"lockets" poems
Time is in your pockets,
Hurry up and light the rockets,
Put your emptiness in the sockets,
Spread smiles and add jollity to the list of dockets,
Make a wish today, and wear your lucky lockets.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
With the red lights in my eyes
And the gray haze in the sky
With the fire red reflecting back
The neon skin distracts me from where I am
And where I should be
In the winter clear, I sit
And I'm sick of it
As the snow falls on cars
On pedestrians and bars
Wrapped in pea-coats and ***
Under the foggy winter sun I slowly stroll
With a woman in my soul
Like a gypsy king and queen
In a lucid fever dream
Up in the offices and desks
With stress in their chests
These people think of home
While their lovers are alone and stuck with screens
Like windows into scenes
They thought money could buy
As they drift and die
Pouring out from the walls
Of worship chapel halls
With hands in their pockets
Stealing trinkets and lockets to give to the men
Who promise the end
But all will be right
If you pay the right price
From the streets of gods
That will one day rot
Under our wandering feet
When we longer speak but are just memories
Passed on like a disease
On death, I've made my peace
Until then, let me be free
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Here's to the women who have been let down;
touched or pushed too hard
broken lockets, broken hearts
the empty feeling of loneliness
as if we are an empty vase
we shine in the light
yet we are hollow with doubt
with past fears,
have you ever tried to break a vase with your hands?
fragile, yet sharp
eager to bear blood
not a lot, but just enough
but unlike a vase, we can be fixed
we can piece together our existence
like a puzzle
for the woman who cried herself to sleep
for the woman who was betrayed
for the woman who felt like a shattered vase
here's to you
here's to her.
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
Melting madness and shimmering isles
The bubble-gum boils in drug pedophiles
Let's teach the East to love Western style
We come in with strap-on's and pillage with smiles
The rest of the world watches their watches
People keep saying we're at hour eleven
We're changing the design on our gold lockets
From a heart to a blackjack, Seven Seven Seven!
The college boys assure you that they know the lyrics
And the meanings behind them for they've been enlightened
They swarm out like locusts and pretentiously parrot
Verbatim the textbooks they read when they're frightened
That they'll die with nothing to show for their efforts
They want everyone else in the world to remember
That they did exist on some scale of importance
Even though we're just spun yarn of grass, dirt and oceans
Intelligence streams the consciousness seeds and conscientious objectors it seems
So pardon me for the fallacy of pardoning tyrannical dictator queens
It seems these days to be discovered you need to cheat on your spouse or your lover
You'd think that with all the war crimes we've seen we would have hung at least one or the other
We've got two parties, so pick one or scram! (Look at them squirm as fast as they can!)
They're starting to think for themselves again! Quick, strangle the market and feed this man
Acid and bath salts and give him some tear gas and send him on in to disarm the smear traps
And **** everyone so we'll jump to conclusion with no where to turn, the final solution!
I'm drunk again and we're falling in, the shoreline is riddled with explosions
We don't speak of the war, we have no comment, we're almost out of original content
We're frantically searching for a brand new contest to prove that our nation is still the best
Whether you're China, Russia, Israel, Pakistan, the U.K., or India, the U.S. or Japan
Let's take all the gangbanging **** out of Oakland and drop them in to the Atlantic Ocean
Or better yet, set them loose in Uganda, let's see how long they last in Rwanda.
I'm done with religion and socialized medicine, this aristocracy of pull and deception
So for once in our lifetimes, let's seek a vision, because God knows people can't make ******* decisions.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
Weeds and flowers line my pockets
As I got one foot out the door
Memories fade in antique lockets
Knowing you won't see me anymore
When Saturn returns, I'll find my way
Fumbling over roots and branches
Always on the run
All I know is what I offer
Floating as a feather in the breeze
I soak you in and tuck you under
Lost in a swell of the sea
As I turn to face my shadow
I fall into the light
Splashing pools of mirror stillness
I meet pain with delight
This life's got me all hot and bothered
Grown yet singed by the sun
Enchanted moonlight has me wondering'
If you're the only one
Calling birds mark the passage
To the other side
I begin and end this chapter
With love and peace of mind
Don't come to me if you can't hold me
With both arms
I am soft but wild in nature
Weathering my own storms
When Saturn returns, I'll find my way
Fumbling over roots and branches
Always on the run
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
I'm sitting here staring at an empty space
It's not that I don't have things to fill it with
In fact, I have an abundance of things
Thoughts, memories, hopes
But they're all jumbled together
Tangled, like poorly stored necklaces
The chains wrapped tightly around each other
Almost impossible to separate
I could take everything out
Place it all out on a table
Try to gently detach each piece of myself
The problem with that, though
Is that more than a few of those baubles and chains
Were never meant to see daylight
I don't want to reveal the tarnished and rusting metal
The cracked glass pendants
And the lockets never meant to be opened again
Some things are to stay forever
Stored away in the darkest corners of my mind
I have a box on a dusty shelf there
Where they live
I guess I should look for a flashlight
So maybe I can try to sort out the better pieces
I know there must be some treasures there
Maybe I'm just hoping I might have something good left
I don't want to face the possibility
Of finding nothing but debris
Tattered trinkets on a dusty shelf
In the back of a damaged mind
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
what i would miss most is the
way she says my name
calls me "sweetie"
calls me "meggie"
says "i don't know what i would do
without you and your sister"
i've been collecting these words
since the day i was born
(her birthday, too)
been storing them in
locket after locket
jewelry box after jewelry box
always worried i'll
run out of space but for her i
would buy a thousand jewelry boxes
ten thousand lockets so i can
remember her voice until i'm
two hundred years old
so i can show my kids
how grandma whispered
how grandma laughed
how grandma loved
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Technology marches forward,
Never stopping,
Technology marches forward,
Always progressing.
It permeates our homes,
It resides in our pockets,
The big company's own Sherlock Holmes,
Seeing deep within our lockets.
It gets us where,
We want to go,
Through the air,
Or through the traffic flow.
It runs our lives,
Leading us along,
Like bees in hives,
We follow it's rhythmic song.
Technology marches forward,
Not caring for its creators,
Technology marches forward,
As humanities technological dictators.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
I believe hearts are similar to lockets
you can open them and insert special items in them
they'll both tangle into knots when being misplaced for some time
They're both picked and pried at
by generations
or simply different lovers
Though a locket is lucky that it isn't alive
for it's chains would be broken by now
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
London subway
metro train station connection,
busy off-peak City rush,
escalator packed, another northern crush.
Ticket barrier blockade,
pass through tomorrow not today.
Police at the exits,
a black sea of law abiding abyss,
protectors of the peace.
Another announcement over the crowd,
“Platform 2 is closed for the storm cloud to be cleared”.
Body parts have spread
over carriage doors,
torn from their sockets,
slipping pictures from necklace lockets.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
Lockets are beautiful.
I let you keep mine.
A gesture so kind and benign...
I miss it so much;
Missed the dangling on my chest.
But I gave it to you so at night you'd have rest.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
she lost perspective before the glass,
braces on lips, youth pulled too tight.
golden hair like coins that pass
into the banker's fragile sight.
concealed in lockets, veiled from gaze,
her beauty measured, hunted, framed.
through dusty rafters, sunlit haze,
he counts the value none can name.
old men scatter mints upon the floor.
some whisper fate had cast her pain,
others murmur devils opened the door.
starving's the only way to be a seeker
of affection that's just a hoax.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 1:23 PM UTC
Winter-welded hands to pockets
Midnight suburban Davey Crockets
Shuffling feets, thoughts on gold lockets
Meet nodders, speeders, window peekers
Out and about, we candid seekers
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
Cut the wire words tethered to my tongue,
A resemblance of a schizophrenic’s,
If Death walked sullenly, could we run
Scream and scatter, cleave off limbs to lockets
The burdens and blood plump things that slow us,
What’s of organs to living always,
Ever existing to face away from
Shadow and sun, cut way the instruments
Of muscles congealed among movement
Fatty slabs and raw bones weighing our hold,
Just fleeing, blood draining to keep moving
Just a few more strides to flee unholy
Death near lingering ever encroaching,
Lop off all just to stray, till left is the
Soul on shoulders, welcoming judgment day
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:28 AM UTC
Take this hand.
May I guide you within the depths?
So traggic to view her this way.
White in a doll of china's mask of death.
Tormented did a candles light cast doubt's with no hand to grasp
a wrist bled slow.
Tea leaves and incense.
Masked air of rosemary the record scratched and was inturn
left unherd.
Thoose eye's captured want yet
never could clasp a heart or lockets match.
Was it as planned?
A slow regression into a blackend fade.
A cloth over lamp.
It dimmed the light but never the flawed beauthy.
that I knew well.
Sleep in a life none would yern to awake.
My heart did linger in a thought as overcast skies blue eye's
did paint my thought's gray.
Cold was perfection a raindrop viewed from inside.
I kissed you last as first I bid farewell.
That night you took from many yet only thought as one.
A tormented love a single rose.
So tender you were stained of many.
But a portraiht to me.
Your words a soon to be epitapth of my pain cast memory.
Thank you for never seeing me as so many befor.
Many works of art are cast in pain.
Dove's of life often cry a tear when met to dirt.
I held you close once apon a empty floor only not tight enough.
Music that cast a passion lights so dim often gliow with soul.
I see you now and think of that time.
Tender in a stone that is a chamber I call my heart.
I wish I could have brushed away the pain.
As I did a hair that night from your face.
Thoose eyes a void of passion life often does ****
If you had taken that hand would we have found ourselves?
Or simpley lost it togather in a vague chance at bliss?
I remember you still.
A painting of a woman known to many but who's heart
was shared only with me.
That moment apon the bar's empty floor forever fill's my
thought's
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 7:17 PM UTC
I knew I was in the burning building with her –
and it was like Limburg, maggoty
but obliged its fortress of a rowboat life.
Without its ice, I am in pine-high, to dull selves
which will later stiff upon these floors.
He was hell. He did this to us.
Not even a masked ****** shown needles
for his dog expression, and I am prodded
rather with teeth than a nose drill.
But she did dissolve before I could have,
must have had thin bones,
of maturity, an osteoporosis ache.
It saved her, perhaps, although she passed:
a kidney stone philosophy book,
these death-doctors will read numb.
I do wonder if it were their hips in fire,
why could they not sit in a mausoleum place.
Just how we did so many instances –
practicing a routine in the bathtub, like knowing.
Had the correct arrangement, too,
I pretended I was in a womb with you.
And mother’s was like that claw-tub so
we, fetus, sensed like castle buffs, carrying
the rings of gold and lockets of princess blood.
Then, she became papier-mâché statues
before a meadow of hell’s dust: I had to kiss
each curve because one ash was not enough.
I knew I was in the burning building with her
when I could not recognize her stumps.
She was an emblem of past upon fair carpet,
or the haze I inhale to shadow –
knowing that he sees our wallpaths and
catches the hum of infernos taking bodies,
then say that he is a monster even more than I.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:30 PM UTC
Eros walked into the chamber, garnering all eyes
Lust and Limerence walked by her side
They stopped before a panel where Venus did preside
And Cupid next to Venus, gripped his arrows like a prize
And the Muses made up the rest
And all muscles in the chamber braced for unrest
Glances and gazes did continuously dart
As all sported lockets of fire by their hearts
Venus declared mankind must suffer in pain
For all efforts to show the world love have been in vain
And to continue gifting love would be insanity, a chore
Cause they’d take their piece of it and still declare war,
On themselves and on one another
Slaughtering their self-esteems, siblings, fathers, mothers
Yet Eros objected, keeping her eyes peeled
Declaring love has always been a battlefield
And Cupid fired an arrow at Ero’s way
And Lust led the limp arrow astray
Then those enlightened ones lit fuses that day
And the shrapnel from that fight still makes it way
Through hearts of men and women with feelings at play
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
There's a box down in my basement
It's not hidden far away
It's a box that's full of history
things from, well....another day
It sits there like a statue
Never opened, all forlorn
Holding pictures and their secrets
from a time when I weren't born
It's blue with brass side stapping
It takes up two cubic feet
It just sits there in the corner
Yelling...OPEN ME....but, be discreet
Love letters and photos
unfinished projects from the past
Newspaper announcements
Lots of things you want to last
It's a box that is worth sharing
Stories living in a box
It sits there closed and oh, forgotten
It sits there closed, there are no locks
There's few around who've seen the contents
Even less who know the names
Of people in all the pictures
It's not just sad, it is a shame
The box is full of untold stories
A love story that should be heard
It's written in two lovers writing
No need to translate, not a word
It is the tale of two fine people
Parents of my wife, they say
This box tells of Margaret and Charlie
They both are gone, before this day
It's musty when you smell it
But, isn't that how things should be
There's school reports and lockets
A father lost when she was three
I think of them when I look at it
Artifacts stored for none to see
I never met them, but I miss them
They'd be proud of who she came to be
this box is Megan's life force
It helped make her strong and proud
It shows she is an Edwards
The contents scream it really loud
there is a box down in my basement
It' a box of writing, reams and reams
I look forward to our meeting
One quiet night inside my dreams
The people who filled up the inside
Are my family, though we've not met
I'd like to take this chance to tell them
Their girl is safe, they need not fret.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
I do not have it in me to be the kind of empty and full that you need
I carry secrets and liquid sad feelings in my stomach like an antique hot water bottle
They are the colours of mashed up autumn leaves and ***** puddle water and decaying petals floating on some pretend witches potion
Crimson rust lines the edges of my eyes, I use black eyeliner to patch the pinprick holes, where I have previously sewn, trying to forget
These are the remnants of my rock heart which has been eroded away
The powder sits regretfully in my veins
When my heart beats I feel it scrape and catch the pink surfaces
It aches too much
My insides are losing their pinkness
Your presence is abrasive
Use a higher grade sandpaper and be done
Take off the old circus ride paint layers, my nail beds are already saturated with chips of red yellow and blue
Reach something clear and peaceful
Cut lengths of my hair, and separate them into small twists, tethered with small satin ribbons to be used for some happier embroidery
Or to be stored in tin lockets
Or to be disposed of in rivers like those Georgian keepsakes that mothers leave at hospitals
Let other people write with it
Pass the used up glass needle like straws through calico or linen
Felt tip the colour over
Cut out my heart and let the elements sit.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
we held hands, we stumbled
in tattered coats, we mumbled
in our palms, we held the time
passing shattered windows
in our bob-bobbing boats and
we ran away from the rising sun
now we are running
away from the rising sun
running away from it
on creaky rotting docks
over sneaky sharp rickety rocks
(we) (wanted to see it) (rise forever)
[throbbing throats] [throbbing throats]
-we are the rising sun-
(we are the rising sun )
>lockets lickety locked< and
we grew tired >> we grew tired
(we are the change)
we had thrown away the key <<
(we are the ones)
and __ we had slowed down __
(we have been waiting for)
and ^the sun had sped up /
and that time
oh that time was slipping
between our fingertips dripping
(we are dawning)
(we are dawning)
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
I wear your tags around my neck,
my own personal lockets with your name engraved,
where they hang low enough to hear my
heartbeat pulse within the safety of my chest.
The metal is cold against
the skin that covers my *******
And they’ve folded the fifty stars
and thirteen red and white stripes that protected
your casket, even after your heart stopped beating
into its triangle form, and
they handed it over like a death sentence
given to the wrong inmate,
for a crime he never committed.
I held the shield against my body,
wrapping myself around the cloth,
curving my body about the ripples
which reminded me of the heart monitor
that showcased your breathing
before the line went flat.
But it felt nothing like the way
your body felt folded against mine
in the darkness of your last night home
before you left for your final tour
in the foreign land that was as strange
as the first time we made love,
exploring the geography of our
different maps holding buried treasures
beneath the surface of our skin.
In our strangeness, I lost everything to you,
wandering without a compass.
And ultimately I ended up losing you to
the strangeness of the land, instead of
in the familiarity of my arms.
And I wish I could’ve convinced you to stay.
But I was never good at tug of war,
and Iraq was so much stronger than I.
Standing next to your casket, dressed in a mask of tears,
destroyed mascara and black clothing for your funeral
as your fellow brothers in arms,
who became my brothers too, hold their guns
pointed towards you in the sky; your own salute.
But it’s peaceful to know that your ears no longer ring
with machine guns and you’ll sleep peacefully from here until forever
instead of fighting enemies, even in your nightmares and daydreams.
I am grieving but I am blessed
that you are no longer suffering and miserable.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
my beautiful body is killing me,
it longs to seek no rest.
even without weighing myself
every hour is a moral test.
do i even want to be here?
could i be here and just be me?
but every minute is an endless sea
reminding me that i'm never free.
most days i feel like i was never meant to be
because my beautiful body is killing me.
my beautiful body is killing me,
it keeps me as cold as ice.
i no longer feel my fingers from the moment i arise.
and even when i want to eat,
looking at a plate of food usually suffices'.
and i don't want to be this way anymore,
i don't want to be alone.
i don't want to wonder for the rest of my life wondering what its like to have a home...
but no one holds me close enough anyways,
so alone is usually the best way to go.
when i fade away from everything i have ever known,
my beautiful body reassures me its okay -
that its probably better off to die this way.
that i was a failure when i was around them every day.
that i couldn't ever keep up with any game life ever tried to bestow to my name.
and its just better this way.
its just better this way.
my beautiful body calls so much attention,
but never any real recognition.
no true understanding of how strong a mission
it afflicted me with for total abolition.
to leave my mother with all of my favorite sweaters,
in an empty room with empty boxes,
packing away her daughters necklaces and lockets
and praying that it never ended up this way.
that her daughter could just come back one day.
that she had never become a spiritual stray.
that i had never become an apparition with no face, or no name.
my beautiful body is not beautiful,
it ravages me whole. every day that could of been happy
that anorexia stole. i can't help but face the reality that
i'm no longer on parole
i'm back in it again. and i don't want to be.
so don't call me beautiful please.
you just have no idea so you really can't see
how much of a waste of life i grew up to be.
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 3:58 PM UTC