"pocketful" poems
Step out from the obscurity
Haunting your mind
And your soul entirely with
Darkness which invades all your
Organs slightly
With a pocketful of sunshine.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
in this
pocketful
of limbo
the distance rises
in curls of smoke
a prairie fire
siphoning into
crisp edge
of forest
Inside my
uncloaked ventricle
primeval forces
turn my blood into
dusted gold
as they pump
sacred texts
into my oxygen
They roll your quintessence
upon my fingers,
playing inside
my psyche's
wild ache
a spread of orifice
in spellbound mantra,
as I spit out
the
hairy thorns,
a holy purge of
internal
engravings
Somehow ---
like a miracle,
I grow ripe seedlings
from deep within
my womb
as I trip into
a universe rising
I take wisps
of your grace
as it brushes
the jut of my
astral collarbone
You are always
grounding me
like this,
my tongue
tripping
over velvet
stance of warrior
assuaged into silk
Without you,
I might be
whisked off into
the periphery
of chaos
but instead
I am simply
tied to
the urgency
of the little novas
about to
explode
While I wait
I tend to
the wildfires.
to make sure they
are still burning
I keep my honey
wet and fresh
upon your
lips,
let my pores
drip moonpools
into your glistening
wet of mouth
and only when
it is time
I let the whole of
me burst
into the
fire -wrapped
tips of
stars
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 12:56 AM UTC
Not so long ago
In a land closer than it seems
There lived a silly little girl
With a pocketful of dreams
She was as hated as was loved
It didn't matter what she'd done
But the one thing that she knew
Was that she hurt everyone
Too fat and too ugly
Too judgmental and a fool
She could never just be perfect
And society was cruel
It carried on for years
And nobody could decide
Whether this silly little girl
Should get to live or die
So the leader told his people
That something must be done
And the poor thing should be dealt with
So it couldn't hurt anyone
At first there was denial
But the number quickly bloated
Soon even the voice of mother
Left the situation quite outvoted
But when asked ''who would do it?''
As the people shouted blame
Not a single one would volunteer
And hung their heads in shame
A tiny voice right from the back
Suppressed by a nation's shouts
Announced that she could do it
No longer harbouring any doubts
Every single citizen watched
As a blade was drawn with care
The girl aligned it to the heart
To breathe she didn't dare
Instantly her dull eyes closed
A single push was done
Hushed whispers silenced throughout the land
Watching her smiling tear drops run
When mother found her in the morn
Dried tears still on her face
She knew with greatest certainty
She was not in a better place
How hopeless she was lying there
With blood on the bedroom floor
The only thing to take comfort in
They couldn't hurt her anymore
Mother watched the coffin
Now the girl was quite stone dead
Such a pity, society sighed
That the land was within her head.
Take heed of this done story
For the many who ruin themselves
Though words might seem so innocent
Our worst critics are ourselves
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
swim until you can’t see land
until names etched deep in cardiac tissue blur
and fade, scored over with seasalt and creases of a million maps,
a secret stash of maps. absurd and hoarded and crumpled under carseats and
rolled neat
and boastful in umbrella holders or worse, framed and hung
Maps jotted freehand on napkins stained with tea and mustard and left
to be bused with the crusts and pocketful of change.
swim until you can’t read the maps.
the lines to here from there are arteries
on your fresh, clean heart.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Orangey so tangy loosely
her words flowery so
rustic fun* erotic*
the panic straight
jacket going ginger
snaps her ticket
*Pocketful of sunshine
in your pocket*
****** the maestro
In the stars of the cosmos
On the edge but earthly
Let's go slow
Did we miss the
whole entire glow
"So Tickle me Pink"
The stardust funds
of the trust
Having a light fuse
The picturesque
Fields so mystique personality
Lights up unique
Your word against mine
In a matter of fact were in
It's your cue waves pull me in
If so the sky does it remain
always blue such a variety
Of cookies no outrageous
Time for Oreos
What's inside its outside
Cleopatra's eyes snap away
Like a masquerade
Don't rain on my parade
Love of Virginia innocently
Love is the drug
insanely
Scrapes on her knees
The western front
Ginger Snaps
Those bottle caps and buzzing
honey bees Tangerine trees
Galavant like General Lee
Ginger the gunslinger
She's the singer
eating Saralees
Whats to boot
But getting closer
To the naked eye
to the surface be wise
"Owl Hoot"
So lovely genuinely
He's husky and ruly
Apps Gingersnaps
Exchanging cat naps
Her lips in higher
states of trips
Trying to get there
Bohemian Rapsody
The Queen of the
economy
Photo editing Unicorn pony
Another brainless wedding
We are the champions
What a snitch like a witch
Bad luck switch the lion's den
Topiary timeless good luck Zen
Loud sirens
Drug trafficker morons
The plastic Surgeons
Backstabber persons
Blue jeans snap taking a
Sniff Shiba Uni howls
To be loved in beauty
My Mom Judy good
earth bounty
Tall and sleek every week
Smells of Ginger
no danger
The earth on her cheeks
Can love be any truer
Into the Gala the apple
of her eye never goodbye
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
as this flame stares,
i stare back
a light losing,
eyes already lost
the sky is breaking darkness and
my finger burns but,
i'm spiralling,
i float.
it's not chaos,
a swifting fire is my guide
a humble shape shifter under the moonlight.
this language it speaks,
i understand
with a pocketful of dreams to burn, and
clouds breathing through my soul
telling me
i'll be on the salty seas at twilight
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
When the dark velvet blanket drapes across the sky
And the stars shine bright in the night
We shut our eyes
Turn the lights off
And drift into sleep
So peaceful and soft
In our sleep
We dream of things
We long to have
We dream of happiness, love and hope
To ignore all of the bad
In the morning
When we wake
We may not know
What we dreamed before
But we are granted with a little hope
Another open door
For each morning offers a new chance
To fix our mistakes
And change what was wrong yesterday
With thoughts from our dreams
That we dreamed when we were away
Away from the world
That is hard to survive in
Hard to have courage
Hard to live and strive in
But our dreams
They tell us
Where to go
How to act
And how to grow
So the world is not so bad
It is only dark at night
For if you close your eyes
And open them real soon
It will soon be time for you to dream along with the moon
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey.
The little dog laughed,
"Jack, jump over the candlestick."
Along came a spider,
the cat and the fiddle,
who sat down beside her
and frightened Miss Muffet away.
"Hey, ****** ******
"Yes sir, yes sir."
Jack be nimble
Who lives down the lane.
Baa, baa, black sheep,
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring,
and one for the little boy
who lives in Drury Lane.
All the king's horses and all the king's men;
To see such sport,
don't say a word.
"Have you any wool?"
"Do you know the Muffin Man?"
"Three bags full."
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Jack, be quick,
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass.
One for the master,
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.
One for the dame,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.
Jack jumped high
The cow jumped over the moon.
Jack jumped low
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Jack be nimble,
Mama's going to buy you a cart and bull.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Jack jumped over and burned his toe.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
Hush, little baby,
one little Indian boy
couldn't put Humpty together again.
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
ring a ring o' roses,
and if that looking glass gets broke,
you'll still be the sweetest.
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
did you ever see such a sight in your life,
as three blind mice
stole a pig, and away did run.
And if that billy goat won't pull
a dog named Rover,
see how they run,
they all ran after the farmer's wife,
and Tom was beat.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
and the pig was eat,
and Tom went crying,
Mama's going to buy you
A pocketful of posies.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark
down the street,
One little, two little, three little Indians,
Mama's going to buy you a horse and cart.
Much wants more, and loses all,
little baby in town.
Three blind mice,
who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
see how they run.
We all fall down.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Scrambling upon slimy rocks
Pocketful of glistening pebbles
Wellies damp from taking just one too many steps
Tiny soft mottled green shelled crab
Held delicately between forefinger and thumb
Smell of salt air on your jumper
Knees scuffed red raw from exploring
Daring adventures of a boy
Down upon St. Mary's Isle
Teasing little sisters with monsters from
Recently refilled rock pools,
Sea anemones, all shiny slippery jelly
A dead lobster with only one claw
Amazing treasure from a world, he knew well
Early morning, cold breeze cutting through
A green jumper, mother shouting at the gate
Something about being warm, he didn't really hear
Skipping over seaweed covered rocks,
Net and rod grasped firmly in hand
Off to catch a monster, fish from beyond
The edge of an island, where magical things occur
Like weathered, washed up wood, from
An imagined wreck, or
Bright blue netting, and seaweed cage
A sharks purse contained within
The salty, sweet taste of the sea air,
And the splash of frothing white spray
As the seventh wave hits the rock
A boy or a man in paradise
A simple boy in paradise, skipping over rocks
Discovering seaside treasure, by the rocky shore
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Very few men could live with her.
She was one who couldn’t get along with a man-any man.
She planted her love for men in a bitter root and sweet water that contaminated her perception about men and interrupted her peace. she loved the way his sweet smell lingered when he left her presence- but not anymore.
Thoughts running through her mind, she would think ” I gave him all I had, what more would he have wanted?”
” I gave her all I had”, he said.
He was always there for her, showering her with love and pocketful of romantic warmth. He was her morning dew that moisturized the wholeness of her heart.
But somewhere along the line, his love for her had become an ugly scene.
To a man, women are wicked. To a woman, men don’t deserve to live.
Human beings aren’t fair. That’s a fact! But you should take some time out to think about this, is life fair ??!!!
Pure love becomes a fairy tale when love knocks us hard to the ground.
It could take some of us days or years to recover from our emotionally transmitted diseases (ETDs).
I went blank for weeks and my experience within that period felt like paradise in hades.
I preferred to bottle up my hurts. I couldn’t trust anyone because I was shattered by the darkened side of my beloved. Candle lights were signs I could converse with. Stirring at them in the dark and knowing that time was only waxing away. I had faith in those candle lite forgetting about the Author of time who isn’t a subordinate to time but I’m subject to Him.
A heart ripped into pieces is uneasy to mend. I went to places, met new faces, smiled and laughed my head off when I met my old pals but the thoughts of my beloved was like a leech in my heart ******* the breath out of my life.
Love all you can and expect the worse from love. Be willing to take the risk.
A love story could either uplift your potentials or un make you completely .
To my young fellas, be careful who you let in to your heart
Priscilla Adams(AraSoul)
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
With a pocketful of medicine,
And an optimistic air,
I set out to cure the world.
I had no idea, when I first set out,
Just how far my journey would take me.
I had dreams of dragons,
Heroic battles, and the vast expanse
Of the seemingly endless sea
Racing through my mind.
My friends, not knowing the true
Reason for my adventurous ways,
At first tried to discourage me;
Convincing me that to help myself;
To put myself above all others,
Would be, if not nobler,
Then at least more sensible.
Ah! My friends! Did you not realise,
That you were just encouraging
My foolish deeds more so?
For me, true happiness lies
In the smiles of others, and
The joys I inspire.
I find no pride in accomplishing
Deeds that fulfill other needs;
Diplomas and job offers
Sail over my head, and I
Pay them no heed.
Such accomplishments should be
Left (in my opinion), to kings,
And emperors, and others
Who I pay little regard to,
Who find such happiness
At receiving a scrap of paper
With not a jot of poetry on it.
I remain of the servile class.
By my own admission and actions,
I shun those who would have me
Believe that my past life,
The one in which I ruled,
If not the world, than at least
The part of it I so ignorantly knew,
Was a happier one.
So far there have been no dragons,
Save for the ones I carry with me
In my imagination,
The heroic battles I fought
Have been with no-one but myself,
In the recesses of my mind,
And the vastness of the ocean,
Carries itself, past the distant shore,
And into the hearts of those I love.
As I reach into my pocket,
I find the goods I carry to be
No more than sugar pills-
A placebo of the mind, that
I am told is good for nothing
By learned physicians, who know
Far more on the subject than I.
Thus I find myself in this foreign land,
With nothing but my optimistic air
To see me through.
I wish no more than to lend my hand,
And show others that I care.
Tell me; Is that a placebo too?
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
I.
pink satin masks
blood and broken toes.
i keep effortless poise
while knees and lungs shake.
i dance in tattered tutus,
in old toe shoes,
for a pocketful of coins;
i dance until i am blind with joy,
until my lungs are full of trumpet shouts,
until i am exhausted and weightless,
until my audience is standing,
breath gone, knowing what it is to be--
II.
in the storm of applause
one gnarled hand launches a torch.
"you danced with me," i cry--
her lips seal shut.
wild, cold eyes watch
flames singe my feathers,
fuse flesh to bone,
floorboards collapse.
she stays until she hears
my heart stop.
at dusk,
the stage is ash.
III.
at dawn,
a chorus of mouths emerge from the ground,
my audience, full-throated, white-knuckled,
tchaikovsky hollowing cheeks,
nasoprotivnyia daruia;
knuckles white--
flat-footed, slack-jawed,
the arsonist stands--
and i ascend from the dirt
on pillars of diamond forged from ash,
while my bare feet spill blood and i say
look at the source of my strength--
while new wings spread,
blood-red and gilded and brilliant in the sun--
while fire sprouts like flowers from my palms,
while spiders wrap my toes in silk
and i dance on thick-tongued harmonies
that tremble the earth with new roots
and i bourrée across the green trunks
and i become the sun
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
I hate how I love this feeling
Warmth that crawls through each vein
All control lost in it's presence
Dependency driving insane
I ride wave like a surfboard
Wherever it may go
No matter how low it carries me
Don't have the will to let go
Time spins circles around
Feels like I am frozen in place
Not only am I not in first
Not even running the race
But wings of comfort lift
In the air while I am high
I inevitably come crashing down
That comfort is only a lie
Hardly notice pain when I land
The drugs have made me numb
It is only when I run out of them
That I am forced to face what I've become
I watch dreams slip out of hands
They fly somewhere out of range
In their place are thorny regrets
Does not seem like a fair exchange
Nothing good blooms here anymore
Body became a barren wasteland
Only the occasional tumbleweed
Rolls across desert of sand
My soul scorched and blackened
Like earth where lightning struck
All the universe offers me
A pocketful of bad luck
The world a beautiful place I know
To me it no longer looks that way
Envy the people who still see it as such
From my perspective surroundings are grey
Maybe if I hold on a little longer
Blue skies will one day return
It's hard to hope when you've witnessed
Everything you love and care for burn
And it is even harder living
Amidst ashes of your greatest desire
When you cannot escape the awful fact
You're the one who started the fire
Aug 24, 2021
Aug 24, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
From my window I see
branches dripping
gray fog.
I face a long day
heaving heavy boards,
testing
my brittle back,
glasses wet
with sweat,
porcupine fingers
bristling splinters,
shaping lumber
with a clear heart.
Carpenter, carpenter, what do you say?
Cut wood all day,
bring home the pay:
a pocketful of sawdust.
With strange joy
I can't wait
to begin.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
*Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere
a missile that was sent eons ago,
Breaks straight through my window
and forces its poison into my bloodstream.
O' did I saw that coming?
I swear I didn't. I pretend all day and night
that less do I know what pain feels like.
Bullets- they decorate themselves
near the skip in my steps,
the high melody in my voice.
They suddenly choke my windpipe,
with all the lies ever known in one life time.
I’m dead but somehow still alive.
If you ever get an invitation
from this reckless mind of mine,
don’t even dare think about it.
You won’t be able to swallow
even a pocketful of sunshine
in my voracious war zone.
You see, I’m not bullet proof.
I dive deep into my nasty void,
Call my own name
Over and over again
to safe myself at night.
The muscles in my body screams,
While trying to squeeze all the stars
in the universe into each of my broken cells.
It hurts.
It hurts when you are not bullet proof.*
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
If only you could see how beautiful the world is
You wouldn't care about all these awful people
I like to look to the sky and see something bigger than me
It's bigger but it looks so small
Just big enough not to be overwhelmed
By all your little beauty
But you can't decide
You're wanderers and from you I've learned to wander
From you came the wanderlust
And from you came the hope
The hope to be like you
You don't go at each other
Sometimes you bump
Sometimes you die
But you don't mind
Peace at its finest
The dalai would be proud
You move very much in all your peace
Just like little working ants move around the ground
You move around your ever-reaching canvas of ebony
Tiny little incandescent ant
Tiny tiny shiny ant
My little glowing ants moving across the sky
I wish I could lose myself in you
Become one of you and know of your little hidden treasures
Could you come in my pocket?
Just a few
Just imagine what good I could do
With a pocketful of bliss and magical wonder
I would help anyone who's ever been down
But we will need more than one pocket
Flock to me my iridescent ants!
Lets make sure when we reach you, we reach you happy
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
there's a river running by the meadow
next to sinner's
grove,
where the hobos huddle
in a freight yard place
and trip on tracks
and fall from grace,
I can't help thinking
where the serpents shudder
the angel stays
I can't help thinking when I was a boy,
a pocket full of flowers
meant a pocketful of joy,
and the river by the meadow
had a gentle smooth flow,
I can't help thinking
where the serpents shudder
the angel stays.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
he empties his pockets
at the end of the day
she hates random
pieces of paper
in her washing
cleaning out the lint filter
mumbling to herself
shaking out the snow
of forgotten wishes
from her clean clothes
he can't say
***that was the receipt
for the flowers I sent
or the lay by for something
simply fantastic,
regardless of what's spent***
so he dutifully empties
his pockets each evening
before leaving
his clothes for cleaning
and then sits silently
holding onto
all of his dreams
from his pocket...
staring at receipts
of his attempt
to please
his woman, his wife
the love of his life
there is no snow
on his clothes
because each night
he remembers
to empty
his pocket
full of dreams
and hope
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
Wishing Well
I threw another nickel
in the wishing well
hoping beyond all hope
that my wish will come true
and luck is not even close
to explain the feelings I get
the way you thrill my heart
when I think of you
you are everything
all one man could dream for
a kind heart a forgiving soul
just trying to get though life
the beauty that shines on me
from those shinning eyes
that hair that smile
I would be lucky if you were my wife
so everyday I make sure
to have a pocketful of change
to throw into that wishing well
whenever I pass by my love
and my dreams
they never have changed
even when you went away
I still dream of you every single day
Gomer LePoet...
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
i took the ideas
out of my skull
and i placed them on the mantle
above the fireplace
I watched as they twitched
in the orange flame
i am the weary product of destruction
you were just another friend of mine
i once knew what to do with myself
but i soon forgot
we sat on the couch
and observed my half-born creations
you spoke empty wisdoms
into my hollow mind
all the while pretending
that there was something
to admire
before long the distance became
a pocketful of torn ticket stubs
a collection of subway maps
a string of missed phone calls
i doused the living room in gasoline
and dropped a match on the floor
through the window i watched
as the ideas on the mantle
turned to orange flame
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 7:03 AM UTC
it is a constant struggle,
running trains to their edges and
withholding movement from cartographers/
whose only true love is
finding out
this movement;
nomadic sponsored dream
that denies being a symbol, or
having ever given up,
collapses on itself
pocketful of maps
but no stars, no compass
it is a viscous walk back and forth/
and as pacing substitutes
affirmative action, melting on the tracks
seems refreshing
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
A pocketful of stars
An arm full of old scars
A crumbling heart,slowly falling apart.
A head full of dreams
A world that is never as it seems.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 1:33 PM UTC
There, in an instant of time,
Lies that of inestimable value.
More spectacular than a snowclad peak
In the purple light of dawn,
Softer than the downy cheek
Of a maiden in pubescence,
More meaningful than
A pocketful of ill gained goods
By the light of a waning robber moon,
Sweeter than a sensuous kiss
Or the touch of a ***** ***** in passion,
Richer than a Kings’ bulging ransom…….
Tis the warmth of knowing and sharing well,
An old and trusted
FRIENDSHIP.
M.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC