"relocating" poems
The cactus ate the moon;
a cosmic starflower;
a cyanide razorblade.
You ate your way through the mouse droppings
in the cereal bowl
and look at me through lens-less everythings.
The sun took the moon
to his midnight hideaway
and she was absent that night.
Beneath the artificial breeze
blowing noisily, raucous;
birds in a tree eating acorns like squirrels do.
I never gave you hope;
I never gave you nothing;
I never gave you what you deserved.
Senseless, mindless, wandering wanderlust
wonderlust
you're keeping yourself company tonight.
Ha! playing with yourself again, I see.
Picking your nose and rubbing your toes
in the sandy sandy dandy boy beaches.
Friendly, never ceasing.
Repeating repeating repeating lines
repeating repeating repeating signs
repeating repeating relocating lies
Nice to just let go
no reality
no gravity.
But I'm not defying, no
nor scrying, oh
but lying, go.
She gave me her hand
and expected me to restitch the fibres
as if I were ever so good a tailor.
Surgeon.
Nevermind.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
Gently scraping the adhering paper from the firm plastic, colorful cube
That beared a delicate weight in my soft, precarious pink hands,
I grasped the sticker and pressed it on my protuberant little veins--
“Innocence!” Clarence cried my misleading appellation,
“Are you cheating? You’re taking off the stickers, mindlessly relocating them
To unravel (or reassemble, rather) the poor little tormented Rubik’s.”
*“Nay, you fool. I’m just rearranging them so that no one can solve the puzzle.
I’m a sadist, not a fraud.”*
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Such a snake you are,
poisonous words dripping like venom from fangs under bitten lips,
striking at the ever-so slightest nudge of your tail,
retreating and hissing for help from those you belittle;
Do I really seem like such a foolish little mouse,
slave and prey to your every whim, every change of mind?
I'd like to think not;
For your cussing and fussing, screaming and shouting,
while throwing a little hissy fit, is not proper etiquette,
even for a reptile such as yourself.
Such a tiny wriggling thing must be put in its natural place,
relocated to where it cannot bite the children
to where it can go find others like itself,
away from the big scary predators that might hurt it;
Humans, cars, bikes, cats, dogs, oh the possibilities are endless,
but you wound up in my path, unlucky you,
a demonic and unforgiving rage personified;
If you are a snake, I am a dragon,
if you are a fish, I'm a bloodthirsty shark,
darling don't you see how this works?
I've dealt with you long enough, you pest, you ungrateful little thing,
my mercy is off, our truce is through, now God only knows what'll happen to you,
did you think me to be a kind human being?
Well, I guess you're mistaken, so take a number, sweetie,
I'll call for you when I'm done sending others to the graveyard,
for if you think I'd even hold you at the top of my list,
you're sadly mistaken, yet again;
You should probably stop trying to predict me,
stop blaming me for each little thing,
for a predator can't be blamed for taking out pests,
nor animal control for relocating vicious creatures;
You silly little snake, do you think yourself to be a viper,
when really you're just a common garter?
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
The inner city is relocating
every day there's new direction,
sash windows replaced by double-glazing
robust masonry sandexted,
the muffling of the bespoke past proceeds.
Yet Parties and boom music,
testify to weekend strain,
Sometimes we get more than we need !
How I have longed to reside in Catsfield
nr Pudding Hill Lane
amongst the 888 parishioners
and live with a Battersea rescue cat
a victim of London neglect,
someone's got to live with Phoenix rising, I suppose.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
Now, there's no reason these nights can't
dissemble our daytime woes.
With bottles uncorked, we'll paint
friendly faces on daylight foes.
The ground's not shaking.
Your breath's just ragged.
Faces shine and cities glow...
but, come sunrise, we're flying blind,
while keeping our heads low.
Still I remember the time that
we chucked that radio
from that rooftop sinking to
street level, speakers played Manilow
Transistors scattered
Our footsteps clattered
Down the fire escape we'd go
laughing hard, police up in arms
alleyways lead us home
We wanted
to up and ******* leave
But we're tethered
to this place by our heartstrings
So we're always
celebrating our defeats
We wanted
to up and ******* leave
I'm off and running in circles
around my own lasting fears
You're off the wagon and just
rolling dice hung on rearview mirrors
We're contemplating
on relocating
back to those familiar years
but sunrise comes, we're twiddling thumbs
and hoping stormclouds clear.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Is there such thing as the greatest or are you just the latest?
DNA mixed with chromosomes, little bit of greatness,
Do you have to do it first, or do it better than the first person?
Life is not a game but the experience is in first person,
And the way you could hurt me is zero to none, but in the ways of many,
Hope the number of days I have left is not to shy of many, but I wonder the most all is at what’s the center,
Will you consider this a poem because I press enter? Just a thought, which is a splinter, leading to another moment, hindered, and it hurts like a wound cut open on a subzero winter day,
Blah blah blah, **** I’m stuck, what should I say......
Looking in the dictionary where words are legislated, a place where black and white has never been so creative, and then I get creative, the piece of paper is landscape waiting for a God to come create it, so I ask God to make my words almighty, Speak it and none shall debate it,
"But watch out for the snakes Ben, anacondas of the drama, please think of relocating, as darkness unfolds, and I know you think I created it and maybe I did but I...I...I. Forbid",
God Forbids,
I’m stuck again, wanting to be great, wanting to be the best, wanting to be next, less stressed and Noticed, never did they say that life was no test, and I hope I never fail again,
Because next time the gun won’t jam again, tried to play almighty and he laugh and said never try to play again, here’s another chance benny man, I hope you plan to win
Thought of death brings fear enough, but when you want to do it yourself, it never re-appears enough; **** right I’m tearing up, only for a moment my chest is clearing up, but when I go to bed at night I think **** I’m giving up,
I live with what could have been, and now it haunts me, they say the fear keeps you alive but what’s the phrase for when you don’t want to be?
I’m done thinking now, of course of I’m lying, because if I ever stop thinking of random of stuff, of course I’m dying,
I may never be the greatest, but you know I’m trying, resolutions for the pollution from the voices trying to **** Zion.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
this for you angel!
happines from heaven is love with intentions of faithfulness!
dont let no lie bring your brAin cons ions down!
for when you walk with your heAd down , your suffering!
its like living in hell!
where kids die of hunger
trees get turned to paper plastic and pencils!
for you two can write with stones on stones!
dont let the sky your love where your sun is at die in the concrete jungle!
that happiness!
those beautifull mountAins turned to beautifull temples!
we are walking all as one through apakalypse!
covered faces, distintive races as we are imbracing
for were not racing
we got pAtiance and my time is my evidence!
never look at the clock!
shadow around the tre let you know whT time it is,
stars relocating you to your destinAtion!
follow the ants for they are saving all the seeds!
follow the birds for each bird eats a different seed!
follow the jAguar for it will teAc you how to fight!
become one with your mind!
you are here to die, but with someone you love by your side!
bless my daughter mArysol quetzal zaragoza n if this heart mormor kills me body, my mind will live eternAlly
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Interwoven in the grand matrix of our existence,
is the paradox of Divine Intervention and Free Will.
With the ability to choose,
We create the bitter and the sweet,
interpretations vast, affecting the collective.
Within this web, a strand of familiarity,
alongside an ocean of great mystery.
We remember our family, distinct
by memory, visions, and scent.
We choose to connect,
unraveling the secrets that dance
gracefully just below our noses.
Answers always available,
questions seldom posed.
Opening the door,
a door to another door,
with no walls to support it.
Endless doorways to
an infinite space, needing
not to be “opened” in the first place.
We can always be open,
mindfully.
Authentically visualize a
boundless sea of Everything all at once,
and a thoughtful creation of entryways.
Based on how we choose,
our experiences become molded
and ripple into the choices beside us,
echoing from our brothers and sisters.
The vibration of our Will,
swimming, radiating
through the cosmos,
relocating land we hardly recognize,
but knew all along.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
1.) Our US based Clients have recently begun negotiating/implementing changes to the terms of our Purchasing Agreements that will allow them the ability to pay in currencies other than the US Dollar. Usually, the most requested forms of payment are now in either RMB/Yuan, Euros, Rubles, or Dinars.
2.) Tied to this, we have also noticed that our US based Clients are relocating their payment centers out of the US, usually from New York. Instead, we are now being told that we will need to be invoicing our US Clients through their new payment offices, located in such places as Dubai, Singapore or more times than not; Hong Kong. Also, those same individuals/Department VPs, usually based out of New York, we are now finding, have also suddenly relocated to these various countries in order to set up their new payment centers.
The companies involved are household names.
So if they are starting to diversify their payment centers away from using US Dollars, we (meaning I and my Chinese partner), can only assume that they know something is coming and that being tied to a US Dollar based transaction could place them at a competitive disadvantage.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
We are the dream world.
How beautiful the world would be if there were no great men or saints and virgins and wisest or the kindest and the mercifullest and the sorcerers or the scientists or the philosophers or the murderers or the rapists .
As in, if none knew each other.
If,co existence was a celebrated event.
Everyone on earth packing, and moving, and settling, more than a dozen times an year. Government computers relocating everyone in ease, and earning and sheltering. The main idea of survival was to celebrate all of it. Or, better be an entity of the whole earth. Pack and move and change the setting whenever an emotional turmoil emerged. This routine was just not, not possible, but proved out to be the best world any a baby can be born into.
So darned welcoming.
The world today that we have is anti-life. Borders forces and military and taxes and police all to guard, none to serve. Today you are reminded that you'll die any moment, for each moment of being alive. And then, maybe your body can be eaten by better wormes or burns.
Nobody wants to celebrate life. Forget about the pandas ******* a li'l lesser this year or about signing the campaign against government to support anti-natural planning campaigns, or that lesser people are celebrating the monstrous virtue of pity to hang another's redemption by feeling proud in his disgusting a state. Or perhaps you might say global warming, is amazing. Its deadly. This ******* earth has been subject to all kinds of Celestial, rapists, murderers, cheap killers, dons, mafia, assassins , corpses and lunatics. And, these notorious ones being of space, increased their strength by thousand folds and got **** names too. Asteroids, meteors, meteor showers and space explosions to name a few.
And, to assert it, earth has been surviving all these unguarded events for so long of a huge chunk of its existence without we chipping in.
See !
We are insignificant.
Try, living your own life.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Vladimir whispers comfort to me:
*Holly
Holly
Holly
Holly
you should shed your scalesss
on some cheap trolley railssss
Just go, take your passport!
Hold me 'round your neck for sport.*
Smouldered by a motley
Who ****** up my good wing
Denying me proxy
Intaking the most vital thing
The wind is my only real motivation
Inciting a remedy verse
It feels like the strangest locomotive sensation
You find me livid and ready to burst
I notice the finality of some tension approaches
Wait! do you feel the need to breathe?
Are we all indebted to these crimson coaches
While god pushes the sky down on you and me?
I want to wait out their tussles and be grateful
But I pay Her in ****** taxes
I want to dry out my muscles and be helpful
But I'm stuck on a flooded axis
Dreaming of San Juan
Where I tracked predator dung
The search goes on
Where we lost one failing lung
Lead me to the classroom globe
Let me decide when to Disapparate
Give me mother's recipe for a ribosome
I'm sure my trash will eventually dissipate
Erasing
A swing
Defacing
Her ring
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC
The Mother in space demands
that we all learn to read Hegel
in the original German.
She pours me a glass of lemon
grape koolaid and rubs
my eyes out of my head
but the sugar in the juice
is so thick in my body and veins
that they clump and scratch
my capillaries.
I feel the pressure in my fingertips
and the inside of my nose,
the part I push on to relieve stress.
A lonely doe in small grass,
perched roughly near the space commander,
is proximal
approximately wrapped in gauze
from bone to toe in shawls
of dead wasps, strips in equal length running up
deer thighs. Proximal to my soul, my essentiality.
This is a technique called “Relocating
The Issue”
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
i love how the tattoo reflect on your skin
as shaded at the sunlight.
stride at the thousand words,
relocating the gap of your body
telling me some poetic verses
like how the moon & the stars
can rekindle to each other.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
Crumbling Victorian concrete falls to the ground.
The crunch of rubble, levelling histories to dust.
All this is “progress”, “a bright opportunity” and “good for the economy”.
Yeah, but for who?
Those who live there? The communities forged from years of migration?
Those who take pride in the shape and feel of their own unique milieu?
It seems, no.
Look closer and you’ll find a hidden clue - the quietly mouthed magic word: “apartments”.
It won’t be long before a weekly shop will need a pay-day loan.
Or the late night fish supply shop turns into a swishy niche café.
WINZ offices relocating to where its denizens have been priced off to.
Meanwhile the newly whiter-than-whitewash feel of our once beloved suburbs,
present themselves as bastions of modernity and “progress”.
What lies in the rubble is not just dust, it’s the debris of pākehā civility.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
I want to be a shooting star before my time
Someone has to retire early from the humam race
but what would I do
ask for spent coffee granules
to grew my indoor tomatoes?
I cannot imagine venturing outdoors
too often
even to the Library
by the time i take early retirememt
i be alongside the new indigenous
without recourse to manners
let alone community
My area's already going down hill
the cascade of relocating central London already set in motion.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 4:49 PM UTC
When you have a friend who lives miles away, in a different country, in a different city it has it's lows. Mainly, the lowest times are being unable to meet up with them whenever you want, when you're having a rough day they aren't there to comfort you or wipe away your tears or watch your favourite comedy sitcom with you which is why when I'm prime-minster I'm relocating the entire human population into a 10,000,000 story skyscraper that acts as a bridge from the earth to the moon which brings together friends, families and lovers.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
The bellowing and rustling of the wind
Screaming in from the mountains
Coming in with new found power
Power from changes in the weather
Bringing cooler temperatures and dust
Dust from earth that has been disturbed
Disturbed by the sprawl of people
People trying to relocate
Relocating in places with new and fascinating beauty
Beauty that was previously unknown to them
Them, the people coming.....
Brian Hill - 2019#138
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 9:03 AM UTC
I sit by the window on a Saturday morning
with nothing but a cup of tea in my hand.
I was too late to watch the sunrise, so instead
I watch the way the flowers blow in the wind
painting streaks in the canvas of the sky.
The incessant scratching of a coin against a lottery ticket burrows into my mind.
My inner voice shouts over it, just to remain in control
filling up my head, pushing out my thoughts and threatening to explode
but perhaps it is too late.
The scratching already comes from within.
It reminds me of the time I scratched my arms raw
after my mother told me
no boys would like me if I kept hurting myself.
Just like the time my mother told me
that I could never make it as a poet.
I redirect my attention to the window
trying to focus on what I want to see
(is that what they tell you to do in therapy?)
Unfortunately,
I had already wrung every drop of poetry
Out of this humble garden.
Back in the kitchen, my mother stands up,
and I notice the scratching has stopped.
Instead, the sharp and familiar sound of ripping paper fills the air.
I am reminded of all the poems I had ripped to shreds to start anew
as she curses and throws the ticket in the trash,
dramatically slamming the door.
A selfish part of me is happy that she didn’t win.
Because I know that if she did, she wouldn’t hesitate
to do the same to our lives.
Relocating us to a place
where flowers and fountains are found in rows
like fresh cuts on an arm
and not in haphazard paint splatters
like stars in the sky, or freckles on a face.
A grand white mansion,
elegant as a mausoleum,
where the sound of scratching
and early morning yelling
and late night sobbing
would echo through the empty rooms
bouncing from wall to wall
until the house threatens to fall apart.
Or else, we would be on a plane,
to some far off destination,
Sitting all in one row and
shielding our phones from each other,
thinking how much better it would be
to sit amongst strangers.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 2:03 PM UTC
i was used to it:
the settling, unsettling
but never settling in
never settling down.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Since when did you fall back into the habit
of making homes out of people?
Stop being so silly.
It's dangerous.
You begin again with your inner monologue:
When will you ever learn?
You've slipped back into the glass comfort of
relocating your heart.
Back from the library into
a girl's blue hair, a boy's ricocheting argument,
so it beats in time,
in time
to the indie music pirouetting out of shared earphones.
But then of course,
you're alone in your bedroom, thinking, realizing.
Those flowers that you've planted
in the skin of one, the eyes of another,
the hands and conversations, notes and
t-shirts
will die one day.
Death frightens you, keeps you
wide-eyed fearful.
A black nothing where
you can't grow flowers.
In all this, in all this,
you've forgotten to sow seeds in your own veins
and take care of your own petals.
You're bloodless and so
your petals lie flat and pale,
dying.
It isn't pretty.
And maybe that's why those homes
where you've nurtured a garden,
planted roses, lilies, ******* sunflowers,
eventually crumble, vanish,
leave.
Before you know it, you're staring at somebody else's home,
somebody else's flowers.
And wishing they were yours.
Haven't I told you
not to make homes out of people?
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
I will rewrite history.
will decoupage the walls and lay
today's newspapers across our scripts
notated phone calls between
you and i
will let the past be the past but
i will scumble it over in red alkyd flat
line the hairlines with vicuna threads
and braided burlap
will let the sink run till it
lifts edges of the counter,
soapstone memorials we
built to emphasize our
bitter weaknesses for
eachother to live up to
till everything runs between
the floorboards
everything about you and i
will bubble up and release
gently snap and move apart
we were no mettalurgists
but we tried--
to be as hard as all get up
iconel hearts stripping
eachother and you
bought out, you win
you're the alloy
and I am
raw skin and soul
but I willl not be
bothered by the upheaval
as much as i break apart
(because I have been)
making a fool of myself
but i have hope that something
new will crack the casing
i am leaving in the quietest
way possible
relocating
he left months ago
and i am just starting to pack
my things but i wouldn't have
it any other way--
have you ever tried to force a
purge?
here i am,
here it is
the runoff.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
My first takeaway from my trip was that I love Greg and I should tell him.
But is that the right thing to do?
I keep having this vision of him making ***** jokes in the kitchen while cooking and I blurt it out and he gets wide eyed & overwhelmed with the weight of me finally vocalizing what I think we’ve both known for a while.
Am I too much for him? Would I be a burden? Would I keep him from blossoming into the most free and interesting version of himself?
Am I not enough? Do I not want and care about enough of the things he does? Does it matter that I don’t have a strong conviction to compost and fight for the environment like him?
Is me saying, the thing we know and I am pretty sure both feel going to just mess up the whole beautiful dance we’ve been doing the past 2+ years?
Should I take my own advice in my old Greg poem of just seeing where it goes, letting it leave easy if it does instead of fighting for us?
Or is he consciously or subconsciously waiting for me to express my feelings because if he did it, if he were to match me, He would have a lot more on the line than me. Relocating to a new city, changing his plans, making new friends. And I am already here. Grounded with the inability to move for a few years.
Will he be willing to take the leap?
Is it possible that us together could be just as wonderful as I imagine?
Growing together and encouraging each others individual growth.
Relationships and commitments have always made me feel like I’m giving up something.
That I would go from all of these possibilities of me to this limited, reduced version with a more fixed future and outcome.
But with him, I feel like I am expanding.
Sep 9, 2024
Sep 9, 2024 at 11:58 PM UTC
Torrents like sayings.
Cliffs of abuses raining floods
of wasted wards.
Saliva of uncouth bluffs
unstoppably raining.
Dripping parrotic halitosis of abuses
'....wash your mouth'........
Rustic unwashed mouth spitting
Countless dews of gashing abuses
Lock up the tunnel of wastages
From the unrestrained drains.
Unchained gutter gutted the aroma
of peace,
Like a rushing fire of hell.
Muted silent covering podium of still
And gangling abuses
Rebrushing,
Rearranging,
Resettling,
Renovating,
Relocating
Scaffolds of alignment.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 10:41 PM UTC
when you’ve written too many poems
vaguest of recollections of the prior,
having not seen many for years,
till someone drops one on my path in a
wave-by-remember-me, did I write this?
all I know, all I’ve learned from this long gig,
the best poems from my fingertips that came
tap tap tapping, were the ones, the provocations,
driven by loving the poetry of others, or those
all about others.
my eager meager ain’t much to write home about,
but when your stuff is a trigger, gotta figure,
there’s a bottle in the ocean that just hit me
on the head, messaging me go forward,
pay thanks to those who evoke, yeah, provoke,
new spillages of inspiring gratitude for
relocating my New Moon Melange^
yep that’s it.
*so is there
such a thing?
as re-remembering,
just knowing
my name is hard
(you understand),
the inspiration
oft forgot,
so I write it all
up and down,
insurance so to speak,
for re-remembering
when you stumble
on it, wont’t fumble.*
yep that’s it.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 11:33 AM UTC