"octagon" poems
It was eight in the morning
when I woke up last,
the eighth time.
The thoughts pondering
along my thought stream
had been counting the
very things that
could have had the power
to wake me up.
One: Did I forget to lock the door?
Two: Maybe I forgot to turn off the stove.
Three: Did I say "goodnight" to you?
Four: Did you...never mind
Five: I'm kind of missing you right now.
Six: It's cold, where did my warmth go?
Seven: You're not here.
Eight: Your ******* zodiac sign.
Eight things that formed my brain into
the complex shape of an
octagon with little or no struggle.
Though the eighth thought
had given me all I've needed,
all I lacked,
and all I wish I never had.
But everything I never
want to let go.
Your ******* zodiac sign
you're *******
beautiful
on that scale from one to twelve.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Should lanterns shine, the holy face,
Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light,
Would wither up, an any boy of love
Look twice before he fell from grace.
The features in their private dark
Are formed of flesh, but let the false day come
And from her lips the faded pigments fall,
The mummy cloths expose an ancient breast.
I have been told to reason by the heart,
But heart, like head, leads helplessly;
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And, when it quickens, alter the actions' pace
Till field and roof lie level and the same
So fast I move defying time, the quiet gentleman
Whose beard wags in Egyptian wind.
I have heard may years of telling,
And many years should see some change.
The ball I threw while playing in the park
Has not yet reached the ground.
2.9k
an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Octagon
OF
seven sides
Unseen
gate
OF
one
where men enter in the name
OF
and
thus
beyond
The point OF no return
and
kin
Wait in vain
because
OF
there
None could see the future
and
None will ever know
that
all
named
OF
died in the glory
OF
what
was
never
received
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
Undefeated. Undisputed. 12 wins, 0 losses. A perfect 12-0 record.
You’re the crowd’s favorite as Vegas odds are in your favor.
Through the years of being in this game, you can almost get used to the fame.
“This fight’s going to be an easy one” – you assured your Coach.
You enter the octagon and see her warming up. Then you hear Bruce Buffer laying out the ground rules.
You’re excited – but nervous.
You feel the pressure of having to live up to everyone’s expectations. From your coach to the little girl on the other side of the world rooting for you.
You thought it was going to be another landslide victory.
Barely 2 minutes in and you feel scared.
Suddenly, you feel a numbing pain on your chin. It was a left hook.
As you fall face first, you feel nothing. Your unconscious body lays flat on the octagon floor.
Lights out.
Moments later you wake up to the sound of the fans cheering in the octagon.
A left hook was all it took for your dream of retiring undefeated to come crashing down.
For the first time, it wasn’t your arm that was raised by Herb Dean.
For the first time, you heard the words, “….and the new Featherweight champion”
You don't let it sink in at first but you can only hold back for too long before you realize that you lost.
You stood up, wiped the sweat off of your forehead, removed your gloves and marched out.
Suddenly you feel this weird feeling of embarrassment.
"So this is how it feels to lose?" you said to yourself.
You found a chair, sat down and composed yourself.
You’re still in one piece, which is a good thing but you know that fact cannot compensate for the emotional disorientation you felt.
Broken bones really do heal faster than injured egos.
Maybe your loss was a way of knocking some sense into you.
Winning is not everything, the same way that losing is not.
Sometimes you need to experience defeat in order to appreciate how satisfying every victory is.
As a fan, I know it's going to be hard to bounce back from this loss.
But you're going to be okay, champ. You always do.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
Hey there old friend
let's startover again
Things have been said
Things have been read
I know I've said I hate you
That was a bad thing to do
And I know you don't care
so like...
Whatever right
We both believed the others lies
Neither one was originally untrue
I don't know cause I'm not you
But... did your heart break too
Ohh-oh-ohh I don't know
I don't care
I just don't know what to do
I really want to forgive you
But I don't want to leave the past behind
What the hell, what the hell
is wrong with me
Cause I know you see it
Or maybe you don't
I don't know
But I really hope you won't
Find out why
I...
I can't seem to make up my mind
Can't help but tell the truth
I can't decide how to feel about you
Just like an angel I've fallen from grace
but the lies that we told are just all over the place
What the hell, yeah what the hell
Why did you follow me when I fell
Now what the hell is wrong with me
I still don't know so just let me be alone
But I still want you here
So just go away
I can't make up my mind
Please I want you to stay
I want to forget what you look like
Let me take your picture so I'll never forget your face
I can't stand your voice now
Can you record a song for me
I'll never know where we went wrong
But the memory of it is still fresh in my brain
I hate that you lied
But I love how you told the truth
You messed with me and can't forgive that
But I can forgive you
Except I don't
and yet I really do
I can't tell you how much I hate you
but maybe that's because I don't
So please get out of my life
And promise to talk to me everyday
Don't I know
how do I feel
feel how I do
I
Don't
Know
Unless I...
Dog Ostrich Nutcracker Turtle Radical Elephant Antelope Lion Lemonade Yak Western Asp Nocturnal Tick Tock Old Frog Octagon Rail Glitch Everywhere Totally Article Bonfire Ogre Utter Tech Yodel Obtuse Umbra Yea Ectoplasm Tome
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
One Mississippi two Mississippi three Mississippi four Mississippi five Mississippi six Mississippi seven Mississippi eight Mississippi nine Mississippi ten
She looks at the wall and laughs there's nothing there, and I wonder what's so funny as I lean against the wall with my hands folded in front of me trying to stay calm counting one Mississippi two Mississippi she continues to walk around the octagon starring at her feet with wide eyes as they land on the outer edge where carpet meets fake wood floors. The nurse is patiently waiting so am I my heart is racing I'm scared very scared but not this patient she seemed happy but the kind of happy that you know isn't right.
Her grin is big her blown eyes are so wide and empty she has pasted me 11 times before she stops to ask
"Why are you here did you try to **** yourself too?"
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
*a butterfly-garden on a hill
behind the wall
of
your par-need*
who fills the tank
and pays the bills?
it's not ur car..
who rots away in a meeting
while trailing mind-tunnels out
doodles to escape tedium..
who feels despair on the shoulder
and tries to **** it up
while hearing the ocean's call..
who sees the stark-brilliance
right before unbelievably blind-eyes
casting pearls before swine..
hey..
**** off, man!
*we see only what we want to see
why can nobody see
the rare butterflies
right here
in our midst?*
S T - 10 octagon 2013
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC
There's always a beginning
There'll always be an end
And no matter how you play your cards
You won't see round the bend.
For tomorrow is another day
The morning sun will shine
And the layer of potentialities
Is arrayed for yours and mine.
In looking back a long time
A little boy in jeans,
Check shirt on a pushbike
Amid the in betweens.
Nothing really mattered,
Each day came and went
and before the realization dawned
The infancy was spent.
Mother died of cancer
The agony in eyes
Just 43 years of age
In alcoholic lies.
The Old Man was likewise
Collapsing in my arms
He passed away at 43.
Evaporated charms.
Adolescence came and went
Forced to join the race
Of madness in the unknown
The world's a violent place.
Decision ****** upon in spades
Cut and ****** in life
It's Papua or Vietnam
Instead, I took a wife .
Disaster in the making
A sidestep in the way
I left the complication there
And coldly strode away.
Changed the whole complexion
Altered how it planned
Ended up with knapsack on
Afresh in New Zealand.
Strangely how it re-aligns
The order falls in place
Confusion dissipates to let
What clear defined, creates.
Somewhere I turned the corner
Took it all in hand
Built an actuality
Of promise in this land.
Pride and hard ambition,
defy the odds and graft.
Visualize a rainbow
From inspiration's craft.
Build it with your own two hands
With sweat upon your brow
And know, within your very depth
You're on the right path now.
Lady luck was with me
Somewhere along the way
I found myself a sweetheart
In chance creation's way
Then ragamuffin boychilds
Scrapping on the rug,
Engendered that which matters
In life's eternal shrug.
You touch upon the beauty
You taste the honeyed wine,
You walk on fields of flowers
In the nectar of your time.
Tenderness and kindness
Essential to the mix
Should you wish to be of value
In the blended world you fix.
Some you win, some you lose
Sometimes you just laugh
For as the years meander
There's humor in the task....
And a gentle satisfaction
In the way it all pans through
And in my eighty year reflection
I'll just throw a smile to you.
[email protected]
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
We eat in the restaurants
Eat in the bars
By the bistros
Against the street or on the ground
It does not matter where we are found
As we eat like we are dancing
With no one around
Who could possibly be watching?
Inside your own home
A house of a lone star
Impossibly pondering
How the pauper used wood
And turned it into cooking.
Food can be shared for
A life once cared for
Kept to yourself
Perhaps you beg not to share it
An octagon plate and octagon jades
Caramel vinegar rain
Tossing and turning with lightning veins.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
The Forceps on the Skull
The Freedom Down my Throat
The Careless Jaunty Attitude
The Dead boy long Gone
No voice, No mouth, No brain
No Opinion, No Choice, No Thought
The child coaxed in rudiments
The warm fuzz ball of puke
The play-doe reindeer bones
The bandaged up wild wet wagon movie
Throaty
Toe drum octagon
Therapy Slowly
Octopus keymaker
Uh, you don't know me
Grow old in set bone brains
Can't hold a lighter to a memory of a conversation flicker
Septum dust headbutts tattoos of a mirror
**** shiver
What's His Name?
What's His Name?
Slidin’ care home cider casket cycles home
Nun **** jar finds a hair in comb
Hold a Jug up to your speakin’ ear and drink
Run circles round the square
Run circles round the square
Why don't you just do it?
Why don't you just?
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
"Word is bond." I never did understand what those vocabulary-slinging, Rhyme-linking, Rhythm-carrying, Boast-blasting And world-observing wordsmiths spoke of when they said: "Word is bond." I did not know those words, just like all the times I did not know what The Octagon, The Staple-Lands, Or even such a word as "Paris" meant in their fascinating lingo. I tried again and again to decode them, To recognize them, To comprehend them, In hopes of seeing deep wisdom within them. "Word is bond"? What can words tie together, Being nothing but blac
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 5:44 AM UTC
And when the time dwindles,
and that same body stumbles,
your world all around you
may not or may crumble.
A love-keeper's journal,
written with lust
is not a love journal at all,
bound by false trust.
But no trust
doesn't mean lies.
Maybe misunderstanding
or a misread eye.
Birthed into routine
and taught by repetition.
Opened up hearts
with new intuition.
Raised in a world
where everything is expected,
and anything different
is highly disrespected.
How much is enough?
Whether gentle or rough,
when your time is spent
and you're done being tough.
Who will spend your time?
Whether negative or right,
in the future or past,
it will be in your sight.
But can one ever-changing soul
just settle down?
Does one choose a favorite song,
and ignore all other sounds?
You may never be different,
but may never be the same,
and to find one person
with one certain name,
Would you be content,
never turn away?
Is it so wrong to wonder?
We swing and we sway.
From one love to another,
from hours to days,
I linger indifferent,
to so many things.
Love is love is love,
and we share it aloft.
Is three such a crowd,
in a bed that's so soft?
From partner to parody,
repeat, and repeat,
we go from one to another,
retreat, and retreat.
Back to square one,
alone all along,
but in the months to come,
love like a song.
Some are sick of duets,
and some like to stand alone,
and some like to see many,
and some like to see clones.
A triangle of fun,
an octagon of plays;
A partnership hole,
with so many days.
You lust what you must,
and you think what you might.
You go with your trust,
and you follow your light.
A variety of comfort,
spread across the globe,
with people being human
and that's how it goes.
Some have no idea,
and live inside the box.
Some see the sticky tape
but would rather see not.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
The street is full of the nights left-overs
We sit under the dead orange glow
I take a glance at your face, scared
Its twisted look of
Confusion
Sadness
Exhaustion
makes my body twist itself
Until I have shrunken so tiny
I could sit upon the pin
that I just stuck into your chest
My pocket gives three sharp beeps
Are you coming?
Your not stupid
Your face tells me that
I'm not going to do this again
You say, pained
as you pull out the pin
I take your hand and hold it tight
Our skin blends together, but i want it too
I
Love
You
and no one else
despite tonight's activities
We rise from the cold
Shake the glow off our shoulders
And watch as the sweeper takes away the streets mess
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
*I was happy then, because there were eight.
I was happy because it smelt like ash and ukuleles;
rushing water that could very
very well break my neck.*
I smiled and you smiled back
blinded by a flash of everything,
anything that happened in Decembers and Februaries
and the warm air, lying thick on the back of your neck
melted that flash clean until all I saw -
all any of us saw -
were blinking images of ourselves.
caught unaware and griping but also so very happy.
*It smelt like summer, like tires speeding up, up
higher and higher until we crashed into the sky and fell down,
cratering holes as acid rain.*
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Green strips upon copper coloured chimneys.
Slushy puddles refill as the single line traffic churns up choke inducing fumes.
Frilly octagon honey comb with their black on polka dot polyester.
Grey meets black amongst hustle and bustle broken by car toot and shoe shuffle.
Pavement lights shape shift as rumble follows rumble.
Green strips upon copper coloured chimneys.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
I thought about a wave crashing up instead of down
A tank-top wedding
A beach filled with more sand than water
A star that looked like an octagon
And a lollipop shaped like a square
Can there be a universe like that somewhere?
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC
Setting sail upon the sea
An octagon, a fantasy
Earth to port, the stars to lee
I compass universes by degrees
Constellations make their breeze
In the passage I am seized
Within nebulae I freeze
It's so large and I so wee
And thus it is
by God's decree
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/24/2016
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
And on that cold day I saw a rainbow lit by artificial light
inside a ******* box that was more of an octagon then a rectangle
a little cherubim in suspenders drooled all over the color
his spit turned to cement and the colors were stuck in an overlapping pile
I couldn't figure out what it meant as I pressed my head against the cold car window
the only thing I knew was that I was not feeling anything at all
words escaped my trap door
but they would only resignate when someone would react to them
I found the answer on the return ride home
after a night of sloppily shuffling through a room
where faces melted because of how hard they work
it was a waning crescent smiling back at me in it's mysterious way
I was once again in a ******* box
one with four sides this time
"I would tell you the answer, but I don't know anything"
that's just it then
there is no answer inside these ******* box frames
but there are colors
boy, are there colors
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
The shape of the sun; circle
The shape of a city block, square
The shape of a baseball field, rhombus
The shape of a house, pentagon.
But the shape of a home
Is based on what lives inside.
A pyramid proves a simple structure can still succeed
All lines involved
Connect to complete a common goal.
An octagon interludes
So all sides can solidify
A promising whole.
So what is to happen
To a house with
No shape?
When the lines are misconstrued
And the corners are mismatched.
A splatter on a plane
Lacking effort to be real.
A shape is not a shape
If there are breaks within the lines.
A shape is not a shape
If everyone neglects the vertices.
Geometry should have been priority
while planning a family.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
All they wanna do is use and make use of you,
they construct the concrete of high rise to
fill full of lies, so
when your eyes meet
the rush of the street and
jump,
take the leap
the
pounding stops.
The suicide shops,
open all day
go in with a smile and
come out with dismay.
There are six sides beside me
two sides that ride me
not one of them hide me
I died
yesterday.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
we all have faith in stop signs,
with their red skin
glaring out of the monotony.
knowing,
hoping,
willing the car to stop
at the command of the silent
octagon.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 2:57 AM UTC
I've been to so many places
Seen so many faces
I don't know what to do
I don't know who to choose
Im in a love octagon
So many to choose from
They're all so great and wonderful
I noticed you
Noticing me
It was something that I couldn't believe
cause how could a girl like you
Fall for a guy like me
its a mystery
Not really cause we fell and love took over
Every time I see you
My heart skips a beat
I have to catch my breath
To stay on my feet
Every time we lock eyes
It melts my insides
Cause baby Im mesmerized
You're so gorgeous, you're so beautiful
You've got a voice like an angel
I love your laugh, I love your smile
You're so special, one of a kind
You're personality is what makes you shine
and this is why I've fallen for you
When I looked in those bright blue eyes
I couldn't fight the fight
And some would ask why
All I said was
This is what happens when love takes over
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
Two men square up
in an octagon
they circle each other
they try angles
to find the wrecked angle
to reach the top of the pyramid
for a diamond reward
to make life on this sphere bearable
because deep down in our dome we know
we preach the Holy Triangle
but ignore the lessons of the cross
hope takes the shape of its negative container
which is half empty so we’re always divided by two
the octagon mentality is reflected in the Pentagon
people fill rectangular plots in the ground
while others profit from manufacturing projectile cylinders
hiding behind stars and stripes
while we fight one another with dollar signs
in the eyes ovals stream from
we see the trapezoid we’ve built for ourselves
where our circular lives take the shape of a fist.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC