"passerbys" poems
I want to go back, back to my New Orleans
This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana
But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime
The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets,
Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys
Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses
Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter
Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt
In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow
is to be ridiculous.
In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs.
As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in
the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street
And in any semi-deserted street
To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way
The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets.
An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past
A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day
An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well
A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging
A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled
Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small
I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee,
And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
There's a place for me
in a field of Bluebonnets
under a Pecan Tree, with
Texas Longhorn lowing
to passerbys,
and mockingbirds flitting
about cloudless, grand skies.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
Show me a field that is filled with golden flowers
hours upon hours the smell of the grass elevates the scents
that seems to send passerbys into an overdrive of envy.
Lend me your hand so that my coarse skin is softened by yours,
the door to my heart is forever open awaiting your entrance
and the defences are fending off other fiends so don't worry about guard
because as hard as it is to trust, I've let my guards down a long time ago.
Show me that you can be the green to my gold
let us grow old but never grow up as we play like kids
let the bliss fill both our hearts as we unite together against the world.
Girl, will you find it in yourself to love me? ...as much as I love you?
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
What a strange occurrence it must be,
To be stuck to a wall,
No hope of being freed.
What a strange and scary notion,
To be forced to cease all motion,
While stuck to a wall,
Dreaming of a potion.
I wish a friend would come along,
Bring some solvent please,
Because I have been stuck to a wall,
For a week or two at least.
Though, it must be a funny sight,
For the curious passerbys,
To see me glued against a wall,
Squirming at my own demise.
I've never hated a thing more
Than I do this glue,
That stuck me to this ******* wall,
When I tried to stick you!
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly found significant.
A vast stretch of abandonment and history - long forgotten and left to be consumed by Time himself.
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly understood.
Decorated by Mother Nature with an asortment of trees and shrubs and an abundance of flowers it's only scar which betrayed it to the present was a solitary man-made structure, tattoed with the bold letters of "FALCON SECURITY" - surely an untold testimony to this place's past life.
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly acknowledged.
Ocassionally it would become the temporary haven of hobbos and hermits alike. Living in mutual homelessness they sort comfort under the trees, in the confines of the hideous building or simply amongst the long, billowing grass of the place. They would build thingie-ma-jigs, what-ja-ma-call-its and thing-a-ma-bobs and sell them to the curt passerbys of their place.
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly appreciated.
Surrounded by infastructure, and industry it stood out like a rose amongst the thorns and brought beauty and clarity back into the otherwise monotonous, morbid environment. It stood defiant and strong against the hungry, salivating greed of humanity - yet someday it was bound to succumb to our over-powering ambition for development.
Once I knew a place, a place that no longer exists.
In the blink of an eye that place was destroyed - uprooted and upheaveled.
Every tree, every shrub, every flower ripped out and now gone. No longer a haven but a grave yard where the dead lay scattered like fallen soldiers across the battlefield. Victims against the War of Industrialisation they fell prey to mans' heinous desires.
"Collateral damage" for a "brighter" future they say.
I say, who needs another vehicle retail outlet.
Once I knew a place, and I will never know that place again.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
time slips from my fingers
when i count each passing day
that passes by like passerbys
on a busy street
walking past me, my disillusioned form
an escaped daydream from a chronic sleepwalker
a recurring thought
the clinking of atoms like drinking glasses
the passage of space
things don't make sense nowadays
never really did
i'm just a ghost with no body to call home
translucent and vague
people watching forever
forever a thought bubble in a lonely man's world.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 2:16 PM UTC
Our bodies are poetry
from soft to smooth to hard
our bodies are poetry
freckled, shaped and scarred
Our mouths are dancers
unchoreographed, with memory
our fingers are virgins
gentle and trembling
Our eyes, are passerbys
our noses, cuddling cubs
our arms, reconnecting friends
our knees buckle with every touch
Our bodies are poetry
fitting into every groove
our bodies are poetry
from hard to soft to smooth
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
My sister is a dreamcatcher dancing in the wind. Following every gust of excitment, every breath of desire; she collects passerbys dreams and leaves sunlight in her wake.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
The wind and the sweetness
in the mix of this somewhat chilly day
I ordered an ice cream waffle; waiting
on my order while waiting on a gaining thought
I’ve gained peace, that which I thought impossible
Watching the passerbys, with a full mouth of ice cream
And behind it’s stain, was a genuine smile
In amongst the chaos of the random wind,
the jumping cheers of children on a jumping castle
The happy scary clown with white on his face
The flies trying to share in on my dessert,
and the eyes of those who had seen me alone
_—I wasn’t alone;_
Quite frankly I was far from feeling alone,
and feeling any kind of low
As with the tingling chills down my spine
of this really filling meal
It was to me, a moment so real;
I wouldn’t dare pinch myself to see if I was dreaming
And even if it were a dream,
twas a sweet one indeed
As all I needed was:
spoiling myself with something sweet indeed
Apr 15, 2023
Apr 15, 2023 at 11:09 AM UTC
A luscious milk maid-
winding down to the lake
A wicked monkey clown-
swinging from trees and looking down
her strong legs carry cheap shoes over cobbled roads
her wide hips sway in dirtied rags patterns unknown
the monkey clown cackles and spies-
soft peach fuzz in between her thighs
Knuckles crack through all sweet pines
And Mr. Monkey clown drops soft and eases sighs
Milk Maid turns and stands with the earth
And ripples rip Mr. Monkey into dirt
A Half smile half wink crinckles Milky's eyes
and her hand slips down and rests on her right thigh
Like a sparrow kills a spider Mr. Monkey dies
No tears are shed for sinister spies
And Milky Maid has never before cried
Passerbys don't slow their strides
And Mr. Monkeys not in their eyes
And Milky Maid she's fetching heads
And soft peach fuzz it fills their beds
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
Smooth Canvas,
So deceitful so eerily beautiful.
I am what I seem,
nothing more and nothing less.
But what do I see when I stand
in front of that faithful mirror?
Do I see a featureless face,
or do I notice a true being?
The mannequin that I am,
sees a soul in her reflection.
Passerbys see only my offwhite motionless body.
But inside I know what I am.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
~~~
*bathed by breezes of southern gentility,
sun soaped by eye-prickling,
star twinkling glints,
shampooed in delicious waves
of white sno caps,
my crazy wild hair,
conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles
dappled waters transformed into a
Van Gogh glow of
The Sower
sprinkling golden seed
upon fields of summer wheat glorious
my little yellow rubber duckies,
are now blue white snow geese alive,
down from Nova Scotia,
where August is already
emboldened colden,
so they non-stop honk
tho mere passerbys,
everybody is seeking a place in history,
the surety,
that this poem,
by their inclusion herein,
promises posterity
the grass blades wave with
endless swaying applause,
at yet another attempt of poetic tribute,
for once more,
spell bound
by the bounty of the moment,
enslaved happily to the idea
there is no satiation possible
from the earthly satisfaction of this place,
this sheltered isle
the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers,
unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans,
they offer me untold numbers of
likes and reads,
and other candied goodies,
promises endless to root for my winter dream teams,
if their presence is here
prominently included,
until they too
fall silent, grounded,
shed by their rightful owners
every time I think the well is dry,
swept under by a rip tide
of drowning overwhelming gratitude,
for here I come to a place.
a station for repair,
where poems are bandied about,
summer fruits ripe for plucking
sunroom lace, summer curtains,
will hide out here in my absence,
the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline,
by icy waters and gusts,
that will be both
untrodden and unadmired
for when the poet is clad in the
damask drapes of winter's inevitability,
will close his eyes and
will hide out here,
right here,
in this one of his never ending
prior~poem~prayers homages,
until next year's
can't-come- too-early spring arrives,
sparked by tendrils of meeting markers,
noting that
new poems have been fallow fallen,
winter seeded,
awaiting your
watering and writing,
of the appreciation
of the
simple majesty
of this small corner of the earth*
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
The bare weight of wind
kept us alive that black night
kids against the world
suited for space
we drove that rusty honda
and made faces at the passerbys
their lines intersecting
like moonbeams
across the endless stretch
Your angle suits you now
trajectory too
mechanically fit for fun
I'm the one
in apple red
dancing your garden to shreds
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
That thin line is where
I want to be
Cut off between us two.
No matter how much we
change, this line will
always be.
Between motorized vehicles
the patter of shoes, old & new.
Spaced out between concrete plateaus and
painted highway lines.
The onlookers & passerbys
caught in the wind without second glance,
that thin line where I want to be
Can only be described as
Beside you.
Between the trees, beside the small lakes & birds
of your imagination,
That thin line where I end & you begin.
Our invisible bridge where my voice
tickles your ear & is miles long
That thin line that grasps your hand & mind.
No matter how much we change
this line will always be
& this line where we always meet
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 5:13 PM UTC
He loves her now.
Those words rattle over and over through my bones
And in between my very synapses
Like loose screws and the wavering chords in a cloudless blue sky
I can see your hands still gliding
Like death over the ivory tusks of a piano
Heaven raining down in small bits of music onto your head
And spilling like glass onto the floor around you
My heart is pooling like liquid silver at the soles of your soul
And I can feel my brain turning to mush because you look at me
With those cloudless blue eyes
The chords wavering in them, too
He loves her now
The four words are penetrating my very skin
Boring holes into the withering glances of passerbys
As they hustle on their way like flecks of trash on the wind
Like a spool of thread in a gust of air
I didn't think that it would end this way
But then again who doesn't
It always ends in the falling of snow like quiet ghosts around you
Silent as death itself
It always ends in the wind rushing through your head
In one ear and out the other
Shaking your mind until nothing makes sense anymore
And we were the only thing that made sense
As cliche as that sounds the vague impression of your body pressed in mine
Was the only clue that you might have loved me with half your heart
And all of your head
Instead of just half of both or all of one
He loves her now
I want that to be okay for now
The affection for attention so overpowering that it turns into unadulterated
******* love
Pure wisps of breath on a hushed breast and heaving lungs
So turn your lips to her ecstatic face and kiss that sunlight from her gleaming mouth
She has the world in the palm of her hand because you are her world
And she might be your universe but something so vast can't be looked at
Through a beating heart
He loves her now
That may not be me but by God it's a somebody with an ocean in their voice
That quivers whenever they speak
And seagulls flying in their hands as they touch your face
With a foam breath that smells like freedom and hope
She's not darkness
She's not a black hole that brings in all light but doesn't ever give it away
She's the cloudless blue sky that you look up at and take pictures of
Listening to those steady chords that play like the world is just beginning
He loves her now
And that's okay
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
I walk alleys and avenues of broken roads.
Black tops eroded from years of punishing
Rainfall, passerbys and time.
After a hard rain, shallow mirrors open up,
Revealing an unyielding world on its head.
It seems, as I walk amidst the distinguished,
Cracks, chips and pebbles that this moment,
Both real and a memory is everlasting.
Overcast, both dismal and hopeful, I read
Between the skylines of the upsidedown.
I breath in this parallel, I write it all down,
A collection of neverhaves.
A creation that is mine for the making, or
For the taking, should I wish.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
Sometimes, for short fleeting moments
I realize that I am nothing to others
I mean nothing
I am just an extra walking in the background
A susurrous noise in a crowded store
A fugacious penumbra in the window of a passing car
A lighted window at dawn
I realize that I am to them to these passerbys what they are to me
Nothing
But the moments are short and fleeting
I quickly go back to my own selfish thoughts
Its easier that way
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 5:44 PM UTC
I've been
reminscing
about you
and the nailpolish
you used to choose to colour
your toes
it shows
that i'am worn out
like a dark cloud
hanging on me
Have you heard the news
rockets on their way
to bomb em out of their shoes
i drink some more
to make it go away
thinking about you
and why you wouldnt stay
there are noises
just voices of peoples
that are passerbys
my eyes get heavy
from the things i hold inside
i smile for a while
to keep myself alive
while my mind is rambeling
i think my bones are trembeling
from the thought of you
i let my eyes travel
through the faces and their meaning
everyone is shining and gleaming
nights are what you make of them
here i am
thinking about you
thinking about you
Here i am
with my mind rambeling
while sitting like a rock
till the clock
runs out of numbers
and i'll fall again
for the late night slumber
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
I hung plum curtains in a circle
To hide from the world.
Sometimes I hear passerbys
Tapping on the glass
Wondering if there’s anybody in there;
A cockroach trapped in a glass jar.
I pretend there’s not.
I sit perfectly still in the middle
And let them tap away,
Knowing that I’ll never tempt to
Peak behind the curtains,
Afraid that what’s tapping
Isn’t human at all,
But my paranoia
With malicious intent.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
the moon lit my way
as I took a walk
it was two in the morning
my ears cold
the moon lit my way
as I laid down on the sidewalk
and sang
looking up at the glowing clouds
the moon lit my way
as I traced the streetlights
down the road
accompanying me all along
the moon lit my way
as I let my eyes wander
following the ripples in the sky
and the moon becoming two
the moon lit my way
as I stood up
startling a few passerbys
as I brushed myself off
the moon lit my way
as I began again
taking steps
to lay down again
the moon lit my way
as I lost my mind
to only breathing
and the steady feel of the ground
the moon lit my way
for I had no direction home
but still I belonged
the moon lit my way
as I walked on.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 3:10 AM UTC
I tend to fall for wasted dreams.
Strangers on street corners,
passerbys too good for me.
I would like to believe,
that one day I'll be,
loved by soft eyes
and kissed with honesty.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
The smell of sewer wafts through the air
Giving a beautiful view
An unbearable stench
Smoke fills in the spaces between peoples faces
The crowd filling in every space in the street
Leaving little room to walk
Just to watch as you slowly shuffle along
Store windows filled with souvenirs
The kind people bring back for friends they care little about
I watched as wooden dolls and straw hats are hustled to passerbys
Then something catches my eye
Tea
Only you know why
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
When I’m dead like here and now.
Like before and present, as I’ll always be portrayed
wound within the fabric of my birth.
I'll stammer through the phantom beastly of society,
as I always have I will phase
beneath the day's skin,
flower and splatter
amongst the phantom passerbys
and click my blooming tongue
behind your blind ears.
And chant one lasting whisper
against the back bristles of your shivering neck,
my breath pluming against
and within your porous skin.
One lasting, one altering statement or phrase or acknowledgement
I give shackled in the chains of a gift wrapped present
within the corridors of your perking ears
and there to be unpacked.
You as every other soul will misplace my memory,
will forget as a ghost dissipates against the breeze.
I was never anchored here,
indistinguishly as the phantom I am composed of
I may sputter the words farewell,
farewell only to be met with farewell and forget.
Farewell as my pattered steps flutter within the distance,
dead as here and now,
dead as my unlasting memory.
I exist as but a farewell.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
*Fighting hard ,
Just to stay awake.
Thinking back ,
On my mistakes..
When will I ever learn?
Headphones on,
The world is gone.
Drowning in the rhythm ,
To my favorite song..
Where will I find my place?
Hiding far,
Behind these blue eyes.
No one can tell,
It's just a disguise..
Who would ever notice?
Sitting alone,
Throughout the day.
Daydreaming of places,
I can go to get away..
What would it take to leave?
Writing seems,
To free my mind..
All of my thoughts,
Just seem to unwind..
Why do I find this helpful?
Staring outside,
At the passerbys..
Wondering who's lives
Are a web of lies...
How are we alike?*
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
Simply seeking solace in bouncing thoughts
Feeling warmth in that cold rock
Characterizing an uncharacteristic dribble
Watching it flow with no discourse
Or even disguising a movement to share
A leaf finds its mark now one wagers thought
Dogs bark rattles empty can in alleyway
Moonlight disects that churning in passerbys charts
While blowing winds shift around reason
Heavy hearts languish at the next whistle stop
Many will board to simply stare back
At others who dare when not to park
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC