"peeked" poems
After school hours, sleepily
Looking down from the window sill
A deep rest in spring wind chill
If I close my eyes
To this brilliant world
Reflected scenery dances still
If I blow a low whistle
Towards the blue sky
Walking becomes a little more spry
Turning my music a little bit down
To listen to the lively corner of town
When I look up with slight rejoice
I hear a distant singing voice
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Today begins like any other day
Bathed in the sun slowly drifting away
The most pleasing place to reside
Is here right by your side
Dull clouds early afternoon
A sudden shower in the middle of June
Blue sky peeked out when I arose
Colors arc out accross concrete meadows
The bell chimes when I reach
Out through the window and to the beach
Warm breeze blows through the empty hall
When I looked up I heard you call
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Let’s rest into the sunshine
Taking breaths in a comfortable rhyme
We may not speak for very long
Though with just that I feel so strong
My quiet heart echoing true
When I’m here with you
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
I think the scent of bug spray on my palms will now forever remind me of you and the late night (early morning) we spent sitting in your car, drawing awfully unskillful portraits on the back of each other’s hands in
dim light and 3 a.m. stillness. (I wonder if you could tell that doodling on your skin was just an excuse to touch you.) I wanted so badly to let my fingers find yours
as we laid back in our seats
and peeked out the rolled down
windows at the infinite stars scattered above us in the
early August night sky. I told you I wouldn’t kiss you,
because I know my heart and
how relentlessly it would
replay how your lips felt on mine, and how it would ache knowing
you couldn’t be mine,
so I let you kiss my cheek instead,
and the half a moment that I felt
your unshaven face brush mine in the middle of the street at five in the morning feels like a fake memory. When you looked at me, I wanted to hide, because I was too afraid to read what words might’ve been written in your eyes, but I felt so content listening to the
deep tone of your voice
mix with the obnoxiously loud crickets singing in the trees
surrounding us. I could’ve sat there with you till the stars disappeared and the sun took their place, but you walked me back home, and you left in the dark, and now I’m sitting in my bed thinking about how the hours between 2 and 5 a.m. have never felt so full.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Yesterday
Was in the ecstasy
Of realizing that
We were
Those two
On earth
Who liked bitter gourd curry
Cooked with coconut milk ….
Remember?
Think it was
In the sixth life.
We were
Two nascent bitter guards
On the pandal
Spread in the northern corner
Of the farmland
Belonging to a grandmother
In a village in Mississippi
Who used to attend to the orchards
Sitting in a wheelchair.
We had
Watched earth
And peeked
At the sky
Hanging from the same stalk
The scar left
From your tight clasp on my thigh
Scared
After spotting a double tailed pest
Is still there.
The pleasure of that pain
Makes me tearful now.
I am like the faces
In the house of deceased
Sobbing
At times
Bursting into tears
The next moment
Holding back
After a while.
Sometimes
I am all the faces
In the house of the dead
Tears have
Nothing to do with them.
Sometimes
The wedding house
Will laugh and laugh
Till its cheeks hurt.
Just like you.
My dear bitter guard,
When will we
Go back to that
Pandal in Mississippi
Where we had pulsated
From a single stalk?
Aren’t we the ones
To offer obsequies
To that grandmother
Who looked after us
With pots
Of wholehearted love?
Translator - Shyma P
Shyma P : Works in Payyanur College, Payyanur. Translator and film critic. Has translated poems and articles in Malayalam Literary Survey, The Oxford India Anthology of Malayalam Dalit Literature, online magazines like Gulmohar, Readleaf Poetry as well as scripts and subtitles for short films.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
The beating of a heart
As my head lay on his chest
Entangled in one another, both body and mind
The beating heart continuing on.
A new sensation in the veins.
The both of them felt it.
And a shimmer of laughter painted their faces
The same physical tiredness growing
Mutual feelings
And with that a fiery new seed planted in their hearts.
Chemicals were flowing through the veins
In the aftermath of the raging fires of their hearts.
The breaths began to slow.
As the electricity built up in the thick air.
She ran her hands through his hair
While his arms held her body
Tight enough to press her figure against his own
Snuggling the two into one.
Starlight peeked through the dense forest
But other than the dim light, the two lovers are alone.
She marvels at such strong feelings she shares for this boy
But cannot help but continue on to wonder why such a beautiful experience
Is so heavily shamed upon by society.
That is not for her to worry now though.
And so to the soft murmur of music
With nothing but love in each other's hearts,
Deep sleep kissed her cheek
As he detached himself from her.
But for once she was not worried about his departure
For they were now connected,
Both were aware,
Neither was scared or holding back.
They were truly in love.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
"Get in the bag" he said, a his main chick turned.
So I did
"Hey bae" said the white chick holding her Starbucks
"Quit talking and **** my dick" said Daquan, as if I weren't even there.
I peeked out of the bag to see what my ***** was doing, and that **** boy was hittin it from the back.
I slowly slithered out of the bag and into her ****** and bit off Daquan's ****
#anigganeverlearns
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
Our first date at Rise
Holding your hand at the Firehouse Theater
Eating bagels you brought back from Montreal
Having lunch at Salata
Going to the Arboretum
The way you peeked out children’s house
Cuddling on the couch
Watching Game of Thrones
When you fell asleep in my arms
Drinking Amaretto Sours
When you would be silly
The sound of your voice
The maraschino cherry stem you tied with your tongue
The Forget Me Not Flower Kit you gave me
Exchanging texts
The sound of incoming WhatsApp messages
Diner at Howard Wangs
You wearing bunny ears during Easter
36-28-41
When you posed for me
Your blues eyes looking up at me
Seeing your smile
Touching your lips
The way you smell
The secrets you would tell
Showing how you care
Hugging me tight
Letting me take care of you
When you cook Arepas
The gluten free Clafouti
The time you had the flu
Wearing Calvin Klein underwater
Your dainty feet
Your goddess like figure
Your cute accent
Typing in the door bell code
Hearing you answer
The emoji of puppy heart kitten
Knowing you are my Bijou
Calling you Minou
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
like red lion parts
crotch rocket
nut cup
anything done behind
a dumpster in the dark
yes, always
because you never liked how
light peeked through my thin
hair
or how I squinted
my eyes when I kissed you
“Just close them all the way
*********
of course, I obliged
anything to keep you
away from your mother
anything to keep you
out of the garage
the sulfur smell
the demons in your
drinking marble
but god,
the vibration
the car peeling out
on the driveway and
“Here take this.”
all of me reminded you
of her
all of me
“Rest, darling. Rest.”
and every time the night
ended with unclothed gin
bedspreads like
forts and painted
walls
“Go **** youself.”
and all was lost
my body
my grief
10 pounds lighter
sweat soaked through
the carpet
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
i used to check my windows
each night for UFOs,
convinced that aliens were
going to take me away.
i rejoiced for rainy nights,
because i knew that i
would be safe.
in the summer i longed
for the winter months
ahead, knowing snow would
keep them away.
would lie there sweating,
in the hot, humid night air,
my window locked tightly
to keep out the cool,
refreshing air-
and the monsters
i knew were
coming to get me.
i heard my mother's voice
below me,
and cautiously crept
down the staircase,
peeked out silently,
wanting to make sure
it was really her,
there,
not an alien
luring me to
the pits of an
Unidentified
Flying
Object
with her voice.
didn't go
outside alone,
wouldn't step away from
the safety of my home,
all because of a
'UFO sightings' book i read,
(a witness to the things
that fear does to your head).
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
i wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn't lend
itself to be-bopping
then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i'll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan
then, well, i thought the sky
i'll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected
so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn't write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply
perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
i peeked into your secret
i unbottuned your sensitivity
with your own sarcasm
you blew my vietnam
my heart is a touchy speaker cable
and you sparked me up
now
i am empty beer bottles
oscillating in your hand
and then you set me down
i am your nostalgia and
you can only think of bad things
like bruised knees and gout
and that summer you
had walking pneumonia and syphilis
and you cried every night
into your mother's arms
i am the cancer you faked
in order to gain attention
i am that boy that fell for it
and gave you syphilis
i am your shaved head
on picture day in the 9th grade
i am your solitude
i am your noise
i am your virginity
being taken in the backseat of your
brother's best friend's parent's
camaro when you were 15
and more than willing
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 7:26 PM UTC
The sky was blue that day,
speckled with white
And the sun was a pleasant orb,
Toasting the skin of the people to a light brown
Showering the tops of every wave
With diamond rays
The fishermen cast their nets
Methodically, cheerfully
And she peeked out from her hiding place,
curiosity getting the best of her
His hands smelled like crab
And he smiled, worn like the sea
And she smiled back,
hesitantly
Because, of course, it wasn’t custom,
this smiling
But she couldn’t help it
Because his eyes were kind
And he,
he couldn’t believe them
(his kind eyes)
For she was the stuff of fables
And she shed her scales for him,
the fisherman with the smiling worn eyes
And instead wore rosy pink legs
that toasted to a light brown
under the pleasant orb of sun
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
-Watermelon-
I looked around
And no one was there.
Peeked at my mother,
She wasn't aware.
So I ate the watermelon
Like a bear.
A second slice,
Did I dare?
I looked again,
Still no one here.
So I ate the watermelon
Like a bear.
I was still hungry,
That was rare.
My mother called,
I didn’t care.
So I ate the watermelon
Like a bear.
Now I’m done,
The skin lays bare.
Answered my mother
'I'm right here!'
But why did I eat the watermelon
Like a bear?
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
I shaved my head this morning.
The sun hadn’t yet conquered the horizon
But the birds outside the window cheered for me
As I pulled the shaver from my forehead to my crown.
My tiny fingers gripped the electric razor,
Holding on for life,
As it were much too big for my nervous hands.
I cut my skull three times before allowing myself to cry.
I peeked at the blonde clumps of hair that rained
To the cold bathroom tiles and puddled around my feet.
After finishing, I went to lay in the arms of my blankets,
While my pillows kissed the back of my head,
Healing the nicked wounds scattered over my skin.
I left the hair to sleep in the sink and over the floor.
Welcoming the sun rise, it felt warm against my bare skull
And I wondered if this was how heaven felt like,
Walking up to the gates.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
I glance at you to see if you glance back
I can’t explain it
I caught you looking what a treat
But I peeked back to this sheet
Maybe you’re looking because I am
Am I just being absurd?
Your face is magnetic
A prism of bismuth or iron
But I barely know you
Barely an acquaintance
But I would like to get to know you better
If you can stand me
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 12:41 PM UTC
The glint
in Miss Jessel’s hair
was so simple, so quick,
that I almost missed it,
like an answer to a riddle.
Suddenly, I cared about derivatives
even less.
So casual, how she tossed her strands,
and yet how cleverly she caught me.
It wrapped me up tight
in a cotton memory
of home, when I was nine,
beneath a fort of pillows
and hiding from the night.
Her glint of blonde hair now
was the light from my hall then
that peeked through my door
to tuck me in.
My parents’ shadows
walked across my bedroom wall
and I saw them in her hair
now, as if my past were a part of her body.
My father’s silhouette from twelve years ago
snuck in to Miss Jessel’s hair
as if he were going to bed
down the hall
in the nape of my teacher’s neck.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 7:19 PM UTC
I watched my neighborhood park
undergo a transformation
on a warm autumn morning
that carried the smell of dew and maple
the sun peeked through the trees
reflecting off the yellows reds and oranges
illuminating them
till you could swear they had caught fire
crisp air threw amber leaves skyward
raining down like golden confetti
to be collected for jumping into
by the laughing children
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
I can smell the fragrance of the sun while beaming on my face.
So heavenly and refreshing.
An aroma I never smelled before,
It made me smile and blush.
Hiding behind the clouds, so coy.
The sun peeked and smiled on me.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
The cuckold sat
Crying
As he
Peeked through the door
The Arab stallion
****** deep
Into his wife
She screamed for more!
Deeper inside her
Then he had ever been
She loved his c****
It was no sin
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
The
Decider-in-Chief
made
another
hard
decision,
rebebilitatin
a debilitating
Gaddafi.
The
Agog
Decider
sleekly
peeked
into the
bleak
soul
of the
master
Bedouin.
The
Pious
Decider
peered
pretty
deeply,
so its
hard to tell
what his
arcane
rebelations
revealed.
Some say
The
Jaundiced
Decider,
saw the
desert
bleeding
deliciously
malicious
sweet crude
onto the
scabby
tongues
of
Halliburton
Executives
while
Big Time
Vice
Dickey Boy
******
a petrol
nozzle
dry,
licking
the dripped
drops
that
drizzled
from the
shoot
hole,
so as
not to waste
a precious drop
to satiate
the black
viscous
goo
coursing
through
the ebony
veins of his
chingling
heart.
Others
say
The
Condoning
Decider
sized up
the man
and saw
a brother-in-arms
in the fight
against
The Evil Doers;
yet failed to
see the
revolting
obscenities
his new
comrade-in-arms
inflicted
upon his
own body
politic.
The
Forgetful
Decider,
blessed
with amnesia
forgot
Lockerbie and
applauded
BP's royal
court of
justice
for
pardoning
all perps.
The
Oblivious
Decider's
near
sightedness
failed to
foresee
a brewing
blow-back
amassing
in the
desert
winging
its way
home
on the
blasting
sands of
a blistering
Saharan
sirocco.
The
Pollyannish
Decider
envisioned
grand
spectacles,
only happy
visions of
Beyonce,
JZ, Usher
and the
Def Jam
Buddha
Russell
Simmons
yodeling
filthy
lucre
tunes,
sending
giggling
tweets
while
partying
down
with
Muammar's
posse
of martinets
and
way cool
far out
crazy
execs
drunk
with the
power
that blinds
the eye to
all discernment.
The Decider
decides.
Music Selection:
Lady Ga Ga
Beyonce,
Telephone
Oakland
3/3/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
You were always
an early bird, and I wasn't,
but my favorite thing was
to stumble out of my slumber
and hungrily look at my phone for a text saying
wake up
to which I would hurriedly respond,
though three hours later,
and you knew I would,
so as soon as I did as you predicted
you would command me to
drive the less-than-ten-minutes to your apartment
so you could cook me some
breakfast,
and we could get lost in each other.
You made me eggs and bacon
and always a biscuit with my choice of topping,
and you'd put on whatever CD we
currently found relevant,
that one time I know it was Ne-Yo,
and I chomped on my plate full of yummies
so cheerily
as you made me listen so closely to
lyrics you knew I would
just
get.
10 AM and I was somehow
thrilled to be out of bed,
enjoying the way the sun peeked behind the clouds
and stroked my cheek
as we shared a smoke on your porch.
You were the kinda guy that
made me like mornings,
that made me
feel the weight of the words in songs,
that made me appreciate art
and notice how pink
the sunset was,
that made me want to read the newspaper
so I could pick your brain and
pay attention in class so I could
tell you what I learned,
that made my world brighter
and my burdens lighter.
You were you and
you made me a certain kinda me and
**** do I sometimes still wanna
wake up
and eat some eggs while you
tell me your dreams and
your stereo plays.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
As I looked at it
She bent over
In anticipation
I knew it would come through
It was cloudy but still beautiful
Her moon was
Playing peek a boo with me
Sometimes it was crescent
Sometimes I wouldn't see it at all
But this time
The clouds parted
And I saw it
In all her beauty
And I felt it for a brief moment
Only a moment
Her full glorious moon
Peeked out to me...
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
Sipping espresso, double affogato of course, topped with cream and
Chatting with Miles, I saw Calliope sauntered in from the rain.
Her dark mascara limped away from her crystal blue eyes
As she waited for the barrister to turn his head.
And when taking her cup,
Somewhere between Bird’s schizophrenic riffs
And Blakey's syncopation.
I fell in love
As I watched her lips purse and
Blow casually at the lid, cooling the
Fiery liquids inside but igniting mine.
I decided to ask what brought her in from the
Rain.
My words queued in my throat as I stood
To speak.
My knees cracked, testifying to the years I stood on them.
My heart tapped out a cadence as I strode
Over to her table.
I could smell spice and ginger of a perfume I knew so well.
Her chestnut hair fell in damp tendrils across her forehead.
Extending my hand with a napkin on the end I said, “ I would love if you joined
Me for a biscotti.”
With a sparkle in her eye her painted lips slid across her teeth,
“I am waiting for a friend.”
Walking away I sat dejected but not rejected because as she
Conversed with him she peeked at me
My Calliope
And all was well.
~AD~
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 2:48 PM UTC
When I discovered I had cancer,
I was told that I would learn a lot
About Life and Death and Time,
But I never thought that I would
Discover what it means
To be intimate
With strangers,
Or anyone, for that matter.
When my insides were cut open like a game of operation,
I told myself:
Be detached.
When visitors came,
We talked about the weather.
When I arrived home, I spent my time
Trying to forget
The experience
Of impermanence
And shared emotions
That I couldn't even grapple with
Myself.
When the person I loved
Left me
I flinched
And then sunk back into an abyss of
Emotionless functioning,
Cutting myself further and further
Off from my narrative
Of pain.
When it was time to go back to school,
I flinched
And signed up for a workload
Heavy enough
To push out the fading reality
Of my condition.
It wasn't until I was sitting on the steps
Outside of a bar that was slowly beginning
To empty out,
As intoxicated shadows gained substance and lit cigarettes against the brick wall.
I sunk down next to friend I had recently met-
My big t shirt inched up above my abdomen
And the lower jagged mark of my scar
Peeked out-
I didn't choose to tell him my story
Until he asked me about the obvious
Stale incison mark that had a presence
Of its own.
Piece by piece, it peeled itself from off my stomach
And liquified into a sequence of events
And feelings
That poured from me
Like a stream of bubbling bath water
Overflowing from the rim
Of a porcelain tub.
That's when I realized that there is something shared and intimate about scars:
Marred reminders of the flesh
That speak to our upmost human
Encounters with our own mortality.
An indecipherable label of sorts:
An unsigned invitation into the taboo.
In a moment of unintentional word *****
At 2am to a stranger,
I regained my intimacy with myself
And my journey.
I learned that while Life and Death and Time
Will always plague our existence,
They distance us from the human experience that is
To feel:
To feel everything in this God forsaken world.
To feel angry at people for leaving when they should have stayed.
To feel compassion at the same time.
To feel intimacy with others.
To feel intimacy with yourself.
To feel love.
To feel pain.
To feel the cold creases in the wooden floor as you make your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
To feel alone.
To feel surrounded.
To feel the trembling echoes of the past and be able to grab its elusive coattails and shake away the dusty remnants of time and shout that you are present.
To feel nothing.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
I sprinkled sunflower petals in the warm water,
to make it gold.
Then dipped my body quietly in the bathtub,
to wash my tainted soul.
The morning light peeked through the lemon coloured glass,
while the fading fate dissolved in the pearly waves of my lash.
My lifted hand reached for the sunlight,
the feeble fingers swayed like dandelions.
A swollen gaze perched on the broken mirror,
a burning sensation impregnated my chafed lips; turning them bitter.
The beauty they preach about is not divine,
nothing in this world stays sublime.
The saffron tinted ancient walls,
kissed the amber tiled floor
Everything fire; everything gold,
yet no power can assuage the murkiness of my soul.
My dear Van Gogh how could you think?
that the yellow, if you eat, will lift your spirits?
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
We were kids.
You shut the door on me in the pouring rain.
You had this wide-eyed, crazy grin on your face
all the time
amused with yourself
and that was enough.
How did I know
how to tell a boy I liked him?
I just knew your breath smelled like
listerine when you got on the schoolbus
in sleepy half dawn
You sat behind me and sometimes,
if I peeked my eye through the crack between
the seat and window, you'd smile
and share your headphones with me,
a simple song or two from The Postal Service.
On brave days, I'd scoot back to be closer
and breathe you in
in tentative girlish awe.
You laid your head down on my lap
to nap the rest of the trip
and I'd watch you, holding
my breath,
slowly playing
with your orange curls
spilling
through my fingers like sunlight.
Almost a decade later,
I've forgotten the schoolbus.
We're reunited with a group, eating
sushi, laughing until we cry
at my spicy face and the clumsy
way I can't hold chopsticks taunt.
But reaching past you, I brush
your hair on accident and stop short,
the sensation tingling my fingers,
remembering how
more than once I've
gazed at you in wonder.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC