"kristine" poems
A Mean machine in obscene gang green
The Candlelight flicker in busted T V screen
Scream queen Ilene in paralyzed dream
Dean Irene exploded her spleen
It seems when she ate some beans
Kathleen drank from a canteen of benzene
Said sardines soaked in saline make the best cuisine
Eugene came between Kristine and Janine
When they went to the ravine in Racine
Teens hopped up on caffeine convene
With Thirteen marines on Halloween
On routine to clean and preen the latrines
I’m keen to notice the things that you’ve seen
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What if you could unseen what you've seen
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
You've been walking
in the same space
at the same pace
for days it seems,
or is it years now?
It makes no difference–
too afraid to pinch
and perhaps wake up,
or even worse
realize there's nothing to
wake up from.
It does not feel like real life
so far from home, far
from the tangibles that
once played strict boundaries
on your existence.
Every step you take
the dream becomes the truth
and your old life
fades from reality toward
memory–
still hoping to wake
and be home again,
back in an old city,
an old time,
with old friends–
maybe a beach in Fiji
with Kristine Kochanski
laid out beside you.
Seems like thats
how things should be.
Seems like thats the
reality
you had in store,
not tucked away
under smokescreen skies,
alienated and alone.
New friends and
New places
that are beginning to lose
that New car smell.
Pinch me please.
Pinch me,
you are asking
harder, harder,
again, again–
"Once more,"
you're begging.
This can't be it
*********
it can't be all
there is,
you'll wake up
you have to
one of these days.
Or is it years
now?
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
Started my day, before son was off to school
coffee in hand, checking my feed,
see a top story days ago from you
I go to your page, to leave a kind hello
been some time, figured it overdue
finding posts, that tore me to my soul
You are gone, passed some 18 hours before
this has to be wrong, everyone is wrong
I can't scroll fast enough for the mistake
My eyes are watering, too much to read
the shock of it, many giving their condolences
trying to hold together, while son is still home
Not much older than me, A beautiful soul
can't grasp the reality, even if it's all there
my heart has broken another piece
I wish I had spoken to you sooner
to hear your voice and laughs again
to have a moment once more
I am still not sure, to feel as I do
having been through this many times
fears of being close, but cherishing all the times
All I can say, thinking of your spirit and heart
that for as much as I will miss you
as much as I don't understand why
that I have been blessed, in having the time with you.
Go now, onto the Lord
For your workings here are fulfilled
thank you to being an Angel
giving a glimpse of what Heaven will be.
Rest with God, Dearest Kristine <3
9/14/2015
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
I am riddled with 30. The strike of midnight, it eats me, starting at the toes, bare and lively and barely alive, I struggle along a seam. My thoughts hang on the graveside. I wonder if anyone can see this? Thirty has me, she's a cruel contender made up of sinew and string, red rope licorice and DNA, blinds me when I walk with my face in the wind, steps over me like a Chicago pothole; the entire size of an apartment, 30 lives in the laundry room, tumbling over and over until its dry, desiccate and dry.
30 sends mail from Washington State too, it don't leave no line for greetings, it don't whoopdy-whoop the white-prentenders. No flowers for Kristine, no merriness of mirth, or dog on tin roof or nothing. Absolutely nothing. Thirty is the wickedest weapon of the new millenium, nothing so fiercely glum as this- boots won't even fit me, my hands' knuckles is swollen. My socks have finished their last **** verse too. **** man. 30 is the poison drug. Gator, 30 is Gator with speed and disease. Harmful tremors, shakes, phone 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
**If you pretend, you'll never know the right way this ends.
It's the passion of my pen that prescribes this medical zen.
In my den, I walk on water, I speak in colors, it's the message that I send- I received,
Do you really need to know where it comes from?
There's this spiritual axiom, that I've been askin' him, entranced by this romance,
All these butterflies and pretty clouds I've never had the chance to give.
In my passive peculiar I'm a user of catastrophe, exacerbate the simple happenings
That disaster brings. When I lived in California it was women, it was water, it wasn't the waves,
The way her hair flirted and twirled, and whipped around when the sun every-day would
Come out.
It wasn't that I didn't have the drive, the will to survive, I even had the doll-dollars, my rent was paid, I flew around in private airplanes, and every single day I got laid. Even her father was like, "He's a cool cat, you better make 'em put a ring on that." But she ****** ain't got a clue-
if I was me then now, then I'd now what I was supposed to do.
I was supposed to ride... clear the air and see the skies. Be bliss-bound, virile, like White Snake, Just make her mine. But I was...insincere, adolescent, and hiding behind a barrier. I didn't have the Strength to carry her. It was paramount, but I wasn't 100% percent clear.
Now I'd say, well, since, it's been 1,244 days. While I sit and listen to grave-wave, having a great day.
I'm in love again, and the music says,"There's a lot of cool in them, and he never had a doubt."
Kay even said, I shouldn't trouble on the past, the present is so much better then even the future, she said, "It's in you" and I guess the Truth is, I imagine you, beautiful, intriguing, like a different forever, that even I once was 20, too.
For Kristine
By Martin Narrod**
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Plomb this Hand to stamp Cotton to your Name
Is a Task too daunting for me to assume
Though embed, plast Sentiments to your Fame
Will allow the Charmer to bleed your Perfume
And why now? Ask this Soiled Agent bereft
Pleading when he is qualified to kiss
At least in-tune, break-saddle for such Theft
Sipping your Smile as he conquers your Bliss
But you type on - Busy - less a Bee's Stock
Yet ardent be the Pleasures you relay
When - snipping the Eight - rest-easy for Lock
Bid your Moment's hurry to cheer your day.
Yet such Smile remains. Which your Elder missed
Interprets a Choice; Yet a Choice sans Risk.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
That way so much burning so,
Its forever it you so.
Go my mather understand,
Its forever go you kent.
So its you forever good,
Im so much it for its look.
Go to you the square begin,
Its my girl to you Kristine.
Im okay its for to you,
So its look begin its you.
So much world im you so gone,
Im it looked for to yon.
Im all back it for to me,
So its look to get for be.
Its okay so good in job,
Looked for to get in book.
Im to go so much begin,
Its forever my Kristine.
Im its you so gone okay,
That way no so you my scray.
I to you its for to me,
Looked for to get to be.
Late to you so long for good,
Its forever it my look.
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 7:54 AM UTC