"outstretches" poems
when she was eight years old
she
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches?
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach
it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
proclaiming she trickles with stars
when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage.
she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
A plant outstretches its frame,
in steady growth and tenor;
A new leaf still wrapped unto itself,
must unfold to meet the world.
A universe appears,
and another dissipates;
Yet a leaf is born,
between the stars and dirt -
from the dust and decay.
A sapling reaches for sun and rain,
as I search for pen and paper.
After all,
We all do what we can.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 5:49 PM UTC
"Death's gaze ever present on it's tentacles
A weight of power unformidable
Crashing down upon its victims"
Beware the Kraken! A monster of seas
The one sung about in many shanties
Marauding, ripping, and crushing its victims
This a myth by which the crew schisms
But the unsteady seas beneath the hull
Bubbling and boiling, the ocean calls
Unleashing from the bowels of the deep
A beast of lost worlds, oceans it reaps
The Kraken, awaken, outstretches it limbs
The skies are blackened, the heavens dim
With tyrannical force he unfurls his power
The mast snaps, wood shards and splinters shower
Fearful men aboard are pulled to a watery grave
Oceanic law, for this crew of knaves
The last aboard the teetering deck
A captain standing tall within the wreck
Howling at the beast below
Again tentacles high above the sea grow
Dragging the wreckage into the water
Appeasing the beast, the great destroyer
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:46 AM UTC
Three siblings;
They are three of the best things in my life,
I write this as they play outside, I’m on my fall break and I haven’t seen them but two times this year (Including now)
I look to his little hand wrapped around my finger,
He’s only three,
He’s a brunette with blue eyes,
His laugh brightens my day,
He can’t say my name, whenever he sees me, no matter if I was only gone 5 minutes..
He outstretches his arms and yells “Anya, I missed you!!”
He’s curious of the world.
He’s oblivious to the world’s wretched wonders around him,
He wants to analyze everything like we do,
He will only be like this for a short time..
I look at him, as he dribbles the soccer ball,
He’s five,
He’s a a brunette with blue eyes
His encouragement keeps me going,
He always asks me “Why can’t you be here everyday with us”?”
He thinks he is grown,
As if he could take on the entire world..
I look over to her; my only sister, she absorbed in poetry
She’s nine,
She’s a brunette with blue eyes,
Her smile eases the pain,
She’s so intelligent for her age; I see so much in store for her
She says “When I grow up, I want to be like you!”
She always talks about growing up…
She’s ready to break free
I’m the oldest sister,
I’m fifteen,
I’m blonde with green eyes,
Even being different from these three; age, looks, lifestyle.. For once I don't feel outcasted
My voice is recognized by them anywhere,
I vow every time they are near that I will protect them,
I always promise these kids “You’ll see me again...” I say as I walk to the car with packed bags
I always thought about leaving everything behind…
But these kids, are three reasons I’m still here.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
In tired atlases the doorman in pressed uniform
Outstretches his left hand to the ladies right
The rich waver in snare drum vibration as the
Will seekers unnerve the puppy parade behind door #42
And when with you, I wish to be away
And when far, I only wonder where you are
Peddling rose craning over dusty text books
See the light of the sun across the prodigal meadow
Around the peso saloon under a half smiling moon
Every man you pass can't help but whistle to salute you
There's no reason to fight
And there's no reason to whine
With you and this moon, there will never be enough time
We are the fortunate young running wild half interested
Ignorant and wanting the next death, ****** war
Laugh tract addicts and screen dragging junkies
Pushing social standings to the edge of digital ego insanity
When the sick die, they are released to the Earth
When they ****** die, they are released to their past
When the blessed die, they are released into eternity
When the rest die, they are released onto the back pages of newspapers
I look out through these eyes I have
Seeing the world through a perception tainted, beaten, and enriched
To seek change, is only natural, but in the end, futile
Escaping myself would be my ultimate creation
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
A new day is dawning
the sun outstretches to the sky
a promise of a lovely morning
the hours will drift by.
The blossoms scatter beneath trees
like confetti on a grateful path way
pedestrians are easy to please
another memory on a beautiful day
squirrels have left their usual trails
playing hide and seek among the pink
petals decorate the red in their tails
its not hard what the passers by think.
they are thinking lovely things
because that is what you do
that is what the morning brings
is that what the squirrels think too?
do they worry about putting food on the table
whether or not the market will crash today
will it rain? can I work? whether you are able.
what will I wear? have I money? what to say?
Problems, problems, challenges, and the like
will the traffic be a nightmare, which way to go
is it worth walking or shall I take the bike?
the melting *** has so many things in which to throw.
The squirrels are busy hiding their food for another time
They have their life sorted in a way
not bothering about problems, money or crime
to them it is just another beautiful day.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
Weak static creates an uncomfortable tautness in the air.
A sound emitted from the screen is heavy, weighing.
Muted light grips to ions which imperceptibly moss over the dusty glass monitor.
A world within a dish.
Slapdash pixilation.
Fragments—just fractions, part in snaps.
No image takes form in the storm of digitalized points, indistinctive refrain is absently composed.
The apartment, thick with a cloudy green hue.
Stripped, pink shoulders, a flush which spreads in a subtle frenzy—
Bleeds across an exposed chest.
Vulnerable core.
Noticeably contracting, beating the high concentration of life from one source
Into branched capillaries.
Into plush, coy lips—
Hush.
Sinews tear, a dark liquid pools, liberated from perforations.
Flowing from the source and staining porcelain teeth.
Indulgence.
The innate capability to devour proves true outside feasting.
Femininity of unbridled ******* and echoing amusement,
Eternalized.
Cataplexies pressed and dried upon blank, white pages which prove difficult to turn—
only facilitated by the hand of time.
A vast expanse of briny depths outstretches further than what’s perceivable.
Waves rock a feeble coo which escapes from child’s lips at the spectacle of a mother.
Cri de Coeur
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
At home her mother only notices her if she
hadn't cleaned the puny apartment.
At school she is ignored; invisible.
She has a little brother that she always cares
about because her mother is out smoking
and trying to make money out of unfaithful men.
And as her mother spends all the money
on cigarettes and fake nails and cheap
clothes and hair products, it's all she can
do to stop herself from screaming and crying
out of unbearable hunger. And when kids at
school do notice her, they only criticize.
And when her mom gives her attention, it's
only to tell her to go clean or to grow the **** up.
And when she outstretches a desperate
hand to others for help, they don't see her.
And as her best friend leaves her for
others, she's all alone. So she reaches a desperate
hand to the sky and calls out for help, only
to be met with nothing. So she decides to meet
her beloved Savior, and makes the pain go away.
And as the police find her, they cover her
corpse and wonder why her arms and why her
hands seemed to be desperately reaching towards
something, anything.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Ferocious wind, uncommon dimness quivered my being.
Sensing the storm hither and thither, I ran to shield my being.
Every corner I hid, darkness outstretches its ugly sheets.
I pondered, where do I find myself the survival string?
Hopeless and scared, I curled myself and give in.
With heaviness at heart and clutter in mind,
darkness privileged this state of mine.
Clouds of emotions hovered overhead,
Poured their rain of bitterness onto me.
Ridiculed me thunderously, mocked at my feebleness,
Thrusting me more into blackness, they roared and danced jubilantly.
Which world was I fighting? The world inside or outside of me.
Helplessly and sobbingly, I stayed underneath their weight.
Clouds covered the sky, day and night all appeared the same.
I waited for hours and days,
eventually, the ray of hope extended its arm through them.
I hold the grip of light, a gleam lifted me from black to white.
Mighty clouds lost their potential in the bright
and deliberately leave me behind.
I wept and bid adieu to the older being,
merrily hugged the newer born and powerful being.
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 2:34 AM UTC
rife oh do you the new totally unique
obscene with low lean muscles Spring
feel not so near so far when stocks of
earth are steeped in deep so roots a'dying
(the little glad hand of sun outstretches
and into reaches the noosed purple
of aching darkness' ancient peak
the unfurling nuisance
of its ardent beam
to let of golden crimson
a burning rill to pour from far above)
all wan glory
all feable living
in the broken body of the shriveled Dove
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC