"mudslide" poems
We sat at the table, waiting for our number to be called.
Their pepperoni pizza, was our most favorite one of all.
Our number is announced, George is carrying the pizza back.
When close, he decides to act, as though he trips in his tracks.
In slow motion, that pizza, slid so smoothly out of the pan.
George's eyes got big as saucers, he saw the folly of his plan.
There I was in my new outfit, that cost half of my paycheck.
With pizza, upside down on my lap and sauce splashed on my neck.
Amazingly calm, George scooped the pizza up in his hands.
Melted cheese, stretching and stringing, from my pants in gooey strands.
He stood there patting and pressing the pizza back into shape.
That poor pizza looked just like a badly, bulldozered landscape.
It lay there sort of twisted, pepperoni all to one side.
Crust pieces stinking out of it, like a saucy red mudslide.
Then he sat down across from me, silently as if waiting.
I must have looked like a blonde fish, sitting there, just gapping.
Then a chuckle escaped my lips, as his eyes raised to meet mine.
He looked just like a little boy, who just got caught in a crime.
I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out for making such a fuss.
'Cause, next thing you know, the whole place is laughing along with us.
We couldn't stop, there was no way we'd been able.
Not while upsidedown-lap pizza, stared at us from the table
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
Rich, dark soil after rain
Fresh brewed coffee with just a drop of cream
They want sky blue, aquamarine,
Or deep forest green,
But all I can give is brown.
Smooth, chocolate truffles
Hot cocoa on a bitter, snowy day
A ten-year-old boy's mudslide onto home plate
A freshly washed teddy bear
The world tells me these are not beautiful.
Instead they want a polluted, grey sky,
Or littered grass.
My eyes are strong bark,
And sturdy oak.
They are ancient roots reaching into fertile soil,
Out of which sprouts life.
Brown is all I can give to you.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
I create hurricanes while I sleep
I destroy landscapes for entertainment when I'm bored.
My smile has been rumored to awaken dormant volcanoes.
The sway of my hips could be mistaken for a mudslide
And the way that I make love will make you think the tectonic plates learned a new dance move.
I'm a walking natural disaster.
And after we're done you can say you survived it all
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:45 AM UTC
You named the sky reflected in a
dream, named it a wonder storm.
Spacesuit with a crown glow, with whom I
take turns trying to drown in an inch of water,
with whom I paint pictures of Aztecan gods -
Hold me again like I am a lizard! You
named it mudslide, named it river delta,
named it ************ you named it art.
Call it coyote blue.
Hundreds of canine headed figures
at the window of
seventh dream from spontaneous combustion
hold open their jaws and whine.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
The ground connects us through our feet
We connect the Earth through our minds
And connect our hearts through our hands
Until the ground beneath our feet
Begins to crumble
We dig up hatred and then repeat
As we stumble
Attacking the planet to cut our connection
And severing our stability
When the ground is filled with holes
And the ground is filled with those
We chose to dispose
For what they know
Or what they show
We told them no
And dimmed their glow
We feel dirt between our toes
As the quicksand embraces our ankles
We let a malicious mudslide flank us
The Sandman continues to introduce us
To our own eternal rest
On his endless conquest
For minerals in his midst
Sentiment unable to penetrate his sediment
The dirtiness in his heart becomes evident
When he drowns us in dust
And colors us rust
He feels he must
But he made a fatal mistake
Not realizing we are attached by soil
As the soil becomes a lake
We find relation deeper than oil
The Sandman seeks our species' slumber
But the power of our tears
Are strong when shared
And shower us with love
That runs through our blood
Moistening man
Soaking the sand
Once we see life grand
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 5:38 AM UTC
Hazel. Hand in my hand, falling from great heights. My skin, my salvation. Hay-zelle. More a way of breathing than a way to pronounce ones name. Hay. Zelle.
He was H, just H on weekends. Haze in his business, teenagers calling on him to supply them with a haze of their own. He was ****** to his followers, 'whom God strengthens.'. But in my hands, he was always Hazel.
Was there someone before him? No. In fact, had there been previous exposure to one of his caste there would may have been no Hazel at all. Like muddled eyes his name refers to was he. An ocean inside of the mudslide in me. You can always count on the broken-hearted for a fistful of metaphors and similes that make nothing of themselves to you.
Souls and bodies, the ones that have chosen an orbit in the universe of me, this is what I loved like Hades to Persephone. Look at this sole pomegranate seed.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
I know you burned my memory the day you walked away. Wasn't too hard to see from my view. I could hear the one sided conversation you were having with yourself.
Guess you got tired of fighting the storms for me. You wanted something more than what I could give you.
I have bruises on my shins from falling down on my way to you. My arms are battered and bleeding from the mudslide that are the walls surrounding you. But I've enough strength to do one more dance with you.
My stomach is aching from me doubled over in pain. My throat is hoarse from screaming your name. But I've enough breath to ask you for forgiveness.
My eyes hurt from looking through millions of people trying to find you. My cheeks are stained from a thousand tears.
My chest is hollow from the words you said when you left.
The worst blow I took from you wasn't really from you. But. From myself.
I have blisters on my feet. Too many to count. But they're all from what we were and what we became.
I have blisters on my feet from dancing with your ghost.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
This is the year of the search party
The year we stop looking for the answers
The year our inner commotion
Winds down to a clockwork steady
The year where everything is okay
Because it is
Because you are not your lame job
And you are not your last semester
And you are not your bills piling up
You are the moment your lungs erupt
A steady stream of your own breath
Taste it like biting cold
Or cigarettes
Feel it like a mudslide on your own skin
Let it go
Let it go like the millions of choices you can make today
Let every choice you have ever made fall away
So that you may take a moment to be satisfied right now
Assume you had no other options
And because you had no other options
Where you are is where you were meant to be
This is the year made easy
The year the search party found the answers
And hand delivered you note
The year you are a nuclear reactor
Every time you stand still
Feel the hum of your breath
As it fills up your chest
And you get so hot
The snow bending your branches melts away
The year you do not still yourself because of your anchors
You still yourself to watch them fall away
This is the year you make peace with the past
Be in the moment
Make this the year of forgiveness
And the year of less stress
The year you shake hands with your vices
The year of really good ***
The year the search party stopped
And you walked away
Dropped all your gear
Because what you found was a mirror
And it felt like you saw yourself for the first time
Because you did
Because there are no answers
Because every choice you have ever made brought you here
And right here is where you were meant to be
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
I never meant to fall
but sunrise greased your chassis.
The crest and fall of your jaw—
the blade and bend of it,
mudslide contouring of it—
dropped me ribless at your feet.
O promising land, crisp field
of flesh, whose fireflies
steered my eyes in the darkness—
your land, where my eyes had strayed—
scaled over eolian caves, the slick
basins of your clavicle, onto
the hexa hillocks clustered
like honeycomb chambers
on your abdomen.
I never meant to fall,
but the cursive lines of you,
I might have trod with loose eyes—
even now, there is a voice
drawing them to strike
at the aquifer beneath your waistline,
voice of vined thirst,
of torso and tug—
with them, I struck and drowned
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 4:28 AM UTC
Go ahead and get creative with me, my dear,
Tell me all about how I am a lightning storm
That lights up the darkness within you.
Tell me I bring about waves that leave you wondering
Which way is up, and
If you should go down with the ship,
Even though I have always been the captain.
Personification about how I am a hurricane
Coming to destroy you with my wind
And my waves.
Alliteration and hyperbole;
Right and wrong rust reality.
You are making a mountain out of mole hill me.
I was never something so great to hold on to,
I have never been what was holding you back,
And letting me go may be the best thing to happen to you.
But if you want to keep spitting out this poetry,
Then lay it on me.
I want to know that I’m making my way
From your every synapse to synapse.
I hope that I coat your cerebrum and make you relapse,
Wondering what was, what is, what could have been.
Compare me to any natural disaster
Because, darling, that’s what I’ll be.
I’ll be the earthquake that tests your foundations.
I’ll be the mudslide to wipe you away.
I’ll be the tornado to twist up your world.
But you know I’ve always been your hurricane,
So please don’t mind the waves, and honey,
Let me blow you away.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
The coldness of my unleashed disinhibitions have gracefully succumbed to the wisdom of cosmological forces, despite my ravenous salivations for all that is vehemently forbidden.
As I bark inside the relief of this solitary pound of articulated and socialised liberty, like an expression of abstract artistry within an ethical mudslide; I continue to teeter upon geographical tightropes which span unforgiving terrains across the ancient divides of propriety, where the baron plains of deuterocanonical origin are populated by restless spirits with gnashing teeth.
So, if they could ever be personified, I could easily butcher a myriad of depravities which tangibly characterise my inner Astarte and Ishtar demons – although, such an event would have to occur after we have engaged in a myriad of abominations where raunchy and indulgent copulations shamefully expose our brazen wantonness to animalistic inclinations.
Never offer to tie me down.
Restriction diametrically opposes my socially skilled yet nomadic being, as it sojourns across a psychedelic array of vibrant gardens, and weaves through present pathways which are timeless in their being.
It just is.
That is the essence of ontology.
Can we ever effectively contemplate the philosophies of predetermination and predestination?
As I am not dichotomous in my thinking, there is a legitimate place for being an omnivore within the walls of our societal fabric.
Although I radically accept that of which I do not approve, the psychology of ambivalence has led me to raise questions around the validity of horticulture.
My clock has melted down the flamboyance of those multicolored mountainsides of being and nothingness.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
My stomach's wallet breaks the pocket's seam.
I eat what I see,
I can't help with tasting everything.
The grapes and the burgers,
the peanuts and bananas.
I'm consuming as the wild beast does;
the vine grows empty and I will growl,
moving on to the next new field.
But the cheeses here are magnificent,
I'll keep coming back for just another slice of it.
These warm chocolate drippings
on mountains of cold cream
melt into gooey cookie crust;
Me and my flag stand ready for the adventure
right up and back down the mudslide.
But my buds are changing in a strange wind
and I am the wild dancer in this hurricane.
The strawberries are dipping into whipped cream
until the bowl grows empty,
refilling it with oats and milk.
My tongue lives forever in this moment,
leaping this way and that,
the day's cheetah is fast for its slab of chewy beef jerky
and afterward,
the night's panther is face forward in the wild fruits.
I pray for the day this dessert morsel is the last,
but alas,
my hunger ravages like a princess for her pony.
The king will no longer resist her screams for another stable
and I will ride this black mare forever.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
i watch you inside my head
with eyes like binocular surveillance
spinning bulls
dancing widdershins
in mind erasing rituals,
from witchy book
voodoo tropical itch
that spits a mudslide
and who are you in this poem
maybe a hungry ghost or
just a girl who has a kink
for shadows burn
from midnight suns
algorithms of bleated conundrums
and luminous smiling star eyed teeth
your undulant music
melodically bleeds desire
swelling
aching worm tongued clitori
in teary shredded *******
that bows her head like sinking stones
to touch blood silent puddles
of Pomegranate Martinis encircled by
drunken Pentecostal Lucifer's
better than a kiss could ever be
you would **** to die goat horned
pink as dingo ****
and held down by storming arms
that stop you dead past memories blur
a martyred fruit darker than night
in a leg show
scumbag halo resurrection
under threat
ankles bound
fledged
split wide and trussed
she panted
"I hate pain
but love being forced to take it".
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
I dreamed of an island I could make home
But the sea rose and soon it was gone
So high on a mountain was next on the list
But crops wouldn't grow on snow covered cliffs
So I went to the hills and cut down the trees, made cabins where they stood and planted the fields.
All was ok, I thought this is the place!
Till the mudslide came and washed us away.
All that was left was to go to the plains, the breadbowl of life and to start off again.
Acre on acre we planted the crop, watered from wells drilled deep underground.
How happy we were and all seemed fine, till tornadoes came and moved house again!
So the sea goes up and the wind comes down. Floods and icebergs becoming the norm
Frackings poisoned the water and coal the air Japan glows in the dark so we cant go there
Nothing left but to find a new world and Elon Musks ahead of the game.
Mother earths being killed off by her own kids, as like parasites we ferociously nibble away.
She gave us the sun and the wind and the waves...
But once we realised
It was too late.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Her mind wandered far into the universe. The wind took her soul.
Graceful as it seemed, he was gentle today.
So swift she danced upon his tongue. She felt his story go through her.
His words were like a newspaper crushed into the pavement on her driveway.
A storm that kept repeating itself. Never letting his words form a crucial sentence.
The words were mangled and so was she.
He was tortured and so was she. They fought to fight.
And a violin desperately played there music in the silence that grew darker.
His cracked skull was stitched with a piece of her red hair.
Her heart was beating today. And his mind was running away.
The story finally slid in a milkshake mudslide.
Bruised and crushed; his mixed with her’s.
And she wanted a masterpiece to tell her what was wrong with this picture.
A tortured soul swung in outer space with a perfectly perfect soul.
Her eyes pressed closed and held there as she breathed in a rose.
The petals were silky and smooth as it went through her.
Her mind went from free to a quick twinge of pain.
A thorn, and just one at that, had grazed her lips.
The Black Cherry tasted sweet to her. She quickly slipped away.
Addicted and scared. The night was young.
But it was bound to grow older.
She ran just like his mind fled that night.
Control was lost and her heart had quietly stopped.
The scars had comeback.
Ozzing from her eyes were memories that were once burned.
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
I am the ram
and you are the moon,
or at least that’s what
we’re told.
My footing stays precise,
to help leap across large gaps
or swiftly tackle obstacles,
avoid a potential mudslide
or traverse rocky waters.
But now the tide is shifting,
as your relentless core
pulls my heart above the earth
where I can see a haze of
lush mountaintops, free from the
uncertainty of life on the rocks.
I’ve seen this magic before,
but this time it looks
too real.
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 2:46 AM UTC
Bronze to purple to red to greenish-yellow to bronze again
Your kisses wilt into my skin
And- for one final time-
The poison seeps into my veins;
Intoxicated, entranced, and utterly alone
I lay paralyzed
A slow upward climb before inescapable decline.
I watch the rotations of the stone-
I could have sworn it was a boulder-
Rolling from the top of the hill,
Farther and farther and farther still,
Kiss me.
With your antivenom,
Let me be free
To chase it and drag it and push it back up.
But before I lean in and resign
To claw back through the mudslide,
To let each falling tear drop be dried,
To stand tall in white, the blushing bride,
And swallow 3 ounces of unbottled pride (every two to four hours, of course),
I hear my mother whisper.
I catch a glimpse of it in my periphery,
Rolling hills and tranquility,
There it is–
The other side.
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 10:36 PM UTC
The waters run
Murky deep.
Muddy chocolate
For my eyes.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Sea of rubber, storm of rock
Ponder endless, mudslide thoughts
Never,
never,
never
stops
Until I
cannot see
Batter, torment, carry, pour
Solid things are shifting shores
Until
I cannot hear
Sighs are monsters, out from under
Mud is made of every mutter
Thunder fades into more thunder
Avalanche demands
All of what you thought was peace
deserts to deserts underseas
the grains of sand
climb past your knees
and now i cannot think
I used to hide from walls of rock
or shrink into a corner;
at least
cement
is solid set
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 4:01 PM UTC
Emotions like poison eating away at me
fight fire with fire
Drown them in whiskey
Baptized by the throat burning
trying to fight off hell rising
like a ship in bad seas, one shove away from capsizing
Suddenly I feel cold despite anger raging hot
I hate competing with someone for something i am not
Fight fire with fire
Fulfill my drinking desire
my emotions are a mudslide and I drown in the ire
Saved by the whiskey, the burning in my throat
im rotting away inside because of the thing I hate most
Fight Fire... With Fire
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
once again my head is buried in the sand,
and all the cigarettes i smoked and all the hearts i broke
had you feeding the whole pack to me out of the palm of your hand.
it was a stroke of luck that i lucked out, clucked out like a chicken without a head,
no direction where to go and using my feet to guide me instead.
and it was a stroke of genius that struck me out,
we twisted words we crossed arms
we bit tongues until bloOD WAS RUNNING DOWN THE SIDES
of our chins like a mudslide
and the hairs on our skin
prickled up with anxiety when we realized that this mortality is more/less a gift than a blessing,
so i'm done second guessing everything that i see.
i'm relapsing back into hiccups and cigarettes and you're relapsing back into me.
how am i to trust my eyes when the foundation of everything i once believed is now a pile of dirt?
twenty seven seconds left on the microwave and you took them for granted
just like the garden you planted to try to feel alive and alert,
but what would you with twenty seven seconds on your death bed
screaming happy crying hurt
sending fists and laughter bouncing off walls
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Absent deliberate intervention
vis a vis suicide,
supposed "natural" longevity
of generic human primate ride
ding ******** across avast
broke back mountain minus pride
defies accurate prediction,
though hypothetical
projections can override
unknown factors, whereby
excluding misfortune nationwide
(and/or globally deadly accidents,
catastrophes, diseases, mudslide,
fatalities from gunshot, et cetera)
unexpectedly arise dismissing by landslide
mortal adversity can be generally,
and more accurately spell joyride
ding calibrated to continue,
thus subsequent existence,
viz getting inside
scoop of this basic fellow, aye surmise
to continue for many another hayride
say...two score plus more orbitz,
whereat linkedin, flickr ring guide
by invisible hand snapchatting
crackling and popping fireside,
twittering whatsapp pining
during eventide,
watching virtual twilight at dockside,
witnessing artificial intelligence,
perfectly mimicking
illusory edenic countrywide
vibrantly melds scenic
ideal tonic bedside
counting black sheepish crows,
thence set sleep number
putting all worries aside
while merrily rowing boat
with gentle creatures alongside.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
Rain was a symbol
Of prosperity in ancient times
And that's what you were-
A storm that came in
And blew me back off my feet
Once having solid footing,
But you created a mudslide within
You came in
Like a flurry of ice and anger
Of fire and sadness
And I didn't know what to do
There was nothing to say
I worried if I touched you
I would slip and fall
That happened anyway
It was a gradual decrease
Of the rooms temperature
Rain was a sign of prosperity
But now it's seen as an omen
Winter was never my favorite season
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Mudslide muscles
Coax me into the couch
The cloud of distant ache
Coursing rivers in my legs below.
I welcome the pain with warm embrace.
Yesterday
I felt well enough to run.
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 12:12 AM UTC