"reminicent" poems
He is scraggled,
bathed only by the suns light during the hours of his slumber on Miami dewed, morn soil.
He sleeps off the night before, though he is not reminicent of it in his dreams,
as his slumber is no longer dreamt, but devoured by the nightmare of life,
and nights and days have begun to slur into one another
untill one becomes another,
and vice versa.
The empty bottle in the bag was dumped miles ago
on the side of a road no longer remembered,
and the facade of the beggar was dropped long ago,
as the face of hope was rendered.
The known knowledge of his future demise does not scare him,
as the only friend that brings him peace is the one that will destroy him.
But he is alright,
as the short lived calm of his decent into the burbon torrent
is his way of riding his nightmares,
and as he drinks his way away tonight, honey,
he knows,
this truely is all there is.
a.r.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Don't you love the rain?
Reminicent of a place,
That could be heaven.
And you find comfort in that,
Now that you have escaped hell.
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC
Giving up:
It is when you look at the chef's knife at a strange hour wondering if it is sharp enough to draw blood. You already know it is, but the white lies beg to stay within your skin.
Don't you dare say I gave up, or I am giving up.
1. Especially when I cry with anger glassing over my eyes.
Bleeding out all the bad truths & rusty faults, for a better day.
I have not given up if I look for truth over sweet fiction.
2. How ferociously warm and red my cheeks are. The kind of red reminicent of berry stains in tumbled laundry. Truth is they were slapped by a ghost's hands.
Or when I found out that hot tears and hot showers feel the same.
Do not say I lack the strength to stay here, when my veins dance to a heartbeat; loud & defiant.
Don't ever say to someone: 'You gave up easily' unless you know the exact & imperfectly precise way their thoughts align into dizzy constellations.
Like the way you know the back of your hand.
Don't.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
The scraggley mountains in the distance
look like soft sleeping boddies
made round and soft
covered and swaddled
in an icy blanket of aproaching fog.
An emerald and ruby star hangs in the distance
reminicent of some **** covered nativity scene
with mules kicking
and a woman screaming
and piles of hay rotting into the shape of beds
and a fool man welcoming an immaculate carpenter
and a woman smug in deciet
as she pushes out into a pile of muddy grain
and rat ****
A sheet of rain falls sidesways in the distance
storm front drawing a visible line in the sky
the rain sounds like a waterfall
eating away at the concrete slowly over time
with icy crystal gums
as soft and deadly
as a sleeping bear
or a politicians words.
These things form the viege memories of a season.
Along with wood stoves,
the sticky smell of pitch,
hearty soup,
old musty books,
warm muddy boots,
and hot strong drinks.
Warming pioson to the core.
Winter sickness in the town where rain makes a grey christmas.
Every.
*******
Year.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
the light flickers
the candle plays tricks for me
a warm ambient glow,
its life, simply there for my entrancement.
if only you were the flame of this candle.
then I could watch you dance and play sensously
instead of watching shadows
make shapes reminicent of you,
flicker on the wall,
wishing you close,
feeling your warmth.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
A chasm'd lit spark in the sky
Once was the love
That brought together
you, and I
A solemn howl of natures fury
Once foreshadowed the love
That would escape
you, and I
A slight warmth of skin
Felt on my flesh
Reminicent of the days
Well kept, and spent
A breeze dancing blissfully
Once ignored by the rest
Now is all my heart feels
Tucked beneath my breast
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC