"repairing" poems
There's a reason there's a path outside your door
that leads to a road
that leads to an interstate,
that leads to an airport.
And there's a reason that planes fly from that airport
to one near here.
Same reason that airport has a road
that leads to a highway
a highway that they are repairing as we speak
that leads to my town
to a path that leads to my door
And its not just coincidence.
Any more than its coincidence that you are reading this.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
They drove me across the country,
from the busy city where we departed
to intimate villages where they recessed,
and spent a star filled, moonlit night
singing songs,
their bodies casting long, wavy shadows
from campfires they huddled around.
Just as I got too cold and my wheels
couldn't turn anymore
did they finally turn the spark plugs,
revving and igniting my despair and sensitivity
producing heat.
Sometimes they pushed
until I shoved
and scraped my rubber
on asphalt,
on rocks,
on sand,
on boulders big and small,
and I hit a flat-line;
the air I could hold in
no longer.
They rode me into a forest
whose undergrowth was as thick
as a bears' fur during the winter,
and redwood that spanned the horizon
you thought it could pat the constellations.
A forest teeming with life that
one would react like Wendy from Peter Pan--
never wanting to leave Neverland.
And I could see it in their
soft faces and squinting eyes,
bright and lit up with joy,
every detail apparent
as if I burst my headlights into high-beam,
directly on them.
It was there I ran out
of gas and my engines
parched for oil,
from the endless adventure
that was exhilarating and memorable.
One could, as a result,
easily forget responsibilities.
There was no service or refill station nearby,
so I was abandoned where I parked,
flat tires, rusty hood, broken chassis,
dilapidated suspension.
I've proved my worth
from when I was brought in
and over time
it wasn't enough.
Only repairing, never maintaining.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
I want to thank you-
for picking up the pieces of my broken soul
for repairing the damage others have done before you
for showing me what it's like to be in love
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
The storms are pounding
Destruction is rampant
No end seems in sight.
The day is endless
The night never ending
Will it ever, ever be right?
Lightning crashes
Winds are swirling
Torrents of water fall down.
The earth is shaking
The shelter is breaking
Thunderous sound resound.
Above the storm
the Calm prevails
Overlooking the turmoil below.
Awaiting the return
of order again
That Peace and Calm bestow.
Then it is over...
No more pounding
Silence, beautiful silence
Comes whispering in the ears.
The Earth becomes firm
The Sun is still shining
It dries up all the tears.
Through the debris
New hopes arise
Covering the scars below.
Growing stronger, stronger
As strength rebounds
Renewed by the seeds we sow.
Repairing the damage
Replacing the lost
Moving forward with or without.
Finding Hope in the future
as Faith reaches upward
Redeeming Love without a doubt.
--------------------------------
When the storms of life
Cause turmoil and strife,
The Son dries all my tears.
When all seemed lost
I counted the cost
Turned over all my fears.
I am surviving.
I am stronger still.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
My dentist, at the time, was a woman,
a young woman,
an attractive young woman.
As she leaned very close above me,
busily engaged
in repairing my broken tooth,
I, laid back horizontal in the chair,
had nothing to look at but her face,
and more particularly, her eyes.
She, however, concentrating the whole time on my tooth,
was not considering
where I might be looking.
The task at last finished,
once again on my feet,
I noticed what I had not seen before.
My lovely young dentist
had put on some weight
just round the middle.
As I smiled at her
and put out my hand to hers
- in thanks or congratulation? -
she leaned towards me
and returned my smile
most charmingly.
What could I do?
A formal British handshake?
No! A small kiss on the cheek,
and then, in continental style,
another small kiss
on the other one,
a spontaneous, friendly gesture,
nothing more.
If in fact it had crossed my mind at that point
that it might be
a not altogether unpleasant experience
to take the average of the two kisses
I had planted on her cheeks,
and give her a third on the lips
that were now beautifully visible to me,
I resisted the inappropriate temptation,
so swiftly
I might not even have thought it at all.
Except that, on reflection, I probably did think it.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
I hate to be the bearer of bad news baby
but I was broken a long time ago.
I had hoped
when I showed you that video
on kintsugi, the Japanese art
of repairing broken pottery
with lacquer and powered gold
that you would've seen our history
was not meant to be hidden,
that our imperfections,
the cracks in our ceramics
were meant to be illuminated
with gold
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
Every morning I would hear the metal wheels grind against the rails as the garage door opened
Leave for school as you were under the hood staring at horse power repairing every engine that was broken
Returned home and now you’re underneath a different car, your face blackened from the dirt, oil and debris
And at night sometimes I’d hold the flashlight for you, pointing the light at the wrong spots of the engine, I’d help to some degree
Rarely spoke but wrenches clanked, ratchets ticked, screws and bolts rattled and power tools revved
It’s the language that I never understood but it’s the language I know you’ve said
The garage doors would close, I’d smell the scent of Mary Jane coming from your room, swear the odor was limitless
Then I would hear the rifts and solos from the guitar strings that were plucked by your fingertips
Life as a grease monkey and a rockstar but you loved every second of it, you love everything you do
I wish one day I could find my own love and become something just like you
I see why my mother loves you
You called me your son though we’re not blood I swear I miss you in every way
You’ve alwayz told me to look out for my sister and to protect her everyday
Happy birthday
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
354
From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged—a Summer Afternoon—
Repairing Everywhere—
Without Design—that I could trace
Except to stray abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers—understood—
Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay—
Then struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud—
Where Parties—Phantom as Herself—
To Nowhere—seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference—
As ’twere a Tropic Show—
And notwithstanding Bee—that worked—
And Flower—that zealous blew—
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky—
Till Sundown crept—a steady Tide—
And Men that made the Hay—
And Afternoon—and Butterfly—
Extinguished—in the Sea—
5.1k
Pots, coiled ropes, orange, blue
Laid, at the harbor side, waiting
Waiting, for the tide,
An old fishing net, laid on the concrete,
A weathered sunburnt fisherman,
Sitting quietly repairing holes within holes
Birds perching patiently on the harbor wall,
Waiting
In the distance the sun dips towards the horizon
Casting a light over a returning trawler
The birds lift lethargically from
Harbour perch, beat their wings , wheel
Towards an incoming meal ticket
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
I have never been in love.
I thought I loved someone
but it turns out, I have to love myself before I can love someone else.
I cannot listen to him paint pictures of how beautiful he thinks I am
while contemplating skipping meals
he painted his love in swooping lovely strokes
pretty words filling in the white spaces
but every stroke
every word
the more the canvas was covered
the more empty I felt.
I couldn't listen or believe him
because I felt that would make me less pretty
I must be the shy vulnerable girl
that I believed every man wants
I couldn't see myself as beautiful
when I thought I loved him.
piece by piece
I’m repairing myself.
I’m learning to look in the mirror without turning away
I’m learning it is alright for me to attach beauty to my body.
I still skip meals
I still feel sad
but I am learning I am worth more
more than the words he assigned me
more than how I look.
I think I’m starting to love myself
the words kind and smart mean more than cute
maybe when I finally stop seeing food as failure
and the mirror as a monster
can I start to love someone else
because I
I have never been in love.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
I'm a honeybee.
You're the smoke
that has molded me like putty
in your calloused hands.
Once I'm out of the hive
that is my soul, you come
in and steal parts of me
I have a hard time creating
and replicating over again.
It was a sweet escape but it
was laced with the fact
you would only use me.
Why did I let you in?
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
The time we all spent has come to an end
The things we know will become our past
But the things we do will guide us into the future
We will make a path towards a brighter destination
The past holds many things we hold dear to is:
The experience of growth
The feelings we gained
The friends we met, may them be old or new
The result of blossoming love
Having our hearts broken
Repairing or rebuilding relationships
Death of precious people we cherished
However, along the way we had fun
This year was a great experience
But the next will always be better
What awaits us may still be unknown
Although we don't know what's ahead
We know it will hold great and bad fortune
Because its something we don't know
That's what makes it fun to not know what's ahead
We will see new beginnings of life
Endings won't seperate us, only death can
Relationships will shatter along the way
However, we will get new lovers
People will gain more experience further in life
Couples will be formed
Or couples getting married
Or perhaps getting old together
However let's say goodbye to an old year
And let's welcome the next one
What lies up ahead my be a mystery
But we must welcome it
*Lets welcome a new year (2014)
And say goodbye to this year (2013)
Have a great New Year everyone*
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Whenever I get on the NH1 Grand Trunk Road,
I feel the pride of it being the oldest highway,
Built even before the documentation period.
King Ashoka got it built in the 3rd century B.C.,
Emperor Sher Shah got it repaired in the 17'th,
The British Company utilized it in 1857 1st war.
It was then gotten repaired only a bit by them,
Repairing such a long highway isn't easy at all,
It runs from Kabul up to Kolkata and to Dhaka.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
To the boy who broke my heart.
Thank you.
Because you have given me something so much more sweet.
The way her eyes reflect my ear to ear smile as we joke about
Our futures.
Who we want to be when we grow up
And who we don’t.
The way she can always make me laugh harder than you ever could,
My stomach sore.
But not from the skipped meals you forced me into.
Because I was never beautiful enough for you.
The way my parents confuse my heterosexuality for homosexuality
Because my “love poems” are always about her.
The girl
Who knows my soul like the back of her hand
My darkest secrets.
My biggest flaws.
And she doesn’t use it against me.
Romantic feelings are not the key to life I always guessed they were
when you have found the person who can make your life worth living.
Your best friend.
The one who kissed the reflection of you engraved in my wrist.
And no I will never be gay.
But I love her.
She always knows what I need to hear.
When I look like I have never looked in a mirror she still udders the word beautiful
And knowing that I will never believe it she still tries.
She is just as stubborn as I am,
And she has dedicated countless hours to repairing me,
The job you always said you’d take in the first place.
Telling me that the most broken are the most beautiful.
And I know that is true,
Because she is broken just as much as I am.
She has put her problems aside for me,
Spent countless hours rewiring the desire to go back to you.
And now I cannot help but realize that I deserve better.
To the boy who broke my heart I am happy now.
I am enjoying the small things for the very first time.
As we go camping and I show her the best way to light a fire,
And she does my makeup to where for a moment I feel I am beautiful.
The Monsters cracked after we have stayed up for an exam,
The late night conversations that are always the ones most memorable.
These are the best moments of my life,
And they weren’t shared with you.
To the boy who first broke my heart.
Thank you.
But gratitude is not forgiveness, and I would not advise coming near me again.
Because she has had a target on your head since the very first tear.
And I know that even when you’re gone she will always have my back
Because that is what true friends do.
To the girl who has made my life complete –
I adore you.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
#A year older, a year wiser
A wisdom always in the making
Nourished by experience
Vitaminized by failures
Strengthened by aspirations
Built on the foundation of hope!
Year after year
Brick after brick
Wiser
Cemented by determination
Watered by dreams
Cracked by blows
Repaired by a mason
Working round the clock
Anointing healing!
Get up man.
*You are a year older
But a year wiser*
And the fruits of this wisdom
Often unseen
Oftener unknown
Ripen inside
And then no more just yours
Scatter in the surround
Beget nurseries of wisdom
Building, vitaminizing, strengthening
Repairing healing
Your foundation
Your hope!#
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
Note: we always hear of miraculous stories every day
And of guardian angels and near death experiences.
Are these small individual miracles created by GOD S hand
Or is it his angels which are sent to protect us? Who is to say!
And the greater miracles and visions seen by thousands
At one time. In one place such as the sighting of MARY holding JESUS
Above the Greek Church.
All miracles large and small are created by GODS call.
These are signs that he creates just to test humanities faith.
So many prayers have been heard because of their
Belief in GODS word.
This is the time of year where dreams are fulfilled and miracles created
And the repairing of lives that were devastated.
Where smiles are put back on children s faces
And hope is put back into the hearts of man
With the gentle touch of GODS hand.
That unexpected bonus that MR. JONES had never received before
As he was about to walk out that door.
That hospital prayer that you gave- when you thought your loved
One would slip away.
That car accident that you walked away from
When you thought your life was done.
What about Mr. H who fell off his roof and cracked open his head
And everyone thought he was dead, yet he got up and walked away
And never a complaint until this day.
GOD creates millions of small miracles every day
But the miracle I would like to see is the cleansing of humanity.
Just pure thoughts in the minds of men, and the worlds
Tragedies would finally end.
Just the thought of no wars, no hunger , no slavery, no abuse
And all the minds put to good use.
Working hand in hand to cure the illnesses throughout our lands.
Where equality is really true, for men and women like me and you.
Our ocean food line is dwindling fast because no control laws have been passed.
The slaughtering of dolphins and whales are world wide
And our politicians turn a blind eye.
We must spread the word of peace and love that the LORD
Has given us from up above.
© LRAMS
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
They are here every
morning, tripping down the stairs,
laughing, repairing
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Heart tormented throughout the age
Seeing nothing but destruction
Cruelty the best of the worst
Scarred for life
By a mother's emotional abuse
Never feeling comfortable around men
Afraid of anything more indepth than ***
Finding a nonjudgemental man
Thinking to repairing the past
Unknowingly mimics the mother
Finally swept away off the feet
Married, optimistic of the future
A child born early
New mother now turns the page
Happy as can be
Hormones a woman's curse
Cause heartache and despair
Mixed with the abuse of the past
Trying to over come
Badly, wanting to be good
Years pass by like rain
Flooding the family as it grows
No desire felt, yet in love for sure
Lost, scared
Self preservation reigns high
Sins of the mother passed down
Sharp tongue, quick wit
Cutting deeply through the love
Wants despartely to want, need
Tries to hang on to give not take
Illness prevails
Striking down
Hormones and desire all put aside
Attempts to reach out
Just cannot
You stop trying and give up
It gets worse
Make it stop mommy
Don't leave Daddy
Tear paint the canvas
Have I been so cruel
Ungiving and cold
Cirumstances piling up
Body becoming older
Beggs and pleads to try to fix
Isn't just a cold hearted woman
A beautiful soul inside
Just needs nourishment
Don't turn away
Don't toss tthis lifeaway
Not into the trash
Try harder
Meet a quarter of the way
Whatever you decide
Please Don't turn away
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 1:36 AM UTC
Red is blood and found in fire
but it's also passion
a burning desire.
See Red isn't always so bad:
those flowers in the light
reminding of better days we've had.
Petals may begin to fall
with time and wear,
but this happens to us all.
Time also brings forth a spring
the rain clearing and cleansing,
repairing everything.
I know things seem crazy and queer,
but I promise your spring will come,
and through it all I'm always here.
You're afraid of what's real,
and trying to cope as best you can,
believe me, I understand how you feel
Employing thorns as your defense,
you damage your mind fighting for control
as you force everyone to keep their distance.
Just promise not to push me away
when you throw everyone out;
let me be the one to help you stay.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
The smoking and drinking and snorting and fighting and drinking and crashes and drinking were not good for him.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One summer, when he was 16, everyday he would take a bottle of wine from his mother's liquor cabinet, buy a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, meet up with his friend Mario, who also stole a bottle of wine, and together they would ride down to the river and smoke and drink and swim. Everyday, for a full 1970's summer they did this.
And now he tells me, that at the time they were having fun and they were not worried about money or addictions or the future.
They were just having fun.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One day, in the dead of fall 1981, he and his friends Mario, Mark, ****** and John all got together at Mark's apartment on the corner of 51st and Diablo boulevard. They hit the town, drank, snuck into movie theatres, harassed girls and had a good time. They returned to Mark's apartment at 2 am and thought it a good idea to steal Mark's mom's new car. They decided to go to Reno.
Driving, as my dad put it, well above the speed limit on Highway 49, they collided head on with a big rig. There were no fatalities but my dad broke his shoulder and suffered a minor concussion. Mark's mom chose to not press charges nor did the driver of the big rig. The next day my father was back at work, refusing to adhere to the doctor's orders of taking it easy and wearing a soft cast, entrapping his left arm against his chest, climbing under cars, changing oil, and repairing engines.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One cold winter's day, in December of '82, my father's ever faithful companion, Mario, picked my father and his dog, Wimpy, up and they drove over to a small burger joint named Big A's. My father ordered two bacon cheeseburgers and a large rootbeer. Mario got the same, only with a single bacon cheeseburger. My father father gave his second bacon cheeseburger to his pitbull Wimpy.
My father was better to his dog than he was to his own body.
Now, my father coughs himself to sleep every night, and has chronic bronchitis. His liver and kidneys are shot and he plans to not live passed sixty. He will be turning fifty in two weeks.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
She sews..her needle hot
Stitching her words
Into my thoughts
Repairing a tear
Here and there
A knot drawn tight
Nimble and quick
Thimble silver
Her verse sharp
A rip in the heart
Stitched in time
To stop the flow
My lips sealed
with silken gold
Threading gently
Into the night.
r ~ 8/21/14
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
I call you an *****
An ***** player,
Player of hearts and eyes alike
Your fingers pressed to the porcelain
as if the weather depends on
whether or not the pipes pipe up
as if a heart does not beat without
your hands repairing the metal indents
An ***** donor,
Donor of drunken livers and stomachs full of barbed wire fencing
Your lips pointed upward once awakened from dissection
as if you could lacerate a human being from the inside
and go on being
as if keeping them in liquor-filled mason jars
will cradle their fear
An ***** system,
Without a skeleton or bandaids to piece yourself together
You bleed out and ignite a single flame
as if you could burn a house down
with all your leaving
as if you could survive a life spineless
not living but breathing
DDD
(11/10/2013)
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
time changes
and I realize the world needs my LOVE.
so I want to write more love poems
and infect heartstreams,
bursting valve seams, repairing flows.
carrying capacities need expanding,
deep breath felt.
simplicities stacking, and all else is.
decension, the reflection of ascension,
is being dug.
the perspective has always been from above.
time to root down, bury down, dig deep
in the ground and bring the LOVE down.
in the darker side, where light struggles sometimes,
here, this minor level, that many feel is
real,
this place needs the panting of love
to be rained down.
souls duped to believe
evil is abound.
cycles are always dark and light
and layers are thin.
pay closer attention to the place
where to the two meet again,
that point, moment, peace.
listen to its speech, the flow of a new
sprout on a tree,
the fungus sprawl through its wood.
stretching its love from underground,
above, to feed and seed and heed
the lessons here.
biodiversity, nourishment, interdependence,
just being loving. nurturing,
to your self, the total inclusiveness...
our carry capacity for LOVE is infinity.
eights will flow infinitely, so we just let it be,
walk easily, stop and discover those on our path.
discover the magic of home.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
At the old market place, there is a locksmith
The slipshod ancient road leads to his shop
In the business of repairing locks and making keys
For almost half a century, a dedicated soul
Right from a tender age he picked up the skills
Accompanying his father, to learn the tricks of the trade
Slowly he became adept at repairing the locks
Like a wizard, replicating the keys, for those have lost it
His name spread quite afar, for people sought his help
In times of trouble, as they were locked out of homes and shops
He knew the heart of each and every lock
Reviving at the touch of his dexterous hands
As if he used to command the locks to open at his will
Like a ring master at the circus
Each and every key combination were memorized by him
Recalling them like a mathematical genius
With the permutation and combinations, he found the magic numbers
He wielded the keys like the archer’s precision
Always hitting the bulls-eye
He knew each and every house in the town
For, over the years, everyone had come to him for help
He was the only one who knew the key to open any lock
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC