"pangea" poems
I've been painted pink the instant the doctors
Wiped me of red.
I looked like the boys I knew - our differences a
Color palette provided by Mommy and Daddy.
I was their little girl, their princess who wished
Her hair would stop growing,
Lest she be locked in a stone tower.
I didn't mind the dress so much then,
Not when it was the only difference between me
And them.
Magic mirror before me, is wrong all I'll ever be?
I shut my eyes, unable to stand my body bare.
My knight, your skin simply is not right.
I've read the mirror never lies.
Mommy and Daddy are yelling
About my butch haircut.
Our little girl the **** they say.
I did it myself.
Mommy still buys me dresses,
Daddy tells her to spend the money on
Therapy instead.
Daddy asks about boyfriends,
Mommy tells him I don't have any because I
Hide my *******
I tell them I'm all wrong.
They agree.
We're talking about two different things.
I don't change for gym anymore.
The girls are secretly relieved I won't be there
To cast a wandering eye in their soft bodies.
I'm relieved I won't be in the wrong locker room.
Mommy and Daddy don't like me
Telling them who I am.
I've finally found my way out of the tower and
The king and queen are upset because their
Princess never made it home, just the knight.
My little girl, Mommy cries.
I follow the point of Daddy's finger to the door
Until I'm on a bus bound for somewhere else.
I shift from Pangea into separate pieces.
Finally I have space to breathe.
Needles, knives, pills bend my body to my will -
It took Michelangelo three years to build David.
Mommy and Daddy believe me to be
A delivery man. They are expecting to sign off
On a television set, yet when they see me
Idle in the doorframe there is a hesitance, a hope.
But most of all there is silence.
Mommy cannot speak, her hand curls like a gasp
Around her mouth.
Daddy begins to cry, his eyes pale and blue.
I am hugged.
They don't say sorry, but I hear then whisper.
My little boy, they say. My little boy.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
i never took Mother Earth for a felon,
but it is nothing less than a ******* crime
that you & i are forced to exist continents apart.
- m.f.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
///
*Before 200 million years ago
there was a single super continent,
named the Pangea,
and you have broken the Pangea
into two parts,
the Laurasia
and the Gondwanaland
by a single water body,
called the Tethys Sea
and we have seen,
the first sign of the life
on the beautiful black shale,
the blue green Algae
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen*
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
It has to mean something.
The way our bodies fit together like Pangea.
When we're together the world rejoices,
I feel it in my bones.
A reuinion longed for,
deep in the collective soul of the earth.
We should have known, we'd be
lovers
separated
by outside forces
Drifting apart, slowly but surely.
It has to mean something
When our bodies converge
Mine subducted under yours
And volcanoes erupt.
It has to mean something,
How your lips on mine feel magnetic attraction.
How my fingers intertwine with yours
An electrical circuit, completed.
Our love could put the stars to shame.
Not only light up the night,
but consume and leave it in darkness
-power surge.
It had to mean something.
We diverged.
The space between us in bed, a trench.
The space between the bed where I lied awake waiting for you and the couch where you drank.
The space between the apartment you abandoned and the home you returned to.
Did it mean
Anything?
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
the rain wet floor
the man with a birth mark in the shape of Pangea
the backwards baseball cap
the re-used meme
the re-used meme
the idea of “retro”
cumulus clouds floating
heavy &
overhead
all electrical goods just sitting on stand-by
waiting
the machines are waiting
the blueprints that are 1mm out
at right angles to the rest of the world neon lights flash downtown
reflected on wet concrete
arriving at a destination and not knowing how you got there
my glasses leave an indentation on the side of my head
my children are asleep and I can see the signs
a new Netflix series that goes on for 125weeks – I have no stamina for this –
the mundane beauty of a leisure centre
the perfection of the shopping mall
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 7:38 AM UTC
the night of the fake dead has become eternal
(i will wear Susan Lucci's face for it)
staggering through excesses unknown
and the uncertainty of this ranking system,
you tried to eat my earlobe
but lost interest in it quickly.
your scent safe in this butterfly net,
i am surrounded by the
murderous howls of your perennial
buttercups, determined to tempt
my animal ******* instincts.
(enuma elish la nabu shamamu)
(shapiltu ammatum shuma la zakrat)
i have tripped in the garden of Eve's desire
and felt torrents across my cheeks
of alternating salt and sugar-sweet nectar.
i have held the red locks of wort
and danced on the blossom-littered ground
in remembrance of wandered attention.
(When in the heights heaven had not been named)
(and below, firm ground had not been called...)
i have wept in the shadow of Adam's twin towers
and seen the rift between the continents
ebb and fall under silence's blanket.
i have leathered my skin under this star
to defend my eyes and tongue from
the bite of the turtle goddess.
i have seen the feast of the water,
devouring the naked soil of Pangea,
and tasted its salt with my eyes.
i have undertaken the toil of the shaduf,
churning mud and planting seeds for
the return of the floral messiah.
(Amaru baur rata)
(Shagane Ir Imshi)
i have borne the yoke of the oxen
and reaped stalks of wheat
in the summer's first harvest
i have broken bread with companions
under starlight mixed embers
glowing log light orange dynamo
(The Flood swept thereover)
(His heart was filled with tears)
Will you scream for me?
Can you profess the holiness
of my mission?
My name, my motif, echoes
across the ages...
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
In the end we are called upon by
stronger forces, blank expressions, glassy eyes
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
the cold of the world's knife,
pressed against the flesh of our selves,
unconscious rhythm heartbeat pounding
twisted sense rhumba of a thousand tiny shards
Siaynoq!
Call me to a greater purpose
Siaynoq!
Spill my blood across the sand
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
My hands ache for your fingertips to hold more than the continents long to be back together, but this relationship is not Pangea and we will not drift apart because the way your thumb slides over mine makes my heart flutter and seem to fly away but you are the anchor the keeps my feet on the ground and for the life of me I cannot possible fathom why you -- a god of nature-- would want me --a tiny grain of sand-- when you could have the whole ocean but I'm never not thankful that you are the wings that give my thoughts flight and never leave my side
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
I was born for Nebraska
I was born for the Massif Central
I was born for the mountain top shrine
with nothing but the music of nature
to distract me
I was born for the weekly news
on some sleepy island in the Pacific
I was born for Covent Garden
The Pangea of Culture
New Orleans trumpets;
the flamenco player
twisting lime into his drink
I was born for the cotton fields
I was born for the salt marsh
for the tug-boat all out of fresh water
I was born for the Ganges
I was born in the shadow of the Hajj
I was born for the G-dless land
of Death Valley
the streets of Harlem
I was born into the spirit
of old Afghanistan
I was born on the false strings
of liberated women-
I was born on a stage of puppets
a backdrop of Glaswegian tenements
or of fjords unvisited
beside Scandinavian seas
I was born for Rugby Cement
I was born to be fixed in place
This wandering mind
These restless legs
I was born with a travelling soul
in a town where I can barely walk
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
There is a study of some interesting production
That says that continents drift, but I disagree,
Listen if you will to my theory it's of a sort
That is of a very different decree.
In the beginning a planetoid smashed into the earth,
It would later become our moon, it was larger at first,
This matchless form of damage caused a great impact,
From which would later be whole continents birth.
The lava that flowed would be enough to make
Whole parts of Pangea sink, and huge amounts of
Ocean would poor into, eventually be. But this is my theory,
Why when the damage was done the magma flowed
So much from such areas, it formed what is now the
Colorado mountains, as well as the whole of Australia,
Japan, and the Polynese. I know this is just a theory, but I'd put
All I have into simply wanting to believe. The truth is always
Out there, and this is simply what ideas that I conceived.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
captured
by the glory
and
the majesty
of the steller sea
green sealight
bounced
from her
mermaid eyes
sailed our through
the Isles of Pangea
while
we trumpeted out
the name of Athena
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
In the beginning,
We were Pangea.
Combined as one
Breathing
Living
Loving as one.
Fingers drew rivers
Across our valleys
As quick breaths
Blew in like
Monsoon storms.
In the middle,
We shook. Splintered
Valleys became chasms
Rivers ran dry
Mountains sprang up
Where our bodies
Crashed and crumpled
Attempting to redraw
And redefine boundaries.
In the end,
We were broken.
Pieces of ourselves
Flung to distant
Corners of our
Subconscious
Separated by oceans
Of tears and
Silence, which swallowed
Everything.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
In the back of a polish bar we sat
Smoking a foreign brand of cigarettes my lips had never touched
smoking until we ran out.
Me, pretending to be eccentric.
coy
laughter
closing the gaps between the continents we were born
surely we will bring pangea back to her glory
This is my favorite song, I say.
grace is serenading me from across the world
we inch closer together
the warsaw wood panels start to cave us in
i have forgotten about everyone else
Palms glide up thighs
wheat beer slides down the tongues
that wait to interlace
i listen to your kaleidoscope of syllables
we, in your native land, speak in my foreign tongue
i apologize for that.
we are alone in this room, i think.
the night's corners are creeping in
as quickly as our bodies braid.
our warszawa flame flickers.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
*Woa, last evening my unicorn and i
We traveled farther and farther
farther than we've ever gone before
we traveled to a fantastical realm
through prisms of red, pink, orange
yellow, green, blue and purple
through a doorway of enchantment
to an enchanting planet of giant trees
with dragonflies as huge as eagles
and millipedes large as crocodiles
together we stood under an evening sky
of blue and admired a shooting star*
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 9:08 PM UTC
Nature
Natural elements,
Are god's lessons to explore,
Seek and you will find.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
I watched her crumble into
my hands like
the Earth’s crust
her death wish
had become a mass
I could no longer break apart
this Pangea of emotion
that I couldn’t save her from
was on our minds every
waking moment
She was swimming in a puddle
but to her it was the Atlantic
and
the continents were holding her
under
But
any archaeologist
who tried to extract
this skeleton
from the dust of
her mind was
indeed
foolish
-DDF
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
separated and whethered by time.
two pieces of a whole.
making our ways ever closer to one another.
bound to collide once more
Bound to embrace each other till the end of time.
We are
Pangea
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
we imagined our bodies were continents but my
continent became an never ending earthquake,
trembling until it tears through the exoskeleton
of my body. the earthquake was panic attacks. i
learned to interact with them so i could see it coming.
i learned to appreciate the homes i destroyed, and
i helped you clean up the rubble after i obliterated you.
architect of sadness: you built an expansive house
that's always empty and chilly. you let the prettiest
flowers wilt and die. your bright colors coating your
exterior shows promise and sentiments, but even the
ones who walk through your doors notices the absence.
it's always too late to sever ties when you are given the
keys. your voice is like the dinner bell, ringing through
the west and east hallways and haunting these walls. we
were two different worlds clashed together like the big
bang, we were pangaea, a super continent exploding with
content and then continential drift split us open. somewhere
along the line, you became australia and myself the united
states, where swimming to you became an impossible
task. even at the end of it all, i asked for the keys to
enter inside the same house holding empty promises
and a foundation i knew was built from the hands of an
amateur architect. is that what love is? walking into the
scorch of hell's fire because you're willing to deal with
the permanent third degree burns and scars the fire will
leave on you? because that's how i know i love(d) you.
- kra
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
Fire
Unwavering love,
Like a flame on a candle,
Needs to be relit.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
the black and white photographs you took
five years past still hang framed in my room,
just above my turntable. Deja Entendu
spills from the stereo as the needle finds its groove.
a shelf filled with all the records
we used to listen to for hours
lines the wall and succulents
adorn the windowsill, waiting patiently
for the rare rays of sun, golden
and flossy as your hair,
which somehow manage
to peek between the tenement rooftops
every now and then.
we still live in the same town. sometimes,
people bring you up. they ask me how you are,
how long it's been since i've heard from you.
i neglect to tell them that, aside from absentee
notifications popping up on my phone
at intermittent variations, we've only spoken once,
in a crowded, little coffee shop
in the city we both love to hate.
you pretended you didn't see me, but i felt your eyes
notice me at the bar as i sat typing another story,
bobbing my head, listening to Daughter.
if i hadn't approached you, i imagine
you would've acted like i was invisible.
the conversation was terse, abbreviated.
i find it strange how once
we were the best of friends
and now we can sit twenty feet apart
and act like we never knew each other at all.
i can't really recall why
our friendship collapsed in the first place.
have i suppressed it? or was it just the casual
slip, like Pangea, elapsed time
fracturing our continent.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
Water
Hidden ambition,
Like ever-flowing water,
Will flood or channel.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
Earth
A good foundation,
Is where morals are grounded,
Deep roots stand taller.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Common courtesy is a dinosaur
be it a vegetarian or an omnivore,
common courtesy is a dinosaur
extinct and forgotten,
never to live on Pangea ever again
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
you didn't kiss me.
tonight I didn't taste your lips
but I felt the longing
as speedball ink dripped.
I planted smiley faces forever on your wrist
the same day I assumed
I'd never be more than
five minutes on your ****
though a speck or two
of your tattoo
was out of place,
we accepted it with open arms
because we are two that can relate.
we were sewn closer with each dot
and thought
and your ungrinded ***
shout it out loud that we aren't moving too fast
because stagnancy too has been
proven to crash.
both of us
were trying not to stray
from our own yard
but laying there together
we looked like the continents did
before they drifted apart.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 2:38 AM UTC
When I wake on the steps of humanity,
I see the peril, the plotting, the running and the hasty implementation of torture.
For your children, we shall give them a crate and bowl and force them to live amongst their own feces to mold them into the industrious working class we so desire,
anything looking like upward mobility from the ditches we cry in.
For your animals,
we shall embalm them richly on your wall for you,
to gaze on with fond memory the corpse of an animal you never knew wholly,
merely the discipline you enacted on it to conform to your standard.
Never knowing the child without the work,
unable as a society to accept the being as what it is beyond all the standards and labels and cross-references of psychological history used to define your character and your place in this plane of existence.
At no time capable of committing to validating the true nature of the beast in every single conscious being on Pangea,
because, listen, listen closely,
in this jazzy age of deep beats and lack of swooning amounts of emotion,
you need validation to exist.
Confirm, tune in, download your inner interface to the great program,
and you shall forever be condemned to role of worker, or corporate building block, you lucky duck.
Feed the system as it so graciously has fed you access to knowledge,
filtered and just the right temperature for complacency bred by millenial laziness and hopelessness.
Or drop out, and matter to none.
What is it going to be?
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC