"outreaching" poems
if I ever were a banyan
I would have soared high
enough into the blue sky
higher than any proud eucalyptus
grounded stronger than any other root
heavier than one hundred elephants
I would have grown upward
not in meters, but a couple of miles
too outreaching and lofty for men
for that might have been one reason
for nobody to chop my trunk
for no bird to ever become homeless
for then, men would've sensed and feared
the grand weight of my life
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 3:06 AM UTC
The golden leaves, ardent in their sheen and whisper
Their slender stems, crisp in their sway and grain
The long branches, graced by gold, hazed by willowy pulchritude
The trunk, straight, firm and glistening, exalting the golden
The hidden, outreaching roots, left to imagination
Suppose the tree is life, its leaves our time
Each falling in its own momentum.
Suppose the stems are relations, and the branches emotions
Golden, brilliant, each prevailing over the other.
Suppose the trunk is purpose, and the roots your belief
The trunk firm, exalting your life; the roots hidden but obvious to the light.
The golden tree for your golden life.
~Moniba.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
I. centipede:
-
They come from both directions and it doesn't take long
for me to realize that they've figured me out.
My mind was fast, but not as swift as the hands
of five-hundred outreaching hands; one angry crowd.
Grabbing at limbs, low and high, they don't waste a second
before tearing me in every direction; at least the cardinal four.
My mind takes flight, leaves fancy, but not before
I get in one last swear, and one last spittle in their faces.
II. snake
-
Tail and head aren't in sync this morning, I tell ya.
No rattle, no bite, just a lot of traffic and heat shimmers
in the one place I don't need to be today.
The people here act like they don't know me,
but they still turn their noses up when I empty my mug.
The waitress answers when spoken to,
but just stares in the time in between wheezing breaths.
I've got to get out of this county, this state.
III. scorpion
-
Ronny hasn't been on a roof since a couple years after we got married.
He wrapped his ankle in some gutters and took a spill;
his thigh popped right out of it's socket and he just dangled
like some kind of prize in one of those crane games.
Doctor says he can still have kids, and I know he can still get it up
from how he watches that ****** **** on t.v.
But he wont touch me; hasn't in fifteen months, I've counted.
He's in for a surprise once the settlement clears.
IV. lizard
-
Wallflowers never get anywhere with their mouths sewn shut
and I cut my stitches well before my teens;
I got what I needed and I made sure of it.
But there is something to be gained from
basking in the naivety of youth and ignorance.
Trouble doesn't set in as well, and boredom comes
as some kind of waiting period, rather than the norm.
These bars are a reminder of why they don't let me make the rules.
V. toad
-
Invulnerable, incontestable, unphasable, archetype.
I listen for the right words to drop the shields,
but I'm only met with the silence that accompanies
asphyxiation through means of wet wax paper.
The touch of phantoms tingle along my skeleton's core
telling me the time for lollygagging has long since passed.
Stand up, giant, you're running hot and the moon
keeps calling out, "follow the lit road home".
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
It was the rain against the windows
And the moonlight sonata playing
That accompanied my transition
Into melancholy insomnia
In the mid-morning deluge of the overcast sky
The reading of books and Freudian dreams
The watching of movies, Kubrick stare and all
Where emotions are captured and paraphrased
Amidst fight clubs and Fantasia
The Klimt surrealism outreaching from the walls
A lone piano listens, glistens; ripples of time
All dissimilar reinventions
Swirling in the incense smoke rings
Dancing in the flowing spirit air
Free and marvelous among vacant living room eyes
Memories recall the rain of Pasadena
Over rustic-themed modernism for
Eager tourists and the nonchalant few
Whispering words to descend the stairs
From the surface to below where thrusting cocktails reside
Years ago in the same position
But younger than I am now
At another desk with a bleeding pen
Pouring over the torn fickleness and skin I saw
Matchstick men smoking flesh roaches in alleyway shadows
Something hidden underneath the seen frailty
Single mothers courting hairless young men
Cracked anchor teens moving to a beat not of their own
Act of demon from the hand of God
Itching skin and slimy **** for sexes of all;
the men can take a turn in bearing the small.
Tales written from reflection and soul
Those wanderers and solicitors passing over the sick
The dead that laugh and the living that cry
Cold flesh injections stock markets for cattle to imbibe
Like so many humans do
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
I don't know what to do
when nights are
never-ending
like tonight
there's something about
a black sky
that makes me restless
makes me think of you
a black sky
that's weighing heavily
on me
and pressing me down
into fits of rage
a hole,
so deep
that I can hardly see that funnel of light,
dripping down
to touch my
outreaching
hand
that's your love
that's your love
that I don't have
and want and need
and ache for
like a bee must search for flowers
honeycomb and fits of midnight rage
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
In my spare time I look for quotes,
Words truly worthy of note.
Love is where i land,
Looking for thoughts with an outreaching hand
To tell me I'm not alone.
I think hard and fall deep
As i stare at these words,
Envisioning what they speak.
"I'll tell you what love is," they say.
I agree in a way.
But it always leaves me running through a Labyrinth in my mind,
Searching for the love that I wish to find.
What do I want that's worthy of note,
That someone will someday see,
And feel the emotion in what I've wrote?
"Love is stupid. It's illogical. It's broken. Yet somehow it's the most fulfilling feeling there is. Love is when a smile is enough, and you'd do anything for it."
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
a whirl of exploding stars
fears her dissolution into vapidity:
all her planets will drop off,
drearily
deciding
infinite nothingness over boredom.
dense lenses, telescopic eyes
pass over Cimmerian smears of sky.
distance misses her outreaching gravity:
dismissively
desultory,
unaware that darkness is not empty.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
My hair falls in waves that curl around and
frame my broad shoulders,
my clicking clavicle, and the beginning of my body's
latin waist
My hands, calloused, cracked and bruised
proclaim that I have lived a hands on life
I have struggled with weights
ten times my size both physical
and emotional
that I have dropped the reins
on an unruly horse
grabbed mane
and held on for dear life
terrified, excited
our nervous systems communicating
her centuries old wisdom
in the marrow of my bones
My hips do not know how to be silent
as they walk
They flow in movement like a snakes serpentine
leaving statements of "I am here"
in the desert sand
My body walks into a room and these hips shout
I, me, my womanly body is here
together with my waist they etch out an hourglass
of time
but my body... is timeless
My feet that walk away from you and most of your kind
Wide and arched they have helped my body flee your kind's
prodding, squeezing, clasping grasp
many a time
My tongue short, smaller than most
that did not say what my body collectively
begged and pleaded for, for such a long time
Do not touch me, my waves of curl,
my outreaching shoulders, my latin waist,
my outspoken hips, my survivors feet.
Do not touch
because
Its MY BODY
MY BODY
MY BODY
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Mouths gape
Dragging nails
Skin pulled
My hands gripped over their thighs
Skins melds around my hands
Sweet pungent smell becomes bitter the longer it sits on their tongue
Tasting more as I bite into their lip
Chests rise and fall
Tongue outreaching
Grasp for warmth
Their eyes begin to close
Steam waning
Failing to rise
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 12:00 PM UTC
Confused Signals
Between jokes and true pain
My heart's just outreaching
For your love all the same
No negative intentions, inside what i've said
Just playful stupidity from within my head
My own words, just let your thoughts go
Yet I cannot seem to just let it flow
Flow out of my mind like driftwood in the sea
But this love is infinite, between you and me
My own insecurity, mixed up with my fears
Since no one has ever loved me as you do my dear
So forgive all the nonsensible things that I say
My worst nightmare is if you walked away
So i'll learn to think free, and just let it flow
Before I disappear in my mind's undertow
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
And there I was,
Suffocating under a pile of rubble,
Breathing painfully,
The dust, pain and suffering all a muddle.
And I saw people passing,
Some walking, some laughing, some running,
But there were others,
Lame, crawling, broken.
But everyone passed,
Some looking directly at me,
Reaching out voiceless,
But they never saw.
And there came a point where,
Pain couldn't be distinguished,
With the hurt of being ignored,
And my outreaching hand went limp.
Night and day,
Day and night,
Dust, rubble, all becomes grey,
Nothing seems to worth the fight.
But fight I needed to,
Because all the suffocating,
All the hurt and pain,
Didn't **** me, how much I prayed to die.
And plank by plank,
Stone by bitter stone,
Rock by crushing rock,
I rummaged through.
With my broken body,
My severed limbs,
My aching heart,
and my shattered soul.
I stood up,
My silhouette against the scorching sun,
Among the ignorant passing by,
Its a new day.
And I realize,
Hundreds of thousands are under rubble,
Some even more than I have been in,
Some barely making it.
Maybe I can make a difference....
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
Where are the outreaching hands today
Where are the smiling faces
Where are the steady feet and the bright eyes
I dream to dream today
I dare to believe in happiness
I will sing today, one note higher
I will touch hearts and mold memories to be thankful for
Where are the kind words
Where lie the poems of beauty and nature, nurture and soul
I promise light today
A sliver of hope across a sea of dreary stillness
Today, I draw a new breath, fill my lungs with joyful whispers
And your ears are the target
I love you all
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Tell me I’m brilliant
For the fibers and threads of my mind have recently tattered themselves
Leaving an array of unfinished thoughts and suppressed emotion
Piling up until my worth has been completely displaced
A tower such as I needn’t have limits such as these
However, I have recently become accustomed to the cruel realities of the world
Where everything exists as a number, high or low
Acquiring these numbers prompts man to do back flips, cart wheels, until he knows all he can possibly know
I stand with man on a platter of judgment
Look at me through the glass and assess how transparent my eccentricity is
Whosoever fabricates their lives should be cast out, but how often is this really done?
I stand with a number possibly too small and maybe too outreaching
It all depends on what the powers are teaching
The numbers leave no room for speech or rhythm or character
This is why I choose word as my craft, in hope that everyone can stand on that judgment pillar and feel light upon their shoulders
And breathe slowly into their souls
And say that the world will oblige me, whatever number I hold in my hands
I have not been put in this world to give into such demands.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 10:02 PM UTC
I stepped into
a book store
with you
and saw the hanging
words
up to the
ceiling,
overhead
gazing down at
me, the
oddity in
a bookshop
and to the back
of the place you
wondered.
to the
dusty corner
of a shadow where
you finally
called my
name.
Then as I peered around the
shelves of a
thousand pages,
my eyes
found your hand
outreaching,
pointing,
to the end of a
corridor
where a
broken
golden frame
of butterflies
sat uncared for
in its lonesome.
and against
the glass, I saw
myself, my face,
my reflection in
a coffin holding
the decorators of
the sky and then
the shopkeep in his
boredom choked
"she's found
the dead
butterflies..."
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
What's your favorite part of firework show?
Definitely, the night sky's glow.
the finale is the best of all,
leaving us all
in utter
awe.
B
U
T
T T
What's your favorite type firework?
Is it the weeping willow
falling like twinkling snow?
Then the light can cover your shoulders,
As it falls, fades, then eventually turns to go
*Id
ont
k
now.*
Do you prefer the firework
that leaves you with only a lingering smirk?
What's your favorite type firework?
Do you appreciate the stars as they burst?
Do you like the ones that make you curse, first?
Popping, screeching,
while outreaching.
Leaching right in front of your eyes.
Smithereens smothering,
singing sorrowfully, it longs and
cries?
Ashes to ashes,
how do you
prefer
to
fall
to dust
while you light
the night sky?
tsk
()
(())
((())))
(((()))))
((((( ))))))
((((((n))))))
I
I
I
V
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
Vacant Streets
Barren homes
Concrete rubble scratching beneath my feet
Am I all alone?
Towering viridescent leaved Giants
On the other side of the road
Wind swiftly whispering hollow secrets
Into the grove.
I intently observe the grooved bark of a tree
What species is it?
I don't know, but I would like to know
My eyes scrupulously make their way up to the reaching branches at the very top
Next to this tree I observe is a tree stump
It doesn't look like it was cut with precision, it looked like a flash of unpredictable lightning chopped it right in half
Incapacitating it to no longer grow, ragged shards of raw inner wood
Now blackened with death.
The difference between the stump and the outreaching tree was one proliferated while the other did not due to death.
I felt my heart in my chest and arteries transporting blood to a part of my mind neglected and depressed
As the realization swooshed and then swelled into my heart,
that these conditions of my mind and circumstances were not forever
But temporary lessons
Yes, that's all these bad things are,
Temporary lessons
A tree can be cut but if not cut through all the way to cause death, it will grow around that cut, and everything else about it will eventually become bigger than those few times it experiences pain
The key to all of this was to move forward, grow
With limbs outstretched to the sky.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
At nightfall, gazing skyward,
he exults.
Godlike,
he projects himself upon the darkness.
At first light, gazing farther,
no sign of life...
Still
Searching for what he knows not,
and finding nothing.
Does what he seek even exist?
Did it ever?
Riddled with emptiness
beyond and within,
his search is in vain.
The void is a mirror
reflecting nothing.
Casting a swarm of machine seeds of a new life
Propagating like a plague upon new worlds
Far outreaching fragile flesh, touching new worlds
Inseminating celestial womb with our new life
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Have you been bleeding ice again
in the past million years?
I saw it in your eyes back then,
the image of your fears.
Have you learned any words by now
that people can perceive?
That don't disintegrate somehow,
in times of loss and grieve.
Did you visit sporadically
or have you kept away?
You've always lived nomadically,
yet never found a way.
Is there a chance to meet you there?
Have all your hymns been drowned?
I really hope you're taking care
of the spiders we once found.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
To those who wrong his chosen, he is retribution incarnate.
From his hands come gifts to those who help him on his path and judgement to those who hinder.
He is the light shining in the midst of shadows.
Lord and friend and shield and home.
A mirror of potential, a catalyst of those who strive to honour his esteem
A being of action and justice and the outreaching of hands.
His gifts seed life and his name brings hope.
Confidant to the world-weary and a gentle helping hand.
He is the Soul of the Protector.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
galaxies of freckles
stippled across skin
stretch marks
made of outreaching nebulae
eyes like stars
and minds holding
entire universes
children of the deep
made of stardust
and dark matter
and yet some find themselves
imperfect
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
MOTECUHZOMA
Now, Hungry Prince, let’s brace for weighty words.
You know that since our founding fathers’ reign
Our kingdoms have been linked like tilting twins,
Sharing the fruits and frowns of war alike,
Two striding shanks, each foot outreaching each,
My Mexicans, the eagles of this island,
Across the lake, your leopards of Texcoco,
Dainty Tlacopan third and least of all.
CUITLAHUAC
But, since the death of wise Hungry Coyote-
Your father- one alone has hitched the wind,
One arm engirdling our fractious state,
Which on one mighty truncheon hops her way.
MOTECUHZOMA
Our Triple Alliance therefore is dissolved.
Now must this galled umbilical be clipped,
Tlacopan liquidated for our bullion,
And you to trudge your solitary trail,
With gods’ best blessings for your bond and bail.
HUNGRY PRINCE [aside]
Oh, let my heart freeze up at this cold news,
For if this tongue should blab the ****** thoughts
These staunchless chambers seal inside my chest,
The tyrant should extract this swollen fruit,
And make my skull the drinking cup of God.
Thus should I truly mirror this prodigy-
A heartless sap, who’s plainly lost his head.
TLACAELEL
Hungry Prince,
Take aim at only what is possible,
For you and I alike both know the fancy
Of human justice only enters where
The pressure of necessity is equal,
And that the stout and rivalrous exact
All that they can, the weak grant what they must.
Of gods we do believe, of men we know,
That by a natural proclivity,
Wherever they can wield the whip, they will.
This primal rule was not drawn up by us,
Nor were we first to heed its nascent call.
The trail’s long blazed, and we do but inherit
This trait, and shall bequeath it to all time,
Content to know that you and all mankind,
If once enfranchised vast as we are now,
Would do as we now do.
Exit all but Motecuhzoma and Hungry Prince.
HUNGRY PRINCE Thus it must be,
Since thus you have declared it for a rule.
And though this outlook seems the sophistry
Of inharmonious and immoderate minds,
Who will say ‘no’ when you have said ‘it’s so?’
MOTECUHZOMA
Do not return, when taxmen come to call,
And whine that I require too much of you,
Since now you nod assent to my decree.
You know the fortune of capricious war:
Today for you, tomorrow it’s for me. Exit.
HUNGRY PRINCE
Then revel it, old ruffian, while you may.
Tomorrow’s but a fitful sleep away. Exit.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
i can't utilise the internet with capitalism's source
of investment, i.e. i can't just leave it be
as the exploitative tool greeting
teenagers to spend - i can't just let the internet
become a callous environment,
i can't let it become a mediating tool of youth's
despicable outreaching
to communicate with the world...
for youth knows no dreams,
i can't let this new postage stampeding
become Mongol-likened overridden
with only youth as the sole experience
exampled;
the internet cannot belong to youth solely!
a near thirty year old in defiance to teenagers
welcoming 60 year olds to engage
while switching channels to their own choosing.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
Dream a dream of funbeing,
Live a life so happy,
With the one that makes you laugh and smile,
To see them dreamy and content.
To run in the paths of fantasy and joy.
To feel the water between your feet,
Holding hands in beamy sunshine.
They come, they go.
A misunderstanding too far,
A reckoning so tired and unfaithful.
Do they not know, do they not care.
For this heart so tender and kind.
This heart always outreaching,
For a love so lost and temptuous.
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 4:42 PM UTC