"leashes" poems
Little by little
I come no closer to understanding
Why I long for closeness
(An introvert like me)
My friends might deny it
But I know
Why the dogs don't tug on their leashes
And why I never wave hello to their owners
There are moments when
I am reminded of a stranger saying
"It's difficult, huh?
Having a sister that's an extrovert?"
In the middle of the night I wake up thinking
"No, but what's difficult
Is wanting to be the best friend I can be
(An introvert like me)"
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
Blankets, pillows, a black dog, and a cell phone.
Facebook, Twitter, Vine, Gmail, and Instagram.
Shampoo, soap bar, toothbrush,
toothpaste, temperature, and time.
Shaving cream, razor, running water,
advertisements, sensitivity, precision, and cuts.
Burned tongue, empty stomach, loose tie,
missing shirt buttons, beating the clock,
wallet, briefcase, and car keys.
Ballpoint pens, scented trees, fast food wrappers,
loose change, lighters, citations, ***** clothes,
CDs, and napkins.
Red lights, pedestrians, homeless people,
newspapers, billboards, pets on leashes, sewer
grates, crosswalks, skyscrapers, and garbage.
Faxes, printers, memorandums, break room,
prestige, cubicles, customer service, paperweights,
filing cabinets, stocks, and corporate.
Wipers, streetlights, rain coats, dive bars,
and home.
Blankets, pillows, a black dog, and a cell phone.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
She rises as everyone falls
Her white complexion pristine as always
Men have fought for her pale face
Yet, when faced with her dark side, they cry in horror
A beautiful outsider
She wanders alone in the stars
Her wonder intimidates
Her grace frightens
Her love kills
Under her glow men commit ****** and monsters come out to play
Around every corner satin's satire drips of the tongue of ******
Adultery runs rampant
Respectable ties exchanged for leashes of pleasure
And briefcases for whips
He sleeps in a long sleeve shirt to hide the lashes
Dinner was cold when he got home
But he forgave.
At church
The cross burns a whole in his forehead
His lips slightly stained from last night
Mind not on the sermon, but on his next excuse
How can he admit to losing everything to a drug test
She picks up the phone with a grin on her face as if he could see her through the phone
Another faulty excuse of overtime
Of course the plastered smile stays
But she can't find reasoning marketing should leave bruises on his wrists
Her children are her only ball and chain
Her soul had left her years ago
But her body stays to care for them
An empty shell
Selene walks into the stars once again and waves the wife over
She swallows more than ever and spins to the sky
Selene guides her to her soul and they walk together to watch
Her son calls from his room for dinner
Her daughter throws her phone because she didn't have service
Her husband screams because the collar was a bit tight
Selene, desperate for company, begs for her to stay
And she does
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Apart from the Malice I'd like to Subsume
Are some Fortune's Tags which I strive to defer
And Mood the Dragon's Seasoned Pawn resume
Threw Slime instead; And dissolved my Brother
Shall I charge as your Fault? But then again,
Your same usual Stones pound my Bouncing Head
With no other Ritual to confront this Pain
You continue to bray; And play Mule instead
Unaware of the Grass you still do hurt
Blinded by the Light which you call Divine
Philosophy leashes your own True Worth
Sticks you in Trivia; And robs your eyes blind.
What is there to blame from such Harrowed Young
Since the Lord Philip's Man has not yet sung?
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
I am hopeful now
Walking the seawall straightens me out
The clouds and the waters
One foot in front of the other
Walking the seawall
To my day to day
The choices I've made
One foot in front of the other
Dogs on leashes
Babies in strollers
Or on daddies in front
The seawall
Windy and peaceful
One foot in front of the other
Birds eat
Fresh crab meat
The circle of life
Tug of war
One foot in front of the other
Runners run.
Cyclists, bike
Childs play
The walk to work
One foot in front of the other
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
They deal in hatred
-often well disguised.
Religion impregnated
the extremists.
Then the fingers
really started pointing.
No one is left
without being chastised.
Immigration knocked up
national pride.
Everyone is waiting;
glaring at each other.
We are all dogs
being cattle prodded
with hatred
until our leashes snap.
What a circus it will be,
even more so than now.
More so than ever.
I am both sad
and excited:
If it takes so much
-a moment of finality,
of bloodshed
and horror-
to make them realise
that they really ****** this up
with their superstition,
flags
and greed
then I will grin
through the whole
disgustingly fitting
affair.
Oct 10, 2009
Oct 10, 2009 at 7:11 AM UTC
If I dare
To let go
I release
My control
And I can’t
Be here alone
With volatile
Sticks and stones.
If I dare
To be free
Then I’ll have
No more of me
Because shackles cold
And leashes gold
Are better than
The days of old.
Aug 17, 2023
Aug 17, 2023 at 2:11 PM UTC
Thunder, and Lightning decided to open up their relationship.
Invited me to join them in a Triad.
Thunder and lighting have this eternal connection,
Belong together
I love watching them dance
Perform for me impulsive without leashes
I worship the trust that requires
The loyalty, faith in each other
Flying wherever they want,
Loving loud and without boundary
Knowing this storm belongs to them.
Safety, Definition: that moment after every passionate lovers kiss.
We are worshiped as the same storm.
Now I have the oppurtunity to build intimate connections with thunder.
With lightning.
Thunder has this base drop palpitation
Our hearts twitch in time just to align
The feeling of her crushing my butterflies
With firm hands, a passionate kiss that lasts only seconds.
Lighting comes in these quick bursts
I never feel like I can look at him long enough
Bright, dangerous
Knows he could **** me in a second
If he only touched me
He will never touch me
Only dance
Never long enough
Keeps me craving more
Likes to give me that headrush
When he returns.
As for me,
I was content just worshiping them
Every second they weren't worshiped,
Wasted chances, lost time, missing puzzle peices.
I didn't expect an invitation
This chance to see them honestly
Two seperate beautiful creatures to worship
Instead of one savory storm to feel pulse through me as one dancer.
I'm just an awestruck boy staring at the sky
Lost in endless baby blue, warm off sunrays, or choosing my favorite freckles in the stars
More lovers to distract me when they are gone.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
The Police you fear.
You’ve feared them since you were five,
Mother always telling you as such.
You’re not breaking the law at five, right?
If you did, then you’d totally deserve whatever they’d do to you.
After all, they only go after people who disobey the law!
The Police you have nightmares about. Frequently.
Do you speed in your dream? Seriously?
How is it that you commit crimes in your dream?
If you don’t want to be ‘bothered’ (or as some intellectuals put it, murdered or killed), maybe just follow the law??
The Police give you pause every time you see them while driving.
The Police cause your heart to pound, your fists to clench the wheel,
And you to immediately slow down to 10 mph below the speed limit.
Really?? C’mon, now you’re just being dramatic.
If you’re so freaked out by them, maybe not speed so much?
Unless…you’re hiding something in your car?
You’ve got brown skin; you act all afraid of the cops…
You probably have drugs on you. You seriously deserve to be searched.
Just kidding! Although, I’m sure some of the white people you tell this too might actually believe it.
The Police you fear at the airport, with their K9 dogs on leashes.
It does not help that your stupid acne medication smells like ****
Or…Maybe you just have **** on you?
You know that the dumb dog probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
But hey, at least it doesn’t smell like rotten eggs!
The Police you have to create a lot of strategies around,
Like a football game,
But instead of winning,
The main goal is not to get beaten or shot to death!
The Police have harassed your dad a lot.
You’re always told how you’re a shade or two lighter than him.
But hey! At least you’re not darker!
The Police harass your dad at work and off work.
But if he didn’t want to stop, maybe not wear a LG uniform and drive in a LG truck!
No wonder why they stopped him and asked what he’s doing!
He’s so suspicious.
The School/University Police has never once made you feel safe.
You freeze up like a deer in headlights and force yourself to move.
You keep your head down, not maintain eye contact,
But maybe in order to make it really clear
You should wear a gigantic “I AM NOT SUSPICIOUS SIGN”.
Do they sell those on Amazon?
Maybe you can take a look online?
Maybe that’ll help your whole…’ooh I’m so scared of cops thing?’
Whatever you do, get some help.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 4:00 PM UTC
You wear only black
You're angry
You lock yourself away
You wear only black to hide in the shadows that others have placed you in
You're angry because you've been hurt deeply by a man who is suppose to teach you forgiveness
You lock yourself away in your room to keep anyone else from hurting you
You wear only black
You're a storm cloud
If I know anything about Storm Clouds,
It's that they end in remarkable rainbows
Paintings of God across our skies
You're angry
You've got emotion to scar people for years
That kind of power can be harnessed
For smiles that may last centuries
Your smile can be harnessed
Like diamonds in a valley of roses
You lock yourself away
The tiger you used to pretend to be when you were younger
Is scratching at the padlock
You're defiant and rebellious
Calm, silent, remarkable
Your stripes are unique and vibrant
Show them to the world
For cats remain on leashes
Tigers are the queens of jungles
Rule your kingdom
You beautiful beast
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
A sadness in my heart tonight
must be told, then dim that light.
To never see its face again,
and feel the pain that eats within.
A tragedy befell, you see,
and stormy nights still torture me.
She fell and died while in my keep,
and now it haunts my every sleep.
Her face so blank and eyes opaque,
my heart fell hard, and then to ache.
No turning back what time hath wrought,
my constant conscience battles fought.
A fear of storms was Mollie's fate,
the night was dark, the hour late.
As thunder rumbled in her chest,
and her heart pounded in her breast.
To run and hide, but never from
the storm that was about to come.
She climbed atop a place to see,
what made this horror, what could it be.
But leashes length, a noose had made.
Fell to her death, no more afraid.
I found her hanging from the chair,
part of my soul still hanging there.
For simple errors can take a life,
trip up the stairs, slip of the knife.
I put the wrong leash on that night,
it strangled her, I took her life.
Forgive me my fellow poets for this unintentionally dark poem. The tragedy happened a year ago and I am still trying to find some closure. Mollie was a little mixed dog that I was fostering for a local shelter. She was kind and playful, but deathly afraid of storms
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
some people think about their poetry
I know many do,
to make sure the the 3rd and 4th rhyme
to make sure all there lines sing in time
But I have no time for that
Im thousands of years old but bearly 17
so ill blurt
and ill slur
and ill cringe
and ill howl
and ill snip
and ill snap
and splurt
and curse,
I'll walk my fingers to the key board and take of their leashes,
let them run wild in the dog park of my sanity
my ramblings,
they don't need any s
t
r
u
c
t
u
r
e, nor do my sentences need to make sense
why would I conform To YOUR insanity
when I have my own band brewing like a bathtub bomb
Nothing I say needs to work as hard as my hands do
nothing I need to do should feel as heavy as the souls i carry in my
broken-strapped-bad-backed-back-pack
my alliteration literally doesn't need to alliterate its meaning
and I'm so Tired of Ideas being steam pressed into my head by the maid
that runs this mad house
you'll need to use your hands to eat this poem , I've turned the cutlery
into toy soldiers and their currently occupied in overseas service
so dig into my mind
ill open the front door for you just please remember before you
scoop out my brain
w
a
s
h
y
o
u
r
h
a
n
d
s
LG
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
chocolate-coated infancy
spilled torn sharkbit souls
hallucinating the
orange-creamsicle sunrise,
mushroomming cotton-candylike.
Sanctified, the horizon
of dog lovers empty,
but leashes lashing the common man,
for he is no icon.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Words
Are puzzle pieces with wings,
Stubborn,
They reside
In the creative side
Of my cluttered mind.
Their hobbies include
Floating
And being
In parts of sentences
And poems
They aren't supposed to be.
They hate cooperation
But love dressing up
In vibrant
Metaphors.
They're great as pets
Though they can be a handful.
Take them on walks,
Not with
Leashes
But with pens.
So that way,
In a park made of pages,
If they ever get lost,
At least they're
Exactly
Where they need
To be.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
I wonder if people feel the same,
questioning, pondering,
not knowing in nature,
I wonder if the masses as they walk the streets,
tiny ants carrying a thousand times they're defeat,
see the light refract and carry back,
images form and recollect,
cellulose film with a story to tell,
I wonder if the girl that gives me the smile,
had depth in wondering the same,
had she known the butterflies that ran through my skin,
a feeling of jumping from a formidable cliff,
not for hate, degradation, abhorrence, malevolence or animosity,
but just the opposite,
to show the love we carry
in the arms of adoration,
hydraulic hearts
pumping fidelity, fondness, and friendship,
fueled by breaths of fresh air,
in that smile we shared,
I wonder if the ones who hate,
can also love,
does the man covered in mud,
slopped in filth, mayhem and blithe,
lye by choice,
or is it easier said than done,
would a good man cover himself in blood,
if honest true and to the point,
so I'll sit on this bench,
birds chirp as the children play,
dogs off leashes,
running amuck,
but who can place blame,
as being put on a leash,
restricts our breath,
causing no smile,
not to breath our fresh air,
to pump our hearts,
giving us love,
so I lastly wonder,
had I had the nerves,
to just say hi,
would you have stopped
or just said good bye,
will I be the man I wish,
or am I the man in filth?
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
My knees always ache when it rains. It feels like thunderstorms down there.
Imbriferous skies quake and pour. In rows of misery below, black umbrellas and grim faces held in raincoat hoods move up and down the hill slopes. Impluvious bodies move as a current – up and then down, up and then down – carving new streams of black into the long grass.
Officers clothed in raincoats and trash bags tug at the leashes of baying bloodhounds, slipping in the mud.
I sit in the spindrift – the icy pinprick of the heavy rain turning my face raw. Splashes of mud freckle my pink cheeks. The rain flogs every black umbrella to a monotonous rhythm. Thunder rolls like a rock avalanche into a mountain creek. Corn stalks and men alike are bent beneath sheets of rain. Flashes of light across the sky smell like Sulphur. The earth a deafening drone, continuous, never-ending, and in that drone swept the black umbrellas and raincoats, one by one, two by two, shifting, streaming, flowing stern-faced and wretched. From the top of the hills they pour, pooling and spreading out into the fields like a black river.
A river of desperate life, searching for the dead.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
what i understand as a definition of
the word complex,
it requires a hyphen as a
pseudo conjunction, in that it
coordinates words in opposition,
which is why freud's right on the
money with the madonna-whore
complex, but completely bonkers
with his oedipal fetishes,
because oedipus is a complex in itself
that cannot be excavated
and theorised for the sake of a
analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism
that might plagiarise awry,
for all orthodox necessities:
a complex is aqua- -marine
aquamarine... but in terms of theory
it's evident that the hyphen usage
is still retained, before everything
goes **** up perfect *** **** of
compounding the two words like a german:
Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication),
der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!'
'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.'
'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go:
fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.'
the operation was a success, apart from
the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body;
and i never understood why people
expect you to talk to them face-to-face
like you're reading autocue, the minute
you talk imagining off empty space
to invent a new language of comfort
they equate you with autism...
i once had a glance at psychiatric notes
sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general
practitioner)... psst... they only care
about whether:
a. you're able to keep eye contact
b. you're / you're not biting your nails...
but that's what you get, the welfare state
policy of funding distribution of the infamous
n.h.s. (national health service)...
****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting
mind from body like the brain is some
gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for
thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into
psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into
prescriptions for pensioners demanding ******
i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic,
hence their appeal to autistic children,
or just anyone not really into leashes, being
tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come
7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes
that they blend in will flowers, and when awake,
yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's
extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called...
ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck
a million swans with broken necks.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
you have desperations of joy that you
walk on short leashes
happiness has sharp teeth.
and mercury eyes.
collar tugging back
adam’s apple bobbing of
rabid throat.
Look up, beast, look up, frightened
brief fires.
when balloons bloom they pop
most times
but when they don't
they slip soul-less to skies
away.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
-I like to look at troubles and break from disasta
-It's hard at times but I know I can masta
-I feel at times they got'a leash on me but leashes can become unhooked
-So from my past I unhooked from the loop and booked
-I got ghost, I shook, and I had the mindset of'a crook
-Though I never acted out like'a hoodlum
-Potential I never saw in myself or maybe I'm too humble but either way swings the pendulum
-In more ways then one reality can shock you
-It can prove you to be the biggest foo'
-Most people sleep with the fake and despise the truth
-Everybody now and then can use a warm touch but then again a cold one will do
-Cuz it ain't fake no mo' when the truth slaps you with the obvious
-Cheek on swoll and you know it is
-Hate me or not, you know its some of the truest...
-I know cuz I was best friends with misery
-Still cry when somethin' reminds me of an old memory
-I fight it cuz I refuse to let it get the best of me
-What do you wanna know? I'm an open book
-You just gotta read between the lines on every page when you look
-Just more things to talk about
-When people doubt me, I tell 'em "You doubt me cuz you took the judgmental route"
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
it’s not like I think it was meant to be this way
our pasts are woven into tapestries our bruises
look the same
“she took a beating and so did you” I know. I felt it too
the puddles of our footprints run together the winds that shaped you
ground me to the dirt
the rest of this journey was a blur but I remembered you
“she took a beating and she’s
beautiful”
you’re the rarest thing I’ve ever loved you’re the purest thing in me
the first time I saw you your story was rewritten in my eyes
with the first note of your copper voice you took me and ever since
I run blood red,
heart, and all,
I want nothing more than my hands in yours, for once
it’s like you could love me without killing me too
(I am used to teeth and claws they ate our hearts out,
you and me,
all this time, my face blood red,
all blood, and all)
it’s not fair of me to drag you back into this, and
with my hand on my healing throat I will not say anything at all
our pasts on leashes left on trees our bruises
look the same (like sour galaxies, like stains,
our skin blood red,
stars, and all)
you’re the purest thing I’ve ever loved, I love you
(love you, love you, and all)
in you I run blood red, heart, and all, and
for once it doesn’t feel like dying
with your hands on my busted knees I will not say anything at all
“she took a beating
and she left”
(as well she should)
someday I will let you go but we will run blood red,
hearts, star-crossed, and all
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Silently roaming through the astral plane
Projected myself into the foreign, the strange.
Tamed the mind to relinquish the bind,
And so no longer does energy spent feel like a grind.
I invest it in the right places.
Surroundings change, as do the faces.
Think of me as they wish, but in the mirror I am not looked down upon.
So I wander free, barefoot, to soak up Mother Earth's electrons.
I promise to share,
With so much glorious emptiness,
There's more than enough room to spare.
For the next couple minutes though, I'm going to sit in this chair.
Listen to a calming frequency, 528 Hz, for healing and DNA repair.
I've done enough damage, and looked to too many tomorrows.
The thoughts themselves didn't bring up enough motivation to borrow.
So I must keep moving, and slip into the unknown,
That way I can be certain.
I've done enough work to my inner temple that I can now pull back the curtains.
Anxieties, were nothing but lies to me, but now I see
The ever-morphing puzzle that is this intricate reality.
Situations wanna battle me, but I've become war-tested
Cleaned more than I've caused, inevitable messes.
There are times I find it hard to let go of the the stresses.
And so to bless this, I turn inward
~ breathing becomes among all I've heard.
The chatter ceases and worry decreases.
Loosened the leashes to let the animals play
I realized I was a pawn and today is my day.
Traveling one way, and that's forward.
Gonna make it to the end without looking at the scoreboard.
With inner peace I will reach the destination without being bothered.
Gonna show the king his reflection in my calm waters.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
wake up, in a mood
feeling like dog ****
after a night of restlessness
stumble out of bed,
to the bathroom
to relieve yourself,
the dog comes up
with his “good morning” stretch
and a gentle bump from his muzzle
then its over to the kitchen
for a glass of water, or OJ,
whatever is more convenient
then to the wood stove
re-start the fire from the
embers of yesterday
realising there isn’t
enough wood and then
have to go to the shed
the raccoon that has made
the shed his home
skulks near the back
trying not to be seen
by the flashlight
or the over excited dog
who knows it’s there
fill the bag with wood
picking pieces that will
keep the fire going all day
some smaller lighter fir
mixed with heavier arbutus
haul it back inside
dog ever at heels
crumple up pieces of the
free newspaper
arrange embers, fresh wood
and paper to allow quick re-lighting
leave door open a quarter inch
to allow adequate airflow
head to office in basement
check email
not that anything of use ever arrives
check news
not that anything of relevance
happened overnight
head back upstairs to
check on fire
dog ever at heels
close wood stove door
head back downstairs
put on shoes, coat, hat
grab leashes
take dogs on morning walk
return,
make breakfast
eat while making lunch
usually tempeh with steamed veg,
or tofu with rice/noodles
or something similar
pack lunch
get fresh underwear, socks
and shirt for work
head to basement bathroom
shower
think of how easy life is
when there is no one around
to complicate it
life alone would be ideal
you get things done
on time
there’s no interruptions
no one else to consider
just you and the tasks at hand
get dressed
still thinking of how
well suited you are to life alone
walk into bedroom
dog ever at heel
see her sleeping
hear the silence punctuated
only by her slow steady breathing
realise that without her
you would be lost
nothing
kiss her cheek
tell her you love her
trudge out into the world
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 6:43 AM UTC
This city is haunted
And the dead roll snowmen by streetlight
Holding their translucent hands over the bulbs
When they hear the living cars chug through
Here, music plays to itself
Jackaling the wind
Holding wolves by the ears
The dead give their sculptures
Strawberries for *******
The living laugh and point
To the shoe tree
The dead have made with old sneakers
Their children climb and live in
At night
Under this tree
Joining them in the frozen mud
Turn to ice
We travel on the wind more easily that way
Splitting our bones
Like vultures
This city sleeps
In flames
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:34 PM UTC
The leaves, flittering like birds, birds that have been attached, captured, leashes of fishing line around their neck, allowed to float in the breeze, tasting the freedom. The taste rolls off their tongues, down the back of their throats. It tastes like more. But there is not more to have. Tethered in groups to their branches, swaying, holding the branches up like balloons. They bring such pleasure to those watching them, watching at the zoo of nature. Occasionally, these visitors will throw a crumb, a disturbance in the air, sending a breeze to them, scattering the birds, only to regroup momentarily as they are ****** back by their leashes.
(Yet only the flitteringest of leaves are birds. The needles, poised like popcorn of green starch, stick out from their branches, frozen after their explosion into the air, paralyzed at their first breath.)
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC