"parachutes" poems
One more day is fading away
as we ride this bus to the city
The storm is coming nearer now
And your bliss will turn to tears
We've almost reached our destination
Countless parachutes in the sky
These mosquitoes are swarming
before your eyes,
Just a moment's time til someone dies
The skies are getting darker now
Not a shard of light in this room
You'd better make good choices now
Or meet your impending doom
I hear your steps from the other room
And I'm already locked and loaded
You'd better get on running now
Or I'll destroy what's left of you
I walk upstairs to higher ground
and hear your cowardly whines,
I look in the eyes of my colleague
And said don't move, this **** is mine
I've made my way to my snipers' nest
and my eyes are set to ****
I've got my sights on your head right now
To pull the trigger, you know I will
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
I could speak all day on how I have faith
Yet
Truth is,
I don’t have faith
I would like to believe I trust myself
Yet I barely put an ounce of love on that shelf
I don’t have faith that the right person will come and take my love
Because I am scared
I am scared that if I gave into anyone
That if I even trusted my love with you
That it’s just going to hurt that much worse when I let you go
I’ll have that much less faith in myself the next time I even try to love
I’m scared that you’ll say all these nice words to me
And possibly mean them
But I won’t trust myself
And blow the only chance I had at loving you
I’m scared that if you saw who I really am you’d leave
And want nothing to do with me
And in all honesty I really couldn’t blame you
Yet I could blame myself.
I could have faith that all my friends right now are loyal
That they would never talk about me behind my back
I could trust them with anything
I wouldn’t even be ashamed
Yet I have been played
And most of yall just sit there and smile in my face
It’s like getting on a plane ride
And trusting in the pilot to fly me safely
But then the rumors come like birds flying into the engine
Then down goes the plane
Because there is the same flock of birds flying back my way
Why won’t they just stay in their cage?
Don’t any of you realize
You’ve made me this way
Do it again lie to my face you’ll be another bird ruining my plane
The true friends are the pilots
Trying to guide me out of the bird’s way
Yet instead they get brought down with me
My real ones don’t deserve this
I’m the one who need to take the blame
I have a couple of parachutes
Hopefully they’ll escape while they can
I’ll stay though because the day this plane finally crashes
I hope those little birds will finally realize their damage
So much for flying this plane to heaven
I could have faith in myself
But I am not going to lie to you because I need you to have faith in me
I have been hurt
The kind where you stay up at night
Wondering what you did to deserve this
What is your purpose
Do I even belong here
Does anyone see my tears
I loved and I trusted
And that just got me here
Questioning everything
Everyone
I know I am hard of hearing
But it seems like I’m not the only one who can’t hear
Or do you choose not to listen?
These are the same people I’m supposed to have trust in?
Have love for
Tell them everything every little sore
If you could see my heart
You’d ask
What’s that little clump on the floor?
Where’s yalls heart at
I don’t see them anymore
All I hear is she’s this or he’s that
All this makes me mad
Why can’t we just love each other
Is that so bad?
Is it so bad to accept each other
No matter gay, straight, bi, or trans
No matter the color of skin
Not matter what music they listen to
Or if they fit in with a trend
Can’t we all realize
Everyone needs a friend
Everyone needs to spend
Just a little more time seeing who I am
Who you are
Who he is
Who she is
Who we all are
Because that is what we need
To be able to have faith in each other.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
how strange; you leave me
hanging on to your words
like parachutes, a smile
dancing across my gratuitous
face; appalachian eyes
the color of melancholy
and mouth of a sailor.
you said, I never thought
that I would miss you
quite this much.
...and my very heart
swooned at the idea of
you, so very far away,
so close to me.
come home to me,
darling, I want to tell you
how much I've missed you.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
Stalingrad- Germany wanted control,
But they weren't going to get it. Silly men,
Unaware that they would freeze to the bone
In those harsh Russian mountains.
Is oil worth it?
Torch- the British thought it was a simple plan.
It was, but barely. The soft underbelly,
The Mediterranean to France, through Italy?
Kick the Axis out of North Africa?
Piece of cake.
D-Day- a finale? Maybe. The ships and planes at the ready,
A possible surprise. Parachutes
And men on foot storming the beaches of Normandy.
Shots fired, push east where they belong.
Coming from the North and South. Cinch like a corset
Strings are drawn against the axis.
Good luck holding up your empire in this day and age.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Southern summer nights
too hot
swimming in a sea of humid
drowning in a pool of sweat
and sweet tea.
Sweet tea like syrup
dark hazel
filled with ice
cubed and perfect
from an imperfect freezer tray.
Frizzy hair
glistening skin
from a dull sun
tempered by an Atlantic breeze.
The moon shines full
lighting the scent of the summer night.
Honey suckle, hydrangeas, cotton textured
dandelions like parachutes against the
black night sky
is a southern summer night.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
What has become of us
Amidst the hustle and bustle of city life
When did evolution condone us to regress into a state
Of uncalculated caucus
As we meander our way through the rapids of life
Rapid
Is hardly a best-fit descriptor
For we are past the point of speed
We mill around like headless horses
Buzzing bees
Stinging roaches
Fallen leaves
Roaring lions
Try to lead
But fail
Like cottons fighting breeze
Is this all we are?
Is this what we were made for?
To quickly climb the climb
And await the graceless fall
Parachutes prepared for praise
But our pride prevents and prevails
Till the day I climb the ladder
Shall I not attempt to see
What the view at the top might be like
I fear it enthralls me
But then reality strikes like a maddening blaze
And suddenly I see
That I'm well on my way up the hill
As I swing from bridge to bridge
Is this the way to live?
Uncautious steps with kleptomaniac ease
As we take what we desire
From our capitalistic divider
Though we hate to be the same
Not at all do we differ
Are we not all blinded mice
With a tetra-human vice
Spiders apt at spinning lies
Banking life on Friday highs
All around me boring beasts
Lost to whims, to say the least
What I fear most is the day
I give in and join the race
Is the day I eat my heart out
Just to enjoy the highest gaze
Till then here trapped in the zoo
Enclosure encasing truth
Finding fault with every human till the day I conform too
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
Hanging on to each day, trying to sustain,
as a spider on a web hanging by a thread.
Weaving our way through time and pain
left to hang by lovers, life and death.
Making my way through life;
strength and power of spirit take their leave.
“Be brave, chin up”, all clichés borne out of ignorance…
what do they know of me?
Each must travel this journey on our own terms.
No flack jackets to spare us from hearts shot through by pain,
no maps to guide our way.
We stand; alone, vulnerable and lost.
Where is the one to guide me on the right path
through showers of pain and cobwebs that bind?
Let me see through this to a future of love and life.
Let me see you.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 9:33 AM UTC
I feel as close to you as how wind is to my skin,
I feel as powerful with you as how I am with a gun.
I feel as courageous next to you as how sky divers are with working parachutes.
I feel as sad without you as departing rain drops from dark hovering clouds.
I feel as bored dismissing you as a good book read by a blind man.
I feel as far from you as how the visible sun is if you look from Earth.
I feel as clouded missing you as the moon is clouded by nebulae.
I feel as dejected promising you as government cronies over promising development.
I feel as lonely not seeing you as Golden Retrievers are when their masters are not around.
I feel as blatantly bloated next to you as over-heated air balloons raise up the shiny sky.
I feel as speechless around you as unprepared speakers in a conference hall.
And at the end, I feel as close to you as how my eyes met yours then cheekily, we detached our sight and pretend that we were never close at all.
I feel close to you still
but even closer
to sin.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Slapdash into the ****** pan
Is thrown the longed-for son of man.
Between the gossiping cups of tea
God attains mortality.
In the cathedral calm and cold
Kneel the erroneous-memoried old.
But in the womb's cathedral calm
The walls collapse in a birth psalm.
The blood sings from the soiled hand
The apprentice cleans at the washstand.
Undismayed by omission,
For everything, everything is won.
The proof blazes in impudence
Above the miopics of science,
Swaggering in love inviolate,
Over the uninitiate.
And over all the angels dart
Like squadrons in a war apart.
Dropping parachutes of bliss
On everything that is.
3.7k
Ready for death -
A sharp gust of wind.
Now plucked and bare
Somewhere in the air
There's parachutes of life.
Falling freely to start all over
Baby lions are seeking cover
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
"I miss you though."
Is what you say to me
when I suddenly cross your mind
after all this time.
Weeks.
Months.
Years.
Time passes without parachutes
guarding these seconds.
Little do they tell you
about this thing called distance,
it's like a game of Telephone.
And I believe
that your last two words got lost in translation.
"I miss you though, not enough."
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, ***** parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Once more
I am floored
by indulgence
a greed
a lust
a need
complete me to bleed
in my left nostril.
Last night, I fell from the sky.
Saw why I existed
and misted the glass
with my bind, i am bound
I found M D A in my D N A
A ray of
Ad dic tion—
con flic tion, res tric tion, cru ci fi xion
He was more than just a friend
Ended in me coming back
attack of parachutes.
no—not an american raid
blade cut the lines
weighed out the fines
swallowing paper and singing the signs.
He saw though the redbull,
the xanax, the pro zac,
the this- that
your mix- match emotions
that k i l l e d like a rat-trap.
And for what?
Artificial love.
A c r a c k
in my parachute attack: I deny.
Last night, I f e l l from the sky.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 10:05 PM UTC
Southern summer nights
too hot
swimming in a sea of humid
drowning in a pool of sweat
and sweet tea.
Sweet tea like syrup
dark hazel
filled with ice
cubed and perfect
from an imperfect freezer tray.
Frizzy hair
glistening skin
from a dull sun
tempered by an Atlantic breeze.
The moon shines full
lighting the scent of the summer night.
Honey suckle, hydrangeas, cotton textured
dandelions like parachutes against the
black night sky
is a southern summer night.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
learn your questions.
discern the myriad as One, and console your misery with service.
pour your fumes into the heart of mars; press pause when your gods
make you nervous. and when they don't exist, you whistle while you hurt...
as if
the Master Plan
had jokes.
but know this.
your cathedrals have killed people, and your faith was crushed -
whenever sincere. so i
bid you peace. a peace with
tranquil thoughts and night lemmings;
squealing
right over the Cliffnotes to Oblivion, in vapid terror and happy herds.
their little parachutes; cumbersome, with snapped threads to a forum, that unpack, once filled
with air and
parents .
you inherit
the edge of your vague notions.... that expand
upon dissent .
heretic tick
BOOM !
then make love, all day Wednesday
learn your questions. gain the gist
of your out-risible ignorance and invent the humor of "precise submission"
as humility will boast , enthroned above the kingdom of desire
aching hermetic in a mob. but knobs -
that turn, despite severed hands
turn Truth's *****
learn your throat.
hold only the notes to your music
to a golden standard !
Brandish your exile, like a rogue -
from it's sheath of Turin
[ and flash! ] it's blade of grasp
in Walt Whitman's
Verile Phase...
face your loved ones, but only
with the face
that got away.
return...
return unbridled and
unkempt. more windswept
than lost and found
haunted...
and remember
eat whatever
you **** well please
because
" **** Dr. Phil, Really ? "
Have you ever seen an anorexic
Buddha ?
and bought that one ?
if you have...
you might be
ascetic.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Parachutes billowing,
floating
above the abyss
though we all once knew.
Parachutes colliding,
landing
upon the barren land
that man once had.
They came by the millions
drifting from heaven.
Their reason for being...
a mystery to all.
Parachutes flaunting,
opening
to reveal themselves
so that man might learn.
Parachutes lifeless,
wafting
through cloud speckled skies
when man was glad.
They came by the thousands
dropping from heaven.
Their reason for being
could not be explained.
Parachutes lingering,
meandering
toward their spacklespace
of the damaged sphere...
Parachutes multicolored,
sized and shaped
caught in the crosswinds
and turbulence of man.
They came by the hundreds
crashing from heaven.
Their reason for being
was not understood.
Parachutes traveling,
transporting
the essence of life
for all to perceive.
Parachutes tangled,
snared and collapsed
by pettiness and greed
of those who wanted more.
They came by the dozens,
groping from heaven.
Their reason for being
was a little too late.
Parachutes hanging,
lifeless
not realizing their fate
but expecting the best.
Parachutes sputtering,
idling over the masses..
too blind to see...
too ignorant to know...
They came by the millions
but now there are none.
their reason for being
will never be known-
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 3:36 AM UTC
Seeds of the Dandelion
appear intertwined;
Tightly woven tendrils
weave and hold
in close bond;
Stretched fingers
offer anchor for each other,
though hesitant.
When the time is right
and the slightest wind blows,
seeds of the dandelion
go.
Parachutes of white snow.
A moment in time
stalk stands naked in the wind,
having lost everything;
Though the taproot runs deep
and in reality,
millions more will seek
a new birth.
We may think it a waste,
unwanted seeds being placed
hither and yon.
But what about the Dandelion?
Some call this **** a ruderal
this “lion’s tooth” with the long taproot
feeding bees and butterflies.
With detoxifying properties,
this plant has seen atrocities
of prejudice, bigotry and intolerance;
But it just goes on to do it’s job
holding on as long as it can
til the parachutes of snow
go
and the cycle of life repeats.
© Marlene Dunham 2010
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
Paradise
Men falling from the sky using parachutes of peacock plumage hues
The professionals plummeting in perfect spirals
The novices sheepishly prolonging their gentle, gliding drop
The salmon shade adobe dwellings with their thatched, lovely roofs
Shelter me in their auspices from an unforgiving star
Handmade tiles of authentic design line each steep stone step
A covert staircase leading nowhere, we lounge near the pool by day
There I observe a couple through a sour tequila haze
A scarlet clad native and her sometime American lover
Their hands never leave each other’s guilty bodies, sexually charged
His absence of wedding ring betrays his intended affair
In the distance crushing waves claim territory on the shoreline
I underestimate; in a death roll I lose all sense of direction
The blushing sky with rosy smile watches over its children
A lighthouse by its lonesome guards the cliffs from clumsy ship
Locals sell their wares by approaching fair-skinned tourists
Necklaces of beads require long hours of work
Their labor goes unappreciated, sells for meager dollar
Popcorn man blows his lonely, dissonant horn forever
Into the deaf night
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 6:17 AM UTC
Deathbed Confession
“In 1971 a man calling himself Dan Cooper hijacked
a plane from Portland to Seattle, demanded parachutes
and $200,000 in cash, then jumped into the night with
the money, never to be seen again.” — fbi.gov
So little seemed to be at stake.
The bomb was real; the threat was fake.
Neither was difficult to make.
And I was in my element,
or almost there. Yes, the descent
was cold, but warmer as I went,
and yes it was coal black and raining,
but I had uppers and my training.
I’ve spent my whole life not complaining.
When I could see the woods I wandered
out with the twenties, which I laundered,
safety-deposited, and squandered,
and with the oddest thing — a name
I’d paid for but could never claim,
a private riddle, private fame.
That’s been the hardest part: denial —
remaining of no interest while
the Bureau opened up a file
on every former paratrooper
who in his final morphine stupor
discovered he was D.B. Cooper.
I’m D.B. Cooper. There, I said it.
It’s decent work if you can get it,
but it pays cash. There is no credit,
or blame, or pity in thin air,
and I’ve spent forty winters there.
I’ll take whatever you can spare,
although I don’t suppose the guy
whose last confession is a lie
deserves it any less than I.
This piece is written by Kansas Poet Laureate Henry McHenry. The rights to the poem are completely his.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
Wind blazing
Cheeks soaring
Lips burning
Free-falling
Mamma mia;
Here we go aga-in
Up there in the clouds
It's always big murky shrouds
'Till I meet your frown
One look; a bell tolls
Two looks; the hourglass falls
And I jump back down
Oh, Mamma Mia;
Here we go aga-in
The drop's great fun and games
'Till you reach five-nine-ty feet
Then you pull the latch and strings
And the canvas swirls its wings
We enlace
A deadly embrace
Boom
Splat
Broken feathers
*Oh, Mamma Mia;
Here we go aga-in
Wind blazing
Cheeks soaring
Lips burning
Free-falling...*
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
I would kiss you
under cherry blossoms,
pink petals drifting down
like parachutes of desire
covering us with beauty.
I would kiss you
in the rain, drenched to
the bones not noticing
the fat raindrops
kissing us both back.
I would kiss you
in the wildest woods
surrounded by rustling leaves
beneath the jealous eyes
of voyeuristic birds.
But I have no idea
when I will kiss you
or where or even what
will happen when I do.
Still, in my imagination
it will be the right time,
the right place and
the right circumstance.
And it will be exactly
like kissing lightening.
~mce
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
it doesn't have to be
perfect.
you're cutting demos
not diamonds.
i'm creating paragraphs
not parachutes.
she's drawing pictures
not pistols.
he's constructing bookshelves
not buildings.
we're making differences
not disasters.
we don't have to be
perfect
to be
poets.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
This time, a single breath unbalances
the silky parachutes
and they float into the hedgerow.
A watch reads seven,
but it stood for the year that
slithered through a broken sand timer.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
A crystal vision
that fortune tells,
like sparrots in my spirit,
but rather, bought a ticket for God to pay me visit,
I hope he answers
no phones by his thrones,
above outer space
but lives within our inner
with open ears,
that answer prayer
the unseen near ,
I hope my feather glisten,
when I fly and shine,
broken wings holding on to parachutes
that skydive up the winds,
Tell gravity
Im jonesin to climb.
Been distant from home sweet home..
Left eating a Sour patchs,
and packed my bags ( beneath you eyes) ,
Long roads with no sleep,
Extra steps in paps broken shoes
that I got to outfit wearing a travel packed outfit..
All Smiles but sunny days are dead,
Like who worries about the storms ahead,
Seen some with cigarettes for stress
knowing theyll only blacken my breath
Lungs in cemetaries,
Air attached to inhalors not enough for this journey,
perhaps instill Mayweather stamina,
to box out a circle of squares when they box me in,
hardships float on my uppercuts
let God and money band aid my wins.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
Children scurried ***** as rats
From the long dead smouldering
of rocks and boulders
To watch captivated
Enraptured by the sight
Of tiny parachutes floated from the sky.
Tiny handkerchiefs of hope
Descended as gently as leaves in a breeze
As the candy bomber
Wiggled his wings
And presented sweet things
Packaged as hope
Delivered with love
To let those know that though
They may be woe begotten
To some at least they were not forgotten.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC