"jags" poems - Hello Poetry

I TOOK away three pictures. One was a white gull forming a half-mile arch from the pines toward Waukegan. One was a whistle in the little sandhills, a bird crying either to the sunset gone or the dusk come. One was three spotted waterbirds, zigzagging, cutting scrolls and jags, writing a bird Sanscrit of wing points, half over the sand, half over the water, a half-love for the sea, a half-love for the land. I took away three thoughts. One was a thing my people call "love," a shut-in river hunting the sea, breaking white falls between tall clefs of hill country. One was a thing my people call "silence," the wind running over the butter faced sand-flowers, running over the sea, and never heard of again. One was a thing my people call "death," neither a whistle in the little sandhills, nor a bird Sanscrit of wing points, yet a coat all the stars and seas have worn, yet a face the beach wears between sunset and dusk.

0

1.6k

Carl Sandburg

Sandhill People

I TOOK away three pictures. One was a white gull forming a half-mile arch from the pines toward Waukegan. One was a whistle in the little sandhills, a bird crying either to the sunset gone or the dusk come. One was three spotted waterbirds, zigzagging, cutting scrolls and jags, writing a bird Sanscrit of wing points, half over the sand, half over the water, a half-love for the sea, a half-love for the land. I took away three thoughts. One was a thing my people call "love," a shut-in river hunting the sea, breaking white falls between tall clefs of hill country. One was a thing my people call "silence," the wind running over the butter faced sand-flowers, running over the sea, and never heard of again. One was a thing my people call "death," neither a whistle in the little sandhills, nor a bird Sanscrit of wing points, yet a coat all the stars and seas have worn, yet a face the beach wears between sunset and dusk.

9

1. Although you aren't a big eater, you snack on several unhealthy foods. 2. Your middle name is Andrew. 3. You thought a 'henna' was pronounced 'hyena'. 4. Watermelon flavored gum is your favorite. 5. You are 5,8" 6. You always come to my home games, even when you miss a few important plays. 7. You're #5 usually, but you are #10 when you wear the maroon jerseys. 8. You know the lyrics to my favorite Taylor Swift song. 9. You are a huge fan of the Jags. 10. When you were 8 years old, your family forgot you to your own birthday dinner. 11. You notice different things I do with my eyeliner. 12. You draw stupid things in Spanish class. 13. Your favorite place to eat is Rib City. 14. You don't ever mind buying me smoothies. 15. You always put your hand on my thigh when we watch scary movies. 16. You remember it was a Friday in which you asked me out. 17. Although you own several t-shirts, you don't own any Florida Gator hoodies. 18. But you call yourself a fan. 19. You weren't impressed with Mockingjay Pt. 1. 20. I cannot stop thinking about you, especially on Saturday nights when I am not with you. 21. We have the same scar on our left hands and our ring fingers. 22. You take pictures of me when I'm not looking, but you delete them when I ask you to. 23. You have never told me I'm stupid, even when I am. 24. You don't like the beach. 25. You always wait for me at the end of class so we can walk together. 26. You remember what color shoes I wear on important days. 27. You don't get mad at me when I miss important parts of your game, as long as I am there. 28. You give me more hugs from behind than you do regular hugs. 29. Kisses on the cheek make you smile. 30. No one has ever been on my mind more than you.

0

Dec 6, 2014

Dec 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC

0-mph

30 Things I Learned this Month

1. Although you aren't a big eater, you snack on several unhealthy foods. 2. Your middle name is Andrew. 3. You thought a 'henna' was pronounced 'hyena'. 4. Watermelon flavored gum is your favorite. 5. You are 5,8" 6. You always come to my home games, even when you miss a few important plays. 7. You're #5 usually, but you are #10 when you wear the maroon jerseys. 8. You know the lyrics to my favorite Taylor Swift song. 9. You are a huge fan of the Jags. 10. When you were 8 years old, your family forgot you to your own birthday dinner. 11. You notice different things I do with my eyeliner. 12. You draw stupid things in Spanish class. 13. Your favorite place to eat is Rib City. 14. You don't ever mind buying me smoothies. 15. You always put your hand on my thigh when we watch scary movies. 16. You remember it was a Friday in which you asked me out. 17. Although you own several t-shirts, you don't own any Florida Gator hoodies. 18. But you call yourself a fan. 19. You weren't impressed with Mockingjay Pt. 1. 20. I cannot stop thinking about you, especially on Saturday nights when I am not with you. 21. We have the same scar on our left hands and our ring fingers. 22. You take pictures of me when I'm not looking, but you delete them when I ask you to. 23. You have never told me I'm stupid, even when I am. 24. You don't like the beach. 25. You always wait for me at the end of class so we can walk together. 26. You remember what color shoes I wear on important days. 27. You don't get mad at me when I miss important parts of your game, as long as I am there. 28. You give me more hugs from behind than you do regular hugs. 29. Kisses on the cheek make you smile. 30. No one has ever been on my mind more than you.

30

Four kings rode in with strings and skins to bring salvation to me on the streets of New Year's Eve. My friend would lend contents of bookends that induced solutions to a common teenage problem. I became incepted and indebted to the greatest escape artist, plus drowned-out voice who talked me through the agony of lonesome pains. Though association fades, those days still replay in heavy bass, or on the screaming face of a DVD case. But when handshakes are met with drunken compliments, it makes me question what it all meant. Veins no longer contain baselines or nets because the rent doesn't even cover travel expense. There are hotel pillars in a lake up town, tacky Christmas decs have been taken down, while two Jags are parked up outside dad's house. The nice-eyed lad, Welsh running track, smiling dancer and security-defying chap in a flat cap keep me from collapse. As the album dies, benign podcasts thrive. Franchise rise, repeated lines, gym life, energy drink lies and paper bag highs make laugh-cry emojis hard to find. With Wi-Fi or offline.

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC

LewisWynDavies

Laugh-cry Emoji

Four kings rode in with strings and skins to bring salvation to me on the streets of New Year's Eve. My friend would lend contents of bookends that induced solutions to a common teenage problem. I became incepted and indebted to the greatest escape artist, plus drowned-out voice who talked me through the agony of lonesome pains. Though association fades, those days still replay in heavy bass, or on the screaming face of a DVD case. But when handshakes are met with drunken compliments, it makes me question what it all meant. Veins no longer contain baselines or nets because the rent doesn't even cover travel expense. There are hotel pillars in a lake up town, tacky Christmas decs have been taken down, while two Jags are parked up outside dad's house. The nice-eyed lad, Welsh running track, smiling dancer and security-defying chap in a flat cap keep me from collapse. As the album dies, benign podcasts thrive. Franchise rise, repeated lines, gym life, energy drink lies and paper bag highs make laugh-cry emojis hard to find. With Wi-Fi or offline.

1

52 Weeks: Whitman The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. 52 Weeks: Mullein The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape. I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered, And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed. The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress, My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer, I am coaxed into existence once again. I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you, It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain, To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense. I won’t depart, I dig in my heels, And I turn my back on the organized. I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother … And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely. I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day), But I am good for you none the less, As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle. And always I wait patiently, for me for you, for us.

0

Sep 16, 2014

Sep 16, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC

aaronmullin-fb

52 Weeks

52 Weeks: Whitman The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. 52 Weeks: Mullein The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape. I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered, And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed. The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress, My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer, I am coaxed into existence once again. I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you, It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain, To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense. I won’t depart, I dig in my heels, And I turn my back on the organized. I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother … And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely. I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day), But I am good for you none the less, As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle. And always I wait patiently, for me for you, for us.

37

Warm skin- wet leaves- and orange peels make for a diet Im used to. Skeletal frames and browned jags with burnt edges turned to mucus I am not. Bread called pan with a side of Natilla! common on the sometimes desolate streets I once called home- BUT alas now they are filled with Feliz Navidad and Holiday Greetings. I came at a time when life was in turmoil and the pestilence of my American soul bled no longer to the longing of old faithful. I came and went, my inquiries have been exhausted and the version of me has returned. I still find that I long for your cafe and ******* Oh but alas I am home pluma de escribir -mi querida

0

Dec 19, 2015

Dec 19, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC

CLStewart

pluma de escribir y mi querida

Warm skin- wet leaves- and orange peels make for a diet Im used to. Skeletal frames and browned jags with burnt edges turned to mucus I am not. Bread called pan with a side of Natilla! common on the sometimes desolate streets I once called home- BUT alas now they are filled with Feliz Navidad and Holiday Greetings. I came at a time when life was in turmoil and the pestilence of my American soul bled no longer to the longing of old faithful. I came and went, my inquiries have been exhausted and the version of me has returned. I still find that I long for your cafe and ******* Oh but alas I am home pluma de escribir -mi querida

9

White noise is falling from the treetops again. I'm looking for a new apartment, touring the giants up and down 16th Street, wondering if I'll cry here too across the ancient parquet, & who I'll bring home to share coffee and deep jags of insufficiency, feelings I should not have shared. Everything is eventually unspoken, everything is. Keep the heart off the sleeve for a change. Hideaway in the dull bronze candle of winter city sunset, gently tarnished with old snow. Pause on the high Taft bridge, despite the height, and drop the heart away. It's a lie, I couldn't do it. The heart sticks in the hand.

0

Dec 11, 2017

Dec 11, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC

EvanS

The Things That Happened Here

White noise is falling from the treetops again. I'm looking for a new apartment, touring the giants up and down 16th Street, wondering if I'll cry here too across the ancient parquet, & who I'll bring home to share coffee and deep jags of insufficiency, feelings I should not have shared. Everything is eventually unspoken, everything is. Keep the heart off the sleeve for a change. Hideaway in the dull bronze candle of winter city sunset, gently tarnished with old snow. Pause on the high Taft bridge, despite the height, and drop the heart away. It's a lie, I couldn't do it. The heart sticks in the hand.

25

Existence is fallow Upon the sheaths of grey Transparent in the slides Omnipresent crawling In with no other Inflated into, frozen in Panes of glass Brazen ice tell me your name Internal tread on jags He in his own bloating Of crashing white sun on The surface plain.

0

Sep 2, 2016

Sep 2, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC

S-M

My days of white

Existence is fallow Upon the sheaths of grey Transparent in the slides Omnipresent crawling In with no other Inflated into, frozen in Panes of glass Brazen ice tell me your name Internal tread on jags He in his own bloating Of crashing white sun on The surface plain.

12

prepare for the hittin once the beat punch in ya know im deadening rude awakening wake n bake never split the cake 50 50 down the middle i want it all cant fall if im the tallest never the smallest regardless if fools hate this ill just take this rhyme and rip you up like a machete chop ya body up then grind it like spaghetti smoke phillies ya know the dealie got girlies sloppin the ***** til they silly mortal like combat ya die quick trying tie with the wickedest emcees im sick of this everybody sounds the same once i ignite the flame burn all of those til a salt grain endure in pain like hells household strong hold on the game ill never let go **** you hoes Been down from the jump though fools that hate get kidnapped and drags puff buddha bags afro with a red bandana flag **** the source and the other mags despise **** i could trade in my rhymes and itll amount to price of fo jags...

0

Mar 6, 2016

Mar 6, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC

Ru7hl355_Gangsta

Criminal Minded

prepare for the hittin once the beat punch in ya know im deadening rude awakening wake n bake never split the cake 50 50 down the middle i want it all cant fall if im the tallest never the smallest regardless if fools hate this ill just take this rhyme and rip you up like a machete chop ya body up then grind it like spaghetti smoke phillies ya know the dealie got girlies sloppin the ***** til they silly mortal like combat ya die quick trying tie with the wickedest emcees im sick of this everybody sounds the same once i ignite the flame burn all of those til a salt grain endure in pain like hells household strong hold on the game ill never let go **** you hoes Been down from the jump though fools that hate get kidnapped and drags puff buddha bags afro with a red bandana flag **** the source and the other mags despise **** i could trade in my rhymes and itll amount to price of fo jags...

39

Deep is the color of ice As it builds and grows The warm red of the days gone by Grey, hardening the color of steel White where the time has lingered Shutting out All that we feel Yellow as the sun shone upon it Feelings strong and so real It jags to the left Then sharp to the right Not able to decide Which way to grow Freezing harder in the night As darkness hides the warmth from its face It grows Harder And colder In this love lost place

0

Feb 1, 2014

Feb 1, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC

me-4

Deep is the color of ice

Deep is the color of ice As it builds and grows The warm red of the days gone by Grey, hardening the color of steel White where the time has lingered Shutting out All that we feel Yellow as the sun shone upon it Feelings strong and so real It jags to the left Then sharp to the right Not able to decide Which way to grow Freezing harder in the night As darkness hides the warmth from its face It grows Harder And colder In this love lost place

19

A neat disjointing: Frost pricked by heat melts; the rut of stone jags at the eye no more. A universal harmony creates unnumbered stems: the earth was never ****** Condoning the green mutability of things, he corners baby pheasants **** and hen calloohing in the scrub), twists at the neck. Their eyes pop with surprise. The good earth will maintain this spawn gone wrong two ways. He does not hear the clapping wings, the hawk big with the misery of things.

0

Feb 2, 2017

Feb 2, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC

jonathan-finch

"Consider Him Well"

A neat disjointing: Frost pricked by heat melts; the rut of stone jags at the eye no more. A universal harmony creates unnumbered stems: the earth was never ****** Condoning the green mutability of things, he corners baby pheasants **** and hen calloohing in the scrub), twists at the neck. Their eyes pop with surprise. The good earth will maintain this spawn gone wrong two ways. He does not hear the clapping wings, the hawk big with the misery of things.

15

I came by Mini Cooper, picked my spot amongst the Jags, locked my doors & dropped onto a sidewalk seat to catch myself a cup of hot java. The smell reminded me of the early mornings in Helmand province & it dawned on me how much sweeter this cup tasted. I did not waste a single drop, I even licked the porcelain-rim, thanking God for this precious mug of Joe.

0

May 13, 2014

May 13, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC

jonny-angel

G.I. Joe Blessings

I came by Mini Cooper, picked my spot amongst the Jags, locked my doors & dropped onto a sidewalk seat to catch myself a cup of hot java. The smell reminded me of the early mornings in Helmand province & it dawned on me how much sweeter this cup tasted. I did not waste a single drop, I even licked the porcelain-rim, thanking God for this precious mug of Joe.

21

ennui exoskeleton ignominous heart - its jags fit tightly inside here

0

Oct 17, 2014

Oct 17, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC

godsavethetrees

VII

ennui exoskeleton ignominous heart - its jags fit tightly inside here

3

PART I Mythical creatures White-tufted Branch-antlered or unicorn-horned Drove back the guilt-fortress A clearing of Open Forbade my translucent Excuse Where we might have Pointed And Counter-Pointed Government sycophants Or social-discoursed Impending collapse Instead I pointed out this silhouette Finger-tracing curves And feathered jags of edge Reading glasses emphasized my Now With Immediacy And somewhere at the root Tightly packed cells of potential Honesty Sealed by long-intended Inertia Stirred Vibrated Demanded You, with a watchful patience Circus-intrigued PART II At close, the clock struck A gong of True You returned To Your Wife I venture Back on the path Of routine Groping a functional Reset Possessed of magic/potential Or a vintage matchstick For the dread-moment When the fuse of Annihilate Presents like a slate Wiped clean I carry only a solace Potentiated by the grace Of your listen The healing salve Coating the grit Of my Askew Leading With time To opalescence

0

Aug 27, 2018

Aug 27, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC

t-perdue

Truth Telling Over Coffee

PART I Mythical creatures White-tufted Branch-antlered or unicorn-horned Drove back the guilt-fortress A clearing of Open Forbade my translucent Excuse Where we might have Pointed And Counter-Pointed Government sycophants Or social-discoursed Impending collapse Instead I pointed out this silhouette Finger-tracing curves And feathered jags of edge Reading glasses emphasized my Now With Immediacy And somewhere at the root Tightly packed cells of potential Honesty Sealed by long-intended Inertia Stirred Vibrated Demanded You, with a watchful patience Circus-intrigued PART II At close, the clock struck A gong of True You returned To Your Wife I venture Back on the path Of routine Groping a functional Reset Possessed of magic/potential Or a vintage matchstick For the dread-moment When the fuse of Annihilate Presents like a slate Wiped clean I carry only a solace Potentiated by the grace Of your listen The healing salve Coating the grit Of my Askew Leading With time To opalescence

53