"passages" poems
With an essence of a sultry indulgence that will entice
as often as it excites;
my words seek passage --
penetrating your psyche,
as they crawl across your thoughts.
serenading your mind with
lustful passages;
littering your innocence
with filth --
saturated in honesty
dripping with vivid insight;
conceived through insanity.
raging with passion.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form
Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)
His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
*did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?*
The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold
Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night
( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear
Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
Most of the time, I am just invisible.
Until his eyes stripped me of my honesty. Honestly,
with one look, he saw things in me, I never knew existed. Fantasy,
twisted, I read pleasures from passages of ecstasy,
that still haunt me intensely, immensely and pleasurably.
His love for me was a force of nature; that captivated me
and still holds my soul captive, as it sets me free.
Mystique meets her Majesty
Love is pain and pain is love,
as soon as I felt his pain,
I fell in love; uncontrollably.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
Intelligence is not how many pointless math things that you understand
But rather the ability to understand the people around you
Intelligence is not how many words you can spell
But being able to choose the right ones in times of need
Intelligence is not how many stupid history passages you read
But reading things that matter and have meanings; like poems
Intelligence is not leaving to be with the conformists
But being smart enough to rebel against them
Intelligence isn't going to school for years just to throw your life away
Intelligence is being able to live your life how you want to
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Passages of wind
Set foundations of belief
Eternally ours
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
i see the words floating on
message boards or perched
upon the lips of jocular hypocrites
double-standards that demand
sensual chastity and virginal sexuality
in endless iterations of irony
the concussive
monosyllabic words
slung like stones
cast like arrows
****
*****
*****
all labels for
women possessed of
the courage to pursue
their own passion
once upon a time a
Nazarene insisted a ********** had
more integrity than a rich
statesman throwing self-serving parties
so tell me why so
many Christian politicians
propagate patriarchal notions of depravity
in blanket attempts to regulate
the bodies of women
if being anti-choice was really
about preventing abortions
why do rich right-wing conservative
Republicans spend all their time
and money picketing free clinics
when the solution lies in comprehensive
****** education universal healthcare
complimentary birth control
and comprehensive child support
don't dare use the reprehensible
rhetoric of pro-life unless you're
at once anti-war
and anti-death penalty
riddle me this
what pray tell is the
difference between a jealous
religious misogynist
and a secular sexist
it's rather simple actually
while the former bases his
slut-shaming on the edicts of
a two thousand year old letter to
the Corinthians inconspicuously
sandwiched between a celebration of
love and a section on speaking in tongues
the latter’s learned behavior is
birthed by a hyper-masculine culture
grounded in dominance
either way we await the day
when wild women raze
these ideologies
with torches before
rising like phoenixes
from the ashes of
decimated passages
dismissed by intellectuals
as archaic and outmoded
deaf blind and dumb to
the vestiges of modernity
that sap unscientific
philosophies of their potency
and render them utterly obsolete
in their wake
these proud women
erase the hate
from words like
****
*****
*****
and reclaim equality
with a far more
comprehensive term
feminist
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Passages on Fatherhood
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
He is my treasure,
and by his happiness I measure
my own worth.
Four years old,
with diamonds and gold
bejeweled in his soul.
His cherubic beauty
is felicity
to simplicity and passion—
for a baseball thrown
or an ice-cream cone
or eggshell-blue skies.
...
It’s hard to be “wise”
when the years
career through our lives
and bees in their hives
test faith
and belief
while Time, the great thief,
with each falling leaf
foreshadows grief.
The wisdom of the ages
and prophets and mages
and doddering sages
is useless
unless
it encompasses this:
his kiss.
Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
I have always been weary
of putting names in my poems
in fear that I will never be able to take
my confessions back
but when is a good day to tell you
that I have loved you in every lifetime
In the past we were entangled in each other
One life we were shooting stars
another we laid lazily in fields of wildflowers
a love too strong to explain through words
so we didn’t speak
instead you embodied the beauty of spring
a way to remind us of those April days
when nothing existed outside of each other
We hid our love behind buttercups and daisies
maybe that’s why I love to bring you flowers
to feel the flicker of a spark we shared
in a lifetime so long ago
In another lifetime we read quietly together
over coffee in smoky French cafe’s
we underlined passages
that we would read each other in secret
our love withstanding a time
when it was criminal to look at one another
with the type of love we shared
I don’t know if I have ever loved you loudly
there are no muscle memories
of me shouting your name from rooftops
or unapologetically holding your hand
without fear of repercussions
—even now I don’t know how to form the words
“I love you”
without looking around to see who’s listening
even after all this time I love you in secret
I still can’t put your name in my poems
but i promise in one of our lifetimes
I’ll write your name in every poem
and tell you that I’m in love with you out loud
someday the words
won’t feel stuck in my throat
but I hope that’s in a lifetime sooner than later
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 10:02 AM UTC
The room was dank and dreary
The past hung in the air
There was a scent of mildew
A smell of history was there
The paint was old and faded
With stains all dark and brown
The wallpaper too was dated
And it needed to come down
It was a home for 50 years
That stood so strong and proud
It comforted all of our fears
Far from the madding crowd
We stripped away the paper first
Each layer a strip in time
It showed the old room at her worst
It really seemed a crime
To tear it down, and think of when
Each layer was first applied
The walls that seemed so tall again
I just stood there and cried
I thought about the birthdays
Celebrated in this room
Of getting covered all in glaze
That we cleaned off with a broom
The roses were much redder
Than I remembered them to be
In fact it now looked better
Than it did when I was three
I remembered Mother loved this
And of how it made her smile
And she gave Father a light kiss
After toiling all the while
The next layer though was not as nice
"Twas beige and a sort of lime
It made the room feel cold like ice
It spoke of another, somber time
I looked at the wall and I noticed the lines
Marking our heights as we grew
This was on a paper all covered in vines
Mom loved this one, we knew
It seemed surreal that Mom was not here
To see these passages pass
But we knew in our hearts that she was stil near
As we looked at paper covered with Bass
That was from when Unlcle Jim came to stay
And our folks gave up their room
To help out a brother who I still love to this day
One who can always help brighten my gloom
They changed the wall just for him
To make it seem more like it was his
They put their life on hold for Jim
And the wallpaper choice was his
The years pass by more quickly now
The paper doesn't change too much
Jim moved out and that is how
The paper changed just a touch
Mom got sick and Dad quit work
He did the room in flowers for our mom
It was at this time we noticed the rooms quirk
One of those things that made you go hmmm
Far up in one corner behind a section of curtain
Dad had left a small square showing the years
worth of papers we were certain
It was to help mom with her tears
Now as we finished we looked to the man
Sitting alone in the old corner chair
He smiled at us as best as he can
But I don't think he knew we were there
I handed him some paper and I looked in his eyes
He stared clear on through me
And then he started to cry
This was the last of this paper he'd see
Dad and the house now have gone into dust
The years get short and have tapered
But to go back in time I know all I must
Do, is look at my small square of paper.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
Art is An Inspiration of Life,
Dreams are Passages through Strife,
Love is as You make it on High,
and Family is how a Person is Defined.
So What Defines You as a Whole?
Who are You in Your SOUL?
Do You Know who you are?
Maybe your Looking from afar?
Don't be afraid;
get up close and personal with Yourself,
Get to Know Your OWN Mind,Body,and Spirit.
Like some of the greatest of people say
"You are You worst Enemy"
I fell they forgot to complete that PHRASE,
so Let me inter vein on there Wisdom;
" As well you Can be your greatest ally"
so remember the Rhythm of the Night
as well the Rhythm of your Life
to the tune of You.
IF at the Time there is no Tune
don't be afraid to ask Cause
"The only Stupid Question is a Question Unasked"
so Don't Be afraid Of wisdom,
Don't be afraid of You;
If you already are Just remember
"You can be Your Greatest ally or Your own worst Enemy"
So stop Living a Lie and Find your truth.
Lay down your burden and get off/out of that prison you call "THE BOX". Get to Know YOU through and Through,
Love your self Cause IF no one will You always Have YOU.
DON'T BE AFRAID!!
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-Present
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
by
rgpage
in times long past young lovers dashed
to reach their secret space.
to kiss and ***** and plan and hope
their future's goals are placed.
never mind their path be lined
with unknown strife and pain.
their love is strong they'll carry on
with carefree youthful gain.
they don't see their life to be
past cupid's hot embrace.
as hot breath blends with kiss' deep
young lovers start their chase.
young love is hot and secrets not
shall block their youthful nest.
when young men dare and young girls share
young lovers start their quest.
its saturday night, dad's packard's right
with half a tank of gas.
with comb to hair in the bathroom mirror
he's thinking 'bout his lass.
its only been a week gone past
his greatest dream came true.
he staked his claim, with hopes on high
and pinned his Peggy Sue.
they talked of passages young men take
to cross that great divide.
to walk the way of their father's
and yes to take a bride.
in the grown up world so long past school
the grown ups just don't see.
teen love is true and made to last
the way it was meant to be.
he got on base with his varsity pin,
the base is numbered two.
this place before he'd never been
he hardly knew what to do.
his body went through changes great
his thoughts a swirling brook.
he cupped his prize with shaky hand
when before he could only look.
tonight's the night he's waited for
yes perhaps go all the way.
to walk with those who've beat love's quest
to become a man this day.
the time is ripe as is the night
it's planned in every way.
she won't resist his manly charms
WHAT MONTHLY FRIEND?
how long does she plan to stay?
and what's her visit to do with us
away from the lights of the city?
who is this friend to ruin this night?
his plans be dashed more the pity.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
Piggies dancing, floating along narrow passages towards what they hope is their ends. Their means have been stolen and packaged and sold by big suited, corporate, handy-handy machines. They eat piggies every day and love it, love it, love it down their gullet.
They are not worth a mention yet they get it, they want nothing but your attention, they don’t need it yet they get it. Their appetites are insatiable and contagious, they use it against us by showing us how we are nothing but what they are and we are fools enough to take it as Truth.
Shame.
We have shame because they debase us and hence debase themselves.
We have shame because we see their debasement and yet powerlessness is in our bones.
We have shame because all we want is not all we get and nowhere near all we deserve,
-it measures much lower.
It is irrelevant, it is biased, it is useless, IT is un-real-(UnRealistic, UnRelated, UnTrue)
Lie.
If my breath stinks or my hair is greasy or my cloths ***** my teeth yellowed, my feet smelly, my nails long, my social life quiet and solicitous- will you discern a negativity in my human-ness? We are no villains. We hate only those who would have us believe that we must hate ourselves and each other. They are no beasts like us. The animal within, encased by a carapace of Humanity glued and mortared by self-centered ideologies gets too thick and you must break it by looking at yourself. ******** and ******* and spitting and grunting and moaning in ecstasy and pain.
Repeat after me and say it loud with beastly yell “ I am a ********* beautiful Animal!”
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
*** me up on fire
Trigger my desire
Softly stroke me with caress
and lips
Lovely tongue this of mine
For it’s an explorer
Ready to deflower
Passages into your forest
*** me up into frenzy
Let me be a slave to your seduction
Torture me before eruption
Cunning
Lovely fingers these of mine
For they cannot see but feel
Soft skin below them
Slipping from dry to wet
Landscapes
*** me up until madness
Shivering Trembling Shaking
Bodies of ours, bursting in heat
And Love
Lovely body this of mine
For it is yours for pleasure
Yours to objectify
Yours to seek
Meek
*** me up
*** me
***
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
inspired by Ben Noah Suri
<*>
come to us in twilight, and just before sunrise,
in the in~between times, when souls exit and enter.
through microscopic cosmic windows, and there
is nothing but you and the full emptiness of earth
and then!
fill our void with words as yet unborn,
and aid all our passages from nether to glory...
for you,
we, await...
for guidance inherited from
all your visions of greater-than-us metamorphosis
<*>
upon first awakening and reaffirmation of life,
reading the first poem of the day
6:59am
Sabbath
Sep 13
2025
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 7:01 AM UTC
Crack some fire
everywhere
on the way heaven.
Light the shadow
light a candle
down the moon.
The sun in fact
does it every day.
Scurries towards
the last dark room
down the moon.
With the colour plate
intact and full
passes by shining on
every corner and nook
every untouched end in the day
the rainbows peep on the way.
Sneaks its way through
the deep forests of orbs
up and down the passages
in the mountains of stars
even after nightingales
and robins go deep silent
the sun tiptoes on the go
lights a candle on the moon.
Moments after the sunset
facing its true north in the West
only to find in heaven
the way The Queen of Heaven
puts her footprint less step
it's the sun's true West
shows up the new crescent.
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 9:10 PM UTC
The last time I loved
I knew exactly
what I wanted,
I was so sure--
it had to be
you.
It had to be
awkward laughs, soft music,
coffee brown eyes
half-asleep,
a house full of dogs,
vinyls,
chamomile tea.
I just knew,
believed,
it had to be
you and me.
I am always running,
looking for fire exits,
secret passages,
ways to escape,
always wanting
to be somewhere else--
anywhere else
but with you
I stopped running--
started wanting
wooden floorboards,
walls and a person
I could finally call
home.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 1:48 AM UTC
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold
Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.)
Don’t ask me why but
I went online this afternoon.
Read the Miami-Herald obituaries.
And not just the Biggies:
Maya Angelou at 86 and
A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries.
Of course we knew Maya,
Her caged bird singing
Softly in our souls,
But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries.
A former singer in the Ellington band,
Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo,
In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns--
His nickname evoking
His racial identity,
Quite muddled, flexible.
Although both sad passages to be sure,
It was neither Maya nor Herb
Triggering my tender tears.
But the obituary of:
ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI,
Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama.
Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit,
My tears for her long-lived mother,
Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding,
Still breathing at 97:
Hildegard Wolle.
Reading Brigitte’s bio—
German born, Berlin student,
Singer-fashionista &
Proud, naturalized
American citizen—
I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard.
As if the woman didn’t already
Have more than her share of trouble
On this planet nearly a century,
Having already lost her
Grandson Roland, and now,
Her daughter.
Something wacky is going on here.
Some long-distance life lesson
Being applied here.
Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s,
Suffers crystal distant memories,
Some really bad karma
Stored up in past lives.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Cold stone statues of all shapes and sizes
Chilled to the moss covered bone
Standing ***** markers of time
Weather worn words, passages of years
A place of disasters, heartbreak and crime
All gathered there, forgotten by time
As the trees bend to the seasons
And the passing of years
A lone figure dressed in black
Stands above an unnamed gravestone
Reflecting on past memories
Of someone he had known.
Brown wet clinging clay lies
Heaped by the side of a black hollow
Waiting for another invited guest
As the bell tolls, mournfully
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
there are many on record
the caves
the tunnels
the blinding light..
a hesitation
on the line
between life and death..
so many forms of death
each with corresponding life
these deaths
a passing of day into night
a passing storm
dark passages
each exhalation..
in each of these
a transition is reached
life and death not distinguished
the tunnel becomes
is the light..
so we read the reports
awakening
to life's primary
signal...
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
So
from your hand,
I learned to drink the light...
A residue of dahlias
in their late summer blood,
rimmed white with the fluid evening,
the soul, some wild falcon
folded in golden lullabies
of nightingale acoustics...
Eclipsed by the gentle pathos
of the body, shining
as I leave it behind,
crying in its dark thorns,
some forlorn fragment shudders
in the silver embrace you lace with calm...
As it laps
into that crumpled karma
and dreams it was once
a jaguar of dark passages,
held in the long hands of sorrow,
see, these clavicles emerge through orchids...
And a liquid resurrection
envelope the earth you bathe
from the fugitive gesture of wings,
so, it was in these black,
grim prairies of the soul...
Where I
at last learned
to drink the light from your hand....
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:32 PM UTC
i just want to be yours for today
let time and space float away
i just want to step inside your mind
read through your thoughts like pages in time
i want a piece of you to remember
a part of you i can forever treasure
there is but a moment in our prime
so many passages to discover and unwind
the morning dew rises
and the early bird sings
fading moments drifting into memory
i'll keep the light on
you can always come inside
i'll be your shelter
when there's no where else to hide
your words flow through me
sweet music transcending in beauty
is it fate
or should we wait?
let history unfold
heavy heart dipped in gold
but you can sing
you are the song echoing through me
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
I've got a Chopper,
You can have ****** *********** with it if you like
It's got a trug, a Jew's harp that rattles the windows
And creatures to make it mosey around crack
I'd stretch jeans cheesecake abutting you if I could, but I used plastic toast
You're the kind of ***** that thrusts into *** my bodiliness
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I've got a disguise it's a torso of a Irish bull
There's a slit high up the skirt Miss World's bra-burner and gross
I've grappled page—3 girl for bouts
If you think Miss Universe could spasm creamy then I guess Mr Universe should
You're the kind of ***** that slides in with my wads
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I **** a chimpanzee and he hasn't got a stage—door Johnny
I don't copulate why I cock—a—doodle—doo him Gerald
He's inseminating à la carte geriatric but he's a voluptuous chimpanzee
You're the kind of ***** that stuffs *** my gallons
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I've got a Welshwoman of pornographic Casanovas
Here a Don Juan, there a Lothario, prognosticators of obscene persons of opposite *** sharing living quarters
Beg a bonk if you be on heat, they're on the back of the *****
You're the kind of ***** that spasms indoors using my lump
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I **** custom—built dead men of doo-wop passages
Incognito Muses, faceless ching, most of them are Barbie
Let's **** into the odd kitchenette and **** landlady creature
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
The way we cry, and
if our cryings be heard,
the way they are attended to
will set the walk. The way we
are treated as toddlers, the way
punishment may be meted out,
will further the course. Kind-
nesses, magnanimity of spirit,
love--all will determine not only
the paths we are led down, but
also the paths we shall set for
ourselves and travel ourselves--
pathos, bathos, ethos--until
death deals an end to our
earthly peregrinations. These
spoors--the lives, the lanes,
the passages we shall be
traveling--will tell us, and
others, about who we are,
and were, and if we were
befriended ever by others,
and by ourselves.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
~
In ode to all who succumb
through wayward passages
lined of scribble notes
dripping ink’s savagery,
staining cursive patterns
in Sylvia-like depressions
Jarred bells ring
down lost tunnels
around each dark corner…clang
from steeples we chase
and beds we lie
draped in sadness
and shapes of
poetic happenstance
Tear drop vinaigrette
spiced of leftover lifetimes
drizzled on leafy desperation
bids a tired farewell
before time collects
the deserved rewards
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC