"outstretch" poems
I stood there,
Tall and proud,
Half yard behind
Death drop,
Vortex form at toes,
Put fish world in spin.
Crush moss trees with
Splashing feet.
One long gaze
Left to right,
Miles of pool and stream
Spelling poetry in cursive
Through eroded landscape.
Zip down,
Junk out.
Open gates of flesh tap
Muscle relax,
Fresh release
Of human nectar.
Light separation
Casting rainbow shimmer,
A dancing upright
Tower of liquid.
Gravity outstretch
Palm grip
And connect
Via web of
Golden pour,
Chaps eye to
Mother earth.
A converging
Of torrents,
Saturating transparent terrain
With saffron and lemon.
The taste in a frog's mouth
Of sweet ammonia.
Clench,
And donation over.
A momentary meld
Of man and nature.
Those few seconds
Putting context into me:
At one with the scenery,
An extension of environment,
A limb of creation.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
Some people have faith…
In a God that they can’t see.
They pray and beckon to this being.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people seek out love…
They say it’s all they need.
A notion that can’t be defined.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people seek the truth.
They claim it will set them free.
All too often it brings only pain.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people claim to care.
And they do so unconditionally.
Expecting absolutely nothing in return.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people refute predestination.
Yet believe in destiny.
Fate and free will intertwined.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people outstretch their hands.
When the world leaves them to bleed.
Giving to a world that doesn’t care.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people follow only logic.
Decisions made to a tolerable degree.
Yet logic turns our hearts so cold.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people look for life’s purpose.
Proposing doctrines and various decrees.
That purpose varies from one to the next.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
The world is full of confounds and query.
And in that, I rarely find the answers I seek.
But still, I wonder every day.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Perhaps we need not find an answer.
Perhaps, by nature, we are curious beings.
We need faith, wisdom, truth, and love.
At least, that much, I can see.
But I invite you to justify this world.
Elaborate on the answers I need.
Or maybe life just doesn’t make sense.
I invite you to enlighten me.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
She said she collects pieces of sky,
cuts holes out of it with silver scissors,
bits of heaven she calls them.
Every day a bevy of birds flies rings
around her fingers, my chorus of wives,
she calls them. Every day she reads poetry
from dusty books she borrows from the library,
sitting in the park, she smiles at passing strangers,
yet can not seem to shake her own sad feelings.
She said that night reminds her of a cool hand
placed gently across her fevered brow, said
she likes to fall asleep beneath the stars,
that their streaks of light make her believe
that she too is going somewhere. Infinity,
she whispers as she closes her eyes,
descending into thin air, where no arms
outstretch to catch her.
3k
Distant voices carried in the veins
Millions of miles of wire
Tightly woven
Outstretch your optic arms
From fibre to empty space
And back again
And all to say
The caller with held their number
Damp footprints
And a displaced splash back
Are all that remains
Steam escapes
Cold drapes itself
Like an unwelcome shawl
Over a naked body
Distant voices mingle
And some, I guess,
Mathematically -
Get the wrong number.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:00 AM UTC
Stumble after stumble after stumble
I have stumbled
through the roots of this forest
there's no light
passing through branches
just the sound of life
right outside it
And I try to reach
outstretch my hands
but my fingers get scalded
as I point them in the wrong direction
But all paths look the same
in the forest
as frantic I try to find
my way out
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 12:00 PM UTC
(when i was little i used to
stare at the sun)
(i would outstretch my arms
until i swore i could touch it)
(the one time i got burned,
no one was there to catch me)
(and now)
i refuse to be
icarus.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
Walking in America
Walking underwater from the waist-down
With a head full of quicksand
I’m among the few remaining souls
Left to burst and burn in this wasteland, purgatorial
As newspaper editorials camouflage me in a whirlwind
And the remains of everyone I’ve ever known and loved sting my eyeballs
What will be my grand undoing?
Talking to thineself
As I embark on a quest where free will is His divine’s bile duct
Was all of this at His behest?
And all of the survivors now share a common theory:
Hell is outer space where nothing happens
Heaven is this dreary place- Heaven is chaos
I need some sea and sand and land to curl up and protect myself in
But even if I outstretch with no bullets flying at me
The bugs and weird fishes will probably kick me off their property
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
I might get caught up in your mind
I might unwind my string
and outstretch my being
to float with you, to let you fill up
my paper wings, my origami heart
I might take flight and let you
fly this kite, if only
you pull me in easy, keep me steady
I might follow where you lead
if you give me the freedom I need
to be colored beautiful
against a high, blue sky
to be me, shaped perfectly for you to see
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 4:40 PM UTC
The world burns mild while we burn wild rampant in love and static electric apathy. Tearing pages full of old words to right our own. The world is tired and the young are frustrated. Bombing streets fighting fascist old and fascist youths in teary longing for compassion for understanding that we are all one race. Furrowed brows over three longing eyes that cry we don't want to lose. Our future tied up in boxes and cubes. Trying to find the string to make the knot come loose. Revolting realities deem the devil true. Playing within vulnerable minds soaked in sand that won't sow a seed of love or truth. Awareness wasted on screens and glossy papers stomping pavement to fill our pockets with colored paper. Famished souls haunt spirits depressed without an inkling of insight as to why. The resolution is in love and in light. The love and enlightenment you share in your ever precious care. It spreads like a fever, grows like mold in hearts and the hands start to outstretch. Reaching in glory and happiness in an unseperate solitude. No one is stranger. No one is dead. Only confused and placid waiting for revival. Blind to what lingers behind the moon. The sun has already come and it thrives inside of
you
https://soundcloud.com/spiritbarehear/fever-famine-and-a-lust-for
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings
My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings
My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring
Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
Our nights of assessing God,
With our heads conjoined to the windowpanes,
Our thoughts permeating throughout the glass.
Two lukewarm coffees embellished the windowsill,
The synthesis of our cognition and entwined fingers,
The soft touch of shoulders leaning upon each other,
Brought forth beatific vision, we saw God;
His blemished flesh, the formation of his bones.
It began,
His vertebral column, intangible lights, the Aurora Borealis.
His archaic vertebrae, stained in ethereal fluorescence;
The curvature, swirling, as the Deity writhes in euphoria,
A childish game,
Our God, content in the night.
His hands, formed from the dust of Bethlehem,
Grains of sand corralling to form flesh upon the detritus of Rome.
His Holy land, The Vatican; Structures of marble and stone,
Merely his cupped hands,
As his disciples' feet caress his palms.
His organs; The planets in orbit;
His heart, our sun.
The rays of light that adorn our skin,
Merely the palpitations of a hidden pulsating heart.
his divinity, subject of uncertainty in the petulant eyes of his children
walking in Terra Incognita.
His skin, Lo, to the stars;
Our hands yearned to touch the celestial freckles,
outstretched to feel the fibres of God;
And like our limbs, so did God outstretch,
his flesh, but space; suffusing within the translucent contours of the cosmos.
To be told we were made in the image of God, is to be deceived;
Our childish conjecturing, truly a theorem to be displaced,
Our augmented minds, illuminated;
An aureole behind our heads,
We became biblical as we touched lips by the mantelpiece.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
There is a new roof fitting itself to the sky,
sea-roughened and grey as the vast paving
I dropped teeth on as a child, lightheaded
and living faster. Outside, a steep hill drops sweet
like the dip of a spoon, and in this life I see
my own reflection. It may come from narcissism.
It may come from gut. But its momentum is trapped,
a statue on one foot, it asks to be uprooted. How can I
carve this future into something soft and creaseless?
If I was an artist, I could catch its outstretch—
I would pull the army by the hand, out from the dark
intrusive damp, and ask it to stay.
On the line, a white sheet takes hard gulps of air.
I'm quick to learn its rhythm.
But in the morning it has lost its breath;
in the morning there is a small damp circle
under my cheek.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
lying in the bed of an old pick up
parked in the loneliest part of Arizona
in the quietest pitch-black hour of night
i see a breathtakingly beautiful scene
that would rival VanGough's Starry Night
looking out across the desert horizon
i see a glowing pumpkin moon
sinking slowly into the shifting sand
like an orange midnight sunset and
the silhouetted limbs of a gnarled Joshua tree
against the midnight blue dome of
the clear dark sky illuminated by
millions of dazzling pinpoints
like diamonds shattered into pieces
and scattered through the night
though lightyears and galaxies away
I outstretch my hand trying to touch them
wanting to swirl them around with my fingers
and paint new pictures in the cosmos
I try to outline the constellations
but Orion and Cassiopeia
are lost among the sparkling stars
just as I am lost to the world for a brief moment
-sg
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
She doesn't need me anymore,
so she casts my words aside.
She doesn't need me anymore,
her head filled with pride.
She aims to cause me pain,
and that's okay with me.
I'll accept her vengeful words,
if it brings her peace.
She doesn't love me anymore,
I've caused her too much grief.
She doesn't love me anymore,
because I hindered her beliefs.
She says she'll never forgive me,
but it's not forgiveness that I seek.
I pray only that she finds happiness,
so that the tears dry from her cheeks.
I only sought to protect her future,
but she can't see that now.
I pushed her to make the right decisions,
I did not aim to disavow.
I tried to make her see the truth,
that her choices would bring her misery.
Instead she's pushed me away,
and chose to embrace her pipe dreams.
I'll always be there waiting,
for her to outstretch her fragile hands.
For her to see I only wanted what's best,
and to accept me into her life again.
But she doesn't need me anymore.
She says she'll make her own way.
And she doesn't love me anymore,
instead she harbors only hate.
But I will stand beside her,
and I will never let her fall.
My niece, I hold you so dearly.
Your uncle loves you most of all.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
The darkness we share is not in the details of how we each turned off the lights
Nor the names we call our shadows
Nor the time we spent amongst them
It is that as we slipped into the absolute of despair we each took something with us
Call it hope
Call it memories
Call it armor
Call it weapons
It is that as we slipped into the absolute of despair we each flailed our arms for anything
That we each sought a way to hold on to anything
And while we both found ourselves here in this blackness anyway
The darkness we share is that you hold in your hand steel
And that I in my hand hold a flint stone
Our shared darkness is that we each stumbled around the dark
Until happenstance lit us a spark
And while we each adjust our eyes to light
Our minds come back from the maddening black
Thank you love for your outstretch hand
We know too well how heavy the dark weighs upon us to ever forget the strength of our happenstance
We may now use a spark to guide us
And later the stars
And later still the moon
And maybe then the sun
And if we are ever to count ourselves among the lucky
Perhaps then we will use each other to guide us to the light-of-still-here-tomorrow
Better-than-it-was-yesterday
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Pin my arms to their furthest range,
so they’ll forever outstretch to everyone else.
Strum me unendingly. Listen to the hum.
I always do what’s asked.
I can’t wait for the day my insides tear
to the point of steady separation.
Then maybe they’ll stop pulling at me,
and I can tug at my own heart strings.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Ancient leviathan,
City in sands
Razed in a roar.
Now silence stands
Taller than your
Pillars did before
As the world looks on
It can’t but abhor
Let sleep find your
Great arches now
Though brought down
They did not bow
For their shadows
Outstretch the hand of man
And the rote of
All religion’s plans.
They did not destroy!
They have not won!
And in undoing
Become
undone.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
You’ll let me in.
With thorns growing from my head and fire in my eyes,
You’ll let me in.
Charm will roll off the forked tips of my tongue,
And you’ll listen, for it’s the same shape as yours.
I will outstretch my arm to you, but you won’t be afraid.
You’ll see the familiar trail of paired puncture wounds,
Marching up my flesh towards a space where a heart might have been.
As I draw nearer, your coin-slotted eyes will sparkle with delight.
“It’s as if he’s some great fly, knocking and knocking against the glass around a flame.”
The flame I was made in.
I’ll delicately wrap my crooked hand about your body,
All neck.
As I lift you from your jar, my fingers will dance along the silk of your skin.
They dance to streets of Cairo.
While I hum, a clean, shimmering blade will materialize in my grasp.
My song, leaving you helpless as I press the flat silver of the blade against the roof of your mouth.
Your eyes take only pennies now.
Your moment will arrive, as the song crashes to a halt.
Out come your fangs; they come off just as easily.
A pool of venom will spew across the floor, spilling your only hopes of hurting me.
I’ll dip my knife in the coagulating puddle
Then clean it in the pressed curls of my lips.
There is more poison in my veins than blood, you could not hurt me again.
I’ll set a hook through the top and bottom of your mouth.
The barb holding it shut.
I’ll cast you into a pit of fire, just long enough to sear all your skin.
I’ll reel you back in.
While your scorched body lay, sizzling, I’ll poor whiskey down your spineless back
Just to delight in the symphony of muffled vengeance echoing off the walls.
I’ll conduct its decrescendo with a cleaver for my baton.
One final thud will end the song.
You’ll pry open charred coward’s eyes – that only ask now for death – to see my ****** stump.
I’ll leave you there to read it: written in braille, scars from your dropped pen.
“You let me in.”
You let me in.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
you’re stuck inside the web;
theres too much tangled in my head.
im wrapped up in my thoughts again,
left dusting all the old cobwebs
from every subtle angle that
i hadn’t noticed you leave your caress;
you left your fingerprints in black
and pressed all up and down my chest,
where they might fill the empty space
and replace all that i had left,
but that’d been carved of replete stone
and so it can’t ever come back.
but somehow still my arms outstretch,
just waiting for your blood red hands
to come devour the last of it,
to sink your teeth
because you can.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
like every great collaboration
We clash in all the right ways
While still seemingly caressing the parts of our minds of which depths are exhausting for any other to reach
Unknowingly-
A force
Unknowingly-
Fused
Abided by the simplicity in the complex-
We shatter realms-
Surpass boundaries-
Outstretch galaxies
(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
my feet dangle by the edge of the rooftop
and i am terrified that i have every ounce of courage slowly building up inside of me
my soles still sting from the glass shards that sliced my knuckles open
and it was odd how my mind exclusively focused on my feet and not the hands that engaged into combat with my reflection
my hair is in the way, quickly growing into the nuisance it will always be
it tastes of cheap shampoo, cigarettes, fumes and yesterday's drug abuse
but let me tell you this, i do not do drugs
but the cuts on my fingers, and the dirt under my nails, will tell you that i do
it was just a misunderstanding, a punch to the face, a jaw i thought would dislocate, and tears swelling up, obstructed by a lip bite away
i am not clean, i can show you my wrists as proof and more on my arms to gain your sorry's and mercy
but i do not want attention
it's funny since i'm the one seated at the edge of the rooftop, the top floor, the 22nd
and i am trying to capture the entire city by a single look, including my peripheral vision
trying to picture, the edges of the photograph it will be
but my hair is in the way, and i can barely see
so i pretend to perceive the scenery yet attempt to not disregard the words i think they speak
their sounds start to appear as turbid as a puddle of mud
and yet everyone looks happy enough from up here
i grow eager by the second
thoughts do not outstretch and remain abrupt as my legs suspend high up from the ground
and i hope to stay irrelevant
as my fingers slip from the concrete and my wrists twist toward the wind
i will not think of my last words until i am close enough to outline the features on their faces, and trace the roads that are lining up with vehicles, boarded with individuals who will not see me until i am scattered on the pavement
n.j.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
Tell me of love.
It is warm. A feeling of devotion and longing and connection. A journey. Something special and cherished. It is soft and gentle like a spring breeze turning onto a summer storm – barely noticeable until enveloping you.
Tell me of love.
It is a cliff you climb and when you reach the top, beauty and splendor are all around. You feel at peace and as one, as two, with the world. It is a kindness that flows from within and moved from center heart, spreads out the body and through the fingertips as arms outstretch to another’s golden sun.
Tell me of love.
It is a fire burning hot with emotion – beautiful, playful, dimensional. One false breath can extinguish, one small spark ignites a wildfire. It is a desire, a yearning. A push and pull or hearts and interests. Give and take and mostly take. Compromising for compatibility.
Tell me of love.
It is inevitable. As death comes to every living thing so does the inevitable love. It passes as merely a shadow in only those lives that were touched by its once hot passionate fire, burning then fleeing. Love is a reaper of souls. A spark, passion, a journey, a trial, heartache, parting, sorrow.
Love is life.
Tell me of life.
December 2012
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
There are so many moments throughout my day
Where I miss every aspect of you
From the musky smell of sawdust after you finish work
To the small whine of desire when you outstretch your hand to take mine
You always know how to mix the perfect amount of milk and sugar to my coffee
You detect the strangled lie in my voice when I try to say I'm "okay"
I've never been able to understand how you do it all
You are a Miracle in my eyes
A Beautiful Miracle
Sprinkled with tinkering laughs and silly jokes
We speak a language that only we understand
Filled with silent moments of eye contact
Snorting laughter
And hand squeezes
I've memorized and harmonized
With the pitch of your first yawn when you wake up in the morning
You keep your breaths in time with mine
When you hold me against your chest
You still manage to put my hair behind my ears to caress my cheek
Even though my hair is even shorter than yours most of the time
I've never seen you look at me
Without seeing all of the Love in the world in your eyes
Your Spirit brings so much hope
It shines a path for me when my Soul has lost its fire
I know each and every spot that tickles you
And never plan on revealing those beautiful secrets to anyone
You listen to my ramblings as if they were strung with golden threads
And your laugh sparkles more than diamonds
I love the roughness of your slightly-callused hands
And the gentle rumble in your whisper
You are the greatest of mysteries
The most beautiful of poems
More harmonious than the purest of music
I drink your Words, your Laughs, your Smiles
As if they were the deepest, richest wine
I want to explore you forever
To me nothing is more true than you,
My Beautiful Rescue
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
married to fate, chained to the future
my wounds won't heal, not even with sutures
the roulette ball rolls; who knows where it'll land?
will i know to take hold when you outstretch your hand?
each day my doubts plague me, gnaw at my soul
and sometimes i wonder if this is why i thrive in the cold
what prompts us to write, to shove words out in the open?
who can look into our eyes and know that we're broken?
the pen is a blade; my heart is a trigger
this place is a maze; my blood clumps thicker
three years ago, i thought i would be different,
thought i'd be bigger, or less worried about insignificance
i thought the world would turn on its' axis boldly,
and that i wouldn't crave days where i want someone to hold me
three years ago, i wonder if my sails had a stronger direction
and once upon a time - i swear - i had more connections
fear still finds me,
a panther stalking its' foolish prey,
and time still blinds me
with how quickly it ticks away
is success just a feeling? is it only a name?
is it even a level, a possibility in this game?
is passion a feeling, or just a thirst for fame?
is home a person, a place, or an imaginary plane?
my mind still haunts me, with its' rattling doors,
and sometimes my demons whisper that i'm doomed to bore
questions ignite my being, setting me ablaze
as i wonder if i will ever be ready for the adulting daze
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC