"puddling" poems
my tears aren’t forced
they flow in that
dark tunnel that she
dreamed so long ago
she wasn’t ready
to take her first steps
I wasn’t ready to
take mine without her.
Little things bring her back
like empty bowls or the tower
of books she’s never going to read.
People have been calling this a
trauma, but they’ve forgotten the
loneliness of life’s journey. She dreamed
a tunnel and added bright lights
and dusted the floor with powdery snow
she traveled far yet I can
only see the trails of
milk puddling around the lost key that she
dropped under blankets
of memory and phrases of
I-promise and tomorrow. I’m growing up as
she falls down. She wasn’t
perfect but that’s why it
was so easy to love her.
My journey’s ongoing, and the
deep undercurrents of pain and
grief are pulling me through
that tunnel.
I’m rowing softly by,
quietly, quietly,
as she is laid to rest.
her memories swallow the emptiness
she is kneeling at the throne.
I follow slowly and leave my
tears for her to know that life’s
path isn’t paved in water but
with sorrow, with endings, and with lost
boats on turbid seas.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
forest path of light
visions in gradient greens
incense of wooded rain
puddling streams
splash awakened in
bliss of dream
faerie orchids
rest upon mossery
scented rain
sprinkles on
hues of
green
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
The cat is positioned in the northern corner of the world. The room. The room from which I never wander from. My world, through which I experience life.
The sun, which rises in the east of the confinement, it is as my anger, my heat, my wish for ease. In contrary terms, the west, where it sets is my mind's rest.
The cat does not change positions; even when the clouds gather and dim my room does he stand still. My only company, a standing statue of a true carved wooden soul.
The clouds are dark and the walls are dripping, sopping like grey wet paint streaming down, and puddling on the ground through which I walk over. My tears and grey damp surroundings fill the room until I nearly suffocate under my own emotions for lack of oxygen.
I can sing my soul out into the grey and wait, the wind is my key, the thunder my tone. Such a monsoon through which I crave my well being. The salted tears falling from my chin only further fill the room, and in my boisterous battle against my world, as soon as I slip under and silenced I am does the rain cease, and drain into my soul it does.
Once I finally take a breath, the crickets begin their melody, in tune to my heartbeat, and emotionally wasted does it want to give up on me. But never does it lose its faith in my ability to rest and be content. Trying harder with all its might to withstand the room and its tribulations.
The moon greets my sleepy eyes, and as it is generous enough to let me lay my eyes upon it, unlike the sun, I am thankful enough to lay my head in its rays. It represents my chance to start tomorrow fresh, wherein I'll wait again to see my moon and hear my heart by my side, and beat the monsoon which is as my mind's rush.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
didn't shower
sitting in the cubicle
for long hours
didn't shower
and blood
is still on hands
and feet are still riddled
with dirt
staining cheap
carpet floorprint
afraid to touch
anything
coworkers peer
over
their fabric palisades
eyes burning holes
through ripped shirt
and crooked tie
head down
don't exist
no one has to
know a thing
didn't shower
hair is manged and
disoriented
I can feel blood
drip off fingertips
pat - pat - pat
on bland slate
carpet design
can't concentrate
didn't shower
everyone stares
black eye
swollen and scabbed
everyone knows
have to
it's all puddling at feet
washing with the dirt
look away
******* look away!
head is severed
on the mahogany finish desk
black eye bulged
black and purple tennis ball
everyone gathers
whispers whispers
jaw opens
teeth fall out
pat - pat - pat
no one says anything
look away look away
look away
get up to leave
the head stays there
dark souvenir
quick drive
home
shower
hours melt away
infirmities recede
sink back below skin
didn't shower
everyone knew
what happened
last night
but now
no evidence
no witnesses
no one knows
the perfect crime
a cruel smile
emerges on
bare white teeth
as night sets in once again
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
winter has left and it took him with it,
along with my sanity and understanding.
and you would think spring would bloom flowers,
but i only see myself wilting and shaking.
winter may be gone, but the winds inside of me are still screaming;
more often than not i'm left clutching my heart in the middle of the night
crying because the rain of spring never really did make it's appearance,
and I'm lost.
There's something about the smell after the rain;
you know, the kind where all feels as if it's been washed away
and made new again? That's what I needed.
Droplets formed on the windows of the car,
as did they on my cheeks while his arms wrapped around me;
his head resting on mine like clouds during rain or shine.
Tonight, I was a thunderstorm.
He was always my rain;
sometimes he was a drought, sometimes he was a weekly storm;
but he was always my rain.
My sorrows were puddling into my hands,
my mind the heavy fog of a late March night,
and my heart a huge pothole in the middle of the road.
It's 12:45 and my clothes smell like him;
it's the smell after the rain;
didn't think I could drown in so many ways.
I'm stuck in the rain,
but i wish it was his cloud.
NJ2015
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 12:53 AM UTC
You hold me gently
Letting me slither down your throat
You feel the burn of my venom
Slowly drifting you off into another life
I'm that bottle of jacks you cracked open
I'm the two cubes of ice
Clinking and clanking against the glass
I'm the condensation dripping off the glass
Onto your black satin pants
I'm the midnight stranger
You have one night stands with
Just to ease your problems
You hold me tightly
Letting my edges run across foreign skin
You feel the sting of my tip
Slowly rowing you off into a fantasy
I'm the blade you hold with pride
The drops of blood
Dripping and puddling at your feet
I'm the scar that wont go away
Hiding under ******* and bracelets
I'm the midnight stranger
You have one night stands with
Just to feel relief from yesterday
You hold me shaking
Letting my every fiber run around your neck
You feel the tightness of my grasp
Slowly release you from reality
I'm the noose you tide awkwardly
The black and blues
Bruising and beating on your neck
I'm the first resort you run to
Chasing off your worries along with the oxygen
I'm the midnight stranger
You have one night stands with
Just to get away from the depression
You hold me sweetly
Letting my cold steel hide behind your finger
You feel the weight of every bullet
Slowly sending you off to slumber
I'm the pistol you're afraid of
The silver and gold
Sparkling and shining in front of your face
I'm the last option you ever think of
Killing your thoughts with the pulling of a trigger
I'm the midnight stranger
You have one night stands with
Just to save yourself from tomorrow
These are my confessions as the midnight stranger
Always witnessing you leaving me behind
Rushing yourself out the door in the morning
No trace that our love ever existed
Even when I loved you like no other
Because I was the only one to ever love you
But you never shared love with
It was always hate
Pain we both endured together
As you forced me to take away your depression
Forcing me to **** the only friend I thought I could make
I'm the midnight stranger
You have one night stands with
Just because I'm all you ever had
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
the isle meets us gruffly,
ferry over rough seas, meaner winds,
bay size puddling lakes
a/k/a local flooding,
roads littered with tree debris,
all saying an uncoded message:
"see humans, you come to stay only with my forbearance"
But I know that familiar voice, disguised as nature,
a first derivative of the alpha of that god who comes,
torturing me with requests for forgiveness
I am nature too, I am human nature,
and I too,
am not in a forgiving mood, and one-word reply:
Barcelona
ashamed,
the ugly skies ease off and
next morn,
an August beauty provided
but I am neither assuaged, bought off, forgetting,
address the hiding-in-disguise master of the universe:
"*you trifle with us as if we could not count, keep tabs,
and weary be at the newest sabbath carnage never ending
give me storms, keep your glories,
fell trees, drown us, if it pleases,
we are neither perfect nor innocent
but take impotent responsibility
set us not one against the other,
there, here, Charlottesville,
keep your false free choice that
always comes with a wink and nod,
a little nudge, and exclaims of humans doing your work*"
I light a candle
not to you,
but for you
and be terrified
when I no longer do
<•>
Aug. 19, 2017
12:14 pm
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
if i were to bread my tongue
with rocoto and cornmeal
and twist to reach the andean soil
my tastebuds long for so many nights
out of the year
olfaction and your left-sinus blockage
would stay cradled
in broken-baguette bread-crust baskets,
a trebuchet's missile,
naïve to the horn of the world,
and brittled to a carcinogenic crisp
caped in my earthenblood geysers
en el humo, en la tierra del fuego
in(fierno)
i recount by the tally marks of black felt
resorted to in the puddling of spilt tea,
(like broken china, you never missed
a beat to correct potential error
and my memory),
i count them to remember
the epiphanies standing over a red faucet
a gallon water jug, whistling snail-trickle,
wishing away the cracks in the grout
or the grout itself,
wishing away the cracks in the pottery
or porcelain facade of which
you're so fond and grace with singing cuticles
the fingers of a pianist
lacking the wherewithal
and solid brick gall
to answer the ivory's summons
i am not a piece of clay,
i respond poorly to your sculpture of my surface,
covered in oxides and baked in
hell's oven, your mountain fire
scathes me as it does cedar resin
and i am similarly embittered,
pooling sap & draining smoke
in the embers and dead charcoal
of your embrace
avant le corps, sans l'âme
sans le corps, avant l'âme
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
The raindrops are Morse code outside my window
tap tap tapping secret messages like
“The trees told me you’re lonely”
“I’m sorry”
“Stay in bed”
I watch as they roll down
and I want to capture them
keep them in a jar
and listen while they whisper sweet nothings
about the soil and the clouds
and in return I could ask them
why the earth cries or maybe
to explain the art of sliding down walls
and puddling at the door frame,
maybe take notes on how they
make it look so graceful.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
changeling
evolving
journeying
from
pre-conception
mis-conception
immaculate conception
to post-partum
afterlife
travellers
engaging with pilgrims
seeking direction
trying to understand
nuances of relationship
between themselves and humankind
spiralling through vortices
and
mirrored portals to
a life of
clouded memory moments
lions salivating
blooded claws
eager to rip the straightjacketed soul
open
to explosions of truth
and invert the inverted drawer
exposing the convenient
lies that protect us
from the self-accusing soul
knowing we are born of choice
and sin
inevitably our bodies betray
the creator's design
through his eye of perceived benign benevolance.
empty dreams and visions
of moments
before time made us grow old
dimming vision of past joy
indulged, saved, in a treasure chest
with
baubles , bangles
beads of sweat
dripping relentlessly through
our hourglass
puddling in our slowing wake
up and know that love is tainted
before it begins.
before it started
after the dream of you
was the single star
beside the morning moon
that we shared
even when apart
was lost
in the tattered vision
of
perceived beauty
love died
reduced to triviality.
history killed it.
buried it, beneath a mountain
of hallmark cards
and internet memes.
this is the stuff of nightsweat dreams
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
**Pondering on diffused starlight,
dandelions caught rapid fire
when a glimpse of wishes
went up in smoky embers,
hence the skies opened up
as it rained crystal clarity,
neath each cloud burst
a message of compunction
for the earth was uneasy,
that no one cared enough
to take good care of its bounty
and the wonders that be,
as puddling imperfections
of liquefied vigilance
within teardrops of deliverance,
cleansed its wounds once again**
in yet another chance
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
The shock and pop of thunder,
rain drops,
rolling down smooth skin like
peals of thunder,
broken lightning streaking through the sunshine.
Polarity bringing a smile to my face,
even while acidity burned and scrunched my face to conceal my eyes,
the swirl of twigs in puddling holes in the driveway making me
ponder,
soaked,
getting up to hear the sploosh and feel the wave of a full gutter.
To look at the leaves stuck between my toes.
Breezes raising goosebumps and giggles.
hair dripping and clinging,
eyelashes catching drops upon drops.
Light reflected off car windows and tree leaves,
gusts of wind causing intermittent rain
fall,
crack,
shudder,
I whip my hair
back and forth,
and wipe the water from my face.
I am the sky's lover, and it is mine.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:18 PM UTC
*dreams in colors that don't exist,
and 'mares re dear sir, deadlines missed,
wrestle~arrest poet,
instant awake
in the wee time,
pouring liquidity,
fluids and words,
puddling, stinking,
coming,
from the
always dangerous,
always interesting temple inner inside,
sanctimonious no more sanctum*
this particular sleep,
shortened, irretrievable,
bookmarked "closed,"
chapters,
hours too soon,
this rest business,
arrested
filed in an ugly
grey metal file cabinet,
in an unfinished manila prison
with your other unimportant poems
*the dark room universe
populated by
hints, shadows, voices,
waiting, welcoming,
mirrors on the walls
unified in one voice
deep, obtuse,
demanding recognition
"hither hither come"*
forced march
to a visitation,
to the the parition,
of your reflection,
clearest ever seen,
in the black pitch,
uncovered by guise, feathers
the clothes of normative pretenses,
the man-made borderlines of
preservation falsehoods
*seen your own semblance,
parts rearranged,
uncanny,
the mirrors are screaming:
shameful lovely,
this, our artistry,
your apparition,
now accurate,
reflecting your under-
lying
condition,
at last,
an accurate portrayal,
of your inaccuracies*
do you find yourself attractive?
this new balance,
the unregulated pieces
of you
before your dissembling,
discerning,
dissecting eyes?
*feeling the valence,
an introduction,
a physical magnetism
any attraction
any resemblance
to the semblance
that writes
this s.o.s.?*
answer us thus,
do you up
and like yourself
unvarnished,
grunge, swag,
truth trammeled,
don't you want to kiss yourself
goodbye,
or better yet,
fare thee hell?
*go ahead,
ask yourself now,
that one question
that prevents conception,
from your inception,
what is it that
makes you exceptional?*
don't you realize,
everything about you
ends in a question mark?
*how dare you write poetry?
you are the false poet,
you live on the division
tween artifice and self-deception,
this, your only precept,
and now that you are
clarified,
answer this,
knowing you know
nothing
but artifice,*
how dare you write poetry?
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
When the knife hits the skin
Oh the pain within
The moans aren't alone
They're comforted with raindrops of red
They're puddling onto the floor
Each drop an echoing tap
There's a rhythm now
It has a pulse
Each collective drop , a beat
The sound of death awaiting
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Razor-tipped pencils that surgically
slice patterned pages
Soft brushes from fingertips like afterthoughts
puddling atop pillows
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
Pouring rain,
Heavy hearts,
Human minds.
Falling down,
I remind,
You of me.
Puddling,
In the streets,
Of Aberdeen.
Scottish eyes,
Over me,
The North Sea.
Split apart,
Come to meet,
Locally.
Heavy clouds,
Pouring in,
Out of me.
Would you ever,
Meet with me,
In Aberdeen?
Be as one,
We would be,
Don and Dee.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
The yellow light of the under-water lights
flickers like a fading sun,
masked in the bright blue.
The smell of the chlorine bites at her nose,
stinging cleanly.
She shifts on her cushion
of scratchy hotel towels,
naked feet tucked beneath her, dry,
as she keeps watch.
Nathaniel and John squeal and splash,
their sweet young faces marbled
by the light of the water
that ripples as they play fight.
Being older, and by nature, more cruel,
more prone to shows of might,
Nathaniel leaps in a cascade of flying
water beads to
drive his brother
beneath the surface.
Unwillingly submerged,
John’s blond curls fly free in the water,
brushing his tiny white face like wind,
suspended there.
And it is then she remembers, as she watches
those pretty blond curls he shared
with another who’d once hung in water,
though in a porcelain bowl with faucet
instead of a blue tiled swimming pool.
She could see this other’s face,
brazen always, brown-eyed
but grey in melancholy.
Tired eyes that, lidded,
swam in water
finally asleep.
Finally resting,
rid of the worldly Atlas weight
that was so dripping like the water, the
moist and liquid sadness, pooling,
puddling,
dripping,
splashing,
John cries out in anger,
flapping limbs,
and Nathaniel laughs,
strong and mean,
brown eyes turned a sinister black by the weird
reflections of the swimming pool.
Her red lips pop
with displeasure at their arguing,
and they turn to her with faces so familiar,
attentive and ashamed.
The water licks at them,
a cool temptation,
swallowing their flesh
in a way that makes her both fear
and fall to envy.
Her own skin,
white and airy,
though too meticulously perfected to drip,
thirsts for the water’s cold tongue.
But instead she keeps a
dry watch
carefully over two little ghosts.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 6:13 AM UTC
It’s fact, fiction, and lies, as the devil continues to pry
On my soul and my flesh, punching holes like paper on a teacher’s desk,
Slouched over I’m a mess, a mess as a drunken sketch
This feeling I’ll match it - with a match lighting this torn cigarette.
I feel evil caress the stress imploding my chest
With no one to impress I rip apart my dress
Naked I confess, take a breath and cover my mouth with mesh…
Yes, mesh, I guess I’m scared to be deprived completely of air,
A bit here and there, taking it as I declare
I’m comfortably bare beside my ***** ******* chair
Prepared to spare my body physically impaired
I glare with despair; Life is not fair
I’m too late to repair, how dare someone not care…
Not care, to act blind and deaf to me cry like a dying swine
Denied. That’s fine. The destruction returns with black clouds in the sky.
Empty time combined with the drought of your hasty good bye,
My pounding, bound mind can’t find words to describe.
With tear-filled eyes I lie and line my body with it’s design,
Blissful hate, You can define me as a Divine Crime.
This divine crime procrastinated, not yet committed,
Still addicted to the sadistic ways of the wicked.
Twisted liquid drowned the fear unconstricted,
Thriving off the blade penetrating my skin’s system.
Transmitted blood puddling just as I’d written,
Delivering my limit as predicted, I just couldn’t have committed!
Not so much committing to him but more my life,
Uncertainties of my nature were as cold as ice.
Precisely entice yet deceive I’d slice and not think twice,
My heart is charcoal, as small as a grain of rice.
Love is dry and old, cannot be marked with a price,
So listen to my advice - I’m a toxic prosthetic device to ruin your life.
The Devil Inside.
A Divine Crime.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Trapped inside a mongrel's mind,
twisted, turning, lurid, divine
Aimlessly wandering halls, dimly lit
by candles on the walls
where spiders like to sit
where I come across a case
wooden and dusty
filled with books neatly spaced
the spines filled with foreign words
and stood up by tigers
either mis-colored or rusty
Examining the books with gentle care
when something caught my eye's corner
with a glance to the left and with great rise
was the grand spiral stair, where
splayed meekly on the rise of the walls
was the blood of men and a statue of great size
A serpent, fangs dowsed in rustic red blood
and tail curled around with eyes beading above
seemed to smile with a large bulge along its golden belly
With shudder I wondered what beast sated the statues hunger
My feet, frozen in wonder of serpents message
did not venture forward as my eyes read the ****** paint
For, as my eyes gazed at the dried blood, I noticed sound so faint
Drip. Drop. Drip. Down the rail of the grand old stair
dripped water onto the marble floor, puddling there
And in the pool of the water, a message did reflect
The symbols were foriegn, yet I read them anyway
How, I couldn't suspect and who could say
Even as I muttered the words I backed away in respect
*This is the easy way to heaven,
or so say the men where holywater's bestowed
But this is where the Serpent herds his devon,
You may climb the stairs, but down his throat you'll go*
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
But lately,
I've been falling like rain,
collectively puddling at the edges of your rain boots,
splash,
your boots bright red
like my cheeks the first time we impromptu'd to the beach
because we didn't have anything better to do,
and everyone forgot us anyway.
My pants were, peach,
or maybe coral,
but rolled up enough to see the sharped edges of my ankles,
because it was what I could afford to give you,
I had lost those trimmings long ago to the world,
even though it never gave me any of my pieces back,
and speaking of,
I still have white pieces of sand in my pockets,
and maybe if I poured them out on your floor,
we could have had a beach of our very own.
And I could roll down those pants, you could change into your teal shirt,
and we might have sunbathed
in our own warmth,
glowing yellow and bright
like those little specks in your eyes
nobody ever notices,
but I knew they were there.
That's what happens when you pay attention to the details of people,
You find in them colors that are too hard to name,
but
if you have a color wheel and a pen, you can find out what they're called, and even if you can't,
you can make up your own as you go along, like;
Greasy-pizza-stain-from-the-little-shack-on-the-water-red,
and light-2009-Pontiac-G6-that-got-you-to-the-beach-when-you-had-no-place-else-to-go-grayish-blue.
You can even almost mix these
colors into paint,
and hand them out in pamphlets to all of your friends and family;
"Here's the shade of green
the leaves were on the tree she sat on with me."
"This is the shade of pink
her lips were when she said 'I love you.'"
"And here's the shade of red
I saw when I heard her say goodbye."
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
All i find myself deeply caring for is
the discovery of new poetry
a cigarette on my roof at 12:43 am
the ink inside this pen, the paper underneath my hands
and that shoes inside the dryer noise
within my chest
and for some reason, nothing else sticks to me
it rolls off my skin like water on windows
puddling in front of my feet
darling, you don’t matter - maybe in someone else’s eyes
but in mine, you just don’t matter
don’t take it so personally
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Fetal position
Gathering my survival tools
As the tears begin to carve canyons down my face.
Tissues are ineffective water buckets
I'm losing ground
Puddling tidal waves
Now losing sight of the shore.
The phone rings
Splashing wakeup call
Drifted almost too far to pick up,
But the life ring was tossed
When my canyons echoed your words
It's okay.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
'Tween the shades of gloam and night
roam shadows cold and deep
Cavorting along the garden walls
'neath the eves they do seep
Pulling life from which they touch
removing the essecense of being
Growing bolder and darker still
when clouds course over moonbeams
Roses quell beneath their touch
becoming grey and smolder
The ivy blends into the trellis
stone statues look years older
Inching along the spreading branches
of the tree that taps at window panes
Melding with the leaves and bark
becoming your night time bane
Shadows tease the back door catch
then move on to your window sill
Melting in to your own bedroom
sneaking about as they will
Dark mouths stretch on the walls
and yawn across your quilted bed
Teeth reach out for your toes
while fingers want your head
Shadows tickle the closet doors
and weep beneath the chair
Puddling underneath your bed
You swear hands are touching your hair
Courage you gather as you quake
bit by bit you garner strength
Off you cast the covers fast
your eyes you rub and blink
For there the sun is streaming in
and chasing the night shadows out
You can almost hear their angry screams
of defeat as the sun spreads out
Your brain gives a sigh of relief
as it realizes you are now sun encased
But then new panic does set in
as you recall night can't be escaped
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 7:44 AM UTC
.
Another rainy Saturday...
I watch as it
drips from the eaves,
a rhythmic melody humming
in glistening harmonies
puddling on the lawn,
reflecting my constant thoughts
of your brilliant sunshine smile,
beautiful shade tree eyes
and your forever
blue sky love
You sneak up behind me
and putting your arms
around me say,
"Looks like another rainy Saturday"
I turn and kiss you, then reply,
"I hadn't noticed"
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Bleeding profuse orbs of bloodletting passion with glowing centers dripping drops that linger like tears sending tracers of heart stopping feelings to one's core.
Sparks ignite moonlight memories puddling & pooling until there is no more moving other bleeding hearts.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC