"passageway" poems
My hands have betrayed me.
Once the means to write pages,
Now my hands are only dead weight.
My hands won't pick up a pen.
Or even type short,
Choppy sentences.
They dangle at my sides
And find refuge in my hair,
Leaving me bleeding.
Like my hands,
My mouth has declared itself
My enemy.
Once the passageway for words
To explain myself,
My mouth is now as useful as a broken bridge.
With nothing of value to say,
It talks
And sings anyway.
It opens without my permission
But stays closed whenever I try
To scream meaning.
The inability to illustrate
Or translate my mind
And my soul
Is not an unfamiliar ordeal.
But it's lonely on the outside
And frustrating looking in.
It seems I'll always feel like an alien.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
I’m working to unwrap you slowly
To form you up like a theory
To create a habitat for you in my head
My steps grow wider when I see you at the end
Lying, lounging, an old lion
Afternoon sun low and tired
Rays and shadows streak the road like enveloping arms
As I grow closer, you project even further away
I just long to reach you
Rest my head against your ***** and
Sleep against your softness like a pile of feathers
To rest at last.
But at times I think I’ll never reach you,
As I approach you reflect even further away
I wonder that this road is endless, thinning into the distance
The black wires radiate into the air above me
Mutating my simple DNA into something else entirely
A sole purpose survivor, a solider
The cause is more desperate now
They’re buzzing to each other above my head, talking about me
Their scrutiny banging between my ears
The dust becomes a new layer of me, with incredible thirst
Just fields of dehydrated dandelions, just nothing
They soak up the liquid from everything
With their chemical and electrical waves
The fields are screeching as they shrivel up, like dying children
Now it’s all yellow, beige, and far away
It’s all so tiny against the horizon,
For all I know, your silhouette has become a statue by now
Just this long stripe of dirt I treat like a passageway
Just a ladder to a final place of rest
I’m desperate for a stop in my trudging motion
But I know I can’t lie down in this unworthy sand.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
The snow drifts were
quite high, piling up into the
northern sky, burying
towns and trees and the poor souls who
had fallen asleep on the grass
and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes
left little kisses on their eyelids.
Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass
or spring
or sun
or summer
or birds.
There was only winter and snow.
And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of desolation and
s a n c t u a r y.
The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence.
And somehow, the halls always remained.
The blue halls.
Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni. Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky.
A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside.
Some say it's the doorway to heaven.
Others say it's the gates of hell.
And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture.
Others like myself.
"If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds.
" The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so."
We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me.
The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake.
The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known.
"It's the harmonica of the gods!"
Perhaps one of them
dropped it.
Perhaps it was a flaw in design.
Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind.
Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests.
And you are so beautiful. The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 9:45 PM UTC
I'm looking down watching what you do
As if i'm Uatu the Watcher
Or maybe I'm controlling you
Like the evil Puppet Master
See you have no control in life
This is my world and I'm just allowin you to live in it
It's like I'm eating up planets with Galactus
And creating chaos with Apocalypse
I'm in control of my actions
Choosing to do wrong
Only to wait until my redemption by the hands of the worthy
You're inside my head like Charles Xavier
Trying to find out my secrets
Only to discover that I keep my mental barriers on lock
With no key or code to unlock
Said passageway into my subconsious
Because I can block you without a helmet
Unlike Juggernaut or Magneto
I'm free to swing around with the good wall crawler known as
Scarlet Spider
Hah
And write up my own unique flows with no worries
I don't need the X-men or Avengers
Or my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man
To know that I have some great repsonsibilities on my shoulders
Weighing me down like a ton of bricks
And I don't need someone like Doom
Telling me how to be a leader
When we all know his leadership skills could use some attention
I'm an enigma
Close to what Deadpool would say is
Very unique
Before muttering towards the wall
As if it were his faithful audience
I know who I am
I know what I do
So simply put
I'm freaking awesome
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
My Prize for Waiting
~
*tucked in all by myself,
resting dark and quiet
in the thin place^
where the distance between
this world and the next,
is no distance at all,
but a few inches separating,
easily fordable, back and forth-able
my palms, hands down,
come to rest on my *******
and the two thumbs in unison,
begin to sweep the streaming space of their in-between,
conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point
passageway to poetic mystical places,
hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping
no hurry to either arrive or depart,
in patient attendance for
rhythms of woven word arrivistes,
coming in no particular order,
asking to be seized, greedy to be
nominated and recognized, immortalized,
as great poetry, prize worthy,
kept for all time inside others poetry chests
but in the thin place,
dream records are not kept,
hazy scraps at best retained,
a recipe for a witnessed totality,
is only a soupy reduction of a
few seconds of hazed video,
that can neither give nor get
no satisfaction
the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct
the body of the meal, the real deal,
alas, there are no prizes either
for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless
poetry scraps
the only evidence of my travels,
a flushing, blushing residual flow,
slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark
of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying,
my blush, a prize for waiting but failing,
“the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^
woe to me when returned in ignominy,
medaled in only base irony,
me and philosopher Pliny,^^^
both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius,
our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash,
but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry
so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged
burnt photographs epistles,
that are clinging and clung to the distaff spindle,
insufficient to weave a flax complete
and yet we return perforce twenty four hours from now,
to snag another prized piece of meaningless,
my prize for waiting
in the solitude of the thin place*
3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019
~
last nights scrap
***cease your whining,
seize your waiting,
therein is your own paid price
for the prize of inspiration***
inspired by Jean Fisher,
a real prize winning poet
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 4:26 AM UTC
Christina was standing
by the school gym
her satchel over
her shoulder
her hand gripping
the strap
her hair windswept
when she saw you coming
she smiled nervously
and said
I wondered
if you’d come this way
why?
you asked
she took your arm
and pulled you
into the gym
and let the door
close behind you
the gym was empty
there were voices
and the sound
of people passing
along the passageway
need to see you
she whispered
why?
you asked
I don’t see you
unless I stop you
in the school somewhere
or on the playing field
if the weather’s nice
you gazed
around the gym
at the apparatus
the ropes
the mats
she continued talking
her voice whispering
you looked at her
her eyes dark
and staring
why here?
you asked
we can be alone
for a while
she said
she took hold
of one of your hands
and looked at it
and rubbed her thumb
over the skin
you’re only 13
you said
you’re only 14
she replied
she placed your hand
to her cheek
we’re going to be late
for our next lessons
you said
so?
she replied
you sensed her lips
on your hand
her body moving
closer to you
then she kissed your cheek
then stood there
her mouth slightly open
thank you
you whispered
she smiled
and went out
the gym door
and along
the passageway
you stood gaping
at the ropes
and mats
and the high windows
and a blue sky
and heard voices
calling from the playground
from kids at play
just another moment
you mused
just another day.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 3:41 AM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
The natural you and what about him
The Zen gold egg climber Prince
Got his "Godly" rinse of the hen
We always knew their way upon
our thinking "Jumping Jack Flash"
But to be the change the day single
let's be feasible naturally, we mingle
The Holy water medieval drinking
By the night call, something is moving
Like a creature not in human form
We need to meet our expectations
More spoken revelations and terms
Naturally, we were born to be told
we have the fire to move any force
Even when our bones are getting old
That powerful love but someone is
watching us above
With higher hopes will make
it through lovesick she coughs
The Passageway like a click of her heels
Feeling the beauty but climbing high
Naturally being cool with her sigh
Or the carriage day vintage wine
Her lucky wheel
World’s are invitation the engagement,
The sweet words or the terms of endearment
Be the Higher lover up in the Prince bow to her
A need to get higher inside the
Castle what a love hustle like a stampede
The rampage turning the ancient pages
Rock and roll ages or the Gothic pale
Victorian beauty her name Judy
Sir page the Grand Marnier
or change of pace human race
The drink Moet
High Mighty King singing
Her heart shape ring beating
Fresh-cut or worn out smoke put out
Brighten her pleasure the rose repose
To be born not a piece of paper torn
Like a Queen reborn
For love how its spoken not just
City Girl with her token for-God-sake
can you look through her
wing turned up she is curled up
in her new threads of sheets
eyes please she is not ready
to hear goodbyes to your beat
What do you read is she naturally
beautiful than or now
Her naturally glow lights up
The Shakespearian castle
Two nature healers, not the
same as card dealers
Butterflies the fireflies
Her love shape naturally
that's no lie
It comes naturally to be loved __
More like homed bakes muffin ___
Google the nature of things spoken but
they may not come
Please don't wait too long
Perhaps there is always someone
to copy your song
Be the climber love for who she is
Her vegetables her sensuality is quite
organically raw
She loves her side dish coleslaw
How nature made us in the womb
Naturally spoken things like her sub combo
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
The road was long and rough
It was a passageway of words
A parade of letters and prose
The touch of invisible pleasure
I moulted like a snake in season
I dreamt on a cruiser of reign as we
opened my pandora box in the cave
The road was smooth and right
It was a third eye paradise of seers
A mire of misery and blowing wind
The tears flew like fireflies on heat
I met the shrinks of souls in salt bed
I waved the rain as it washed my sins
On that sight of the pandora box
The road of wrongness and rightness
It was an unfolded augury of life
An awakened sleeper roared in dreams
The days when I touched the skies
I took the broken house and mended
I saw the clouds as bright as crimson
Inside the box when I met my twin
The road of love, lust, love, longness
It was when the ember coal was wild
A blaze of soul collision and resonance
The days when doubt taunted in mazes
I wrested my mind and the heart knew
I tested the precipice and intuition led
Inside the unconditional pandora box
The road where I hid and felt alive
It was a paradise of shining trees
A place where our loneliness merged
The safest heaven on barren lands
I saw my warrior and he shielded
I sat as he ran away with fear and pride
On that very opened pandora box
The road of unforgotten forever
It was a triangulation of continents
An immersion of difference and indifference
The open table of a scarce connective mess
I shed my naive bed and hardened
I shut the wild untwisted world
On that very inevitable pandora
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
Anne,
one legged,
crutched herself
through passageway
and hall,
passed kitchen,
leg stump swaying,
green dress flowing,
out through
the French windows,
moving by me
in the doorway,
pushing by
the boss-eyed nun,
out into the garden,
shouting loudly:
WHERE’S
THE ****** SUN!
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
~
Precious is the light of every distant star we see
For they are the passageway that brings your love to me
Tiny points a’ sparkling upon the evening sky
Perfect constellations that we both see passing by
~
Miles lie between us as we stand upon this ground
Only in the evening when we can not hear a sound
Do we see the shimmering of heavens up above
Bringing to our very hearts our long desired love
~
Darkness now we find that it shall always be our friend
So that we may use the stars upon our love to send
Silent is the evening that our eyes do come to meet
Whispering affection over nighttime skies we greet
~
Beauty comes in many forms to lighten up our day
Only when the twilight smiles and sends the sun away
Will the stars come shining down from canopies of night
And we find the love we seek now glowing in their light
~
Stand with me this evening even if the clouds exist
Shower me within your love for it I surely miss
Here beneath the galaxies and their most precious view
So that we may once again embrace our love so true
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
Come walk with me a mile...
Walk on without our burden’s weighty shoes,
warily trudging over the long rocky pathway
a lifetime in my soul.
A final edifying voyage to freedom.
The winds of change are blowing briskly
as we walk charily over the long and narrowing
rock-strewn passageway.
I shed these boots and skin, no longer fitting
my scared, blistered and callused soles.
As time slowly passes,
this craggy passage has evolved
from a two-way trail,
into one-way jagged forage…
Standing barefooted and naked on rocky ground,
dark sunken sleepless eyes scan
the rolling vista as the wind blows
dust from the halo around the sun,
blurring the delicate wispy cirrus clouds.
The sun’s radiance paints frozen ice crystal azure
into a vivid aura of prisms’ brilliant corona.
Kaleidoscope rainbows adorn the closest of solar stars.
There's something in the ethereal air
that leaves my soul unsettled,
grasping for an evocative stability
trying to understand the silenced voices
crying out within…
The pain and suffering has vanished
as if the body and soul have separated,
numbness from the ache of longing,
severed nerves, callused fears
ruptured on serrated rocky edges,
deadened useless flesh cut to the bone
by misjudged obstacles encountered enduringly.
The barefooted spirit courses on,
suffused in the solar spectrum’s dust;
yearning, longing to saunter
above and beyond the bloated feathery pillows;
cumulus clouds finally resting at peace.
Dipping heart's lesions and these benumbed toes
into a healing balm
from the bowers of bliss..
An unfinished life
an open ended dream,
reluctantly waking to take the last ,
surrendering steps beyond the threshold...
A long and winding rocky journey’s destiny
draws near
The halo around the moon
illuminates an understanding firmament;
the celestial sphere’s
pending imminent soulful rain awaits
the metamorphosis at the brink of dawn.
A shower of heaven's rain
shall mourn the loss of flesh form
as the spirit of an untamed soul lives on,
barefooted,
naked and free
like the dust in the wind
absorbed eternally...
2011 © harlon rivers
all rights reserved
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
I couldn't seem to find where you had gone.
The road narrowed down to a small passageway in the woods,
getting lost in the crowds of trees surrounding it.
I walked until my feet ached,
until the gravel beneath my naked toes cut ****** rock sized openings into my skin.
You were nowhere to be found,
I realized that now,
but I kept walking,
as if each step could somehow guide me to you like a compass,
pulling me in the right direction,
promising an answer.
I wanted to know where they had buried your body,
where your still decaying bones lie a clean mess inside the earth, but I couldn't find it,
I couldn't find where you had gone.
The moon had once before,
promised me a source of light,
but now,
it only provided a terrifying, crowding darkness.
I wanted to lie underneath it,
urging her out of the sky and onto me.
I wanted something heavy to plunge me underground
so I could worm myself to you,
find the body that belonged more to me than it did, you.
I just wanted you back,
and if I couldn't even have that,
than a piece of you to hold onto;
something I could look at to know you were once a living being, once a boy I loved and always will.
I walked back then,
after allowing myself the refusing will to move on.
In the impala, on an abandoned road,
I pulled your cold blanket over my own decaying body,
trying to wrap the ghost of you around me.
Pushing my nose into the wool,
I smelled the last remaining parts of you.
I closed my eyes,
not willing to imagine the small space where you should be,
vacant.
After all,
how were you supposed to wake up there with me,
when I was half gone myself?
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 3:17 PM UTC
how Eye make love,
this popped into my head
tho questioning this quest,
what purpose served, unknown...
lacking the infatuation to poetry write,
the mind retreats to the basics,
eye write with no destination,
wondering at the wonderment
of this basic actionable accolade...
sometimes,
be the
operative word,
sometimes
cooperative,
is the operative...
sometimes,
is but a
it just depends
who
is the initiate
and who possesses the initiative...
every story has a different
author, ending...
sometimes slow,
sometimes muy rapido
in foreign tongues
in foreign places,
the only commonality be that
wonderment
eye wish this not to be explanation,
eye wish this to be an explication
of the texts of sensual visionaries,
imagining the helping to happening,
the passageway to and from
where the mind begins,
the body completes its origination
oft I close my Eyes,
listening to hers,
her eye voices directing me,
what will be the course of our
course,
miss no Michelin starred landscapes,
through hers, mine Eyes triumphant...
tour guide excellente
cannot explain
why the temp sometimes
solar flares,
why the temp sometimes
is a glacial expedition,
tongue led,
from toes to eyelids...
always buy tickets for a
round trip flight...
how
is a titillation, begging you to read & expose,
there is no how, only sometimes better,
sometimes different...
why
is a question needs no asking...
when
when the shape of her profiled neck,
reflects shadows of further inquiry,
when her décolletage collects me
as she and her designer intended...
when
she laughs uproariously at my piquant,
suave and debonair one liners,
requiring kissing tickling calming
when
tears spill when reading
a new takeaway poem mine,
needy for a tongue to collect that spillway...
just being friendly appreciative and thanking
where
is when
the how and
the why
intersect
the intemperate weather of
being alone
subtle suggests
auto recollections
now know
the how, when, where and the
why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
of memories of past and present...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
I lay in darkness
my mind drifts
thoughts eating me alive
my body shifts
another thought and the anxiety grows
feels like the first time i tried blow
my body shifts
i think about your lips
and our passionate affair
but the thought of you with someone else
leaves me breathless, gasping for air
my body shifts
i stare into nothing
wondering when will i become something
feels like i can't stop running
my body shifts
its these sleepless nights that i fear
no candle or source of light near
i can't silence these thoughts
my body shifts
i close my eyes
and sigh
inhale and exhale
now i'm high
my body shifts
i feel my body less tense
my thoughts are now at rest
all it took was this blunt
now it makes sense
my body shifts
my mind drifts away
into the subconscious i go
ahead of me, there’s a lit up passageway
where will my dreams take me?
Who the **** knows
My body shifts
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
There is an equilibrium of rivers
soaring into a distant spectrum
far from earth's existence
unfamiliar territories extending
to the deepest depths
bursting beginnings
exhilarating endings
a true presence unmasking various
dreams deep within the core of the universe
a wave of thoughts and feelings
floating in the crimson sea
in the moonlight of hollow chambers
the shimmering sun shining down
upon its glossy surface
sinking in its shadowing frame
how it's captivating phrasing
is a passageway of escaping mazes
a domain of unbreakable chains swelling into eternity
curling in rising nouns and pronouns
amplifying into massive metaphors
a horizon of limitless languages
shifting towards greater heights
illuminating destiny in the palm of its hand
each magnificent sight a seamless design
of crowned creations
every synchronized sound a desiring anticipation
waiting to be unveiled to the masses
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
Please, please, first listen to this, if you are unfamiliar with this musical piece
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kllZlF6mB2s
~~~~~~~~~~~
you thought you didn't know it,
but you did
somewhere a wedding, a movie
and you thought how beautiful
I hear it
each note distinct, unique and a
passageway to the next and the next
a transcendence
a generation
an uplifting
an arousal
a smoothing
a calming
a weeping
smithy of words,
I have read,
I have writ
words that gut punch me,
round my mouth into oh's,
cause me weeping endless
but this music
arrests and rests me,
miracle each time
I walk on its waters
how utter fools we be
to have "lost" this
for over three hundred years!
I rediscover it each time
somewhere a wedding a movie
and you thought how beautiful
for me, a funeral,
play it for me at
my funeral,
hold it in a
wedding chapel,
so with it,
upon hearing its invocation,
I may thee wed
thereafter, when you stumble on it
our vows be timely renewed,
and
though apart,
together,
we will weep, once more,
transcendent, once again,
ascendant, then and now
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
Before the night paints the world dark
Daylight surrenders to the evening and fades
A carpenter digs through the dead tree’s bark
Before nightfall a hole has to be made.
A hole has to be made before nightfall
There isn’t any place else he could stay
Since he can’t make the night stall
He must fast dig the passageway.
He must fast dig the passageway
Make for him a warm space
Till the sun gifts him another day
He once more gets back his happiness.
He once more gets back his happiness
The thought drives him in the cold night
It’s enough if he can just dig a warm space
To hold on patiently for daylight.
He must hold on patiently for daylight
A rewarding time until dawns darkness
A warm space he must dig for the night
Therein lies the woodpecker’s happiness.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
At times I’ve believed it
And at other times, scoffed,
One of the oldest of pivotal fears,
Mentioned in scripture and stories and hymns,
The execration is stinging my ears.
And throbbing, echoing, clashing rhythms,
With no beat ...such tension… Distortion’s risings,
A march over mazurka decelerating,
Curious uses for curious things,
Intestinal-pullings, intestinal strings,
Every warping conceived by my kind,
Like tearing of flesh and torture of mind,
Nothing that’s wholesome, nothing that’s good,
The truth bent, the opening crude,
The too-thin passageway out, understood
And my own rotting flesh is my food.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
I found perfection
In every flaws you possessed
In every faults
And every little mistakes you did
I found peace
Within your chaos
Tranquility
In your storm
And a passageway
Of love
In the cracks of your broken heart
- Juju
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 9:33 AM UTC
Heaven, heaven is one breath away! Heaven, heaven is someone’s array of death and decay. May I say? The havens and heavens above is a way for the doves and for its love. For the day, the gay, the gray, the prey, the stray, the Sundays and sunrays! Heaven, heaven is a hideaway, a passageway, a safe way, a sway away! Heaven, heaven
is basically, eccentrically, theoretically and poetically for some of the
awesome that blossom! It’s an anthem or a poem! It’s fearsome, it’s freedom and a kingdom of wisdom! Heaven, heaven is a place of face, grace, race and trace. It’s full of allure and demure! It’s rest and a test assured! Where, there you can invest the best and insure your problems can be cured! Heaven, heaven’s characterized cries and eyes! The flies, the lies, the prize in disguise! Its skies, ties, the whys and the
wise. Footprints and imprints of ancient legends of heroes, Negroes and Neros of long, long ago! Heaven, heaven’s gorgeous doorsteps! Yep! Its havens grand, take a stand. Many brands, many hands, many
strands of many sands! Heaven, heaven is enormous and glamorous! It’s where adjacent, impatient humorous, numerous followers throng and prolong! The bleak, meek, the weak, the strong and wrong! There
is where, reactive in proactive citizens and frail senior citizens hail and sail! They prevail as they unveil! They thrive and throng to there,
where righteous, brightness belongs. Heaven, heaven all adhere and hear! The allowed, the followed, the hallowed, the supreme cloud towers and gracious powers! Heaven, heaven basked and tasked by thy masked gleam. Aside, inside it seemed I was alone…
As I cried, as I sighed! Tied in wonder, under the heaven’s throne of wonder! In blunder, as I wondered if I were dead? Instead, black crows in rows, attacked and flew over my head! Squawking, talking, flying asunder, with plunder, plunder, under the thunder, thunder! Definitely bringing me to my knees! Infinitely squawking, talking, flying around me with ease, glee and tease! Please heaven, heaven!
For instance in the distance... It’s dreamingly and seemingly quaint you see! Faint sounds of angel’s hymning and rhyming! Their heavenly, heavenly, singing, ringing triumphantly, triumphantly! Although, through the distance and persistence in time; we to will hopefully and loyally dine. Dine in thrill, on the heaven, heaven’s divine! Amen all children, men and women, heaven, heaven amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Semi-
——-
Something new, in our years of partnership,
during
the early morning semi’s, the half awake, yet
mostly asleep, passageway from rest to wake,
as per usual, I am awake before her, to write,
to think, to read, to do my variety of early morn
chores, but today, her semi is populated by a
new concern, an alert, mind programmed, silent,
no chirp, no beep, just human punctual new instinct,
let us
check if my man is alive and breathing, rub his
thankfully copious-headed hair & air supply,
rub-a-dub,
once, repeat twice, thrice, sense his beating brain,
confirming the night passage, always dangerous,
completed safely, for she feels my warmth, hears
my eyes-crinkle smiling, and ascertains, the
continuation of my existence and the statistical
probability, (her occupational hazard and habit)
that when
she crosses fulsome into the living day,
awakensgladly, that her not-too-hot-black
coffee, will be
mister milkman delivered on schedule with
a bedside delivery like clockwork-blonde, with a
half sheet of enwrapping paper towel within some
morning fruit, to ensure that her coffee will have some company…
while she dances a beloved tango in her semi-,
I am:
*in my only~pretending post-tense,
semi complimentary state,
mentally scrambling scribbling half a dozen
eggs of new poem ideas, mad pursuing these
very words, my way of saying good morning girl,
my beating heart muscling me to be sure I-remain,
in the good company of the Oompa-Loompas,
and yours too*!
Jul 31, 2023
Jul 31, 2023 at 7:44 AM UTC
Cloaked by the veil of night I ready myself for what is to come. Fear is not recognized on this side
of the shroud, for it is this fear that is my most useful and treasured tool.
Footsteps approach the alleyway, I see my target pace forward towards his end, illuminated most
benevolently by the blush of his own burning cigarette end.
In his own world he lays claim to control and intimidation, a brave and dangerous man by his own
words. Words I shall later configure to be truth or allegory.
It is a simple matter to terrify someone prone to be terrified, is a different course to set the same
action upon he who does usually initiate the afor-mentioned phrase.
As the victim looks up into the eyes of this purveyor of violence I suspect it true that fear is well
presented to his visual inspection and it goes without saying it adds to his delight.
I imagine in other venues the same is said of myself but I would very much disagree with this
evaluation. Fear, Intimidation is not what I represent, they are just tools in an arsenal, I am just
simply here to reek good old honest revenge..
You do the deed, you pay the price, Simple as that. No forgiveness passes through this alley-way
this night, just utter, complete and total retribution. A gift from me to all those whom have been
bitten.
As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death you will indeed fear evil, for I art with thee
and this rod of correction is indeed not one of comfort
The scatter of burnt ash bouncing off the alley wall signifies the conclusion of any remaining
illumination as he throws the **** of his cigarette away, darkness prevails once again.
As I strike, screams of pain shatter the silence and echo through the narrow passageway. The
****** body of this victim slumps unceremoniously alongside garbage bags, a fitting end for such
*******
True and honest folk can breathe a sigh of relief, to them I am vigilant. If you swing the other way
however, BEWARE.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Just like the lever on your door, your words won't let me out
Your breath to each stanza excites me with... words upon words of what you might say.
I might be getting all giddy cause I fall for words just like the days wrapped around this earth.
You might not notice me like, lyrically because, I am just.. Your friend . But yes, I do understand. Because, we are just make believing you are, the courtship to being mine.
Your presents excite me.
Not the ones that you would buy me.
But the spirit of your be-ing.
You being there to raise my awareness like the poet who spoke of "house alarms" and being aware of what is there.
You may not notice me for who I want to be through the passageway of your eyes.
The delicate touch you graze the side of my arm as we sit ever so close to each other.
I'm just... Over analyzing what may or may not happen.
My *** that serves me to be this wild beast chasing after the minor things. You've been on my mind. But for what reason?
Like this blood coming out of my body, are you only coming out for this monthly visit?
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC