"reenact" poems
I see the rabbits feeding on the grass
My heart is filled with joy
Their life is precious
I see the vultures feeding on the rabbits
My heart is filled with joy
Their life is precious
That's what I never understood about coffins
Life is about expanding your prison cell as much as you can
There's no requirement to be contained once it's over
Our nutriance to the Earth
Is our nutrients into Earth
All creatures that die on this planet
Become a part of it
The Debt they paid to the future
The Debt that is always collected on
We travel nonchalantly on their corpses
Wishing they could appreciate
That each and every one of them
Was one step closer to sentience
This planet's passion project
Could the first single-celled organism
Comprehend my humiliation?
When the first creature walked on land
Was it anticipating my shame?
Did it sprout wings
To give me nightmares of dying in an airplane?
Did ancient Neanderthals dance around a fire
To reenact my adolescence?
Could mystic voodoo shaman
Cure my lack of agency?
Or did lost American tribesmen
Prophesize the complexities of my love?
I can feel all these ************* looking up at me from the ground
And it's just me
As I accidentally burn my notebook with a cigarette
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
Love is like a disease it spreads.
Hatred is an itch when you keep
Scratching it. It Fester an kills you.
When i think about the things I've said.
Feelings I felt. I melt inside.
It turns my in sides out.
My heart combust
An I hate myself.
Why are I not enough.
Denial will have you walk for miles.
Sorrow is a sweet after taste of a sucker punch of truth.
Loneliness is only a symptom.
An that to will pass.
I am a enigma of feeling. I cry when the rain falls to hard. When the wind blows in the wrong directions. I'm poetic. I'm also a stepping stone. The men I've let erase my soul an rewrite my blueprint. The salty tears I cry are almost symbiotic. Another symptom. Like a sonnet short an sweet. Running in a circle walking a fine line. Waiting to leap. Is it a crime to work 9 to 9. Roller coaster emotinal train wreck. An I think to myself who will love me.
I bare myself to the pit an it asks me if I'll jump. I reply not today. Slumped down I step closer to the edge. I reenact self destructive behaviors daily. Am I considered an addict. I seek validation from namless phantoms. I named them my self conscious. Are you listening my beating heart gets louder. I order cream an chowder. Sips slow on estacy. Love an lust sleep next to me. I'm smothered in one while I'm blocked to the other. Exits are closed off I think where is my mother. I shudder remembering I'm alone.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:59 AM UTC
next to prime rib
is a miniature fir
or bush
lumberjacked at
the trunk
you press like a bobblehead
plugging nostrils with green
steam and shake and
nobody wants to spitspoil red meat
and everyone agrees
so you collect veggie trees
arrange them in a forest
and reenact little red riding hood
with a cherry tomato
you bite -
you ******* werewolf
vampire where were you
when the fetus
crowned like a tulip pistil
harnesses by an umbilical noose
and the nurse paused and said
she's dead
and cried
and she cried too
while I waited with her father
her mother
and mine
and three friends
and nine months of this
for that
you ******* ******
not even john hancock
can sign a birth certificate
and a death certificate
in a nightmare
let alone in one night
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:13 PM UTC
And I could gaze upon your eyes
Yet chose to caress your legs instead
You shiver in joyful dread
but my touch tells you no lies
Warm skin, tender contact
firmly pressed and packed tight
flawless motion, bodies reenact
sweaty bliss, arousing light.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
you told me to prep for a new season, that what was dying is now dead
said we must steel ourselves with warmth against the first frost, it was the worst no
it was a testament or
just a test
& here, where we carve our winters from the gentle curve of the ampersand
from punctuation that's meant to bring us closer but only moves us further apart
like the swell of a gentle tide &
even the beach must face bitter winds filled with eburnean matter meant to cling to our skin
we will reenact this act, this ampersand
you are the skin
i am the surf no
i am the sand
no
i am the snow
&
nothing is warm
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Aliens
They have no notion of past or present,
everything is about oceans.
When they ask for you
it is really a story about seeing the ocean.
VISITOR #1:
Listen. It is failure of bridges that builds angels.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
Is this the depression
we've all been experiencing?
VISITOR #4:
Please have a seat and forget the edge of that coast,
you were not intended for this distance.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
I believe we're all owed an explanation.
Where is this manifest?
I've never ridden a horse, I am being dreamed about.
VISITOR #1:
You would not believe
the stories redwoods have.
You each get one phone call.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
But the voicemail I've been trying to reach,
all morning,
is full.
"I dream of psychiatrists telling stories
about dreaming of women
they've seen in unedited videos on the internet.
Sometimes they save her from that burning nightclub."
VISITOR #2:
If you're going, leave your voice
somewhere in a room I know.
COLLEGE STUDENT:
We would have no need for phones if you didn't invent distance.
VISITOR #2:
There are trees that become stained with a purple blossom.
During summer the blossoms fall and shadow around the trunk
like a violet negative.
What a beautiful dimension that must be.
They pull her skirt down to examine the body,
palms pour from a sidewalk in L.A.,
everything is cracked-
"My god she's beautiful, huh?"
I think I met them before,
a long time ago.
THE MEMORY OF A VISITOR APPEARING IN A DREAM:
What happens next? Come the exit of electricity from the body;
on a long enough time-line all weather radicalizes and the people
will grow into trees.
You can read about that hollowness and never be prepared for it.
It’s like standing on the edge of an overpass,
and being completely empty of the urge to jump.
This is what I remember:
instructed to reenact creation
she throws clothes
from an open window above the 60 freeway.
"You have to imagine there are people,
surrounding you and talking"
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
A bat of the eyes, a flick of the wrist,
a ruffle of sleeve, a daydream,
a heartattack kiss and
I'm gone, no time to grieve--
all the leaves of prose and bad poetry,
perhaps you'll remember me-
during those halcyon afternoons,
when the coffee brews,
distant church bells ring out
a panhandler's tune no one can sing to,
but we used to dance it through
in damp clothes and into dark rooms--
a life lost in desperate minutes,
forbidden fruits and daggers of knowledge
were all we could taste, feel in the midst
of the misery in simply existing,
and woman you're free to rise above me,
stare from the balcony,
while I reenact a lifetime of sin
on a half-lit stage, far from the lilac's bloom,
never will I dress as a groom,
nor will I sleep under the same moon,
that was miles ago, summers away from here,
a mythical love taken to sea,
oh, it's easy to miss what never could be.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 11:08 AM UTC
When I think of the way we love
I spill Shakespeare like a fountain,
I spit rhymes like a rap star,
Words dance inside my chest.
Edith Piaf's lyrics hold the most acute reality
That I have to shut my eyes and sway
Translating the words is unnecessary.
The rhythm underneath holding all the meaning I need.
I can't compare thee to a summer's day;
You are most like a solid oak tree in my life...
An essential component to every season.
Adapting with a beauty all your own.
I don't only crave your mouth, your voice, your hair;
As Neruda would have you believe.
I crave your essence-
Found in the most precise way the your head twists
As you laugh...as you overthink...as you grow drowsy.
Only your eyes could reenact the look you have
When you're feeling most giddy.
Tupac Shakur and I "prayed and watched the distant stars",
And finally you appeared.
Shining so brightly I shut my eyes often,
Stunned by you.
Like a sunny day at the beach,
When you close your eyes and the sun's glow
Pushes against your eyelids; such is your love.
Pushing at the barriers
That keep my heart my own.
I want to stop the world and melt with you, forever.
I want you to know that even if you cannot hear my voice,
I'll be right beside you, dear.
Songs! Lyrics! Because if music be the food of love, PLAY ON!
And without borrowing other phrases,
I truly believe I was made for you and you for me.
No lyric I could sing,
No poem I could quote,
No metaphor I could construct,
and not even the bold truth of plain words
could EVER express how I feel for you.
But it doesn't stop me from trying.
I want to give you the luxury of taking the way I feel
about you for granted.
It will be that constant.
It will be that reliable.
It will simply be.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
The swivel, point, leap and cross of her feet on wooden floors.
Bending backwards to break the fluid boring motions.
Fingers clenching and opening to reenact a blossoming flower.
Toes circling around her frozen foot and
Shooting up high
To touch the sky.
Violins begin the piece with calming tones followed my soft piano keys.
As the trombones and trumpets trickle in
Her body leaps and lunges,
Bringing her to the ground with one leg pointed and raised to the ceiling.
Dance with me
And then you’ll see.
Reaching out her arms to touch the viewers in the front row.
Stretching her feet out to gain momentum for her ****** forward.
Her head almost sweeps the floor.
Flutes take charge and she swings her hips,
Only to create a **** whirlwind.
She collapsed and held she shin.
No one moved or made a sound. The hall fell silent.
She spread her body out on the paneled ground.
No sound left her lips.
She flipped over her left shoulder and landed in a split.
The crowd clapped vigorously, cheering.
Her mother was in the front row crying.
That girl I saw enchanted my dreams.
The rolling of her body and the extension of her legs filled my thoughts.
I wanted to be wrapped in her arms with mesh tool tangled between us.
I wanted to learn every motion she knew and replicate it.
Her eyes caught mine and she
Said, won’t you please dance with me?
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
The dream world built with pack of cards,
Stood always strong with the blessings of lord;
The wind of reality was never to touch,
So strong was the emotional clutch;
Love and faith played hide and seek,
Trying to reach a relation at mountain peak;
The eyes closed with full of dreams,
Never cared to wake up with clues of light beam;
The fairy land lying below the feet,
Started to feel the tremors of reality heat;
The cracks begotten by the tremors,
Let thee to have feelingless quivers;
The heaviness in the air was so strong,
that thou were found in the arms of wrong;
Eyes left wide open with sour and paleness,
Reaching the state of lifeless staleness;
The sea of tears dried up,
Leaving behind the salty death cup;
Before the eyes wake up from the dream,
A divine helping hand showed the path of river stream;
To purify self from the shadows of guilt,
And raise as a new soul rebuilt;
Finding the path between dream world and real world,
the search is on to reach the glory unfurled;
Keeping the packs of cards intact,
the dream world of cards is still on for the soul to reenact.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
An inquisitive mind—flourished from oppression into a cave as rich as Reed mine
Where tourists can flood my thoughts
Pick at my gold and sell it for their lives
Stabilizing their own
While weakening my historic rise
Greed increases, and relationships are seceded
Because everyone wants to obtain sacred pieces
Wandering through pixels of distorted visions
Gatherers become hunters
Painting with blood, their own ambitions
Setting standards for the continuing generations
In turn, a figurative genocide
For the sake of remaining proclamations
Paralyzing, terrorizing, and destroying indifferent others
If time manipulates unfortunate events, perhaps the solution
Is just the opposite
Creatures of habit soon face an evolution
Once protagonists reach a state of lucid retribution
It defines them as antagonists playing a role of uncanny acts
The renowned vigilantes use time as their sword
To reenact their own demise and call unto their lord
Scattered within the affluent cave
The people and their children
And their children's children
Are enslaved, digging their own graves while being influenced by vacuous hopes and darkened shapes
The repetitive motions devolved into psychopathic notions
They attempted to escape but were punished for breaking the rotation
Whipped, humiliated, and shamed
The cave insulated the pain
By offering priceless artifacts
Within my knowledgeable den
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
Hmm... tonight I'm feeling frisky
and we wanna do something risky
How about you pick the room this time?
Kitchen, Stairway, The basement
the backyard, Maybe even the closet
Our even outside the house, it's your night to call it
We could go to the restaurant, and I could eat you under the table
Or Maybe even the library, we could reenact Aphrodite's fable
Or Maybe even the local coffee shop
we can sip our tea and then you could go down on me
Or even at the botanical garden
we could explore our passion in the roses
While your legs I spread apart and
then we could lie in the flowers strikingly naked
So come on babe, pick the room, so we can explore
I mean we've had *** before
so we might as well try something more
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
belie the notion that one is complete
uncompromised, unmodified,
in thought and in motion.
as we reenact and memoralialize
ourselves with our past and
our wholesomeness of ego
we walk towards a chasm
of chaotic disruption
put there by our inner consciousness
as we progress we are
filled with trepidation,
avoidance and reticence
our thoughts
sidling around the task at hand
procrastination taking its cold grasp
upon our reasoning
our forward compelling movements
appear unnatural and stilted
as we slowly progress
our inner bearing pretentious
all thought and motion merged into
a lifetime of physical mental torture
a prison of our own making
so who in this blinding darkness
dares to step forward into
the unknown future that we have
woven for ourselves with the strips
of blue and crimson flesh we have flayed from
our own portals entwined
into the tapestry that depicts the epic battle
that we have fought and won over time immeasurable
who will take the double edged sword from
the lady in the lake and strike it once again
into the backbone of our mother
where we will lay cradled against her bosum
till she weans us from her suptle breast
and sends us once again to do her bidding
without our capacity for love
our understanding and compassion are
tools we still have yet to master
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
you do not know art, like i know Art.
though you paraded your passings in public
it was i who, Art, trusted with his secrets
it was my window, that Art, tapped when the arguing began
yes, you may have enjoyed a dinner or engaged in conversation with him
but he never trusted you with paintings of the english language
or pictures worth a thousand songs
you didnt get 6 stitches, with Art, when you tried to climb the tallest tree
to reach out and touch heaven but still fear the fall
you didnt find Art trembling in a bathroom from what he saw
that day. You didnt find Art in broad daylight dancing
to some invisible meter, some transparent beat
you didnt see the patterns left in the steps of his feet
and while you may have gone to the cinema with Art
it was i he forwarded the scripts
to reenact a lifetime of moments
because we, Art and i, wanted a silver lining
something vague, something inspiring
to keep this momentum going
and while you claim to know this being, Art
you have not participated in a drunken brawl
with Art, involving a few rotten Connecticut men
and things not in our control
you haven't discussed eternity and death
with Art, or any of his close friends
and though, i'm sure you may have wish you did
you do not know art, like i do.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
I can be whoever you want me to be.
All my life where have you been?
I am just very very lonely.
Are you from Tennessee? You’re the only Ten I see.
Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?
I can be whoever you want me to be.
If beauty were time, you'd be eternity.
Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
I am just very very lonely.
If you’ll be my princess, I’ll show you my pea.
Want to reenact a dream you were in?
I can be whoever you want me to be.
I lost my teddy bear. Will you sleep with me?
Nice legs; What time are they open?
I am just very very lonely.
“I really like your peaches, I wanna shake your tree”
Nymph Ophelia in thy orifices be all my sins .
I can be whoever you want me to be.
I am just very very lonely.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 2:21 AM UTC
I want to be a travelling teacher.
I want my life to be a lesson.
Spread a psalm of love to those who remain ignorant
In the dark corners of the world.
I want to hug every decrepit old person
And kiss the forehead of every baby.
I want to relieve the stress of the working class
And show mothers that I understand their struggle.
It is only through love that we can change this place.
Compassion be the sword that cuts through bigotry.
Let us heal our wounded spirits.
Let us feed our young.
Let us forget, even for a moment, the law of the land
To reenact the basic laws of man.
Be gentle, and kind.
We only get one life.
Use it wisely, and maybe,
Our children will grow as the lotus,
And bloom above these murky waters
Of selfishness and ambition.
Come together.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
Sleep; an essential part of life--
a non-essential part of my night
I shall not travel to the land of slumber and
imagery that leave me to ponder and
decipher the undertone of my unconscious desires
Sleep, you will not store my memories tonight
You play as something illusory occuring past midnight
You vanquish the beginning of my day
and I fall victim of the bed to lay
for hours and hours when there is much to do,
much to ignore, and to fail to follow through
Sleep, I won't succumb to your relieving wiles
You interrupt my mind's process of files
and collages of information
Admittedly, you aid in the retention
of the aforementioned,
but I'd rather learn than burn away
precious time improving myself--
documenting my imbalanced mental health
or recreating art I wished I produced
Sleep, though I love the lucid dreams you induce,
sometimes they make me become more of a recluse
because I never want them to end,
so I stay alone to reenact and pretend that
for just a little while longer,
I can feel passion again
I've been desensitized in a chimerical fashion
I cannot endure this now so I'm commencing action
Sleep, I'm taking a break from your comatose spell
and the ephemeral dreams you compel
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
why did Shia LaBeouf cross the road? because he wasn’t a chicken, he was Shia LaBeouf. I want to worry. it is funny to me like Patton Oswalt and Lena Dunham being flabbergasted. I wrote once how suicides fight for position. suddenly everyone knows they were once Leroi Jones. some of course were and I want to be sorry. the original thought in my head was to be postdated in birth like a present. because of where his home is, Lars Von Trier is homeless. imagine I lived from the age of 18 to 23 and from the age of 24 to 29 I got paid to reenact those years previous. I will waste my time with yours and there will be a whirlwind of poverties speeding by and seemingly one. if the great performances of James Franco say again how the unknown soldier is the eater of fame I swear I’ll call you and your double out as Lynchian.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
You must not know
The pain I hide
So, I tuck it away
Until it burns me alive
It sears every cell
Of my weak and battered soul
Searching for a breath of air
To ignite a raging inferno
I conceal it to protect you
From a burdened and heinous fact
Past horrors are devouring me
Forcing my mind to reenact
Scenes and images I cannot fathom
Therefore, I am reluctant to share
Hoping for a bit of resilience
To save you from the crosses I bear
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 2:24 PM UTC
I was in a car in a parking lot with my family
Looking into the window of a car
I saw a girl I knew from afar
Being treated just like a star
But we both had wit, and we both were smart
And I watched her through my calamity
Watched her get paused at the accomplishments we both had happily
Daydreaming if my family could reenact this fantasy
And I can tell her family has the biggest heart
If only mine's opinion on my achievements would just restart
Even if we were the same, she'd be the work of art
But if she's both Yin and Yang, when can I play my part?
Sep 27, 2024
Sep 27, 2024 at 9:50 PM UTC
belie the notion that one is complete
uncompromised, unmodified,
in thought and in motion.
as we reenact and memoralialize
ourselves with our past and
our wholesomeness of ego
we walk towards a chasm
of chaotic disruption
put there by our inner consciousness
as we progress we are
filled with trepidation,
avoidance and reticence
our thoughts
sidling around the task at hand
procrastination taking its cold grasp
upon our reasoning
our forward compelling movements
appear unnatural and stilted
as we slowly progress
our inner bearing pretentious
all thought and motion merged into
a lifetime of physical mental torture
a prison of our own making
so who in this blinding darkness
dares to step forward into
the unknown future that we have
woven for ourselves with the strips
of blue and crimson flesh we have flayed from
our own portals entwined
into the tapestry that depicts the epic battle
that we have fought and won over time immeasurable
who will take the double edged sword from
the lady in the lake and strike it once again
into the backbone of our mother
where we will lay cradled against her bosum
till she weans us from her suptle breast
and sends us once again to do her bidding
without our capacity for love
our understanding and compassion are
tools we still have yet to master
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
I see your face in my mind all the time, but it's blurry
your lack of middle name
your distant and beautiful voice, growing pains
our hilarious jokes, you have my father's name
tangled together, beautiful and untouched
your lips press against me until I say it's too much
and we laugh and we laugh and we laugh at the cats
you tell me this is too beautiful for words to reenact.
you take the whole world in your hands and you hug it
and you give it to me to hold
since I met you I've known I don't need much more
than our perfect hundredth kiss by new library doors
you're coming closer to me, I can feel the world moving
it's like canada's shrinking and it's all your doing
i'll take the bus and the train and the plane and the world
to your doorstep to you to your hat and our beauty
you can sing songs by Joni, and I'll do the same
and we'll laugh and we'll laugh about being insane
we deserve the love that we're giving and the love that we'll get
I hope that you wear that PEI hat.
next time when we hold hands across the coffee shop table
the contemplation will be gone and your coffee will be black
I'll smile to you as the world's loving arms hug us
and we'll make love again to embrace the love again, we just must.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Pixie stick kisses
And a sticky tongue.
Pigeon pointed toes
Curled in triumphant approval.
Buzzing eyes and flushed cheeks
Making a grand entrance
On your face.
Let's reenact
The age of innocence
We tossed out with
The trash so long ago.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
When you broke your arm
(in fourth grade)
You told me
(your deep blue eyes flickering, dancing around the room and across my face)
you had been trying to jump the chain link
fence (we, both of us, were breathless, reliving the adventure)
the dog giving chase, you leaping to the top
(the very top, a hundred feet, at least, from the ground)
and then the long fall down
(thinking it was to be your swan song, you fell, you swore to me, with unspeakable grace)
But it was not the end, after all. You walked back around home, grasping your arm with a fearsome grimace
(you would reenact that for me, the next day during recess)
And got all bandaged up properly.
Do you remember
(probably not, it was nothing, after all)
when I asked you about it the other day
(it's been years, and we, both of us, have grown)
And you'd tell me, with a laugh
(and a quick flicker of those astral eyes, an uncanny mirror of lost days)
That you had broken your arm
(not by pursuit of ravenous beast, nor through a fall to rival Rome's)
But when you tripped on the stairs
(you'd been all dressed up in your father's shoes.)
I smiled
(sort of, but not quite, like the first time you told me this story)
and joked that "Nowadays I'm sure they'd fit you far less clumsily."
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
Have you ever pretended a guy was interesting?
Have you slow danced and let him sniff you up close?
It gives you somewhere to go, if you decide to.
Or given a little kiss—nothing slutty in that.
You know, a 'person' isn’t a good kisser - it takes two.
I’m not talking about me, of course.
There’s a two-way interrogation going on
complete with our own internal narratives
—we reenact it’s rituals in the strangest places
Like quiet libraries or the lerch and spin of a dance club
we process by analogy and approximation and it works
until it doesn’t, like cold water poured into a glass.
Then we settle back into the dull rhythms of study
I’m not talking about me, of course.
.
.
Songs for this:
This Girl's In Love (Live At HMH) by Trijntje Oosterhuis
The Men of Your Dreams by DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 9:00 PM UTC