"mainstay" poems
My sister is a beauty,
A photographer, an artist
And the best subject imaginable.
She is the main attraction of my coffee shop,
She’s the mainstay of Main Street.
Unlike every other woman I know,
She only carries her camera and her dignity.
And the gaze of a mirror;
Her plaid shirt, oversized even when it was mine.
A pair of tights earning their title
And sky-high leather boots, a rocker’s staple.
A cheesy beret, our mother’s bracelet.
Blonde locks like there are teardrops on her guitar.
And to complete the classic ensemble, Satan’s prized pearls:
The Cheshire Cat smile.
All tucked behind her expensive-as-hell camera.
And her phone, case with white box and black bow.
Just like my baby sister,
A photograph with a black bow.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
His eyes open reluctantly to take in the view. He scans the silent treetops for a hint of hopeful blue. An eerie whistle in the distance emits it's baleful sound. The icy reminder of winter lies perpetually on the ground. The rattle of a sigh comes from deep within his soul. He battles the instinctual urge to climb back into his hole.
It's just another grey Sunday. Oh just another grey Sunday.
No shades of color for this day.
Hopeless grey is the mainstay.
The battle against tomorrow already starting in his head. His cells start shaking as the poison begins to spread. Vague thoughts of conversations with people he'll never see. The four walls of torture keep him from being free. The clock ticking on the wall reminds him the end is near. The irrational racing of his mind only feeds the prickly fear.
It's just another grey Sunday. Oh just another grey Sunday.
No shades of color for this day.
Hopeless grey is the mainstay.
The tears of frustration start to steam down his face. He's never been a willing runner in life's endless race. He stands at the edge as the parade passes by. He's invisible to the masses no matter how hard he cries. He's searched the world over for a kindred soul to share. His lonely journey continues but the pains too much to bear.
It's just another grey Sunday. Oh just another grey Sunday.
No shades of color for this day.
Hopeless grey is the mainstay.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
It’s not much, I mean, but
uh, nothing, sorry, man I got butterfingers
slippery as my tongue, here
did you drop something, are you sure?
cause my thump-thumping heart dropped
so hard to the floor when it knew you were near
that it bounced right back up
right where it goes, then straight out my crown chakra,
only to dissipate and erupt
into Truth
the literal and the metaphorical
allegorical nebulas that resonate in full high-definition colour the way
all Nine symphonies played simultaneously
would look
sedimentary, like a cheesecake
when I first saw you, something
shifted in my horoscope with the same scope and scale
of a modern Greek myth – Prometheus rising, fire
in the eyes of one woman, that’s all
all Aphrodite could gather up—fix it to the mainstay, Odysseus
let’s get to it, in siren seas, eating weeds to survive
if there’s nothing left when Cthulu
comes alive, I hope at least
I’ll get to talk to you at a party
like, once, where we’ll mix some more
mythologies
Once Inana birthed the world, and Spider Woman showed her how
I could show you how Saraswati
makes music, and old Bacchus stays on his feet
Care to play my Isis? If that makes me Osiris
then drown me, chop me up. Throw my body
to Mr. Lucifer; the Morrigan will come to inspect your ****
and finding it satisfactory
will whisk you away somewhere better
How’s that last part sound to you, eh?
there’s not much left to waste in the techno age
of “nothing in moderation,” with all our
degradation,
defamation,
discrimination,
and mild inflammation caused by
nonspecific anxiety medications
in our nation of constant false elation,
so
my point is time
the one thing we got left to waste
is time, and I’m a dedicated pacifist, but
I wouldn’t mind killing
some of that, with you
Let’s blow this pop stand
and go hunting.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
My tailpipe spewing acid rain
I am M-i . . . on my way
To s-s-i-s-s and be ******
What I say . . . i-p-p-i
Memphis coming home
Crossing state line is heaven's door
I'm released now hit the floor
Old lead foot is on his way
You'd better believe it
I'm Memphis coming home
Coffee and whiskey my mainstay
Haul'n fast and reliably
No matter what my dispatcher say
Memphis coming home
Tupelo . . . past it's gates
New Albany approaching , now it's gone
Holly springs was a pleasure passing
I'm Memphis coming home
Cotton dust
Taste bud stuff
You can call them hills
Now if you must
Pine or oak , whatever's your choice
Tunica technically kicked your dust
Ole snake eyes soiled your luck
Broke , Memphis coming home
78 or 55
No matter I feel alive
Inside I'm outside myself
As I glide between the white lines . . .
I'm Memphis coming home
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
I've a sinking friendship,
Torpedoed by the ********
And listing.
The first mate mutinied.
Once a blood brother,
Like no other;
An intimate
At an imminent end,
An alter-ego
More than a friend.
I've been too patient,
Veered off course
With understanding.
I'm quite sure
This Pythias
Would run and leave me
Hanging.
I'm on a cliff
And won't hang on
To a blade of trust,
A fawning pawn.
He had my back,
I turn,
He's gone.
This partisan
Must part
A homeless homeboy,
A dissembling fraud.
No longer a mainstay,
He's insecure,
His equivocations
Make lines blur,
I don't believe
Him anymore.
He really needs a soul-mate,
Classmate, playmate,
But he's become a reprobate,
Lying prostrate,
Lying up straight.
I'll drown my Boswell
In my inkwell;
No longer
An advocate.
The laughs have left,
Yes,
I'm bereft,
But I'll catch the wind.
My course is true.
This friendship
Can't be salvaged.
It's scuttled,
And I won't
Sink with you.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
will some letters ever find their way to you?
impeccably yours from dawn to dusk
I bring forth the unlikely
with dreams cut cleverly from the cloth of space
and sprinkled with stardust stolen from god's lonely sky
it's a pity you can't stand my edgy fire
and I cherish this somewhat many sided love
like a mammal bright, a whale at karmic sea
harpooned and tried for strength and tested endless
how easily you flick the ashes of your blustering efforts
into the dustbin of my mind
begging this wild heartbeat to roost in your care
and for this restless pining to migrate to rest
eagerly pick my locks for the contradiction I am
to find your heart inside the confusion of this mainstay
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
You are the soul of my self, life and breath,
endless beginning and duration
of my thoughts, emotions and will,
source of matter creating memory of the soul,
noon and thymos residing in my chest,
heavens in which the afterlife starts,
psyche appearing in my dreams,
wind and air of my inner cosmos,
lightest, spherical atoms composing my soul,
synthesis of all my sensations.
Your words of adoriation are ever living fire.
Flesh of my soul have been irrevocably affected
by your spiritual intelligence
and wisdom of your blood age generating thoughts.
Effluence of your loving spirit inflames circumpolar stars.
Motion in the sky is just reflection of God's destiny for us.
Love was never abstract for Cassiopeia the Queen
and all rising stars like our moon and sun.
Love, innefable realm,
mainstay of heart and mind,
sun in the center of human microcosm,
eyes, ears, tounge, hands and feet of God,
inherent nature of breath during the day and night,
one and only consciousness eluding death and time,
axiomatic language of infinite Universe
intimately connected to the philosophy of the core of all.
You are North Star on celestical sphere of my notions
showing me angelic love of woman
with power of all stars of northern heavens.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
cardinal
the omnipresence of a forest
a melody
blush
the laughter of a child
a spirit
flame
the rage of a star
a supernova
wine
the ground of a glass
a mainstay
glow
the warmth of a firefly
a comfort
crimson
the gore of a war
a fighter
coral
the haven of a lionfish
a protector
rose
the circlet of a nymph
a friend
grey
the wish of a girl
a mask
to hide
the truth of an eye
a magnificence
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
I had forgotten you, or so it seems
Before you showed up within my dreams
You're the one constant in all the scenes
No one on Earth can explain what it means
The background was loud, the dialogue silent
My outlook is dim but imagery was vibrant
Usually my dreams are random, quick, and nimble
Now, you remain as a mainstay, a symbol
The obsession of you, the love and the passion
Stronger than anything you could imagine
Evidenced clear by attempts to completely...
Ignore clear evidence that you complete me
I wish I could ask how I could be conscious
With a mind that offers such unwanted responses
Until my admiration decides to vanish
I don't know how to move on or manage
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 9:35 PM UTC
The mainstay of guests,
Their backs against chairs
That are backed against walls,
Readily seated and settled
Into tight knit sub communities
And discussion cells…
Thrashing out social failings
And political ineptitudes
Gleaned from broadsheets
And RT News updates,
Mumbling agreements
Or gentle dissents,
Some too ****** to participate
(should have “passed the kouchie
‘pon the left hand side”).
One spills red wine onto white cloth
And they all laugh longer than necessary
About the irony of it all
Even though there was no irony
In the situation to begin with.
There are a small handful of male guests
That I feel I could get along with.
I give way in the doorway
For the hostess to deliver nibbles.
There are a handful of female guests
That I think I’d like to ****
(the hostess included),
But none of this allays the reluctance
To step through the threshold.
The hostess exits the room
As I pin myself to the hallway wall,
“It could be you”, I think,
And try to relay this through a raised eyebrow smile
That goes unnoticed.
I attempt my break in
Just as the conversation turns to
The importance of contemporary art
In modern society
And the relevance of Jim Morrison’s poetry
In the cerebral world of words.
I search audibly for a conversation
Centred around Adele’s latest album release…
And I NEVER, on a good day, want to talk about THAT.
In for a penny, I take the step with a fuzzy indifference
And am drawn to a hand extending the offer of a spliff,
And to the ***** of empty wine glass on full bottle,
And a “will you, won’t you?” expression,
And I trip and fall over a synthetic fur rug
Lying, recumbent, too scared to take my eyes
Off the pendulum light bulb that hovers above me
And all I can think is that the hallway
Was a much safer place to be.
Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
There are times in a lifetime
When meanings collide
Times when we wonder
The reason why
There are moments of sadness
And gladness too
Those memories won’t last us
But they might have to do
There is such a fine line
Between the now and then
Such precious little moments
That we learn how to tend
So take up my hand love
And sing me your song
Our moments together
Won’t last all that long
Your heart is my mainstay
My chest full of pearls
Your laughter has taught me
My place in this world
Let’s spend time together
And weather the storm
We can chase all our dreams now
Before they are gone
Let’s live for this moment
And play out the game
Let’s share this adventure
To the end of our days
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
I concentrate
not on my
thoughts.
Nor feel with my
emotions.
I do not
react to that
chatterbox
within my
head.
It's the silence
in between
the pull
that captures
my attention.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
Everywhere we went,
we rode shotgun,
carried one too.
We were home wreckers,
housebreakers,
misfits riding on the edge.
We came with sledgehammers,
battering rams, metal-knuckles,
some disappeared for interrogation.
You should have seen the head splitter,
he went back to the world,
they turned him loose again
into the general population.
Bright-eyed bushy-tailed bucks,
we forged into no man's land,
miles & miles of golden desert sand
was the mainstay of that virtual wasteland.
A traditional-home of the kingdoms,
warlords counting their money,
that **** wasn't funny.
I never laugh at horror stories
or disbelieve fairy tales,
they might be real.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
Bloodied knuckles,
Scabbing fists,
Held quite fast to stinging wrists.
A mark or two that perfectly fits,
Hidden beneath where a watch now sits.
-
A can of tuna, once a day.
An apple keeps the hunger away,
Black coffee keeps the pain at bay.
A darkened head is my mainstay,
Tomorrow begs for a brighter day.
Here's to hoping I don't fade away.
But no, forget now.
No, not today.
N.H.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
Oftentimes we can be inanimate as an insentient being,
If not, then lost, torn, or broken,
Drifting off into a minimally-conscious stupor,
Responding only the the most prominent of stimuli,
Quite frankly, most of the time, we aren’t really alive.
And this--this is condemnable!
This is a pleasureless trick!
The human mind has incredible potential,
Yet it's hardly active,
And essentially quite thick
Still, such is forgivable
For when we originate the formidable,
Dreams come true,
Aspirations brought to place
Life is brought to life through inspiration!
Have you never experienced some urges?
Strong desires that can never be explained?
They rain down,
As a blessing,
Better use them--
They're quite shifting,
For the love of yourself and your species:
Respond to compulsions of ingenuity!
Out of all indecipherable anomalies,
Creativity is by far the strangest.
Yet, strange is commensurate to lovely,
If put into practice,
Creativity is quite comely.
Some might say said compulsions are
Granted by the influence of divine beings,
Yet I believe they manifest from the divinity IN us,
I could grant a rant,
An oration,
Or a panegyric about compulsions
But only under the circumstance
Of such an aforementioned trance
Oh Life!
Such compulsions are
The love of me!
My pillar of strength,
My foundation of truth,
Mainstay and
My hope!
My perceived ESSENCE
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
he once brazed her with coke
that her millennium was solid rock
as Griselda went toe to toe
but trafficked crack by 2012
while coffee was her mainstay
that her valley would meet the sea,
her proponent in Antioquia
when she'd expedite crack for FARC
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
Thinking back to the start, when we had a spark
The sort of symphony that could leave a mark
Our friendship grew into something more
A little too late I saw you were no more than a bore
You had not a clue how to keep a conversation going
At your very best you were extremely boring
Whenever I brought up an interesting topic
All I got back from you was static
Bland replies like ‘okay’ and ‘cool’
Left me feeling a typical fool
You hardly ever made me laugh
And when you did it felt all too forced
In retrospect you probably never understood me
Your eyes were open, but they didn’t really see
None of it felt natural
My affection for you became ephemeral
Ignoring the obvious I tried to make it work
Probably because of the attention I got
Buzzkill you were, you ****** out all the fun
I soon realized the spark I felt was gone
So I stopped trying…
Then came the turnaround when you told me you loved me
Some nonsense about ‘you wanted more’ you just wouldn’t let me be
It was funny at first
You were joking, or this was a test
I had lost whatever feeling I had for you
So I found it absurd to say "I love you too"
You asked me to be you girlfriend
Now I didn’t want to lose you as a friend
But I couldn't say yes either
Couldn’t imagine the thought of us together
So I started making excuses on why we wouldn't last
But your solutions solved them really fast
When I said we could just be friends
You laughed it off and told me to keep my terms
Arguments became our mainstay
Irrelevant and needless we had them all day
You accused me of stringing you along
You called me selfish, and I knew I was wrong
I knew I was being selfish, I was leading you on
I only thought I could…
Part 2 will be out soon
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
i know that there is no real way to tell, who you talk to, or what you say to them, and there is no real way to tell exactly how you feel about me, and there never will be.... im not sure how to feel right now, there is so much in my mind.... cramped up in the corner of my head, wanting to explode!
im lost and im misguided.. i feel unsafe and threatened.... and the only thing keeping me from getting lost in the dark abis of feelings, is you.
you are my rock, my mainstay, my everything. i know.... none of this will mean a thing when you move on from me, but i hope the least that will happen is you will always look back and say "she really did love me"
even better, i hope you never have to look back at what is written on the internet because that will always be the same, i hope that you will be able to look me in the eyes and say,
"i love you too."
i hope that one day when you miss me, you will be able to call me and tell me. better yet i hope that one day you will just be able to walk in the door and tell me crazy stories about how your day went. even if none of my dreams come true.... i hope that ill always have you <3
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 10:20 PM UTC
I get high off watching the sun rise, it reminds me that I'm still alive, waiting at dawn to stake my claim in today. I am the mainstay of constancy, of evolution, the leopard lurking in darkness, pawing stealthily past moonlight. My strength magnified in magnolias, my ability to break open in silence, my willing fragility exempts me from the need to fall to pieces. I cuddle up to the command of now, wrapping it around my will like I wrap my tongue around the notes of its song, like silks looping around my present, to my world, my fullest attentions, my richest intention, my ultimate salvation. My lineage sings survival of the fittest. Our rigorous love of self, of others, is the ticket, the tributaries to the endless river within us, bridged by the calls of cardinals, flitting from pine to sky, rescinding all the litter of Earth's surface to drift off into varying existences.. I am awake.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
they seem to think I can heal you
they seem to think I can heal you,
but the truth is I can only be there
and when there are cracks in the ceiling
and the mountains are frozen or gently
rolling over mustard seeds, I will hold
fast to the one Mainstay and encourage
you to do so too--because I can't walk
with your legs or talk with your words
nor can I delve inside your dark waters
and know how to navigate your thoughts
that so often I won't understand--
and I won't change you because we will
be a team, a single cog rotating in a royal
body, bearing the heat and blows so that
when you are away and toiling, or burning
the sheets with newfound anger, I will
stand by and let your battles rage until
we meet on middle ground and grasp
each other's forearms in the dust, heaving.
with you, this will not be a game. You will not
be a piece, a checker, a player. I will not move
you or take mallets to your foundation because
it will be mine too--I will not hate you because
that would be hating myself and I will not hate
myself because that would be hating you--
I will not question your love for me like I have
questioned the masses, because this love will
not be antiquated but fresh and ripe each
morning, anew with our combined inquiries
and issues of heart, barrels of quinoa to sink
our fingers into and count ceremoniously
each grain a celebration, a victory poured
over quiet nights shared between whispers
and hushed prayers
and though your initial compliments and flattery
fade away, when our first meeting has worn off--
no lit suppers but bowls of hot oatmeal on the
couch, when our voices have failed to address
the day and time has only built between our hips,
I will quietly say that I have missed you
because though we are one there will still be
wedges---doorstops, rocks and boulders and
great things that drop and slide between us
that find their way into fissures in our flawed
surface
but
I will love you through that.
I will love you through each fight and missed
opportunity to apologize, every door closed a
little too hard, each cold dinner or syllable too
harshly spoken, when I send you
to the supermarket and you arrive with only
half of the groceries, when the world is splitting
in two and we are fleeing from city to city and I
can hardly recognize you through the grit and grime
I will love you.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
It is as it is,
and was ere,
again I’m paired to
restroom pantile,
resilient sickness
can redefine docile
to nothing northerly,
o'er the day is
only forgery
to an nightly
mainstay,
this white flag
has been waving
to porcelain for
oft fortnights
shining footlights
on an innocent reflection,
allay this suffocation,
let me breathe again,
foremost is always
surviving tomorrow,
though I'm a swain to
the ***** of today.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
Chants of forefathers ever enchant these halls,
calm the winds, steel the hearts of the people.
Each time the land breathes in a dawn, unveils
the toil of cloven granites and honed slates,
born of the struggle between two equals:
perseverant mind and unyielding stone,
a pursuit to cause, and mainstay of stillness.
The night that made them pause is almost gone.
The wait now condensed to a single moment.
A flash of acceptance for the unknown,
fresh ease brightening alike the dew and insight,
breeze of release from what’s coming, and what’s past.
The clash resumes. Opposed sides collide anew,
in concord of efforts, each playing their part,
to witness as one life’s storytelling might.
Oct 1, 2024
Oct 1, 2024 at 11:55 AM UTC
From Chicago to Lake Geneva,
I knew it to be true:
I loved you.
It was our spring break
But we weren't at the shore
We were outside your front door.
From your mother's disapproval
To your father's dismay,
I had faith in our mainstay.
It was the scent of your pillowcase
And the warmth of your hands
That solidified my plans
During your parent's time away
The sun chose to break through;
Small specks of dust in your room
It was the curve of your lips
And the promises you made
That gave me away
I was suppressing a confession -
A secret of my own...
Whispered onto your jawbone
My thoughts on the train
Were fully admitted
I, committed
From Lake Geneva to Minneapolis,
I knew it to be true:
I loved you.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
Heady Times.
Mem'ry strides the salty walkway.
Walls hide seaside's gone delights.
Youthful fun was once the mainstay
Lovers knew not wrongs from rights.
Twosome pleasure had its heyday
Heady times those harbour nights.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
Only when the rain comes does the road I travel down reflect all light directed to it.
For in the hazy sheen given to all things
in such a dreary-gray drizzle all that shines
finds room to grow indefinitely.
The headlights, and the stoplights and the store lights and the city lights; the pretty lights
all tumble down and find themselves woven
or rather painted on every curbside, every parkway, every avenue and mainstay.
The intersections are much like a pool of paint and water,
giving birth to a shimmering iridescent daughter.
While in the cool of night when the water falls like air,
I can do nothing but stop a while and stare.
Only when the rain comes does the road I travel down reflect all light directed to it.
Not but a metaphor is this.
Seldom touched are the ways which we can circumnavigate ourselves.
So little searched are the depths at which the spirit dwells.
Yet quickly recognized is the truth that there is something truer than ourselves.
And all depends on how far the human delves;
Into light, into dark, into ruin, into joy, into peace, into war, into pain into pleasure.
Into life and death, into poverty and treasure.
For though we chase after only what may make us smile,
there is more required to make life worthwhile.
Though heartbreak and tears may last through the years
deliverance shall be sweeter still than any passive happiness.
Far more beautiful is life with its portion of strife
and far more worthy is man who has suffered.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC