"ofa" poems
HAPPY BDAY SINI HOLANI FUNAKI MANU
YOU ARE DA BESTZ DAD, UNKLE, PAPA, NEPHEW OR WHATEVA, LOL
Ma'u ha 'aho fiefie, ‘Oku ou ‘ofa ‘ia koe
xxoxx :)
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
I clutched tight to the string of A red ballonIt clung to my hair, making it stick straight upA red ballonI drew a picture onA red ballonThen let the air out ofA red ballonI watched the drawing shrink on A red ballonAnd listened to the air coming out ofA red ballonI bounced and kept in the airA red ballonI went outside withA red ballonThe wind got faster, and blew awayA red ballonIt flew into the skyA red ballonUntil there was nothing left of A red ballonPlease tell me if you findA red ballon
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 4:23 PM UTC
Mymum's gota posterdeer nailed to her livingroomwall. She wentout oneday witha saw and cutdown somebranches ofa birch. She put'hem around herstag.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
instead i sleep with people i dont know
and i sip on a beverage with a bite
and it has all come back
to bite me in my ***
my friend showed me a mates of state album
(and im not partial to their music)
but a picture ofa tombstone and arrows clouded my distaste
it read:
'beware and be grateful'
now, despair of my brave ***** is at rest
feeling is nothing more than a touch
investments of emotion are not worthy of a second
and in a full minute i dont think of any of you at all
i remember walking central park alone and desperate
nothing
i remember crying in my car lost on sunset
nothing again
i remember trying to keep my sanity when i walked into the room to see you and her
nothing now
the words you spoke "i get misplaced during winter, but i know what i want"
and no none of you did much to comfort me
nothing forever
or make me happy
zero zip zilch
so thats where i am now
with a stranger next to me
remembering those nothings
and a glass full of ice and a smiling and free bird
and the wild turkey repeats the line
'beware and be grateful'
i listen, finally.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
rehashing, redacting words in breath-
less thought. back into, place of
belonging; back for, a time of concep-
tion. then, and always, exhaling tone
of muscles vibrating. spoken, reverbed
of this hollowed body. eye-to-eye, view-
ing a soul outside this vessel; speak
to the eyes to be heard ofa soul. and
of last breath -- words spoke, never
meant heard of interred. of last breath,
to be out sole compansion of lamplight;
to sprade paper scraps where images of
life were found writ from mumbled
hand. words, those left withered th-
oughts scrapped when weened of
connectiong. eyelids flutter, lack comm-
itment of the soul wandering through
broken roof and heaveward on and
beyond an impossible sky gliterring.
out into some million mile expanse --
some insurmountable spanse not even
Katahdin might hope sought. simple
lamp light, casting shadows, in never
furnished room. they stroboscope with
the fluttering -- an attempt to disavow
final alone breath. a first kiss of sweetheart
named death, but not that from mouth of stereo-
typed sickle-carrier. death with lips full and unpainted;
lips not of harlot whose eyes were long ago shut away.
were long ago gone, beyond this spansed memory. death,
sweetheart of childhood, wavering in the dim light; death,
patient waiting found only from one love lost to the million
mile spanse. sweetheart, with face to ease and supplement of
spirit; out wandering awaiting spirit-loose companion in abidement
of union outside the restraint of physicality. her -- death -- finding
manifestation in shadows thrown through empty space.
cast of oil-soaked lamp's wick turned low; vespers of shadows
ever morphing. ever cooing. waiting to accompany part
and leave pense upon ever-veiled soul of him whom
sought an emanation's first and final kiss of unpainted lips.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Sometimes I wanna die
**** myself
Be done with this life
Say goodbye to the world
Get away from stupid reality
On the edge ofa cliff
Grasping onto my last
Shred of sanity
Deciding whether to jump
Not sure what is right
Should I stay or
Is it really better for
Everyone if I just let go
I want to take the plunge
But I'm not ready to
Push myself over the edge
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
a wind of old nails
broken stones
the sky a guilt of rain
all these stunted trees
grasp over wet moss
seagulls are unborn children
that cry over the tundra
this is the end of a measured world
this is the e nd ofa mea sured wor ld
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC