"prefaced" poems
I mailed you a letter because you said
the art of writing is dead but I know
how to twist words into sculptures still small
enough to fit in the post box. I hope
you read what I wrote. I opened my heart
and sent you a poem. Someday when you’re old
you will show your grand kids the written art
some hopeless romantic girl undersold,
prefaced with ‘it isn't anything great but
maybe it will lead you to understand.’
I never claimed to be the best but my
head is full of cosmos and volcanoes
begging to explode black holes on paper as
relics pressed between pages like a dried rose.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
I didn't do much today
I just laid around
I thought about cooking breakfast
But didn't
Even though the kitchen is ten feet away
I can't seem to start a fire
Internally or externally
Story of my life
Just laying around
Can't be found
Phone on vibrate
Mouth on mute
Can't function
Brain wont compute
I could be making easy money
Leasing out apartments
But I don't care about the loot
I just hold onto dollars until the eagle grins anyways
Comfort
I prefer sleep over money any day
Its free
And if you get lucky you'll get a movie in your head
So I lay
I lay all day
I lay to the point of decay
Burnt out
Edges frayed
Bed hasn't been made
In weeks
Dismayed, prefaced with failure
Examples set from forefathers
"Drinking away the part of the day I cannot sleep away"
Plays on repeat in my head
Followed by,
"I woke up this morning and I grabbed myself a beer"
I should really fire the DJ in my head
Next up on Shelby FM,
"I'm only sleeping"
In my bed
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
His wrists are my favorite part of his body,
Bones pressing delicately through pale, unscarred skin in a way mine haven't since the 6th grade.
The only bones showing on my body are my elbows and knees, just barely
And the worried bones of my insecurities.
I wish I could see my shoulder blades and hipbones.
I'd never hoped to be a skeleton but
I'd hoped to be proud of my appearance.
Even though my best friend tells me that I'm pretty just the way I am,
I know I'm not as pretty as my sister;
We're twins but no one ever believes us
She has gorgeous blonde hair and pale skin and sky blue eyes,
Hourglass shape.
I think she got the looks, but I always hope I got the brains.
Today I don't know which is the better end of the deal.
I know I am fat. I don't need any doctors or parents or bullies to tell me that
My curves are not big-boned,
Obesity doesn't run in my family,
No one runs in my family,
And by no one I mean me.
My every outfit is prefaced by compression shorts and slimming colors and self-conscious shame.
My stomach has ugly purple stretch marks like tongues of hungry fire
Burning away my self-esteem
Summer evenings aren't fun anymore
When my father tells me I'm too big to swing on the swing set
And my mother asks if I'm pregnant.
I'm not.
I'm a size 14. My mother thinks I'm a size 10.
When I try on the too-small clothes she brings home
I cry in the privacy of my bedroom mirror,
Oceans of salted pain worry over my face,
Try to rinse away the guilt.
At least I'm not an ugly crier.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
"oh, by the way- i didn't do it- but
the other day when i was doing dishes-"
(i heard his voice hollow out and bounce in an echo out of the kitchen sink)
my expression dropped immediately from the other room
"noooo" i cried "which one?"
he prefaced his answer by pacing a few pointless steps.
"i think it got crushed from all the other days worth on top of it or something- it was totally shattered at the bottom of the sink when i found it.."
"Which one?" i repeated..
( i already knew which had broke. )
"..the one you love."
**** really?"
i laughed weakly out of disbelief.
"i'm sorry mack-poodle, swear it wasn't me.."
his voice trailed off.
my care quickly waned
"will it come back in 8 months?"
I said beneath my breath with a smile
he rounded his head around the door frame and smirked down at me
"afraid not."
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Former lover,
Indulge me this anguished plea,
prefaced by this confession:
You are the first and final piece of my soul.
My lungs inhale air and exhale a prayer;
A request to the divine forces that you remain whole,
That no shred of your perfect self is stripped away,
That the only thing that changes is how you perceive me.
That whatever trespass or gaff on my part is ripped from memory
That you hold even half of the opinion I hold of you.
Before you carry out that box
Of personal effects,
Of joyous memories,
Of melancholy epiphanies,
Of sensuous encounters,
Of laughs,
Of tears,
And all the material and otherwise classified fragments of this broken romance,
Realize that I am a man in love with you,
A creature on the brink of the chaotic crumble of his being,
As the pillars of love gone would destroy the Parthenon.
Former lover,
Before your foot steps have finished echoing against my walls,
Please heed the request of an explanation.
Please grace this dead love with the dignity of reason,
As opposed to leaving it in a cloud of an enigma,
Abandoned like a fish on a dock, left to slowly suffocate.
Abide this request as you would a dying man,
As you are doing little more than killing me.
Former lover,
Letting you go will be like releasing a tightened vice,
As my love for you is as a part of my being as my heart.
Saying our last goodbyes,
Sharing that final kiss that did little more than indulge me
In wistful fantasies of an inevitable reunion,
Consummated with regret, love, and reconciled with intimacy.
Your goodbye left strings,
Like a strand of saliva still connecting our lips even as you parted them.
Former lover,
You left the door open when you walked through it.
How could you be so cruel?
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 2:45 PM UTC
prefaced by the only glimpse of glamour that I could ever give.
you found me walking downtown streets alone.
I found myself wishing I hadn't gone down that road.
we can hold our guilt above our heads just until the dawn begins to break.
we can hold our guilt above our heads until the spell is broken.
and now my eyes won't focus.
and now I'm losing my appetite.
you've seen me walking down the empty aisles,
you've caught me wishing I could sweep the day into the night.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
A day to take shape and quite possibly escape the self-hatred that permeates my cellular structure.
Is it true? Will my cellular make-up be completely renewed within 7 years? Each cell that makes me up now will give way to a new wave of cells garnering total transformation.
I used to answer questions like this because I thought I could answer anything - I still can but I feel like a phony who speaks just to be heard.
I used to think I knew a lot. Now I recognize that I don't know a piece of **** let alone **** collectively. Ask me, I might answer. Beware of the prefaced statement: " all views are highly subjective
and
most likely to change dramatically before and after they are forgotten".
If and then. I continue to seek a logical answer to the reason why I don't know anything - but...
Self-hatred, discontent, fear, and Fuckin' Fruity Pebbles. Cocoa Pebbles are good - but lacking the crunchy sweetness of the good ole fruitay pebblays.
Let the funk squadron play...
NOW !
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
The last warm glimpse of the humanity
The last time I felt the love that everyone ever told me I deserved
The last time
The last time I let go of everything I never should have given one iota of a **** about
The first time I've been alone
Truly known that solitude felt like
Knowing what I'm missing and replacing it with an entire reality that is completely subpar
Death
Death and knowing nothing at all
Seems to be welcoming most of the time
The last time
The last hour
The last few moments
Aren't they all the same?
The same as any other hour that we have ever been given the grace to live
Death comes early for anyone
There are always more seconds to live
One more conversation of total import that could have been shared
with someone
anyone at all
The last few words that we spoke could have always been followed with an entire recitation of what we wish we could have known
The things we wish could have learned
The people that we never got the chance to love
The ones that were always doomed to lose
Old, we die. "It's our time."
Young, we perish. "What a tragedy."
There is no right or wrong time for a death.
It's not the end of a book or the cease fire of the raging war inside of us.
It continues on in the next generation of who we are.
It continues on after we're gone.
Nothing ever ends completely.
Everyone leaves a legacy.
Sometimes, it's nothing special.
Sometimes, it's a never-ending joke that your friends and family still tell years later, long after they have tragically forgotten that you ever existed.
Sometimes, its a small bit of wisdom that is always prefaced by "Well, my old friend always told me.."
Sometimes, though, it's nothing more than a wisp of emotions. That small secret longing that never gets named. There is no label for it, no way to tell what it is, but it's all that's left after your dead and gone, and it's all you'll ever have.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
The mirror, consistent bystander, a defiled savior that returns
An arid eyeful of the misery masquerading in skin
The promises, unturned in the ragged nails
Of hands amongst the worn blades, desiccated with blood.
Night prefaced by sleep endeavors to hold a zephyr to never wake
Keeping a window parsed with misguiding lexis when solitary
Escapism writes itself on panes in palls of a routed exhale
The walls, sordidly stained with parody of preaching truths
Openhanded to the sheer erosion of missing self-misuse
And as the dawn reveals the path out redemption's door
The fetter of morning's mourning reminds its prisoner of its tethered grip.
© 2013
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
watching the sunrise
surprise me in the evening
i can't evening; realize
potentially what personifies
you or your taste
upbeat and outpaced
we meet and i faced
just 5 feet
google street-
view i felt at home
then i knew i yearn to roam
outside of pixels confined
his wide grin as if was designed
to remind me
love will find me
***
can't can't can't
important out
conformist rant
erased wry pant
replaced i grant
we chased, we chant
prefaced, we shan't
displace on slant
onslought instant
distraught recant
enchant wrought on
our rotten re-plant of
an antic talking frantic
infrared entranced romantic
instead transcended semantic
exalted assaulted tantric
talk sick
balk pick
stalk trick
**** quick
lock click
shock strik
flock thick
block brick
rock stick
walk kick
stall tick
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
In dark rooms
and cold sheets
You can hear
shaking voices that
are whispering
wavy sounds in my ears
Who's touching
the surface of my skin
as if they were feathers.
Our tongues are
wrapped in fire
and our eyes
with passion, with desire.
Now my heart is naked
There is nothing to hide
inside of me,
My numb secrets
are already wasted,
Your touch it's **********
my confidential feelings
getting under my thoughts
under my skin
waking up my demons
who admire the way
that the moonlight
and the shadows of night
it's casting your beautiful shapes
which I'm in love with.
My breath is sinking
slowly
in the bark of pleasure
giving the impression
that our blood is boiling
And our hearts
are beating quickly
connecting our veins,
melting our bodies
under this stars
that are made for us tonight
prefaced
in thousands of candles
which illuminates
our metaphoric love.
#poetry #deeplove #demonsofourhead #nakedfeelings
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
I feel you
so close to me,
penetrating
into my five senses,
into my visual field,
contrasting
my point of view
and
making me think
that I'm hallucinating,
seeing your contour
everywhere I go.
I feel you
in the vibes of my ears
leaving fingerprints
in my tambourines,
printing your voice
into my neurons,
like little whispers
which I hear them
so clearly
like a thought in the wind
that dance trough the
conifer trees
of this wisdom forests.
I feel you
under my skin
stealing my touch and
tackling my entire spine
with your velvet hips,
taking roots across
all the surface
of my epidermis
and
drawing,
with the ink
of your skinny fingers,
dreams and desires,
as if my skin was
a prehistoric cave.
I feel you
in my flavor
mixing with my saliva,
making me addicted
to the orchard essence
that you have
in your lips,
like an elixir
ready to envelop me
in his spell,
clutching my tongue
with your venom.
I feel you
even
into my two atriums,
into my two ventricles,
pumping my feelings
like sediments
through rivers on fire
coming from tall mountains
and
storing them
into my heart
who's prefaced
into a crumpled paper
I feel you...
I feel you so close to me
maybe inside of me.
but,
when it comes
the time
expressing yourself,
I find it too hard
to unleash you
into the outer world,
love.
#love #feeling #fivesenses
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
Teetering on the edge of a precipice
prefaced by an ominous gaggle
of creaking timbers and the wafting
of rot from such great lows
The scene was drab and dark and typical
Nothing mystical or mysterious
about the drizzle or the salty spray
from a far off dark sea
The gulls gathered garishly
hungry with white plumage
that seemed unapologetic to the
plight of those still standing atop the heap
Iron tickled at their nostrils
while bits of gore fell from great heights
as the sea birds did their best
to clean up the rotting flesh
But the onlookers still gathered
placing pressure on the rest
to take the leap
into the heap
below
Where the wind would no longer blow
and the decomposers triumphed
under victory over humanity's last breath
While wanderers wondered what came first,
the eggs all cracked under the pressure
and the violence
and the rage
and the bitter anger won the day
while death laughed at gender
and gorged itself on equality
giving the ultimate soliloquy
on peaceful serenity
Flowers and honeysuckle
grew from their skulls
and their rib cages became
such beautiful lattices for the ivy
Finally!
Something good grew from humanity!
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
wine print on neutral veronese,
some drink to live,
some live to drink
i spent a lowly year "out back"
high up in the Adirondacks
i spent a couple grand and change
lay a lady lay again...
here lies conquer with no-seq
ne vis plus, prefaced as con
harboring the depth of write
just to overcome the wrongs
always drone as rhythm does
pin and doily on the water
mag-a-nolia, Julian, golden
life of old and orchards open
send a silhouette to the cabin door...
happy getting older, broaden
road and carriage,
stock and bale
bail and stalk
walk o’er hill
neatly seated at heron
seated on the bench i stole
i knitted up the overgrowth
and lay i shall think of the olds
of plum-stained linens from the gods,
rags and gore,
pale blue bones
the modern peril is destination and fortified knowns.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC
blake said something
interesting, prefaced by
i told you i'm not educated
as if he's begun every sentence
with that since he could believe
himself--
*i just thought ya'll had
to be in the same book, maybe
not on the same page--*
and he laid his hands out on his
lap as if he were tryin' to read himself
and ya'll are just different books
and i figured
maybe that was so
maybe we were two
fictions in the wrong
section--maybe I was
paperback, maybe I am
prose, maybe I am an anthology
of asides, of footnotes and maybe
you weren't even a book
just a slip of sheet music
to mark my chapter--
dunno, I say, laughing.
but I should go home now.
I should go home now.
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
But First There was President Grant’s Speeding Ticket
I’ve never been arrested, but, hey, I’m still young; there’s a chance. Some of the nicest people I know have spent the occasional weekend at the county sheriff’s resort and spa, some opting for longer stays, so I wonder if I’ve been missing something.
If someday I receive a stainless steel invitation to jail I can’t imagine that a private jet and a motorcade will be part of the intake process, or that extra police and the Secret Service will escort me, or that barriers and blocked-off streets will ease my way inside to the receptionist, concierge, complimentary cocktails, a fingerprint manicure, souvenir photographs, and all the other amenities I’ve been reading about with regard to the anticipated indictment of a former president this week.
I don’t recall any stories about law officers or attorneys general sending courtesy notes to wanted men to turn themselves in, pretty please, but then I am behind the times in so many ways. Perhaps soon all arrests will be prefaced by formal courtesies:
5 April 2023
Dear Mr. Percival “Snake Eyes” Thorpe-Ponsonby,
You are cordially invited to a reception hosted by
The Sheriff and the District Attorney
At the County Courthouse on
17 April 2023
2:00 P.M.
Valet Parking
Dress: Afternoon Business Casual
RSVP
In 1872 William H. West, a D.C. city police officer, did not send then-President Ulysses Grant an invitation or a ticket-by-mail; he collared him in the streets of the Capitol for speeding in his one-horse buggy. Officer West, who was a Civil War veteran and black, is reported to have said to the President:
"I cautioned you yesterday, Mr. President, about fast driving, and you said, sir, that it would not occur again…I am very sorry, Mr. President, to have to do it, for you are the chief of the nation, and I am nothing but a policeman, but duty is duty, sir, and I will have to place you under arrest."
-Ulysses S. Grant Was Arrested 151 Years Before Trump's Indictment (businessinsider.com)
The President did not pull the ****** “Don’t you know who I am!?” thing, paid his $20 fine, and was apparently a more careful driver thereafter.
And that, dear readers, is a wonderful remembrance of one of those moments when this nation got things just right.
-30-
Apr 2, 2023
Apr 2, 2023 at 9:36 PM UTC