"passerbyers" poems
Invisibility;
it need not mean
to not physically be seen,
for eyes look on,
taking in the
loneliness
I don;
crowds and rooms
bursting loud with tunes,
faces happily grimacing,
I am grimacing back,
revelry I am feigning,
as on spins the DJ track;
professional smile-maker,
the most experienced faker,
regarded by passerbyers,
they know nothing of my
insides on fire;
room crowded
and still alone,
optimism shrouded
by apathetic groan;
You
see
"me,"
but
you
don't
see
me;
Invisibility.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
for the farmers
The soft, barn red
bricks took away your childhood;
thus giving you a manhood.
Passerbyers rush with business
through the concrete paved
flowing streets.
Once in a while, they pass you
in their slick, metallic paint-coated
auto-mobiles.
Still, you will continue to grow
no matter how fast people
build their cities.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
The stagnant watch of passerbyers
Penetrated with a needing of closure and a surrounding of homeliness
Words laced together in an order not distinguished
Without a sense of security and faith
It shatters and the phrase is broken
Just like everything else in the world and everything else that is just
But nothing is just
Nothing is certain
Burning. Molding. Changing
Life is not certain but it is meaningful
Only to those who can find meaning
In the pieces left behind by those before them
Who have created havoc
Who have created ********
Who have created falseness
Who are damaged
Who are wanting
Faith has created life
Faith has destroyed life
But get on your knees
Pray. Worship. Lie.
Nothing to save you
Nothing to save you
A bunch of fuckery
Myths all tied together
None is real
Suffering is imminent
Life is imminent
The passerbyer walks
With disappointment
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
Sitting
very much alone
on a makeshift bench
out of an old log,
my coffee balanced in
a knot in the wood I've
made into a cup holder,
my feet planted into the
soggy leaf-covered dirt.
I gaze outward onto
the wooden bridge
that aids the passerbyers
of persons and canines to
overstep the pebble-laden
creek.
The air is brisk,
the sun sneaking only
occasional glances at my
solitude
behind a screen of
scattered trees,
tall and thin,
buried in leaves slowly
transitioning from green to
yellow.
I ponder on how
brave everyone has
said I am,
that they could never do
what I'm doing,
like I'm some sort
of war hero.
I laugh slightly to myself,
for, I wonder, how much
moxy does it really take
to sit on an
abandoned stump in the
woods, fighting off
tears of loneliness and
anxiety?
Aren't those who are
brave not so
chock full of doubt,
not clinging to a pen
and a notebook in
hopes of dispelling
waves of woes?
The wind blows by me
once more as if to
reassure me that
my newfound spot of
singularity is exactly
where I am supposed to
be, so I go back to
watching the passerbyers, or,
momentarily,
the lack thereof,
sipping my coffee
and soaking in my new
surroundings.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
I miss you every second I’m away from you
My heart can’t help but fill up with envy
For the people who get to rejoice in your presence
Every second of every day
Passerbyers who get a second glance
Of your beautiful golden locks twirling around with every step you take
I start to envy inanimate objects
That serve your every need
Napkins that wipe your bottom lip from the stickiness of lipstick
Mirrors that reflect every one of your perfect stances
The water that hydrates and gives you life
I obsess over you maybe too much
Maybe I just have too much time to think
But even in my busiest moments
Your image replays in my mind again and again
You’re a flash flood that takes ownership of everything it touches
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC
Hand in hand
we strode along the Camino
oblivious to the surrounding world.
Passerbyers could not restrain
their sentiments,
greetings & farewells
escaped lips,
while ours created magic,
locked together,
swirling our tongues,
we tasted soul.
It was our last walk together
and we both knew it.
We had counted stars,
tormented iquanas,
scissored each other
to make goosebumps
& lose sleep.
All of those memories
have stayed intact,
they do not haunt me,
save one.
I remember
watching you wave
from the backseat of the bus
as it drove away,
back into the jungle.
I wished we could
have stayed there
forever, but now,
I keep you with me,
just a crumpled photograph
of your star feet.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
Take a ticket
Click it or ticket
Yet meanwhile, back in police land
They chuckle
Knowing neither one of them
Wear a seatbelt. Haha they say
We can write tickets
Everyday. We could steal
The passerbyers drugs to.
Hey maybe give em a jails stay,
Haha haha
We blue men say!
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
sprinting hand in hand down narrow streets
running around unsuspecting bystanders and passerbyers
laughs echoing off the skyscrapers, louder than all the taxi cabs and mixed up conversations of the city
chasing the pink sunset that reflects in golden hues off of the concrete jungle
walking hand in hand around the edges of the lakes in central park
dancing on subway platforms to street performers unique melodies
falling into attraction in between musty lps in dimly lit record shops hidden away in greenwich
falling in love in vacant coffee shops or on apartment building rooftops
the city is where nostalgia takes a form of reality and where chaos disguises itself as a form of surreal serenity
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC