"quizzically" poems
I was once asked to spell the word Depression
Now that was an interesting question to me because lets face it
Who does not know how to spell depression
It is three syllables
It is ten letters
It is just once word
Or at least that was the answer he was looking for.
I was once asked to spell the word Depression
I thought for a second and said
"Which way would you like me to spell it"
The teacher paused and looked at me quizzically
"What kind of question is that"
He chuckled
Like he thought I was dimwitted he repeated himself
"I would like you to spell the word Depression it is rather simple"
And now this is where I got to chuckle and say
"Sir, I believe what you are asking is a question I cannot answer, because to me Depression is not a three syllable, 10 letter word. Depression is when my sister comes home to a dead father, and Depression is when my best friend get diagnosed with Cancer. You see to me the Depression you are asking me to spell is the same Depression That gets you laughed out of a hospital. The same Depression that gets you a handful of 'cheer up's' and 'Get over it's.' and maybe even some 'Oh just be happy's' But last I checked when someone has Cancer, we do not tell them to "Just get better" or when someone is sitting in the ER with a cracked skull, we do not tell them to 'Just give it time, you're fine.'"
The boy sitting in front of you could not "just give it time"
When his mother died in his arms
And the girl that you pass through the halls could not "just be happy"
After she had true love ruined for her when some man did not Understand the word "No"
And your dad who calls every sunday cannot "cheer up" because the love of his life has died and his own son does not care to come see him on his birthday
So Sir when you ask me to spell Depression I ask which way because
I spell Depression D-E-A-T-H
and I spell Depression A-L-O-N-E
and I spell Depression S-I-C-K-N-E-S-S
So Sir I spell Depression S-U-F-F-E-R-I-N-G
And I define it as misunderstood for something in ones control/
So do not tell me it is simple to spell and do not tell me I am stupid when I ask in which way you are asking because to me
Depression isn't a simple
Three syllable
Ten letter word
That you use to define those who you do not care to know
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
I have come humble to seek your knowledge
With exhausted feet and weighing burden, I bear my heart
I have travelled far to arrive at the world's edge
Ready to receive what wisdom you will impart
I'll set myself cross-legged on the opposite of you
I see you peering, examining my physical entirety
With one good eye, you gaze right through
Makes me uncomfortable, if I may... But I'll hold steady
I notice you muttering but no words could be heard
Your hands hovering over a glassy globe with an ominous glow
You turn to the left, as if conversing with an invisible third
Whispering secrets that I will never learn to know
Shifting your gaze now into the crystal orb
What do you see, Wise One, in that ball of yours
You shudder upon it's touch as though it's power you absorb
Tell me, Soothsayer... What lies for me in this course?
You swiftly pull your hands behind your back
I flinch with a start at your sudden display
You bring back your hands revealing cards out of a stack
You tremble in spasms, dropping the rest leaving one for play
The card you place face down, right in front of me
You motion for me to pick it up and flip it round
I see the card bore inscriptions and ancient runes, quizzically
You ****** the card and begin chanting in odd sounds
Reciting your incantations, in a tongue I do not understand
They sound like curses rather than the answers I seek
It all ends almost as soon as it started... I can't comprehend
You then place your warm palms gently touching my cheeks
Your features softened as you stared into my sullen eyes
A connection like eternity trapped within seconds never going astray
Then you turn away to fetch a bundle roped in knots and ties
You hand it to me hastily before ushering me on my way
I am now perplexed much... What does it show?
What did you see, what does my future hold?
Please enlighten me what you've come to know
From all of that, what could you have foretold?
Bundle in hand I turn to leave your rundown shanty
As I leave, you speak in your voice, different from before
Soft yet raspy you say, *"Do not open till the end of journey"
"Open only when in house, behind closed door"*
Moon is up illuminating, as I make my way up north
Armed in hand a strange, scented, tied up bundle
Leaving with the same questions with no answers, I amble forth
Wondering if in the bundle I may find the missing pieces of the puzzle...
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
** Flashback **
**One day when I was younger,
I was asked what I wanted to be,
When I grew up;
By my mother. **
*I said:
'When I grow up mummy,
I want to be a beautician!'
She said:
'Well munchkin,
Why do you want to be a beautician?'
I replied:
'Mummy?
Isn't it obvious??'
Mummy asked quizzically:
'No, honey,
What's obvious'
'Mummy, I want to be a beautician,
So I can help people,
Make them look beautiful.
Even if I'm not and no one will love me,
I still want other people to be beautiful and happy.' I said in a 'duh' tone of voice.
'Baby daddy loves you and-' she started but I cut her off.
'No mummy! He thinks that I'm ugly and useless! I heard him on the phone! Mummy I know he left because of me!' I started sobbing.
'No baby, you aren't useless and ugly. I will always be here for you and I will always love you. Daddy was just so stupid he doesn't know what he's talking about.' She coed.
I started to calm down but made her promise 'Mummy will you promise me something please?'
'Sure bubba, whatever you want.' She said calmly.
'Mummy, will you pinky promise me that you will always love me and never leave me?' I asked, suddenly nervous.
'Of course I will baby. I will never ever leave you!' She then took my pinky and promised. *
** 2 years later **
I sat in my room sobbing. How was I supposed to look after my brother and me by myself?
** She broke her promise ** was the only thought running through my mind.
She left me and my brother to fend for ourselves. No mother. No father.
She left us for another man.
One I now hated.
She left us for God.
She was ...
** dead **
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
He was lying on the futon, watching Battlestar Galactica. I was in my nightgown sitting in his windowsill, smoking a cigarette, bored, restless & lonely. I stared out the window, looked down at the ground.
“Do you think if I fell out of your window, I would die?” I asked him.
“I don’t know if you’d die, but you would get seriously hurt that’s for sure.” He mumbled.
I took a long drag from my cigarette and looked back out the window. The street was empty and dark. The only illumination came from a single streetlight about half a block from where I was sitting. I stared at that streetlight for a long time, feeling as alone as ever. After a minute or so, I began to feel his eyes penetrate my core. I looked at him. He was all limbs spread in every direction. The flame in his eyes told me more than I wanted to know.
“Do you ever feel like a moth?” I asked him.
“In what sense?”
“I dunno, like do you ever feel like you’re always attracted to something that is out to destroy you in the end? Like no matter where you end up, you find yourself hitting the same lightbulb over and over as if it could save you… When really it will be the death of you?”
He looked at me quizzically. Electricity filled in the gaps between us.
“Why are you thinking about that?”
He reminded me of myself - always answering a question with a question.
I looked back at the streetlight and I could see the silhouettes of insects all around it.
“Oh, I was just noticing the streetlight over there and all of the bugs surrounding it. Don’t you ever feel like that though?” I asked him again.
“Well when you put it that way, I’ve always felt like that, yeah.”
“I have a book of poems that my friend Emma gave to me a while back - there’s a poem in there that reminds me of feeling like that. It’s called ‘the lesson of the moth’. I’d like to read it to you sometime.”
I took a drag from my cigarette and looked at him again. Beautiful, he was in that moment. Just lying there listening to me, I felt like I was being heard for the first time. Battlestar Galactica had then become just a fuzz of white noise. I stared at him in silence.
“What are you staring at?” I smiled.
“You.”
“Why?”
“You’re beautiful.”
I looked back at the streetlight and exhaled a long puff of smoke.
Minutes rolled by. I couldn’t bear to look at him again. I have a hard time being seen.
“Looking at you is like listening to a symphony.” He said at last.
I was caught more by the charm of how he was more absorbed by the moment of me and not the boring television series that blurred in the background, never mind the romance of what had just escaped from his mouth.
Because I knew I wasn’t the first girl he’s looked at like that, and I wouldn’t be the last.
But dammnit, he sure knew how to make my skin melt and my heart burn.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I stepped into your apartment
I saw you reading
sipping coffee
I saw you go to the fridge
and muse at its emptiness
I slept with you at night
we dreamed together
you didn't see me
but I was there
when I went to leave in the morning
you looked up
quizzically
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 6:43 AM UTC
I sit up there in the thin air where my focus is extended by eyes that feed on loneliness and lips that taste the awesomeness of pipe dreams in the sky,
A vision opens up to me, unreal, a trip out LSD, but no this is reality and here
in thin air flying free, the eagles seem to float as if on skis across a frozen sea.
I have abandoned all for self sufficiency, I want the eagle to be me and me to be the eagle, up here in the thin air where I grab at straws.
Two thousand floors down on the elevator to desperation in the nation of investigators they look for me, Up is not on their agenda or they'd send a scouting party to hunt me down.
In some era long before when I tore envelopes to lick my life and stuck them to the notice boards and no one cared, I cared more for stray dogs on the street than any one of ten or so of beggars that I met or those who came to meet the dawn with pleading looks, was it yesterday when my name, written in the book that details all? I began the fall that rose me to this place where I now sit, invisible but I am seen by clean air to be particle, to be this place without the trappings of a soiled humanity, I want to ski like eagles 'cross the frozen sea and for those who doubt me this was never LSD, this was the walking in and through a life that no one ever knew and a shout or two along the way,
In the thin air, I learn to grin, to remember what it feels like when you let the future in, some time ago I knelt to pray and being nearer to tomorrow than today. I'm sure that if someone watches over me, they'll set the skis, fire up the frozen seas and let me go.
I become my own General and watch over my army, but here in the thin air there is no one to harm me,
the eagles look on quizzically
floating by on skis.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. ‘This is all,’ they sighed,
Good-night to woods.’ But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.
Then, as if they were something that, though strange,
She could not trouble her mind with too long,
She sighed and passed unscared along the wall.
‘This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?’
But no, not yet. A snort to bid them wait.
A buck from round the spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall as near the wall as they.
This was an antlered buck of ***** nostril,
Not the same doe come back into her place.
He viewed them quizzically with jerks of head,
As if to ask, ‘Why don’t you make some motion?
Or give some sign of life? Because you can’t.
I doubt if you’re as living as you look.”
Thus till he had them almost feeling dared
To stretch a proffering hand—and a spell-breaking.
Then he too passed unscared along the wall.
Two had seen two, whichever side you spoke from.
‘This must be all.’ It was all. Still they stood,
A great wave from it going over them,
As if the earth in one unlooked-for favour
Had made them certain earth returned their love.
1.5k
hapax legomenon “Texas Women”
**(hapax legomenon: a term of which only one instance of use is ever recorded)
(Texas Women: a term of which only one instance of use is ever recorded)**
for
ꏳJ LꂦVꏂ & Cne’
once again, they sweet sweep me off my feet,
carry me to the Court of Finger Wagging,
to be accused of hating and/or loving Texas Women
simultaneously, diffidently, consequentially, unclearly differentially
this is no flower picking exercise, shaking of the head,
“he loves me, he loves me not,” rinse and repeat,
a northern trick to confuse the plano truth,
warns the Judicial Triumvirate
your Honors, I swears,
never wrote those conjunctive words,
Texas, Women,
never ever, until just now,
a genuine hapax legomenon
akin to taking god’s name in vain,
if one dare ever utter these words, and
blows the opportunity,
well, shotgun, if you know what I mean,
one gets only
one chance
so cut me quick to the chase’s conclusion
let’s go to my defense single & singularly:
true, of women I have written, and
“too much,”
is a mere theortical constriction
I love to love women,
and a 57 variety pak is a-ok by me
an inordinate number of poems may have referenced
females hailing from a certain great state,
but never together, side by side, have I ever employed
that phrase, for my imaginations
are more than sufficient
have loved women from many places, too many faces,
some beyond measure, now a forever,
a hoarded memoir unpublishable treasure,
some, it’s true, possessed jeans and a cowboy hat,
and dangerous boots, which one admired from a
goodly distance
they brook no con, tilting their heads quizzically,
there is no maybe with women from this place,
maybe you love us, maybe not, but either way,
there ain’t no maybe in our emotional lexicology!
ok.
the only woman I ever hated is dead and buried,
and yes, I shot her dead for being ornery cactus mean,
so by this roundabout roundup summation,
you may put your head on pillow tonight,
smiling confident thinking that your hapax legomenon,
is deep in the heart of a grown boy hailing from nyc,
still a crazy straight shooter
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
I remember the precise moment I stopped loving him.
We had gone out to dinner.
I was just getting back from the lady's room.
He looked up at me and smiled.
His eyes, I noticed, were dead and lifeless.
Not even a dull glimmer of light remained.
I blinked
thinking eyes would appear in the two gaping holes in his face.
They only grew deeper.
He looked at me quizzically.
Perhaps something in my expression had given me away.
I sat down beside him
avoiding looking at what had once been a pair of chlorine blue eyes.
It was as if something had changed in the time it took me to use the restroom.
When I left everything was normal.
But when I came back he was no longer the man I loved.
I denied it for a while,
dismissing it as a feeling that would pass just like indigestion.
But it never did.
It only worsened.
An unexplainable bitterness began to build up inside me.
Today I looked through some old photos of us
and realized that I'd imagined those chlorine blue eyes of his
because he'd never had eyes of his own to begin with.
Funny howI was the one with the eyes and I was blind the whole time.
Maybe I should pluck my eyes out.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
Taffy stretched streaks of color in the sky
Propping up cotton candy clouds
That pour lemon rain drops
upon lollipop trees
and fill syrupy rivers
that overflow onto sugary shores.
It was along that riverbank that I first saw her. Ignoring my presence, she gazed quizzically into that river, silently counting each ripple in the water, and with only a few hours of sunlight left,
to quit now would make her day a waste.
You see, she had this theory that if you time it right, a person could dodge every wave and submerged stone on their way upstream.
When I asked her, "Why not just float downstream?", she responded simply,
"Because everyone goes that way".
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
Once upon a time
in the Great Hall
of the Metropolitan Museum,
my woman wan~pale,
doozy, woozy, about to grace
the floor marble, with an
undesirably inelegant fall.
Steadied her, a quick diagnose,
Low Blood Sugar + Dehydration,
her condition I pronounced.
The antidote in my possession!
From my pocket left,
withdrew my emergency tangerine.
She looked, quizzically, upon me,
even a bit weirdly,
marveling and marvelous,
as I fed her bite-sized orange curvatures.
*Who walks around with a
tangerine in their coat pocket?*
I replied, doesn't everyone?
besides, that juicy tangerine looked
mighty good, so I took from
pocket right, another one,
laughingly, which we shared.
Henceforth she has called me,
a partial mocking homage to a former actor,
who should have stayed that way,
the one who was thinking you can always start over,
The Anticipator.
If you ask me what is the secret
to keeping love alive, my answer permanent.
Get thee a coat of many pockets,
like the one Joseph had,
fill them up with with the things
that will shelter her from the storm...^
No longer the season of the tangerine,
In my pocket in the fall,
a Fuji apple and a box of
raisin~poems
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
i don't like people
questioning me
looking at me
quizzically
trying to figure me out
don't
there's no rhyme
to my reason
no "aha" moments
to be had
for...
there's no book
more open
nothing more readable
than me
so...
if you want to get to know me
just be
eventually
we'll find each other.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
A dream-- B-dream-C- dream
D-- Divine- dream
E-- dream to the end of
E- Earth
F-- Fit for the dream
How far it seems
My first ever dream
A+ "Angels Dream"
B-Blood stereo types
Dreams are so C Computer advanced
One D-Demon -click
Please come back your way too slick
Your running out the door
Lets be careful what we dream for
All cliches
So Hype flying the parachutes
Does dreams come in
"Navy I Salute"
So **** designed cute
Sunshine awakening did you
feel her vibes wait a minute
Jump the dream her malamute
"To_ live_ a_ dream_ for all
the talking no money grabbing
Listen to the world what they are
...... asking".......
M-L-M marketing tribe
Walking like the Egyptian
"King Tut Pyramid"
Million Stars multitasking
My solo flight*
A dream is not a dream
Until your first cup of coffee
Names became unknown
I must be missing an angel
Quizzically Q- Queen
All the King horses
Money is real the dream
Like a paper moon
Once Upon A Dream
Eye mask beautiful to me
S-sleeping beauty
My Mom is so real
her name is Judy*
I'll be dammed "Miss Scarlet"Red
Many broken pipe dreams
Gone with the wind
Beyond my words
A change is good
In my dream "God" was changed
My heart brave what defeats
The singer dream gently down the stream
Our dreams the milky way heats
Such emotions pride and joy of passions
Heartfelt affections life is filled
with destruction
Sometimes nightmares the do or dares
What fears only the lonely
How a new birth is so lovely*
With love to the poem to the dream
heights the "Medieval Knights"
Was this my dream it feels so real? ZZZ
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 10:07 AM UTC
Far too eager
Too quizzically eccentric
for the rumbling from afar-
She traced the beauty of an atlas on her heart-
Taking the wanderlust that resided and embodying it into the pieces of each place that struck her
She grew into the vines of the earth with
Every word and perspective she had tasted on her tongue
And she lived effervescently as this
As more than just distant thunder.
(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
The furnished souls
Adorned with mahogany
Luxurious pieces in every corner
Eau de parfum, the finest from France
Does not allure the senses
The settees, chaise lounges and recliners
Standing there, forlorn, awaiting guests
The ornate crystal chandeliers adorn the ceilings
Trying to illuminate the gloominess
The flooring of Makrana marble on the floors
As if there is a puzzle to be solved
It looks quizzically at the incoherent footsteps
Of the infrequent visitors, not even interested
Mansion filled with embellishments
Yet there are no worthy inhabitants
The Swarovski crystal curtains, veils the outside world
That waits, without any expectations or superfluities
To furnish the soul with love
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
~
In the sunshine corridor
of morning trees and loam
'Tween classes, and the faces
(off to learn some grey equations)
*I said Good Morning
to a little bird*
Who looked at me so quizzically
with little shining eyes
That I laughed at myself
for being so polite -
Til I said farewell
We parted with our purpose
I to grey and she to blue
Then I ambled off to class...
and left her to the skies
~
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
I wish I had even the self restraint it would take
To keep from following you home like a lost puppy
But clearly not.
If I don’t pay attention when I’m with you
I swear I could end up anywhere.
You could probably walk out into traffic
And there I’d be beside you.
Whatever it is that I feel about you
Pulls on me
Like a string tied to my heart
And I just
Follow
Without knowing why.
It’s ridiculous
It’s dangerous
And I know it
And I am completely helpless against it
Anyway.
I think you saw it for a second tonight
As you were leaving.
I think you expected me to walk away first
And honestly
TRULY I was trying to-
Sadly, I was trying
My best.
My feeble efforts did absolutely nothing.
Instead I stood there,
Frozen,
Feeling that pull to go wherever you went
And watching you look at me
Quizzically,
Watching you notice how difficult it was for me
And wonder about it.
I probably should have been embarrassed,
But instead
I was just stuck,
Stuck for a moment in this weird gravity
Struggling to break free.
And then common sense returned and I think I must have blushed
And said something strange
And hurried off as you turned away.
I don’t know how long this will last-
I don’t know if I’ll just be like this forever
Always sort of tugged towards you,
Or if it will smooth itself out eventually and I’ll be looking back on this with chagrin.
I just know that
Right now
I’d cheerfully follow you into hell
And there’s not a **** thing I can do about it.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 4:40 AM UTC
*Apple Crumble
She was about six.
That age of endless questions.
Here it came the biggie.
Mommy where did I come from?
Do I make this a biology lesson
Full of penises and vagina's.
Or does she deserve the hard truth.?
I rationalize the truth is always better.
So after a deep breath
I gave it to her.
You come from the snows of the
Canadian Rockies.
Cold endless winter days and nights
when I ached for your father.
Love on the bed and kitchen table.
Underwear strewn about the house.
Burning in fires that needed quenching.
Even as I made apple crumble in the kitchen.
Her eyes looked at me quizzically.
Demanding a better answer from me.
She said
Mom do babies come from apple crumble.
I said yes honey
from apple crumble.*
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
You looked at me with interest
something new
you are old
wiser art
wandering soul
teach me
I can be your school girl
I know it’s what you want
(secrets shared at 5 am)
You looked at me as if I was something fascinating
silly interest
writing poetry
smoking your cigarettes
inhaling the darkness
of our combined souls
and my purple neck
Quizzically
as if I were some challenge
how to please me
how to make your mark
please make your mark
on my body
but be careful of
my soul
Deeply disturbed
longing
we are alike
too much pain behind those
light brown eyes
and you look at me and joke about love
when I worry about commitment.
You looked at me with interest
and I wonder
how long I can keep up
this ruse.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
let’s live our lives
barefoot
let’s live our lives like
small children,
children so precious that their simple presence
evokes tears in the eyes of the most
stoic father,
so precious that the image of them
snoring softly in their Thomas the Tank Engine bed
causes the stressed mother to smile a mile,
so precious that when one of them
pushes back the blonde, wispy hair of the other
the photographer can’t help but laughing as she
captures the moment
let’s live our lives like
children who are not afraid of nails and rocks
in the backyard, but who are
obsessed with finding that elusive
white grasshopper that their uncle
promised was there,
like children who endure countless foot baths every day
in the heat of summer but the pads still blister
and their feet still turn brown
but they don’t care,
like children who have just smelled a flower
for the first time, who have experienced the
sharp pain of a first bee sting,
like children who are in awe as a deer
peeks quizzically at them from above the bush,
tail twitching, eyes twinkling
let’s live our lives like
children who make up odd games that
they remember years later, a complicated one that involves
Patty Cake, jump rope, tag, and somehow
hop scotch and charades as well,
like children who wander away from their house
for many hours, exploring like Columbus,
drawing detailed maps of their small neighborhood,
beautiful crayon stick figures dotting the horizon,
like children who capture and dote on an assortment of
toads, grasshoppers, frogs, moths, and butterflies,
like a child who thinks the worst sin is to
**** an animal that the Lord has made
let’s live our lives like children, with a
loving and unwavering faith in the Savior,
with eyes unaltered by the
whips and thorns of life,
with minds unchanged by the
Judas Iscariot’s of this Earth
let’s live our lives like
small children
let’s live our lives
barefoot
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
I looked at you and I knew I was not magnificent
but then you turned to face me
and your eyes convinced me otherwise
the way you looked at me so quizzically
attempting to figure out the patterns in my eye movements
and the slight shape my lips take
when I said "hello"
it's beautiful really
the way you set your jaw
when you concentrate
Have I never told you before?
you are so deep
and I don't think I ever want to reach the bottom
I would jump
I would fall
if I could find an edge
if I could only find an edge
of you
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
it was an innocent question
but loaded nonetheless
if he would have known
who he was asking
we looked the average couple
in that dive bar holding hands
capturing the other's glance
with a secret smile
"Is this your girlfriend?"
your friend or acquaintance inquired
I froze
my breath stuck for a moment
you paused then I watched the corners of that masterful mouth
turn up and bloom into a satisfied smirk
I said nothing but looked in your soulful eyes
you said "yes"
I froze
my breath stuck for another moment
you glanced at me
quizzically
we both exhaled
"it's complicated"
but I knew you were right
I was
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
A man, about 50, sitting on a street corner,
A change cup sitting in his lap with only a few ***** pennies resting on the bottom, rattling slightly.
A small girl with a blue dress walks along behind her mother, holding her hand.
She stops.
She peers at the man, head tilted to the right inquisitively.
Her mother tugs her hand slightly but the girl stays put,
just staring.
The man stares back at her, watery eyes watching her hesitantly.
Suddenly, the girl steps towards him.
A quick “Hi” escapes her lips.
The ghost of a smile passes over the man's face,
cracking his dark skin which, hasn't stretched this way for a long time.
The girl's mom stands, clicking the heel of her shoe impatiently on the sidewalk.
The girl slowly lowers herself and sits on the cold cement in front of the man.
Her blue eyes look deep into his own faded brown ones.
She slides closer to him and looks into his cup.
She looks quizzically up at him, her face asking why there is so little inside.
Her mother steps forward now and attempts to grab her away.
The girl lunges to the man; she wraps her small pale arms around the mans dark neck.
He raises his arms tentatively, holding them around her small frame.
Her mother pulls her away and carries her down the street,
leaving the man sitting alone on the corner,
no better off than before,
but then again,
much better off...
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
As the days go by the colder I get
I hide in the dark hoping to forget
Yet, silently I sit as my life ticks by
Hoping my hero would save me tonight
A long while does pass before you're brought back to me
To finally silence my inner screams
You stand before me, glowing as red as my sins
A sly smile on your face and a fiery glow to your skin
After all these years, you were brought back to me
As I feel your touch I know I am free
Free of the tears I have cried every night
And as you hold me fast, I cannot feel your burning light
But, when you let me go I can tell something's wrong
For instantly, everything I felt was gone
Your eyes glow fiery as you reveal your true self
As my very own angel, sent to bring me to Hell
You apologize for leaving and withholding the truth
For causing all my pain from your love that is true
I contemplate what to do in this mess
Should I leave you now or is staying the best?
A frown falls upon your perfect, pale lips
But I fix it easy, drawn to your deadly kiss
Suddenly, the ground opens as the world shifts
And what should appear, but Hell's Fiery Pit
You look at me quizzically with a sadness in your eyes
My only way out of this world is below, so I kiss you in reply
We jump at the thought of immortal love; so exciting!
Who knew Hell would appear so inviting?
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC