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"poolside" poems
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms will talk in ancient tongues & sway the tribes of men to eternal love, & endless ammunition of the soul. spiritus. kin, galactic & the golden fire. throb the saga of man, into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas. we bury our dead in flower clippings or skull bits. [skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport] thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon. hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland, her lips ruinous. cement slabs and coils of fault with vast artistic possibilities. these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting & rattling bone masks grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics & death. their teeth are yellowy awoken. this is all seen globally, via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech. or video. dreams impact reality impact dreams in such that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222, evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge. & it mutates the psychosphere  of our mainstream public mind with countless projected memories.         [streamed alternate realities] fills the belly and the brain, but all those unhooked are skating. sweet meat market. ghost harddrives. poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men & their poolside parties. they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons, their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit. they hang chains from their necks & spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click lickings. they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled on old flowers & worship archaic cassettes. cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions carve wooden planks from groves of great oaks. great oaken powers. their creators chew gummies and bend time to uphold a proposed history of perfection. they master pong from their crystalline towers, & hire mathematicians to write conceptual skate-deck algorithms, solely for fun. non-profit.
0
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
CoopLee
future primitive
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms will talk in ancient tongues & sway the tribes of men to eternal love, & endless ammunition of the soul. spiritus. kin, galactic & the golden fire. throb the saga of man, into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas. we bury our dead in flower clippings or skull bits. [skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport] thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon. hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland, her lips ruinous. cement slabs and coils of fault with vast artistic possibilities. these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting & rattling bone masks grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics & death. their teeth are yellowy awoken. this is all seen globally, via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech. or video. dreams impact reality impact dreams in such that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222, evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge. & it mutates the psychosphere  of our mainstream public mind with countless projected memories.         [streamed alternate realities] fills the belly and the brain, but all those unhooked are skating. sweet meat market. ghost harddrives. poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men & their poolside parties. they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons, their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit. they hang chains from their necks & spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click lickings. they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled on old flowers & worship archaic cassettes. cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions carve wooden planks from groves of great oaks. great oaken powers. their creators chew gummies and bend time to uphold a proposed history of perfection. they master pong from their crystalline towers, & hire mathematicians to write conceptual skate-deck algorithms, solely for fun. non-profit.
Continue reading...
60
Distant island shapes beguiling Floating ghosts of far off land Appear sentinel as we lay Hot and sunbathed on the sand. Scorching beach has tricked our minds Ever beckoning cool seas flow Finely placed as time stands still Myths of people long ago Heat above the deep caldera Yet at water’s edge a breeze Every wave a stroke of calmness Drags the black sand out with ease Pushing, combing lava rock Once a liquid burning hot Hearts massaged by the tender noise Deep sighs as the day burns on Windy gusts caress unclad torsos Smiling we hold hands out to catch Throwing our heads back with the pleasure Letting our warm brown frames collapse Lazy resting towels on bodies Sunbed dreaming, time for lunch Decisions on the midday menu A carafe of red or white, too much! Later when the sun’s behind us Deserted beaches for the night Couples then prepare for evening Soon tavernas come alight Poolside dwelling welcomes back Two weary souls from day outside Scorching sun takes all about us Thanks for love where we abide Since we came and soaked our souls In this perfect atmosphere Love has blossomed even further All is wonderful never fear Patio evenings lying out Herb aroma fills the nose Drifting in and out of sleepy Eyes feel heavy in repose Cool wet noses brush our legs Warm fur strokes a silken pass Feline friends have come to visit Glad that we are home at last Nervous ******* lying still Mewing loudly all surpassed Two so gentle but true survivors Bright eyes hiding traumas past How lovely to have given respite As more and more attached we grew Warm and tender stroking softly Alongside us as if they knew
0
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
max-hale
Santorini rhyme
Distant island shapes beguiling Floating ghosts of far off land Appear sentinel as we lay Hot and sunbathed on the sand. Scorching beach has tricked our minds Ever beckoning cool seas flow Finely placed as time stands still Myths of people long ago Heat above the deep caldera Yet at water’s edge a breeze Every wave a stroke of calmness Drags the black sand out with ease Pushing, combing lava rock Once a liquid burning hot Hearts massaged by the tender noise Deep sighs as the day burns on Windy gusts caress unclad torsos Smiling we hold hands out to catch Throwing our heads back with the pleasure Letting our warm brown frames collapse Lazy resting towels on bodies Sunbed dreaming, time for lunch Decisions on the midday menu A carafe of red or white, too much! Later when the sun’s behind us Deserted beaches for the night Couples then prepare for evening Soon tavernas come alight Poolside dwelling welcomes back Two weary souls from day outside Scorching sun takes all about us Thanks for love where we abide Since we came and soaked our souls In this perfect atmosphere Love has blossomed even further All is wonderful never fear Patio evenings lying out Herb aroma fills the nose Drifting in and out of sleepy Eyes feel heavy in repose Cool wet noses brush our legs Warm fur strokes a silken pass Feline friends have come to visit Glad that we are home at last Nervous ******* lying still Mewing loudly all surpassed Two so gentle but true survivors Bright eyes hiding traumas past How lovely to have given respite As more and more attached we grew Warm and tender stroking softly Alongside us as if they knew
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52
the night was already crazy-wild by the time we arrived at Jarred's pool. he had a big house but we never went in 4 teens, teen dream, a dream team; but I knew deep down just what it was we snuck out for. a "transform-optional" rite, this hollow night. but I still had doubts... as Jarred offered me an aluminum can of something and I nervously said, "no thank you", the moon had proudly jut out he had a big house but we never went in. I hadn't noticed, without the moonlight, just how sharp Jarred's teeth and fingernails were. canines, ivory & sporadic. looking at me I hadn't noticed how reptilian our 2 friends were The fangs and dislocating jaws, tendrils & scales. Man-o-war for a head, giant earthworm for an arm She looked scarier than he. Those 2 went at each other in a murderous way A blood sport of sorts. Confusing to me. She spread her jaws wide - a parachute with teeth And bit down hard between his legs. Blood everywhere. Blood spattered on her face She looked ****** god-awful by then. The meat of his dead body then re-animated And assimilated with hers. Anabiosis + Differentiate Jarred, a werewolf or something like it, approached me. He had a big house but we never went in. we chatted poolside for a while he'd go harmoniously from monster to human, human to monster. Boiling cancerous growths under his fur Grew angry eyes that glared at me. clawhand on the back of my neck, he went in for a kiss (or a bite) with a puckered face and bared teeth. This is it. I finally felt a grossness so profound that I, without thinking, jumped in the pool to splish-splash, cool, to escape, whatever I opened my eyes and just floated there for a bit. hanging in the stillness trying to forget those alien freaks staring up at the moon from the bottom of a pool.
0
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
dev
Jump In the Pool
the night was already crazy-wild by the time we arrived at Jarred's pool. he had a big house but we never went in 4 teens, teen dream, a dream team; but I knew deep down just what it was we snuck out for. a "transform-optional" rite, this hollow night. but I still had doubts... as Jarred offered me an aluminum can of something and I nervously said, "no thank you", the moon had proudly jut out he had a big house but we never went in. I hadn't noticed, without the moonlight, just how sharp Jarred's teeth and fingernails were. canines, ivory & sporadic. looking at me I hadn't noticed how reptilian our 2 friends were The fangs and dislocating jaws, tendrils & scales. Man-o-war for a head, giant earthworm for an arm She looked scarier than he. Those 2 went at each other in a murderous way A blood sport of sorts. Confusing to me. She spread her jaws wide - a parachute with teeth And bit down hard between his legs. Blood everywhere. Blood spattered on her face She looked ****** god-awful by then. The meat of his dead body then re-animated And assimilated with hers. Anabiosis + Differentiate Jarred, a werewolf or something like it, approached me. He had a big house but we never went in. we chatted poolside for a while he'd go harmoniously from monster to human, human to monster. Boiling cancerous growths under his fur Grew angry eyes that glared at me. clawhand on the back of my neck, he went in for a kiss (or a bite) with a puckered face and bared teeth. This is it. I finally felt a grossness so profound that I, without thinking, jumped in the pool to splish-splash, cool, to escape, whatever I opened my eyes and just floated there for a bit. hanging in the stillness trying to forget those alien freaks staring up at the moon from the bottom of a pool.
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44
My body has not once been a temple. I remember years ago, sitting poolside with my grandmother, her spidery, veined hands touching my knee: "Your body is a grand temple, only those who are holy are worth admittance." And her stern sincerity made me laugh. My body is a wet, lush jungle. My body has been trampled through and lived in. Destroyed, burned, yet always continues to rebirth itself from the rubble and debris. Am I any less for this? My body is a mystery, a slow wafer on the tip of a school boy's tongue. A dark, cool place to rest your weary head. A place to let your feet press into the rich soil and feel like maybe you can call this home. I think one time, a man with dark hair and light eyes thought he could reduce me to mere trees and rain, not knowing the jungle is not a safe place. Unlike those with temples for bodies, my heart lives deep in a hidden cave guarded with sharp memories that feel like claws. My memories have teeth, and my heart has a brain.
0
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
fuckwednesday
Cathedral
My body has not once been a temple. I remember years ago, sitting poolside with my grandmother, her spidery, veined hands touching my knee: "Your body is a grand temple, only those who are holy are worth admittance." And her stern sincerity made me laugh. My body is a wet, lush jungle. My body has been trampled through and lived in. Destroyed, burned, yet always continues to rebirth itself from the rubble and debris. Am I any less for this? My body is a mystery, a slow wafer on the tip of a school boy's tongue. A dark, cool place to rest your weary head. A place to let your feet press into the rich soil and feel like maybe you can call this home. I think one time, a man with dark hair and light eyes thought he could reduce me to mere trees and rain, not knowing the jungle is not a safe place. Unlike those with temples for bodies, my heart lives deep in a hidden cave guarded with sharp memories that feel like claws. My memories have teeth, and my heart has a brain.
Continue reading...
26
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer? Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic.. As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows, muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners, gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch. If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled, while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons, larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art. Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks, and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat, rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home. back to unpoetic realities.. When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school. Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune. Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”   We’ve grown so much at Yale.
0
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 12:05 PM UTC
anaisvionet
summer persists
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer? Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic.. As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows, muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners, gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch. If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled, while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons, larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art. Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks, and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat, rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home. back to unpoetic realities.. When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school. Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune. Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”   We’ve grown so much at Yale.
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17
taste like the feeling of walking out the door and taking in that clean, bright air slightly scented with chlorine by the hot poolside deep, sky blue water so cool wade in green beans snapping in your mouth sound like that last step meant to be stealthy touching down on a landmine of twigs, the falling of a thousand miniature trees, in sequence with an axe. almost, the juicy crackling of a campfire, after it's consumed that accidently drooping marshmallow. forgive it as it blackens, warps, and crumbles it tried to hold on. green beans snapping in your mouth smell like dry ice vapors, that float, free as a spirit, undefined, like glass shard cuts of freshly mowed grass, breathe in that vibrant green, discarded and scattered like an answer blowing in the wind through the waves of a spring field, full of thin whistling reeds, hanging wind bells on the eave, dripping with rain. Listen to the sweet, nothing-tang tones delicious silent-music can't quite describe the sensation-- green beans snapping in your mouth
0
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
XNtricity
green beans snapping in your mouth
taste like the feeling of walking out the door and taking in that clean, bright air slightly scented with chlorine by the hot poolside deep, sky blue water so cool wade in green beans snapping in your mouth sound like that last step meant to be stealthy touching down on a landmine of twigs, the falling of a thousand miniature trees, in sequence with an axe. almost, the juicy crackling of a campfire, after it's consumed that accidently drooping marshmallow. forgive it as it blackens, warps, and crumbles it tried to hold on. green beans snapping in your mouth smell like dry ice vapors, that float, free as a spirit, undefined, like glass shard cuts of freshly mowed grass, breathe in that vibrant green, discarded and scattered like an answer blowing in the wind through the waves of a spring field, full of thin whistling reeds, hanging wind bells on the eave, dripping with rain. Listen to the sweet, nothing-tang tones delicious silent-music can't quite describe the sensation-- green beans snapping in your mouth
Continue reading...
44
Beautiful, breath taking views Of vast volcanoes and bright blue seas Scorching sun and high temperatures Palm trees swaying in a soft breeze. Through landscapes layered with black lava White washed walls wind their way Around gardens full of fantastic flora Where lizards and geckos love to play. Ships sail by beyond the breakers, Planes pass over as they come in to land, Promenades packed with holidaymakers By beaches of beautiful golden sand. Sun loungers and swimming pools Hours of rest and relaxation Siestas while the hot sun cools Poolside bars for cool libations. Spectacular sunsets in surrounding skies Each day ending in such serene splendour Reds pinks, blues, greys and turquoise; Colours any artist would be challenged to render. Pubs clubs and restaurants of such variety activities that appeal to everyone Local residents renowned for their hospitality Make Matagorda a paradise second to none.
0
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
damian-murphy
Matagorda, Lanzarote
Beautiful, breath taking views Of vast volcanoes and bright blue seas Scorching sun and high temperatures Palm trees swaying in a soft breeze. Through landscapes layered with black lava White washed walls wind their way Around gardens full of fantastic flora Where lizards and geckos love to play. Ships sail by beyond the breakers, Planes pass over as they come in to land, Promenades packed with holidaymakers By beaches of beautiful golden sand. Sun loungers and swimming pools Hours of rest and relaxation Siestas while the hot sun cools Poolside bars for cool libations. Spectacular sunsets in surrounding skies Each day ending in such serene splendour Reds pinks, blues, greys and turquoise; Colours any artist would be challenged to render. Pubs clubs and restaurants of such variety activities that appeal to everyone Local residents renowned for their hospitality Make Matagorda a paradise second to none.
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24
Ina's pregnant, I am bored Grace and Eric mute behind me On the street two floors below us Standing water, hissing tyres. Two more hours of this, I'm thankful. Endless meetings, glassy eyes Homeward bound on lighted transport Rain-streaked windows, dark outside. Weekend coming, confused feelings Clean the flat and iron the shirts Talk to no-one, poolside vigil TV meal and early night. Is this it? The final curtain Did I know this at that time? Regardless of the closing sentence No repeating, only rhyme.
0
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 4:03 AM UTC
wallace-j-larwood
Denouement revisited
Ina's pregnant, I am bored Grace and Eric mute behind me On the street two floors below us Standing water, hissing tyres. Two more hours of this, I'm thankful. Endless meetings, glassy eyes Homeward bound on lighted transport Rain-streaked windows, dark outside. Weekend coming, confused feelings Clean the flat and iron the shirts Talk to no-one, poolside vigil TV meal and early night. Is this it? The final curtain Did I know this at that time? Regardless of the closing sentence No repeating, only rhyme.
Continue reading...
16
filed in the most deviant chambers of my memory bank is a summer of bliss in a breezy city of blue lakes, buxom blondes and ***** near the baltic sea eva's skin-tight ****** white jeans were the envy of my roving eye "hi" she replied to my transparent thought and I bought her a screwdriver with a twist of jive we sat poolside chatting about this and that and after the 5th ***** driver that is, we both knew 'twas time for some intercontinental ********** she was curious and excited to sample the coffee in my african skin and her talented slavic tongue stirred me gently from gdansk all the way down to krakow I took eva for a long wild ride over the serengeti on my faithful thoroughbred johnson together we climbed the rugged hills of lust to passion's prurient peak, a blissful journey that left us gasping breathlessly we embraced under a fountain of rapture as words hung dry in our throats we would wear them later... ~ P (7/21/2013)
0
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
james-g-paul-sr-aka-pablo
A Summer of Bliss...
filed in the most deviant chambers of my memory bank is a summer of bliss in a breezy city of blue lakes, buxom blondes and ***** near the baltic sea eva's skin-tight ****** white jeans were the envy of my roving eye "hi" she replied to my transparent thought and I bought her a screwdriver with a twist of jive we sat poolside chatting about this and that and after the 5th ***** driver that is, we both knew 'twas time for some intercontinental ********** she was curious and excited to sample the coffee in my african skin and her talented slavic tongue stirred me gently from gdansk all the way down to krakow I took eva for a long wild ride over the serengeti on my faithful thoroughbred johnson together we climbed the rugged hills of lust to passion's prurient peak, a blissful journey that left us gasping breathlessly we embraced under a fountain of rapture as words hung dry in our throats we would wear them later... ~ P (7/21/2013)
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67
As a child I cried When denied Your creamy-white inside So fresh and benign You gave me addictive, bloodshot eyes Like a sugary sweet joyride I long for you by my side Comforting lone nights, amply supplied I could eat you poolside Or outside Inside or in a landslide, Hearthside or in a hayride, Formerly provided storewide Now you sit on the offside Nowhere I can find, Saddened am I, To see that Chauncey crocodile has finally dried, Along with hostess, and died.
0
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
ardent-bowel
Hostess
As a child I cried When denied Your creamy-white inside So fresh and benign You gave me addictive, bloodshot eyes Like a sugary sweet joyride I long for you by my side Comforting lone nights, amply supplied I could eat you poolside Or outside Inside or in a landslide, Hearthside or in a hayride, Formerly provided storewide Now you sit on the offside Nowhere I can find, Saddened am I, To see that Chauncey crocodile has finally dried, Along with hostess, and died.
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18
Just mahogany and horsehide glue, machine heads and a ***** or two. Plywood top, solid sides and back, bone and fake ivory, ebony, and shellac. Steel and bronze wire, to make her ring. A well placed sound hole to let her sing. But for love or money I played here every week, for 30 years she has earned my keep. Four star restaurants, or beer soaked bars, or serenading a lover under summer night stars. A joyous birthday, sad funeral of a friend, she's always been there, on one I can depend. Drunken'- Dancin' New Years Eve bashes, barbequed sun baked poolside splashes. St. Valentine's Day love songs, wine and roses, or a smoky old blues club that never closes. A nursing home sing along on St. Patty's day, a hurricane party till we all got blown away. Christmas carols by soft candlelight, I've played this guitar most every night. From Florida to Canada, Vegas to NYC, from Frank Sinatra, to Conway Twitty. Zeppelin to Bach, JT to Pink Floyd, anything to keep me from being employed. One night in Nashville Greg Allman played on her, And asked me to join him, oh what an honor. We make people happy, we bring them together, when I play on her I am as light as a feather. Some fell in love, and got married from our tunes, some nights we're alone on sugar beach dunes. She's filled up my tip jar, and filled up my heart. Because of this guitar my life got its start. I've sat up with her all night, when she was sick, changed strings a million times, broken many a pick. Caressed her, strummed her, as she dashed my fears, cussed her and ****** her, as she tasted my tears. With her I wooed my lover, until she married me. She has been my addiction, and she has set me free. They applaud for me, but she's really the star. I know it's just wood and wire, but she's my guitar. ###====(==O==== )###====(==O==== ) ###====(==O==== ) For my Takamine "Lawsuit" I bought in Nashville in 1982.
0
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
ld-goodwin
Wood and Wire ###====(==O==== )
Just mahogany and horsehide glue, machine heads and a ***** or two. Plywood top, solid sides and back, bone and fake ivory, ebony, and shellac. Steel and bronze wire, to make her ring. A well placed sound hole to let her sing. But for love or money I played here every week, for 30 years she has earned my keep. Four star restaurants, or beer soaked bars, or serenading a lover under summer night stars. A joyous birthday, sad funeral of a friend, she's always been there, on one I can depend. Drunken'- Dancin' New Years Eve bashes, barbequed sun baked poolside splashes. St. Valentine's Day love songs, wine and roses, or a smoky old blues club that never closes. A nursing home sing along on St. Patty's day, a hurricane party till we all got blown away. Christmas carols by soft candlelight, I've played this guitar most every night. From Florida to Canada, Vegas to NYC, from Frank Sinatra, to Conway Twitty. Zeppelin to Bach, JT to Pink Floyd, anything to keep me from being employed. One night in Nashville Greg Allman played on her, And asked me to join him, oh what an honor. We make people happy, we bring them together, when I play on her I am as light as a feather. Some fell in love, and got married from our tunes, some nights we're alone on sugar beach dunes. She's filled up my tip jar, and filled up my heart. Because of this guitar my life got its start. I've sat up with her all night, when she was sick, changed strings a million times, broken many a pick. Caressed her, strummed her, as she dashed my fears, cussed her and ****** her, as she tasted my tears. With her I wooed my lover, until she married me. She has been my addiction, and she has set me free. They applaud for me, but she's really the star. I know it's just wood and wire, but she's my guitar. ###====(==O==== )###====(==O==== ) ###====(==O==== ) For my Takamine "Lawsuit" I bought in Nashville in 1982.
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42
I get these headaches that start right behind the middle of my eyebrow, swoops down into my nose and then swings up and pings off my forehead. They call them “sinus headaches.” The word sinus in italian means canals. And when I think of that, I can’t help but think of little gondolas with Italian men singing to me as I look at the stars. It doesn’t make the headache go away but it really makes me wish I were in Italy. It’s funny how when things get rough, we instantly gravitate towards escaping to foreign lands. A headache certainly isn’t the roughest it could be, that’s for sure. But escape…that’s a double-edged sword. Escape isn’t what it promises. While the idea of sipping pina coladas poolside, or meditating in a forest far away may seem like perfect, what does that really resolve? It means that whatever made you leave is still waiting for a resolution. Even worse, it probably grew in size. Bills become bills plus interest and late fees. Arguments turn from “how dare you say that?” to “how dare you leave after saying that?” When you leave, you leave behind a mess with the assumption that others will take care of you, but instead, frustrations rise and you break ties. Whenever I get sick or nauseous, I immediately start thinking of my own personal Nirvana. I visualize the image of myself in this beautiful place relaxing and breathing in that maple tree air and hearing the river waves around me. That’s nice, right? And that’s ok. I think we’re all allowed our mental escapes once in awhile. But actual physical escapes? Those hurt others. And no amount of river wave will fix that.
0
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
corinne-tyo
Escapes
I get these headaches that start right behind the middle of my eyebrow, swoops down into my nose and then swings up and pings off my forehead. They call them “sinus headaches.” The word sinus in italian means canals. And when I think of that, I can’t help but think of little gondolas with Italian men singing to me as I look at the stars. It doesn’t make the headache go away but it really makes me wish I were in Italy. It’s funny how when things get rough, we instantly gravitate towards escaping to foreign lands. A headache certainly isn’t the roughest it could be, that’s for sure. But escape…that’s a double-edged sword. Escape isn’t what it promises. While the idea of sipping pina coladas poolside, or meditating in a forest far away may seem like perfect, what does that really resolve? It means that whatever made you leave is still waiting for a resolution. Even worse, it probably grew in size. Bills become bills plus interest and late fees. Arguments turn from “how dare you say that?” to “how dare you leave after saying that?” When you leave, you leave behind a mess with the assumption that others will take care of you, but instead, frustrations rise and you break ties. Whenever I get sick or nauseous, I immediately start thinking of my own personal Nirvana. I visualize the image of myself in this beautiful place relaxing and breathing in that maple tree air and hearing the river waves around me. That’s nice, right? And that’s ok. I think we’re all allowed our mental escapes once in awhile. But actual physical escapes? Those hurt others. And no amount of river wave will fix that.
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8
The blue water in the pool Is it really blue?green?grey? My eyes are deceiving me The deceiving pool Is mocking my courage as I am standing here Felling at the top of the world.. Brave myself for my first Olympic swim At the corner of the poolside Absolutely my beautiful, courageous, and most of all, honest coach, Who keeps  reminding  me of  this swim of a lifetime Who consistently tells of my swimming legs, body, hands An Olympic swimmer you are!!   She says that all the time, as if she is planting the words in my head Fidgeting, I First test the water with my toes, 1, 2, 3... a silent prayer to Almighty.. Let’s take a shot!   finally I take the plunge, Completely submerging while holding my breath, Eventually, we all fall or dive into the unknown, Sometimes fully prepared, sometimes unsure, Always compelled... Submerging for few seconds.. I have stopped to think.. Force myself to emerge catching my breath again... Heard a whistle and a clap Bravo! You made it champion! My coach smiled... made her proud! OLYMPIC  2016 Brazil here I come...
0
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
sharina-saad
OLYMPIC SWIM
The blue water in the pool Is it really blue?green?grey? My eyes are deceiving me The deceiving pool Is mocking my courage as I am standing here Felling at the top of the world.. Brave myself for my first Olympic swim At the corner of the poolside Absolutely my beautiful, courageous, and most of all, honest coach, Who keeps  reminding  me of  this swim of a lifetime Who consistently tells of my swimming legs, body, hands An Olympic swimmer you are!!   She says that all the time, as if she is planting the words in my head Fidgeting, I First test the water with my toes, 1, 2, 3... a silent prayer to Almighty.. Let’s take a shot!   finally I take the plunge, Completely submerging while holding my breath, Eventually, we all fall or dive into the unknown, Sometimes fully prepared, sometimes unsure, Always compelled... Submerging for few seconds.. I have stopped to think.. Force myself to emerge catching my breath again... Heard a whistle and a clap Bravo! You made it champion! My coach smiled... made her proud! OLYMPIC  2016 Brazil here I come...
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34
We’re hiding in the dark. Trying hard to survive this. Waiting to see the light. I can feel us breaking. He’s close to the edge. I’m constantly worrying about him. Wondering what will break him. Will it be the fans? Will it be the paparazzi? Will it be the lying? Will it be the hiding? I despise having to hide. I want to be free. I want to love him. But they say I can’t. They say that it’s wrong. They say it’ll ruin everything. They make us hide instead. Lying to our loved ones. Lying to our loyal fans. We give them hints daily. The tattoo’s should be enough. The compass guiding the ship. The arrow through the heart. The rope holding my anchor. The “Oops” to my “Hi” The bird to my cage. But apparently it’s not enough. They still don’t see us. Our shared stares on stage. The wanted and needed touches. The playful banter that disappeared. Ones who believe gets blamed. The tweets should be enough. “I miss you too sweetcheeks” “I’ll meet you poolside pumpkin” “And don’t forget my armbands” “Always in my heart @Harry_Styles.” “Yours sincerely Louis.” Not enough. I wonder what it’ll take. Trying hard to be ourselves. It’s hard when we’re watched. It’s hard following their orders. Our dreams have faded. The flashes have dulled them. They’re still there but barely.’ He looks up at me. Eyes are kept wide open. “Please don’t let me go .” “I’m tired of feeling alone.” “I’m tired of sleeping alone.” My arms are wide open. I’ll hold him close tonight We make promises for forever. We remember the easy times. When we loved not hid. We laugh at old movies. We slept closer than ever. He sleeps while I think. I’ll make us okay again. The day will come soon. Where we can love openly. When we won’t hide away. When they’ll finally realize. We’ll always love each other. No matter what they do. But until that day comes. I’ll bring him the stars. I’ll watch him from afar. Trying to make them understand. Because I know we’re fireproof. And I know we can survive. Because he makes me strong. And he’s all I need.
0
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
mariah-langton
The Thoughts in his Head
We’re hiding in the dark. Trying hard to survive this. Waiting to see the light. I can feel us breaking. He’s close to the edge. I’m constantly worrying about him. Wondering what will break him. Will it be the fans? Will it be the paparazzi? Will it be the lying? Will it be the hiding? I despise having to hide. I want to be free. I want to love him. But they say I can’t. They say that it’s wrong. They say it’ll ruin everything. They make us hide instead. Lying to our loved ones. Lying to our loyal fans. We give them hints daily. The tattoo’s should be enough. The compass guiding the ship. The arrow through the heart. The rope holding my anchor. The “Oops” to my “Hi” The bird to my cage. But apparently it’s not enough. They still don’t see us. Our shared stares on stage. The wanted and needed touches. The playful banter that disappeared. Ones who believe gets blamed. The tweets should be enough. “I miss you too sweetcheeks” “I’ll meet you poolside pumpkin” “And don’t forget my armbands” “Always in my heart @Harry_Styles.” “Yours sincerely Louis.” Not enough. I wonder what it’ll take. Trying hard to be ourselves. It’s hard when we’re watched. It’s hard following their orders. Our dreams have faded. The flashes have dulled them. They’re still there but barely.’ He looks up at me. Eyes are kept wide open. “Please don’t let me go .” “I’m tired of feeling alone.” “I’m tired of sleeping alone.” My arms are wide open. I’ll hold him close tonight We make promises for forever. We remember the easy times. When we loved not hid. We laugh at old movies. We slept closer than ever. He sleeps while I think. I’ll make us okay again. The day will come soon. Where we can love openly. When we won’t hide away. When they’ll finally realize. We’ll always love each other. No matter what they do. But until that day comes. I’ll bring him the stars. I’ll watch him from afar. Trying to make them understand. Because I know we’re fireproof. And I know we can survive. Because he makes me strong. And he’s all I need.
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74
Deep dive. Feel the water burst against your skin, calm the waves that crash within. slowly sink into the waters of integrity until its knee high. Meet me at the seaside. Climb the rocks of ambition and enter caves of progression, freely lose your sense of direction and enjoy the beauty and presence of a new life. See you're so used to being poolside. Experience cool vibes. Let the sea breeze enter your pores and wash you free of disappointments, all while welcoming new tides. New feelings and new sight.   Joyful peach mornings and beautiful blue nights. Allow the golden sand to absorb the overdue cries. Deep dive.
0
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
sajdah-baraka
Deep Dive
Deep dive. Feel the water burst against your skin, calm the waves that crash within. slowly sink into the waters of integrity until its knee high. Meet me at the seaside. Climb the rocks of ambition and enter caves of progression, freely lose your sense of direction and enjoy the beauty and presence of a new life. See you're so used to being poolside. Experience cool vibes. Let the sea breeze enter your pores and wash you free of disappointments, all while welcoming new tides. New feelings and new sight.   Joyful peach mornings and beautiful blue nights. Allow the golden sand to absorb the overdue cries. Deep dive.
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12
A Cerulean precipice grows wrinkles. Blouses scatter into oblivion. Rusty chain, in the room with no time. Tea-kettles antagonize moonlit lovers. Shotglasses chase, through ghastly cornstalks. Cascading lights speak incantation. Flash dance to late night serenades. Phoenix plumes in Sunday hats. Laying poolside, argyle splashes. A magnetic lioness creeps. Daring glances spread gossamer lies. Alabaster halls consume infant minds, while Dusty caps unlock elusive touches. Black widows drink white wine. Anise waters drown lycra mermaids.
0
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
Windsor
Sassafras Lightbender sobbed drunkenly.
A Cerulean precipice grows wrinkles. Blouses scatter into oblivion. Rusty chain, in the room with no time. Tea-kettles antagonize moonlit lovers. Shotglasses chase, through ghastly cornstalks. Cascading lights speak incantation. Flash dance to late night serenades. Phoenix plumes in Sunday hats. Laying poolside, argyle splashes. A magnetic lioness creeps. Daring glances spread gossamer lies. Alabaster halls consume infant minds, while Dusty caps unlock elusive touches. Black widows drink white wine. Anise waters drown lycra mermaids.
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15
breathe, please. summer makes me crazy (in the best way) i'll never again be so reckless as i've been, and that's the truth. a fact. and so my recklessness, my crazy doesn't scare me. i feel like i know my limits. i love. i feel. and i will be okay.
0
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
bryn-clarke-worth
green grass, sunshine, and kisses by the poolside
breathe, please. summer makes me crazy (in the best way) i'll never again be so reckless as i've been, and that's the truth. a fact. and so my recklessness, my crazy doesn't scare me. i feel like i know my limits. i love. i feel. and i will be okay.
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8
Black widows drink white wine. Magnetic lionesses creep, cold and calculating. Drunken sobs echo, under locked bedroom doors. As toppled shot-glasses lay, in scattered pools of *** Poolside lounge chairs plummet, making argyle splashes, Coming to rest with cell phones and wallets. Frigid lake water, antagonizes moonlit lovers. Daring glances spread gossamer lies, unlocking elusive touches. These alabaster halls consume infant minds, yet Not tonight.
0
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
Windsor
Derelict Michigan Motel.
Black widows drink white wine. Magnetic lionesses creep, cold and calculating. Drunken sobs echo, under locked bedroom doors. As toppled shot-glasses lay, in scattered pools of *** Poolside lounge chairs plummet, making argyle splashes, Coming to rest with cell phones and wallets. Frigid lake water, antagonizes moonlit lovers. Daring glances spread gossamer lies, unlocking elusive touches. These alabaster halls consume infant minds, yet Not tonight.
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10
I sit upon an tall bar stool and watch them play. The air is humid and full of mosquitoes. One falls into my cocktail and writhes about in what I like to think is terror. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant. Though its all too easy to think that. My eyes and attention stray from those I had been previously observing. Drawn to the glass as though it were a beacon. "Hello little guy." I whisper into my glass. "Want me to help you?" I laugh quietly to myself for a moment, then down the contents. "A new page tonight?" I ask myself mockingly. Smoke is billowing into the dimming sky. It is far away, but almost perceptible to my nostrils. I wonder: is anyone burning? Perhaps a once happy family. Too far away for me to help anyhow. Even though the desire is there. Hopefully it works out how I hope it will. I regress with closed eyes back to the day a relation brought home a retriever puppy. Remembering how I had kicked it like one would a football to make it stop crying. Such bad behaviour. Deserving a beating that. Its a shame my relative was such a soft-hearted one. More punishment would have been deserved. My eyes open and dart back to the place I was watching before. I notice they're gone. Playing a childish game near the poolside. One falls into the pool and splashes about furiously. No one is around to help it. I stand up and walk over. A look of terror, perhaps hope, appears on its face as it looks up at me. I know better of course. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant. After all, The mosquito, Fire, Dog... It all just depends on personal perspective.
0
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
neti-nagiru-ina-ereshkigal
Perspective
I sit upon an tall bar stool and watch them play. The air is humid and full of mosquitoes. One falls into my cocktail and writhes about in what I like to think is terror. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant. Though its all too easy to think that. My eyes and attention stray from those I had been previously observing. Drawn to the glass as though it were a beacon. "Hello little guy." I whisper into my glass. "Want me to help you?" I laugh quietly to myself for a moment, then down the contents. "A new page tonight?" I ask myself mockingly. Smoke is billowing into the dimming sky. It is far away, but almost perceptible to my nostrils. I wonder: is anyone burning? Perhaps a once happy family. Too far away for me to help anyhow. Even though the desire is there. Hopefully it works out how I hope it will. I regress with closed eyes back to the day a relation brought home a retriever puppy. Remembering how I had kicked it like one would a football to make it stop crying. Such bad behaviour. Deserving a beating that. Its a shame my relative was such a soft-hearted one. More punishment would have been deserved. My eyes open and dart back to the place I was watching before. I notice they're gone. Playing a childish game near the poolside. One falls into the pool and splashes about furiously. No one is around to help it. I stand up and walk over. A look of terror, perhaps hope, appears on its face as it looks up at me. I know better of course. Really its just instinct, electrical signals firing through the body of something small and insignificant. After all, The mosquito, Fire, Dog... It all just depends on personal perspective.
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22
She's crawling these days, And it's a joyous throwback to The wordless days, when the Eye reflects sunshine instead of tonic And there was someone, Always someone up To take over when it was too much. up up She's crawling in her own spit-up And learning how to drown. There's a certain effortlessness To a downward spiral And she's mastered it with the Dedication of a carnie's mid-night Reflections in a backdrop Of cotton-candy and ****** expulsion. The world has painted itself white And she's the little blemish Of hangnails and spilled cognac When Atlas would rather decorate With her broken winter smile; Teeth to match the whites of his eye And shattered eggshell. She's crawling these days, amidst Broken bottles that reflect such starry eyes The way puddles muddy the sky And house the most optimistic birds, Unheeding the poolside signs saying Shallow end. The water is dedicated to darkness And she's dedicated to falling.
0
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
the-nameless
Untitled
She's crawling these days, And it's a joyous throwback to The wordless days, when the Eye reflects sunshine instead of tonic And there was someone, Always someone up To take over when it was too much. up up She's crawling in her own spit-up And learning how to drown. There's a certain effortlessness To a downward spiral And she's mastered it with the Dedication of a carnie's mid-night Reflections in a backdrop Of cotton-candy and ****** expulsion. The world has painted itself white And she's the little blemish Of hangnails and spilled cognac When Atlas would rather decorate With her broken winter smile; Teeth to match the whites of his eye And shattered eggshell. She's crawling these days, amidst Broken bottles that reflect such starry eyes The way puddles muddy the sky And house the most optimistic birds, Unheeding the poolside signs saying Shallow end. The water is dedicated to darkness And she's dedicated to falling.
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31
Honey shiny skin Hot minutes Mr. postman Relaxing poolside.
0
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
butch-decatoria
Sun Baking (Senryu)
Honey shiny skin Hot minutes Mr. postman Relaxing poolside.
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3
you are not poolside. you've wandered off; and left behind your passport. i have someplace to be and nowhere to go - we could hook up at the pier and tell ghost stories to ghosts we know. i suspect you might be lurking in dark groves with dumb luck. but i don't know how you mean from this long view. i just know you. or some-such.
0
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC
third-eye-candy
I Just Know You
you are not poolside. you've wandered off; and left behind your passport. i have someplace to be and nowhere to go - we could hook up at the pier and tell ghost stories to ghosts we know. i suspect you might be lurking in dark groves with dumb luck. but i don't know how you mean from this long view. i just know you. or some-such.
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11
Poolside eyes, up to my knees in iris, mint, azure hues: I cannot do them justice but neither could she. In the fall, she’d change with the leaves: green to gold, clumsily. Cool air hazed the space between fact and illusion.
0
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
marina-rose
Mirage
Poolside eyes, up to my knees in iris, mint, azure hues: I cannot do them justice but neither could she. In the fall, she’d change with the leaves: green to gold, clumsily. Cool air hazed the space between fact and illusion.
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12
Ina's pregnant, I am bored Grace and Eric mute behind me On the street two floors below us Standing water, hissing tyres. Two more hours of this, I'm thankful. Endless meetings, glassy eyes Homeward bound on lighted transport Rain-streaked windows, dark outside. Weekend coming, confused feelings Clean the flat and iron the shirts Talk to no-one, poolside vigil TV meal and early night. Is this it? The final curtain Did I know this at that time? Regardless of the closing sentence No repeating, only rhyme.
0
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:18 AM UTC
j-wallace-larwood
Denouement Revisited
Ina's pregnant, I am bored Grace and Eric mute behind me On the street two floors below us Standing water, hissing tyres. Two more hours of this, I'm thankful. Endless meetings, glassy eyes Homeward bound on lighted transport Rain-streaked windows, dark outside. Weekend coming, confused feelings Clean the flat and iron the shirts Talk to no-one, poolside vigil TV meal and early night. Is this it? The final curtain Did I know this at that time? Regardless of the closing sentence No repeating, only rhyme.
Continue reading...
16