"latches" poems
tell me...
will tomorrow bring,
all the things
i'm longing...
stowed upon its elusive wings,
tirelessly beating
and fighting
to show what's dangling
and hanging...
ready for the picking...
awaiting...
such time so it could begin its need for unloading,
delivering
and dropping,
its gleaming
treasures
on those who are deserving,
in no way lacking
so they could be at the receiving
end of this pressurising,
inking
of dwindling
words...
careless thoughts conceived only to
fuel
my deranged ramblings...
incessant mutterings of a shattering
mind...
bending backwards, almost breaking,
risking...
the chance of ever fully
mending...
hoping and praying
for a sentence that's pending
dawn's approval...
allowing
the rising
of the sun...
paving
ways for thriving
wishes,
unbarring
gates for soaring
dreams, unlocking
latches,
relieving...
the heightening
anxieties of grieving
hearts.
constantly whispering
utterances, promising
good will, happiness
and titillating
sanity.
we're thinking...
the earth is spinning,
the moon is setting,
so the sun must be rising
but...
tell me,
tomorrow...
is it coming?
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
There’s something in my chest
Growing, swelling
A disease manifesting in my heart
It latches to my nerves and infects my brain
It’s love
It overflows from my heart
Oozing through my ribs like a thick river
Of butterflies and tired words
Remembered laughs and the sound of your voice
But lately it’s a symphony of voices
A theatre full of musicians playing my heartstrings
You’re a musician baby, and so are they
I’m sick
Infected with too much love for too many people
It’s a heart transplant
But they don’t take my old heart out first
Just add more and more until they spill from my ribs
Filling every corner of me until I crack
But baby I love it
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
I am a sculpture
Of life' beautiful scars
Frightening when viewed too close
Perhaps better glimpsed at from afar
Twisting wounds
Healed over scratches
The heart entombed by loves hand
Blood covered latches
Oh masterpiece
Of intentional cuts and scrapes
Purple raised blue bruises
Hidden carefully from the world
I employ delicate spiderweb curtains
And my sleight of hand illusion's
It is only the bearer who understands
Where the deepest wounds are hidden
Bitter tears in a deep bottomless chasm
The unforgettable kiss of affections contusions
These shadows must never be loosened
Forever restrained even by deception
Guarded by spiderweb curtains
And sleight of hand illusion's
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M. Darby Jan.13, 2013
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.
They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.
Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.
Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.
Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
that we are more together than we are apart
Listen up, America! This is the music of community.
We are more together than we are apart.
© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue
Cactus human cherry on a stool
Beyond the window he would not look
Inside the sky made of wood.
The barber talks to his ferns
The flowers he understood
The living they earn
Sparkling its rough nails of your barber.
The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order.
He listens to
Each one story
Always about a time
A time which was cheery.
He looks piercingly to all their prickly
What he touches intently
To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy.
Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.
A man
Or the boys
They finally stand up easily.
Capes dusted
Top hat powdered
Their voice of fears collected as tips
For pricking up his ears.
The door that opens in the end
The swirling light that beckons
Hair became a way to lighten ---
When times get rough and belligerent
Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.
The barber hears him and all
The others like soldiers
They share their laughs
Troubles leaving shoulders
Leaving like a waterfall.
The barber knows everything
The barber knows all.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
Its back,
And I wish I could say
For one night only,
But the forecast shows
A messy week ahead of me.
Every day
The sun will burn bright
And a cool wind will
Bite my cheeks.
Every night
The sun will set
Like God dropped a bowling ball
And storm clouds
Will come rolling in.
The thunder will be deafening
With no lightning
To illuminate the blackness.
The rain will come in
Big, heavy drops
All at once.
No gradual crescendo.
No calming patter on rooftops.
Only a roar at my window
That will ****** me
To open it.
In the rumble
I can hear a whisper
Begging me to open
The floodgates and let the rain
Come rushing into my room.
Let it rise
Up the walls
Until I'm kissing the ceiling
Then sink to my bed,
Feeling content with my efforts.
I wrap the covers
Around me and lay my head down,
Passive to the water
Filling my lungs.
Comfortable in my
Burial at sea.
Don't worry though,
My room is still dry
And the window is closed.
But the latches are loose
And I'm not quick to repair.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
they called it a lake home because there were
no knobs only latches
with padlocks for winter.
it was spring when I left.
the water was in the arroyo
when colorado raised her snowy head
above the hills and brush of northern new mexico.
and you wept
with tears strange to me as yellow flowers
in the canyons and flatlands, laughing for water.
the truck broke down just south of Los Lunas
the smoke and steam drawn off by a fierce wind
that drove the tumbleweeds to
new lowlands. eager with seeds.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
The demon scratches me
I bite him back
The demon pushes me
I spit in his face with a smack
The demon taunts me
I calleth him out by name
They hate their name called
Don't wanna be recognized for the flame
The demon shows false affections
I giveth him hate
The demons a smiler as he latches to me
I'll kick him to hells gate
The demons find me downtimes
Though with God I shalt win
Demons love misery
To seeith one in sin
Demons are smelly
Like all the dump trucks on the earth
Times ten
Demons haveth enemies
They hate even their own kind
They haveth none kin
Demons haveth a date
With Satan in the fire
They'll turn thou on with lust
For thou they do admire
Demons hast hurt me
They've tried to bring me to mine death
Soo many health issues
I know tis not me
Them
The demons hast entered mine family
From the lives we didst choose!
They entered by portals
Between good and bad souls
They came and come as orbs
Spirtual energy
Trapped to a distance
God won't let them get to close to me
They always want more
They show themselves now and then
They'll portray themselves as good souls
Wherein its all pretend
The demons speaketh in mine bathroom
They hide out in the closets
Parched behind mine bedroom wardrobe
Spies as I sleepeth
They want mine bright soul
It's full of massive glowing energy
They know it as I'm told
So to bad because their not me
They made a big mistake
Turning away from God
Now their outcast losers
Fate of hell and grud!!
They'll soon be in chains and shackles
So they cause pain now whilst here on earth
They come in all shapes and sizes as I've heard from many others
Psychics
Life after death (experiences)
And from preachers
Pastors and others
They come large
Small
Animal like
Mauled
They come stinky
Scaly
Nothing thou shalt imagine
Couldn't fathom
Their everywhere
City streets
Malls
Gyms
Stalls
Homes
Air
First heaven
Second heaven
Hell
Everywhere
Yet these demons cannot taketh me
They knoweth I'm gods light
So demon get hence from me....
Go burn in thine own fright!!!!
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
Amazon tribes looked through forested twine
to catch me with sharp sea creature needles
streaming through air currents to soak into my behind
and they brought me back to be one of their people
gold leopard spreads paw fingers to scratch the earth
and green twisted vine latches rock to wood
I have danced with fish among the surf
in mountainous shadows have I stood
weather so damp you breathe inside out
feet have become greedy eyes drinking the ground
salty skin seems to constantly pout
I am technically captive but feeling unwound.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
I walked past my pantry
Late one Friday night
To the sounds of what appeared to be
The goings on of a party inside
I grabbed a hold the latches
Swung wide open the door
With absolutely no earthly idea
Of what was soon in store
Colorful lights were flashing
Somewhere in the back
I moved aside the ketchup and mayo
To see where it was at
I took out the pickles and saltine's
So I could better see
What all the commotion was inside
Of my food pantry
That's when I saw the flashing lights
Inside the jar of Nutella
I picked it up right away
Me being a some what curious fella
As I held it at eye level
It vibrated in my hands
In what felt like a driving rhythm
From a 70's Disco band
Can't say I wasn't nervous
As I loosened up the lid
No telling what was going on inside
What dangers lay ahead
With both hands slightly shaking
I removed the rounded top
There was a party in the making
And it was going on non stop
The Nutella had it's boogie on
Or if you prefer, it's groove
Whatever you wish to call it
A party was the mood
There was a strobe light and confetti
Even a tiny Disco ball
As I gazed over the edge of the jar
I saw banners wall to wall
I guess you could say Nutella
Is quite the party treat
That may cost you at the grocery store
But once home the cover charge is free
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
Almost-love hurts worse
Than what was;
It's the potential that latches
To our veins,
Drawing out what ifs
And what could've beens.
It's almost as if you were set
On shredding the remnants
Of my sanity
And wouldn't be satisfied
Until it was gone.
And you were successful,
And I was in love.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
I found myself wanting to get you a necklace
you know
to replace that one with the silver heart you wore before
the chains got all tangled
I even picked it out, a light blue teardrop of glass to
match mine
no symbolism gets by you, and I wanted to get for you a
tangible reminder that sadness is always there but
safely contained in a beautiful teardrop from
me to you if that makes any sense whatsoever
to lift up the latches and feel our breeze come
through the glass
there is a sense of fragility in tangible things
a sense that cautions me from investing any power in one
if only there were a way
I hope you never forget
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 11:11 PM UTC
It's cold outside.
I found a box
to hold within complacent thoughts,
outrages and jealousies.
Firewood to keep me warm.
Labels on the things I sought.
I'm seeking
the definition of what
why and how words are wrought
My raddled mind
latches on
to the slightest runaway fantasy.
As if reality
is a scorned
lover who refuses to dance with me,
declining my apologies.
My dearest paramour
return to me.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
Thin and sober, like
evening air,
Le Freak brings its
benign curiosity
To her lips, some
Belgian monk
At a waffle press;
a meteor explodes
In the sky. A sent-
ient gas hovers
Cautiously, then ex-
plores the dim
Recess of my lungs.
Or it glows green,
Then vanishes. It’s
an aggressive brew.
And God bless Amer-
ica for its hop.
That’s something I
haven’t heard in a
While. It latches on
and holds its breath
Like it holds its
head. White and
Swollen, like you’d
expect.
It trippels on its
laces, and then I
Said: “My twos are
unshied” and I
Meant it. I grabbed
the bottle instead
Of the glass. Looks
like it only takes
Me two to get un-
shied these days.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
the little kids with their candy
cigarettes
drawing chalk pictures in the
street
Rows of houses all looking
clean and neat.
closed latches, dark windows,
no laughter from behind the
bushes
and the neighbors usher
in the hoses to wash
the chalk
away
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
She never wanted to be a Mom,
and now her life is nothing but wrong;
What will she tell everyone she knows,
maybe she'll wait until she shows?
~
The Fetus who slumbers in her Womb,
one day will be running out of room;
She must Abort this one in her,
for shame she simply can't endure.
~
She makes an appointment at the clinic,
know one must know, no one must see;
She arrives the next day, still so unaware,
that her Fetus is growing, lots of hair.
~
They lay her on a Hospital bed,
where soon the Fetus will be dead;
The Doctor inserts a clear, long tube,
where it wreaks havoc, within the Womb.
~
The baby moves away from it,
it feels like she has just been bit;
Upon her face, there is a scowl,
it's much too late to turn back now.
~
The hose clamps on to her very, small hand,
the Fetus can't cope, nor understand;
It pulls the hand right off the arm,
yet Mother thinks she did no harm.
~
Next it grabs onto her hip,
and her tiny leg begins to rip;
Emersed in pain, she pulls away,
she'll not live to see another day.
~
At last it latches onto her head,
the heartbeat stops, this child is dead;
She smiles, her reputation intact,
a conscience is one thing she lacks.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
how long did it take you to forget?
the overwhelming pain that latches onto your heart and won’t let go
it will always be there
watching
waiting
for you to break
you are surrounded and there is nothing you can do to rid of it
because this is what your life is now
constantly drowning in the waters that are depression
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
I feel a train approaching
Headed straight for my soul
A tiger ready to pounce
And rip it bare to shreds,
Well whatever remains i suppose.
Sadly I know the origin well
Of these worries of terror
And it's all my fault.
I really hate myself sometimes,
For the things I need of her.
I'm sorry
I just need someone there
I don't seem the same now as I was before
But deep down i promise I'm still here
It's just hard sometimes to see that you care.
It's not your fault at all
No you were unaware of the scratches
That lie beneath the surface
Of a painted door
With tampered latches.
I know we're not perfect
That's not of my intention
I want to fall in love
With you
And all of your imperfections.
Forgive me for being weak
And having issues greater than you expected
But if there was any a hope
For me to truly love you
You needed to understand the ways I'm affected.
So if this ends for my actions
And you no longer can handle me
I will understand
And let you go as you wish
Only pondering on all I hoped we could be.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
You shake and tremble inside,
As howling pierces through the stain glass.
For you have ran from the devil’s ride,
His born demon growling after your ***
As you have made it through the chapel door,
You pray the lock keeps you safe and warm.
Your soul shakes and rattles to the core,
Around you your love is torn.
What is left of candlelight,
Forces you to fret among the pews.
For no one can save your soul tonight,
Bleeding outside your lover’s heart he chews…
Thunder strikes the cross to fall and crack down,
You choke and pray your dear rosary.
Your screams beg to awaken the town,
Asleep they are, Wolfberry.
So sweet the taste a wolf wants,
And sweet the taste the wolf will get too.
Scratching and clawing the wood it haunts,
Just a couple more seconds to get through.
Tackled down the door revealing the moon,
The death of darkness has fixed red eyes.
Your blood to the beast is not immune,
He latches on your demise…
Apr 12, 2022
Apr 12, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
The unstable mind of the infinite girl slowly starts to crumble as he ascends from hell into her forsaken kingdom.
The mirror tells him that his impish looks gives him an undeniable handsome.
She knows that the insanity hidden behind her blood stained eyes is what drives his incurable lust for her.
His insatiable need to be one of two is how he causes hurt.
What is she getting herself into by playing in his hidden eden of ecstasy?
He latches on to the first thing he sees in the vicinity.
The scars of their intimate charade reappears in the moonlight as he devours what's left of her mistaken innocence.
In the attempt to mold her into something like him she seems to have lost her very essence.
She screams into the night hoping that his deaf ears will finally hear the cries of his once infinite girl.
The faint sound of the night breezes past his ears as ponders his next assault on this world.
She'll drift through the seamless passages of time and space to regain what's little left of her impure soul.
His next mission will not fail, he will meet his goal.
She clings onto the memories of their past lives as he holds her meaningless death in the palm of his demon claws.
To create something perfect like him, and rid the world of things like her and all her flaws.
She waited for the sweet nectar that death will bring only to realize that her heaven lays with God's fallen angel.
To be the world's savior, to be the world's angel.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Morning is a burnt thing
that wrings the dark from my dress,
a lilting blue on the lawn,
in that twilight, so heavy
with lures and the tiniest snails
leave ochre splinters in my palms,
a scar, where you wrote in my book,
the blood part of ruined pages, bone white
and virulent, you raise the urge to render
my wrists more fragile,
more fragile than this,
a restlessness as black as a raven
drifts through bits of paper, stray wings
come to worship the hour, vanishing
between nine and ten, Winter
is a tenderness as transparent as silk,
as fragile as poppies,
its ruthless baptism upon my body
filling with snow, my skin shimmers
like dusk, like wings
all night you held me,
steadied my heart in the heavy wind,
even when the wildflowers had sown
themselves into the shape of a grave,
the garden overgrown, my body
from a bone, and my soul
out of nothing, opening,
opening for yours,
I am sure, god has failed me,
and longing is just the heart
changing colors, all its chambers, churning
the slowly spoiling hour, all night
I ribbon and tendril,
as you make a cage of your fingers to keep out the light,
shut the latches of this cell,
shut your eyes, my lover,
for I am frayed, my belly blood dark
and grey, where it is all wearing at the ends,
a little gin poured upon the open sore
of this ache, as I am caged in glass,
shackled at my wrists, like pink clusters of wisteria (oh, pink)
upon the secret places of our skin,
fingertips press against me like a bell,
beneath the swell of *******
I keep the debris,
my poems to you are small,
quartered and hidden beneath the floorboards
of this room, the bed, the glass,
the pink (oh pink) wisteria in bloom,
morning, is a burnt thing,
spoiled like a jail of brick and mortar,
where I live on licorice,
and on the palest underside of the wrists,
the half beat,
I dont think, I have ever loved so gently,
in silence, unexpected,
midnight spooled in a clavicle,
for my skeleton is a fossil
you will find every night
in your flesh,
and my faith lies
in that single thing left
to us, a smoldering filigree of sorrow,
shaped like a moth,
and morning is our burning....
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
This is a poem I am writing for all of the clouds out there who drift lazily through the sky on the dream of short-lived lives.
For the dogs who run around having no long term goals or dreams.
How I envy all of the simple existences that I see around me constantly.
When you are a person in today's modern society, it seems as if it is inevitable to lead a troublesome life, what with things like Facebook, Photography, and Freedom.
So what does this contradictory word complexity even symbolize in the miracle of the English language?
Complexity is the person who you love, and all of the feelings and thoughts that they provoke.
It is the red door, that stands for so much more, in that book that your English teacher tried to explain.
Complexity is the idea that by virtue of being accustomed to modern life, we have the determination to overlook the simple things in life...but that is kind of complicated.
Once we all learn our own primary language, the mind naturally expands to things like thoughts, feelings, ideas, hopes, desires, and all of these are accented by feelings.
So what is simplicity?
Simplicity is the formation of birds that are migrating south.
It is the sound of grass in the wind, the taste of water after a hot day.
As complex beings, we naturally strive to find simple things, because after a while, the complex thoughts expire.
But people love being complicated, so much that they try to find intricate patterns in the simplest things; even in death.
Although most people have the intellectual capacity to think complicated thoughts, that should not prevent them from loving the simple things in life.
What is lucky about our flexible minds is that we are allowed to decide what is simple and what is complex.
For example, a spider's web. It is a beautiful creation made of silky, withstanding string that latches on to any small piece of matter it can find. The web is the spiders shelter, it helps it to sustain life and to put bread on the table, or dead bugs as the case may be.
On the other hand, a spider's web is its home. The spider has one simple purpose in life, to survive off of the web. An existence with one goal, objective, and dream, to create a web is simple in a most beautiful way.
Being allowed to make anything in life, including life itself, as simple or as complicated as we like is without a doubt one of the most amazing powers we possess as human beings.
When encountered with presentations of pure beauty, I have begun to try to keep them simple in my mind, for the sake of trying to embrace the beauty for what it is, be it a colorful sunset, an undefined relationship, or the red door that doesn't stand for anything more.
So next time you go to think about something and make it your own, think before you think.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
there is something beautiful about a memory
that reaches from the pit of your stomach
latches onto your heart
and pulls it under your lungs
placing you in a moment
that once saturated the marrow of your bones
when you close your eyes you can
feel, see, and be just as it was
with carrots, a park bench, the night sky,
a bottle of spanish wine
and his arms cradling you against
the chilling wind
it takes you so deeply into
the inscription he carelessly carved
across the back of your eyes that
when you open them again and exhale
you find it fogging the midsummer air
releasing the very breaths you took
by his side
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
The light
Above me is on
And I'm lonely
Outside a plastic bag
Blows in a hard wind
Like an empty hand waving at me
And I'm lonely
Once there were names
That meant something more
Than their names
And I think of this
And I'm lonely
I see the hallway light flash on
As a passerby walks down the hallway stairs
Wondering where they're going
And I'm lonely
I push the button
It takes me downstairs
I lift the glass
It takes me - for a moment - away from here
And the stars burn out
And I'm lonely
Seven lights hover outside my window in squares
One goes out
Another turns on
And I'm lonely
Poorly painted golden window latches
React to the warm wind outside the same as I
A sense that all will be changing soon
And I'm lonely
Where do the lonely go, when there is truly no one?
Some go mad with work, drink, ****** and drugs
Other's with family, social circles, and religion
I outside the hyena's circle who are devouring the decayed
And I'm lonely
Funds for overseas prose panics me
I see no end for I have experienced no beginning
Allow me to view the rules
Digest them and give me time to recover
Noon strikes a silent chord prickling the hair upon my arm
And I'm lonely
There are four lights on now outside my window
One with the blinds drawn
The other lit only by the grey blue glare of a television set
Meeting midnight brings me none of the old
Feelings of dusty comradery or delinquent joy
And I'm lonely
Three more lights
There is hope
They are gone after only a shutter of a tease
Back to the comfortable four
The death of a Winter spent in discontent
And I'm lonely
On a hillside I rested
Alone with thoughts of her
What I knew then
I know now
Some days are meant for rain
And I'm lonely
Parted by facts dealing with science and faith
Love became an issue immediately
There are only two rules in Love
One does or one does not
And I'm lonely
The night is neither setting nor rising
The moon hovers over me like a noose
Like a scythe
Like an ancient medieval axe
And I'm lonely
Only a single light on now
At the very top almost past my view
The wind is still blowing
The bag still waving
And all I am
Is lonely
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC