"pacific" poems
this is a tale
of two star-crossed lovers
with a love so powerful
they tainted the heavens
with bursts of colours
they were never meant to be;
mischievous little kids
finding love in sinful glee
in laughter, between dreams and reality
and though it was lawless,
they found solace
because in every prison,
they found a rhyme and a reason
but even for a love so great,
they could not escape
the fates’ wrath and envy
destiny pulled on their threads
cut them loose, thrusted them into misery;
for their memories were wiped clean,
but feelings remained as strong as they had ever been
the boy exiled in a far off land
across the pacific sea
the girl trapped in her need to break free
in a realm both boring and bland
ensnared in a labyrinth of woe
the lovers yearned for anything—
for something, for someone,
to obliterate this endless longing
the gods answered them
in the form of two loved ones
polished in every edge,
a perfect someone
but perfect felt too perfect
and not perfect enough
to fill up the hole
left by a perfectly imperfect
until one day the gods whispered
for the winds to push the two
and the birds to tug at their sleeves
over mountain and sea
even through the darkest valley
so their paths would finally meet
and so they did.
in the flurry of a moment
a pair of brown eyes met
and time was frozen
once more
the two stared intently
as if remembering a broken melody
a lost childhood song
branded as a wrong
the birds fluttered and flew
taking the cursed red fibre
snipped them in two
and the lovers felt all the lighter
it was the girl who spoke first:
**** the stars.
i don’t want perfect,
i want you.”*
eyes dazzling, the boy nodded:
*“we’ll invert the universe—
the night sky a blank white
the stars pitch black
the earth moving in reverse”*
the fates saw and surrendered
as the stars began to wither
for this love is love
in all its splendor
so the lovers walked away with a promise
under their breaths, they both swore:
*“i lost you once,
but nevermore.”*
****
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
dead bodies floating
in our oceans
from the Asian Pacific
to the Mediterranean
crumpled corpses lying
on our beaches
thousands drowned unknown
overcrowded detention centers
not unlike concentration camps
behind barbed wires
guarded by police and snarling dogs
nobody feels responsible
not those who started wars
destroyed whole cities
made millions homeless
and into refugees
not those who take advantage
of the chaos for their own gain
abusing the names of their gods
or some ancient figurehead
to excuse their atrocities and greed
not those who live
in comfortable homes
and wish the desperate crowds
would just stay on the TV screen
and not come close
nor those who pretend
to be the guardians
of our great humanitarian heritage
but show no backbone
against nationalist fanatics
it is the shame of the world
to sit and talk and watch
and not do enough
those who turn away
the needy and homeless
could also
quite suddenly
lose their homes
forced to rely
on the kindness of strangers
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Ah! Another hero
Washed with bleach
Like the Son,
Who is only holy
When rinsed of his
Melanin.
I wear a white coat
That browns in sunlight -
It appears the moon and I
Will be good friends.
How deep must I scrub
To rid my pores of
The southeast Asian sun;
To wash my hair of Pacific salt?
(Even my mother painted herself
With a European brush).
How can I know myself
When denied the magma
In my blood?
It's of no fault of mine
That I've been stripped
Down to resemble a
Colonial caricature -
I've been taught
The victories
And learned
Medals are smelt
In white gold,
But mostly
I've been told
That mixtures separate
And I am mostly
Creme with a dash of coffee.
A shame!
Us beige babies must be
Assigned colors
As if palettes were for paintings
Not people -
My family tree has
Cane fields and apple orchards,
So don't act like
You're surprised
When I mention
White isn't the only
Color of my skin.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light
brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea
restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges
returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas
in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists
like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream
Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us
one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits
the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current
follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
I knew I loved you
since the fourth feather light forehead kiss.
In your presence
I am isolated in utopian bliss.
An island overlooking
glowing hydrogen masses
of what looks like Pacific fires,
or Polaris,
or just you.
Small suns floating in nautical blue,
showered in Pearl Harbor reds
and paper kamikaze sunset hues.
My high sandcastle walls fall
a million grains all over the beach
and I am defenseless against the tide
that is about to swallow me.
I melt away,
let my demons burn,
open the gates,
and let the little girl escape.
I look at you
and everything
is made out of light.
You make every day
worth waking up to.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC
A Muslim boy with a clock
Is seen as a terrorist with a glock
Maybe i'm right, maybe i'm wrong
But if he were White, Asian, Hispanic or even Pacific Islander
Nobody would of suspected anything.
When are we going to stop fearing an entire race for only a portion radical and illogical ways of treating others?
I don't tolerate people who behead others if they don't agree with their religion
I don't agree with the repressive governments that control everyone and stone them for minor misdemeanors
There are good men out there fighting this evil that has plagued their homelands
I'm all for ending terrorism of all kinds
But let's stop terrorism of innocents too
Sure, i'm afraid of what the radicals will do to their own people, my people and the rest of the world
But i'll be dammed if i treated somebody from the Middle East like a monster when i don't even know who they are
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern girl
The Syrians girls wouldn't have an improved education
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern man fending off the Taliban and risking his entire village to keep Marcus Littrell alive
He would of been KIA a long time ago.
What about the ones who fought and died for America?
Nobody ever mentions them
The media wants me to hate them all, but i laugh and shake my head
Warped minds trying to warp others
I only see the ones who want to do us harm, and the ones who want to live peacefully and away from a life of hell
Brothers and sisters, just a different culture and skin color
I'm sorry if America seems racist or hateful, but i'm proud to be the one who throws those two words in the trash
Because i'm not afraid to speak my mind
And i welcome everyone here
America is everyone's home.
If only the Soviet Union never invaded Afghanistan
If only the people were not scared
To be free like America.
Unity for all,
Religious differences and Cultures alike.
I hope one day a Muslim man or Woman can walk down an American street without being labeled as a terrorist.
I hope one day these repressive governments fall into the hands of democracy
And we start the Age of Unity again.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
She left Reno
in a satin slip
the color of hot coins
pouring from slots,
wearing chewed-up tennis shoes,
mirrors multiplying her,
the marquee burning out
letter by letter,
a hush pressed between her teeth
as if saving the last note.
I followed,
a gangly shadow,
mother’s voice in my ear:
"life is not a freeway exit."
But she was the exit.
She drove west
through a glittering throat.
In Tonopah she was a waitress,
red stains on her wrists,
sleeves tugged low,
coffee pouring thin as blood.
In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna,
halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass.
At a gas station in Needles
shimmering into a coyote’s shadow
and slipped behind the pumps.
Then movement along the fence,
low, quick—
gone again.
Casinos blinked like electric relics.
Truckers called her sugar,
greedy hands counting her ribs
as if she was the paycheck
sweating in their fist,
but she slipped away each time,
her silhouette already moulting-
a serpent skin, a smoke-trail,
a saint’s shadow burning off the wall.
By Malibu, the night
had softened to velvet.
The pier at Zuma
leaned into the Pacific
like a broken bridge.
She sang to me—
low, cracked—
then let the slip fall.
Her body cut into the dark tide,
no disguise.
I waded in after her,
ankles bruised by rock.
Water lit with jellyfish,
each pulse a warning.
I stopped where it deepened,
felt the pull take hold.
No exit left,
just the Pacific’s mouth
closing around her.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
I miss you like the December earth
Misses the sunlit rays on a cloudy day
Cold for you I yearn each dawn
And churn and burn as the aching Pacific waves
A crashing hope upon wishes bent
At 11:12 my world set straight
And all that a man can do is wish
That this will be the fated day
You walk into my life
And stay
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 3:15 PM UTC
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams)
<•>
familiar that apple google and amazon
have me under 24 hour surveillance
e-specially now
as I am in their
geosphere of influence
but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status,
and is addressed to me personally (“you”),
that’s just creepy
so charged am I, obligated to oblige,
to counter-compose a love song of mine own,
under the pinot “influence,”
(in a manner of speaking)
which a love taught me to love
what if,
a new love song ecrit,
to an old and loverly land,
a woman-land designed to be desired,
no difference -
kissing a new girl first time,
a wet and unforgettable
compote
when falling
on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed
now I tremble-tread
for the line of great predecessors,
“the land lover scribes”
skilled in natures homaging,
is like a line out the door,
around the corner as if
a new flavor ice cream
has just been isolated and mined and I...
<•>
*I,
but a novitiate
in a far away, wild untamed world
where my nature taken by her nature
cannot deny paying my just due:
selvage
late middle English, from self + edge
how perfect!
“an edge,
woven on a fabric during manufacture,
intended to prevent unraveling”
the pacific coast air
the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding,
god’s own forestry reserve,
the cascades, a goal on the horizon,
country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild
all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to
imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin
all will be my own selvage!
preventing the eastern unraveling disease,
a nearly incurable permafrost low grade
kate spaded infection,
brought along with me for decades,
my loon June companion, now stalling out,
lost from my happy head
a vineyard on every corner,
marijuana growing next door,
rivers that change like children growing up and down,
cheek to jowled property line
live the berries and the hazelnut groves,
god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic
like marshmallows dotting the landscape*
all daring you to say
I could
love
it here
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
The diverse assortment of enrapturing conviction
Is but cacophony to most other than me,
Discord to the passionate,
Defending concepts they find true
Clamor to the indifferent,
Those value peace and human happiness
Above factual correctness
For years they’ve all, with incessant attempts
Given their utmost to indoctrinate me,
The most easily swayed of all—
But I’ve found in the rupturing of the fervent,
All ideology, ethic, doctrine,
And in the serenity of the agreeably pacific
I’ve found faith, hope—I’m sure that’s my own,
Art is by no means meaningless, I find,
Especially so when inherent by human ability
And ascribed to this lyrical poem I’ve crafted
Consisting of what I, by my means, find true
Diverse conviction is beautiful.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
Down like an anchor,
Vision is shrinking as your eardrums burst through the grusome pressure, increasing the deeper you go in the deep, blue, merciless sea
A match unwinnable, a fight to the finish, to ones very last breath,
Tackled something so much greater, it has pulled back, after capsizing we made the decision when it came to swim or sink, that we drown,
Swallowed by the ocean, these great unfathomable depths, taken away our last breath of fresh, salty, stinging, yet very pleasant flavour
Our blanket is a billow, a stormy night which caused this tragedy,
Darkness under darkness, where light upon light once ruled supreme
Until our bodies have been taken apart, by this greedy sea and its desire to take us in, make us a part of it's glorious wide spread self,
Never to see the glassy surface once more, or will we be ship ghosts?
All lies and all sin, all dreams and all majesty, are swept away by swelling waves of the expanse someone may call the pacific ocean,
All ego and all deception, all freedom and all light is lost in its dephts
But we quietly, gently rest with pride in our hearts.
~ Umi
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
Still water
resting
at the
bottom
of a
Pacific ocean
tide
pool,
reflections
of you
in my
mind
in the
Sunday
morning
light.
sometimes
I can imagine
I hear you
laughter
carried in
harmony
to me
on a
a salt-kissed
circling
wind.
and I
sit for
a moment
and smile.
I always
smile.
it is
a giving
thing that
you do.
your gentle
manner
of truth
and innocence.
I can always
feel it
there in
you eyes...
you are
where
good poets
go to
die.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
HUNTINGTON sleeps in a house six feet long.
Huntington dreams of railroads he built and owned.
Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir.
Blithery sleeps in a house six feet long.
Blithery dreams of rails and ties he laid.
Blithery dreams of saying to Huntington: Yes, sir.
Huntington,
Blithery, sleep in houses six feet long.
8k
Nothing works out in the end.
All of us will be gone.
Our name will not be remembered.
The signs and lights will fade to black.
The Hollywood sign will collapse of old age, like us.
Poppies shrivel up, their red coats falling onto the scorched earth.
Grapes transcend into wrinkly sacs of bitter wine.
The way your hand slipped in mine,
the fingerprints will rub away.
Our heart beats slow,
diminish.
Our laughter evanesce,
wanes
as our voices descend past the Pacific ocean.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
Let's think about this, before we do it.
Let's think about this.
Let's do it.
You can tell me I've failed. My lungs are hot.
My breath is useless, like my rescue.
If you close a door, I open a wound.
I made plans to steal you from yourself.
I wanted sunlight for you, roots and crawling
ants, pyramids of help and hope.
I wanted.
I wanted them to be mine, my contribution.
Well.
The self wants a shadow. A shield.
A soul.
The -I- falls apart when the skin does.
There was a moment when
you became who you always were:
alone, surviving against a sea of black,
and I could not help you. Could not
swim against the dark surf
your arms themselves made.
And how am I now to make you
some craft to come home on.
How am I now to give
knots and knowledge to your
drowning. I cannot brave
the isles that break you from
the strings of sand that wait beyond the waves
dying, still, to give you home and breath.
I want your bedding. Your body.
I want your terrible soul, your bait and switch,
your milk, your cave, the meat of your
isolation, the heart you hid in the Pacific.
All I ever find at sea:
tired arms, a head full of wishes.
(Not exactly buoyant.)
And the flashing fins of fish
who sank and died.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
The key to the lock
to the door to the room
with the chest that encases
your heart
is buried just off
the Nā Pali Coast
in the sands of the
Pacific.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
They set off from white rocks,
red geraniums, blue tile,
and let the green sea
lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves.
The stony islands that were home
were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic
but they hunted the big fish,
the giant whales with human eyes
who rolled and sang and swam
in oceans a continent away.
They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel
Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta -
Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain,
neither of the old country nor the new:
Halfway there and halfway gone -
secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors.
They sailed into unknown waters,
south around tropical shores
where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks
and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage
rose in clouds around their heads.
Then north, and north, north again
to colder waters
where sea lions barked and lunged
at the strange massive wooden beast
that coursed the waters,
strung with brown bodies swaying
on the lines and cursing the sails.
North still they swept
casting contemptuous eyes on
the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles
of the Sea of Cortez.
Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca,
the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers,
they chased their smooth grey prey,
riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island,
herding the leviathans onto their spears,
adventurers with an audience of only
gulls and sky and seal.
Until they sailed too close one day
to a rock-strewn shoreline
and saw the golden hills.
Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home
with orange poppy jewels at their feet,
missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary.
The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil
rich and brown and loamy
waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots
peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa,
fertile and heavy with sweet promise.
And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried
but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled.
The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home,
called and wept
and waited in vain for the sailors
- beached and grounded -
cutting not waves but earth,
tracking seasons not whales,
seduced by dirt.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
The great hanging weak **** of India
on the map
The Fingernail of Malaya
The Wall of China
The Korea
Ti-Pousse Thumb
The Salamander Japan
the Okinawa Moon Spot
The Pacific
The Back of Hawaiian Mountains
coconuts
Kines, balconies, Ah Tarzan-
And D W Griffith
the great American Director
Strolling down disgruntled
Hollywood Lane
- to toot Nebraska,
Indian Village New York,
Atlantis, Rome,
Peleus and Melisander,
And
swans of *****
Spots of foam on the ocean
6.8k
The light pollution
from the lives of little people
in the big city
reflects off the lowriding clouds,
the same way my knees reflect
in the little puddles
from the big rains.
It hurts my eyes to look up
without sunglasses,
hurts my lips to think of tasting
the subway oil that
drip
drip
drips
I speculate at the transformers,
part automatic, part people
in their pre-ripped jeans,
learning to get their Ns
to drive themselves away,
yarn trailing from their sweaters
like parade float streamers.
Citizens run so fast
to catch the early train home,
freefalling down the stairs
breathing in the exhales
of the other racer’s exhaust.
Marking their triumphs
with participation ribbons.
The pacific pants at toes,
a puppy that only occasionally misbehaves.
Impatient for attention,
waves wagging back and forth,
up the imitation river,
past the downtown.
Kicking the sea wall with it's gravity boots.
The geese are on hiatus
until they can take back the city.
Making the drains overflow,
creating their own habitat,
they’ll strut their haughty markings,
distinguished from orcas,
away from any saline nonsense.
Were we to retrain the population
to turn blind eyes,
we’d be much more efficient,
stop wasting time contending
to society’s obsession
with documenting itself.
But then, what would we do all day?
Creating light pollution
must give immediate gratification.
Once all the lights are turned off,
the influence won’t continue,
creating a lack of permanence,
making our need to be remembered
seem trivial indeed.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
its the small things that
entice me to you
the way your glasses
kiss your cheekbones
the way you blush
when I cant
contain my stare
the way
your
voice is deeper than the pacific
and you are
as tall
as the leaning tower
I love how you
are scared of spiders
because I am too
I love that bone that gently emerges
when you
play violin
first chair
but that bone
entices me
almost as much as your smile
because you
fill the sum of your parts
with music
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
The invitation had arrived and I was over the moon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it is coming soon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
It's been eight years since the first was won by China
It was held in Illinois in a place known as Medinah
Turns out the swimmers used were just not what they seemed
The chinese had a total of nine atheists on their team
So, the time has come to try again and bring it to fruition
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
No date has been decided yet, due to issues with each church
So, even though the invitations out, we're still left in the lurch
Saturday is out because the Jews are all at temple
Sunday, the Christians all must set a good example
Friday, cuts the muslims out for they are at Mosque praying
So we've four days to hold this meet, is what I am now saying
The Chinese team is back again, but the Atheists are out
The team's made up of Christians and two Jews who are devout
Their working on a movement that involves making a cross
The Christian swimmers get it but the Jews don't give a toss
The team from Israel's withdrawn because they are all sitting Shivah
They had a coach drown last week, he hit his head while in the River
The Arabs won't be back, you see they're not interested in the least
They get confused while under water and don't know which way is east
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
Will take place in the New Year, we just need to get permission
The Jews won't swim with Muslims, and the Sikhs are up in arms
Because swimming with their daggers may cause other swimmers harm
But, we've got a great location at the lake up at the park
We can use it when we want to , but it must be after dark
Remember keep an eye out for a poster where you pray
We don't know just when we'll hold it, it may just be today
This is your invitation and the event is coming soon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it'll be held beneath the moon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
See you there...
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
While they noticed the stretch of kohl in her eyes,
I could see a pacific of emotions trapped.
While they admired her blushing cheeks,
I could read the paleness she painted red.
While they were going gaga over her smirk,
I could fathom the depth of pain that debarred a hearty gale.
While they were lured by the cascade of her hair when she unscrewed the bun,
I could feel the onus of the tantrums she wanted to turf out.
While they were hypnotized by her mesmeric curves,
I was stunned by the withstanding efficacy of such a fragile body.
While they adored her attire and scarves,
I could trace the bruises she carried with poise.
While they were hung up by the glory of her face,
I could do no help but ride out at the scars she concealed with sprightliness which was the most beautiful thing my eyes could ever have a view of and it left me dazed...
And my mouth wide opened.
-Aparajita Tripathi
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
Chasing seagulls shadows
As the breeze slithered through my hair
It was love at first sight
Sunsets tracing rainbows on the murky waters
The sea truly is a mystery
But the love I feel is even more of a mystery
I can still hear the roaring of the surf
Tides coming in slowly
Full moon tonight
Softer breeze and a lot less noise
No children laugh
Parents yelling to stay away from the jellyfish
Just silence
The perfect love affair
It was love at first sight
When the sea breeze kissed me
The salty water wrapped its arms around me
The sun setting fire to Pacific blue water
Moonlight chasing dolphins as they fly through the air
Stars reflecting off the rippling water
It was truly a love affair set in motion at first sight
Now I dare you to fall in love
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
In apple growing-warmth,
I found oceans between eyelashes and Pacific air.
Ligamented with smoke, skeleton hands crafted cigarettes of honey and curling floral sweetness.
For soft-haired royalty, I bowed my heart and washed my skin in space and rainy wishes.
I drowned myself in polish remover, to show the stripped beauty of love and life
to a sun who lives off alcohol and notions of wouldn't it be nice?
But I, the noiseless patient spider,
who has flung gossamer after thread,
am reaching for nothing but an earth flower,
One who I thought loved me,
or at least that’s what she said.
((one who sees through rose-pink eyeglasses,
and speaks in feathered song.))
Still, I sleep well under starless skies,
where urban northern lights burn the dark,
charred there by city windows and boundless passing cars.
Here, I wrap myself in a cloth galaxy,
and I paint the sun with blackberry juice,
trading gold and diamonds for the simple hope
that someone might live up to you.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC