"pivots" poems
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
7.4k
There is some decadent rise
limp during afternoon highs and
pulsing at moonlight, the morning
knows something I do not know –
glowing, too, at the clarity
the cut of one’s sum, you and I
we are constructed of limbs and
dumb ligaments, bolted joints
and pivots: but most of all,
tissues that bleed when separated,
is that the value our love holds?
Do our nerves have common
apexes, the sapphire ends?
How we glisten and shine,
but do not feel when torn apart –
I sometimes feel like a classic
piano you are playing, one white
key tortured by the skin that does
not match any other’s but yours,
my player’s, retching for noise.
And I will give louder than
midnight howls of a single man,
his fingers fell from his hand –
he knows the morning such as I,
waking up just to decay,
while muscles keep their color,
the sun, or absence of, gives clues:
like footprints, a duet in sand,
I should not wake up without you.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC
shore slips tangent
once each turn
and life pivots
on blade’s pull
from age’s widened spiral
we watch to find
another oar
uncertain
how to circle
back to land
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 6:26 AM UTC
I flip lyrics like tricks
breaking bricks with sticks
my flow as Good as it gets
spitting words until they turn digits
mental midgets can't handle my pivots
I am dope with a twist
a cloud of smoke with no mist
I rock the boat and break wrist
so many styles I'm the ****
rapid flow when I spit I go rabid
going inn like I am sic
killing the beat and
melting the mic in one sec-and
my reputation becoming habit
I am loving this ****
as far as the goat,
I go cut throat
staying sharper than clips
I float while others just gloat and gossip
changing topics like top picks
I just take it all lite ike optics
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
We wage wars with words,
Whetstone sharpened wit.
Wounds win rounds of applause.
A pause,
While metaphors are mustered,
Rusted dictionaries dusted,
Cobwebs shed from unread shelves.
Pikes of pronunciation
Pick apart
Portraits of ourselves.
While poetry parries,
Prose pivots,
Prepares and rallies,
Stares down violet valley below.
The violence of lavender
Shines like silver in the snow.
A scent sentenced to silence,
Flowers on death row.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
Buddha was the broken hourglass
that spilled seconds across my backyard.
Mother Earth scolded him for his slipup,
so I smoothed her over with my minute hands.
She told me that he who skips an interval
needs to double back his ticks
so, grain by grain, tick by tock.
She rewound my hands to round out
the stonewashed garden that was being fabricated.
So I steadily swept shards of seconds
under the rugged rug of ill will.
I riddled ripples within her granular skin,
skidded stones across her carved clock
face fitting ****** features together like cogs.
Buddha shook the soil off
and fixed his gaze on my clockwork.
He explained that patience is key
if one wants to harvest his feast.
Before the goods go about,
pivots and rivets need to tie together.
Mother Earth collected her thoughts
and agreed with his concept.
I finished my work, stepped back,
admiring the hourglass I rebuilt.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
Why is it always so funny when someone trips
When they lose balance as they take steps progressing through life,
Reminiscent of those infantile days when you were first learning how to walk
When each step was carefully counted, an achievement
When your furthest destination was your parents arms,
Stretched out like a warm blanket ready to be wrapped
around your shoulders after a great fight.
But when you have walked miles and worn out many soles,
made flat strides like zig zagged dust stamps
or tried to balance on thin pivots that make you look like
a graceful ballerina in a music box
blanacing your life on the tips of your toes
trying to look above the shoulders
of the ones who got in line before you,
Why is there a rush of blood to the gut when you fall?
When you trip like a switch on a day with low electricity,
When the power is too much to withstand your energy.
Like a continuous circuit
a race of electrons.
It suddenly stops
This world is always running,
And we are running out of breath
To say what is on our mind
so instead
We mime our anger through relentless acts -
It feels so much better
Stepping over the line
Trying to hold on to time
Is it because our breath is just meant to live through our noses?
That are held high up in the air
That we forget to look down and see where we are going,
To look out for the small crevices that life has carved in the pavement
Through which small five petal flowers peek through
An organic life from within the concrete
Because if you think about it,
life is made of many twists and turns,
free flowing
always growing
There is so much more beyond you and me
Just dare to see
I know it’s easy to forget the world’s size
when your world becomes the size of your mind
where there is only space for thoughts of yourself,
your life and strife
But your eyes are made to be outside your head
so your mind could be entwined with what else lies ahead.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
They lick their lips to the sight of my downfall,
The sinner, the saint,
The meaning's the same,
We can't get away from meaningless things and we spend our days just wasting away
Make love,
******* take drugs,
******* hate love,
For all we know we're gonna die young, so let's get ****** up until we're all numb
The venom is watching your every move and it is licking its lips just waiting to get a taste of your bloodstream,
Headstrong paradox,
Chatterbox chatterbox,
You love to talk **** yet you hate to live it,
I'd hate to see the way your neck pivots when those vulture eyes give your weary veins a place to rest,
Lie with them and die like the rest, get a glimpse of what ever after looks like,
We're all sick here, get used to it
If the devil's in the details then consider me satanic, I make my way into every crack and crease and turn your nights into days,
Angels weep for us,
The demons sweep us up and dump us out into the cold and empty roads and tell us to fend for ourselves,
So we spend more time driving aimlessly with the radio waves set on heaven than we do with our friends and family
When she died she took bits and pieces of us,
They're stuck on spiderwebs and bad intentions and they're not ever coming back,
We're not ever coming back,
But we love this,
We live for this,
We would be nothing without this,
I'd sell my soul if it were worth anything, trust me,
I kept myself away but I'm starting to like the pain
I met God and He shook his head at me,
I met the Devil and He handed me a bouquet of flowers,
Maybe I can grow my own garden of Eden using them and maybe this time we'll keep the apples out of it
Until the day comes when I feel I belong,
I'll keep singing the serpent's song,
I'll keep singing along,
I'll keep the covenant ****** and I'll set my pages on fire,
I'll keep pretending this matters and that I'm not just wasting away,
It's hard not to feel any other way
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
I twittle when time passing
my mind is starting from scratch
I'm mine crafting
What's time having
......
Only but a second
That builds up to minutes
Turning into a day
As time pivots
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
Emerging from a distant dust-up,
A lone rider approaches on horse.
The clip-clop gallop grows,
The panting animal is alarming,
Sweat paints and streaks down
The dark hide.
The rider wears a bandana
Over mouth and nose,
Beneath a once white hat.
His clothes are covered with the trail.
Next, he's in the leather tub
With suds from chest to hair,
Shaving cream covering his face,
Mirror in one hand,
Probably a gun on the floor of the tub.
Eyes and nose poking through the foam.
Later, we see the clean, pressed black shirt
From the back, outlining shoulders we know
Have been busy righting wrongs.
He puts a cockey tilt to his hat and pivots
With a Parodi between his clean, straight teeth.
The champion. The underdog vanguard.
Clint.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
If these fingers touched ink,
let what flows be
untainted and true;
unsmeared and sure.
If these hands mould clay,
let what is made be sturdy.
Be uncracked,
unblemished
and smooth like porcelain.
If this body pivots upon legs,
let it stand upright and tall.
So no wind could fell it down.
But should it topple,
let no earth will it shatter.
If this mind invites another,
let no thought nor idea
adulterate its own...
For its ways may wind
and meander,
but it is obstinate.
If this heart still beats,
no matter how faint...
Let its rhythm be steady
and unrelenting.
So it might echo
through long days
and moonless nights
to find others like it.
Then,
I may not feel so alone.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:20 PM UTC
The wind is my lover
and the water that pivots
beneath the sky above me
could be any color for all
the attention I'm paying it.
For in the speed that whips
me about in a circle,
this world loses meaning.
As my hair gains independence
and my skin darts behind me
in the afternoon heat
and my limbs numb utterly
to victorious speed,
all my cares and leaden ties
are brought to light
and shown their insubstantiality;
they are spat derisively
into the dusk.
For the wind is my lover
and he sates my hungers
and visits with my youth
and quiets my longing
for sense with every velvet
torrent that passes through
my open hand.
And when the boat stops, I will break apart.
Would that the wind would grasp me and pull me
aft into the blackness beyond the shore.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
You
Oh no you sit
Really
I insist
Infact my whole trajectory supposedly pivots on you taking that seat
And not getting up
I don't know who you are
You have a different chromosomal make up
So were obviously a match
The frequency of my laugh
Moving from my lips is intriguing to you
Your thoughts have created a godess from a human
I wish you wouldn't
Yes the weather is right for a ride
And coconut surprise
But this whole sharade is rather sterile
Boy seeks out girl cause of her chest and the way she sits just so in the nest...
It's all so calculated and conducted like chopan
How bout raw unruly foot in mouth utterances Jackson ******* type splatter
How bout we show our worst cards and see if one is worthy of the good a test to extend the boundaries of our so called yard
How bout we throw up on the first date and skip the second
How bout we call it check mate and shake hands with the aching spirit inside, save a seat for a much
looser rhyme
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
She stands—
every few minutes turning abruptly to no object.
Hips pushing forward, shoulders sliding back,
red soled sneakers and plaid flannel slacks
beneath a dramatic black trench coat,
in the grey shadow of a gothic church.
She smokes the grey and blows white,
and scrolls through the neon screen
with her one ungloved hand,
a bun perched stiffly on her scalp, unheeded,
an afterthought, if there was one before.
Her backdrop—the heavy iron fence of a graveyard,
and centuries old glorious stones watch
as she spends her minutes
engrossed
in the luminous green of infinity.
it would feel normal if it was a bus stop,
a grocery line,
a hospital waiting room,
even a lonely bench.
But she stands,
and periodically pivots,
meanders two steps and stands,
and jolts three steps back,
glitching through slow time,
anxious and unresolved—
yet so engrossed.
Finally now she is following the fence out of view, slowly,
and I hope she finds rest.
I feel grateful as the sidewalk carries her now
away from my puzzled gaze
The great stones and I exchange long glances,
and perhaps they are more compassionate than I,
for they seem not phased.
Oh stones, teach me patience, teach me rest.
For you are glorious in endless rest,
and I am still anxious and unresolved.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
well, it was hardly or ever would be a respectable
musicology with mere rhyme; so we overburdened it
with ideas, those pit-stops of thinking,
those pivots of the former fluidity
that gave us Achilles... long gone
the respectability of not thinking,
so waiting awaiting the respectability of thinking
to un-think the existence of thought
rather than the existence of god...
i say forget atheism, and reading philosophical
books kept till old age of respectability,
those books are nothing but dust by then...
but i'm in agreement with the attack,
for who would want to sing a rhyme with mere echo,
the ulterior ego... to sing for a tennis match
of resounding a# a#, b b, c c, encoding our children
to merely encode rhyming patterns?
for fear of the loss of mimic or replica?
if i were a kid i'd love to rob her majesty's vessel
and encounter adventure than bookworms sneezing
dust for kindred death with Spinoza chiselling
optometric devices on a lesser scale in comparison
with telescopes - Amsterdam seen from a far far away
galaxy; if only you stood there, and experienced
the freedom that prostitutes govern in this city;
if only less legislative powers in your politics!
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
I am a circumstance
— noun
1. a condition, detail, part, or attribute, with respect to time, place, manner,agent, etc., that accompanies, determines, or modifies a fact or event; a modifying or influencing factor
I am a lever
—noun
1. Mechanics. a rigid bar that pivots about one point and that is used to move an object at a second point by a force applied at a third.
I am water
-noun
1. a transparent, odorless, tasteless liquid, a compound of hydrogen and oxygen, H 2 O, freezing at 32°F or 0°C and boiling at 212°F or 100°C, that in a more or less impure state constitutes rain, oceans, lakes, rivers, etc.: it contains 11.188 percent hydrogen and 88.812 percent oxygen, by weight.
I am you
— pronoun, possessive your or yours, objective you, plural you.
1. the pronoun of the second person singular or plural, used of the person or persons being addressed, in the nominative or objective case
I am all of these things and nothing at all.
I am.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
Stumped by Trump Crooked Hillary Clinton is Smitten!
teeth marks on her *** right where she was Bitten,
She tried to lie she tried some cheatin' She must have been high to not see the beatin"
From Queens our New President Hails,He knocked the Clinton Train Right off its rails!
Jill Stein In Mind to recount this Election,Hillary too drunk to give a concession,supporters report her angry in a RAGE,half her staff she violently berated,In the end Hillary was sedated!
In tears her fears all came to light,Trump congratulates her for one hell of a fight,on Election night America was made Right to the left,an end to the theft of all our security Immaturity!! Soon to be jailed for her perjury Dr Trump conducts a much needed surgery.
A fair Election with no deception Trump Chumped them all and now we watch as they fall,In the streets snowflakes Protest UNREST I detest the Nest That Soros Built with no guilt of the effect..America Wrecked for a Dollar people Shout and Holler NOT MY President The scent of RAGE running through their veins A shame in our streets Not Accepting her defeat!
Trump hooks up a pump and does not refrain to Dems disdain he flips ON the switch and begins to Drain this ******* a ditch without a hitch WE can all see her itch and twitch with so much Hate.Worse then her pivots in the Debates. IRATE!!! Right off her Plate Trump sat down and ATE!
He took down Hillary! Like a Killer he slapped off that pilary on her face DISGRACED! Maced in the face Burns to the Taste!She is cold and she Might be Bitter.Trump doesn't care he Continues to TWITTER!
Gowdy is still Rowdy and I dont think he will fail on his quest to put Hillary in jail.Trump says theres other things to do but thanks for your Blessins' and then he hired Jeff Sessions.No cards on the table no one is able to see What the Donald will do.Up his sleeve he wont leave it alone Shes ****** You can believe it its TRUE!
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
: The Donald!
Stumped by Trump Crooked Hillary Clinton is Smitten!
teeth marks on her *** right where she was Bitten,
She tried to lie she tried some cheatin' She must have been high to not see the beatin"
From Queens our New President Hails,He knocked the Clinton Train Right off its rails!
Jill Stein In Mind to recount this Election,Hillary too drunk to give a concession,supporters report her angry in a RAGE,half her staff she violently berated,In the end Hillary was sedated!
In tears her fears all came to light,Trump congratulates her for one hell of a fight,on Election night America was made Right to the left,an end to the theft of all our security Immaturity!! Soon to be jailed for her perjury Dr Trump conducts a much needed surgery.
A fair Election with no deception Trump Chumped them all and now we watch as they fall,In the streets snowflakes Protest UNREST I detest the Nest That Soros Built with no guilt of the effect..America Wrecked for a Dollar people Shout and Holler NOT MY President The scent of RAGE running through their veins A shame in our streets Not Accepting her defeat!
Trump hooks up a pump and does not refrain to Dems disdain he flips ON the switch and begins to Drain this ******* a ditch without a hitch WE can all see her itch and twitch with so much Hate.Worse then her pivots in the Debates. IRATE!!! Right off her Plate Trump sat down and ATE!
He took down Hillary! Like a Killer he slapped off that pilary on her face DISGRACED! Maced in the face Burns to the Taste!She is cold and she Might be Bitter.Trump doesn't care he Continues to TWITTER!
Gowdy is still Rowdy and I dont think he will fail on his quest to put Hillary in jail.Trump says theres other things to do but thanks for your Blessins' and then he hired Jeff Sessions.No cards on the table no one is able to see What the Donald will do.Up his sleeve he wont leave it alone Shes ****** You can believe it its TRUE!
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC
hyacinth
warm breath on the wind
as her small figure trembling
turns slow, to take humble spins,
feet sweeping softly against land
and in her curves and twists,
and whirls and pivots
each movement
and the air cool on her skin
each movement
her heart grows boisterous,
the thump in her ears,
a tune to lead, to follow again
hyacinth
as she dances
warm breath on the wind
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
all i wanted was to lie in a pool of sunshine
so hot i could barely breathe, dream or think
ripping them away like crunchy autumn leaves
falling from trees in gusts of strong winds
i wanted to be engulfed in a hot pool
so hot i have difficulty breathing
and my clothes get covered in sweat
this uncomfortable heat and brightness
cruel in its desensitization but also
a mercy for my brain which churns and pivots
bouncing around thoughts and dreams which
make me wish for sleep and then hate sleep
wish i could run run and lie in pools of
molten sunshine burning my skin to the bones
so i can perhaps breathe for five minutes
without a weight on my chest
a crick in my neck tightness in my back
surprising liquid on my face
where does it come from?
what is its purpose?
where does it go?
all evaporate in this stupid pool of garbage
sunshine and i
i can pretend my heart does not beat blood
my presence matters
i am not sad
not contemplating numerous ways to die
in the spaces between my thoughts and dreams
in my thoughts and dreams
i remember and i forget hoping
hope kills and love dies
belief lies and relationships burn
a hollowness a cavity
there is sadness and there is a rhythm
but i
do not remember the paths i tread
following these endless roads to that rhythm
i once had
where is it now?
what is its purpose?
where does it go?
i lie in embarassment and bashfulness
dance around to pretend that love never dies
relationships soothe and hope survives
but in that pool of sunshine
half-truths and half-lies
concepts of gray do not exist in
pure bright white blue
hotness
so i wanted to burn for a bit
let my bones get some air
so my tears can evaporate
the moment they escape
so i can continue saying
my heart does not feel
my heart does not exist
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:22 PM UTC
Forgive. Me.
I play the fool, though mean you no shame.
Bless. You.
You work the sacrifice, yet are deprived of the gain.
Save. Us.
We stay in Mutual Solitude; We do not understand that Want and Necessity are but pivots in this.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
.. and I thought they were smoking, on drugs or just joking when they were speaking to me
but the blue clouds lingered there,
I had to tear myself away from the balance wheel to feel anything
the tune of time whistled by me
I started singing along
out through the wind tunnel and into the storm.
Form 4 C
back in the classroom and there's a set square on the table
teacher's not able to control me
and I am the truant again
and I thought it normal
the
Informal education
It was prostitution on a grand scale
we were for sale to the future and backed up against the past
But fast and foolhardy I hardly had chance to win at the pool hall before school came to catch me
The balance wheel pivots on the tip of a pin
if I turn and spin or smoke a joint I can almost see the point of it
Just joking
I can't see
nothing but
The
Bogeymen.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
Dusk and
Dawn
The fleetingest
Of Moments
When
The world
Pauses
Then
Pivots
And reveals
A brief glimpse
The enormity
Of Everything
A story
Told in hues
So that
you may
Understand
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
The heavy oak door creaks before slamming behind me
Floorboards echo these cries with each pressing footstep
My eyes set upon a beige leather couch cracked and falling apart
As I collapse onto a cushion, I can hear the seams ripping and pulling
Dust billows up into the air and my nose, then falling to the table
Weathered and beaten, I lean over the table and it threatens to break
Two coffee cup stain rings carved into the wood graining as if they belonged
I trace one with my index and wonder where we had gone wrong
There is a moaning in the next room filling up the house
I recognize the tremendous groans of the stairs and look to their hideous song
Soft and smooth notes playing over them in a cautious placement
I listen to her humming and my core vibrates in congruence
I miss that song.
I lurch forward but my body does not dare to leave her again
Her dimples begin creasing, her eyes meeting that familiar motion
Pale arms outstretched as she sits beside me on the ancient couch
Threads between us tear and unravel as she pivots to look at me
“You came back for me.”
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC