"overfill" poems
petals.
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?
petals.
petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.
slicing.
dicing.
dissecting.
petals.
petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
There are so many colors in a crayon box.
Everyone has their favorite.
Mine just happens to be you.
You're the pink to my hearts that overfill the page with your name written inside.
You're the blue to the tear on my stick figures that I draw every time we say goodbye.
You're the red to the fire I doodle when ever I remember our last kiss.
You're the yellow I shade in the smiley faces as you make me grin.
Your're the green to the color of nature, that has a beauty so very close to yours.
You're the orange that shows our warm hugs like the suns light reflects the sea shores.
You're the purple when we're apart, there's loyalty there that I trust with all my heart.
You're the black to my night sky, surrounded by the twinkling stars of our outrageous memories.
You're the white to heaven's clouds, and its not as far as it seems, i'm there whenever you're with me
But most of all,
You are my personal color.
A color no one could use or borrow
I'll use you yesterday, today, and tomorrow
And never get old.
In a sixty-four pack box,
You are my crayon.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
fascinating, like the aroma of tea,
pleasing moon to have a drink.
like the liquor, it brings the glee,
overfill my cup but not to drunk.
tonight, let's paint the town red,
there in my throat the odours overspread.
under the moonlight, I dance with my shadow,
holding a wine, too fine to swallow.
I'm not drunk and it might be true,
stumbling and murmuring on the way back home.
my life is not utterly dark nor blue,
I'm just missing him and the dawn.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 5:30 AM UTC
when first words were exchanged
innocuous attempts to remove shirts
in the balmy summer heat
I was fallen snow, legs frozen
my mouth spoke
in metallic red and said,
in my darkest nights, it's always
your smile I see
it has always been your smile
and your countenance
in blissful dreams that delight
your essence fills
the darkest voids in both
heart and mind
I am brightened by your existence
you alone
have made me shine
when my fire faded entirely
a thousand years ago
I swear we soared
through starry night skies
and kissed on beaches before creation
with fingers laced before
bodies even existed
(though, I am ever so grateful for yours)
my eyes gave everything because
you are a boomerang of reciprocity
so see me as foolish or naive
explore my newly found optimism
because I now see colour
in our world as never before
tease and laugh and enjoy time with me
it it yours and I
exist for you
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
My father lit a cigarette and smoked the room up
with choked circles,
he rewrites every woman
he sees,
metamorphosis asunder,
because nothing is on tv.
My mom was hauled blindly
away from love to evening's riverbed
--to **** the fear of
correction away.
Birds talk about fish
that fly in airline crusades, gobbling up wise owls.
Blossom talons pluck
--up their words,
the closest a lie can come to the truth
and be set in stone None of them
will be remembered
the way they want to. footnote retribution.
The wandering dead only care about
modeling on the covers
of psychology magazines--hailing reviews that digest indulgence
beautifully,
carving chocolate waists
down
to starvation--we melt away to gnats
in Prozac hives
shingled with academic love papers
& bible covers.
Dear Alice,
you stole our table of tea, our shaved vigil,
our western rodeo,
our alcoholic omega.
Midnight on the dishonored battlefield
with the scythe beneath us,
we murmur love back into
our sheets of high horror.
Your meteorite adultery could not wipe
this hard drive clean--what we would lose...
the things we cannot touch.
Cloud 9 LSD,
its warriors passing
weapons down to the flock's ashes--to wives who fear
the wrath of their husbands. Chlorine gills quit
cold turkey
--sinks overfill under unorthodox skies--the turning of centuries
is nothing like flipping
pennies
into wishing wells.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
My words drip colors:
They do not breathe
Through consonants and vowels;
They do not seethe
With passion or sorrow;
They do not aim like arrows;
They do not trip on talons.
My words make chaos:
They overfill
My bones and marrow;
They slip and spill
Through cracks so narrow;
The raising of an eyebrow;
The mumble through a mouthful.
My words come back to me:
They find release in hands and fists,
(that hit and hit and hit)
They seek reprieve in tears and drinks,
(that drip and drip and drip)
They bloom like flowers
(not on my lips as I speak -
but upon elbows and knees)
My words drip colors, and so color me.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 1:12 AM UTC
Pay attention.
Pay attention to this moment;
To the sounds, to the lights,
To the colors in the the sky.
Pay attention to your thoughts;
To the world inside you,
And the way it guides you.
Pay attention to your feelings;
To the joy and the tears,
To the hopes and the fears.
Pay attention to your heart;
To the way that it beats,
To the rhythm it keeps.
Pay attention to your life...
The future already happened,
You're just learning the story.
Accept it. Let it run through you.
Let Love overfill your heart,
Let Light overglow your soul,
Let Hope overrule your fear,
Let New overtake the old.
This is your life;
You're doing your best.
Decide that today
Will outshine the rest.
I do not know you.
But I love you.
And if you really pay attention,
You'll feel it, too.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
This title, this challenge,
Has rested uncomfortably in IPad memory,
Storage unit for Poems Needing Composition,
Unwritten, unanswered, needy for resolution.
Today is a good day to answer.
You are the pause between my breaths,
A ledge to rest on, a stepping stone,
Without you, there is no next one.
You are audience faithful,
Scribbles, wordplay, jokes horrible,
Official Storer/Inspiration Sorcerer of my unending script.
You are shy critic, unwavering,
Deft, with feminine oversight,
Knowledgable proven, when silence, best.
You overfill my AM coffee cup,
The mug that advises sagely,
Be calm in you heart.
You overfill my PM cup nightly,
Knowing that even tho, can't sing or dance,
I need to, can do, can't do w/o you.
So lest, mistaken grievous,
You think, highly erroneous,
This poem is NOT about me babe,
This poem is entitled,
You,
How Much, Owed,
You.
Lest the answer be poetically muddled,
On this day, perfect weather, perfect clarity,
Unashamedly Everything.
Sept. 15th 2012
In bed, 8:22 am
NYC
---------------
Addendum June 29th 2012
This old soul loves you more. He cannot believe his good fortune,
This June, this one more perfect afternoon, my heart importunes,
Love my poetry like I love thee, and we will have the most
Perfect Union
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
A day of surprises and love to overfill the heart
Moments to embrace with family that are sweeter than cake.
All presents are cherished, just like any time given to be gifted with you.
May the prayers be answered by the universe, for you to receive endless days such as this to glofrify!
Happy birthday,
My dear Reyna.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 2:35 AM UTC
My appetite's insatiable
I never seem to get my fill
Each time we're done, can't wait until
The next time I'll be tasting you
Don't know if this talk makes you ill
My heart I share; my guts I spill
One thing's for sure, these words are real
I speak the truth; my lips aren't sealed
The animal can strike at will
He's restless; hungry; won't sit still
When urges rise and overfill
Alarm is sounding; not a drill
Not looking for some base cheap thrill
Connection that will give me chills
Struck through my heart: nothing but quills
Drown in your love; mutating gills
Accept the cost; please send the bill
Without you, lost; you are my pill
Like coming frost; destroy and ****
All reason tossed; both ways have nil
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 5:31 AM UTC
I feel like maybe...
I just get bored.
If it doesn't get mixed up like a mixed tape-
Wait,
Nobody listens to mixed tapes anymore.
Maybe it's the unknowing?
The nail biting edge to a horror flick?
The moment right before you jump?
Maybe if it's not like that then...
There's a hundred ways to keep me entertained,
But I also like to be the entertainer-
I mean,
I am the person who will tell the story the long way
Or drive a different way home for a change of direction.
I don't really like shortcuts;
Unless it's for a computer program,
And even then I'll take the long way.
I think I like the challenge.
There's something about pushing every bit-
Holding my breath until I burst for air-
Filling the cup until its about to overfill...
I mean,
I like details-
but I hate oil paints-
And I like little forks-
But prefer a bigger spoon-
And if you were to ask me my favorite song...
I wouldn't have one-
Because it changes too much.
I think my mind just races
And it's not a marathon because their is no winner
This is more like a treadmill-
It keeps you in the same spot but you somehow make progress
It's like a moment when your about to kiss
for the very first time-
scared as hell that its not right;
But wanting so badly for it to be perfect...
The chemistry,
The make up,
The right timing...
That's the way I see the world.
Just sometimes,
I get bored.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
sometimes your heart
stretches
its seams and you have to
pour it all out before it
bursts.
i can feel it now…
but i take the sharpened end
of my pencil tip and i pierce
a hole in my heart so that i do not
explode and then implode again like
a supernova, then a black hole,
crushing in on myself.
but i take that pencil tip and i
slip it through the hole until it is
all crimson dripping,
perfect! now i can write all of it
write it all out so that i never overfill
again.
oh no.
it does not erase.
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 9:23 PM UTC
Be still within the desert of your heart.
Your soul whispers a middle name in muddled confusion
Parallel to the perfect storm. She'll be answered as she's
Beckoned before your pedestal. Her memory and
Countless fingers grasp survival.
Let her work, let her see you fully Allow bags and boxes to overfill.
She'll bring you closer to a version of truth. She'll hop in the car
Ready to drive between points of your screaming silence.
Shallow prints graze and leave ink stamps. Still seen in darkness. Your soul continues to stand alone. Final battles announcing the death of empty souls, nullified and torn. Retreat
Go back.
Comprehend sources of her waves fears and
Share her burden.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
In this room he must wait,
time is standing still.
The lonely sound of a heartbeat,
ventricles overfill.
The hairs, the pores, the open sores,
where am I, who am I, where do I belong.
Moments ago his mind was active,
but the echoes of silence are holding him captive.
His first mistake,
has sealed his fate.
He counts the years,
from the sound he hears.
In this room he must wait,
time has stood still.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 4:41 PM UTC
Here by the Beat Hotel near
the St Michel in a cafe with wine
I feel the hum turn to sizzle and
sparkle and overfill into my eyes
too much till they are brimming with
hope that could spill onto the table
and my heart is swelling with a
optimism and I feel it spilling
over I worry I will laugh crazy
for no reason but to release
all the glowing light inside which
is feeling far too obvious for everyone
they will think I am drunk but I have only had a sip but this
conversation is several glasses of something of energy of
fermented anger and worries
and anxieties about the world
turned into wine and we
sip the sentences we sip the
sentences and eyes clink glances
in holistic belief and hope it
is so much but you
say we are free we
are freer than this ramekin
which once held peanuts which
we nibbled between drink
and thought and you say you
can’t believe you are talking of
Sartre here and it is cliché
but the words
ripple like a song we know we
forget but when it plays
we forget we forgot and always
know we need to hear it again
we wish we could record the
feeling the sights the words the
way you say the words so
that we are filled with childlike
possibility when life weighs us
to stare at our feet.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
Weeping heart, tear bound eyes
Forsaken by the jester of love
Your wretched claws cutting my flesh
Pouring salt into the wounds for torture
So cold, so bitter, full of hatred
Why must thou want to hurt me
Used, abused, yet, in love all the while
Truth refused to be part of you
Why must you thrive on agony
Instead of desiring love as your own
It's desperate to feel your longing
Wanting to overfill you with its sweetness
If by chance agony could slip away
Just for a moment in time..
Love would take you prisoner
Giving you its sweetness divine
No more to suffer loneliness
For your heart would be fulfilled.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 11:08 AM UTC
My love you is as a well,
Deep and filled with the most important resource,
But it’s not for the body but for a broken soul,
So it’s filled with love,
And my love for you just won’t seek to extinct,
So my love won’t dry out,
Now don’t make my love overfill,
So please take a bucket to the well,
And fill it and when you’re thirsty please come back,
Reside near me and visit me daily,
Partake of my love,
So it’ll become part of you.
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 4:43 PM UTC
Make a list
Make a plan
Make a choice
Still, a confusing man
Take off your clothes
Take less than you give
Take the girl for granted
Still forget to live
Check things off
Jack things off
Shrug things off
Still overfill the trough
Turn the boy on
Turn the light on
Turn the stove on
Still hold back your yawn
All so you can see life:
a coin of meaning and frivolity
in pursuit of harmony
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
The Pothole Man
That's what we used to call him
Although I'm sure he had a proper job title
Brown weather beaten face and tar stained hands
Always a greasy old flat cap on his head
Always a shabby old army great coat
To us kids he was very old
In reality probably in his fifties
Anyway
His job was to repair the potholes in about
Ten miles of country roads
He always carried his tools in a wheel barrow
Rake, shovel and a heavy flat bottomed piece of metal
On the end of a stout pole
Every couple of miles there were a few sacks of tarmac
Beside the road
He was meticulous in cleaning out the potholes
Every loose stone, dust removed
Then he'd fill his bucket with tarmac and heat it over
A wood fire
Overfill the hole by a couple of inches and rake it level
It had to be just right, maybe add a bit more
Perhaps shovel some out
Then the heavy metal plate would rise and fall
With a slow steady thump
Beating the tarmac flush with the road surface
He always finished by pouring tar found the edges
Of the new patch
Round holes, square holes, rectangular holes
Holes of all shapes and sizes
To us he was just the pothole man
Now looking back he really took pride in what he did
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
Olly, olly, oxen fail.
Top Republicans go to jail.
Olly, olly, oxen chump
All those crooks elected Trump
Oh, GOP, why’d you do it?
And make all of us suffer through it?
It makes it worse to see it all
And know you were all crooks and knew it.
Why couldn’t you just take
Your bribes and shut the hell up?
Why did you have to
Demand to overfill your larcenous cup?
Olly, olly, you and your gang
Some of you really do deserve to hang.
At least you’ll get to know at last
Your reign of terror has finally passed.
Disgusting Olly and the rest
Most of us know who your boss is
But half this sick regime
Has yet to realize what the cost is.
For the world to see the toll
Levied on our nation by the GOP beast
And count the casualties,
It’s going to be decades, at least.
Olly, olly, oxen, fad.
This whole affair has been so bad
It’ll be a great day
When this awful president
And his cronies get locked away.
Olly, olly, oxen fail.
Top Republicans go to jail.
Olly, olly, oxen chump
All those crooks elected Trump
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
Reality
The death of me
Don't know why you couldn't see
Its everything that makes me crazy
In my mind so dark and hazy
Overfill that void
Makes me ******* paranoid
Dark timesp
Build rhymes
Drink and smoke and **** it all away
I don't even know what to say
Black out shades over my eyes
Cute words and smiles are almost lies
Escapist bebe straight to heart
Form this land I wish to depart
But how can.you ever be free
When your minds as deep as the sea
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
I'm sitting here drowning on my bathroom floor
I've let the tub overfill like the thoughts
collaterally damaging my head
There's a ring at the door
And the fibers in my heart are screaming at you,
break in and save me
This heart is too broken to be rescued, and
911 has been on call since the day you decided
to set fire to the pain you've inflicted on me
without hesitation
The water is rising to my waist
I know soon everything will be fine
The door is sealed shut as are my eyes
I have enclosed myself to the peace of mind within
It's risen to my chest
I can feel the blood in my chest
pumping slower and slower,
in preparation for the abrupt stop
soon to occur
Thoughts of us are flashing through my mind of our last
moments
...I'm horribly tempted to run,
feel your face in my hands,
your eyes must look so confused
The water has risen to my nose
And at the very last second..
Like the wave of emotions that pass through my heart
at the thought of you,
the water rushed into the halls
And there you are soaked in your tears at the sight of me
Saving me for the first
and very last time
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
New faces, old pain and another small town.
Mask on and walls up so nobody can see
your thoughts slowly overfill till you drown
when all you ever really wanted was to be:
Free like the runaway winds that quickly twirl
and if you ever get lost in the midnight sleet
just know, I will always remember you, the girl
with the rhythm of her heart dancing offbeat.
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
The city before 6am.
Frozen. Abandoned. Empty.
If you are up early enough there's not a soul left for miles.
Just a creeping silence that's not even silent; but oddly alive with bird calls and wind whistles.
Oh the conversations you can have with the world before 6am.
The wind stirs it's way past every sleepy shop and household telling it's own haunting stories.
Plays with the trash and the flags on the street and they dance with a heart of their own.
I like this. Being witness to the waking of the world.
Slowly the dawn of grey shrinks back from the oncoming storm of colors; pinks and yellows and oranges gradually growing brighter by the second.
And the people begin to peak their heads out; stretch their little bodies and rev up their little minds and soon the streets overfill with busy beings.
Chatty as they are the bird's voices are trampled over with mundane screeches and screams; and the wind's already wheezing tune is diminished down to a mere annoyance.
Suddenly life fills the street in a different way.
The city before 6am.
Frozen. Abandoned. Empty.
At peace.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC