"palming" poems
you see
i had always felt
that in a dream
i was the absence
of the dream
and then it dawned on me
that i was in a time piece
trapped during forgotten hours
where everything is alien
but vaguely familiar
the beach beneath me wandering
off to anywhere but here
and i straddle the shoreline
palming stray shards of sea glass
always the color of her eyes
and i am abruptly upside down
an upheaval, a maw
where i thought it as
a nightly revenge
for skipping stones
and again i am upended
& back on the beach
born of broken hourglasses
and it makes me think
that god likes to watch things leave me
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
If she studies you with that particular look, and you know the one I'm indicating.
Kick off your shoes and glide across the floor towards your loved one.
Place your palm firmly on the back of her neck and your other at center mass.
With your lips pressed firmly against hers, open her mouth and clean her teeth, stroke her taste buds, feel her heat and free your minds together as one exploding fire ******* soaring vertically with the sporadic curvature of the bottle rocket.
Don't stop there, you've got her. She wants you to take complete control. Push her with gentle pressure against the nearest wall and allow progression. Fuse her neckline with your bite and move south to utilize her forearms and thighs. All the while you've cupped her **** cheeks like palming a basketball. From there on, use the organic passion that comes from within. She's giving herself to you. She will not hold this against you. On the contrary, this memorable concession of unbiased surrender is a gift, from your other to you. When it comes to a woman's love, these are some of the best times that you will be offered. Keep desire on fire and make your way to completion together. This recollection you guys are developing will hold years of reminiscence.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
The fearless ones
are fanning out
into the woods.
Others are huddled
in smartly constructed
camouflaged blinds.
These self styled
eco-warriors
brave the cold
and the discomforts
of inclement weather.
They keep a
watchful eye
over the stale
remains of
Dunkin Donuts,
bagels and
bacon grease
they cleverly
scattered
outside their
deadly bivouac.
These bold ones
eagerly finger the
barrels of their high
powered rifles,
palming the smooth
wooden stocks with
warm naked hands.
They itch to squeeze
the trigger but discipline
and fortitude inform
the vigilance of these
sentinels of sustainability.
They philosophically muse
about restorative balance
and the paradox of killing
in order to survive.
Another day has broken
over the New Jersey Highlands.
The hunt for bear is on.
Let the mammalian cleansing begin.
jbm
Oakland
12/6/10
Music Suggestion: Radiohead, Hunting Bears
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
Our lips bond together.
On a limb, but I reach out
for the desire to press my
my tongue against yours.
To feel the suction of you,
******* me in ever so close.
I've slightly fallen
We do the tango, twisting
around, turning me upside
down till I feel dizzy.
And juices leak from each
crease of our mouths.
So sweet, my ears heard a
love song that was unsung.
I've slightly fallen
In his seduction , succulent, ******
pleasures which quench my thirst.
I got a Jones. Both of them attracting
at will. The steam from fevered bones.
While my heart and mind plays
the fiddle. Still we sip as he
****** himself gently, palming my
parts as if they were gems in
his hand.
I've slightly fallen
Like a three pierced tongue ring,
our liquids spill over my lips, cheeks
and chin. To taste him I am confident.
For him I flow as his lady in reassurance.
I've slightly fallen
I'm swimming within this man's wine.
But, if I should drown myself
among his deletable kisses;
there is unharmed because
his love is my ocean.
I have slightly fallen into...
By Jessica Hughes aka JH_Poetry
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
Early on, we passed this pebble between us,
each in turn
trying to avoid possessing it.
The pebble
is worn smooth,
each palming it off on the other,
refusing to
acknowledge it even exists
so we don't have to talk
to each other.
After all, it's a tiny pebble.
A pebble of non-communication, but tiny.
Nothing to it.
Over the years the pebble becomes
a stone, albeit a small one -
more conspicuous,
more awkward.
The words between
us grow sparse, and if we do speak,
the words are sharper,
more piercing as we attempt to disown
the stone.
But by now the stone is a boulder, massive,
like some squat, ugly beast it has come between us,
pushing us out of our lives, what was our home,
the dreams
we were going to share,
the dreams
we would once talk about.
--
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
My **** is today
I got a low score
My sweet is today
I got to wake up.
I feel like a zombie today
My mind drifting to somewhere else
Yet my body is sitting in class about earthquakes
And a teacher with a face-palming pronunciation and grammar.
"Percent..." I heard her say once.
*But it went percient instead.*
I feel like sleeping today
Not the usual snoring kind.
That one with a total blackout
where no one can wake me but me.
My sweet is today
I get to write poems again
A slam at most
Now give me the mic (1, 2, 3, 4...)
My **** was yesterday
I was watching a slam with a friend
Not live, though
And someone called me weird.
I feel like an idiot today
Walking these halls
and wasting this ink
But (I hope) Colleen Hoover doesn't mind
I borrowed her version
of **** and sweet
-090915
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
Mm, yes.
I find that the sultry of subtlety
does not hide well among the obvious!
We catch each others eye
across crowded parlors
to steal off in the wings
for sodden romantic whispers.
Her muted presence is a cloud born
particle of dust –
gathering the purest droplets,
to fall, and
falling waters accreting
into mighty rivers churning earth.
Shamefully, perhaps by nature of a poetique,
my proclivity is to paint nuance up
like a dime-store ****
parade her around in metaphors
under my propped writing arm,
my free hand palming a chained timepiece...
Oh how these nuances matter
as I slip a moment back into the pocket of time.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
It happened by complete accident.
I would get a few dozen roses from the deserted patch where they grow,
Completely natural, beauty and thorns in all.
Catch the first bus to the cemetery.
Whistle as I walked up the first hill and hum
as I dipped down the second one.
I would lay one rose on each grave.
Sitting staring at the stone, wondering, hoping,
that they died peacefully, or for a cause.
As I had my last two roses in tow,
my fingers cold, I pricked my finger as I stopped at the last two headstones.
There side by side lay my grandparents.
The only two people there that I actually knew,
and yet didn’t know at all.
I can still remember my grandmothers scratchy voice, the smell of holy oil, the way she looked in her last years tucked underneath the quilt as most of her had already died.
Then my grandfather, I don’t remember his voice at all.
I remember his trains, sneaking and playing with them knowing one day he just might let me push the button to make the whole scene come to life.
But that day never did come.
It never would.
After years of placing flowers and saying a silent prayer
for those I didn’t know,
I felt completely awkward and out of place, almost as if
I was disturbing their moment.
I felt even worse as I watched the blood droplets drip onto their graves.
Even in death I felt like their burden.
I wasn’t suppose to be alive, I wasn’t suppose to make it,
and yet they lay underneath six feet of cold unloving dirt,
and I stand here crushing the stems of the roses in nervousness, fear, and confusion.
Youth never guarantees life.
Age never guarantees wisdom.
In their eyes, I remember the awkward stares.
In their arms, I felt the half hugs.
In their hearts, my father the biggest mistake that their daughter could have ever trusted.
And I, unwanted and unneeded, am a constant reminder of his psychological and verbal abuse and infidelity.
By now the roses have met the dirt.
I feel no sting from the blood pouring from my hand.
Only a cold emptiness I could never fill.
An emptiness I never noticed until now.
Then suddenly, I feel it.
Two hands on both of my shoulders.
Massaging it gently, bringing warmth into my body.
As I turn around to thank the stranger there is no one.
I smile, look up, and nod.
I pick the red roses and place each one on each grave.
I nod to both before turning away and taking the same path to the exit.
Catching the bus.
Palming the fake doctors note.
And returning to school.
Somehow, somewhere things may never be great,
But they will be alright.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
Giggling
Laughing
Double face palming
"Summer Take a Picture!
Its A freaking UNICORN!"
Dramatic Twitching
Spazming
more laughter
'Will you just Die Already woman?"
Fake running away
Laughing so hard you fall off the bed
"I love you
Take a Picture!"
Final Twitch
Oh the things we come up with
when we are left with nothing to
all alone in the darkness of your room
Sister I love you
You are my partner in crime
I fear to think
What we will come up with in time
We've already got
Jet streams
and finger doctors
Unicorns
And
TREE
But rest your head and go to sleep
Tomorrow I'll be here
I'm not leaving
your stuck with me
"Good afternoon"
"Good Evening"
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
To the wind
you were the same at both ends.
There is no core.
Encumbered in a dream, you sleep in tissue:
this thin, skirted apparatus
palming the rucksack of the mind.
When silent is is smooth and oblong;
it must survive winter, the pelting snows.
Speak and the barrel fills
bubbling, fermented.
It is yourself you are drinking.
You have all the names.
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 11:17 AM UTC
A Skelly with thick skin,
that's the way we grow again
How else is a skeleton
supposed to walk and grin
Together, talk and better
never seem to stop and sever
Connections
You have to open up some windows
To be present with a new borne crane
Unless you want the glass to break
Graceful in its twice over pass the lake
We fashion the past as a sacred bundle
Face it and carried even through the fumble
My tribe like fallen leaves
cast Aside
Scattered and palming shade,
last the vibe
what's left when the seasons pass my guide
Abide my tattered and clawing mass arrive
It's hard but I promise
I'm smiling behind my mask my guy
Realize nothing in a vacuum
It's an ever laced chain reaction
Why did god **** Cain and faction
Cause he wasn't able ; redaction
The burden is less
when you know how to share it
The falling of mist
Pulls back at the hips
Future proof as fallen soldierS
I'm getting the gist.
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 1:22 AM UTC
Pleasantly i was presently an obese mote laughing in the chattering
orifice of this emerald ciTy amongst the hollow discharged oblong
fingers vomited of the silky concrete mounds dangerously apathetic
the fat grunt of youth grand and evilly blanketing the hard arteries speaking
slowly feet. about the whim of the hard towers skirting angelic ***** lilt
and milk there ******* of ****** mucous to drag masculine colours to their
heed. how drunk they were of lacy cotton fringes and damp skin collecting
dew drops hard lovely thighs flatulently billowing from their savage femurs
the cool common sky is generally heavy with gray makeup and tears softly
epic wails of wet teeth. they bite and nibble the brim of my umbrella. and moaning
******* capricious men proffer and spit elocutions electricly open hands
palming digital cracking whispering clouds of text. rapid eyelids turgid was grinning specifically at I "how about a light" "sorry I don't smoke"
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 2:23 PM UTC
The world needs balance,
The world needs balance.
Wake up to the news every morning of homies Wildin.
Why don't you stay in school?
Education succeeds violence.
Why spend your life in the hood?
Get a new challenge.
Get some new talents,
The trap game gets old.
Half the ones that say they trap,
Get in the real game and just fold.
Never going for the gold,
But they settle for them metals.
Just be palming on that pistol,
Advocate for the devil.
Willing to **** to survive,
So much pain in mothers' eyes.
Lost two sons:
one to system & and one to the skies .
The devil in disguise ,
He don't care who stay alive .
He just wanna create chaos ,
He just wanna ruin lives.
Heaven or hell ?
You choose .
Whether Dead or in jail?
You lose .
Heartless or heartbroken ?
Stories rolling on the news.
I'm never amused.
My generations amusement.
Six flags fall to half-staff,
My generation is losing.
Dying off.
Kids my age aren’t coming home.
I’m realizing, kids my age aren't coming home.
Some wonder why I write poems.
Just So you can feel me and my standpoint,
Cause I never been good with words unless I write out what I've planned. Huh?
Wishing we could talk to God more.
Wishing the FEDERAL government would provide more;
assistance for college that's why these kids quittin' .
They lack the AMBITION,
And incentives to keep them driven.
Unemployment is high .
These kids gettin higher.
In an attempt to talk to God ;
So they all Rastafari .
Playing host to a chess game.
Satan Versus God.
But you can't wither & Waver,
Gotta pick & choose your side.
So whose side do your reside on?
I mean, who do you rely on?
This cold world, but no heat.
Can't stay wrinkle free, without an iron.
Perfection's in belief.
Belief is in faith.
Faith is discussion.
So who do you discuss today?
Give them something to talk about…
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
I take the fat bottle of wine from the shelf,
the smooth of its label and its dimpled punt
in both my hands as if to weigh it
before palming its slender neck knee-high.
It's placed in a crisp paper bag for me
and then it's swinging against my step,
snug from the stained-white roads,
in quickening tread my grip forgets its hold.
Already my eye gleams its opening
before a swift and satisfying emptying.
Blood pouring bottle dismissed
cork whereabouts, unknown.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Take the penny
That's why it's there.
A Casual copper calling;
A slick plan palming
It's quaint weight does not care
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
How to have a real **** day -
By Aidan A.
Lets start with face palming your phone onto the floor
Its like what little social life I have
Has just shown me the door.
Lets amplify that
With the fact
That my internet
Is in a state of disconnect,
So the mobile hotspot
Keeps me from internalised rot.
Fast forward to the next morning
When you wake
At half past eight
Assuming that the girl youve been seeing
Will arrive soon instead of being
A few hours late.
You head the **** out because the lack
Of wifi
Slowly stupefies
And then you are told that the LCD is ******* up,
It needs replacing
At a price too high
To justify
So you proceed to purchase
A secondhand mobile,
Unknown to you
That will be the best it gets for awhile.
You contact your sweetheart
But now shes got other things to do
Instead of tentatively spending the day with you
And in your understanding
You can't help but feel a bit ****
So you grab some BK -
This is where it gets metaphorically gay.
(Dont get offended I used it that way.)
Jump into the driver's seat
Realising the ticket hasn't been paid for
And the useless paper bag
That encapsules the takeaway
Is now leaking Coca Cola
All over your car.
Yeehaw. What a ******* great day.
I don't know what else to say.
Don't pity me though
Thats not Aidan A.
I'm on edge cause I've been sober too long
But its better this way.
Besides
I've run out of ***** to give for today.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
I'm looking out to the hwood hills,
Step over junkis and lovers
Who shall i kiss first. Dying
Dying, dying , dying
I will kiss those sub cracked lips
Thirstnig for lovE,
Palming the emptiness
WheRe my heart was,
Yet when my drunken lips call
At 2 am w cruel lightning
U will discard me like the wind
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
You don’t care enough to fight for me
I care so much that I don’t fight for myself
You say you have to sort yourself out
That you don’t want a relationship with me
But you still want me around?
I hope you sort yourself out
I hope you realise you want me when it’s too late to have me
I hope that you realise you love me when I love myself so much that I don’t need your attention
You’re a young boy
You have a heart of gold but your laziness over time got old
Youre going through a lot and so I am
We need time to find ourselves
I just hope that I also find myself away from the phone when I’m sad and alone
Every first message, every “I miss you” makes me feel more and more desperate and pathetic for a love and acceptance that I was never given
It’s not your fault that I lack love
Why should he have to fill a hole he never dug?
I need to do that for me
I need to do the filling on my own
So that I can be proud of myself and love myself
I’ve been filling my hole for a while why should I hand the shovel over for fives minutes?
Why should I give away sole credit for my resilience?
I’m not a project
Why am so palming off to-do lists to whoever gives me love
I didn’t need love then
I don’t need love now
I’m learning to love myself and until then I’ll share that with who deserves to be around
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 4:27 AM UTC
I'm sitting at the bottom of the pool.
The chlorine stings;
the mesh of blue tastes like skin.
Like the privates of some bodies
daring to seep into the flakes.
It's so peaceful here.
The allegro of my heart- thump. thump. thump.
(thump-thump-thump-thump)
blocks out the voices
rippling above.
Children cackling,
a mother moaning,
a lifeguard crying.
I open my mouth
to let the roofied indigo flush my body
like codeine on my droughted tongue,
so we have no secrets.
So I am not the only one to see the ugly.
Water slides off my ******* thighs,
and all the parts of me the mirror doesn't see,
until everything around me is water
taking away the hotness from my cheeks;
I almost travel time -
palming my wrinkled fingers and toes -
which crumble like chrysanthemums.
The view wavers
and I quint to the dissociating shiny, yellow arms,
giggling when they tickle my voided pits.
I feel like sleeping,
but I think I need a breath?
A little sputter - a small gasp.
Better come up before I drown.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC
tumescent ruin,
grabbing my
pompeii. mass grave
palming after massive
onslaught from those
unmasses of
darkest mame always.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC
Regrets litter in my soul as I look back
Papers and pens that made my eyes gag
This is the road I choose
A trail where works and study suffuse
This is the life I abuse
A desk of overload books and a head with no amuse
Should I sell my life to marriage, to money, to fame
Or should I work dignified until my hair turns to grey flames
I did nothing as my life is reduced
I accuse myself of living the harder way
Of peeling away my youth when the mind cannot sway
I never will be like those on the island of green
They were steps ahead before we came to be
So life must go on and I would swallow down pain
Palming other's sins, sparing no grin.
But would it have been better, is it the best way,
I work with erased antenna for medals harsh to the taste.
My head tells me to move on,
But my heart convinces me otherwise.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC
I'm bluffin with a handful of aces.
The game hasn't started yet,
but I'm making my paces.
Life is in a corset of context and I did up the laces.
Can't see behind my mask
because I wear two poker faces.
Look into my eyes to trade places.
One hand in the kitty, the other palming a *****
we eat up the country and **** in the city.
Tongue in cheek pity which I find tasteless.
Tasting myself, irony has lost: caseless.
A real strict lawyer
tries telling Tom Sawyer he's baseless.
The rest painting the fence say it's ok that he's aceless.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 1:33 PM UTC