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Red-Writing-Hood Mar 2014
I lay in bed at night and try to ignore the typewriter in my head tap tap tapping the same three letters, tapping your name, tapping that syllable that has been stuck in my head for weeks

You, gave me infinity within a numbered amount of days and taught me new tongues of love that I didn't get the chance to learn yet, you...were far too good for me

I've often asked myself how long is forever and discovered that sometimes it's just one second...and even now I find the need to walk down memory lane just because I know I'll meet you there because I don't want our forever to be over yet. I haven't learned how to look at somebody I love and tell myself it's time to walk away but forget me not; you are worth everything, you deserve everything and you meant everything to me but...I don't have a pinwheel heart, the kind that goes crazy at the lightest touch, that never fears the love it's given and deserves every bit of it.

I wish I needed you, that you weren't just a desire my heart thought it wanted. I wish you didn't already feel like a memory, that every time I said your name it didn't already sound like goodbye.

Scream - Shout - Cry - Kick
Throw your worst temper tantrum
Tell me, about every fairytale you've heard as a child, explain how the princess fell in love with prince charming and lived happily ever after. I, will tell you that maybe some day you will find a princess who will fall head over heels in love with you with that dizzy pin wheel heart, she, will have lips sewn with naivety where her only bad experience will be the monsters under her bed but, monsters aren't real to her yet, she will trust you to no end and believe every word that escapes your lips because she thinks lying does not exist, she, will be the complete opposite of me and will never realize that sometimes the one you want isn't always the one you need

I know you will remember me when I'm not there to love you, I know when you're pounding all your frustrations and insecurities into the girl underneath you you'll remember what passion felt like and how my skin isn't accessible to your fingertips anymore, I know that when you use Mary Jane as a substitute for my lips and blow out your problems and feel them start to fade away you will remember what being cared about felt like. I hope you regret it...I hope she helps you forget...I hope you fall in love with her and she makes your heart go pinwheel crazy

Run your fingers through my soul and feel exactly what I feel and just once, understand what I'm going through...understand that you're taking up too much room, not in my heart but in my brain, and that's a place that I never wanted you to end up
I am a pinwheel, spinning in the breeze
of the people striding past.
They all seem to be late for something.
I’m left reeling, as they hurry by with their lives in hand,
tugging them along
like particularly stubborn children.

I’m still here though.
I’ve stayed where I was stuck in the ground,
beside the flowers that share my bed.
Weather beaten, storm rolled.

I once had a house of cards as a friend,
but he fell when the wind picked up,
scattered across the lawn.
I wish I wasn’t designed to withstand
so that I could blow away too.
Wade Redfearn Jul 2018
It isn't like that.
It isn't a left turn too early,
a lark awake at night,
thick brown light in an open field;
unpredictable: a bad or counter-miracle.
It is only wanton.

You know how it is
Suddenly, something trapped between your toes:
the world has a strangled voice, it is
unroofed. You want the comfort of normal walls,
normal light, normal noise; in your hand
is a hot brand you'd halfway use
to smith it back together
and halfway swallow.
I had different plans for this vacation
than destruction.

I had plans. You had plans. The earth
planned its axial tilt; the weather planned
its burning; we put aside too little water.
A few plants were familiar -
the ruined piñon pine I remembered from the placard.
One lonesuch tree that made a little niche
at a defiant angle into the air
and outlived all except its orphaning.
How we thought we could fare better, I cannot say.

Ten feet up by one hundred feet over:
one liter water per mile climbed:
fatigue. Fatigue.
The quiet supremacy of all these rules for living like
transit and occultation
refraction and dimness
peristalsis pulling down
huge loads of sunlight
into the ***** gully
like bread and meat.

You will not see the bottom
no matter how hard you look.

If blood I am, then what kind of blood?
Unsettled and unsettling. The circulatory system
has an apt name: sometimes I can feel yesterday's blood
in the same neurons, saying the same thing.
I have no choice but to repeat it.
Time sheds its significance.
I have no continuity:
I have rhythms.

The new day, on fire and sitting in the trickle
you held a golden fish in your palm
as if you had made it by will
and cupped, it circled in the valley of your fingers
and I ate from the vision of care.

Erosion: isn't that what made these furrows?
I beg it to unmake me
flat like a seabed and many fathoms green
where the sun will never reach me.

In the penumbra of your anger
I do not fear dying,
only dying unclean.
Heights are all the same.
They would all break me and none would enough.
The grasshoppers and gecko hatchlings
all die in their way, rubbed in the hot dry dust.
Parched, I gnash my stone teeth
and tongue of chaparral -
I am making a song to say
die with me
but smile at me.

Then I see it through flashes of temper,
frame by frame, like a fingertip behind a pinwheel:
a dream of something distant that is also true.
Dreams of freedom alongside dreams of dying.
Kaitlyn Oct 2013
You're the wind
And I'm the pinwheel
You like to see me spin
When I stop
You fix me up
Until I twirl again
I can't help
The way I turn
The cycles that I take
But you're a force
You've got a say
And sometime you say "break"
Now it's clear
For me to function
I need but one gust
So tell me why
I'm on this shelf
Just collecting dust.
Marília Galvão Mar 2015
Now I ask you to join me
Now you celebrate
Not being me. Not being you
Only Us for the great



Some steps I will take
Be my guest
Pull your anchor
Out of the lake

In the room
In the building
In the crowded city
In the country with thousands of cities
The country shares the continent with an enemy nation
The two rivals are carried round and round by the Earth's endless rotation
The Earth obeys the master’s magnetic line, burning since uncountable clock time
The sun is blind to his insignificance too, ignoring billions of other star mates, it can’t see through
Immeasurable it seems, magnifying! All of them such tiny little parts in one of Miss Milky’s arms
Some light years away there they are: Pinwheel, Cartwheel, Black Eye, Andromeda and Cigar
Unmeasurable it seems, humongous! All of them such a fading little part of the cosmos

There you are
Floating from a distance
Feel the empty ground
Drink from the fountain of existence

Still blind to insignificance?
Still convinced about the rightness of imposed beliefs?
Still judging others’ defects according to our pretentious and vain mind?
Still punching away the different, protecting the mold?
Still reinforcing illusory antagonism and insignia?
Still seeing only two sides?
Still holding to the pride?

In the ******* room

Am I? Are you?
Let's try it again
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." Mark Twain
K Balachandran May 2015
In a clinic, getting treated for amnesia of the soul,
I meet her, by chance and feel a sense of deja vu,
but can't place her properly,from which age do you appear?
you sure are her. Your face is familiar, even after ages,
then you ask me whether I remember; in my brain
solar flair like magnetic energy, light up hidden spaces.
The red poppy design, isn't it a pointer enough?
"The poppy effect.My insignia won't allow to forget
though I too fall in to a forgetfulness described as divine"
In a moment, it happens, I tumble down parting
thick clouds of stardust memories,fleeting, yet haunting,
intoxicating scent of poppies, ***** haze  takes me over

youth was the country, we've been banished from long time back,
I destroyed my passport, in an angst, that can never be expressed,
I land on my legs, flying down,before her curious eyes and smile,
interplanetary voyagers, we hardly know what happens to us,
like a poem with images broken as seeds  and spawn.

I was the naked man on your bed, the day you came in
under the cover of darkness, made love heartily till the morn,
you mourned aloud, I didn't stop you, no taboo,threatened me,
and you said, would never forget the play of natural instincts.
in many places we met, in some strangers, others as lovers,
each night different, with our bodies regaling in ****** finger play,
we sat opposite, had dinners, joked about blind dates, being swapped,
promised to be in touch soon and properly date, though not compelled,
to find out more about ****** habits and ,decide where to meet.

At the time of a heist, notorious, we meet in a diamond showroom,
you thought I am the kind pin that pulls the string.A mole I suspected
you were, though confident in duping you one more sweet time.
In this world of make believe, you can take me as any avatar you think.
Converging in each other's eyes, we reconcile and forgive. for this life
You whisper, "Ï knew you were a nihilist"Ẃe were, that and more,
exploring the core,till the essence inexplicable, will be  clear.

Appreciating a glass of fine wine, we sit opposite,to each other.
we shake hands and I see you off, from an underground station,
to a galaxy, light years away,called Pinwheel, a cosmic  spiral,
then, I realize, we don't exist, you , me or whoever think they are,
when we insist, we exist, forget it brother,only eternity, nothing else.
Lucy Tonic Jan 2012
There’s a god in this space computer
There’s a person in this space cocoon
There’s a spirit in red defeating the holy
There’s a trio of sailors flying past the moon
There’s a left-handed man drifting in a probe
There’s an astronaut gliding in an earlobe
There’s a malfunctioned leader stuck on Mars
There’s a determined machinist amidst the stars
There’s a sacred yellow Judas in the jaws of life
There’s a bloated bellow shooting from the tree of strife
There’s a solitary soldier among the aliens
There’s a black slab of faith between here and then
There’s an eight-pointed star of architectural riddles
There’s a cow, a spoon, a dog and a fiddle
There’s a god at number two, a bird at number three
And there’s always Jupiter to seem higher than thee
There’s an eye full of molecules
There’s an eye full of stars
There’s a blind man full of loneliness
There’s an empty void at large
Pea May 2016
spin like a never-ending pinwheel
go forth whatever, wherever direction
don't stop
even when you feel woozy

that's the point
(no pun intended lol)
Aaron McDaniel Dec 2012
Get out of my head
Thoughts of you are pounding the walls of my inner thoughts
Blaring "Thunder" so loud, I can barely think
My heart can no longer pay your rent
But, I want you to stay
Reluctantly paying your dues
Just so you don't move too far away
If you don't mind, I'll pour us some tea
And talk about the future
that was our song
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
A mansion reeking of mystery and ***
Unlike your parties, the brain is the hex
Who's got the most phantastic story
Stitch the real hunters with unreal quarries
By candlelight she writes in her mind
Death-obsessed, web-like bind
Study the corpse, exhume the dead
Fresher the better, revive the head
Harvest the organs, strike a chord
Of nerve tissue and spinal cords
Touch your jutting collar bone
Think there's no place like home
Electric frogs and pinwheel rats
What do you think about that
Run from the monster disfigured
It's trying to hug you like a gun hugs a trigger
Go worship all your seraphim
Yeah, it's a freak, but you made him
Where have you gone Prometheus
Were you our guest or just an atheist
Yeah, wonders come in clear handcuffs
You're only safe anonymous
Oh, it's dead and it's jiving in no man's hands
Oh, it's alive and it's lying in no man's land
Electric frogs and pinwheel rats
What do you think about that
Run from the monster disfigured
It's trying to hug you like a gun hugs a trigger
Go worship all your seraphim
Yeah, it's a freak, but you made him
Inspired by M. Shelley
Jeanette Nov 2016
Through some shiny contraption,
the pasta emerges smooth and flat.
Your arm around your new lover;
flour spread over a counter,
the both of you grinning.
When you look at the picture you can't tell
if you're this version, or the other.
You are a puzzle pieced together by a child
who knows nothing about life.

In a dream you're at the creek
where we saw the bear last summer;
this time he speaks to us and sounds like my grandfather.
Laughter like shaking gravel, morphs into babbling water
careening over boulders.
There's a hole in the creek,
in the sky,
in you,
the breeze makes it sting, like salt on a wound.
You clench your teeth and look into the void.
It is the color of everything you loved and lost.
You want your hands to transform to wings,
but again, you are a child who knows nothing about life.

Last winter, wildflowers grew in the California desert,
they called it a Superbloom, it happens every decade.
Soft petals withered into their own bones before the next moon.
Time erodes canyons from mountains, through the earth,
through flesh, through veins, it's all the same.
Natural disaster doesn't always sound a siren,
sometimes things, silently get worn away.
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
Whirly twirly dandelion.
Whafty whafty breeze.
Happy sappy baby face.
He's down on a knee.

Don't ***** this up.
Make her smile.
And if you're feeling brave
Ask her to stay a while.

And she will cause she loves you
But then you'll leave cause that's what boys do
To pretty girls
With pinwheel curls
On a windy afternoon.
ringyorm Dec 2013
Detatchment from the material,
worlds away,
on the rings of Saturn,
I sit and wonder why
I'm a process being computed through
an alien calculator,
calculus and quantum physics
dancing on the infinity loop
of fractal dreamsicle truths in the pineal
pinwheel of life
circling in the eyes of mother earth
With the frailty of a butterfly

Books for warmth, fading out like old photographs

Antique white skin

Brassy bloodied cheeks

A swarm of dragonflies laces  my face

Ancestry nightfall, ghosts of the drowned

Faded gnarled patchwork, eating away my  mind

Limbs of the tree growing out of me

Divided from everyone else

Inside the pinwheel blindfolded
Wading through hours and days

A slave to this disease

It's the only one that I breathe
Butch Decatoria Sep 2018
The impetus
                     Of being
Always on the run
               Through pinwheel eyes
                              Those standing by
                                          The mystic roadway :    River
Blues yet to be brushed
                      or in blush
                           Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockfull O'
Then ponder
                Yonder "window breaks"
                         Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
                             Umber earth

                             Past whoosh and rush of liquid
Folding on itself / a soundtrack

      Listen now
      Pedestrian be

Mindful of the cautionary whales
                                               Old Ahab’s yell
                                   Or loathing.

If one is drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly
                                    Down river  
Or up there beyond finger's point
                      Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet

The distance
        Now only a line
                 Coalescing what is beyond
                      Our ability to see
Far and away
                     Ever after      
                             River.     Life.
Here we are
And proud
     The free spirit is fluent
           With the rapid rivers loud
                            Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
How then,
When or why
                        does it end ?
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
           Will lead to the high art /
love's deep oceans...
We often forget to seek
                              And mind
                                     the sublimations/
                                                            d¬¬r­ift wood.
So then,
Begin with a dot .
A speck of dusk
                     A burst of light
                                        A starry sky,
pieces to mastering
                   Raging fragility of water

Liquid undulations  
                    Folding itself in / volumes

Or falling from on high
       A droplet cry

Then the lightning
                   (crash or bloom)
From the heavens
                                 like electric rivers
So brilliantly

Where do we go (so low)
       There and here / underfoot /
                   Over north / southern sleep
                                   To oceans twilight deep?

Go wrapped or map-less
Or no.
       Up yonder
There up there
                    All without fear...
My heart like the river yearns
                 To go toward the sun
                       A flow /
                                     the beating drum
Always on the run
Algernon Jun 2012
I looked up from the ghetto
And I saw a little plastic American flag hanging out the window,
And a blue pinwheel softly spinning,
And down at my feet a hoard of pigeons gathered round a chicken leg
And I wonder if they’re aware
That they’re eating a bird
Mikaila Oct 2013
Last night I lay awake, long after you left
And let the sheets on your side grow cold.
Long after the door clicked shut
On the last sliver of hallway light,
I stared at the ceiling, wondering who I am when I'm with you.
I've never felt safe enough to really show myself to somebody.
And there I was with you,
Taking the liberties I always deny myself.
You know
Just how to touch me.
I could have stayed in that place
Where time meant nothing
Where we were a pinwheel of legs and wandering hands
And wandering lips, as well,
Breath snagging in gasps on the jagged edges of lust,
It was like drowning in a person.
Amber and slow,
Somehow so calm but so desperate as well.
I've never met someone
For the build-
The hours of little looks and casual touches,
Fingertips here,
And there,
Those moments that make the first kiss a slow, sweet death and rebirth.
It always feels,
With you,
As if time means nothing.
We have all of it.
There's no rush, no hurry,
Because you and me,
We're a sure thing together.
And yet still when you touch me I surrender to you
On instinct,
Full of need
All of a sudden.
You are a dangerous sort, I sometimes think:
You say yes to me.
Everything I need,
That I am not supposed to need,
You offer.
Every permission I have ever denied myself
You grant me.
Maybe that is why when you slide your teeth along my lip
I could cry out from wanting you.
Maybe that is why when I finally did manage to sleep last night
I dreamed every inch of you by candlelight.
fire is the cyclin
of my sleeping cells
i confide that the sirens
could shake me out of hell
outside my window
they whip lights in a pinwheel
like the spin of a circus tent
the watch of a hypnotist
blaze, then extinguish
red white, red white
as if your neighbor's home in flames
wasn't annoying enough
Ari Dec 2011
See the Rabbi.  See him tormented by choice.  See his people.  See them wracked by hate.  See the others.  See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.

On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice.  And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth.  Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight.  More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.

See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word.  As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water.  See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism.  See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.

See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.

See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush.  See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust.   See it caught, too, and see it see.  It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns.  It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood.  It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference.  See it sit in silence.

See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others.  And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still.  It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale.  They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention.  So it remains.

See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided.  They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals.  It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation.  See the Rabbi draw to a close.  His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead.  What is left but Death.

See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy.  See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light.  See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank.  See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.

The daisy stands still.
Addison René Jul 2014
sometimes it feels like
the air's escaped my lungs
or a symphony of synchronized sighs or maybe even a free fall into the fog at night
i know that it's been a while
even though it still ****** like a pinwheel spinning in gusts of wind going 90 mph
or maybe like the air's been ****** out of my lungs
or maybe like a river runs out of my crying eyes
or maybe
i'm just...
******* dramatic
Brian Oarr Mar 2012
This sleepy little galaxy,
lost in the milieu of a billion others,
is filled with song and the finite
thrum of human hearts.

This glow-in-the-dark Milky Way,
whose pinwheel arms
are spun with satin stars,
emits Mozart from its crevices.

This nondescript spiral,
axled upon a super-massive black-hole,
frisbees across the universe,
curving it with the maths of Einstein.

Space travelers are we all,
learning the gravitation-crawl.
Look out universe, here comes humanity!
Shannon McGovern Aug 2011
The way the dragonfly

across your chest stares at me,

through a lawn of pinwheel hairs;

and the way your beard

tickles me in such a way

that I believe at any minute

you are going to accumulate 
flannel and chop me a tree

subtly confuses how I feel

now that we have played

a skilled game of ring toss.

I am used to our conversations

while you drag quill and ink

across my skin and leave scars

in all the right places.

But the way you look at me

a masterpiece to be devoured,

and poisonous makes me

ask if you can scratch my back 
for hours,
but ******* get raw

being rubbed like sweatshirts

against bare skin all day.

I don’t know how I feel about

palindromes now, 
but I know how you feel

when you make it snow inside

and hand-rolled cigarette

smoke fills the room

chasing ferrets through sheets

leaving bruises in the shape of dental x-rays.

How does it feel,

Once all of your tattoos have met?
Butch Decatoria May 2016
A golden pinwheel;
Tall and proud, the face of day,
burns bright Love's bounty.
He took a schizophrenic detour
by taking candy
from a bleeding stranger.

The beast in the machine
steers the planets, pinwheel galaxies
whirl on their own collision course through space --

as city sewers
whisper your name
the black thawing streets
will ****** narcotics
into the blind man's hand,
as another addict screams ****
for tastes of yesterdays'
dreamscape. . .
K I R A Feb 2015
Like sipping coffee with cigarette in hand,
watching waves rise and fall while stepping through warm sand,
you are peace of mind.
Like smelling roses during sweet sugary May,
Laying down after a long lingering day
you are an exhaling breath.
Like the tops of roller coasters about to drop,
Watching number wheels spin until they stop
You are anticipation.
Anticipation going over again in my head
Like a pinwheel being hushed to tread
Constantly spinning.
I am scared. I am scared of failing, of never prevailing; of being let down and being let go. I'm scared of you hurting, of never really learning, of not being here to get to watch you grow. And tomorrow: who knows what it brings; thousands of things, that seem to sing, and scream, and claw at my head. Making my eyesight swallowed in red. And it's  said; I won't forget you I know that it's true. But the days pass by and I'm almost through. Why can't you, just come with me when I go? Just drop everything and come and hit the road. But I'm selfish, for even thinking such things. The emptiness consumes me and I want to just scream; your name, my anchor, my truth. The one one who made me believe, that's you. And I know, I overwhelm you and put the stress in your back. And I say things I shouldn't and I never relax. And you get quiet or maybe don't reply; and sometimes I sit here just waiting and die. It's not your fault.. I know I'm too much. I guess I just have an issue with trust. I have an issue with forgetting, with just letting go. Especially when I remember everything you don't know. I'm okay with being loved how I am now. Of sometimes hitting cold shoulders and frowns. Of watching you drown; even when I throw you a rope. Even when I try to give you some hope; a smile, my shoulders to lean. But I don't know if you listen to me or anything. I tell you I love you, that you're my whole world. I don't just say this to you to give you a whirl. To hear something back; though I admit it'd be nice. I haven't heard it for awhile; maybe once or twice. See the truth is, I'm pathetic. But it's the way that I am. Holding onto your words with both of my hands. I'm terrified, to ever let you go. Though I have a friend similar and she says she knows; that when I go, it'll never be the same. That you'll forget my name and from where I came. From who I am, and how I act. She said that all I'll see is your back; as it turns from me and walks out the door. I think if that happens I'll just sit on the floor. Give me a jacket to hug myself and a pinwheel to blow, spin round and round and see where it goes. Because that's what I'd be like; just spinning round and round. Waiting for you to come back around. To visit, to text me, to call me goodnight. I'm not gonna hold you back from your life. I want you to grow, to meet somebody new. To have a best friend who can be there with you. I want you to go on adventures and laugh in the sun. Someone to be there to let you have fun. And not be so protective as I always was. Let you lean on them and give you their love. I'm preparing for my last night to be a final goodbye. Just because what if it is, and I never got to cry? Or tell you how I love the color of your eyes; your humor.. There's so many things. So many things that I'll always sing; and keep in my heart. Together forever and never apart. Well, I guess apart. And like I said I'm scared. I know you'll see this and won't say a word; it's not how you are, of that I'm sure. Just know that I spent an hour, lying in my room. Trying not to call you and tell you I love you. Trying not to text you, just to say sweet dreams. Trying to not think of you and everything you mean; to me. I'm terrified and I have been every day. And I will be every night until I go away. And I'll probably sit in my room there, a few hours up the state. And write about the way you are on another hundred page.
Completely venting.
Phosphorimental Sep 2014
He was love’s fool
A drop of rain
In a downpour of seasonal shame
A farthing in the fountain
Spent on wishes
Glistening in the fenlands
Of unreplenished riches

A plea, among the rustling
In a vast forest of variegated leaves
Sorrow among garrulous winds gusting
A path through
His wooded pathos
Blazed with love and lusting

Then a tear finds wing
On a falling leaf
Snapped from the limbs
by currents of heat
rockabye'd into halcyon
so misery and his companion
Forge a new coin

Thrown and flipping along an arc
A pinwheel casting solar sparks
Purling hope in a tumbling fall
promises anything can happen
To anyone
at all
making up titles is fun
Ashly Kocher Jun 2018
Our life can often be as a pinwheel spinning in the wind....
....Slow and steady....
.... Fast and furious....
....Often changing directions during its cycle...
....Bright and colorful....
....Plain and dull.....
....So is the days of our lives....
ALesiach Jul 2019
In this garden
the roses have all withered
the sparrows no longer twitter
the day is dark and bitter

In this garden
a rusty gate swings in the wind
a faded pinwheel gently spins
a sad little girl swings within

In this garden
the trees are brown and rotten
the youthful dreams are forgotten
the little tears fall often

In this garden
the land lays in dark repose
the stream no longer flows
the little eyes bare pain untold

In this garden
once there was beauty here
once laughter flowed sweet and clear
once there was vigilance near

ALesiach © 05/22/2015
Monica Chaloupka Mar 2012
Drops of diamond dust upon our tounges.

Down a pinwheel of colors and images we travel,
changing our very being the further we delve.

Clenching our hands together through the intensity,
feeling safe within our shared love.

Forgetting everything so as to become omnipotent,
our eyes embrace as the peak looms ahead.

Only to feel drops of diamond dust,
upon our tongues and our limbs.

Life and love go on for eternity,
sprinkled in diamond dust.
L B Jan 2019
For Henrietta Swan Leavitt—

dark-eyed darling of the night sky--

A Swan
who sails
the heavens
deaf with lights
that pulse across your mind
In photographic plates
that number
many thousands
You see the differences in light
You swim the curves that grace the arch of heaven
between the cloud and pinwheel galaxies
You measure
their exquisite wakes of distance--
Become the glittering timepiece of the farthest stars--

Bestowed forever in your hands
the clock and keys of all existence
You know the bends of ages
You heard the voices of the light
of the angels
and of man

I hope you've found true happiness
gathered to your love
forgetful of the pond of space and time
and all that hopeless pain and counting
of perfection
and of loneliness
to which you were assigned

that in your hands unravel all....
The secrets of the universe
white and gray in motion...
brilliant beyond all measure
by which you were forgotten
and unvalued by design

Eulogized only--
as loving God
and as being kind

*copyright Liz Balise 2019,  Use only by permission.

Her colleague Solon I. Bailey wrote in her obituary that "she had the happy faculty of appreciating all that was worthy and lovable in others, and was possessed of a nature so full of sunshine that, to her, all of life became beautiful and full of meaning.”
I used to teach research to the seventh grade. Rather than argue plagiarism or whether Beyonce was a worthy topic for " American Women's History," I created my own little library of articles on 35 acceptable people so I could control their work and learning of the process.  They were all mad copiers-- literally taught to be that way.  I told them they would not fail for grammar struggles or poor technique-- only for copying and lack of citations.  I told them I wanted to hear THEIR VOICES and what THEY HAD LEARNED, except for actual quotes.  I was all over cross-checking sources, summary, paraphrase, and direct quotes.  You would not believe how hard it is to unteach wrong teaching and wrong learning.  

My little library offered such women as Rachel Carson, Georgia O'Keefe, Mary Fields (Stagecoach Mary), Elizabeth Blackwell, and Henrietta Swan Leavitt.

Hope ya like it.  Took all day.  I post no poem before its time.  Time now for wine and wood fire.
kayla morrison Nov 2010
the flowers are blooming again,
my dear little angel is dancing in them
her hair like a river flowing,
arms like a pinwheel spinning,

The sun emits rays again
my sweet baby is laying in them,
her skin so beautiful is sparkling,
her eyes so deep are closed

The seasons have changed again
and my love is happy
Tommy N Dec 2010
I saw the news in obituary black and
alabaster-chamber white. Women mulled about
in shining dresses, all pinwheel-galaxy black.
The men’s suits: darkness-between-
stalks-late-in-the-cornfield black

The pastor wore a Cosmopolitan’s-table-of-contents
white stock in the non-air-conditioned
church. His sermon dripped on the bereaved
like hardening wax. A portly woman wheezed
in the second row. A first-roadkill-of-summer
red paper fan swayed  idly in her left hand.

The coffin creaked, 4am-grandpa‘s-coffee brown
the procession moved outside slowly. The moment
was like when two trains  are idle and one begins
to drift forward. From inside the other,
it feels as if we are drifting backward.

Backward to days before with the namer in his study.
He has on his 1862-edition-Les-Misérables tan
blazer. His wrists crawl out the undersized sleeves.
Above his roof, the sky milks over
to 4th- grader’s-scratched-locker blue.

A wine glass full of just-waking-up-seeing-steam-
waft-from-under- the-bathroom-door white wine
rests on his particle board desk. I want a 70s B movie villain
to bust through the door yelling, "I’m not sorry" and shoot him
with a chipping-paint-bike-rack-next-to-the-library¬ grey revolver.
I want the namer to be speechless, knock over the wine glass
and die with grandma’s-new-couch red  pooling on his blazer.

The truth is my grandma’s new couch is this ugly
brown-yellow color. I don’t really know how to describe it.
Written 2010 during the MFA program at Columbia College Chicago
Socally Picter Aug 2012
Back with only memories of tomorrow.
the Personality that simply engulfs mine.
A hazel blaze that ate the small flame.
Tomorrow, you changed the entire world

burned down the sky, for the color of sunsets.
cynic turned something more facetious.
Pinwheel-heart only moves when you walk by.
simplistic melody of “ba-dump, Ba-dump”

fought for pacifism and won.
You and your crazy handful of nothings.
tore down the libraries to save the books.
Killed the dreamers to save the dreams

Dark Brown sunshine fell on your shoulders.
crescent moon sat under your nose.
and the stars twinkled across your face.
I only look to the sky to see you.

Build a life where tomorrow is not so far away.
where should we meet up? i know.
Lets meet at the edge of where you’ve been.
Lets meet at the edge of where you’re going
SøułSurvivør Jun 2016
we live and die
within a box
with data
at all angles
in an age
where innocence
is compacted
to rectangles

here we see
the wizardry
of Bill Gates in
his valley
the children with
their pinwheel eyes
texting Steve or Sally

around the house
the computer mouse
enthralls another tyke
instantly their Facebook
has another "like"

blood and gore
are commonplace
the victims have no names
what the heck
do you expect?
it is all a

they will thus
you'll do as they bid
for your pleasure
I'll announce

The Wizards of the Id

(C) 6/5/2016
Do all these gadgets make children smarter? I ask you. They can't communicate with each other without the use of some rectangular device. And they're meaner to each other than they ever were. Cyber bullying is at an all-time high. Wake up and smell the coffee. These are our future leaders.

Inspired by Thomas P Owens Sr


he looks into her eyes she into his stretching between is thread fragile as string of pearls if either moves too fast pulls too hard strand will snap pearls slip away who dares to charm rattlesnake take it by nape tie ends wear it as necklace love is reckless


first time he saw her he lost control heart spun like pinwheel  forgot what he know light burst into dungeon of dreary soul oasis in middle of desert bowl


he wishes there was way to get her to want him catch her heart pervade her fantasies he wonders if ever there was such power potion some ancient incantation arouse wild pangs of desire must be some secret place within her tendon to be touched causing her to tremble swoon lie down call out for him


i surrender i’m yours take me teach me shape me to be what you want need let me be your main squeeze most valuable player devoted confidante perfect compliment constant companion wildest fantasy life long lover volley your serve adjust to your moods make mistakes into masterpieces race you home to see who starts dinner do anything for you alone fulfill me trust believe in you we belong to each other give you confidence support inspire delight you lay great fortunes at your feet some men choose gold some men choose God i choose you may they find our bodies embraced together still warm after thousand years oh my love you are there like wild swan dragging wing across water take me as jumping fish take me as howling wolf take me as grizzly bear take me as wild stallion


it is hidden between them feeling around stirring nearer exploring along secret paths in early morning dew he scouts ahead skimming lightly over landscape finding area discerning scent following trail growing aroused stalking in grassy protrusion leaping across gushing stream treading in undergrowth probing spreading open folded wrap deeper into denseness she is slower drowsy yet playful coming up step by step lingering at each plateau meandering in hollow picking berries handfuls rolling them in her palms putting them in basket humming to herself she hears wolf howl she runs basket swinging jiggling berries dropping some her rhythms drifts across meadow root pulls slams him hard he prods in frenzy entwined as branches knot quiver knot forest spins around him over his head dizzy he collapses she shivers tingles whispers laid out in flowery moss resting beside tree basket spilled crushed berries all around her
Alex E Morris Dec 2010
A chilling breeze touches your face
Eye's blinded by the dusty powder

Your heart beats at an un-even pace
As if affected by the abstruse silence

Louder and louder it gets
warmth from your person exerts into the air around you
Chills run through gashes in your clothing, distinctly smelling of cigarettes
In the distace, echos of chattering and shivering
bounce back from the white, icy layers askew

A toe, Then a heel
The ghost of heat that surrounds the body is gone
Gusts of algid nothingness blow in your face by a small pinwheel
Darting pupils reveal scintillating lights,
Appearing one second and vanishing with the dawn

Something embeded in the mind, forever dormate throughout seasons,
The silence, the serenity, the solace of winter
okayindigo Mar 2014
when I was born, I had
nine lives left, I was bereft
of scars, delicate as fireflies
in a jam jar
(the kind I’d punch holes in the lid for,
the kind I’d bring indoors
and set on my bedroom floor as a fairy nightlight, until I got bored
and one by one they died silent as the pollination of fornicating spores.)


9 lives left, age: 2 months
but then one day daddy looked the other way and splash!
the baby’s in the *** and the ***’s still hot
(there are witches in the air but we don’t care)
looks like soup tonight! yum yum
third degree misery etched on her body,
one life done.

And nothing to show for all of her fun
but a twisted left arm and a ***** of a sun (burn)

One life down, eight to go, you know
because she’s a fox, which (if you peek over the ledge of your punitive box)
is like a cat. And that, as we know, means
nine lives, and that’s that.

well, eight now.
if you want, I’ll tell you how she (i) is (now) down several more.
worry not little one, fate always evens out
the score.

The second was me and a boy (THE Boy, if you know what I mean)
it would seem he and I had climbed two stories high
hand over foot over hand over foot over
the parking lot right up next to the sky
and then oh-

I’m falling.

(breathe in, breathe out)

(the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
down came reality and washed the spider out)

and there are
butterflies on the tip of my tongue and there is
a word stuck in my stomach.

he held my eyes just like I couldn’t hold
the pipe as I fell, right towards the earth between heaven and hell
now there are hot knives in my ankles and I think (I can’t tell)
I’m alive.

(stop drop and roll)

yes I fell from the roof through the sky. No I’m fine.
just one more life gone, I saw it flash before my eyes in a short space of time
that was roughly
the shape of a stop sign, or maybe a wind chime, or maybe
it was the shape of the sunshine.

Whichever way, that’s two down, seven to go;
the next one I lost when I rolled off the road.

We were going seventy and
the love of my life was sitting next to me and
his skin was beautiful in its caramel coffee complexity and
he wasn’t

There is air in my lungs when I should be history
but the SUV only bruised my knees as it rolled, glass shattering
pit-pattering over the pinwheel of perfect destruction
around us.

I felt myself decide that it was okay
if this was the end.

At least I’d go with my best friend, there’s some
good stuff. That, I conceded, would be enough,
I could die young
if who I was in that moment
could be the freeze-frame of my song,
the thing that’s left
after I’m gone.

Three lives gone, only five left-
the next one is casually snipped like a price tag
after a theft when I fell
from the banyan tree and flipped my pancake
(click-clack) like a jacob’s ladder
I should have broken my back.

As I fell I yelled in my head
there’s nothing to fear but fear itself
(till you’re dead.)

four down, five to go Indigo.

Here we go.

(to be continued.)
SøułSurvivør May 2015

here's to the
**** tube
the idiot box
it has pretty pictures
they walk and they talk!

it feeds us
our morals
it gives us our news
you're cool if you watch it
you're into the groove!

it feeds you religion!
"yes! we'll change your luck!
just send your seed money!
hundreds of bucks!"

you'll know who watches
there's no disguise
they are the ones with
the pinwheel eyes!

there's one in the kitchen
and one in the den
put one in the bathroom
watch again and again!

c'mon! sit down!
have a few beers!
watch 'til your brains
pour out your ears!

forget about books
they're so pase'
and stop all that writing
it's so not today!

watch, watch, watch,  WATCH! *
i think you will find
you'll lose your marbles
'til finally you're


(c) 5/18/2015
I can't stand TV

It's a proven fact
that you lose
IQ points
and it's a colossal
waste of time
(depending upon
what you watch)
JL May 2012
The amphetamines made me god
A street corner king known across town
I feel blue as the pavement moves beneath my feet
I feel gone as the moon comes on
That flickering flourescent light
Down between the streetlights
The record scratch like a Cadillac
I've mistaken for a Buick
The cigarette flick from his window
Spins through the night like a pinwheel
Exploding sparks on the asphalt

Choked on exhaust
Thoughts of you walk beside me
Etched on my bones is your name
I wouldn't call it living
Just existing
Cars headlights sirens backseats
My head is spinning as he asks for change
"No but here's two cigarettes."
That ought to get him through the night
You got a light
On upstairs?
You got a light?
Someway for me to see when the streetlights stop
The road takes on the country
The dividing lines turn to stones and sticks
The sound of night as cows fall asleep
The fields are full of mushrooms that glow caps in the moonlight
I used to pick them at the edge of the forest
I once was happy with the thought of "maybe" having you
Now I don't do much of anything but **** myself quickly
With no one to stop me
With no light
Somewhere between the star-choked horizon and the sea
You fall asleep with another
Your heart gives a flutter when he says your name
When you kiss his neck
When you fall asleep
Dreaming seamless dreams of children and sunlight
Something in storybooks once known as true love

— The End —