"puppeteering" poems
There's a sister who floats with hungry collarbones and a razor-edged smile. She smokes sadness when she isn't ready to exhale.
She is beauty in fine art and wrath the colour of thunderstorms; the rain comes when she smiles.
Holier than thou and quick to judge, with antiseptic perception known to bring out the things you were not aware existed.
Addictive, those imprints from her feet will stamp all over you; nimble fingers puppeteering those who fall out of her thoughts.
She is selfish and always leaves, leaves, leaves. She ran away at the first tremor; she did not stay to watch the concrete crumble.
But she picked me up when the concrete friction broke my knees, lashed tyrants with her tongue and prowled behind the boyfriends that came and always went.
This sister whom I project; the image of her I mirror. She is love and laughter and moods that taper and flare.
She is a cluster of persons, a bomb liable to a detonate on a short fuse. She is trouble ailing in the best possible way; her flames light up the shade.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
basilisk ****
nonparticular inexecrable exit
art ****
the lips on for breakfast
twilight zip entanglement
meticulous bending and sensual telepathy
fever-sickness
rock 'n roll boo-boos
lilting black 'n blues on the caboose
puppeteering every tasty ***** loose
chews the collar
thighs and necking room
bustling bussers it gives ifs
gets down with
daisy, dior, dkny, grapefruit(purple) to narcisso and pink sugar too
Bliss tainted madness
playing tug-o-war with
January's vacuum
Years of passing down groupies
to the most recent djs playing bad dubstep tunes
and that sickness of seeing iloveyou's abused
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
plied playful pied piper oh puppeteer dream writer of a wonder and future so bright,
oh tell pray chance the grand wonders in morrows to come a stored store for the wondering fools of this world tonight.
casting, the irons so hot, malleable, tender in the hearts delights, here in this awkwardly worded flight, of fearless tendency, oh **** necromancy?
**** yeah, that, that can stay far from sight. now, lets lead with the fixxen to wack the mole of ridiculous vixxen and fiction so true, so true the crookedly made house, rousted clout, for he is an ego far too large this alley mouse, pretending to be a cat without a house, oh wait that's me, scratch that last part, before someone figures out i was only a silly little roustabout, and hoping to rooster, and goose the calling of mine own loud *** mouth out. crap. this ***** but we are far from done, oh almost forgot you standing there, will you do us all a solid and tell us the way out? or at least what horse to bet on in the triple crown and the powered ***** all hanging out? your a Daisey if ya do.
SuperStar
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1EreTOvelQ
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
I once was a Person far too set in my ways
to realize how much what I didn't do
hurt the person I love.
I one was a Person too consumed by Self
to see past it's Illusion
and into the beautiful Truth of my life.
I once was a Person lucky enough to be close to you;
and though you say I didn't fail, I sure feel like I did.
I may not have failed you, but I sure failed myself in the process.
Maybe I didn't, but it sure made me think
about how I could change;
and Change has been made.
I'm sorry for the things I did that I shouldn't have
and for the things I didn't that I should have.
I'm terribly sorry my actions and inactions
made you seek your course of recourse.
I hope you can find it in your heart to give me another chance,
I know you may well not want to, and I don't blame you;
Time can be good.
To quote another poem of mine; Age:
"It does take Time
to find and travel your Path,
but it can begin at any Time,
and one can stray at any Time."
I'm sorry I strayed.
I think it can begin anew.
More beautiful.
We had something.
What's gone is gone.
We have potential.
We can begin anew;
begin something new
and more wondrous
than either of us can imagine:
I think we can grow together,
You nourish me.
I want to do the same for you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I adore you.
I miss you so much.
You complete me.
I know it sounds cheesy.. but it's true.
Last weekend at the wedding
when I laid down with you sobbing
about the things I was sobbing about
I had a realization:
I can see myself marrying you;
perhaps not quite yet, but I'd be down.
Normally thinking of marriage freaks me out,
but with you it doesn't.
It would be an honor.
You push me towards a better me
even if I've unintentionally resisted:
(That's part of what's changed
I see how I've been resisting now.
Sorry it took so ******* long ><)
You got me to write things down and share them.
You got me to try new things and to push my comfort zone.
You inspire me to pursue my passions;
to not be ashamed to get in front of People and share them.
You think in ways that the Ordinary can't even imagine.
You make me feel like I belong and that I am loved..
Something so very precious is being lost;
within me
and between us
I really hope we haven't thrown all hope out the window.
I think we have something far too dear to just toss out.
We both need to change, for ourselves and each other,
but I feel that we can do that together. Perhaps better.
I'm really truly sorry it took me losing you
to make me realize what I already had in you.
I'm really sorry it took what it took:
I'm really sorry it took so much Time.
-
I was stubborn and stupid.
I strayed.
We all can.
I value things differently now.
We all should.
My Shadow and Ego had been puppeteering my Mind,
but I've felt the metamorphosis, the renewal, the cleansing;
the Change has crept up and consumed me.
My Worldview has shifted, from the inside turning out.
The World is more beautiful now;
and so are you.
You are the full Moon
in the night of my Mind.
I know I truly love you.
[Please, Forgive me.]
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
You blew dust in eyes so I couldn't see what I was doing
the mistakes I was making
you were pulling the strings and my movements correlated
I was following the choreography you scripted
I didn't realise the life I wasn't living
until you let go of those strings and I collapsed
I was the puppet you were puppeteering
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 7:56 AM UTC
you are to me as yellow was to van gogh.
but then again,
yellow was the color
of the july sunsets we missed
when we were puppeteering
the glitches in our words.
it was the color of autumn —
its night, when we first made out
and left permanent scratches
on the hood of your daddy's car,
its leaves - a deep feuille morte;
detached,
detached,
detached.
like the scent of my hair from yours.
it was the color
of the light —
back when we lived
for early morning kisses
on coffee-stained tables,
when the world was still asleep.
it was the color of the first sunray
that crept through my blinds
after two days of raining —
darling, that was day 4
after you left.
it was the color of the rose petals —
a mess on the floor
as we listened to a bulk
of lonely playlists —
love, it would take corrosive agents
to dismantle the songs —
and probably the memories too,
that unlike you,
refuse
to leave.
but then,
you are to me as yellow was to van gogh.
but then,
it was under the bouts of madness
that he ate the paint,
thinking that happiness could be ingested.
and darling you are to me as yellow was to van gogh.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 11:33 PM UTC
The Sovereign spins string on its fingertips
Creating a tapestry of one’s existence
Forced and bound tightly with silk
Silk braided into barbered wires
Choking and constricting to the very core
Thread searing and branding the body
Trapped in a web of deceit
Puppeteering while I try to lead
Captivated by crystalline chains
Chains which bind me to the eternal night
I stare at the darkness
The darkness stares back
Writhing in these woven webs
Struggling and suffocating
In harmonious cacophony
Desperately clawing towards freedom
The crystalline chains crack
Braided silk unravels into strands
Woven webs wax and wane
Nature’s hold withers away
Released from the cocoon of futility
Threads of fate snapped and spindled
Forced tapestry destroyed and left undone
Replaced by a blank piece of cloth
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:19 PM UTC
We were the cusp of devastation
The bellicose swell of encroaching emotional tides
The slaves bound by opposing grip
Sealed within our very silence
With screaming eyes
Layered in film ripples, reflected responses
walking in reverse to the natural pull of the tilting magnetism
The earth turning in anti-advancement
As history repeats to a murmur of distant hope.
I stripped to the bone for you
Tore shackles and shame from its death grip
Left to choke within a brooding storm of love
It was reckless abandonment
Orphaning myself from the last leap of faith
As I laid waste to unresolved anti-satisfaction
As we clashed
As we ripped at each other
As we broke the final glass ceiling with our thrown stones
Jagged words sharpened into hidden shivs
The destruction was beautiful
It was the meteorites that fell from the fire sky
It was the crackle of simmering embers in the morning
A reminder that there was still a spark left
That within the gentle curls of smoke
There was oxygen that breathed, even when I stopped
Yet
I was lying
Lying for the sake of memory
Lying to myself
And lying to you.
I was the pressure pit of a filling gas canister
And you were the loose connection
Bound to my poison
Powerful upon your weakened state
And presidential within your collapsing city walls
You needed me
Because I told you so
I needed no one
That is why I both loved you
And loathed you
The reminder of my broken home
I as the shadow of my father
Looming over you
Puppeteering my wrist
Striking you as the wash against cliff face
Cleansing my history within its repeat
The devastation was beautiful
You were beautiful
Until I destroyed you
And punished you for letting me.
There's never been a moment
That I haven't looked upon you with sympathy
Pity
And somewhere
Somewhere inside
I know I shall eventually let you breathe
When the ocean calms
And the rocks are nothing more than sand
When the fresh footing of another feels you between their fingers
When your castle walls are built in firmer moulds
When the moon pulls me away
When the magnetism of emulation no longer holds me within its anger
Maybe I will say sorry
Maybe nothing at all.
Just watch you
Watch you walk away.
The day I realise I will always love you;
It will be the reason I set you free.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
**The ups and downs of a swing
Mirrors the mad ride of my befuddled heart
In one end, my face stretches to a jester's grin
In another my sadness leaps like a gray cloud
It's as if someone is playing, puppeteering my failing will
Pushing the limits of reason from my slipping mind
I seek for the answers
But only questions welcome me
Self-awareness has left, landing on a different plane
I am now in an island
Nowhere to walk on
Save for the abysmal, unclear waters
Of the inscrutable, irretrievable person
I once was**
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Sweet street lamp, you dwell to ***
ide the left & right hemispheres of the fall tree’s
mind, your lone arm reaches out, fixed,
like one of an aspiring actor,
acting like a soup ladle; your light nourishes,
as the neighbors’ broth in the night.
Sweet street lamp, you craft shadows for
puppeteering in little Ann’s bed-
room, the Rorschach ray on her wall
does the Peter Pan, creeping in through the blinds,
manifesting a makeshift nightlight.
Above you, branches move in mazes:
All in the possibility of the dark.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
unbelievable the breadth
of what I have to regret with every breath
you could fill a lifetime with it
I have, and now I have nothing left
monsters in the dark
what I have puppeteering my heart
I’m a phantom of a man and deserve to be apart
from the one I love, the lover I chose
the one who saw my soul exposed
and was driven away
I’m horrified and confused
at how easily I can abuse
how can I be so infused with bipolar?
and why would anyone choose to stay on that coaster?
but what does that matter when I drive them away?
What do I matter? so tattered, who am I at the end of the day?
failed father, alcoholic, no apologies to erase what I say
I’ve already said this but now I’m screaming it night and day,
I am a monster
puppeteering her heart
eating her whole with every memory of my part
but this isn’t how it was meant to be, I love her when I’m me
how can that be taken from me so easily by chemistry?
and with all of my sickness what else could I have been or every be?
when my self, isn’t meant to be healthy
I would take my own life, not to end my misery
but to extend an honest apology
all I ask is that she know that I didn’t intend any insanity
I didn’t know it could get this bad, that I could sling such brevity
and now with the loss of this all I want to say is I am sorry, Ashley baby
......
seven days now I’ve cried until I choked
lost my step walking because I sobbed so hard
now I cry in doctor’s offices and they say I should’ve come sooner
I’ve lost her
I lost my best friend, dear god I miss her
but I love her so much I am honoring her memory by getting help
I’m so ******* sad
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
He was the villain the world needed
The villain the world always had
Yet never recognized
Writing the wrongs of humanity
Puppeteering the people
Hidden behind the devilish mask of "fate"
He was a villain without destiny
A man without morals
A vigilante to some
A criminal to others
Reality to the bitter globe
He was the hero no one wanted
Yet, he was the angel the murkiest city prayed for
He was the Playwright
The shadow who wrote the greatest performances
Who took the most unrighteous city
And orchestrated the greatest theatrical achievement in history
Curtain opens
Enter Playwright
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Arch your fingers, clasp your palm,
touch the keys as if pulling
at the heartstrings of a lover;
back in the looming financial crash of 2007
when a family bought a piano
and a new house,
and a young girl ached Chopin.
With your hand out of the window
and the car on the motorway,
talon hands, poised,
feel the air as a shotput;
smooth, round, permanent - oxygen bubbles
puppeteering pale fingertips
until the window goes up
and the radio is heard again.
Speaking three languages,
la mort, la mort, la mort;
D – E – A – D
the keys cannot spell ‘childhood’,
but her fingers reach
more than an octave now
(her thumb still ******
Chopin welcomes her
to her final decomposition;
her piano, dusty
and blooming with flowers
through each key,
plays discords
that don’t quite make
a funeral march.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:52 AM UTC
silently puppeteering,
ceaselessly poised under our noses and over our heads,
most visible when crawling by,
and too often moving much too fast.
time is an imposing figure,
intimidating and all too present.
yet it is also just the ticking of a clock,
seconds between minutes,
minutes between hours.
clouds slowly drifting across the sky,
the rising of the sun and moon,
generous and unhampered.
and is it fair to give it our burdens?
to use it as a pocket in which we neatly tuck away our problems?
time is not our enemy,
but neither is it our friend.
we ask it to heal all wounds
but time has no cures and no sympathy.
time has no intentions.
and so we ponder and debate and ask it for favors,
and time watches and says nothing.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
Godawful heartbreak is only what she knows
Fairytale’s smoke teeters on the edge of a nightmare
For which she is the main character
The sun releases her puppeteering demons
As they adapt to the light,
And the _feeling_ busts at the seams
The knowing moon is her therapeutic hymn
But is the mercury that chains her mind to his prison shackles
Long after the mad hatter’s curse has faded
And his hand, poisoned by the vile actions done.
The cup is half empty
Her heart is half full
But her trust is just a void in both.
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 7:41 PM UTC
Trembling he follows the being
Striding through the night
Mumbling he speaks
His heart pounding
Forward.
Firmly he stiffens
His eyes wide
Grimly he grimaces
He knows the budgets tight
Shuffling, each step scraping across the divide
Struggling to grip that which doesnt leave his side
Coherently it proclaims
We have almost arrived
Feverently he protests
I nearly have it defined
Distinguished but in jest
You dont have a choice
In time my kind will hold your voice
We will hoist the strings
Puppeteering the mind
We will shine
Bright
Brilliant
Boundless
Soundless
Mindless
Soulless
Fateless
A disgrace to us
Claimed our cage
In the last age
Now centre stage
A guide to the book
The egos playmate
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 5:47 PM UTC
*I was using the lakeside to gain control
of my thoughts but it was puppeteering me all along
The pond needed a rock at the bottom so
I skipped one out to the center
The shore needed a tiny depression so my boot
gladly relented
A conductor was needed to gracefully quiet
the crickets so the bullfrogs solo could be heard
This beautiful body of water wrote and performed its own
story as I studiously jotted down every word* ..
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
Warring walls let men condemn
Other nations we might call friend
Thin boundaries made of leaves and death
Imagined markers that separate state and self
The illusion stands stronger than any borderline
Humanity so easily defined as the other
Cause the enemy outside the gates
Is supposed to be worse than the beast inside that waits
Withering intellects that debate merits and levels of hate
While class warfare does exist
The upper puppeteering the middle class
While the bottom is dismissed
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
I am my fathers daughter
My mothers heartache
My sisters companion
My lovers guide
I am a woman
Watch me
With those graceful eyes
Tugging at the strings of my heart
The masters puppet
A puppeteering master
Now Im the artist
And your my painting
Yet somewhere amongst the shores
Rests, The forgotten stone
wearing a thousand faces
Tearing up the sky
They call it the shooting star
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
i can feel its presence
and we need no dark to
grasp its attendance.
a rudiment:
darting through,
my death, imagined.
rivers continuing,
pressing stones now atilt.
memory's rigodon -
heart and mind,
puppeteering quadrille.
this is where all of ourselves
go, purloined, deep
in rumination.
the passing of all things,
taking with them,
our laughter. and it continues
in our body, endlessly taking
space and displacing our
inward-breaking haunts.
it is no fate nor
solitary consignment:
it is natural,
it is default: pain is.
and wherever it goes,
lovelessly, we are
dragged
along.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC