired.
tired of being tired.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC
I'm never alone, but I always feel lonely,
Surrounded by sycophants and courted by cronies.
My only true value is that which I give
To myself, nobody's willing to just let me live.
Jumping through hoops made of fire and bone,
Searching for nought but a place to call home.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
We slump in mismatched chairs. Two hunches
over shame and a 3am breakfast, I think:
*There’s gotta be a reason why art rhymes with ****
If you want anything to go anywhere with any respectable…affect,
the force of pressure on the inside must exceed that from the outside.
Interrupting this genius, He asks:
How can you eat that crap? It’s so…empty.
He is flipping through his coffeeblack back pocket note rag.
It’s soiled, wrinkled concave with the ever-heaving
stomachfuls of his inky midnight doubt, and I would really
rather not have it at the table while I’m eating.
I am pouring another glorious bowl of Frooty Froot Hoops—yeasty,
store-brand sugarfuel for the lower-middle-income child poet.
He spends another tasteless oatmeal evening
reading essays about how to improve his writing.
Instead of, like, writing to improve his writing.
I ask:
If you took a knife to the edge of your boundary’s boundary—stabbed right into your life-world’s fleshy monad-sac,
glory running ****** down your blade,
As you breached forth into the well-lit unknown,
would it still be courageous, if you emerged from
your warm wet ignorance, and they were all waiting outside with mylar balloons, a banner, and "Congratulations on your Artistic Rupture!”
in blue icing on the cake??
There's still a moment there, right?
Petrified in the sap of thrill, in the momentous-stasis between
The arrow flung and the arrow fallen. A moment of
advancement …a moment of abandon!
(He nods along, but he isn't listening.)
I say:
Newness, originality, (birth), is purely indexical.
It points, and no one notices that all those shiny vegas lights aren't really moving anywhere—It's just utility bills and light-bulb trickery.
They're asking for genesis extended, genesis again and again
and each false gesture points only towards another
incandescent unreachable elsewhere.
(He nods along, still, not listening.)
But there's little monotony in taking a stab!
Even if it's just for them, again, those perennial spectators expecting,
Waiting outside with ***** little pocket notebooks of their own,
crowding the bassinets, ever-eager to begin another “surprise" celebration.
Gulping sweet, sugarpink milk, I say:
I happen to like this crap!
It keeps my knife sharp.
(He nods along, but he isn't listening.)
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
in some sort of twisted way
i've missed having someone make me spit
that wondrous insignificance that comes
with letting somebody under your skin
every word out of their mouth an attack
& every action they take purposely meant to exclude you
to tease you
to please them
to watch you squirm
letting somebody in
it's even worse when they sneak through
a window
without you noticing
& then it's over
they tighten their grip
around your rationale
your compassion
your free will
and suddenly
everything is about them
and everything brings you to your knees
and you want to cry out
and scream
but you wouldn't want to disturb them
it's been a while since i've jumped through hoops
but light them on fire
suspend them over impossible heights
and foolishly my heart will guide me towards
doom grounded in absolute certainty
but fight
cry
struggle
laugh
dissect yourself
as her every breath magnifies every
insecurity you thought you had completely buried
yes
in some sick way
i've missed being made so sick with care
with worry
that i don't stand tall enough in the eyes of
some inconceivable creature
an inexorably important
omnipotent mind-numbing
force
in complete control
in short,
i am ******
i've missed being ******
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
5
monkey bars
they were all she could hold on to
when the ground crumbled
beneath her trembling feet
4
swings
they were the metronomes
that conducted her life
so she could stay together
3
slides
they helped her explain
what she was feeling
when everything was moving too fast
2
basketball hoops
they showed her how to do
what other people wanted
to get what she needed
1
merry-go-round
that taught her how not to puke
when things wouldn't stop spinning
inside of her head
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
he asked me why
I'd absorb his ardent spirits
and chain want of soul
he knows why
I demand total control
...to convey my lust for pleasurable pain
this ache in thighs
denies an uttered sigh
as I cry inside with lust
strutting before him in nylon and pumps
he jumps through hoops, leashed;
he begs and flex, hungry for what is next
while I slap his hardened ****
tick tock its almost time
unwind and rock
to tease and please
I think not;
as heat of breath
taunts each slap of ****
his moans go unclocked
...as he loses control
Mistress, please he begs and moan
how long? watching hardness grow
long, strong in fits of hunger
he whispers and drools,
Mistress!!!!!
...your sweet ambrosia I know
eager beggary to be unleashed
ready to pounce
unload every ounce
but, I won't as I blindfold
and ring his ****
fore, his time is still
on the clock...tick tock
I smile, while he gropes
in the dark...leashed...now bark!
tell me! are you hard enough?
...I tease and taunt him some more
**** now hard as a rock...lash of whip...whack
...in your corner...I'll be back...after Jack laps wet ******
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
2-29-16
With zoey on my mind
Dedicated to Zoey Maryann Lynn Sowers
She has his cheeks, his nose, his chin
Her hair and ears, she gets from him
We didn’t get to see your first lost tooth
We haven't got to see you shoot hoops
We weren't there for your first scraped knee
We didn’t see your first heartbreak
I know they are there, always by your side
Just wanted you to know, how much we love you
And no matter what our love for you can never die
My niece you are, my niece you''ll be,
From here until eternity. Perhaps that’s when
We will get to see all the beauty, love, and fun
Inside of you, believe, we did try, to be a part
When we stopped getting to see you it tore us all apart
Our hearts, yearn to see your beautiful smile
Our hearts, hurt to hear of you thinking you have a defeat
When I see your face, I glow inside, with pride
Knowing that you are my niece, and what a beautiful person you are
With time, and hope, and prayer perhaps, we will see you soon, in a little while
Wish we coulda see you all dressed up for soccer, with your cleats
Some day we hope we will be able to attend,
To see your face, one day as someone's lucky bride,
We hope that you will always know, somewhere in the deep
You are and always will my first beautiful niece, I will keep
The memories I had, the pictures to show, the bits
We got to witness, and be in your life.
I hear its by your choice, to not speak,
Or look at me. It hurts I wont lie
I'm your Aunt Hope, I always will be
I hope that I am someone you will come to see
as your start the larger part of your journey
This crazy world we live in no doubt, it will be rough
I know though, what you have in you, you are tough
I guess I have to accept that I will just be the one who sits,
Who waits to see if you will ever acknowledge me.
I want you to know that through all this strife.
I am your Aunt, and will be praying.
For you to come through the other side,
Much stronger, even greater, and be able to have pride
In who you are, in what you can be,
in all this world we live in, know in your mind,
Perhaps just in mine, you will always have me,
If you need a shoulder, if you need a friend.
I would forever be there, my love for you is not pretend
My niece, you are, my niece you will be.
And I will wait patiently, and if only , to be
Just a friend, that is fine by me.
For an afterthought, my dear. You are my first niece ZOEY!
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
blue dress- it is soft, it shapes around your chest like it's supposed to be there, and you begin shaking with no end in sight
white feather earrings- your face is softened and you remember you don't want to be soft
blue beaded earrings- they match your dress and your dress makes you want to die
bird earrings- they are small and bright and you curl up on the floor and wonder which parts of you are real
moon and star earrings- they are small and pale and no one but you can ever see
sun earrings- you shiver and don't think anything
blue crystal earrings- they are the strongest form of feminine you have ever had, and you remember buying these from a street vendor, holding them like some strong piece of the world belonged to you
peace symbol earrings- they are small but familiar enough to be recognized and you feel sick in your throat, your face, every part of you that accepted peace is aching, you want to tear it out
blue stones and dangling silver hoops- these make you look like a woman, which is a familiar future you have been told of, and you realize just because you understand it doesn't mean you want it
dangling iridescent gems- these make you look like a girl, she would love them on you, and you decide to give them to her before you remember she's changed, now you don't know what to do with them
warm colored striped dress- it shows all your bones and still makes you look so soft, you are so, so cold
black feather earrings- these feel like how you used to try to be strong femininely, both of those at the same time, and you tore yourself apart for years not understanding why it was so hard, blaming yourself
black beaded earrings- these make you look like femininity comes easily to you, as you wish it didn't, these seem to belong, as you wish they wouldn't, and these are so heavy, just like everything about this, you are still shaking
silver rose studs- these are small, indistinct, you remember being familiar with this small amount of femininity you thought was necessary, and you twitch violently, something itches, you are hunched
black pants, shirt, jacket- you have a body, in the most abstract sense, and now no reasonable person could call it what they wanted
spider stud- it's small, looks metallic, and delicate yet menacing, like you never could be
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
Crawling on all fours, traffic drags its bleeding body forward.
Men with collars of lipstick tap tap tap their fingers against steering wheels.
Time slows, cars inch, passing hands find cigarettes, cigarettes find fire.
Tap ash tap finds tap pavement.
This is the unobserved hiatus of daily routines, the dreaded stretch of heaven that separates from and to.
During such moments of inertia
thoughts drift through open windows
forming a cloud for bargains, regrets, wishes, doubts, prayers, and curses to perform cotillion upon.
Faster, faster, so quickly now, oh, change partners, switch lanes, spin, oh baby spin, fasterfasterfaster, until differentiation is impossible, until drivers become one with this steel river, until minds make their essential switch that makes home a bearable punishment.
Someone has broken down.
Do Not Stop.
They are shunned from the sweeping mob of machinery. Necks swivel in uniform towards this abomination, how dare they, how DARE they outshine our misery. Perspiration works its way down backs and pools into leather cracks.
Will it ever end?
Do we want it to?
Finally,
regrettably,
the final exit, the last few feet of purgatory.
We descend into the next inferno where we leap through fiery hoops of interrogation—
yes no it was fine yes okay.
We are exhausted.
If only we would have stopped.
If only we would have hit the brakes and remained in our haven of anxiety and lust and confusion and endless searching.
Our love affair with traffic can only last so long.
So we make solemn promises to ourselves to appreciate tomorrow’s,
to run our fingers along the satin thighs of the freeway,
to plant a rubber kiss upon the ground.
How tap long tap until tap five?
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
The plane is emotion.
The form is a gentle rider,
she pushes bullets off cliffs, she hugs the stars.
Catches the moon eyeing her with one
great big hand wrapped on its ****
spins the bell of her dress
round and round.
Sifted from the Earth, man moody
cleft in heaps of his entrails,
no progress has been made.
My metal mother pulls hula hoops for zulu,
she rips down the shelves and pulls
Bobby Dylan from the wall. She says,
"grrrplleeopzhrka." And the smoke gets into
my eyes and burns my nostrils too.
In the great wind screen, footprints of man,
Native American blood weeps on my bright
Summer burning, no regency cleared. The
outlook denied. It sits stagnant, maddening
with its blockhead on sideways. Heavy, old
mutter hubbard wilting gold in her stare.
Mess comes. She spoils, her skin is loud
and anointed, her fecund white placard
is thinner than air. People look at each other,
a goblin, two trollops, the green woolen winter-wear
of a soldier in despair. Only a putrid noon, escaping,
cuts the flesh from the garden. Cuts out all the weakness,
the hope, the love, every thing owned, every one cleared.
The skin trap and oyster flap. The rich mixture of voices,
nothing holds common that bond, that few could look upon,
that youth could-
none of the old things work anymore.
Just a wicked boredom trickling in blood down her legs, just
the lust trickling down her legs, dear mommy, I obey.
And when the summer months set in mahogany, and the icicle
feat swallows us up, dear-
death
Winter
lips
moths buzzing
mouths
fuzzz
your sweet bomb
bon bon
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
[Sidra of the Stars]
a goddess has awakened
eyes slowly open
penetrating...
light reflects off the irises
(recessive blue alleles on chromosome 15)
my name is Sidra
and I will not be diverted.
-
I stand under sol
I stand under the earth's satellite
I stand in the vale.
-
look upon my feet
the fine lines of support
and strength of design
golden light showers
my long legs
strong and graceful
gaze upon my curves...
silky
ample
hypnotic
look at my golden arms
that comfort babes
dig into the earth
and create abstractions
hands and fingers of elegance
given to me by my grandmother
nails to claw and hands to hold
look at my long neck
draped in silver metal and black glass
falling between my *******
hips compliment the
curve of my spine and
the upward tilt of my chin
my hair is a golden light
shining over hoops of silver
and diamond studs
crystal pierces my nose
lips soft and full
eyes lined in black, never faltering
-
this goddess is aware
conscious
enlightened
eager.
-
I will not abide
silence
undeserved
because you lack the courage
to face me.
I will not abide
deception
manipulation
or syrupy black selfishness.
I will not abide
injustice
mockery
or ultimatums.
I will not abide
misrepresentation
vagueness
or weakness.
-
I am Sidra
of
the stars
of
the sky
of
the night
-
I move swiftly in the night
eyes bright
a creator
a lover
a muse
thoughts align
images swirl
pen to paper
my body moves
sensuous and confident
music booms
lips curve upwards
-
the day descends with
distractions pulling awareness
into waves of concentration
tiny fragments of
thoughts and ideas
begin to build
for later contemplation
-
I know the minds of men.
I will not be diverted.
My power has been revealed.
I will protect the unprotected
**And I will stand
Made of stars
And unleash Hell.**
-
I will reign terror on your ego
and bring the sword down
on your garishness.
Naked and ******** on my warhorse
I will strike you down with silver spear
and you will pay for your misdeeds.
In all my thundering beauty
with nothing but logic and art
I will slam you to the wall
and declare you a fool.
-
I am Sidra of the Stars
I stand in the vale
I will not be diverted.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
..............there’s such a clamour
so much choring
memory thread
I sit
armchair
rocking head
receiver of motion
bleaker of putty trauma
creator of mammary craving
.....best take up knitting or wood carving
the fortress of thought
(in strict connivance with a bewildered host)
compiles the 'person idea'
protects the fragile calculator
from biting at its own exposed
and useless self mating psychology
from glutting on its own tail
and merry going mad
in a tune of hoops...
..stammering to achieve valuation
for our decent management
projector
may you continue operations falser still
defeating our own polygraphs and making fools of our internal courtrooms
i sit on this chair
things go still
thoughts occur elsewhere
am i left to not be ?....................
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC
Because of you, I know too much
You ****** out my innocence with your maniacal way
Twisted my mind to get me to stay
I believed you which distanced me from reality
The truth you spewed was dripping in brutality
I listened and adjusted, everyday, more and more
I didn’t realize doing so was opening the door
To new demons, ones that taught me not to trust
Now I can’t have fun anymore, I can’t even feel lust
We haven’t talked in two years, but I still jump through hoops
My brain is sick and dark, it’s stuck in destructive loops
It’s really sad what I lost, the part of me that could surrender
I can’t open up my heart, it scares me to be tender
I push people away because i don’t want them to be like you
I wish we never crossed paths, I don’t know what to do
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 12:10 AM UTC
*Sometimes on the hardest of days,
I bear nothing but the softest thoughts of you.
Thoughts so rousing, they send adrenaline speeding down my highways,
stopping for nothing until every inch of me melts.
This isn’t your average fight or flight;
it's a fight that's for you, and a flight that's with you
to a place where the birds and the bees can't even reach.
For most, my heart can be a stone wall surrounded by a backbiting moat,
but somehow when you bring yourself to it,
the draw bridge gives way to you every time.
It’s frustrating; I have no control over what my heart desires,
but for some reason, it chose you the moment yours played hopscotch with mine.
Skipping beats is only the tip of the iceberg:
I could bleed out my entire fountain of youth if that’s what it takes.
And yeah, if you scale it up to the waters of the world,
my fountain will make only a single drop,
but I’ll be ****** if that drop doesn’t pass through
all the flaming hoops it takes to land on your lips.
I will make sure that you never forget the taste,
and the ripples it forms shall never lie still in you.
Ripples that in time will manifest into incredible waves
that will alter the very ones your mind creates.
It’s said that the brain waves of love and insanity are identical to one another,
and it just so happens I have a longboard that can fit the both of us.
I’ve never been that great at love, but I’ve always been the best at insanity,
and if you ever lose your balance,
my hands will always catch you before you’re ever out of reach.
So what are you waiting for? The water’s fine.
So paddle on over to a place I like to call "existence",
and let’s ride the swell of this swollen heart.*
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
late night hoops
24-hour fitness
you call me "white boy"
"how did you know?"
i want to say
funny
"hey white boy"
sounds a lot like
"hello mr. oppressor"
i am not
a poster boy for the past or present
a rusty slogan of inequality
or
a white boy
i am
irish norwegian german french-canadian native american
spud-eating fur trapping wampum-trading viking
i am
pumping pull-ups on the poverty line
just tall enough to ride the wel-ferris wheel
unable to tell my mother i love her
and
b r o k e n
Deta
ched
scarred
******* my shirt like a salty otter pop
swallowing sweaty syllables
the pringle on my shoulder
about to crunch
game point
tie game
15
15
we are equal
even when i sink that shot
tickle that twine
we are still equal
you and i
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
I'll go along with the thought, 'work makes you strong' just as long as I can
but,
sometimes, I feel pooped and can't jump through the hoops and that's when the dreaming kicks in for this man.
I spin in the frame of life's arcade type game and I'm lost in the wheels,
it feels
like,
riding a bike and not watching the street but meeting the idols I'd most like to meet,
like,
Gulliver,Gilbert and Sullivan,Jimmy Durante,Popeye the sailor and the Tailor of Gloucester,
lost in the throng and unaware of time carrying on,I get older,no wiser,no miser am I,
I give my dreams freely to those I love dearly.
This arcade game plays on though the moment is lost, and reality arrives if only to remind me, that life goes along and in it you'll find me,playing the machines,winning more dreams,sailing through the streams of unconsciousness.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC