"intrepidness" poems
Your heart bleeds red, but your teeth are sharp, and yet
Your sultry coated darkness, steals the beats from my heart
That hazy clothed intrepidness, finds me, constantly astounded
Your worth lies, undiscovered, it is so far beneath your eyes, but baby
I See You
And I know, that
Far beneath this dripping wet pile, of freshly ended possibility
On the coldest of concrete, shattered and shivering
Lies the broken key to your perfect heart
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
we tracked
her gyrations
on the weather
channel for days
eyeing the graceful
pirouette of her
cyclonic spin
incessant
bulletins of
the exploding
super storm
on a collision
course with
home, piqued
fear, kindled
fascination
drove fatigue
the day before
Sandy arrived
I followed the
flight of clever
birds lofting
away to the
safety of
inland hills
the foolhardy
mistook hubris
for intrepidness
lifting beach front
margaritas to
the roiling sea
unaware their
jolly libation begets
tomorrows sober
realization that folly’s
miscalculations have
calamitous consequences
The Doors
Riders on the Storm
Oakland
10/29/13
jbm
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
Inward apathy is not
to be confused with
sociopathic credence.
It's a blade held to the throat
of the man that wields it.
Never would the cold steel touch
the person who thinks of suicide
as cowardice, but believes bravery
to be disillusionment in the form
of medication, or speaking up and out
offering solutions to problems
that they do not know the variables
that come along with it.
How many teeth make up a smile?
How many lines form a frown?
If lines are infinite,
what does that tell you about
an expression that is countered by
obligatory inquisitive ambivalence.
Shoulders are for tears.
Spines are for intrepidness.
Skin is layered; tough and thick
no matter benevolent or malevolent,
a person's love is misconstrued
as skin deep, albeit it is formed
between synapses.
It's a spark, a fire, the intuition
to never say goodbye
and ignore accountability.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
She is tourney,
Everyone is pat by her,
Masked man and women are in hasten
For her ………
Under the mask everyone is afraid
But their mask portrays the valour….
A chimera, a phony intrepidness……
Implore for cupidity, majestic canard …..
….. through branding …..!
Everyone is cover-up by masked branding and
skirmishing in the name of tourney !
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
You are my dauntless sword;
Gleaming iridescently in light, and in the absence of it.
Enticing my wistful eyes with your intrepidness,
before chanting, "My hero of sorts."
You feathered my growth with fairy tales and mendacities,
Always winning agaisnt the evil that you made me believe.
You were the tenacious tower who locked me out of peril,
I was the naïve, gullible, stupid damsel who believed all of it.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
Poetry is the prose that is produced by the curve of your smile and the twinkle of your eyes as they defy rhyme by line every **** time making visual couplets and sensual pentameters which are as iambic as the way your words float every time you speak in that lovely alto that creates a sestina and a haiku and a sonnet and an intrepidness in my hands as they run through your hair smooth as Bukowski ******* his working class ****** earning protests from Sylvia Plath heard through the oven door which you hog so often and I laugh when you do so I sit you down and say I'll get your breakfast baby don't worry and you smile that prose poetic smile that seems to be the indefatigable source of all these literature and damage to my soul which is not mutually exclusive
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
One phone call later.
A swift valediction-
Volcanic silence erupts.
Animated adrenaline fires
through my veins
singeing like flames licking paper.
Just his voice,
his words have flipped my internal balance
and let the butterflies out of their cages.
So they fly,up up and up
around in perfect tea cupped patterns.
and I'm helpless just to watch their performance.
I don't feel like me,
More of a mysterious mirage that appears when you call
and when the phone clicks- it ends.
when I'm around you,
you my dear just you
I'm intrepid.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
As I lose my soul in a song, yet again
In the lyrical verses of Death, I start my bargain
Death, The Eternal Watcher, ***** in my being
Through the endless pitch black night, that voided me, from seeing
The light that all my prayers I offered went straight to
My soul now drenched in the moist from the grisly beats and tempos
From the void, I stride, I yield, I unsheathed
The power of my Deed-Blade, to prove I was worthy
To face off with the Devil, who yielded no mercy
As the Devil threw his summons of sulphurous fire
A baneful blow to his head, knocked him out in his lair of mire
O, Death, as I stand before the Devil’s cadaver
Sing to me the verses of Eternity’s Master
May He bless my soul that lived for a transient time
May it find the path of virtue as it fought out of intrepidness, not of bravado
May my soul finally see the light
The light of God that would bring me in spiritual ecstasy, with this, I have truly won the fight
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC