"redraw" poems
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
what would i give
to wake up next to you
fingertips dancing on hips
as curtains give way to sunlight;
the world,
a wonder of sight?
what would i give
to drown...
in the crook of your neck
or the streams of your laughter
as you lurched your body forward
and laughed
with all your might?
what would i give
for our souls to entwine
the raggedness of your breath
spilling into mine?
what would i give
to be given a gift;
to weave another reality;
craft a different mentality;
build a sanctuary;
one with you and me
our confined souls broken free?
just what would i give
just what should i find
to redraw the line
for this silly popstar love of mine?
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
In the beginning,
We were Pangea.
Combined as one
Breathing
Living
Loving as one.
Fingers drew rivers
Across our valleys
As quick breaths
Blew in like
Monsoon storms.
In the middle,
We shook. Splintered
Valleys became chasms
Rivers ran dry
Mountains sprang up
Where our bodies
Crashed and crumpled
Attempting to redraw
And redefine boundaries.
In the end,
We were broken.
Pieces of ourselves
Flung to distant
Corners of our
Subconscious
Separated by oceans
Of tears and
Silence, which swallowed
Everything.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
a fire breaks out in his pants
whenever she walks into the room
but she just laughs
at how quaint he is
she has eyes only for the old man at
the end of the bar
his beat era leather socks are just up her alley
his pocket protector lifestyle is just
the thing for her wedding plans
she could always see herself
with his type of narrow shoe smart fella
he leaves her and her lover
at the dark bar
and wanders the lobster cages
looking to trap the feelings
that made him feel like
unconquerable king john
with his magna carta series pen
but this night is too full of babe sweet
and her pocket protector cowboy
so he goes home
to lay on his bed on imaginary nails
and suffer all the trials that good men should
wants to be worthy for the pay off
wants to be in line for the pearly gates
babe sweet and her man
live up the coast now
they own a bed an breakfast catering to the insane
who write great novels
on the walls in crayon
and spend their nights
hanging out on the roof singing ballads
to babe sweet
and her cowboy who lasso's the moon
its a wonderful life plays on the tv
every night year round
cause thats the dream they are sellin
that if you work hard
someday itll pay off
jerry garcia's picture hangs
in the lobby
he looks out at the changed world
with the shocked expression
of how did all these people miss the point
as they just go on beating eachother up
and crashing the gates
he is in the back room of babe sweets place
hiding from all the gretchens
and trying to redraw the lines of reality
we all got lost out there
gotta reinvent yourself
before the gretchens and the hangers on tear it all down
gotta bend the road before it bends you
just like unconquerable king john
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
*run the hands over every
tissued cell,
race the tongue upon and under every
unsealed pore
linger, tarry,
only if you must,
here, there and where
you stop only to drink
my body's must...
lid to lobe,
crevice to mound,
uncover the obvious,
reveal the infinitesimal,
finite the desire,
end at the beginning,
fire up the cool hearth,
emblazon the shields ofordinary,
exit and enter
simultaneously
refill the apertures
with~not~my
peptones, enzymes, amino acids,
replenish my
well
then drain
well
the abscesses and repair
the wearable wounds ,
reminder remains
of prior contests,
won and lost
make me better
than well
know before,
realize afterwards
that ceasing,
never and always,
is an always never*
for this route
forever changing,
for your hands and tongue
redraw me
every time
they run the course
every time,
ever and when you
exit and enter
always and ever
simultaneous,
the course of
my flesh
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Let’s play a game of pretend
Where I don’t have to acknowledge our end
When heartbreak was a distant stranger
When loving too fast was the only danger
When the walls were non-existent, and we ignored the suggested lines
I’ll go back to when I didn’t have to lie by calling you mine
Then I could hug you one more time, and I’ll get to say all the things that I wanted to say
Like I did, I’d always remind you of my undying love. I’d acknowledge your perfection every day
I wouldn’t mind getting the chance to fall in love with you again
For you, I’ll take every rule possible, and find a way to make it bend
I’d make you sing your favorite songs, again, and again for me. Just because I can
Every day I’d remind you that even if the world is against you, I’d still be your biggest fan
I’d be able to say your name, and keep my eyes dry because I’m pretending you're still my world
No one could ever compare. No competition, you’d always be my favorite girl
I’d take the chance to love, and know you all over again, while admitting you’re my blessing, and curse
I’d still love you more than what’s good for me. And I’ll pretend it’s better, not worse
I’d learn all your favorite fruits, and bagels again, and squeeze your hand a little tighter
I’d introduce you to the war of love, and especially to its two newest fighters
I’d make you retell your secrets. Watch you redraw all the flowers, and hearts you drew
I’d gladly go through all the first awkwardness of our love again, and my bad attempts to explain how much I love you
This game of pretend scares me into thinking of what I could’ve done better
Now all I can do is remember, and try to keep my eyes from getting wetter
I’d look deeper in your eyes. I’d look longer for one last time, but don't call me crazy
Maybe I’d redo all these things, and more, if I got the privilege to get you back. If, and maybe
But in the meantime, I’ll stay daydream of the days that I got to call you my baby
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
To all music morons
Glued to their earphones
The look-alike clones
Sunk in the dune of tunes
In the crowded buses
In public places
With drooping eyes like a yogi
Cracking heads and bursting ears
Thinking it the only escape
Salvation’s gateway
Balm for boredom
Pleasure’s pinnacle,
Don’t just fritter away
The one chance to be here
For a brief while
And leave with a blind existence
And a blasted hearing,
And before it’s late
Redraw your fate
Take off the headset
Open the yogic eyes
And in the yogi’s spirit
Give the world a good look
Recreate in her beauties
Make her melody your pastime
Her rhythm your heart’s rhyme,
So you don’t regret
When your time comes along
That you never could tell a bird from her song!
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
I’m an elaborate drawing
Sketched ebony gray
Simple and smooth
Lines drawn only one way
Erase and redraw
Start it over again
But each time it’s the same
Only endless in pen
Jan 5, 2010
Jan 5, 2010 at 12:37 AM UTC
we were in the bed
of your truck,
the two of us so close
but not close enough,
just two mismatched hearts
trying to get along.
i was trying to memorize the stars,
so i’d be able to redraw the constellations
we looked at that night
for when i get lonely,
for when you’re not longer here.
and it was like
you could hear all my
over-thinking-this thoughts
buzzing around in my too-full head,
it was like you could see me
bleeding poetry out of
a borrowed heart;
it was like you could tell
that i was already preoccupied
with months from now,
too worried about
what comes next to even
be here right now
because you turned to me,
and you said,
“i’m right here. you’re right here.
so just… be here.”
because i’m the kind of person
who’s always waiting for the fall out,
i’m the kind of person
who’s got all
the escape routes mapped out
before we’ve even started driving.
because i’m the kind of person
who just kind of expects things to have
an expiration date,
expects things to crash and burn
instead of fly,
expects things to fall apart.
because you of all people know how
easy it is for those of us with the
dreamer’s disease
to get caught up in all the lights.
and when you smile at me
with your not quite crooked teeth,
sometimes it can be so bright
it’s blinding.
there are a thousand unwritten poems
hiding in my shaking hands,
there are whole universes
hiding underneath my skin,
and i swear,
i would give you
the ******* grand tour
if you only asked me to.
you of all people know i don’t
believe in much.
and maybe i could believe in the way
the stars looked that night
with a little persuasion,
but i already know
i believe in the way your eyes
looked that night.
darling, no bible needs to
convince me of that.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
Sometimes I wish I could be a fool,
Take things at face value
Not endlessly question
But accept, as some do
Sometimes I wish I could see less clearly
Stop doubting sincerity
Be less of a skeptic
Of what we call reality
Sometimes I yearn for ignorance
Most blissful of faults
To not know seems better
Than to constantly redraw
A portrait of the world
Threatening to consume
This false life that I **** at
Where others, truth assume.
But, 'tis better to doubt,
Than to tell yourself lies
Because untruth is the facade
Emptiness sits behind
I'd rather seek wisdom, full of all these thoughts
Than be a fool, wasting days being something I'm not.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
For now I know I must -
Tame the timidity,
Of my mind.
Channelize the kinetics;
Into a beam of energy,
Directional and definite!
Cutting the crap,
Of unnecessary detail;
Delivering a crisper form!
For now I know I must -
Sharpen the vision,
Of my mind.
Seeing beyond the clutter,
And the shown;
Into a picture,
I know and want to admire!
For now I know I must -
Delve into the depths,
Of my mind.
Revealing the chaos of the form,
Organizing it in symmetry;
Pleasant to trace and redraw,
A canvass of memory;
That shall adorn,
The museum of my life!
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
If I go to a party, and see at least one girls *** that day will be my best day of that season.
I’d drink myself to the point where the toilet could be advertised as a painkiller. But **** standing up, It’s not that I don’t trust my aim, I just like to keep things as clean as possible.
I often find myself apologizing for actions the morning after inebriation. It’s weird. I’ve grown old enough for understand consequences but not enough to try and and avoid them.
Old enough to regret the relationships I’ve destroyed then still find time, to break down a few more.
I’m still scared of commitment. I’ll spend 2 years learning to love all of your facets and flaws, but spend so much more of that time looking for a cause.
Exploring why I bother to love anyone when I feel so insecure. You’re affection may grow but I’ll never feel sure. It all becomes a chore. Asking you to outline whatever good in me you thought you saw. But sometime or later I’ll be asking for a redraw.
It’s a funny word ‘insecure’. It’s funny that even with all the nightmares we’ve been through. The experiences we’ve accrued. The places we’ve had to get to, Your deepest fears will always be about you.
You and your expectations you feel you must attain.
You and your image you present to those who judge.
You and your aptitude for keeping those you love happy.
Even now. I’m only saying this because I’m scared I’m far too immature for life I lead,
and I know anyone else in my position would want to hear these words.
Mistakes are as natural as breathing.
With both it is imperative that at some point you must let go. You must exhale and exorcize what is unnecessary from your body. You must learn to forgive yourself.
2. Unsurity is the siamese twin of certainty.
Before you come to a decision you must be comfortable in the knowledge you will never know what the future holds but if you ever want to move forward, it requires that all important first step... so put your best foot forward.
and 3. Bolster yourself. Be proud in the understanding that your 2 feet hold a place in this world that no else can fill. That everyday you live is your opportunity to bend the universes will. That live may not be a continuous thrill but boy is it scary!
You have a lifetime of wishes to fulfill.
So settle down. Life is a series of small discoveries. No one expects you to find everything.
All we ask is that you don’t ever stop looking.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Lines drawn.
Erasers
kept tucked in back pockets.
I'm circled. I'm shaded.
Smudged out,
separated.
You'll redraw the floorplan
schematics are changing
and I've
got the handbook.
regulations tossed out windward.
Wearing out
all the reasons for more sensible feelings.
The seasons change fast here,
I'm sure you'll be leaving again.
And you'll go
any place
that the latest squall takes you,
expecting I'm waiting.
But I've got blueprints of my own.
"Go anywhere you choose.
I won't care about the news."
The headline that I'm writing
and I wish that it were true.
So roll me up with the rest
of the shabby, used up trash.
Emptied cups and smoked-out butts.
All that's good has been unwrapped.
I'm cellophane.
Life spans.
Placeholders.
Not even a memory.
It's notched up. It's useless.
Refused
and ablated.
I'll toss out these blueprints.
**** all these schematics.
And you
wrote the last word
scrawled out in constructed language.
Wearing out
every patience for these senseless intentions.
I'm fenced off. You flatter
yourself and you're leaving again.
And I'll go
right back home
to my tiny apartment
where four walls await me.
But I still don't want you to leave...
...'cuz it's easy to believe
that you're beautiful beneath
these buzzy, dimming bar lights,
squinting through this hazy scene.
I've seen
this one before.
I know the script
like the way to my front door.
But, with constructed language,
our meaning will languish.
And I'll fade back to static.
Again.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
Strange place, even stranger times,
Every unfit thing, strangely finds its place,
But in kleptopia strangers become bedfellows,
The strangeness all the more welcoming;
Outside the uneven lines, weeping, wailing,
Many complaining, more agonising,
But within the cesspit of gluttonous philandering,
Merriment upon merriment, endless mirthing;
So they negotiate a rollback,
Of the misaligned circumference of the perimeter,
Try to redraw this untidy arrangement,
Only still at it, many lifetimes after.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
Despite my painting skills and the passion ,
Upon which my fate rests .
They have rejected me in a regular fashion !
It's life with its horrible tests .
I will redraw borders and the world map !
My motherland will no longer put up with crap !
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 12:59 PM UTC
you are the color
of my gypsy soul
tiny letters
on the bottom of a tube
I can no longer see
without bifocal assistance
sweetly simple
smooth wax motion
over my pucker
that shapely stick
helps redraw
my daily destiny
like bees to honey
my man
kisses and tells
you look like
a million bucks
baby
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
I am looking for a blueprint for love
the one I've once felt about you.
The perfect blue paper
that helps me figure things out
that tells secrets about a lover's skin and sighs
- the ones I knew as yours.
Now I wish to redraw, then admire its design:
relearn, then follow its patterns
down to my very heart.
I want to rebuild its structure,
recreate the way that is no more,
to have the perfect edition of it;
a guide to my true self,
the one who once knew what it felt like
to be in love with someone like you.
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
i don't want you to feel successful, i want you to feel like a success
so that if anything goes wrong you don't think of yourself any less
when the nights are longer and darker and the prizes become few
i don't need you to win first place, i just want what's best for you
so if one day you come home and tell me that everything is just too much
that the assignments are unending,
that the trauma just exacerbates such
a feeling of discontentment
a validation that goes awry
if you look at yourself in the mirror and can't help but start to cry
i'll shatter every reflection and then redraw them so you can see
this is what you look like, you're everything to me
first place, the winner, the poet, the CEO
you are who i refer to when i think of where i want my life to go
i don't need a million dollars
i need you to be okay, to keep speaking and writing
i wanna hear everything you have to say
so if one night you come back to me and say nothing went right
i would put your face in mine and say
you're still the prettiest sight
if the theatres were all empty, and the books were never sold
if the restaurants went bankrupt, if all the meals sat there cold
if nobody saw the vision, just judged the draft to be
if everyone hated your work
you'd still have one fan - me
i don't want you to be successful
i want you to be happy with who you are and then realize
you're a million times better than the version you thought was too far
so that when lake starts to mirror and the sun can't help but kiss your shine
i'll tell you the definition of perfection
and then show how you're the picture that i use for mine
and underneath it says 'successful. a brilliant person to know. we can't wait to see all the places they will go. and all the careers they will pursue that they believe the were never good enough for.'
i don't want you to be successful
because that implies you weren't successful before
you're gonna be outstanding, but if 'out' stood in front of you
it would take a seat
because it knows that there's no comparison to
if beautiful fell apart, it would be full of you
i'm repeating it over and over until you memorize it too
that you're gonna be successful
but if success never came, i would draw you to represent it
i would still draw you all the same
Dec 25, 2024
Dec 25, 2024 at 12:09 AM UTC
For now I know I must -
Tame the timidity,
Of my mind.
Channelize the kinetics;
Into a beam of energy,
Directional and definite!
Cutting the crap,
Of unnecessary detail;
Delivering a crisper form!
For now I know I must -
Sharpen the vision,
Of my mind.
Seeing beyond the clutter,
And the shown;
Into a picture,
I know and want to admire!
For now I know I must -
Delve into the depths,
Of my mind.
Revealing the chaos of the form,
Organizing it in symmetry;
Pleasant to trace and redraw,
A canvass of memory;
That shall adorn,
The museum of my life!
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
my knees and ******* protrude
from the still water
like mountains in countries I've never seen
I have always hated
since the time I surpassed the length of the tub
that I could not stretch out
my body looks alien
I don't recognize
the bends and angles
I'm disconnected from my finger tips
as they make ripples
break the surface tension that
holds my brain
holds my soul
the blue ribbon holding me in this porcelain box
I am washed with all my thoughts
my plans I have not made
and when I stand
dripping and cold
I am *****
and as I towel myself
I drain and redraw the tub
again
and again
until I am clean.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
It is there,
Under the splendid sun unweathered,
The moon lights Kindle and rekindle,
Under the stars stuck in repentance,
Unlike their perpetuality,
It is there,
The urge to redraw myself,
Into the reflection of others perfection,
To be spun in accordance to what lies,
behind those shallow eyes,
My complexity beyond compare,
Not sincere,
Am I the art or the painter?
Because I destroy myself so beautifully,
A symphony sung and unsung all at once,
Broken cords that heal themselves whole.
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 12:28 PM UTC
tell me the stories past, dear one
I want to cover lies and redraw the sun,
the swelling globe of our love
I'm your neighbour, not your pillar
we're dependent on the paradigm
different emerging locus,
different bare portrait for this montage of mine
I want to retreat into the heart of your house,
into the middle, just us two
I'm your neighbour, not your shield, and
we're dependent on the paradigm
I'll go the risky route
we'll make it beautifully chaotic, to return to square one
don't hesitate, let's make this now
-c.j.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
I sit here now typing away at my beloved laptop
that I got for Christmas.
Something I never in a million years thought I would have.
I sit here because I was assigned to write.
Write about what? I'm not sure.
There wasn't a prompt,
just some Langston Hughes poem.
But I'm not thinking about that poem.
I'm thinking about other schoolwork and tomorrow
and faded memories of an old friend
leading me down a cold, black street.
I'm thinking about the burger I ate that night and
about how I'll never wake up on time at this rate.
My high school career in a nutshell I guess.
Being assigned things and half-assing them.
Then painting or writing poetry afterward
when the papers have already been turned in.
Rarely able to put myself into my assignments.
I tucked my mother in ten minutes ago and I should be asleep but
this assignment matters
even though it does not.
It does not matter to me
in it's original form
as a microscopic detail
in my big portrait of life.
Assignment-
grade-
percentage-
GPA-
graduation-
college-
graduation again-
more college-
career-
money-
food-
survival-
.
Of course I have passions,
but my teachers do not see them
do not experience them
because they cannot assign me to
do what I want
express what I want
learn what I want
for a grade like
I am doing here.
So I cannot bring my passions to high school
but who cares?
All I have ever cared about
since kindergarten
when I decided not to drop out
was getting to a university.
I have dealt with
busy work and bullies
stress and standardized tests
and missing six hours, five days a week
of my life
to try and get to this place.
A place where
I wouldn't have to ask for a pink crayon
to draw an udder
on my udderless cow.
I could just go buy a pink crayon
and redraw the whole cow myself if I wanted to.
College for me was
the place where I could finally learn
information relevant to what I wanted to pursue in life.
The things that I am learning in high school
are fine I guess...
intriguing most of the time.
But I know deep down I know
that for twelve years I've just been
moseying along.
Getting average grades only so I could reach
this place
where I could be free to learn about things that obtain to me.
Where I digested information
and didn't spit it back out for a grade.
Where education is optional and
my assignments would lead me
to something more.
More.
I don't think I did this assignment right,
but this assignment doesn't matter
even though
it does.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
Stay a little while with me
And let your lips redraw my contours
Like the greatest cartographer
Working at his craft
Stay a little while with me
And let my hands retrace your bruises
As if to wish away the wrong done
To your beautiful skin
Stay a little while with me
And swear on stars alone
That when daybreaks comes
You won't disappear with the transitory moon
Stay a little while with me
And stay a little while longer?
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC