"reacquainted" poems
A child learns to walk
his way to becoming a man.
A man learns to sit down, shut up
and listen to the master plan.
Seems kinda backwards
to a guy like me,
so I'll keep walkin' on,
keep bein' free.
They say the grass is greener
on life's other side
so I took a trip,
I went for the ride.
I arrived and I saw
a new point of view,
I showed up refreshed,
feelin' somethin' new.
So I decided
that I'd stay for a while.
Got better reacquainted
with my inner child.
I spent my youth workin' hard
tryin' to grow up,
at twenty years of life I realized
that I hadn't lived enough.
So I opened up my heart and mind,
started trustin' everyone
except those who won't accept me,
those relationships are done.
Peace and love
and all that other good stuff
too many other people
just don't look for it enough.
But I started to accept it
once I opened my mind,
once I broke on through
to the other side.
Trap me in a room
with some normal populace
I'll be antisocial
in my head makin' lists,
'cause I wanna be sure
I don't end up like them.
My life, mind and time ain't as simple
as the suit and tie men.
But put me in a place
with people dyin' to be free
I'll have a smile on my face
and a reason to be me.
I'll enjoy myself,
I'll dance, laugh and love
and know Gods smilin' down on me
up from above.
He didn't give us life
to fill with work, stress and tears,
he never expected us
to face all our fears.
He loves us and he wants us
to be happy and free
like bluebirds in the sky
doin' whatever they please.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
Seldom am I so direct,
Like Wayne, Parker, Kent,
I prefer my subterfuge.
But these words are penned
(figuratively speaking)
by the penultimate,
tumultuous,
and often callous wordjockey
yours truly.
As I've said, I'm seldom
more than the sum
of my company kept
*[let slip,
reacquainted,
self-righteous reconciliation,
regret, repeat]*
And today, I find
myself
writing thrice,
twice toward pride,
once of consequence.
Que sera sera.
I'm lead like a horse
who had to drink -
or perhaps imbibe?
your softly streaming sentences,
words which kicked like a mule.
Remember, I was hoarse,
parched.
On that parchment, I find these words:
I am a cause...
Truth at last, truth at last,
Thank God almighty...
...you know the rest.
I stand on this principle -
that I cannot stand at all
sin ustedes
your words the salve,
my words the therapy.
"Progress."
Just Cause.
Now, waxing on
toward the triumphant,
anthemic Aye!
If you are the cause and the casualty,
then each daily account
of what might be made martyrdom
should be cannon.
Am I eliciting allusions and assumptions?
Inadvertently, but then precariously so.
So the pieces fall,
the causality, literary
the eventuality, progressive.
Aye, we are naught but what
we are made of by others.
So each concussive consonant chips and chisels
off the ol' block.
To a good Mister John Henry,
my gratitude.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
This is your candle to burn,
The wax you long to flux?
You will this wick to blaze?
Then light our match with your crux
I'm a wise owl in sheep in wolf's clothing
Interpreting every cautious move made running with the pack
And you're exactly what you appear to be
You're ghostly traits just as transparent from the back
I am the pretentious walking dead man
Far too good for my own rotting flesh
I guess thats just the way she goes
down
Like any devil in a blood red dress
Last call only tends to last a little while
Until another bitter day calls for a God forsaken night
I am the self-forgetten first born
Passing lessons down after making no first decisions right
I've been on top of the town
Still wet from arctic lengths of time trapped under ice
I keep a hold of others' darkest secrets
ruling this game of thrones and still playing it nice
I'm a king in beggars clothing
I have everything I need and no reason to boast
I don't find joy in you're possessions
salvation found in being no one is a reason to coast
You've lost the fire that kept your spirits up
and have become another mindless ******* bore
when we're old and reacquainted
I'd like to see you convince me that I haven't lived more
"When they unearth these passages
will I appear to be proud?
Not if you're listening close enough.
Not if you're sounding it out."
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 2:31 AM UTC
Well.,
It's another
mundane assignment
as I feel I'm being trapped
In
In the Asylum
Cause everyday, I feel I'm on an
I -- land
and I'm drift'n
With nothing but consciousness
on my mind
Seeing many visions now
many a times
A thousand times?
Yeah, the feeling is
Time -- less
But then again?
I thought it was just another case
of my mind just being mind -
less
( Smh )
How thoughtless
As I feel I'm getting reacquainted with
the darkness
that's trapped under my Eye -
lids
For all I've ever seen under the skies is
in disguises and nothing but vio -
lence
While still sitting still in the stillness inside
as I sigh
in si -- lence
I'm left with the question of
Who am I?
Undecided but
No Suicide
Cause on the other side of you and I
is nothing but illness and a stag -
Nation
that's..
Still divided and
too stationary
Vision blurry.. in a hurry
But..
No worries
Cause I'm already invested
Battle tested
Here
In my latter - Days
And even though I can't see that
clearly the paths or the plans laid
before me
My plate is empty and my stomach is
rumbling while feeling kinda hungry
which is kinda annoying
But at the same time?
Re- a-ssuring
As the tempters continue to
Tempt me
Dec 10, 2021
Dec 10, 2021 at 3:46 AM UTC
Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
sotol and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
our miniature juniper.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Falling out of distracting thoughts
he reacquainted with his glare in the mirror;
he'd been somewhere else, undoubtedly lost
in a moment of her.
She too was standing in front of a mirror,
putting her face on, yet the occasion was stained
with an uncharacteristic frown, as if sadness
had found her somehow.
After many anxious intakes of breath,
he reached for the door-keys lain by the trinket box
next to their photograph. He cradled
the apartment keys in his palms for a brief moment,
then went on his way.
She stared at their joyful pictures on her wall,
a shrine with each an expression of love.
She clutched his name on the key fob and left also.
That evening in the restaurant,
her eyes glued to his as intensely as her hands
pursing through the gaps in his fingers;
two sizes too big.
He reciprocated warm heartfelt smiles,
trying to keep it together for both of them.
Circling his thumb gently on pressed fingers.
Her accented cadence a perfume for the ears
and her broken English endearing;
this would all haunt him,
these details tearing at the pit of his stomach
as he languished in the reality
that he has no choice. He must return home.
Over the balcony
wrapped in her anaconda-like arms,
he witnessed her cheeks
tear-staining in the moonlight,
her whimpers battling the lulling tides and cricket chorus.
She crumpled as a strewn napkin against his frame,
before exchanging a kiss;
soft and lovingly endured. The very kiss that wishes
not to end but to stay this way forever.
How melancholy it was in the sea breeze,
to walk among their favourite spot on the beach;
where many an anecdote was told,
many a sweet little nothing shared
and many a glance embraced.
Right now with the hush of salt water
lapping the shore;
their 'Last chance to see' had been studied.
In that instant, both knew
that it couldn't be possible to have
one another again.
They stood for a long while by the waters edge.
Both just as broken,
before becoming ghosts of the scene
and ghosts to each other.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
acquaintances grow and
then
they
fall.
but a reunion makes losing
worth
finding
after all.
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
*i have learned so much of myself
i have learned of my mistakes
my failures
& faults.
i've been reacquainted with myself
i have learned of my greatness
my kindness
& love.
i still have much of myself left to give
but i need to give those wonders
to myself
only.
only i can appreciate my full self
only i can love my full self
until otherwise
proven.*
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
Adam4's acquaintances who frequent
Foxholes as salivary soliloquy,
Usually suspected no second helpings
A dim ambience for an active bedroom
On battery powered candles
Concorde lighting
The carpet's edges chewed thin
Receding hairlines
And he uses me as bait..?
Our neglected puppy's teething
Nesting under California
King Mojo's hollowed cushions
Keeps him gnawing these nights
Misters and oil burners
I was mistaken, there are those
That revisit--reacquainted with him,
Must of shared a Starbucks,
As his Sasquatch hands
Rub wet platinum on his old fellow
Bears and their Cubs
Silicon smooth pets, house boys
Fished from the deep web,
Plagiarizing with their eyes the pleasures
Of Eurocreme
Bare back dreams, hours heave
The subtitled felatio scenes
I tell the old man, they only ***
After and mostly when
Most of the guest leave,
There is one hovering quick
To accommodate his
Ginger manly girth
I'll be out in the smoking section
At the side of the house
Through the slider door
From off the kitchen dining area
Where he had once
Replaced the table with billiards
For a Lenny and his troop...
His Samsung vibrates every time
I take a five to breathe
Chain smoke and self defocations grief
He posts another ad.
If only you heard
The vagrant shout
A banchee in my skull
For these off the street urchins
Plugged in to the internet's latest
For a place to squat
For winter will be cold
For them to just
****** off
And here I go again,
Assuming that these were decent folk
Come for the holidays
Between taint and pocket rocket
Wallets drain
When one lets the desperate
Indigents
Free range...
"What's there for dinner?"
**** chicken heads again?
Same ole same old dope...
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
As the new day dawns, I pledge a gentleness to be, To long I kept in Reserve, A levy breaks, with Urgent force one makes, what possibility I posed my Plea, I realize in this moment, all could appear to be....a Tidal wave is no way to make acquaintance...silly me, so much to offer, please pardon my naive tsunami, may I rewind ~ a second try....
A Pleasure to be reacquainted.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
You don't think like me
And I don't think like you
But it seems to me
We're both *******
We can do the math
In our various ways
And we sum the total
To the end of days.
I am right
And you are wrong
But you'll play the numbers
Like it's all your song.
I don't care
So long as they hear
The same sad song
Of everything going wrong.
But you spin out the bliss
Like a drunken fairy wish
Disregarding all the facts
And sending us all back.
It's a redo, people
**** the ice age
Get reacquainted with your dogs
And repaint the steeples.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Nothing give me more pleasure
When one of you 'likes' an old poem mine,
Buried under the uncountable new arrivals.
I go back and reread it myself.
Nothing gives me more pleasure,
Becoming reacquainted,
Through you, with myself, and
Liking it.
More amazing is that someone bothers,
Wondering, crazy-making me,
What have I missed.
So when I stumble on you,
Don't be surprised if I am
Free falling through each and every one
You ever penned.
That is why I love to, love the
random walking thru this site.
Refreshes me, through you,
Refreshes me, through me.
7:20am
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 7:20 AM UTC
night
shrug off flannel coats
leave them alone with each other
on the floor
get reacquainted
night whispers nothing all too sweetly
with its sore throat
down the hall, in the bathroom
now
on a floral sofa slipcover
reading two books with one light
allegretto
night expects rain to peek in
barely humming nocturnes
barely ambient
barely
burying faces in crooks of knee
dips of side
curvature of neck
night relaxes
contentedly fallow
chilled
closer
Apr 23, 2011
Apr 23, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
There could be a killer
Standing outside of
The door to your house.
As you and your husband
Sleep quite peacefully.
He could be watching
As you inhale slowly
And as your body falls
When you exhale a breath
That could be your last.
He could be standing
With a knife above you.
He could smile at the thought
Of your beating heart stopping
On the tip of his blade.
That could happen.
It is a fear that runs
Circle about your mind.
It is an outcome that
Could possibly take place
If the fates smiled at
You with sharpened fangs.
It’s doubtful
That it will though,
But you’re going to
Let it control your
Actions anyways.
You’re going to write a will
And see your family
And be with your friends.
And you will feel safe
And unafraid.
And then as you
Walk home from church
You will be mugged
And shot dead.
You fingers will
Already be cold
When the paramedics
Arrive.
All those friends
You reacquainted,
All those family
You helped out,
All your coworkers
You befriended,
Will show up
At your tragically
Beautiful funeral.
While you sip tea
In the beyond,
You will smile
And think
“Aren’t I lucky.
I was prepared
For what could happen
And that helped me
With the inevitable”
But you’ll forget
That the only
Reason
You went to
The church
Was because
You were afraid
Of what could have,
Might have happened,
Making the could be
Into the did happen.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:23 PM UTC
Don't bother
I'm ok.
Its a slippery slope you tread on
was your advice
or warning,
I cant decide.
Sit and drink a cup of tea with me
and I will tell you all there is to know
--if you so wish to know.
I grew up happy
sometimes, in pieces
I believe is the better term.
Between love and hurt
smiles, and endless tension.
I left and knew a freedom
I had not known before,
and reacquainted myself
with a mothers tender love.
I met with friends,
with petty enemies
but none so great
as you were (both) to me
and as I walk along that treaded path
I backtrack
to that time before,
when we shared love, and hate
and bitter memories.
Should I hate you now
or love you all the fiercer,
because....
it was you who taught me
to love intensely
and hate all the more incredibly.
You see--
I chuckle when I think
of this paradox we are in
like sugar I cant get enough
though its slowly killing me.
So you see (again)
I'm ok,
...sometimes
or perhaps...
in pieces is the right
word to say.
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 9:55 PM UTC
Don't mind the parts of me fading into the background, for I am best left unseen
For you might find you're disappointed if you view all of me
The mountain's tip shows only that the valley is so very far down
And it would hurt if my bungee was cut and I went spiraling to the ground
So don't mind the parts you cannot see and see the picture painted
You already met this supposed thing called me, no need to be reacquainted
As is the way things go when the shallow waters are trodden here
The rest of me faded from your eyes, but always somewhat near
See the smile that I've plastered on my face only for you
Hear the laugh I give and believe it, this fantasy you're not meant to undo
I know you and your complexion pales each time you see a flaw
And know you as I do the rest, you'll be quite quick to withdraw
I will walk as if I'm floating on air, I will sing clearly as the day
Not letting you know the load which I carry, the storm clouds that won't go away
So look not into the backdrop and see only half of what is put in your hands
For I will not be deserted by you, even though me you'll never understand
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
let the water
trickle past your fingers,
like memory,
falling through the holes in your
head, cloudy, tattered.
let your head,
as fluffy as clouds,
brush up against stars,
constellations of
legends, of sodium
and potassium hallucinations.
sometimes people lie.
let the air
brush each
and every alveoli of your lungs,
each gyri and
sulci of your brain.
taste the salt --
sweat, the sea, your blood.
let the iron,
stable, sunbright
iron, carry itself
with the poise of
a red giant --
both radient,
striking, bleeding vermillion
and crimson.
stable, like a mountain,
letting rain run
itself over with the gentle
caress of an old lover,
who knows the contours and the
dips of the body,
and yet is getting --
reacquainted with it,
after a long time away.
the sweat of the
maker sticks to
the threads that
weave to make the library that makes
you, that
holds information, holds itself
in letters,
quartets, spirals.
taste the salt.
the wind sounds like the sea,
outside my bedroom window,
when it's too late
for my eyes to have
not made
their coupling of
the night.
imagine the salt-mist,
bright and cold on your
face, like the
splatter of blood,
leaking out of a nose;
like a river flowing
from precipitation, mist,
downstea, rejoining where it once
came from, where it was
always going to end up.
fate is a funny thing.
they say that every cell
of yours gets replaced
every seven years.
i wonder how long it takes salt,
iron --
to rise and to
fall,
like the eight minutes
the light of the
sun follows to get
here, to our
little pinprick eyes,
to our dopamine
and norepinephrine,
the spikes and
dips of neurons, firing.
how many heartbeats, breaths?
how many crashes of waves?
Jan 29, 2025
Jan 29, 2025 at 12:26 AM UTC
I like to tell stories
of other people
when I no longer feel
interesting
I like my men
with longer hair
& he loves his women
with shorter skirts
sit by the pool
cuddle your glass of scotch
until you feel bold
enough to slip right in
or take ***** shots with me
in the middle of the street
'cause there isn't anyone driving
for miles
in this small and quiet
town
he's a lot kinder to his liquor
I ignore mine for a time
then I come crawling back
crying
for just a sweet taste
of what its like to forget
who he was
oh, how I'd love to
go back
& drink his pain
red eyes at my eleven o' clock
doorstep
red eyes on the tile floor
by the pop machine
defeated
almost invisible
speak up, sweetheart
no one can understand you
when you think out loud
he never understood
how she could give her love
to another man
I never understood
why he forgot she ever
did that
they got married in a
not so distant fever
I reacquainted myself with
my shower rug
a giant bottle of wine
& a handful of pills
I fake gag when they kiss
God, I'm glad she don't
come around here
any more
but I always dread
seeing him at the door again
when I smile
& he doesn't smile back
you'd think I'd be over this
by now
but the cards never add up
& he always hits on me
when he's drunk
there's just something about the
way our stars aligned
our entire lives
we always meet in the middle
again
shaking hands and hugging
for too long
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
Life is what is made of it;
it's a shame that it's a Life of rushing
to which most seem to subscribe;
Moderation is key,
and in a world of such pervasive connectivity,
moderation may manifest as disconnection.
Turn off your phone
and/or your computer
for a day or two
or a week
or month
or year
sometime,
and get reacquainted
with yourself.
If you can't,
you may have
an unhealthy addiction.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
. Hello there old friend,
how I've missed you.
No, don't try to talk sense
into me at this moment.
I know your advice is sound,
and you have good intentions,
but right now I don't need
to know the moral path.
I'm in need of a little more
soul sacrificing pleasure.
Hello there old friend,
how I've missed you.
Welcome back, I'm sure
we'll get reacquainted quickly.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Your face reminds of the places I want to visit.
As your hands explore, I’m reacquainted to dreams.
I find my thoughts after aeons in darkness as we sit cross-legged and chat.
Thoughts of wonder commence as you curl your peach-coloured lips to read me poetry.
I can feel a heart beating through those lips.
The rumble of your heart makes me discover that I have one too, though stunted by the lovers I never met.
I ask for you, and you agree.
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC
The phone rang again last night
He carried new versions of last spring’s heartbreak, in a brand new season
We’d taken some time apart, and while I loved the freedom, my life’s destined to be his
We’re fatally; fatefully intertwined he’s my ****** soul mate
We’ve gotten reacquainted over coffees on the afternoon; he knows how I take it; too much creamer for a fake delight, a little bit of sweet to lighten up the dark
He takes his black, without sugar or any messy mixed deceptions
I whisper, red eyed once again, ‘I haven’t anything to offer; you took too much before’
He remains silent, it’s his style, I’ve grown fond of these becoming characteristics; loyal, dependable, and while he can’t be exclusive he never stays away for long
I wouldn’t call what we have love, but an old fashion arranged marriage
He doesn’t mind my hearts to broken to hold and I don’t mention my resentment towards are lifetime commitment --- we just sit in each other’s company sharing our afternoon coffees with the same old problems staring at the same bad news.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
I became air.
I always feel so strange returning from that place. It takes me a while to bring myself back....
The chaos is static.
White noise stretching
Throughout the world.
We are the silent moments
Between the chaos.
This is why being with you
Is so precious to me.
I cling to the hope of you
Stopping the noise
Stopping the world
Stopping me
And I love
The silence....
I always feel so strange coming back from that place. It takes me a while to get reacquainted with the chaos.
Missing you to death is chaos.
I miss you so much it hurts my soul.
I miss you so much
I cease to exist some days.
I miss you so much I can't focus.
I'm not really here.
I breathed you in
And I became air.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Somewhere, as we breathe, an archeress stretches her shoulders
giving way to her bow, crossing in accuracy, hitting no aim at all—
her arrow wanders with the wind amongst a desert of emeralds
then settles as a thorn in a flora until it’s taken out of its home—
and reacquainted with recurve again to find flight somewhere else.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC