"pinning" poems
I want it so bad
Never going to quit it
Flip the switch and hit ignition
Toss these hands I talk in all ten digits
**** wishing - let me finish,
Raw- dish it out the kitchen
Saw- vision now they listen
Off an opp and take position
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Agh! I'm a savage, a beast
Murdering beats, I read it and weep, God
Looking to thee, God- never going to stop watch
Put 'em em a lock box.. one shot
So sorry, not the man you needed
On my knees I don't believe em'
Read between I'm not deceiving
Split the means I mean
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Hope I can say something worth a ****
Hope I can change something understand this
Pressure pinning me down
Picture myself under the ground
Taking leaps and bounds
Can i stand it be without
Peaking then drown - **** it all
Speaking my meaning - Hear me now
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Agh why looking to me for something deep
I can’t even feel emotion
let that **** repeatin’ heat in motion
seeking to be not broken
Leave it to me, reach between lost omens
Looking to feed the beast I’m hopin’
Ahead of my time I’m rapping these rhymes
But go unnoticed
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
what happened to all the feeling? am I becoming less and less real to you? can't you see that I have a heart and it's dying because of you? you say things I know you don't mean,
please don't mean them.
it only seemed like yesterday when we were laughing without a doubt of whether the future would swallow us up. i still am not quite bothered by it just yet. but if I ask you all about tomorrow you'll say you're unsure.
you won't plead for me to stay anyways, so why should I bother waiting?
why should I bother pinning down my insides to submit to the practicality of my own mind?
why is there an ambivalent voice telling me that this isn't about how I feel, but instead a test whether my love is real?
To stay means to trudge through the thoughts and thorns heavily scraping my chest
To love means to set aside what might benefit me, and instead continually asking "how are you?" even if I know you'll answer that you're more than fine.
And it probably won't bother you that I'll fade away sooner into the sidelines, where the present is the future, and I remember how unsure you always sound--- but that's alright. I still just might be hoping for the best of us.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
-Until We Meet Again-
Pele has lost one of her lovers.
I miss the goddess in all her majesty; Her deep blue oceans, sweet sandy beaches, Her dark black hair billowing down like the lava from the peaks of Her highest volcanoes.
Her seven sacred pools, each one cascading gracefully into the next, all finally spilling into her magnificent sea.
Her gorgeous body will forever entice my mind, with hair dark and beautiful, inhaling the scent of fresh pineapple and coconut, a hibiscus flower pinning back strands of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes, they were just as deep and amazing as the sea, something with which they were so familiar.
With lips red and lined with Hawaiian love songs sung just for you, tasting as fresh and young as the ocean itself.
Her body was adorned with fresh tropical flower leis and Kukui beads falling gracefully over ancient Hawaiian dress; all made from the same grass and leaves coming from the islands many trees.
All encircling those perfect hips, born to Hula and sway to any island rhythm, be it the slow and steady rattle of the Uli Uli, or the fast and powerful beat of the Pahu drum.
Finally pushed over the edge by the sight of her long tan legs, not shy to the suns warmth and fiery grasp, ending in bare feet more familiar to the islands then we’ll ever be.
I miss her and all her islands.
Oh, how I miss the island paradise Hawaii.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
The strike of the rainbow warriors
After a few hours in the dark cages of horror we suddenly see a sharp light in the sky of evil. The golden goddess notices another ship coming towards the devils spike city.
At that moment the orange and black pirates run towards their ships in dock and sound a long dark horn of terror. The golden goddess notices a large rainbow type ship sailing in firing laser rays at the pirates vessels of evil.
The ship sets into the dock of spike city while some remaining pirates get cut down and captured with blue laser nets of torture. Our eyes open with horror when rainbow type creatures with bows and arrows jump out of the ship and circle our cages of horror.
A few of the black pirate in the purple bushes try and shoot the rainbow warriors but get cut down with their laser fast arrows. The commander of the rainbow warriors suddenly jumps down from the ship and lifts up the cages with power and ease while the warriors round up the captured pirates.
I comfort a shaking luitent megs while the commander shakes our hands before releasing the other golden warriors from their dark cage. The horses bow their heads towards the commander while the golden goddess looks with hope in her beaten heart.
All of a sudden two rainbow warriors march out a swearing and aggressive woman holding a long jagged sword and pirates armband. The rainbow warriors quickly zap her evil body and hold her down tightly . The golden goddess goes over for a better look while her long tongue of nails cuts of a warriors head off with ease.
The rainbow warriors chop her evil tongue off with a swipe of the rainbow sword before pinning her to the cold ground. two of the warriors then begin to peel her black dress of horror off while other rainbow braves flock around.
A curious golden goddess peeps though for a better look while the warriors are undoing her small black studded bra of terror. The goddess looks on with a smile and twinkle while she screams in anger at her ******* bouncing in the dark cold night.
All of a sudden the commander comes inside the circle of torture and begins removing her devilish red ******* while the warriors cheer and scream. The golden goddess looks on with a content smile while the warriors chop her body up into bit with their glowing swords.
After a few minutes the rest of the pirates are shot and executed with laser bouts while we all sit watch with open mouths of horror. The commander then takes us aboard the rainbow ship of safety while the pirates come back to evil spike city with four more pirate ships of torture.
We all sail across the red evil sea towards a big large rainbow in the glowing yellow sky whilst being followed by two black pirate ships. Once we reach through the rainbows end we begin to notice the water turning bright pink and the pirate ships turning back towards the red river of horror.
A relived golden goddess turns towards her army and smiles while we we all jump about on the rainbow ship of safety. I hold luitent megs tight in my arms while the green moon sets across the blue landscape in the distance.
written by wayne mockler
ownership and copyright wayne mockler
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 2:34 PM UTC
I know its forbidden, wish I could stop it
Never felt this way before.
With just a look I swoon
the longing to see your silhouette
The lust buds, yet I can't stop it
When you look at me, my heart skips a beat
Wish I could tame it.
Your smile ignites my demon, if only I could train it.
I Chained it in the darkest hue of my desire.
My dreams is where I could have you, just all to my self
I dream you pinning me against a wall
Your passionate kiss just shudders my soul
and there I stand all melting in your arms.
Yet again its my dream, a forbidden land of my desire
I know my virtues have become blind
but I'm a victim of my dark passion, a crime.
Forbidden it is, I know.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
I let go too soon, of these three fingers
pinning a white dress to my knees,
such a strut they possess, and psychic
for the waggle I do on my tulip-days:
mama said that the lace came from an
elves’ head, I could not wear it.
I put it in a dresser drawer, as I lost
my appetite for marriage and friends.
She said that father wanted to see it,
I should parade my red, pulsing veins.
A torpedo, it became, cowering until
liftoff and glory hallelujah first kisses.
Was it not funny when I, poor chap,
kept garbage in my teeth and laughed
when you slithered your tongue inside,
like Friday penetrating the weekend?
You are a Leo; I am far from such, but
I understand why you may be insulted,
as mama garbs turquoise as the sky
and all our daffodils burn like rubber.
Each says it is because they love me,
railing cat-scratches with a stitch –
but I do not want that, see earthquakes
that hammer on our tulip-days, dear.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
my wrists still hurt more from your rough hands
pinning me to the floor,
than anything I've ever done to them before.
my head still aches more from screaming,
rather than by an old concussion lingering.
my eyes still cry and leak over,
but I'm not sure why anymore.
But as long as it's don't ask, don't tell,
I'll be fine.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
I think I started writing you away before you were gone
I wanted to make sure I could let you go before I did
I wanted to feel numb when I pushed you away
so I wrote
I put you on pages,
typed chapter titles for every single time you looked at me
I wrote until you were a novel,
read you until you were no longer novel,
and put you on a shelf so I could start waiting to forget about you,
a memory trapped in unused synapses
and after I shut your final chapter
but before your pages had started to collect dust,
I realized what I had done
See, I had taken each word from within me,
harvested my heartstrings, plucking them and mixing them to make ink,
The pieces of you I kept in my heart
sat as words on a page, aging
while my heart, once strong, felt too empty
and cavernous to beat under the weight of the sigh pinning down my chest
In all of my preparing
I had forgotten that I am human
I forgot feelings aren't like a fountain
there's no faucet you can turn off to keep them from
running through your mind
no way to stop them from flowing
back through your mouth when you try to
swallow them, mixed with *** in your best friend's basement,
days after you forgot that you can't turn off a rainstorm
you can try to catch the raindrops in a bucket
but the bucket you'll need is big enough to drown in
you can try to hold out an umbrella
but if the wind is hard enough
you're still going to end up cold and dripping,
tearstained and shivering
waiting until the sun comes out
I forgot that I can't control the weather,
or anything other than myself for that matter
The end of a storm doesn't equate to the appearance of a rainbow
I realized that just because my fingers twisted around yours until
they melted together doesn't mean you'll forgive me
and that you left tattoos on me that only time will fade
and we're both going to be mad
I found out that
every song that ever reminded me of you doesn't cease to exist
I have to re-watch movies because they're different now, somehow,
and just because my hair is probably still all over your clothes
and I talked to you every day
and you gave me months of memories
and thinking about you is gut-wrenching
doesn't mean that I won't spend days praying for patience
and hoping for healing because
**** it, letting you go doesn't mean I don't miss you*
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
TRIGGER WARNING
They met at a dance recital.
His eerie blue eyes watched her, stalked her,
riveted by sinewy skin and the way her legs stretched and parted
skillfully, seductively: she knew how to captivate her audience.
They had mutual friends.
Her curiosity thirsted for more, for she had been taken
over by an empty lust, broken by another, but the way he spoke:
she felt as pretty as his charms sounded.
They went on a date.
He kissed her, pinched her, and spread those legs
that comprised his fantasies, not caring about the bruises he left
when he took off her lacey coverings, pinning her to the floor.
They learned more about each other.
She saw the empty, carnal look in his eyes, but her pleas
and shoves were not enough to lessen the weight of him, to push
his hands or his hips away, as he broke her over and over again.
They ended the night with a kiss.
He grabbed her face like a starving man grabs his first meal,
forcing an intimacy she could never get back, but he said,
“You liked it, didn’t you.”
They kept in touch.
She tried blocking his calls, his messages, asking her if she’d
come over to his place. Like the continuous force he prodded her with,
the pounding in her head beat out a thumping heart-line of no’s.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Just for the case you weren't aware, I did know one that always cared
With me about my woes and separate passions than just those of the
Elm and arts and bark and scream. What else could I need to be
Fixed of this world so bleak and blackened bludgeoned by the nature-
All order in the sky! - of the human race?
Yet this strange feeling does remain since that poor man's dying day;
It's since from others long forgot about their purpose pinning plots
Towards kindling spirits of the night to heights that rise into the lights
For only ostracism can enlighten the now young minds - Away, Requiem!
The rhyme for you, she's all I've known, other than your teachings, and all
I can offer until I sing with you - whence, falter on through.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
I dropped by my favorite place today, released another exhausted breath. My pants were bulging out and the fat kept me stretched out. I hate that feeling. My stomach turned into billowy waves of expectant marks, pinning through my outer skin. I hate that feeling. When I sit, my thigh provokes every nerve in my body. If she has thoughts, she'll be a demon whispering through the wind. My unkempt hair is spinning around like gravity does not exist. Somehow, I failed to sigh out the black smoke forming all over my body. My skin, when pinched, is like soft straps that cannot be withdrawn from their owner. My skin is like the skin of my ancestor—it keeps stretching widely, tirelessly, and unprovoked. My heart is tightening its grasp on me. God, please help me! My eyes! I swallowed all my tears away, but my reflection still reflects the dark hue of the moon. When it is sad, the moon exposes his true nature, just like rolled down skins on my neck. My hands go from gently holding my heart out of my chest to weighing the weight of my body. If I let out my thick heart, my body would be lighter and my skin would be a plethora of scars and clay. If I abandon thee and such a calloused body, art will find me beautiful, and that is one of the moon's other sides. It's thick and uncooked. The heavens may not forsake an insecure moon, but a woman hates her reflection when the moonlight lights on her flesh. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." I called and they did not answer. I froze in my seat and waited until the sun bloomed and dried my tears. Yet I still could not breathe. I went into the sea and swam with the lonely whales. The sun reflected on the waters. I reached letter fourteen, but it was written by someone else. The ambience of the calm ocean washed over me. I released a breathy sigh, and the light went to take me.
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 1:28 PM UTC
I fall to my knees,
Kneeling before you,
My Master,
Groveling at your glorious feet,
To reveal the chains of submission,
Weighing down my delicate form.
You gaze upon me,
Beholding soft skin shimmering,
As my body is folded over;
Viewing my tantalizing beauty,
As I bestow myself,
To fulfill your deepest desires,
Conjuring the darkest yearnings,
Manifesting within.
“Rise, Baby Girl’’,
Your deep voice commands,
Reverberating within this crimson colored chamber,
As your figure towers over me,
Beckoning my legs to stand,
Obliging to please you,
As my hazel eyes encounter,
The blazing intensity of your own,
Sending flames to burn,
Down to the small of my back.
Fear is the armor I allow to fall,
Tumbling to the ground,
Cloaking myself in trust,
As I allow my body to be,
Touched by dominant hands,
Trussed up by ropes and chains,
To restrain to me.
Willingly becoming prey,
To the sweet, antagonizing caress,
Before your hand aggressively strikes,
My behind,
Sending me into a realm,
Of pleasure and pain,
Morphing into one sensation.
Free is the response I experience,
As you bounds my wrists,
With your tie,
Pinning me down,
Straddling my body.
Placed between your thighs,
With your heated lips,
Conquering every inch of my body.
The Sting of the flogger,
Is a bite against the skin I crave,
As silence is the language,
I choose to speak,
Feeling your fingertips claim me,
As your territory to reign over,
As you please.
I yearn to satisfy the hunger,
Starving to be your nourishment;
For Sadism to feed,
Upon masochism,
As a balance of power is established,
As we lose ourselves in fiery passion.
Dominance and Submission,
Forces meant to bond to the other,
In a marriage of infliction and reception,
Of blissful agony,
Accepting the temptations you direct,
Towards me as guide,
To obtain our darkest of fantasies.
Submission speaks out within,
The silence as I give you,
A proffered hand,
Succumbing to the sensual dreams,
You promise to me,
Allowing you to possess me in any way,
You wish in accordance to our terms.
May you indulge upon my form,
Like decadent candy you crave,
To devour,
Savoring every taste,
Sound, smell, and touch,
In this licentious dance between you,
My Master,
And me, your fervent lady,
Of submission.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
I'm looking forward to hearing your sweet voice, and kissing your soft lips,
I'm look forward to pulling you in close, my arms wrapped around your hips,
I'm looking forward to seeing your smile, and pinning you to my bed,
I'm looking forward to seeing the sight, that I can't get out my head,
I'm looking forward to every moment I'll be spending with you,
and I'm kind of hoping that maybe, you're looking forward to it too
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ****** I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon.
And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father?
But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore.
And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely.
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
I’m the excommunicated extra extraditing
your excess excrement, extricating specimens
of your essence getting especially excited
call me the exorcist enlightened,
a devil exercising a frightening
double existence.
Conscious constant resistance
from a heavy conscience that lives in
the conscientious angel hidden
deep within a very contentious prison of flesh
fresh from living a half-life, given a dark light,
splitting apart like I’m shining through a prism.
Divine intuition combined with true sinning.
Pinning down angelic powers devoured in hellish prowess,
Tyler’s now a super-villain.
I’m my own double, troubled my other
call me Jorge Dostoevsky a symbiotic brother.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
If you were literature
I'd tattoo you all over me
and let you seep through my skin
filling my veins with your words.
There are a lot of pieces that make up the English language:
capitals, semicolons, that ******* Oxford comma
but you,
you give english a definition.
Love, when you speak to me
I see the word bubbles levitating above your head
pinning down each sentence with fragments of your voice
your lips form stories,
the kind I actually like reading
the poems that leave me wanting more
and trust me
I DO WANT MORE.
But I'm Dr. Suess
and you are Shakespear.
I'm sorry, I'm not what you deserve
that my lines are crooked
and pages wrinkled
that you deserve heavenly white sheets
to share the curvature of your letters with
If only I could hold the spiral notebook that is you
caress your leather cover
I would whisper all the definitions
inscribed in my brain associated with your existence,
trying to untangle the string of words you knotted.
But reality isn't written.
I cannot serenade you with my words
you will forever be on top of this modern caste system
and there are no ladders
how can I talk to you at a football game
when you're the one on the field
that today is survival of the fittest,
if someone were to take you into their arms
it would boost their reputation,
but you are not my reputation
You are the language I want to speak
You are the lyrics to every song
You are all my favorite words.
And yes, I may just be the
routinely period at the end of your sentences
and the chances of being with you shouldn't even be considered
"chances"
but since someone such as you exists,
I can promise.
I can promise you
all these imperfect sweet nothings
until my pen runs out of ink.
Always.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
You’re wishing plus wanting
to win the other side
remove your pride,
you untied tidal pool,
the wide subdivide of these paper pages.
Unrelenting numbers
remind you of the next stages,
taking you wildly to Namibia,
surrendering you to Zimbabwe,
the terminal station.
The narration vocalizes the translation of quotations,
your obligation to the violation of the rules, the regulations,
vulgarization of spoken word.
Pretty paintings plaster typecasts,
the pitter-patter of pity’s pretty ******
quickly shifting refurbished velvet sofas.
Overcast symphonies outlast
witty recast stanzas,
scores with notes naturally quote
verses romancing seltzer spines
noticing the negotiation of sore throats.
Oblivion’s oblivious to the people,
obnoxiously obscene with syncopated
saturation of public vital signs.
You’re the vain strain of virus
photocopying yourself within skin,
waste your sin on tattoos trapped on shins
safety pins selecting prints
pinning sets of twins to tanned wrappers
protecting official reports.
The ossuary welcomes records printed on thick paper
suspiciously missing skeleton swords.
Writing stories reversed while tipsy,
quickly preforming risky poetry smog,
sweetly omitting secret words,
trying to spell simply without the proper prologue.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Sitting in a restaurant in cottage country.
with my parents, my friend,my sister and her two friends.
I'm eating these miniature boneless chicken wings
I feel a pain in my chest,
I take a sip of my ice tea through a straw
And sit there holding my chest and closing my eyes
--
In my head is a jack hammer just pounding
My whole body feels pinned down
but also moving like the jack hammer
--
Laying on the ground I see my father leaning over top of me
I am on my back
He is pinning me down
My vision blacking out and head still pounding
"Call 911, she's having a seizure"
The only thing I can manage to say is "no"
"no. No! no! NO! No? NO... no no nonono...."
And the only thing I could think of was 'I don'y want to be a seizure person'
Epileptic is what i meant to say, but the word didn't come to me.
Tears are rushing down my face, terrified.
I can only hope this is a one time thing.
As I am helped up by my mom and escorted to the bathroom
I see all these faces looking at me
Faces of sympathy
That is the worst feeling ever.
Being stared as you are leaving the room after a seizure
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
hold my thighs
lick me as if i’m
the only source
of liquid left on
this earth
devour me like
an animal
pinning me down
lapping me up
as if you were a dog
on an extremely hot day
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
I build a house of cards with the deck of hearts and present it to you.
And upon seeing all my full, red expressions of affection, you shuffle and deal out my imperfections until
one by one,
my house falls down.
Your diamonds aren't as illuminous as they were after your first sip, you say.
So all your glitter isn't really gold, you say while
shifting my diamond to a rhombus never to turn it right side up again.
Your clubs beat me over the head and cause my brain to swell with a smooth aftertaste as you
see through my lack
of a poker face.
Breaking through my walls and exposing my weak points.
Flooding over my defenses and ensnaring me in a trap
weaved only by the highest proof
and I know you have won.
Because my ace of spades has been found.
Trickling your jokers over the rocks to my hearts,
they climb over the rubble that has been laid at the ground, the foundation, the base.
And your clubs tear it up!
And the jokers, you! race to the top of the south and with your strongest clubs,
break into my ace of spades!
Pinning it to the ground and forcing it to turn around and flee!
And I can hear it! I hear it calling for me... to help us get away
but my hearts are dull and my shifting rhombi are ablaze.
For this infinite moment in time is dazzling and my own eyes aren't aligned to light the way
to free me.
Gleaming rays of the sheen from your diamonds slice through my illusions and
wake me up to the aroma of fresh debris.
My hearts, toppled. My diamonds, demolished.
My clubs, sleeping and my ace of spades,
removed.
And the sky never changes. The moon ripples in the puddle left behind by the design
of your jokers and spades and your hearts remain untouched. Your spades are buried behind walls of
black and your diamonds are so far back that I couldn't tell if they were even there at all.
My deck of 52 is now a deck of 51 and without a solid set,
I'll never have the chance to play this "game" again.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
When the guests arrived we would hasten to sit in separate rooms.
Quick to cover and observe deep voices through walls,
Men with domed hats and flowing kameez would arrive and wait
for steaming chaaval,
brought in a mound topped with cloves.
Dishes placed and eyes down, they would acknowledge with
half nods,
hairy knuckles to pour the saalan over geometric bowls.
My aunts would hush in the kitchen,
pinning their scarves in a zig-zag fashion.
The colours burning from the tiles,
watching them made me dizzy and inside
I longed
that my plait would one day thread gold like theirs.
Timed silence was a key,
and a pyramid that was never fell,
unlike the tasks that could be
stitched to your hands,
structured stiff – like a testing lap.
Boiled milk in china cups,
there would be nods, gap-tooth smiles, low chatter
with ears pricked to
the humming of satisfaction within.
Sounds through division that showed that yes,
in the right hands
the colours could burn brightly,
and that yes,
in a brush of joint henna,
we would stand separate from your
Vision of us.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
He was the Weekender Boy
with lips that tasted like salty sea caramel
on lovely Saturday mornings
and caresses that felt like soft warm sunbeams
on lazy Sunday afternoons
Mondays she sat behind him in lecture halls
watching the back of his black-haired head
as he flirted in the front row seats
Tuesdays were him walking past her bench
pinning her in place with those glacier blue eyes
that always turned away to porcelain redheaded dates
Wednesdays it was his calls that came at 3:05AM without fail
and she'd listen patiently to his drunken rants and giggles
that sometimes ended in tears and incoherent apologies
Thursdays he exhaled alcohol breaths one-two-three-four
while laying her down across his green vintage car hood
gentle as she moved lithe and languorous beneath him
Fridays they broke dorm rules and shared a room at night
they stayed up over beer and banana milk
and at sunrise she'd wake up in his arms to his smiling eyes
He was the Weekender Boy,
and she was the only girl who ever owned him on weekends.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC