"reassurances" poems
Their eyes wandered,
Crowding the scene
But I averted
My own
To lend privacy
To the disaster.
Tears ran down her face
And cries were heard
And she muffled them
But the man said curtly,
Keep him crying,
It means he's alive.
What had happened
In an instant
Drew out,
As they stared
And I turned away
Thinking I was helping,
My eyes hardly probing
Like theirs.
But in the end,
I'm not the one
Who uttered reassurances
Or found the doctor.
They did.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
I have faith in medical science
But little in practice.
Straight spined doctors
Racing stopwatches against
Their appointment books.
Extolling the virtues of thousands of years of medical research
But unable to consider anyone's opinion other than their own.
Kindly, soft-voiced nurses shuffling from
Room to room
Doling out condolences and reassurances
Paired with regimens
Of drugs and IVs.
While Old Time in the ticking clock
Slows
To a dead crawl.
And the noise of heartbeats on machines
And discussions out in the hall
And loved ones distracting and pacifying patients in beds
Layer on top of one another to form a firm blanket of
Crushing. Boredom.
And the antiseptic smell does nothing to ease
The passing of time spent waiting
While the medical machine spins its wheels
To the chime of slot machines.
And the bustling rush outside a curtain
On hard white floors,
Does less than lend a sense a peace
But more of frantic urgency.
Minute long - task oriented visits
Where they know names, numbers, and insurance coverage
And they know how many steps it takes for them
To lend more of their valuable time
In that modern balance of cost and care.
Leaving me wondering,
Where did the connection go?
I wonder where peoples' trust went
And when it was replaced with,
"How much will this cost me?"
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
You always carried me home with your gaze
In your laughter I could float freely with all my fears left to drown in the sea of your reassurances
I slept in my dreams clutching the threads of my tears
So that in my wakefulness,
I can embroider them onto the fabric of a forgotten past
To keep the memory of your name within reach
So that when I whisper it into the sea breeze
Everything once cultivated grows inside of me
And a garden scape of indescribable ease
Is complete with streams of water that run
from your heart to my shaking hands
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 5:35 PM UTC
early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”
so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect
later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)
of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual
and then I add:
“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:
*I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy*
she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling
and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud
she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together
this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is
the ways of the poet!
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 10:39 AM UTC
Seven times I told you,
Seventy pins in seventy dolls on seventy dusty shelves in New Orleans backrooms.
Seven times I warned you
Seven hundred aches, seven hundred acres
I run across.
I outrun the burn and I outrun the grief
The witch in me, I race with her too.
Seven miles to run, seven miles behind.
And I pass that playful laugh of yours, grab at it
and stick it in my pocket, shove it deep, deep in my pocket.
And I pass that twinkle in your eyes
and I grab that too,
send it on a paper rocket flying the speed of light into seven universes far away.
I grab that last promise
the one that was slippery and hard to hold onto.
I grab it and hold it tight
And I run.
I told you I would
(you looked so surprised).
I run and my bones hit the ground with the rhythm and pulse of a tribal drummer
He drums out in my head
Run, Run, henny Run.
He drinks my optimism from a cup, then beats his drum. Run, chickadee, run run.
He vomits my clarity at my feet all the while his brown weathered hands drum a ceaseless beat. Run, baby. He loves you not, run.
On the seventh day I run from you and
I find that I am made now from the down of your hair
so I run until I am bald.
I find that I am made now from stalactites dripping from your tongue.
Celtic knot of assurances and reassurances.
I am made up of moments that I didn't make.
I am made up of your indecision. They bounce gleefully "I don't know, I don't know..."
they insist as they hit walls and corners.
They are lazy, I outrun them with ease.
Seven times I told you,
Itchy souls need to find a branch for stratching.
Seven miles between me and you
Seven hundred to go.
Sahn
6/12/14
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Receiving and reflecting
on revolting reassurances.
You reason with me
"I'm right",
ranting on about your righteous
wrongs.
Ruefully agreeing to you,
an overrated relationship
rescued by agreeance.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
After the last bombing,
boys crowded me like vultures, trying to ****
the last good bit of me out and use it
to revive their own secret pride, make it a little sweeter.
They absorbed the sun-rays from my skin,
drank my kisses in like the final drop from the canteen.
But you showed up, a mirage in khakis and a clean shirt
with hair melted gold and a pressed button-down,
and I pulled you like an afterthought
through the membranes of protection
I made for myself. I caved.
I let myself fall through the reassurances, the promises
of never allowing myself to feel
that sentimental over a night spent sleeping,
your touch like little electric shocks tickling
my skin as you breathed relaxation into my ears
and memorized the slope of my stomach into my hip.
I climbed through the covers and opened my mouth
as my heart bloomed over you. I guess,
I'm a little dried out. I guess,
since there hasn't been a single call,
that you've noticed how badly shaped I am and how
unsound my actions may be. But, baby,
I meant every thank you, every smile, every little
spotted kiss on your collarbone. And if I have to
I guess I can forget you. Tie myself to my footsteps
as I trace the cracks back to the sand you found me lying in
when you rode my hope like the sun
and proved that maybe the pain has only just begun.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
history -
a history -
I wanted to know what that sound was.
I wanted to know what made your hair so straight.
I wanted to ask you to kiss me on the cheek.
You told me the sound was an Aeolian harp
imitating a macaw.
I am a boy on a scaffold imitating a window.
My hair is always the wind's *****
So the trip was a disaster.
So there was
an insufficiency in my reassurances.
a crab in the bed.
a wish in the closet.
But I meant it. I did mean it.
history-
at least I knew where the sound came from,
who made it,
and why it was beautiful.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
unable to act first
without complete reassurances
so i hesitate
contemplate
[wait]
finding solace in the imagined
while we're together
[or not..]
when we shared your bed
in my head
i've directed this scene countless times
CLOSE-UP / zoom in:
your lips seek mine
just briefly
plush petals pressed sweetly
between our pages
[faces]
intertwined behind
your neck my fingers & palms placed
& as i peel away
the corners of our mouths simultaneously draw up
as if on strings
[in my daydreams, we are my marionettes]
& my hand tugs at yours
to yank our bodies
from the middle of an evening street
this depiction
[fiction]
is lost in reality's roughness
practice is pretend when imagined
so i beg for steady hands
just to place one
FIRM
hand on your chest
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
His mother sits on the white bed
All the tests have been run
The doctor stands ready to tell him
The diagnosis has been done
The doctors speaks and he's saying
The words he's dreaded for so long
He wants to run away and cry
But she needs him to be strong
He chokes back his tears
He really doesn't know what to do
He curses the fact that it's his mother
That cancer's sunk its claws into
More visits and tests lie ahead
His ordeal has now begun
He tries to take comfort in the fact
That they caught it at Stage One
But no number of reassurances
Can shake his fear away
At night, he prays feverently
"Please make this cancer leave today."
He never believed in God
But now he's lost faith in science
They try their best to **** the beast
But Cancer stares back in defiance
His mother talks of happy memories
It feels like she's saying goodbye
He tries to laugh while he holds her hamd
But tears keep flowing from his eyes
"I can beat this" his mother says
She smiles her gentle motherly smile
He feels his fear lessen a bit
He'll stay with her till the last mile
He'll laugh and smile and stay strong for her
Come what may in the end
God and science abandoned him
So instead, he'll just believe in her strength
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
*A kind of darkness, a profusion of red carnations create, pervades,
a suspicion raises its head, but reassurances pour in soon,
a happy day, bright with the light of the oppressing eyes
a secure place, troubleless sleep, a snooper awake for us, assures,
in the prevailing circumstances, happiness is this:
uneasiness, in serpentine coils sleeping with me, doesn't stir all night.
"Aren't all these outside the wall of democracy?" a doubt
that started raising its head unawares, is put quickly to a narcotic sleep.
Guards stand alert, with loaded guns, ready to face any security breach,
In a dream, that feels real, the gun of protection is pointed to my head
I am vexed; is he a rogue, has he gone insane or is he just fatigued?
Before he jumps out from the dream and pull the trigger, one raises the alarm,
when the whistle is blown, the squad of guards are in position,within a minute,
how efficient is our security! my! my!
"But guys, obviously there is some mistake, where do you take me and my buddies?"*
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
A gentle hand, with reassurances
steadying the heart under a barrage
of threats, of anger
my shield against the world's waves of insatiable hate
His love
and constant kindness
deflected barbs of my fury
the icy indifference I affected after every argument
The world is full of fathers
who don't know how to love
I'm one of the lucky daughters, with sunlight
in his gaze
Pride, delight in me
and in each of my siblings.
Every time I whisper, "Dad, I miss you"
I am telling him
I learned from you, how to love
to stand my ground
that family must always come first
You taught me
laughter
joy in the simplest of things
to forgive flaws in others
and how to forgive and give of myself.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
you said you had never
seen a girl who could drink
***** straight from the
cheap plastic bottle
its slow burn cauterizing
my mental wounds
allowing me to feel
comfortable about my
self, my body
entwined in sticky arms
under
the covers
and i said
i was not as green
as my missing four years
would encolor me
flushing my cheeks-
bare, words bare-boned
on your bare chest
fingers weaving
reassurances
through firey hair
but what i kept
close, behind closed
chapped lips
forbid to let slip
from cigarette-
burned lungs
was that never
had i ever
been nestled
so
close
to another fledgling
and yet
it felt
so natural to me
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
I think today has something to do with
my hands and how my fingers rake
up and down my arms when I'm feeling nervous, or
when the silences between us become longer than
the reassurances;
I think today has something to do with
my scalp and how it's always crawling
with the thought of what if this is not enough,
what if I am a wrecking ball that doesn't need a permit to destroy
today the grass smelled nice and I walked
by myself through the dew and I thought that maybe
it's okay and maybe it gets better
today I walked through the grass with my hands in my pockets and they didn't
scratch at my skin at all, today
I looked up at the sky and everything was so
still, and I think
maybe tomorrow I'll find some scissors and
old newspaper & fashion myself some
paper wings,
I think tomorrow the air will be warm and
if I try hard enough maybe I can catch one of those soft breezes going nowhere,
I think tomorrow I'll fly far away
but today
my hands are warm and still inside my pockets
my socks are wet when I get home, so I change them
today I'm going to crawl inside
my heart and I'm going to change the wallpaper
today I'm going to write a new script for my head.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
*And tonight you will be in my thoughts, when falling asleep
Brightly the glowing moon, and stars will shine down upon me
Captivating the atmosphere shall be, and I will be with you
Dreaming of you and only you, you the one I adore, my love
Exceptional thus my night shall be, and tomorrow will be lovely
Father says, be careful with my heart, and choose friends wisely
Generously he gives me his love, a love so beautiful and so pure
Heavenly all my thoughts, fantasies and dreams embody me
Incredibly now, I see with new eyes, and I see my fallacy
Juxtaposition was my dream versus reality, and not a fantasy
Knowing actions speak louder than words, is most important
Loving others more than loving oneself is life's purpose
"Marvelous are all my friends, father," I say with a smile
"Noble are your statements my dear child," says father
"Overwhelmingly sweet you can be at times, my dear," says he
Pleasing father has always been my goal, since I was a small child
Quietness was my mind, becoming more at peace after our talk
Reassurances of my father's love always makes me feel happy
Simply stated, to one most special, you will mean the world
Trustworthiness and loyalty are something I value most highly
Understanding with communication, I know is the key to happiness
Virtuous qualities and love is better than diamonds, gold or silver
Words you speak, finer than gold and silver, both melt in envy
Xoxo, still in my heart, my feelings for you, always will be
You have captured my imagination and haven't set it free
Zzzzzzz, tonight I shall dream of you, sleep peacefully, and smile*
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
Constant reassurances
That make up most of my confidences
Veils and layers
Of half-feigned fearlessness
Masking the worry
That I am not as carefree
As I make out to be
I do not know
What I hide
Inside
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
first came the warnings.
"maybe you shouldn't..."
then, sloppy reassurances that you were fine...
...that we were fine.
then, swerving in and out of lanes--
just like neither of us could make up our minds.
bright lights invaded your eyes,
and that's exactly how it felt when i learned the truth...
it hit me.
and -- inevitably --
we crashed.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
loneliness preys
on those you would least expect
to fall prey
to loneliness.
he curls up
next to the people surrounded by people.
he sits down beside me
on the bus
the park bench
my kitchen table.
he murmurs soft reassurances
that are not at all
reassuring.
Don't Worry he says
No One Can Hurt You he says
As Long As You
Let No One In.
and
weak as I am
I listen.
guilt though
takes a different approach
I can feel him
when I'm alone.
At night,
face down on my pillows
he creeps.
soft fingers play piano
on my spine
the notes
reverberating through my ribcage
the metallic thud as they pound
my heart
You Did This
rings out
over and over
its rhythm
adhering itself
to the
unsteady
tattoo of my heart
until the guilt
is inseparable
from me.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
I never meant to get so full
On reassurances that never last
And people who won't be coming back
I stuffed my mouth with words
Then inhaled
Words to qualm the insatiable longing
For affection, for your hand in mine
For all the ways we could pass the time
I can feel it in the pit of my stomach
The way it churns when you walk by
Acid waves and I'll never swim to shore
It's the people you care for most
Who leave you to drown in their lies
Asphyxiation by association
You knew how to hurt me most
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
They say come, as you're stood by the door,
and place you in a rocking chair, when you feel like you're the floor.
Then there is a smile that you've seen somewhere before,
and you know that you're dying,
and you don't know what for
They like to hold your head in their hands
and hold your hands in their grasp, as you try to swim for air.
Then there is a look in their eyes you see as they stare,
and you could drown in a puddle
and you know they don't care
They whisper reassurances as if it could mend your heart,
and open their ears and swallow words as you fall apart.
Then there is a black hole in the middle of their bed,
and you try to jump and fly away
but you fall down and they take your head.
They say you're not crazy, but whisper you're not sane,
and you're not sure if its dice you throw in this game.
So when they break you into a jigsaw, and you lose another piece,
know they do it for the glory and for the fame,
and they won't hesitate, to do it again
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
Mid way through my kebab last night
You would not have guessed what had caught my sight
A diamond coin that stood out like my thumb
After hitting it with a hammer while DIY for my Mum
It was not the ordinary type
A side portrait of a reptilian *****
It was circular
But it wasn't shiny
It looked *****
But it wasn't grimy
It gave me the feeling of fools
Gold
But with the reassurances of a diamond that hadn't been
Sold
I took it home
I took it home
I swear I took it home!
"Must be with the fairies dear,They'l know"
"You can knock on there little door the next time you go
*** the quicker you shut up the less time you'l be out in the Snow"
Fine
Condemn me
But when I find it
You'l love me
If you don't believe me
You can't trust me
Don't see it now
You don't know me
Adiós I'm
Gone
Into the snow I'l
Run
To the kebab house I'l
Go
By the tall pavements under mounds of snow
where the fairies live and the diamonds do grow
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
You told yourself 25 was a good age to die
Ghosting on the tail end of youth,
The Grey would never touch you.
But 25 is here, and the razor is coppered from neglect
And the pills in the cabinet have long lost their voice from bitter age.
25 is here, and you're reminded of the deal you made with Death at 18
When the weight of life nearly killed you
And your idea of hope was the promise of an early grave.
25 is here, and you don't want to die
But the burden of years that have not yet arrived
Press down on your shoulders like the heavy hands of unwanted men.
And yet.
You don't want to die.
So you rely on your emergency exits
collecting dust under tarnished jewelry and gold-strangled hair ties.
Like old friends you meet up with once a decade, you pacify their need for acknowledgement,
Weaving nevers into not yets with empty promises and shallow reassurances,
Brushing off their needling whispers as they bounce off another day gone by.
Because you're 25.
And you're not done yet.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
planting seeds of us
i watered them with my tears
your reassurances fell on my deaf ears
and look at us now
miles and miles apart
all these weeds growing from my heart
poisoning all the good that's left
now nothing can grow
or flourish
and im wilted
and
alone
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
Dearest,
You wrote me a letter once and the last line said
"I choose you."
The words were musical to me, but they felt more like they were
meant for you. I think that is what made them special, that they
were the words you needed to hear whispered in your ear and so
your heart opened and whispered them into mine, because just
maybe I needed them too.
Well I've written some poems for other people before in days
gone by and I've poured words meant for me into the open hearts
of other people just to find that their jar was already full, or
perhaps it wasn't opened in the first place.
And now I know you're scared because what if their veins hadn't
been full of predetermined sweet nothings given to them
unnecessarily by others in this confusingly backwards way? What
if their jars had been open and accepted my insecurities just to
sing reassurances into my ear?
I'll entertain Fate on my doorstep for long enough to tell her
that I am glad, for if she had allowed this to happen I would
have been unhappy. Fate crafted the individuals before you
with a fatal flaw because she knew that I would have
ultimately been disenchanted, downtrodden, disturbed. And so
with a gleam in her eye she led me to you.
And perhaps you'll theorize that this, then, was no choice. Fate
did it for me, yes? My response is as follows:
I chose you long before Fate threw her hat into the ring. Or
perhaps she had thrown it into the ring and blew the wind just
so on that first summer day when I saw your face, red-cheeked
and blue eyed, brown-haired and loud-laughing. Even if she
had, she still let me choose. For Fate only modifies the
environment, but the heart is a complex, wild thing that is not
to be tampered with. So when a million fireworks rattled my
ribcage the second I saw you, Fate smiled. Her plan had
worked. I did not decide that I would feel a small earthquake
inside of my body every time I laid eyes on you. But my heart
chose you. Unashamedly. Instantly.
Perhaps it once chose the others, too. But upon seeing that they
were not for me, it paused. It took a while, but it moved on.
Then there was you. It was afraid at first, but Fate took it by the
hand and showed me that your jar was not empty. And then
you showed me that it contained everything I needed to hear
within it. So I did not move on. I chose you. I choose you, still.
Forever. Until your jar is full and Fate tells me that it is time to
close the curtains, draw the shutters, lock the front doors and,
someday, leave the house.
But something tells me that I will begin to send postcards to my
former address. And perhaps I'll stumble upon the threshold,
years later, and find a jar.
And I'll choose you.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
Some places in me
Are hollow
And if you press too hard
I'll cave in
I don't need empty reassurances
Of my wholeness
Just acceptance
Of my vacancy
But please know
That barrenness
Does not mean less
When it comes to loving you
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC