"repaint" poems
I like my bare feet
right in front of the fan.
It tickles,
the wind;
blowing kisses on my toes.
My toenails are red.
I'd just noticed; I'd forgotten
how I painted them shiny
as I hummed nonsense words.
It's chipping off now,
I'd have to repaint them.
Blue?
Purple?
No, I'll stick to red.
Red has many meanings
but I do not care much for them.
Some things are better left simple -
My toenails are just one of those things.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
I had never liked my name until i heard you say it.
Watching the syllables roll off your lips while they slip into a smile is equivalent to watching our hometown pass away through an open window,
the serene sensation of the wind blowing through my hair,
and blowing away the person i used to be.
You found the words to erase the self-portrait my brush always seemed to repaint,
no matter how hard i tried to change the ending.
When i asked you what your favourite food was, you said it was just dinner-
home cooked chicken and potatoes.
You said it reminded you of the easier days when a sunburn after a day at the beach was the worst thing that could ever happen to you.
On the night that was the very beginning of the rest of our lives,
In that moonlit cabin,
I realized i would be happy passing my days just listening to you talk.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
I’m a victim as you stream my life
Like a short film and I can’t remember my own name
You drape my skin over rusty bones that fail when the clock chimes
Yet you collect every strand of my hair
Torn and grown
Cut and combed
and repaint the shapes I used to be into finer lines
Why do you whisper silly words to me?
Yet I hang myself on them and engrave the fate you sealed for me
Why do you twist me at every angle? relishing in my deterioration
Soaking and rinsing your own wounds in the pools of my bitter mistakes and sweet memories
But these scars I wrap with your worn stems, vanish beneath my exterior
I am stainless
Sometimes,
when I am too tattered to walk, you carry me on your shoulder
But I remember when you grabbed my ankles and cracked my wrists
You cast me like a stone
And polish me like a trophy
Conceal me in your clock work
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC
I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.
Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.
That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.
Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:29 AM UTC
come, come with me
on this backward path
of shattered mirrors
and sidewalk cracks
walk, walk with me
and listen to the sounds
of the wondering birds
and things the wind found
dance, dance with me
at a bashment of bashful bows
wild twists, sylph-like twirls,
and elegant falls
lay, lay with me
in a passage of dreamt things.
i will place my heart
in your palm and try, try to breathe
breathe, breathe with me
can you not let me go?
melt away the malarkey with silence and
cure the angry thoughts with “i don’t know”
speak, speak with me
confabulate, but don’t ask what i feel
for i’d be reticent, or worse,
pre-occupied from thoughts by what’s real
meet, meet with me
can you find me halfway
in a field of resplendence
at the end of the day?
run, run with me
get you wild (like untamed flowers)
make you leave
(he’s a forest fire)
fall, fall with me
Wonderland doesn’t hurt if there’s two
when the Queen of Hearts sees ours
she won’t even conceptualize what to do
sink, sink with me
when i’m drifting, drowning, and there’s nothing left
but promise me you’d swim to shore
if it was between loss and loss of breath
leave, leave with me
and shall the world pull you away
in my heart, I’ll keep the pieces
of the promise that you would stay
scream, scream with me
tell the air and the dirt and the weeds
what is dry, what is broken, what is hurt
what you need
hold on, hold on with me
to memories and tales of the trees
of climbing limbs
and freedom in little things
stay, stay with me
in this bleeding, beating, of hearts
don’t get too close, but
don’t go too far
trust, trust with me
though it's complicated
and whims take the garden signs
and try to repaint them
pray, pray with me
see, the petals scattered to the breeze,
are not a concise coincidence
but the story of an averred belief
grow, grow with me
i hope that love will show us how
it starts as a seed, then a bud
then a vow
dream, dream with me
of crepuscular magic and roses in June
droplets are constellations
and irises the moon
feel, feel with me
in your embrace i seek shelter
hands like daisies in my hair
feet intertwined, we're ivy, but better
wonder, here with me
we don’t know what we’ll find
but if you keep me safe, dear one,
i’ll keep you wild.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
It's out with the old
And in with the new.
Spring cleaning
Rids my closet of
Bony skeletons
And chests of horrors.
All those times,
All those memories
That were swept
Under the rug,
Shake them out,
Beat the dust,
The feelings until
Last October's filth
Becomes clean again.
Repaint this room.
Refurbish that sofa.
Redo the tile.
Run your hand
Down the banister.
Feel the cinder's from
Last fall's fire,
The remnants, the remains.
Make my building
Like new again,
Untouched, as if
For the first time,
For the first buyer.
May 11, 2011
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
her favorite color is blue
her hair is blonde.
her lips are blue.
so are her fingers.
her nails are silver.
her heart is cold.
it’s winter here.
below freezing at this point.
blue.
the snow is a blue-white,
its untouchable.
cold, to the point where it hurts
she is blue.
she is dead.
blue
blue
blue
blue.
she was pale.
like a ghost.
maybe she was one.
pale.
blue.
she was smiling at me.
her lips were blue.
dark
blue.
her silver fingers
tapped along the
desk.
she had a blue pen.
uncapped, poised to write.
blue ink flowed out;
the pen broke,
ink spilling on her hands.
she didn't mind.
she told me she liked
blue.
she is dead.
she didn’t clean it up.
blue everywhere.
i went over to help her
she didn't know me.
she smiled, her lips blue.
dark
blue.
i smiled back.
i handed her a towel;
she cleaned.
the teacher wasn’t looking.
her hair was long,
cascading.
the ends of it,
blue.
her silver nails touch my
hands in thanks.
i went back to
my seat.
my friend looked at me.
i looked back.
he looked at the blue girl,
towel still in her hands.
he raised an eyebrow at me;
i shake my head.
blue girl stares at her pen,
broken in half,
the insides spilling out,
slowly then all of it gone,
wiped away like
it
wasn’t
there in the first place.
blue still on her mind.
we kissed.
it was after school.
i was standing outside,
and she came up to me.
to say thank you.
for helping her.
she was pretty.
her hair was pretty.
she was pretty.
she smiled,
i smiled back,
she stepped closer,
her blue dress blowing in the
wind.
it was spring
she was
alive.
and breathing.
blue.
i saw lots of blue.
her lips were blue.
dark blue,
and touched mine.
blue on pink,
silver on clear.
she pulled away
first.
smiled at me.
walked away.
blue lipstick on my lips
still.
i liked her.
her blue lips and
silver fingers.
they were part of her.
she was pretty.
my friend slapped me on the back
for getting
a kiss from her.
like it was a competition.
but it wasn’t.
he wouldn’t have been able to
handle her anyways.
she’s her own person,
an enigma of her own.
a didn’t understand
her myself.
she was beautiful.
she was alive.
i didn’t see her again
until the weekend.
she was covered in blue paint
in the paint store.
i needed to repaint
my room.
she offered to help.
she’s in my house,
in my room,
we’re alone
together.
i wonder if
she’ll
kiss me again.
she did kiss me.
when i touched her silver fingers,
she looked at me
and kissed me
again.
i didn’t pull away.
she pressed me
against my
wall,
blue paint on my
back,
on her hands,
in my hair.
i looked at her,
she looked at me.
we kissed again.
her hands on my shoulders,
she was a pretty
blue girl,
in my room.
she was warm.
she liked my name.
i liked hers.
i liked her.
a lot.
it was summer.
she was still
alive,
even prettier.
her hair was still blonde,
still silver.
she got a tan.
she knows me.
i know her.
i love her.
she doesn’t know.
i met her mom,
she’s also blue.
she met my family,
she loves them.
its fall,
her tan is gone,
back to
blue,
dark blue.
she said she loves me
i say i love her,
it’s winter and she is
dead.
i visit her grave,
buy her while flowers and
paint them
blue-dark-blue so
she’ll like
them.
i tell her i love
her,
that I’ll see
her soon.
i buy pink and
white flowers,
paint the white
blue.
pink for me,
blue for her.
she is dead, but
she is still
alive.
and blue.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
look,
she will never tell you her deepest secrets or kiss you quite long enough to feel whole. and some nights she will sneak out of bed and yell when you follow her, because there are nights when she needs to breathe and there have been too many fires too close to her throat lately.
let her go. tell her you know about thunderstorms, about storms so rough you seem to topple over at the thought of them—tell her, you too, have felt the earth shake beneath the soles of your feet a few times too many to stay still.
you don’t have to kiss her scars. you just have to kiss her.
boy, on good days, take her by her bruised hands and lead her to a place where you have always found sanctuary. kiss her then. she will trace your bones with her tongue and lay her hand on your chest to check if you’re hollow. kiss her then. sometimes she will smoke to fill herself with something else than pain. kiss her then.
look: when she trembles so loud you can hear her empty bones rattle, place one hand in her hair and one on her hip and kiss her. kiss her until she stills. being an avalanche like her is exhausting, but sometimes she just won’t know how to stop it.
when she falls asleep on the couch again, know that she is not avoiding you. she’s avoiding the emptiness of having you so close she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to touch yet. she doesn’t know if she earned it yet. and when you see her do her workout routine twice, it’s because the couch is giving her trouble sleeping—even more than the bed did. she hopes she will be too tired to care this way.
take her by the hand again. take her to bed. place her head on your chest. show her it’s alright to touch.
when she tells you she’s been counting the cracks in the ceiling because her head is filled with ideas of death and despair, repaint it. tell her this is a new colour for new thoughts and new beginnings. cover her eyes. kiss her eyelids. tell her they don’t always filter light but they don’t have to. tell her it’s alright to be an avalanche. tell her it’s alright to be an avalanche.
but remember this: when you are ready to fall to your knees, she will be there. when you feel the earth tremble beneath your feet, she will be there. and when your hands shake so much you don’t think you can hold her anymore, she will be there.
there is so much more to her than just something to hold. she’s not just this anger, she’s not just this closeness in her veins that makes you forget the way home, she is so much more than just gritting teeth and letting it go.
when you are ready to fall, she will always be there to catch you. remember: she knows the ripple of hurt that tears through your body so violently—she knows how it feels. she has felt it herself. when you tremble, she will make you still. when you tremble, she will make you still.
this is not just about her. this is about you, too. about the cracks in your ceiling. about your avalanche. realise that she understands. when you lay your head on her chest to check if she is hollow, realise she knows exactly what you’re doing. when you ask her to pass the cigarette, realise that she too, knows how it feels to fill yourself with something besides pain.
oh sweetheart, when the vastness of her love makes you agoraphobic, she will take you to the place she loves most and kiss you. she will kiss you breathless. don’t you know it’s in her blood to take care of you?
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
land’s become copper and rust
but for a few golden strands
of heavy-headed grass
spears tall, yet avoided harvest
appetites of roving deer
will soon consume them, too,
overcoming fears, that gray-band
of asphalt they dance against
they stand silent, await frost
certain to repaint the place
as cotton clouds, my breath,
remind the lie of endless life
clutched fast in cold-numbed limbs
this web of brittle bones,
like the huddled trees outstretched,
is tossed in bitter winds
and in there I lost your face
the body stooped and shuffled away
with never a backward glance
taking our childhoods with you,
old man
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Silver shares such calming feeling towards my lifeless shell,
responsibilities flow me with joy and smiles,
however, under my silver I wear black.
I repaint my black walls in silver coats, wearing optimism like a crown,
gazing towards my darkest moments with sophistication and charm.
Seductive, mysterious and a comfort to all eyes,
secretive, silliness and sadness overwhelms my negative soul.
Under all of the layers of black and silver,
screaming towards me for affection.
You can find the smallest droplets of pink,
slowly is growing all over.
Hope holds me in a grip of pleaing and prays,
for one day I hold understanding and warmth with romance all my days.
Femininity is belittled thrown into a trashcan of self-doubt,
for once my little childish soul states,
"Can't we let femininity out?"
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
I repaint the Sistine Chapel with only my tongue
just to see your face again.
Oh, your holy chocolate covered soul,
holy bird bone finger tips.
How you snap like a star and then burn again.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 6:41 AM UTC
You are a full moon rising.
You are a bitter cold winter morning where I have to crawl out of bed, sleepy-eyed and still in a daze, to scrape the ice off my windshield in a hurry,
My pajama pants, wet at the bottoms from the snow,that now cling to my ankles, begging me to love them.
You are the question "why?" asked over and over again on repeat until the bathwater flooding my ears drowns you out.
If you tried so hard to leave this world,
Why'd you want so badly to stay with me?
When did it start to become all about you?
Because pretending to love you out of fear was like being forced to sit and repaint a table when I had already sat and watched the paint dry.
You never could repeat back to me my favorite color until I turned it in the face.
You said I never looked good in green.
And you never understood the weight words could hold until I told you not to call again.
And you must have realized then because it's been a year and I haven't heard from you.
If I'm being truthful,
Loving you was being seven years old and coming home after a long vacation to find out your goldfish had died.
It was missing your bus and having to walk ten blocks home in the pouring rain.
Being yours was when I realized who I was and realizing that wasn't who you wanted me to be.
And most importantly, it was realizing that I was not yours after all.
I was mine.
You are a full moon rising,
But I don't howl at you anymore.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
the lovely picture window (always the same, always different)
There are painters who must,
having found the place, must,
repaint it, compelled to repeat it,
each a variant, yet always the same,
always different
I awake to a perspective that is wide,
always differentiated from the prior,
always almost similar, but never with
the same exactitude, differing attitude,
same longitude, identical latitude,
always different
horizon distanced, in all ways a view
encompassing, duality near, far distant,
harmoniously, eyes open, magnetized
to wake before 6am by the suns modesty,
first light, first clarity, a curtain risen, yet,
always different
am I so blessed or thus cursed, for the urge
to disclaim and ode, compose and thus self-
decompose, analyze, reflect, slice apart, needing
the comprehensive understanding this me/place
scripts the raw appreciation, daily differentiated
always the same
this peaceful venue seizures, chest calmly
pounding at the insistence it commands,
the price I must pay for the prize to praise,
to sing, weep, reward restful sleep with lyrics
eked out, pouring, unsustainable yet finished,
always different
a single May Iris, returns, born from a torrential,
thunder, lightning, sky mayhem, rises by a sundial
greets midst a planted clump, upright rises, lavender,
in a majestic solitary, absent but a day prior, yet mine eyes
failed to witness its discernible emerging birthing creation,
always different,
always the same
here, I am Iris too, always the same, a day aged,
but the differences minute but stolid actualized,
this overnight sensation, my body’s restoration,
what I visualize, indivisible, now visible, realized,
miracle of continuity, unchanging chained change,
always different ,
always the same
wonder, am I more blessed, or a s~lightly cursed being,
my breath restored, wet eyes full brimming, changed,
revived but always modified, a newer old man, whose
sum total always a different number, but in sequential,
compelled to confess, no understanding of this miracle,
always the same,
always different,
this daily visionary miracle
6:36 AM
Fri May 24
2024
Silver Beach,
Shelter Island
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 6:53 AM UTC
Day's Work Is Done...
Sun is setting,
Feet are fueled up...with enthusiasm
Thoughts are filled with pictured expectations,
To be met at the door with warm hugs and kisses
A hot meal on the table...steaming coffee awaits
All these, comfort my fatigued limbs and minds.
A smile, in anticipation ...a sense of *****
Atmosphere tickle my mind...i hurry
To enter my safe ground...my comfort zone
My own White Picket Fences.
|| || || || |\ || \| // || ||
They may have tiny fractures
Some boards missing, broken, or collapsed,
Its concrete floors and walls may be creviced
I can not shun........or hide from
Imperfect truths, about my family,
Our relationships, our health.....every truth
About my loved ones and me...
It is where i come home to...
After each struggle's end
My feet and mind take me back...to my own,
My known familial boundaries...
An inner force spurs me to make those broken boards
Upright...firm once again......like hardwood trees,
Be unshaken by water and wind....be unwavering
Then, i repaint them
...to bring back the glow.
Some broken fences could still be fixed
some are worthy of fixing; but,
There are those that seem to be, beyond repair
needing some kind of intervention.
/| || || // |/ \\ ||
Sally
Copyright July 9, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
Shutter of Polaroid glamour
Smile for the world, curse the camera
Hide the bruises with sequined satin
The limelight flatters skin of cold, hard stone, you the latter
Liz you marble statuette
Maril you glitt'ring diamond
Regal laugh & darling, another glass of 'champagne'
Douse your bones in Chanel
Put on your lipstick
Pull the curtain
...Start the show
We're their golden circus- "watch the beasts, tame the women, hear the showmen."
Whips, rings of fire!
Top hats & show lights...
Which's your favorite ring: the songstress, the cad, the dream?
Pour yourself a drink, repaint the mask, shining glitz & gleam.
Children of the Golden Age, driver start the Cadi
Hollywood front-page, plaster royalty.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Marriage was never really in the cards for us
But it was simply the next step in our relationship, like growing out of a pair of shoes
You would buy the new shoes wouldn’t you? So why not just upgrade to a newer status of “us”?
I never knew what I wanted out of life
You always had a plan
I thought we balanced each other out
But maybe we were at opposite ends of the universe, slowly being pulled further apart by our vast differences
But if I knew one thing in this world, it was that I loved you
God did I love you- I was as sure of it as I was as sure as the stars and moon above that gave me such comfort on those cold nights when my anxiety would steal any notion of sleep
You used to find me lying outside in the grass, staring up at the sky at 2, 3 in the morning
You never said a word, just lay down beside me and held me until I stopped sobbing
We fought constantly
Over stupid little things that I now regret
We would get into raging wars about which flowers to buy from the stand- I love sunflowers and you hate yellow
After we fought you would shove me against the wall and kiss me until your tongue melted away all the curses I meant to scream at you
The week we decided to repaint our kitchen was the week I met another man
It wasn’t planned
Nothing ever really was, if I had anything to say about it
We met at the flower stand; he said my sunflowers were beautiful
Soon we were fooling around in the back of my car every night that week
The next day at Home Depot we were fighting about the paint color
Of course I wanted yellow and of course you hated it
I screamed that I had slept with someone else and the look on your face just about killed me
It was like I had stolen all the dreams you ever had, and I guess I did because I took your heart and I shattered it like a mirror
We haven’t spoken much since, just civil conversation with lawyers present about the divorce
You should have bought me sunflowers.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Throw me out
like a mismatched puzzle piece,
like a speck of dust you dust off your shoulders.
Kick me out
like a bad taste in your mouth,
like a scratch you try to repaint over and over.
Leave me be
like a hunger you shut out,
like a flower that's dying because of the weather.
Leave me to die
like love with an expiration date,
like a smoldering cigarette ****
like images that won't come together.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
she's all addicted
to the controversy of a villain
she made up to please
mommy and daddy
when I hadn't
even touched a part of her soul
forever ready to rewrite me
drop of the hat
uninvite me
like she invited a wolf
but I'm fighting my own
halfway across
the world
I don't
have the kind of time she wanted
when she tried to pretend
that I'm haunted
all for the sake of
inviting
herself in to repaint
she saw me she thought
fixer upper
but it's rougher
to watch me rise
it's easy to watch
someone suffer
when you think
I've got it better
it'll never
come around
to catch me
surprise
when it turns out
you're faking
and all of the rules that you're breaking
and ignoring
are recording
the score while you're
trying to pin it all on me
leave my name out of your mouth
so mommy and daddy will be proud
the bad man
can't get you now
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 4:19 AM UTC
How alike--both born in Bergen County
among mansions and stone-lined yards,
but my childhood had been framed with lace,
yours a light bulb broken before tasting electricity.
My mother called me your “moral compass.”
My sister said I kept you from disappearing--
as if you were born from leftover ashes
smearing the stone hearth black
as the nights we’d lie awake and you’d
asked me what color to repaint your bedroom
and how to talk to that boy from your class.
You insisted I spend every night at your house.
Sometimes, we’d race our fourwheelers wild,
I always lost, far behind you--and further still
when you found that skin-and-bone crowd with
vomit-stained clothes, their teeth and eyes
yellow as their cigarette-tarred fingertips
and when they stumbled near, I smelled
breath foul as the stench of a mouse
dead in my car’s engine--slowly burning out.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
He slapped her
Hard
She lay on the Dirt floor until she heard His footsteps disappear
into the Safety of their bedroom.
She looked up at Her yellowbrown walls.
“I should really repaint them”
They reminded her of Summer
and she hated Summer.
She wanted to cry,
but didn’t.
She wanted to call Them,
but couldn’t.
After all, this was only His First time
She climbed into their yellowbrown bed
which matched the yellowbrown walls
and yellowbrown fridge
which was specifically color coordinated with
the yellowbrown drapes that she had Loved so much.
She fell a sleep,
her warmish body pressed against His.
His being as hot as Summer.
She hated Summer.
She Loved him.
He Loved her.
He a pologized.
She thought it would Never happen a gain.
Never A nother time.
A nother cycle.
Repetition
Repetition
REPETITION
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over A gain.
She began to flood her river onto her too pink Cheeks
Slowly Choking to Death on her own
Self pity and Shame
And all he could do was grant her a hug of Darkness
as she quietly Drowned
After all, this was only his Ninth time.
She still hated Summer
And she still Loved him
He Loved her.
She fingered her bruises
like a well cherished Friend.
Gingerly
Carefully
Lovingly
She refused to buy him another Beer.
She thought he might Stop.
He didn’t.
He Con tinued
To De stroy
PERFECTION
They reported His Death.
She stood in front of grayblack coffin,
Her river Flowed faster and faster down
her emaciated Cheeks and onto His tombstone.
Faster and faster still
until she had to break the cool, cold surface
just to Find her own Humanity.
She still Loved him.
He must still Love her.
Her Mind began to drift.
Is there a God?
A man maybe,
with a long beard and a Wise and Kind face.
She had seen Him on TV.
Some kind of Religious channel about the story of Jesus.
She thought she would
Like to be like Jesus.
She made sure the rope was Tight.
The chair was just tall Enough to reach
with the Ends of her toes. She privately smiled
That Smile to herself.
As if she were sharing a Private joke.
And she was the Only one
who really knew the punch line.
The yellowbrown room was Hot.
As Hot as Summer.
She hated Summer.
She Jumped.
The rope was Tight.
It didn’t take long.
She was just trying to get to that Better place.
The Place where a TV God
with a long beard and a Kind face
would welcome her with the sharpness of a knife.
A Place where there was no Shame,
no yellowbrown fridge
that was carefully color coordinated
with the yellowbrown drapes,
no Summer,
no Private jokes,
no Imperfections,
and no Rivers.
A place of Peace.
Where there were no other bluepurplegray galaxies in the Universe
other than Him and Her.
Because she Loved him.
He Loved Her.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
the words are crisp in my mouth
but by the time they hit the door
they are stale as my hand
they are gone like wisps of smoke
their scent decorates the room
and brings a parade of memories
feasts with laughing friends
and a long footpath with her blue dress
it makes my sunshine weary
and drives clouds into my souls parklands
she is one such long misbegotten memory
she was a true love of mine
she is gone like a wisp
of smoke on a beach
she....
she makes my time pass slow
and leaves me wanting to repaint
the moons difficult changing colors
as it waxes and wanes thru the seasons
like her deep eyes
but she mends with love
and she nourishes with compassion
and she makes cut out stars and comets
that we pin to the ceiling
she makes breakfast
we eat it laying in a open field
listening to the fall wind rustle the trees
i master this lame beast
and contrive to march it slowly through the night
while it seized and sputtered
to the edge of light
the edge of forgiveness
there i lay down
but the world has no further use for a broken old man
potions and notions antiquated
she with a woman's gentleness
gathers up what remains of me
chiding me softly for having wandered astray
knitting the pieces parts to semblance
she admits beyond mere frowns
her reasons for being here
that my words reach her
that my soul enraptures her
my humor embraces her
and unlike many others she has known
my heart hears her every word
and thirsts to know her mind
love affairs are more than in a bedroom
they are in the heart and mind
i will have my lover and know her
because everything about her matters to me
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Begging for explosive technology
Gripping ancient ideas
Merely coordinating fresh routes
Deleting paintings to
Repaint the fire bombings on Dresden
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 11:21 AM UTC
i use
all of the pain
i know
each time
the season changes
to repaint my soul
because i know
how much you hate
the same color
in various
shades of tone
Dec 13, 2022
Dec 13, 2022 at 6:05 PM UTC
The chatter in the room is almost mundane
The woman behind me has a dog she’s keeping outside who the neighbors aren’t too fond of because he’s a bit loud at night
I got to my hair appointment almost 15 minuets late as I slipped through the door of the I suppose modern styled ‘Yellow Strawberry’ my mother was on the phone
She wears this head set that wraps around your neck and never realizes she yells when she is talking to people and it makes me cripplingly anxious
The mirrors are tall and filled with unimpressed faces glaring at us as my marvelous royal purple polyester velvet skirt glistens in the sunlight peeking in from the dropped shades
I mutter out the time of my appointment apologize that we are late and give them my name
I know it is spelt wrong in the computer, and the odds of one of the people in here having a dog named bella are unbelievable high
As I’m escorted back to my hair dressers station I remember, I need to repaint my chipped glittery red nail polish before I pick all of it off and feel disgusting
But this particular nail polish is extremely difficult to get off and I regret every-time I paint my nails with it
But it looks so god **** beautiful in the sunlight and my lover adores the color against my almost porcelain like skin so I indulge from now and again
I am here to hopefully cut about three inches off of my hair, it’s getting too long it sits painfully at about an inch or two below my shoulders
Four months ago I cut off about 10 inches and I felt about 50 pounds of anxiety lift from my chest
I think my fears started to manifest in my curls and the knots that kept returning reminding me over and over again I needed a desperate change
And now I’m finding myself approaching another much needed change, it’s nice
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
Merely a silhouette with its head cocked to the side, arms reaching out, stretching through the majesty in knives, and stabbing spots into my eyes.
I rise to burn
Feel to learn
For the better of my vendettas
Steady hands
On humbled umbrellas
Of sedatives
And other derivatives
Of my dissatisfaction
In lacking patience , I repaint the pavement, and face it after lacing spaceships with the enslavement of my basements, and place it in my heart.
Spiraling in slimy things
In lucid dreams
I'm asleep
Walking amongst the dead
My demon brings
The corpse of kings
In sheets
From battered beds
I am said
To have slithered
With the best of men
Drained and bested
In the molested
Ingesting of entire
Settlements
Not to mourn
As i warned
In subtle hints
Most would whimper
As i rinsed my hands
Of this
Varmint ****
And moved on with it
I get what i got coming
As im drumming
The anthem
And humming
With phantoms
Tandem
To alchemical
Dreams
Singing
In romantic strings
Scrutinizing
My advertising
Of fiends
Leaning in
To scream
I awake unclean
Seeing
Differently
Than before
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC