"prospector" poems
You know that bowl that I carry around in my belly?
Too heavy for my frame, I've carried it precariously, trying not to spill.
I've used it to catch the steady drip that's been there since forever. I've used it to catch the rocks that I hurled up like a juggler (to find where I begin). You've taken it, and now you're swirling the contents, rinsing them with your own feelings, your own words (yourloveyourloveyourlove). All the garbage, the petty insecurities and fearsfearsfears, wash out and leave behind the heavier stones and metals that I've used to construct myself, contain myself.
The material of my foundation exposed, you continue to rhythmically, relentlessly reduce me to the shimmersilt at the bottom of the bowl.
Eroding.
Simplifying.
Until you're left with the specks of gold that you say define me.
The evidence of treasured trust that remains after I've allowed you to dump out my contents with gentle, sweeping motions.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
You set my world on fire you're my greatest desire.
Like a miner or prospector i must perspire as i search for the sweet sacred nectar that is of your flower.
As your nectar trikles off your flower releaseing so much power.
I can feel the nectar's calming powers as it drips off the lips as i take a sip and a quick lick.
You're the most beautiful thing in this universe's sector there is no better not even god can make a replica or even try to make you better and nothing even comes close to being almost better.
I wish i could write you a letter but maybe this poem will be better.
Like reading it might make you shake and shiver maybe even quiver.
Like when im caressing your body with a feather or strapping you down and playing with leather.
OOOOOH BABY!!!!
I love the look in your eyes as they fill with surprise as you force open your eyes and let out a magnificent passionate cry of love lust and exstasy begging me for more.
As your getting wetter and wetter and then i smell that sweet sweet nectar i know i found my prize i knew it from the very second i looked into those gorgeous angel like eyes god **** im glad i get to be your guy.
Then i remembered lifes so much better on this side of the glass that is playing with you gin and always letting you win in the garden of love
MY TRUE LOVE THATS YOU BOO YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 6:58 AM UTC
Here's another story that I just made up
That just can't wait to be told
About a weary prospector, down on his luck
That gave his life for his gold
He was way up yonder in the hills, they say
Just him and his scrappy old mule
That poor old mule didn't have no teeth
So he'd sit around the camp and drool
Now that prospector, who we'll call Jake
Was as secret as he could be
He didn't like people snooping around
So he wasn't much for company
See, Jake had been on that mountain
For nigh on twenty years
But he never did hit the mother load
With all his sweat and tears
Then, one day he decided to go fishing
A fish pulled him right in the river
He tried to hang on with all of his might
It's hard to do when you shiver
Jake looked up and was headed toward the falls
So he decided he'd better let go
When he dropped that line, he sunk like a rock
And started thrashing to and fro
Now, Jake was a real good swimmer
He was on the prospector's Olympic team
But, everytime his head went under
All he could do was scream
Now Jake had prospected his whole life
But now, he was getting pretty old
He didn't know the reason he was drowning
But his pockets were full of gold
When he figured it out, he had gold fever
And he refused to let it go
All poor old Jake could think about
Was he finally hit the mother load
See, when that old fish had ****** him in
He was dragging him on the bottom
There was gold just laying everywhere
And that's where his pockets got 'em
Poor old Jake drowned that day
Richest man in the world, I think
His old mule was standing on the bank
Drooling, as he watched him sink
They fished his body out of that river
The next morning before dawn
But they found both pockets as empty as could be
It was stolen by a leprechaun
Well, I guess it's time for me to go
I can see as I look at my clocks
But if you really wanna protect your prospector's gold
Then let me suggest Fort Knox
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 11:59 AM UTC
Sift I will and hold in path of
current's latent aftermath
heart befell, and breath in current
breath could tell, and most confirm it
Depth befell, a host affirmed of what compelled
the most determined
love's to sell and what could earn it
lust and amour, yet shift in focus
love of current, and opened play
could last it til, preferred today
now compulsion packs a passion pact
to back adaption banter tact
intact of what could help me focus
attraction stacked and traction bogus
love don't need to own possession
love just needs to show expression
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
Give me a pebble and I'll give you a diamond.
Give me a tear and I'll hand you a smile.
Give me your worthless worries
your hopeless heartbreaks
your endless encumbrances
your inured infractions.
Stone me,
Pelt me,
Inundate me
with your misfortune.
Load me with your burdens
So at the end of the day once you're weary of these timeless toils
The mirror shows not the creases of creation
but you.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
My heart feels old today
it rattles like a stone in a can.
My eyes feel cold today
as they strain for gems in a prospector's pan.
My feet feel heavy today
trudging the ruts I've created time and again.
My thoughts feel tired today
they eloped with all hope and ran.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
I.
Ive been eavesdropping on the autophobe;
my boyfriend doesn't believe in ghosts, doesn't see the dirt on my shoes.
He wants me to get myself off, to break out the winter blankets.
II.
My companion candied her scalp, says she quit using ******
because it messes with her complexion.
I think thats like riding a bike, like going back a few years and
falling in love with your dads mechanic.
III.
Someone coughs up a lung, prays like hell for a sign, for a clean bill of health.
You are an amateur prospector, found a geode cave deep in my stomach, split it open.
Twin hickies near the knees; my boyfriend tells me to forget
about alien abductions, to quit picking up the strays i find at buick city.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
Blush in a shade of bruise
leaving trails on collars and bones.
"Siren, siren
Body language me.
Concave me in wrong angles.
Sift through my sand and prospector me."
Every man wants to be saved by an angel
but heaven's just a mirror of hell.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
The steps are the steps
inward and flowing,
downward and away,
no time for possibility,
my mind has gone astray.
I chase not the chance of a certain moment,
I planned the time it took to hold it,
Not the falling that morphs the thought,
It is the telling that is yet taught,
We are rarely are own dreams,
Most times battling internal screams,
Merely a prospector of our own demands,
Turning to keep a little head above the sand,
That is thick and I am sinking oh so quick,
into a ground that devours my wit,
Making it so hard for me to state,
But I can't understand why she won't open the gate.....
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
You carefully placed the shackles over my heart
And held your posture in a careless poise
As if the galaxies around your head
And the golden clouds spinning from your lips
Were as natural and as merely there
As the pollen falling off trees in the summer
Before you died during the winter
Just like the trees
That you used to play in the roots of as a child,
The moss around you transferring its spirit into you
Unknowingly
Growing into a fragile disenchantment
A fragile discord
A fragment of an untrue memory
Worth dying for
So you chased the golden threads
That ran though your experience of life
Like some starving prospector
Searching always for the dream that would make you
Whole
But deep down you knew that your dreams
Were woven into an ethereal tapestry
Crumbling
Paint chipping off a cracked concrete wall
Withering to a powdered dust
Oh you knew
You knew
That I wished I could have understood
What our bodies together would have felt like
Maybe like the bark of my childhood trees
Divulging secrets into my ears
That no one would ever understand
But me
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
To he honest I'm pretty ******* tired of being on my own
Im not really
But still my lack of love makes me angry
Yet I'm Y
oU
N
g
That's what everyone else says anyway
Still I'm crazy and no longer problematic
Happy but never enough to prevent sadness
Out to most but still hiding from the majority
Avoiding the conflict I once used to untimely cause and angry at my protagonistic temperament
Raising it's head once in a foreign land
But it didn't last long because previous pain is still there
The oppositions have since dropped from the ceiling to an unknown cause but my webs are still in position camping out in the corner
a silk prospector expressing only malevolent intent
Never really meaning and now that im controlling the pain it's hard to admit, but there's part of me that still reigns in the areas of that room
Skulking through the tears usually my own labelled jester for those on that egotistical throne
So maybe my confidence flickering and unnerving, split between the characters I get to play between the seasons is one of the significant catalysts and thousands of reasons that I'm now on my own
everyone an opposition on my radar
the choice,
to be a villain for the people of my past or be trampled over by those in my present, an insight into my future.
That's if I make it because my obvious disdain is a recognizable trait like my unbearing love and attraction for Unrequited beauty and my I'll advised impulse to avoid the problem
make a list of all my excuses
And Run to the next person most likely to become my biggest predator when I unfurl infront my secrets and ambitions secret Acts of betrayal while on independent side missions
Diagnosed as ****** and unmedicated
Mad when alone
Discontent with my social standing
And just wanting someone special to. bring home
Oct 28, 2024
Oct 28, 2024 at 5:14 PM UTC
part of my brain thinks you're a phony.
the rest of it knows we're just the same.
~
what if i were a pastor
comfort in the fear of an all-loving god
would i be hapless like a prospector
tailing the gold rush, seeking
sour grapes instead?
child, i do not pretend to live your pain.
though if i were to drop this cross and collar
all that they thought i was
would you let your story be heard?
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 10:52 PM UTC
the valley of gold
closer and closer, always
just over the ridge
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC