"kinesthetic" poems
I often find myself deep in the world of unknowns
of wind,
of fire,
of water
She exhales
sending static electricity waltzing through the air
as if the particles find some deeper attraction in her presence
Her fragrance
zests the cracks of empty space
Within a single whispered word,
my breath escapes me
in hopes that it may embrace
just the sound of her voice
Her heat fills up my spine
like a thermometer
and illuminates the heart
Fiery eyes burn hieroglyphics onto my lungs
Her touch gives me the fireflies
and in a frenzy they collide
igniting on impact
Their spilled embers
cast sillouetes on my eyelids
of our candle-lit dinners
Silk hair
pools against the bed sheets
Her lips would be the moon
to my tidal kiss
Frost nips at her imperfections
But she never freezes
for she changes feverishly
like bubbling water
If only transparent
Her forms cannot define her
But,
She is mystic like the air
Spontaneous like a spinning flame
A kinesthetic ocean
and I’m good at drowning
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
(feel Hell)
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.
Now, I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing. It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
(like a ballet),
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.
Or something.
And I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
(for a few minutes or so),
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide.
Well, so it goes.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.
Now, I think I light up
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing.
It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
like a ballet,
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.
And I think I light up
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
for a few minutes or so,
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide-
Well, so it goes.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
It seems nice to hold an ideal reputation,
Nowadays we engineer them.
With a perfect filter, an edited word.
No worry in your tongue slipping.
When you finally take your eyes off, and notice the way the sun creates a sky of bright pink and orange, just as its about to say goodnight, are you happy taking it in? Just breathing in and out?
It seems nice to feel connected to others.
But what about your significant other?
Is he even significant? Or just another face,
that you can use,
to prove to others,
that your life,
is as pretty as the sun you always seem to miss, just as its about to say goodnight,
because you'd rather strain your eyes on a screen,
stressing about your impression on others,
then experience bliss, in the form of kinesthetic reality,
so perfectly imperfect.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
Breathe In
Ready?
Visual, auditory, kinesthetic
Light, sound, touch
Buildings are of the same shape, stiff outlining
People talk the same way, smell like the same scents
The air's texture caresses me at the same places, softly
Breathe out
Have I left home at all?
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 12:28 PM UTC
It was tangible and invisible
Only seeing with my hands
And I’m not a kinesthetic person
Trapped inside the cage that was your love
I couldn’t see it until it was too late
And I had to break myself out
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
The two kids, rambling their murmurs away.
At the bus stop; animated, kinesthetic.
With voices that represented the curious cat.
Shall we not wonder, when the cat shall be killed.
It was not long ago, when I was in the same shoes.
Yet the alteration of taste, the mutation of size,
the change of environment, the dynamism of time…
It caused great discrepancy for a my own momentarily lack of understanding.
I could no longer put myself in their shoes.
And maybe, maybe not maybe, but definitely,
The sense of sympathy has died down and diminished,
just as society has taught me very well,
I no longer want to put myself in their shoes — ever (again).
I just anticipate in my personal phantasmagoria:
when the cat shall be killed.
All that beautiful notions and scenic illusions,
the illuminated views of the world (then), from my (then) tainted glasses.
I wonder when the kids will remove theirs soon.
I wonder when the kids will eventually lose their secluded eye sight,
as their vision become clearer with age.
In my thoughts, at that moment:
Would everything that seemed too beautiful just remain as what it is now:
The past that seemed so perfect, the present that seemed so still.
Memories remain as photographs, similar, or maybe transformed into:
motionless, emotionless twirl of mundane innocence.
A freeze frame, with no emotional attachment, no true connection.
Will all these just remain as cognitive recognition,
or will I still be able to look back and find my self recognition.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
pink, satin slippers
strong, poised, graceful pirouette
kinesthetic art
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
Bravery was the theme of the night
And we drove the streets like we owned the very air
We divided as we went too fast, much too fast
Go in for the **** don't shy away, and other mantras
Repeatedly featured in lights in my head
Reveling in the dregs of the days after
It was time to prove something to myself,
To you, and to them
No costume nor mask accompanied my disguise
Only a door and some seventeen-year-old fear
Prevented any wild occurrences
It's the thirty-first, devil's luscious holiday
But for me, it's the rehearsal for kinesthetic romance
(Humour me on this all hallow's eve)
-cj
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC