"navy" poems - Hello Poetry

"navy" poems

I have always liked, Defiant Africans, Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta, Martin Luther King, Groovy black men, ******* with attitude, But they intimidate me, Black men. Freedom fighters, Bar room brawlers, And I rise from sleep, Sheened in sweat, Running away, Scribbling my number, On scraps of paper, On foreheads and trousers, On outstretched palms, And I’m breathing heavily, Feeling stained, Because, That one there, The white man in Navy uniform, With hair on his ***** I know him, -conquistador- He smells of garlic and grease, And my black friends call me, ****** ***** ***** Will he take the lion tooth offered, Will he make the tribal dance? -I can teach him to love the earth, Teach him to plant his feet in, deep- I ********** from sleep, supported By thick, colonial, muscle. I am forging steel, Industrial iron, I am engineering a white lover Beneath the sheets, whilst Apologising to freedom fighters, Who call me ****** ***** *****

0

Jul 20, 2012

Jul 20, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC

****** ***** *****

I have always liked, Defiant Africans, Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta, Martin Luther King, Groovy black men, ******* with attitude, But they intimidate me, Black men. Freedom fighters, Bar room brawlers, And I rise from sleep, Sheened in sweat, Running away, Scribbling my number, On scraps of paper, On foreheads and trousers, On outstretched palms, And I’m breathing heavily, Feeling stained, Because, That one there, The white man in Navy uniform, With hair on his ***** I know him, -conquistador- He smells of garlic and grease, And my black friends call me, ****** ***** ***** Will he take the lion tooth offered, Will he make the tribal dance? -I can teach him to love the earth, Teach him to plant his feet in, deep- I ********** from sleep, supported By thick, colonial, muscle. I am forging steel, Industrial iron, I am engineering a white lover Beneath the sheets, whilst Apologising to freedom fighters, Who call me ****** ***** *****

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The city is a grid of lights projected by man-made mountains built of glass and steel; they reflect, distorted off the glass surface of Lake Michigan. Good morning The sun rises with heavy-eyed commuters, homes filling with the smell of coffee; yesterday’s events are brought inside, rolled up in a blue plastic bag. Soon the traffic on the Dan Ryan will turn the stretch of road into a temporary parking lot. Life enters the veins of downtown; it heads down Michigan Avenue to the heart of The Loop. The ferris wheel at Navy Pier begins to turn hypnotically, attracting all walks of life. A Muslim passes a Christian on the street; they smile at each other; their backgrounds don’t matter. Someone is calling; someone is answering. Today is the best day for one, the worst day for another. The day does its job to go on Chicago fills its lungs, then exhales life back home. The sun colors buildings, traces of day to be soon replaced by the form of lit office windows. From a plane passing over, the grid is a chessboard waiting for the next day, the next game.

0

Nov 13, 2012

Nov 13, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC

The city is a grid of lights projected by man-made mountains built of glass and steel; they reflect, distorted off the glass surface of Lake Michigan. Good morning The sun rises with heavy-eyed commuters, homes filling with the smell of coffee; yesterday’s events are brought inside, rolled up in a blue plastic bag. Soon the traffic on the Dan Ryan will turn the stretch of road into a temporary parking lot. Life enters the veins of downtown; it heads down Michigan Avenue to the heart of The Loop. The ferris wheel at Navy Pier begins to turn hypnotically, attracting all walks of life. A Muslim passes a Christian on the street; they smile at each other; their backgrounds don’t matter. Someone is calling; someone is answering. Today is the best day for one, the worst day for another. The day does its job to go on Chicago fills its lungs, then exhales life back home. The sun colors buildings, traces of day to be soon replaced by the form of lit office windows. From a plane passing over, the grid is a chessboard waiting for the next day, the next game.

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Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009

0

Oct 8, 2013

Oct 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC

Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009

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velcro wallet was navy, i think gray plastic zipper grandma gave you i had a locket it had your picture inside but you threw it away because you looked like a rabbit apparently hair fluffed, eyes puffy two teeth and two hours of squirming on a photo booth plastic coin pouch small crayola blue walmart sticker on a side but it never made me smile not like that piggy bank did yard sale treasure dinosaur-shaped no smashing to withdrawl our tooth fairy dollars and dust still, you crammed stink bugs down the long neck's back now, a denim bag on my bed rhinestoned one in the closet and your wallet is real leather, i think has superheroes on it rough and grungy as the comic books in the attic or, did you toss those too? who needs a screwdriver without a ***** that's all money was just hardware we didn't have much use for but there is more than one way to use a tool so here, i'll paint it straighter who needs a coffin without a corpse? especially when we were so full of life back then

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May 14, 2018

May 14, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC

sibling snippet 10

velcro wallet was navy, i think gray plastic zipper grandma gave you i had a locket it had your picture inside but you threw it away because you looked like a rabbit apparently hair fluffed, eyes puffy two teeth and two hours of squirming on a photo booth plastic coin pouch small crayola blue walmart sticker on a side but it never made me smile not like that piggy bank did yard sale treasure dinosaur-shaped no smashing to withdrawl our tooth fairy dollars and dust still, you crammed stink bugs down the long neck's back now, a denim bag on my bed rhinestoned one in the closet and your wallet is real leather, i think has superheroes on it rough and grungy as the comic books in the attic or, did you toss those too? who needs a screwdriver without a ***** that's all money was just hardware we didn't have much use for but there is more than one way to use a tool so here, i'll paint it straighter who needs a coffin without a corpse? especially when we were so full of life back then

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Drowning inside hands. A fluorescent chime. Skin scrubbed radiation. Force-feeding plastic and sugar and flesh. Pushing and pulling until tendons flail weathered Up. And. Down. Up and down upanddown until the store of powders, prints, nails tumble out carmine and is sobbing gagging on a high chair. The candied calculator like heart-shaped pupils and sticky soles. Opaque ID’s and strands of you abandoned in navy sheets. Shoulder tassels taught on Adam’s apple. Love stitches bedding and hollows bodies. Love lights the West and lines waste baskets wet. Love is a little girl vomiting into a lion’s den.

0

May 5, 2015

May 5, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC

jacquelyn-sublett

NUTRITION FACTS

Drowning inside hands. A fluorescent chime. Skin scrubbed radiation. Force-feeding plastic and sugar and flesh. Pushing and pulling until tendons flail weathered Up. And. Down. Up and down upanddown until the store of powders, prints, nails tumble out carmine and is sobbing gagging on a high chair. The candied calculator like heart-shaped pupils and sticky soles. Opaque ID’s and strands of you abandoned in navy sheets. Shoulder tassels taught on Adam’s apple. Love stitches bedding and hollows bodies. Love lights the West and lines waste baskets wet. Love is a little girl vomiting into a lion’s den.

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We perpetuate heartbreak culture, teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises, or it was her fault; she looked older. We fetishes shoulders, prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum, swallowing down the same tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags, waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval ******** They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest, but what about the brutality? The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil? Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores, but the ocean is red and staining our sands. How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy? Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here). We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk, indoctrinate our children before they can talk. George killed the dragon. Hood gave to the poor. we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled. There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored. What about those without lines in the script? Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it? Our pavements have no room for nonconformists, they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer, squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week. 'God save the Queen' from the vermin; the homeless have been tossed out of the trash. Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind? After all, out of sight, out of mind. Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find Because we’re not changing it.

0

May 22, 2018

May 22, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC

We perpetuate heartbreak culture, teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises, or it was her fault; she looked older. We fetishes shoulders, prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum, swallowing down the same tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags, waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval ******** They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest, but what about the brutality? The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil? Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores, but the ocean is red and staining our sands. How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy? Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here). We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk, indoctrinate our children before they can talk. George killed the dragon. Hood gave to the poor. we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled. There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored. What about those without lines in the script? Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it? Our pavements have no room for nonconformists, they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer, squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week. 'God save the Queen' from the vermin; the homeless have been tossed out of the trash. Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind? After all, out of sight, out of mind. Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find Because we’re not changing it.

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Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009

0

Oct 8, 2013

Oct 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC

Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009

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close your eyes babe what do you see? a starry night or a porcelain sky? is it the shade of navy you love? i closed my eyes and i saw the world grabbing me gently, pulling me tight and close, while it whispers sweet nothing in my ear i envision a love that is endless, a heart so large that it overflows, and a passion that even fruits envy. so tell me darling, have you a dream to sell me?

0

Nov 10, 2019

Nov 10, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC

mymindandthoughts

Sell me a dream

close your eyes babe what do you see? a starry night or a porcelain sky? is it the shade of navy you love? i closed my eyes and i saw the world grabbing me gently, pulling me tight and close, while it whispers sweet nothing in my ear i envision a love that is endless, a heart so large that it overflows, and a passion that even fruits envy. so tell me darling, have you a dream to sell me?

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Why the hell ... do they do it … ??? They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!! Well ... THE TRUTH is ... Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ... ... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!! Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!! is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!! But ... Let me ... Proceed ... cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!! that ... ANY ... Police Force ... is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!! " This Morn' " ... It was ... ME ... who they wanted ... " To be " ... ANOTHER ... Young Black ... in .... " Police Custody " .... “Excuse me sir, your car is registered, to a national bank ?” “THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED, I’M PAYING A FEE, SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS …. IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…” “Okay Okay !!! but, can we have, your name please ?” “LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE, IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !” See ..... That's when ... their faces ... Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!! of ... seeing a black ... Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!! The car that I drive ... is ... " LEGIT " ... That's a .... FACT .... !!!!! While ... RACIST OLD BILL ... NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! … When ... " Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!! They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!! and then ... just .... RESORT ... to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!! Which ... Just goes to ... SHOW ... It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ... who take drugs ... when they're low ... It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!! who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ... But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ??? is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!! because i'm ... Getting Sick ... of ...... " ALL TELL " ...... and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!! They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!! Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ... "Blacks being mis-treated, is NOT a Race Thing !" But …. ???? …. These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows Now Show ... how things' go ... It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ... Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!! Now ... Journalists too ... have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?! That ..... " White Men " ... under cover ... Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!! NOT ... A figment in ... Black peoples' ... ****** …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! … Now ... Those are not words ... I believe to be ... True ... !!! I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ... .... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! .... Giving people ... " Some Clues " ... as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ... feel the way that ... I DO ... !!! Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!! But ... Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!! " Some " ... Black people STEAL ... and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ... Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!! But ...... THIS ... Does Not mean ... that ... EVERY ... Black Person ... is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!! and that ... Money they've made ... Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ... in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!? It's Policemen ... to me ... who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ... and then in ... " Their Dreams " ... Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!! Just check through ... THE NEWS ... You'll SEE ... what I mean ... Well ..... My day's getting ... better .... now i've ... " Typed " ... These few ... " Letters " ... But it's ..... Time to ... STOP TAPPING ... cos' this poem i've written ... has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!! My View ... On These ... PIGS ... !!!!! Who ...... THRIVE ON ...... ……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!

0

Dec 6, 2014

Dec 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC

"Harassment" ... A Poem written by Big Virge 21/01/2005

Why the hell ... do they do it … ??? They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!! Well ... THE TRUTH is ... Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ... ... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!! Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!! is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!! But ... Let me ... Proceed ... cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!! that ... ANY ... Police Force ... is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!! " This Morn' " ... It was ... ME ... who they wanted ... " To be " ... ANOTHER ... Young Black ... in .... " Police Custody " .... “Excuse me sir, your car is registered, to a national bank ?” “THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED, I’M PAYING A FEE, SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS …. IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…” “Okay Okay !!! but, can we have, your name please ?” “LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE, IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !” See ..... That's when ... their faces ... Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!! of ... seeing a black ... Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!! The car that I drive ... is ... " LEGIT " ... That's a .... FACT .... !!!!! While ... RACIST OLD BILL ... NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! … When ... " Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!! They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!! and then ... just .... RESORT ... to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!! Which ... Just goes to ... SHOW ... It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ... who take drugs ... when they're low ... It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!! who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ... But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ??? is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!! because i'm ... Getting Sick ... of ...... " ALL TELL " ...... and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!! They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!! Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ... "Blacks being mis-treated, is NOT a Race Thing !" But …. ???? …. These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows Now Show ... how things' go ... It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ... Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!! Now ... Journalists too ... have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?! That ..... " White Men " ... under cover ... Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!! NOT ... A figment in ... Black peoples' ... ****** …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! … Now ... Those are not words ... I believe to be ... True ... !!! I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ... .... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! .... Giving people ... " Some Clues " ... as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ... feel the way that ... I DO ... !!! Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!! But ... Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!! " Some " ... Black people STEAL ... and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ... Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!! But ...... THIS ... Does Not mean ... that ... EVERY ... Black Person ... is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!! and that ... Money they've made ... Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ... in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!? It's Policemen ... to me ... who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ... and then in ... " Their Dreams " ... Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!! Just check through ... THE NEWS ... You'll SEE ... what I mean ... Well ..... My day's getting ... better .... now i've ... " Typed " ... These few ... " Letters " ... But it's ..... Time to ... STOP TAPPING ... cos' this poem i've written ... has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!! My View ... On These ... PIGS ... !!!!! Who ...... THRIVE ON ...... ……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!

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Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new; And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none. Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains; And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away. Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs; And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke. Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd; And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a ***** Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance; And I'm a pot-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death. Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one; And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce. Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines; And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell. Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt; And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick. Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop; And I'm a plastic party cup melting away. Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery; And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop. Love is a huge pink eraser; And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight. Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk; And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner. Love is meant for fish; And I'm a bird.

0

Dec 21, 2012

Dec 21, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC

Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new; And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none. Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains; And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away. Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs; And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke. Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd; And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a ***** Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance; And I'm a pot-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death. Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one; And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce. Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines; And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell. Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt; And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick. Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop; And I'm a plastic party cup melting away. Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery; And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop. Love is a huge pink eraser; And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight. Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk; And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner. Love is meant for fish; And I'm a bird.

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from an idea by Sheila Sharpe In the foul heat and damp and rot and stench After dusting off 1 the bodies of dead pals The living and the dead, the living dead Old Boats 2 lit off a cigarette and growled “They say this stuff’ll **** ya.” 1 Dustoff – noun. Dust off – verb with an adverb. A dustoff is a medical evacuation via helicopter, as in “Doc, your dustoff will be here in three.” To dust off a patient, then, is to transport a patient, not to tidy him. I have recently read detailed arguments about the terms dustoff, dust off, and medevac, but no one quibbled about such minutiae along the Cambodian border. 2 Boats – a boatswain’s mate, the brains and muscle of the Navy. Boatswain’s mates do it all and are seldom acknowledged in history or art, not even in the recent film about Dunkirk. A boatswain’s mate is often addressed as Boats, and always with deference, even by the C.O.

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Jul 22, 2018

Jul 22, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC

The Dangers of Smoking after Heaving the Dead into a Helicopter

from an idea by Sheila Sharpe In the foul heat and damp and rot and stench After dusting off 1 the bodies of dead pals The living and the dead, the living dead Old Boats 2 lit off a cigarette and growled “They say this stuff’ll **** ya.” 1 Dustoff – noun. Dust off – verb with an adverb. A dustoff is a medical evacuation via helicopter, as in “Doc, your dustoff will be here in three.” To dust off a patient, then, is to transport a patient, not to tidy him. I have recently read detailed arguments about the terms dustoff, dust off, and medevac, but no one quibbled about such minutiae along the Cambodian border. 2 Boats – a boatswain’s mate, the brains and muscle of the Navy. Boatswain’s mates do it all and are seldom acknowledged in history or art, not even in the recent film about Dunkirk. A boatswain’s mate is often addressed as Boats, and always with deference, even by the C.O.

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crime, staring competitions, tears. these small things that lead us further into the fog, closer to the moths, attached at the hip, nothing new. nothing blue, always red. your guitar rips through the navy skyline, alerting the stars of war, violet mornings creeping over the trees as sleep envelops your eyes. i've dreamed of something like this, but i got more than i asked for. i'd never go back. i'd never go back to that place where you don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous. becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow. but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave; but we'll never forget.

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Sep 6, 2017

Sep 6, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC

elisefromtheinternet

your body is a weapon

crime, staring competitions, tears. these small things that lead us further into the fog, closer to the moths, attached at the hip, nothing new. nothing blue, always red. your guitar rips through the navy skyline, alerting the stars of war, violet mornings creeping over the trees as sleep envelops your eyes. i've dreamed of something like this, but i got more than i asked for. i'd never go back. i'd never go back to that place where you don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous. becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow. but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave; but we'll never forget.

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There's an awkward thrill I feel like wicked-wet rabies – Oh. Ah. Oh. To gaze over photos of the woman I created. With my warped perception, saturating and cropping everything into delicious oblivion. I am the knife as well as the ingredients that sauteed her together in a camera flash. She sits hot like heaven. And I want to stare at her picture all day until she comes to life. The woman I created, I hang up like perfected rotisserie and fall in love with her accidentally every day. Looking into those precisely underlined tiger-sex eyes of startling navy. Knowing their true dullness. Hissing at the free-swinging curls and the hours behind them. Loving the lie. The flowy top and sleek trousers gliding down lovely as Niagara over chaffing chub; all hidden. And thighs; unshaven. And that topical smile everyone likes to see, waiting to plummet into suicide like a kite hanging in one tight second. Her image is my greatest False accomplishment. I hang my portrait up on a wall of the internet for people of the world to migrate to the photo exhibit, my little show-off room. They make offers and toss compliments with their “I like this. I like this." nonsense. They don't know that the girl in the portrait, she isn't organic. They seem not to notice that she is something of a chemical flower. Her face is my face, only with whiteout poison-paste smoothed over twice. And they want to stare at her picture all day until she comes to life. Gazing upon her believed-to-be beauty, as I hang my paintbrush, she bites her body still as a painting, bruised and needled into perfect frame. She cries like Jesus Christ, as she is stared at, but not seen. I am the artist as well as the object. And the woman in the portrait is nothing, but dot after dot of manipulated color. And we want to stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.

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Sep 7, 2014

Sep 7, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC

httphellopoetryramona-argo

There's an awkward thrill I feel like wicked-wet rabies – Oh. Ah. Oh. To gaze over photos of the woman I created. With my warped perception, saturating and cropping everything into delicious oblivion. I am the knife as well as the ingredients that sauteed her together in a camera flash. She sits hot like heaven. And I want to stare at her picture all day until she comes to life. The woman I created, I hang up like perfected rotisserie and fall in love with her accidentally every day. Looking into those precisely underlined tiger-sex eyes of startling navy. Knowing their true dullness. Hissing at the free-swinging curls and the hours behind them. Loving the lie. The flowy top and sleek trousers gliding down lovely as Niagara over chaffing chub; all hidden. And thighs; unshaven. And that topical smile everyone likes to see, waiting to plummet into suicide like a kite hanging in one tight second. Her image is my greatest False accomplishment. I hang my portrait up on a wall of the internet for people of the world to migrate to the photo exhibit, my little show-off room. They make offers and toss compliments with their “I like this. I like this." nonsense. They don't know that the girl in the portrait, she isn't organic. They seem not to notice that she is something of a chemical flower. Her face is my face, only with whiteout poison-paste smoothed over twice. And they want to stare at her picture all day until she comes to life. Gazing upon her believed-to-be beauty, as I hang my paintbrush, she bites her body still as a painting, bruised and needled into perfect frame. She cries like Jesus Christ, as she is stared at, but not seen. I am the artist as well as the object. And the woman in the portrait is nothing, but dot after dot of manipulated color. And we want to stare at her picture all day until she comes to life.

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charcoal oxblood poppy pomegranate maroon cranberry cherry creamsicle orange soda saffron lemon egg yolk buttermilk sunflower olive forest lime mint ice blueberry royal blue navy bubblegum fuschia salmon grape lavender wine chocolate espresso

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Mar 2, 2015

Mar 2, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC

mayhem-is-a-virtue

My Favorite Colors

charcoal oxblood poppy pomegranate maroon cranberry cherry creamsicle orange soda saffron lemon egg yolk buttermilk sunflower olive forest lime mint ice blueberry royal blue navy bubblegum fuschia salmon grape lavender wine chocolate espresso

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The sky turned navy, while saltwater dreams threaded through shipwrecks on the sea floor Darkness haunted the ruins like ink-stained ghosts and you couldn't see the stars under the waves and the jellyfish and the rust because we were all too scared to swim away from the familiar, beautiful nauseating darkness Our footsteps were heavy, as if we were weighted down by bricks The ethereal electricity of the ocean's embrace dragged wandering pieces of thought back into consciousness as the fading stars left our veins flowing a broken-watercolor-aquamarine Dawn began to dust the clouds with her coral-rose blush light rained down on fluttering eyelashes so we became moths, flinging ourselves onto street-lamps and into fires and through windows of hearts The jellyfish drowned in its own phosphor and up we fell

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Apr 24, 2015

Apr 24, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC

Jellyfish don't get amnesia

The sky turned navy, while saltwater dreams threaded through shipwrecks on the sea floor Darkness haunted the ruins like ink-stained ghosts and you couldn't see the stars under the waves and the jellyfish and the rust because we were all too scared to swim away from the familiar, beautiful nauseating darkness Our footsteps were heavy, as if we were weighted down by bricks The ethereal electricity of the ocean's embrace dragged wandering pieces of thought back into consciousness as the fading stars left our veins flowing a broken-watercolor-aquamarine Dawn began to dust the clouds with her coral-rose blush light rained down on fluttering eyelashes so we became moths, flinging ourselves onto street-lamps and into fires and through windows of hearts The jellyfish drowned in its own phosphor and up we fell

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An inland blockade from Israel cut off life giving supplies to the Palastians in Gaza. This happened around 2010. Formulated was the "GAZA FREEDOM FLOATILLA". Their strategy was to dock in Gaza-away from land-and deliver much needed life saving supplies. However, the flotilla was seized- on the sea -by the Israeli Navy consisting of one hundred and fifty sailors. Around ten people from one of the flotilla ships were killed and brutality reigned supreme. ( a Turkish ship fought back ) Incarcerations from the floatilla to Israel's jails took place. And so I dedicate this writing to these wonderful people of conscience and their brave hearts upon the sea... Days of siege Days of conscience Days of hope Sailing to their destination Days remembered Day's compassion Days remembered these needed cargoes held Engines turning on paths of caution; love is carried on sailing symbols Each ship and boat will shout her name Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie,dear Rachel Corrie Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie Brave hearts you suffered so upon the sea Brave hearts you fought for truth, hope and dignity Brave hearts on floating love Brave hearts you are that peaceful powerful dove Brave hearts you are our guiding light Brave hearts you pierced that darkened blackened night Brave Hearts upon the sea...

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Sep 8, 2014

Sep 8, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC

Brave Hearts Upon The Sea

An inland blockade from Israel cut off life giving supplies to the Palastians in Gaza. This happened around 2010. Formulated was the "GAZA FREEDOM FLOATILLA". Their strategy was to dock in Gaza-away from land-and deliver much needed life saving supplies. However, the flotilla was seized- on the sea -by the Israeli Navy consisting of one hundred and fifty sailors. Around ten people from one of the flotilla ships were killed and brutality reigned supreme. ( a Turkish ship fought back ) Incarcerations from the floatilla to Israel's jails took place. And so I dedicate this writing to these wonderful people of conscience and their brave hearts upon the sea... Days of siege Days of conscience Days of hope Sailing to their destination Days remembered Day's compassion Days remembered these needed cargoes held Engines turning on paths of caution; love is carried on sailing symbols Each ship and boat will shout her name Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie,dear Rachel Corrie Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie Brave hearts you suffered so upon the sea Brave hearts you fought for truth, hope and dignity Brave hearts on floating love Brave hearts you are that peaceful powerful dove Brave hearts you are our guiding light Brave hearts you pierced that darkened blackened night Brave Hearts upon the sea...

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i love black and gray and white and cream and navy they're such easy colors until I realized that the sky before my eyes is blue that the natural way of things is colorful and diverse and that greens melt to yellows melt to oranges melt to pinks it got me to think how beautiful colors are when you love them all

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Feb 6, 2015

Feb 6, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC

i love black and gray and white and cream and navy they're such easy colors until I realized that the sky before my eyes is blue that the natural way of things is colorful and diverse and that greens melt to yellows melt to oranges melt to pinks it got me to think how beautiful colors are when you love them all

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By A Foreigner I like Americans. They are so unlike Canadians. They do not take their policemen seriously. They come to Montreal to drink. Not to criticize. They claim they won the war. But they know at heart that they didn't. They have such respect for Englishmen. They like to live abroad. They do not brag about how they take baths. But they take them. Their teeth are so good. And they wear B.V.D.'s all the year round. I wish they didn't brag about it. They have the second best navy in the world. But they never mention it. They would like to have Henry Ford for president. But they will not elect him. They saw through Bill Bryan. They have gotten tired of Billy Sunday. Their men have such funny hair cuts. They are hard to **** in on Europe. They have been there once. They produced Barney Google, Mutt and Jeff. And Jiggs. They do not hang lady murderers. They put them in vaudeville. They read the Saturday Evening Post And believe in Santa Claus. When they make money They make a lot of money. They are fine people.

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6.3k

Ernest Hemingway

I Like Americans

By A Foreigner I like Americans. They are so unlike Canadians. They do not take their policemen seriously. They come to Montreal to drink. Not to criticize. They claim they won the war. But they know at heart that they didn't. They have such respect for Englishmen. They like to live abroad. They do not brag about how they take baths. But they take them. Their teeth are so good. And they wear B.V.D.'s all the year round. I wish they didn't brag about it. They have the second best navy in the world. But they never mention it. They would like to have Henry Ford for president. But they will not elect him. They saw through Bill Bryan. They have gotten tired of Billy Sunday. Their men have such funny hair cuts. They are hard to **** in on Europe. They have been there once. They produced Barney Google, Mutt and Jeff. And Jiggs. They do not hang lady murderers. They put them in vaudeville. They read the Saturday Evening Post And believe in Santa Claus. When they make money They make a lot of money. They are fine people.

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His nights are restless, endless dreams of young men climbing ladders. The ones who stop to fix their vests are left below, row after row there seems no end, distorted faces, silent screams through bottle bottom glass. Twenty winters wishing that the dream might finally end, he tilts his head and looks at God above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall, his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins of lesser men but for him there is no comfort, he can't escape the scene of drifting death and flotsam, sailors drinking blood from swollen corpses, greedy in the eyes like the sharks that encircle them. When daylight comes still no relief, he sits among his salty sheets and chokes on waves of guilt. Deceit will always be his master, every day no different than the rest except, today he’s had enough, the dead, they will not cease their torment. Twenty winters waiting but the dead won’t go away. The boys who stopped to fix their vests The man with gaping wound in chest The burning wreckage going down The screams of those who soon would drown The oily water thick as mud The utter chaos, flesh and blood The rabid thirst he could not quench afloat in pools of human stench He goes outside and lies upon the grass, a Navy Colt revolver in one hand, a toy soldier in the other, he puts the gun against his head and pulls the trigger. Twenty winters Twenty winters Rest

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Mar 20, 2011

Mar 20, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC

The Dream of Captain McVay

His nights are restless, endless dreams of young men climbing ladders. The ones who stop to fix their vests are left below, row after row there seems no end, distorted faces, silent screams through bottle bottom glass. Twenty winters wishing that the dream might finally end, he tilts his head and looks at God above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall, his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins of lesser men but for him there is no comfort, he can't escape the scene of drifting death and flotsam, sailors drinking blood from swollen corpses, greedy in the eyes like the sharks that encircle them. When daylight comes still no relief, he sits among his salty sheets and chokes on waves of guilt. Deceit will always be his master, every day no different than the rest except, today he’s had enough, the dead, they will not cease their torment. Twenty winters waiting but the dead won’t go away. The boys who stopped to fix their vests The man with gaping wound in chest The burning wreckage going down The screams of those who soon would drown The oily water thick as mud The utter chaos, flesh and blood The rabid thirst he could not quench afloat in pools of human stench He goes outside and lies upon the grass, a Navy Colt revolver in one hand, a toy soldier in the other, he puts the gun against his head and pulls the trigger. Twenty winters Twenty winters Rest

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lately i've needed the color blue the thought of crawling into bed the songs about denver and seattle and the late-night flights across the continent, my love i need a haven for my dreams, and a place to rest my head

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Jun 10, 2015

Jun 10, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC

catherine-queen

lately i've needed the color blue the thought of crawling into bed the songs about denver and seattle and the late-night flights across the continent, my love i need a haven for my dreams, and a place to rest my head

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Molly, you never needed to study in school, things just came to you, so trigonometry was easier than tools for you, Molly, how the boys would tease you, how you couldn't use tools very well, but you had your brain, and they really did not. Molly, how smart were you, trading math lessons, for help with your mechanics, the boys soon loved you, Molly, How you saved the boys, and how they saved you, how you were lucky to never have to fight, side by side with them, Molly sweet Molly, how you cried later on about the day you had to learn to use a gun, the reason you signed up for the navy was to never have to hold one, but they made you hold a gun, aim, shoot, and fire down the range, next to the boys who all had to **** it up & keep a straight upset face. Molly sweet Molly, how you were happy as can be, when shooting targets, and holding guns when away, and never came back. and Molly, how you finally where done, made your commitment to america, and flying home on the plane in your navy uniform, america won a fight somewhere, so Molly, everyone wanted to buy you, a drink, your first drink, in a long while.

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May 16, 2015

May 16, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC

Molly, you never needed to study in school, things just came to you, so trigonometry was easier than tools for you, Molly, how the boys would tease you, how you couldn't use tools very well, but you had your brain, and they really did not. Molly, how smart were you, trading math lessons, for help with your mechanics, the boys soon loved you, Molly, How you saved the boys, and how they saved you, how you were lucky to never have to fight, side by side with them, Molly sweet Molly, how you cried later on about the day you had to learn to use a gun, the reason you signed up for the navy was to never have to hold one, but they made you hold a gun, aim, shoot, and fire down the range, next to the boys who all had to **** it up & keep a straight upset face. Molly sweet Molly, how you were happy as can be, when shooting targets, and holding guns when away, and never came back. and Molly, how you finally where done, made your commitment to america, and flying home on the plane in your navy uniform, america won a fight somewhere, so Molly, everyone wanted to buy you, a drink, your first drink, in a long while.

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She calmly unlocks the front door as the wind flings the screen through wild tantrums. She droops down into her dusted rocker, pushing with her lavender heels to start the sway. Her sole taps softly, as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer and the porch plays in discord through dancing lace. Interwoven hands lie atop her lap in a sea of navy with floral ships at its surface. Silver strands fall from her clouded bun and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders. With jaded eyes she looks at the corner to a poor table, where a cold candle peaks among a grassy field of melted wax riddled with burnt fuses. And near the candle, a dusted white hat remains anchored to the wooden surface. She can still smell the stale cigar smoke lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,” she thinks as her daze slowly sets in. The world seems quiet as she fills her eyes with sleep and the chair continues its march. Her hands unlock from their grasp and the screen door gently knocks.

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Mar 23, 2014

Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC

She calmly unlocks the front door as the wind flings the screen through wild tantrums. She droops down into her dusted rocker, pushing with her lavender heels to start the sway. Her sole taps softly, as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer and the porch plays in discord through dancing lace. Interwoven hands lie atop her lap in a sea of navy with floral ships at its surface. Silver strands fall from her clouded bun and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders. With jaded eyes she looks at the corner to a poor table, where a cold candle peaks among a grassy field of melted wax riddled with burnt fuses. And near the candle, a dusted white hat remains anchored to the wooden surface. She can still smell the stale cigar smoke lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,” she thinks as her daze slowly sets in. The world seems quiet as she fills her eyes with sleep and the chair continues its march. Her hands unlock from their grasp and the screen door gently knocks.

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You and I are like summertime; You are the warm breeze that brushes the hair across my back, tickling. I return the favor by tickling you with silly faces and sarcastic remarks. You are the stars that come out late at night, twinkling against the navy sky. I am the pair of eyes that light up when they meet your own. You are the butterflies that have found a home in the depths of my stomach, like the same ones I watch flutter around so beautifully innocent. You are the sand that becomes so accustomed to being kissed by my salty waves, and then.. Then, low tide arrives. The warm breezes turn chilled, leaving behind goosebumps instead of laughter. Stars that once shone so bright become blurred into overcast skies All good things must come to an end, and they do just that.

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Nov 11, 2012

Nov 11, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC

brighterendofdark

All Good Things.

You and I are like summertime; You are the warm breeze that brushes the hair across my back, tickling. I return the favor by tickling you with silly faces and sarcastic remarks. You are the stars that come out late at night, twinkling against the navy sky. I am the pair of eyes that light up when they meet your own. You are the butterflies that have found a home in the depths of my stomach, like the same ones I watch flutter around so beautifully innocent. You are the sand that becomes so accustomed to being kissed by my salty waves, and then.. Then, low tide arrives. The warm breezes turn chilled, leaving behind goosebumps instead of laughter. Stars that once shone so bright become blurred into overcast skies All good things must come to an end, and they do just that.

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there was a girl who loved me so named me bestie gifted me with seashells and sometimes, baked brownie to unfrown me there was a girl who taught me braids loved poking my cheeks and took photos of me secretly there was a girl who got her heart into pieces by bestie and all she did is to give her love but only to get none in return she was a bird flying above the sky all alone for no one loved her anymore she flew so far away that i never saw her ever again she was gone; no more brownie no more grins and the seashells turned navy oddly twenty-nine-june, i sat in the coffee shop with my warm white coffee and a copy of stephen chbosky she flew back home and she descried me there came up to me with a beauteous grin i last seen in december '11 we talked we laughed we cried we story-telled (i remember, she once said, back when i still have the name bestie, that she loved when we used the term story-tell for it made the sun and moon collide together) i was told that this lovely girl's wrist was named demon and she **** it every time he tries to drown her in a sea of darkness this time, i got my heart into pieces told her the same and pinky promise was made (like they always said, promises are meant to be b/r/o/k/e/n and it did) there is a girl who i love so named her bestie and i will hold her when she is f a l l i n g apart

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Sep 30, 2013

Sep 30, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC

shaggy grey sweater

there was a girl who loved me so named me bestie gifted me with seashells and sometimes, baked brownie to unfrown me there was a girl who taught me braids loved poking my cheeks and took photos of me secretly there was a girl who got her heart into pieces by bestie and all she did is to give her love but only to get none in return she was a bird flying above the sky all alone for no one loved her anymore she flew so far away that i never saw her ever again she was gone; no more brownie no more grins and the seashells turned navy oddly twenty-nine-june, i sat in the coffee shop with my warm white coffee and a copy of stephen chbosky she flew back home and she descried me there came up to me with a beauteous grin i last seen in december '11 we talked we laughed we cried we story-telled (i remember, she once said, back when i still have the name bestie, that she loved when we used the term story-tell for it made the sun and moon collide together) i was told that this lovely girl's wrist was named demon and she **** it every time he tries to drown her in a sea of darkness this time, i got my heart into pieces told her the same and pinky promise was made (like they always said, promises are meant to be b/r/o/k/e/n and it did) there is a girl who i love so named her bestie and i will hold her when she is f a l l i n g apart

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You have stars in your hands and you hold them like grenades. The boats tattooed on your thighs spread out like finger placements of the G major chord. Synthetic drugs make chains tying your first and second fingers around the mechanically rolled paper, canvasing your throat like too much sea water, each breath as rough as the veins in your arms. Close your eyes there’s pollen in the air spread out like imperfections on the skin of an apple. Solar countries keep foreign coins sewed into their cotton sails, they put their money into the navy. You have a comet in your circulatory system leaving bright spots under your skin a reminder to gather the sunshine back under your eyelashes. Hand soap in ketchup packets make bubble bath islands and unhappy lips. You’re as talkative as a poem and as expensive as a poppy with homemade constellations on your back, staining your lumbar muscles with cherries. I can’t wash off your fingerprints with my favourite shampoo. I’ll swim across the Georgia Strait, dodge your dinghies and make a home in handmade ships where I’ll practice erasing scars from my arms and washing the soap from my hair.

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Aug 25, 2013

Aug 25, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC

The sun in your irises

You have stars in your hands and you hold them like grenades. The boats tattooed on your thighs spread out like finger placements of the G major chord. Synthetic drugs make chains tying your first and second fingers around the mechanically rolled paper, canvasing your throat like too much sea water, each breath as rough as the veins in your arms. Close your eyes there’s pollen in the air spread out like imperfections on the skin of an apple. Solar countries keep foreign coins sewed into their cotton sails, they put their money into the navy. You have a comet in your circulatory system leaving bright spots under your skin a reminder to gather the sunshine back under your eyelashes. Hand soap in ketchup packets make bubble bath islands and unhappy lips. You’re as talkative as a poem and as expensive as a poppy with homemade constellations on your back, staining your lumbar muscles with cherries. I can’t wash off your fingerprints with my favourite shampoo. I’ll swim across the Georgia Strait, dodge your dinghies and make a home in handmade ships where I’ll practice erasing scars from my arms and washing the soap from my hair.

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