"polaroids" poems
Call a doctor/ plumber/ priest*
My heart is broken/ leaking/ deceased*
My life is worthless/ so much better/ over*
I'm going to kill myself/ tell your wife/ Dover*
How could you leave me/ not know/ lie?*
I hope you return my stuff/ come back/ die*
I'll never forget you/ forgive you/ go away*
I need closure/ a DNA test/ to tell you I'm gay*
Your face/ crotch/ top of your back*
Is so beautiful/ lumpy/ unusually slack*
Your ex/ mother/ best friend from school*
Always made me great coffee/ feel inadequate/ drool*
I will miss you/ **** you/ stalk you forever*
That way we can be friends/ get away with it/ be together*
I'm sorry you did this/ I did this /we failed*
I promise to pay you/ dye it back/ get you bailed
Please don't leave me/ show the Polaroids/ write or call*
(*delete as appropriate, just delete it all.....)
Nov 23, 2009
Nov 23, 2009 at 8:13 AM UTC
The sea, endless, magnificent blue
Reminds me of your deep swirling eyes
Looking at me with mischievous love
Reflecting the big, open skies
The stars of the dark night
Remind me of the scars dotted on your skin
Painting your body in loose touches
Polaroids of everywhere you've been
The Sun, in its bright glory
Reminds me of your smile
Radiating, powerful, from cheek to cheek
Sadly, I haven't seen it in a while.
And finally, I must say, my love
I realize, as I finish this verse
Before, I saw the universe in you
Now, I see you in the universe
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
the good things in life seem to stay;
like the color yellow, or a warm summer's day
waking up early, running barefoot in grass
feeling the morning dew brush past
hearing the twinkle of an ice cream truck
if you go, you'll catch it, with luck
eating a popsicle as the sun beats down
riding a bike through a small playground
when dusk comes, once again
we're swimming at night and playing with friends
lighting sparklers that shine brighter than stars
popping cap guns you could hear from afar
running barefoot right down the street
giving the neighborhood dog a treat
taking polaroids like the pictures will stay
but lost them then, by the next summer day
watching as fog rolls slowly ahead
the sun goes down, so time for bed
excitement and thrill, time for a sleepover
the day, for now, will never be over!
karaoke on beds at the crack midnight
crashes of thunder, scary stories, and fright!
still, pretty soon, we get used to it
or in the summer, it all happens quick
never sleeping, don't want it to end
even though there's the weekdays and weekend
glowing lights hang above the bed
sleepy eyes remind us dumb things said
summer, now, doesn't last forever
even if we must change the weather
we must savor it, you and me
and kiss summer hello thrillfully!
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
Scattered across my bedroom floor,
glimmers of light staccato on wilted rose pedals
Memories of us,
the faintest slapback of the person I was with you,
flicker with lethargic buoyancy
Fondness for fondness sake,
denial as a delicacy
Your face, obscured in these floral polaroids
Impressions of who you were;
what you meant to me,
a struggle to behold
but recognizable in ripples across the faces of others
Remains of an entanglement that seemed to answer
why the universe was even formed to begin with
This omnipresent truth laying abed the other
jagged reality of our affair;
it was never you,
it was my self-possessing pursuit of wholeness
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 9:10 AM UTC
vintage polaroids
mountain air
girl scout cookies
summer hair
ed sheeran lyrics
mint lemonade
blowing bubbles
christmas parade
harry potter
winter park crew
biscoff spread
morning dew
british accents
plaid shirts
old castles
chocolate desserts
breakfast for dinner
big bang theory quotes
shakespearean language
cape cod sailboats
sweet nostalgia
the smell of books
longing wanderlust
forest nook
80s movies
neon lights
time with friends
caramel delights
the great gatsby
walk the moon
old typewriters
plumerias bloom
bombay bicycle club
chinese cuisine
abstract art
seafoam green
vineyard vines
life of pi
scuba diving
monarch butterfly
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
of course i ********** every night,
otherwise i'd be wondering
about the next Laika in space
with some next soviet conspiracy
Sputnik hovering while i chance
abbreviate a change on hairstyling
thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too
afro frizzy for a brainstorm,
maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads?
economics of shampoo usage,
suddenly a large bank account.
i do get the idea behind treating nouns
like albinos... bleach the *******
hang them to dry in Polaroids...
while commercial flights fly at a certain
height, and the rich buggers fly high enough
to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket...
and they lie to children,
they're talking about strange satellites...
i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's
excommunication apparatus,
satellites, as far as i am concerned
orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum
of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside
of the visible spectrum atmosphere of
the earth, i would not be able to see
a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
the gallon of arizona green tea that you only drank a fraction of.
the salt and pepper potato chips you meant to eat, but only did so in the dream i had last night.
the unmade bed that was still unmade when you flew back home, the one i still cannot bring myself to make.
the dyed green hairs i keep finding around the house.
the way you always pronounced 'mosquito' as 'mosk-it-toe' on purpose, and how you pronounced my cat's name 'sullumun' instead of 'solomon' on accident.
the partially closed closet door from the morning i drove you to the airport.
the faint smell of your sweat on my pillow left because of your hyperhidrosis.
the flannel you wore and the longsleeve shirt you doused in your aftershave, that is three sizes too big for me to realistically wear.
the empty taco bell cups in my car from your fourth day here.
the empty shopping bags from our impromptu mall trip.
the polaroids you really wanted to keep, but we couldn't find when you packed.
the pieces of you that you never meant for me to keep that i keep piecing together as though, like an alchemist, i could make you appear again though i cannot, and you are not here, you are gone.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
it's too late to fret
about decisions made
and ties cut, past tense.
it's hard to see it
without the glaring minutiae
of my demise.
I'm scanning the walls
for a change of subject-
Polaroids and butterfly carcasses,
city skyline sketches
and old cigarette advertisements
in gilt gold frames;
satisfy yourself.
my mind is saturated
with degenerate cogitation-
a stew of pantheons
and painstaking nihilism.
my bones are brittle
and begging to break
and my eyes are growing heavy,
with the weight of it all.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
It is tonight
That I realize
For the first time
I am starting to forget you
I am beginning to mix up pieces of the past
Like undated polaroids
In a box that is too big-
I am not quite sure
Where exactly they fit in
I don't remember
Your laugh very well
I can only vaguely recall your smile
I see it in updated pictures
But it is not the same one I knew
It is not the one that spent hours
Folding into the crook of my neck
Or humming against the curve of my spine
The smile I see in pictures
Is different
The lips belong to someone
I am unfamiliar with
Someone I have never kissed
And the once clear snapshots
Of our moments
Are now shaded over and blurry
My biggest fear
Used to be losing you
My biggest fear now
Is being unable to
Remember you
To have you stripped
From my consciousness
It is the reaccuring nightmare
That wakes me suddenly
In the midst of comfort
I fall asleep to the same songs
You used to sing to me
But I don't even know the words anymore
There is nothing more terrifying
Than realizing
You are moving on
Nothing more frightening
Than realizing you have to
Eventually
But I don't want to forget you
I don't want to embrace
Your disappearance from my thoughts
I don't want you to evaporate
Like the rain we used to sit under
With our hands open
To catch the remnants of summer heat
I can still smell the air
And feel your warmth breath on my cheek
But the reality is
I am starting to forget
And I have never been more scared in my life
This is not about
Letting go
This is about how memory
Has the ability to shed its skin
It has been so long
That I am starting to forget how yours felt
Against my own
Your marks and your scars
Your freckles
Used to be my territory
I knew exactly where they stood
But now your body is a map
I no longer know the coordinates to
I used to take that path home
Every single night
But now I cannot even remember
The route to get to your house
You are slipping through the cracks
Of my fingers
And there is nothing
That can be done to prevent it
I super glued them together
As tightly as I could
But closed hands aren't good for much
I wonder if the people
I pursue can taste you
On my tongue when I kiss them
I keep you in my mouth
Even if the sweetness is gone
I don't want to erase you
Completely
You are fading like the end credits of a movie
I have watched too many times
I am trying to change the plot
But I know that it cannot be done
And realistically
You have been away
For quite a while now
I would ask you to stay
But my mind has already shown you the exit
Most of you
Has already left me
And tonight I am wondering
If someday the rest
Will leave too
Tonight I am hoping
That if it does,
It won't be anytime soon.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Question 1.
can you escape the words that so easily want to roll off your tongue
can you put them away
see them off on a ship
have them cross into the horizon and dissipate
under the burning red sun
of the east
Question 2.
Can you replace all letters of an alphabet
that easily taught, rolled off your tongue
can you put them in a shoe box,
seclude them in a corner of your new life,
where 80% of the time you are fine
Do you think they will cross too
cross the horizon, like the things you wish would
and then dissipate
Question 3.
Does the pollution amplify the heat, if so can the heat burn or melt old Polaroids
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
Sunday morning,
the air froze, the dahlias
once bloomed angry,
now they shiver and sigh.
Autumn breeze, faint but still,
the padded ghost-steps
of your laugh, running wild,
like vintage photographs;
scattered Polaroids of
my memory - a smile here,
a grimace there.
How the heat of
emotions buries itself
in the clothes of yesterday,
How difficult it is to
fetch from the seams.
The needles only *****
at a faint feeling.
I wonder; do you forget me
as winter forgets the living?
Because once an old man
told me I had sad eyes
Sunsets melt to chalky lines,
like cigarette stubs, they died
when you met her.
These days only my fingers
remember summer,
I touch the hearts of others
to warm them too.
My voice wind chimes,
the eulogy of the storm,
when I breath your
name I shudder...
And listen-
because I am in
the echoes
of her, of us.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
stupid living boys
and their hummingbird hearts.
stupid dead boys
and their lingering stares.
supermarket polaroids,
cold apartment poetry,
faded glassy eyes,
***** fingernails.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
*Butterfly Desires & Fictional Highs,
Magnetic Spells In Her Emerald Eyes,
Bleeding Perpetual Fire & Toxic Cries.
Lucid Screams Of Her Plastic Love,
Paper Towns & Serenity Above,
Refracting Into An Apocalyptic Dove.
Postcards Of Her Estranged Serenity,
Diffusing Into Polaroids Across Infinity,
Rhythms Of Lusts Erupting Obscenity.
Bluest Shade Of Her Misguided Confessions,
Uncharted Fragments Amplifying Obsessions,
Profane Prodigies Detonating Desecrations,
Digital Dreams & Fictional Desires,
3D Symphonies Inside Her Crystal Wires,
Purple Streams Translating Fires.
Tunnel Visions Transmitting Reality,
Suicidal Trance & Static Eternity,
Molotov Solution Is Her Lighthouse Of Ecstasy.
- 04:19AM -*
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
Rays of the morning sun
Encroached the attic
From a very notorious
Broken piece of window
Exposed the little specks of dust
Suspended
In the rotting wooden walls.
Some sticking in the peeling paint
Some lying
On her mother's once famous cookbooks
Now being devoured
By selfish
silverfish and fungi.
The dust
Telling stories of her childhood
Settled upon the rocking horse
And her favourite little music box
And a carton full of holiday polaroids.
The dust
Such a dry commodity
Moistened some old memories.
Reminiscence.
Isn't it amazing?
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
It aches me to see
How memories can fade
Like smeared pages of a book
Yellowed and crumbling
Like the falling leaves of autumn
It aches me to see
How misty the images are
Like freshly printed polaroids
Preserve but then forgotten
Like old baby albums
It aches me to realize
Though how hard we try
Memories just wane
Even the most precious
Even those we treasure the most
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
last night i almost
gave up thinking of bronzy brazilian girls
perspiring pure coconut oil, eau de margherita ;
supermodelas eating my dreams like concord grapes, lionesses
lounging on new york balconies, lithe, reading céline.
(esti ginzburg, on the phone, considers another pomeranian) .
almost stopped.
almost derailed strange vogue-like fantasme of irina shayk, standing legs planted
left knee out-thrust and foot
in ebony heel, cocked against the earth.
set being imitation of gloomy coal mine, east of prague. thin arms firmly controlling the
arc of her pickaxe, clothed in leather, high heels;
sheen of sweat holding her feline body in sweet embrace.
imagining that when shift's end buzzer echoes thru the tunnels she smokes a cigarette
on a bench in the women's locker, apple planted on old planking, elbows on her knees.
cover-alls peeled
down to her waist and her hair,
free at last.
(click)
on the tram back into the city all the smoked glass
cartier storefronts pass by like polaroids held in the hand. the same speed.
giggling, 'rina thinks of the six she could place
along her arm; gilt gold, brushed silver, diamant...
there are 11 smoked belmonts by the back steps; i did
little with the night. (tall shadow of a woman in a black dress and my mouth
a cotton ball)
that is to say:
i did almost give up thinking about bronzy braz ilia g rls ,
-
but i didn't/and so there's nothing else.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Your toothbrush still has the paste on it
The plate shattered in fragments of you
The glass still has your lip stain on
This bed I'm sleeping in still smells of you
Lying to myself that you'll comeback
Leaving him and crying and knocking on the door begging to come in
But hey, who am I kidding..
*Put the car in reverse as you slipped into neutral
A gear must've rusted; I trust the machine busted
because things became mechanical, to be truthful
Major malfunction--our junction ceased to be lusted
by my soul's circuits and tired wires proved to be liars
I thought I knew what I wanted, but I was wrong
My cogs, guts and screws became loose in the mire
of our muddled love, where I did no belong*
What worth is living when everything ran rampant silhouettes of you
Running through these polaroids on the wall
I did get out, but it's you everywhere I go
You have etched this fire in my heart
When it burns when we're in love
And when it burns my soul
To ashes remnants of you
Trying my best to get out
I knew you were trouble from the start
But my heart's like a glass thirsts for that lust
Now broken brittled into pieces
Fragments no longer could be fitted
*Puzzle pieces and Polaroids for the incinerator
A conflagration consuming our condition
where you fail to see what I fail to do
I may be coldly pieced together, but I'm no traitor*
***My love was just another raggedy rendition,
But your eyes are the demons haunting you***
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Oh God
He likes me
Oh Lord
He likes me
I think I like him
I know I like him
First date gone by
Winter formal dance
The words coming from his mouth next
"Looking forward to the next date."
Had my stomach tied in knots
Climbing out of his Mercedes Benz
With the broken radio
And the heat on full blast
A smirk
A smile
A raised eyebrow
A nod of the head
A kiss?
Too soon, perhaps
He a junior, me a sophomore
We could go places
The mall
Photo booth Polaroids
Strung about my room
Shared laughs
Long nights
Tired eyes
Upraised mouths
A relationship?
Maybe
A friend?
Definitely.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
~
I.
*Killing Mary Poppins
with a spoonful of sugar,
the sugar from the medicine
on the other side of town,
the town called Silent Hedges
And A Bit Of Fluff.*
II.
*Only a display model,
her name is Marmalade;
skin white like the moon,
she wears her ****** stranger dress;
one of her sisters is dying,
the other never lived;
God is a far off concept,
the fuchsia colored ball on
an overhead power grid
points her way to salvation.*
III.
*Morning became something else:
bright decline,
cold things start to burn,
tragic saxophone
among the beckoning,
everything's a symptom:
tax exiles, imperialists,
girls talking nitrous
--mouths full of soil,
Virginia Reel around the fountain
(do-si-do),
ready to buy up impossibles
as the dominoes fall.*
IV.
*Memory is a chemical
to the girl who cried champagne,
like ceiling stars
during the prodigal summer,
she played the game
on all fours,
and found a drawer
full of quarantine polaroids,
some with blood in her mouth,
others, of rain on her birthday.*
~
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 4:13 PM UTC
when i sleep, i don’t dream of you
i’m sorry
but it’s true
i don’t dream of you, i don’t see you
i barely ever hear from you
the polaroids on my bunk walls are gone
i covered them with pressed flowers and rotting leaves
i covered them with doodles of daydreams
of open skies and crooked wings
i gave myself some air to
breathe & forget
and i’m sorry love
i didn’t mean to
i swear
my lips turned blue when the ground turned white
i loved you more each day,
but you lie about where you go at night
and i lay my **** bare
so i’m sorry love
i didn’t mean to
i swear
..but also, i think, i'm only pretending to care...
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
With my heart I picture you in polaroids
tinted blue by my eyes, surrounded by crushed leaves.
In the skipping track of my inner eye
your mouth, the way it moves when you focus
the open-palmed reaching of marimba chorale
and softening of your brow from the vines
of midnight-colour hair.
From many perspectives, again and again,
in the skipping track of my inner eye,
photographs shot with love.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC
I remember how that Puxatony dirt
felt between my fingers. Gritty
and cold – the earth that covers graves.
Falling from my palm, landing at his paws,
he curled around my leg, shivering.
Against my ankle, he rested his long ears.
Polaroids of a mothers chew-toy earrings;
memories of March spent playing in *****
backyards, forests, and playgrounds. We shivered
together, in the heat of Spring, with gritty
rock-filled driveways underneath our paws.
Lives, those playful daisies sprouting from gravel,
that we ate day by day; pushing graves
down out of mind, but spilling from our ears.
The summer wrought steel cages to grip awe,
with training meant, bent to destroy dirt
kept caked on worn-out sandals. Grits
scooped off a breakfast plate to a shivering
dachshund. His collar jingled, shimmering
as it clashed against his bowl. Cold gravy
and dry cat food, with textured scents. Gritty,
furry, and harsh. Ears dipped in water bowls
finding the only bath of the month, clearing dirt
from a death in the family. Soft, unknowing paws
treaded with grace, and a parentless pause
as we crumbled. Directionless grief shivered
the big men with their shrunken hearts, *****
from a three-hour drenching sob at the grave.
But love is not measured by the size of loss -
it is made of highs and lows; rough and gritty.
Seven pounds of compassion weighs with gridded
precision on my chest. Those tiny paws,
batting at my heart. Soft, two-times-too-large ears
crying with us and pleading through shivers
to enjoy everything. Now your graves are dug
together - between you only a foot of dirt.
Gritty reality seeps in from shivering
fiction. Your paws on your own grave,
I place my ear to the dirt, and whimper.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 11:24 AM UTC
I know what to do with the polaroids we took over the holidays--
I can burn them.
I know what to do with the seven t-shirts, two sweatshirts, and one jersey you gave me to sleep in and wear while we held each other in bed every night for three years--
I can throw them away.
I know what to do with the necklace you gave me when you visited me, the bracelet you gave me for our six months and the earrings you bought me when we fought last year on my birthday--
I can sell them.
But I don't know what to do with your voice ringing in my head, saying I love you, and then I hate you.
But I don't know what to do with the image of your eyes lighting up when I would greet you at the airport, and then of your arms hesitating to hug me the last time we would ever see each other.
But I don't know what to do with the thought of you holding someone else and giving them your t-shirt to sleep in after a long night in.
And I don't know what to do with the memories. Three years of memories. Of loving you, of you loving me. Of holding you, of you holding me. Of fighting. Of every moment I caught my breath to make sure we were real and then of every moment I wished you hadn't lied or cheated or done something hurtful. Of every little thing that made me want you and want to get away from you all at the same time.
What do I do with all of that?
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
I keep your polaroids
in the scarlet pouch
laced with memories of our childhood
I have your polaroid
glued on my journal with
some dried fragrant
dandelions to keep you alive
in my head
I keep you caged in a polaroid
and maybe that's all I have,
that's YOU
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 2:47 PM UTC
I'm wearing a yellow polka dot bra and a pink shirt.
Anyone who knows me would find this odd because
black dominates most of my wardrobe.
I am dyeing my hair in 7 days and I had a gold feather pin in my hair when I gave a gentle guitarist my number.
There was a rose on this scrap of hastened paper and I bit my lip from being nervous; it bled.
Graduation is close and change feels like electric shock.
The polaroids on my wall are held up by safety pins that have no where to go.
My voice is stronger and only shakes when I remember the past and forget my luminous future.
I have friends with flowers in their fingertips and lake's for eyes.
Their voices shift the earth's plate and we fall deeper in love with our beings.
Envelop me in an easy slumber that I don't mind waking up to.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC