"reimagining" poems
She used to tell me
of math and poetry
by the length of her arm
and rhythm of her heart
conversing verse and fraction
with form following the function
of communist theories
and greek philosophies.
she beat out aesthetics
with a perfect symmetry.
because no one understands
the relationship between
seafoam and shoreline
the way she does
[swimming in saltwater sorrows]
reimagining time in an hourglass,
she shot up infinities with a glance
and left me moondrunk in the night.
she emits sparks throughout my system
breaking and entering--
my kingdom under siege.
her name was an amalgam of numbers
italic1.6180399. . . .italic
and I loved her by design.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
there was no poem neath my pillow
no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch
nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises,
only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue,
the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child
two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect,
the overlap is love stars crossing,
impatience weaponized to make
momma aware her companions refreshed status,
a needy for love’s suckling,
embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces
thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words,
the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them
*the only and only true authentic authorship,
mother and child, their owned unique
duality of singularity*
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
the imagination wanders.
that's all it does, really--a flâneur
masquerading as inventor
inverse
or escapism.
behind his eyes you're more than what you are
you're pearls and quiet promises he swore he heard
you're emerald or
a lighthouse.
behind his eyes you're more
than all he wanted
the imagination wanders--
his, out-of-town
--and you are left. and less
(but all he wanted, the playful universe reminds you unkindly)
he wanted a decadent contemporary reimagining of a jazz age novel
and you're less
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
I re-read the thoughts that used to plague me inside
it still hurts to see those words strung into those sentences
I can still feel the depression, I can still feel the internal divide
I can still feel like that, time to time
I re-read my trauma in a blackened ink
re-reading it making it sink in deeper, I can see clearer now
I hope that in a year I will feel the same way
about this maze, I'm in
about this cage, I'm in
maybe I will break the door down on my way back in
no longer tethered to the way that it is
instead reimagining what the day could've been
with a little more confidence, a little more trust
with a little more dominance and more sword thrusts
Jan 27, 2022
Jan 27, 2022 at 2:55 PM UTC
i find it vexing
when you decide
not to
use words.
...and there are
so many to
choose from.
string together 9 or 10
and you begin
to bridge the divide.
you can even
sing them
scratch them
type them
take photographs of them.
there are ways.
instead,
you slam down
barriers,
strange, wordless barriers
choosing a route
sure to cause
confusion
and disarray.
i don't know
how true it is
to say
that actions
speak louder
than words...
it is hard to
glean intent
from an action...
one does not
necessarily always follow
the other.
it is in this state
of guessing,
of chaos,
of fragmentation -
that i constantly
find myself
entrenched in.
it causes a glitch
in my system...
this endless
refocusing
reimagining
rewinding
and i can't help
but believe
if i had the words
if you
gave me the words
i could construct
a story.
an understanding.
and there is nothing
i want more
than a
good story.
a connection,
an awareness of
the way
things are supposed
to move together.
i keep getting stuck.
i keep having to
construct all my own stories,
explanations,
and reinventions.
i don't want to
have to work so hard
to piece together
this disaster
of human
folly.
this exquisite search
for meaning.
this heartbreaking
reach
for
recognition
in
each other.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
i've met you before,
watched you mutate,
witnessed the moment you crumble
and usually i lend a hand
in putting you back together
i've seen who you are,
a self prescribed new birth,
but still the same sad sack that felt like
you had to leave it all behind
to really start over
i've laughed at you in secret,
knowing that will never do the trick,
no amount of outward reimagining could
ever undo the fact that you
will never love who lives within
i've learned from you, finally,
watching my own potential destiny,
as it unfurls slowly and surely in the
same steady footfalls that
only ever lead to self destruction
i've longed to let go of you,
but without my own permission,
i always came back to the place where
you stand still in time stuck
battling between ego and self
i've met you before,
seen where this takes us,
and this time i've decided to forget
my innate empathic impulses
and to run like hell
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
I always dreamed
Reimagining myself
Into someone with more confidence
Someone who is bold, brave, wise
Someone who can achieve everything
I can only wish for
I always dreamed of praise
For appreciation for what I do
Who I am
I strived for it
With each new reinvention of myself
Only to be disappointed
I am constantly unsure
Of who I am
Or where I'm going
And I just want to be me
Without restraint
And I can't shake the feeling
That I've been so lost in these ideas
Of who I should be
That I'll never be able to find
I'll never be able to be
Appreciated
For who I really am.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Dearest Unreal and Unforgiving God,
It's three weeks to the day an old friend killed himself and I'm counting the ways I've changed.
My world is still upside down, even though I've stopped crying now I can't stop reimagining life in ways to make it tender again.
I swear, I've held my hand out to everyone I've ever wanted to and it's not enough. I can still feel myself falling so incredibly short.
How do you explain to someone how softly you felt for them while they shivered in your arms, how all their scars seemed to run through your heart, tugging your sleeve towards the direction of "I want to love you more and more until you love yourself."? How do you tell them you wanted to rewrite every suicide note, resign it with "never mind"? I can't began to find the words for "I want you to be happy so bad it keeps me up at night."
And hey God, would it **** you to make a miracle happen every once in a while?
I have wanted to spread the incredible, bursting compassion I felt when he died, that terrible, uncontainable empathy, but how is it that words fall short on everyone except I'm sorry?
I'm trying to touch lives in a way that November 27 will again just be a date. I'm trying to make it all right. I'm trying to be the light that could've lit up the dark and made the world turn again.
As you were taking your last breath I hope you felt this.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
Words can't describe, and rhythm won't define,
Because this is intoxication of the worst kind.
With thoughts, and dreams of inimitable horror,
Falling faster, going lower and lower,
Reimagining disaster, in propia persona,
A life since led with a lifeless chroma.
The pain so great, unbearably wrought,
Ages are past, with heavy wars fought.
Buried so deep, within a heart fueled by steam.
Of Lies, and slander-- it is not what it may seem.
It's okay, I'm okay, We're okay, only okay.
It won't be true, not in the least, but it's what I say.
For friends are burdens kept, your desires held true,
I'll die every time, sink with each word, if but for you.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
we often find our enemies
dawning in the core of the earth
and resting their souls on the gates of hell.
discussing untold dues
with the fragile state
of mind we're in
and reimagining
times of greater health
and masked feelings.
realization of distraught
and unnerving discussions
about our fears and weaknesses
remind us to be genuine.
regardless of opinions
and ignoring ones thoughts
we know our own worth.
detrimentally bringing hurt to your soul,
this earth is here to not only
remind us of pain
but to help us relive it.
we are not invincible
but we will prosper
in the art of painstakingly regenerating hope
for this worrisome life we live.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
In dreams
I am the rhythm
to the dancer
underneath her skin
In dreams
I only fight
in the river of remembrance
in her breathing
In dreams
imagining my woman
nervous, scowling
reaching for my hand
In dreams
fighting to stay
in silver clouds
above this land
In dreams
reimagining oceans
beyond this land
and endless drone
In dreams
talking backwards
riding rail lines
back to my home
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
This ragtime band of crusading heroes, called upon to support the crux of contentious plot, designed to be ridiculed, ridiculed to be designed, holding the proportional strength of a thousand independents in their clutches as they march haphazardly onto silver screens, reimagining through a stencil the works of yesteryear, paying homage to homely men long unaccounted for, and damning the spark of imagination held at their conception.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
has the land covered with banner;
I am not dead yet. Who, despite his exhaustion,
caught up with chance, was able to do so,
an amend to frame a surrender.
Reimagining a spider gut whatever was available,
in the cornered stucco: obliteration was there, sexed
a hole. Clings to a ruined childhood taken
as deification – finalizing a document.
Search the database: he is still alive. Put together
all the ruthless and the stalking and piece out
a material impossible to be cunning.
the evening collapsing on his shoulder, shrugged
an hour of betrayal. An hour, made up little seconds,
fathered by an assembly of minutes – an hour difficult
to wake up from, with a dream of an infinite future
nothing else was known from but if and an end
unerringly spared by this night
reachable out of scarcity that was the limpid past,
cuts through, is like a knife, dividing disaster
to share within habit – a harbinger, an announcement.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
Your words cling to me,
Like dense smoke hanging in the air,
You penetrate my skin, like a piece of cloth
Your scent remains for hours,
Days,
Years.
Covered in your odor, stitched throughout my seams,
Your smell permeates through the skin it's tattooed in.
Leaving olfactory marks and scented scars,
Whenever the wind is called upon.
And I fall, tearing myself apart
Pieces of worn fabric, stretched so thin
That it's almost see through, when put up against the sun.
And you stitch me back together, just adding another layer.
Reimagining my existence,
You've made me something new,
Just a flesh sweater scented with layers of you.
-SLuR
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
Lately
I’ve been closing my eyes
reimagining the hieroglyphs
of springtime
at your door
and the way the light
touched your form
but now it’s just me
and the moon
redesigning the colors
in your room
sketching rivers and lakes
into the tombs
of our love.
Tell me what you’re thinking
though I know
that it isn’t of me
but she
is still in every
night vision
every daydream
half asleep
half turned to the universe
of her design
elements of refracting memories
words
that have so long since
been my curse.
Time
has made a beggar of me
when October has
dug her nails into
the April on my mind
mouth full of planet
but chest full of wind—
she is closed to me again
her form is a mountain
when mine is just a grin
just a shadowy friend
of her own
on the ground
in the field
where our love story
would end.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC