"intersecting" poems
Loyalty
it's an odd word isn't it?
break it down
Loyal
simple enough
you have your side and you stick to it
but how about the T
that caps off the word
the intersecting lines
almost standing for
intersecting ideals and ideas
I think that's significant
because in this world
people are always loyal
until the end
where going a different direction
is the smart thing to do
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper.
Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning.
You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ******
In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot.
She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness.
You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator.
Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze.
Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you.
Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal.
Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk.
You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic.
Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings.
Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine.
You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced.
Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms.
You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
months ago i left my home
because it was a tragedy.
the place where i never felt alone
starts to feel so crowded and heavy.
so i wrote my lines into your palm
and you took me everywhere you go.
walking to the middle of east & north,
unsure of where we would end up but we knew we currently stand
and that what truly matters, right?
there were times when i would miss my childhood bed
but you offered me your chest
and suddenly i refused to lay down somewhere other than you.
there were times when i would miss
them and their memories
but you make each moment of my past before you
unworthy of reminiscing for the lack of euphoria they hold.
and there would nights where i would miss being okay
because we are constantly moving
city to city in a world where i don't wanna stand in
but you, for just being you, make me glad to be alive.
and the stars hide at night
for they would always be set aside
because i will always favor your eyes.
but there were also nights
where you'd forget to hide the cracks of your sin.
and the light that escapes your broken lines
shines through the dark night, keeping me away from sleep.
there goes your light
shining from your interior
it was so bright as can be,
it blinded me from reality.
you were a hypnotic drug
that commands my feet to follow
you wherever you go.
i gave you my nights & rhymes
and all you gave me is toxic fumes.
you had me the moment your secondhand smoke entered my body
and you marked me the moment your
toxic-laced smoke clouded my air.
your heart and my heart
are now located at the ends of a line.
like intersecting lines,
we were once perfect at one point
but for some reason,
we had drifted from each other.
all i could stare it is the starry night
but i don't like stars,
i don't know where we are
and i don't know where to go
though, i'm glad as hell i wasn't where i used to be.
there are nights where you'll suddenly throw rocks at my window.
the moment you'll lay your head on my shoulders,
it will always feel like home.
you were home
and just like my previous one,
you are a tragedy.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gelato Nation
There is a place,
location secret,
mine to keep,
mine with which
you to tease,
make you envious,
a back room 'office'
jealous guarded
by a barkeep,
whose chosen invites sweeps
you into a reality that is
what you will it to be.
But nota bene, note well,
remembrances of things swell
from your past be the
only tongue spoken here.
Code word entry only,
a shared whisper.
Perhaps One Woman,
may reveal its pleasures,
if she so chooses,
which are:
gelato laughs, poetry snaps,
Beatle songs sung ensemble,
by rag tag strangers
self-collected accidentally,
sung de rigeur off key
by voices lubricated by
cognac, laughter, and
the coldest of white wines,
issue of the very soil
upon which we sit.
Words to value properly,
not in my possess to capture
the few moments in time when;
Strangers transform themselves
into a triple A nation united,
that will never be
S&P; downgraded.
A holy alliance
celebrating July 4th
all night long,
all participants
signatory witnesses to
its gelato conception,
as well as pallbearers
to its last drink dissolution,
the fullness of its lifetime
a vintage of a few hours extant,
a vintage, once drunk, is
a history, forever gone.
Mixologists please record:
One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist
with a dash of museum director,
and do not forget the
Hundred Year Old Woman,
whose Dowager Princess Daughter
(she, a mere eighty)'
from Central Park West
clarifies all of life dilemmas with
the singular analytical tool of:
But is it good for the Jews?
**But t'is the barkeep
who is the leavening
in this evenings human
pastry-petrie dish.**
He makes the pastiche,
the ions of personalities,
coalesce best,
guitar strummer,
singer of songs that were our
multiple national anthems
when we were pseudo-rebels
starting out on our
long and winding roads.
Long the King of the Keep!
Long live the memory of our
Gelato Nation,
may it stay sweet in
our antique collection of
the best moments of
our intersecting lives.
July 2011
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
All sorrow is perpendicular occurring
at right angles of tragedy encircling
the grief-stricken with straight edges
only once intersecting across infinite planes—
Don't dare draw the lines between points
or shade the region with limits or curves
because the trajectories of bullets are plotted
on branes intolerant of slightest triangulation
Woe unto the seekers of sine waves
sobbing thinking of filling every trough
believing surely by now we've offered enough
to sate these bloodthirsty Euclidean demons
Cresting won't ever arrive in this course
filled to the brim with asymptotes, cold corollaries
but never spilling over under our sacred
pledge of allegiance to the 2nd Parallel Postulate
No intersections can be admitted with thoughts
& prayers extending outward barely co-planar
serious public policy proposals axiomatic
insistence on the Nirvana Theorem or nothing
A set of all points remains, mutually exclusive
motionless and always incongruent clueless
about their own particular geometries
awaiting radical Pythagorean salvation
Some paradigm we’ve built here though!
Two hundred years of living polygonal hand
to elliptical mouth without tangential reflection
on the unproven flatness of humanspace.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
Tangent: touching
along a curve,
a surface,
without intersecting.
We are acquainted.
Contours quietly agree.
What I cannot guess
with my hands
I will consider
with my lips—
count the places
I kiss you,
forget where I am,
start over.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet
thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…
much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards
back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism
now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
put all the words
in the world
in my two hands,
each a microscopic dot
of near invisible,
teeming, heaping,
ricochet intersecting
colliding,
cell splendid splitting
leaping,
until they,
wordlessly forming
a sign inquiring,
in neon flashing:
“What did I demand of them?”
”New combinations,” my reply.
how we
laughed together...
as they procreated
My Happy Request*
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
The annual cycle of friends and family, meeting
An oil and water duty of circumstance, intersecting
At Christmases and global conferences, occasioning
Probable murders at Christmas in the families, mixing
Their duty to drink but live distant lives apart, loving
The comfortable satisfaction of the distance, living
Their lives with social media connections, liking
The comfort of ignoring without unfriending
Their oil and water friends and family.
So
I have supplanted this duty with desire, allowing
Me to unfriend these occasional friends, becoming
Myself at last with a vicarious pleasure of, enjoying
Being a stereotypical “Grumpy Old Man”, relaxing.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Fingers dipped in purple powders
Fushia gold my makeup
Black skintight latex suit with neon circles
How my outfit is made up
Three rings around my waist
Intersecting, two vertical, one on the horizon
The circles glow with noble gases
Radioactive, after all, I'm an alien
Perfect spheres and concentric rings
Are trending, so I have read
I balance on stacked circles, my six inch latex heels
And floating circles surround the pair of buns on my head
My bones poke through my latex,
Anorexia won't stop my passions
I may not be the body type you want, but I'm the body type you have
And I still enjoy the fashions
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 2:38 PM UTC
The truth is easy to prove
for it’s right in front of you,
it doesn’t hide or keep secrets.
I am probably the most honest
person you will meet,
for I am an autistic person.
I will tell you as it is
no sweetness or sugar daddy
involved.
You want to know how
to be true? Learn how to
think like cats do. Don’t
worry about how others
feel, instead question
their motives but with
respect for their uniqueness
and views.
Don’t try to look through
someone else’s eyes without
asking them what they see
and then try to imagine what
it would be like.
You could also change
the way you view yourself,
stop seeing just yourself,
imagine what it would be like
to see like a blind mouse,
imagine the possibilities
are limitless, try to look
beyond the normal.
For normal is Technical:
(of a line, ray, or other linear
feature) intersecting a given
line or surface at right angles.
My autistic love is
normal for me. My love
is unconditional
because I love with
an autistic view,
you can trust I will
never lie to you.
We who have an autistic view
see life for what it is
and we will tell the truth
doesn’t matter if you wanted
it.
When I say I love you,
that’s the truth.
That’s autistic love
for you. We love like
cats do.
© 2019 By Amanda Shelton
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
A scene too obscene to be believed
when it's seen
Like an acid trip intersecting with a wet dream
Where reality becomes a second thought
And you and I were caught
or maybe lost
in the crossfire of hungry hearts
I breathe you in whenever you're around
there's a code to my heart that unlocks with the sound
of your voice in a humorous shout
through the crowd
But what once was so loud
it shook me to the ground
burned so bright it may have burned out
the Chaos is Dead - All is Quiet now
And where there once was great noise
as joy did abound
is stricken with silence
like A Forest of Frozen Clowns
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
lovely bones scattered on the floor,
beautifully red and intersecting all over the door.
lovely bones ran clean with no scrapes from the knife,
the very knife that took their life.
lovely bones, so beautiful, so pretty.
more beautiful than their blood that tasted ever so sweet.
lovely bones decorated the floor so beautifully and gave it the beauty of death,
not caring that i took their owners breath.
my beautiful bones, my lovely bones,
smooth and heavy as beautiful stones.
my lovely bones, i stroke your skulls,
your blank inexpressive expression tells it all.
i love your beautiful ribs and spine,
knowing that they are now mine.
but my favorite of all time is the arm and leg bones,
i love that bone.
its beautiful and long with a unique characteristic.
its beauty is just so majestic!
my beautiful lovely bones, i adore you!
i laugh wickedly as i fondled you.
my lovely bones, so beautiful,
only getting you was a task i must fulfill.
come to me, my fantasy as beautiful as dazzling stones,
my angelic, lovely bones.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
Sunset is one time, one thing I dare to love
Different to sunrise, but not so much in light
It’s how fishermen hold so tightly to their line
In evening, my countenance feels pleasantly light
I move through cool air, a smooth-flowing line
Intersecting invisible ties, each person and each they love
I wait for some odd thing in a long ordered line
Calmed by the blending of sun and sea that must be love,
Serenely, I disappoint those in need of cigarette light
The sun bade farewell to the sea, and fell below the horizon line
—Urchins are hedgehogs of the sea, I was called an urchin by my mother, which I loved. The nicknames only got worse from that point
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
Generous coasting of the west coast
leaves me tangled in roots from roads
intersecting with waves surfed by
long blond-haired beach bums and
babes who pant at a muscular man
that pushups on the boardwalk
next to towels drying on the
handlebars of my bicycle.
I ride and ride and ride
through weather thought to be
unrideable by most cyclists
even if million-dollar-prize
tempted them at the finish line
and a set-for-life sponsorship
was promised to any and all
who could fight through the storms
of what I stoically battle.
No gear or goggles,
just legs of toned steel from
nights spent heating them over
a log-lit fireplace on spit
while keeping intense conversation
with lover across my gaze
until she escapes unexpectedly
into dreams, unaccompanied by me.
My legs are on fire,
no rain can extinguish them
and no slick roads
will stop my going.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
I was 10
when I first started to
pray for the cabinet to swallow me whole.
To splinch my human body into something a deity won't pass up unworthy
to enter a magical realm where
I can meet a godly lion and a warmer sun.
I was 10
and, even then,
I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.
I was 12
when I first started
looking out the window,
waiting for a temperate owl on a tropical sky. I twirled the wood chips I tore off my mother's dresser
with the pink lipstick stains, and thought to myself,
my god, my god, what a life I am destined to live.
I was 12,
and even then,
I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.
I was 16
when I first started
distancing myself from the wardrobe,
from the wooden dresser,
from the creaks of the floorboard,
from innocence.
I flicked the ash off my 20th cigarette to the tear-soaked dishcloth I gauzed on my wrist to keep me from tracing the intersecting lines my father etched on the living room floor after a night of bowling and tears and tears and sadness.
I thought to myself, my god,
my god, my god,
what life am I destined to leave?
I am 20.
I want to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
I never was a Gryffindor, I said.
Not for me the bravado of the every day,
The martyrdom of intersecting a bullets path
In fact, I did disdain of that reckless abandon.
I understood the slytherins and ravenclaws outwitting the shooter Before he shot
But whoever said you'd meet a hufflepuff in heaven was wrong,
Lord knows I wouldn't jump in front of a bullet for you
But I'd pull us both out the way.
I never was a Gryffindor, I said.
Not for me the pomp and prance of the self-assured, self-entitled Gryffindor,
In fact, I felt at home in any other house.
Ravenclaws do speak the truth, possess originality,
And slytherins are more trustworthy than you'd suspect.
I never was a Gryffindor, I said.
But there's a certain bravery in dancing on your own like everyone's Watching,
Because they are,
They're all watching you, some disdainful,
Some with humour in their eyes,
Some with their cameras out:
I winked at one, and stuck my middle fingers up at the other,
Because I look happier than anyone else in the crowd
And I'm with my friends
And God I love my friends
And God knows when our song comes on I'm going to scream it at The top of my lungs.
And soon we'd collapse but I said no
Dance like the world will end if you stop
Because it will
Because the glory will fade
Because they don't understand
This isn't a dance, it's a victory march
Showing everyone here
That I have dealt with their smirks and their cameras
And I have survived.
And I am unstoppable now.
Maybe I am a little bit Gryffindor, I thought, and smiled.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:26 AM UTC
like two shadows intersecting,
we were flawlessly connected
I embedded my emotions into
every conversation
but time took us apart like it's
own creation
leaving me without you.
we face the sun but we cast separate shadows.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
I
Fold upon fold
your origami letters
map thoughts,
images and moments
of three days,
two nights.
Now to unfold
the creased trajectories,
intersecting space,
following time:
bird-like flightpaths
on the radar screen.
Each coloured sheet,
placed on this desk,
becomes a tessellated diary,
and grows beneath the hand.
So generous a gift.
So readily received.
II
Ah, that's your secret:
the power of the list;
this, then this,
then freedom follows,
knowing the necessaries
dusted and done.
Peaceful now,
and watching the clouds
cross the skylight,
Bach decorates your soul
with his meditations
on the possibility of everything.
How did you guess
I love the detail of life-
lived, up to the hilt:
the embellishment of dreams
pulled from the ether,
sound and sense in tow.
III
I travelled North
in the seat opposite.
You didn’t notice me
as you gazed
through your reflection,
sighting the past.
When you look at me
you rarely blink or
glance away (as people do).
Poor nature,
She hasn’t a chance, has she?
Never a mote missed.
As my passenger
I shall care for your silence;
to let you loose on
unbidden thoughts
as they rise above
the scrolling hills.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
In the age of prophylactics,
we build skyscrapers out of plastic
Agents of terror trade their bombs in for germs
So we make ourselves prisoners to serve out life terms
Unscalable walls that circle each axis
Hemispherical gates in which they have stored us
Intersecting steel Orobouros
With plenty the yeast farm to serve as our food,
and trend setting deities that change with our mood
A quarter united, we sing out a chorus
Hyper-interactive nonsense to entertain
Connected by a network direct to the brain
With war buried deep, next to monarchs and castles
Their drones target individuals to save them the hassle
While we sleep in our bubbles, ignorant of pain
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
They tell me that I'm a good poet
That I have a way with words.
They tell me that I can make the simplest things sound beautiful.
That I can make a flower bloom
Just by stringing 26 letters of the alphabet into a sentence.
They tell me that I'm complex.
That they have to read between the lines just to figure me out.
They tell me that I make the easiest things complicated
That I can turn my McDonald's order into rocket science.
They tell me this
They tell me that
They. They. They.
But you,
Oh baby, you,
You didn't tell me anything.
You never felt the need to.
You accepted me.
Flaws and all.
You accepted the way I made gardens grow all around us,
You told me you loved the way I turned the carpet into our personal meadow.
You accepted the way I ordered my mcchicken burger
Even if it took forever for them to understand my words.
You showed me that it was okay to be me,
To be unique.
To be able to turn the abc's into rocket science,
The 1,2,3's into the tip of the iceberg
To be surrounded by metaphors and little jigsaw puzzles that everyone thinks they can figure out
But when they get frustrated they leave, their mood gone south.
But you stayed.
Patient.
To this day I can't get the courage to thank you,
I've tried
God knows I have
But this,
This is my final attempt.
No metaphors,
No similes,
Just me.
So thank you baby,
My McDonald's order will forever remain encrypted
And my words,
Complicated.
But us...
We're asymptotes.
Destined to come so very close,
But never intersecting
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
I wonder how many people were broken when we met.
Because a friend told me about parallel universe.
There is an exact opposite of the world we live.
If I was the happiest girl, it adds another lonely girl in that universe,
It kinda bothers me because I dont wanna see lonely people.
Just as I see myself right now. Its never a best place to be.
Those days were filled with moments I could never forget.
Moments Ive shared with you was firsts of my so many.
Still, there are words I wanna hear from you.
Hoping that one day it will be clear as crystal blue.
I love you, the words I kept and wish to say but never gotten the chance to say it.
I miss you, I missed you and I will miss you.
but how could I if you're not even mine.
Start and end are two different words always followed by the word fast
same as the sunrise and suset though they never met.
A french film told me that fantaises we created are doomed to fail.
I proved it right.
The hardest part was knowing that you hurt me but still doesnt change the way I feel.
How can a human heart beats this way?
It must be magic, no its a miracle.
See, love took your breathe away yet you're alive.
Pain, love and hopes intersecting with each other like a wire in a timebomb.
cut the wrong wire then boom! it'll explodes!
One thing for sure, I never regret of knowing you.
I never regret the time we shared, I never regret those sleepless night.
Though I knew it was all played, I never regret I felt this way.
If incase you're looking for a happy girl, remember the day we met because you were talking to her.
Don't ask me if Im lonely because loneliness is when I see my life without you.
Dont get me wrong because I knew from the start it was a one way entry road.
And I was stubborn to enter though the sign says "do not enter"
What can I do? no one teach me how to drive.
But if anyone has the courage to teach my stubborn heart to drive.
I vowed to love again, this time like a fruit ripened from its season.
Ready and worthy to be picked.
Thank you for passing by.
Goodbye my Love,
Till we meet again.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
Spider
Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.
The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you
You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.
Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC