"resorts" poems
Wind blowing, leaves falling
In the woods I am walking
Birds chirping, squirrels digging
Not stopping my mind from wandering
Fashion walks, beach resorts
Nice weather, beautiful people
City breaks, country retreats
Exotic animals, spiders and snakes
Mona Lisa, The last supper
Beautiful art, beautiful mind
Excellent artists are hard to find
Beautiful things everywhere
open your eyes, happiness is right their
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
sip...sip...sip...sip...sip
still too hot, I say to myself
sip..sip..sip..sip
finally cool enough
time to drink the warm elixir
in no time, there is nothing left
I rise to reach
pouring till there is nothing, dregs
even this is too hot
wait...wait...
wait...wait...
finally I may drink
till there is nothing, dregs
lazily floating in my cup
as lethargically as a resorts lazy river
again I rise to reach
there's is nothing left, to show now
but my shaky hands
maybe I should have made tea instead...
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
I think we stayed at every good hotel in the West.
Big suites
Hot tubs
Room service
We were really living the good life.
Nothing like a little drug money to help you indulge in
the finer things.
"Easy come Easy go"
Only people who have never sold drugs can say that.
Easy.......Yeah, Right.
Dealing with whackos
Getting robbed at gunpoint
Driving across the country with enough weight to get you
Life in Prison.
Stressful. Very stressful.
So we'd stay in Fancy Resorts.
Knowing one day it would all end
May as well enjoy it while you can
Because eventually you get caught
And if you make it out alive, all you have are the memories.
Like that time we were staying at the Royal Palms
Next to the former President's family.
Getting up from the pool, smoking crystal behind the cactus
While the former first lady swam laps.
She still looked pretty good in a bathing suit.
Old gal.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
A series
of short puffs
from a rekindled
cigarette expertly put out
on the half
reminds you of your
fastidiousness
now you feel like **** as you look
at the wreckage site
of a desk that
is your own doing
That is what you do.
While your ego
floats like the unmelted
coffee you put in cold water
Hardly dissolvable
to anything normal
missing anything temporal
You lash out once more
waging a war
with a nation
of thoughts
You kick the furniture
to send the dust flying
That is what you do.
You attempt to sheathe
an intricate wound
patterned on your
knuckle, as detailed as the
dystopia of your
own human agenda that
can be trivialized by just
"I haven't been myself lately"
when somebody asks
because you're afraid
they might see
you find it
hard
to
belong
Slowly, the dust resorts to settle
on the bedroom floor
And so do you.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
The first in over sixty years
The whooping cranes are living wild
Now one young pair has laid an egg
And, too, with luck, will raise their child
They near Kissimmee were released
Beating the odds, survived to breed
A ray of hope they might increase
And ***** the armor of human greed
But cranes need water as do we
As still we pump the wetlands dry
Our chains of lakes sprout fat resorts
The river of grass condemned to die
Yet dare we dream we might reverse
This harsh inflicted damage done
Still apathy is our nation's curse
Which battles none has ever won
Today I cheer the whooping cranes
Who still have hope that they might see
Upon some far and distant day
Their offspring's offspring flying free
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
It sounds like a broken record
Feels just like a revolving door
When another tin-star soldier
Explains what somebody died for
When both sides are crying "justice!"
But when all things are complete
There's another broken family
There's more blood out in the street.
And there's nobody to answer for
The systemic elimination
Of innocent black men and boys
Across this old and broken nation.
When guilt is predetermined
And last resorts become reflex
A whole race of Americans
Are forced to worry "Am I next?"
You don't have to like the truth
In order for the truth to be.
You can cry out furiously
When men in protest take a knee,
But if you deny the evidence
When the truth is brought to light
Then, you're a sucker or a liar,
Either way, you're just not right.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
I wrapped the suicide note around my throat,
It came in the form of a noose.
But before I knew what I wanted to do,
I had somehow wiggled loose.
The stool's too short for this overpowering court,
"Back to my old resorts."
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
Wailing walls, howling fences
Encaged and blocked by barriers
All smashed, sorted in security fence
Miles of humanity and flesh torn apart
Why is it that we can’t live together?
We bleed the same coagulating blood
Lined up and humiliated in alleyways
Paths of iron bars and imprisonment
My veins wringed, intensive torment
Mentally distracted, strained by grief
Settlement, conflicts and border struggles
Governance, religious trickles of disunion
The biblical birthright verses human rights
The unsighted straining peace settlement
Shadows of the peace blueprint screams
Ongoing reconciliation, milked in small doses
Whose home is whose? Subdivided in areas
Controls of disillusionment undisclosed
Unmanned checkpoints evokes fears
Revolving cameras tossed and turned
Bansky slogan “make hummus not war”
Smashes freedom to uproot and merge
Constitute and construct peaceful resorts
All horns blowing to collapse duality
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
A bullfrog serenades his mate
With a booming baritone in anticipation to conjugate
Whilst the wind hums softly
Dry leaves rustling incessantly.
Within the vicinity, bees buzz
The air abuzz
With beautiful chirpings from birds
Visiting colorful flowers and buds
For nectaries
Nature’s nitty gritty pleasantries
The wind croons in a haphazard harmony
A bearable monotony
Of sorts
All these are exclusive happenings in exotic resorts.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
What a beautiful girl to marry so young,
to waste so young.
She resorts to pencil thin features,
embracing that which is better.
Something stirs inside which she cannot comprehend,
something eventually will give.
There are things that she would never tell her husband,
the thoughts that disconcert her moral.
Something is about to give.
"Oh, Henry Miller!",
She bellows with a sigh,
what a terrifying man to break her.
"Henry Miller, Henry Miller!"
This will be what wakes her.
With bare teachings, he shook her perceptions.
He taught her of dominating aggression.
Anais Nin,
a lovely French flower,
with fair features;
She withholds power to ****** any man or women to their very knees,
"May I slip into someone more comfortable?"
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
I hate resorts and I hate vacations.
I hate birthdays, I hate celebrations.
I hate pop radio stations and I hate cajun seasoning
I hate New York I hate the feeling,
I hate being a tourist I hate sightseeing.
I tried being happy I tried doing the right thing,
Until I tried smashing through the glass ceiling and broke my hand on the concrete.
I thought an apple a day keeps the doctor away
I figured out that he's just running late on the subway
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
This love began within our hearts, so sweet, an act of fate,
swept up in life so much a dream I didn’t want to wake.
We spend our days and nights together in each other’s eyes,
oh I would trade all of my today’s for one of those gone by.
Dancing ‘neath the moon above so magical and bright,
as the fireworks burst ‘round us we held to each other tight.
Making love to you with eyes, sneaking kisses in the dark,
the real world seemed to melt away in the midst of all the sparks.
You were my lover on the trips we made to seas gone warm,
and made me feel forever safe as you held me in your arms.
Swimming at resorts down south we shut the whole world out,
together we played the game of love, of this I had no doubt.
As you brushed away the tangled hair then covering my eyes,
Your touch became a part of me no longer could I hide.
I fell so hard, I lost myself and traded life for you,
but you, my love, have traded me for someone young and new.
So now I find I’m all alone, though I’ve kept you in my heart,
I realize the time has come to make a brand new start.
For another life to come along and fill my life once more,
I pray for this with all my strength, I’m standing at the door.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
In the hope of grasslands
stands an ancient Baobab tree
somewhere, a village
of dust & dirt, wakes slowly
she ties her shoelaces
an elephant walks past
on the distant horizon
the camera breaks
right at that moment
when she wants to take
a picture to bring home
so she resorts to postcards,
half-written letters
& learning the language
so she could impress them
the hotel porter, a lean boy
of merely twenty-two
watches her
his hunger is written
like lightning in his eyes
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
An overnight sensation
Twenty years in the making
Finally you're noticed
All the roles that you've been taking
High School plays gave you the bug
Standing out front and centre stage
You made your choice of a career
Your life had turned a page
Little theatre groups did beckon
You'd learn your craft and be a star
But, no one told you just how long
you'd wait, or ...just how far
You beat the boards in summer stock
Singing Gershwin in the park
You'd work in summer themed resorts
Cleaning rooms out after dark
Acting, was your calling
You'd be a star one day...you knew
But, even though you'd keep on working
Your name to them was...who?
Extra work and commercials
You'd work the chorus for a while
No matter where you heard...no luck
You'd always leave them with a smile
You swore you'd not get botox
There'd be no nip and tuck
You swore you'd keep on trying
Remember...you've got pluck!!!
The lines were forming around your eyes
As time kept marching on
Your lips were getting thinner
The lead actress roles were gone
You'd pile on the makeup
And you'd lie about your age
No one checked your background out
So, you lied about the stage
But, one day ...there was a call back
A job you never thought was yours
It was sure to go to a younger girl
A true , new, photogenic *****
But, there it was....an offer
The one role to get your start
It said "Miss Watkins we are proud"
"to offer you the part"
You gratefully accepted,
didn't let them know the truth
It was better than a cruise ship show
You were truly through the roof
It was a show way off broadway
The big time was around the bend
You could see the lights from out the back
You had made it...you'd pretend
The makeup went on heavy
But no one really cared
they just ate up your performance
Your soul you truly bared
The critics were enamored
They all loved you at first sight
It only took you twenty years
But, you'd made it overnight...
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
She sits, emotionally bland,
Speaking mechanically;
Her right jaw, slightly misaligned,
From calcifications of former fractures;
And he is left-handed.
Lime-green circles about her
Distant, blue eyes indicate
That she has pleased him
This past week.
She believes that she
Is Improving, is better;
As the distance between
The necessary corrections
Is elongating, and she doesn’t
Nap as often.
He seems to love her more;
And frequently resorts
To audible amendments,
Or is too fatigued, himself,
To properly intervene
In her enlightenment.
She inhales, fidgets, re-adjusts,
To breathe without pain;
Calmly expressing accolades for
The strength, perseverance,
Of her son who doesn’t fail;
But weeps, in anonymity,
For her daughter who must
Have inherited her propensity
Toward weakness, malfunction.
Perhaps, over time,
He will see fit to guide
Their daughter with
Identical acts of love;
And she will be well.
She stares out the window,
Toward the windswept willow;
Catatonic, citing that
Past years, learning years,
Were resonating like the
Dry-fire echo of the
Empty Chamber in a game
Of Russian-Roulette.
The sound, repeated and
Sustained in dull memory;
The clicks that fed
The ugly tomorrows;
But her eyes sparkle as
She admits to a yearning,
For the strike of the pin
To fresh primer;
And she may only regret
That she will not hear
The Sound
Heralding her freedom.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 5:27 AM UTC
I live at the top of a hill
way above sea level
close to the beach
and some evenings
the sunsets stun me
as gold jewels melt
into red ribbons
and pulsating purple waves
sink into silver milk
and the kaleidoscope changes
with such miraculous precision
I just sit on my humble porch
gasping mesmerized.
Down at the shore
big 5-star resorts
poach on sand
like giant spaceships
and people come
from all over the world
just to sit on expensive balconies
to langour in the sun.
When they see the sunsets
they’re transfixed too
making foreign sounds
to describe the same colors
and I can hear them
like music they chant
and we make an orchestra
as the colors sway and gleam.
We are all blinded
by the effulgence
of nature’s light show
and we wonder
why does this spectacularness
so wild, bold and brief
always end
just as we wait
for it to get better?
But we all know the truth
everything arises
then passes away
and arises again
so we are reminded
our lives sometimes
shine gloriously
then go dark
then shine again
and the miracle is
if we pay attention
we notice our beauty
is never the same twice.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
She dribbles up and down the driveway
A red handball that bounces up
With the same vivacity as her heart.
“Come on, Grandpa!” she will say,
When she realizes I'm smiling over my coffee cup,
And I'll get up to join her in my soul's old art.
With a rather new stiffness I'll throw toward the net,
And my mind goes to what was and what's not yet:
From dunking with friends in schoolyard courts
To each banana bread breakfast and protein shake snack,
To the luxuries of life and vacation resorts
Of stardom and fame before the injury of my back...
But she will be the most famous star,
I'll buy her a basketball for Christmas this year.
She'll pass me up, be better by far,
And she'll see something glorious when she looks in the mirror...
The ball hits the roof, seems I aimed too high
And I wonder, again, that cursed question: why?
I put my arms down and let out a sigh
As she chases after the ball.
I turn to sit back down, get back to my chair
When she runs up and pulls the back of my hair,
She pouts a little, saying, “No, that's not fair!”
It begins to dawn, I haven't lived since that fall...
The fall that broke my back,
The fall that broke it all,
The fall that took me from riches to lack,
The fall that keeps me from standing tall...
“Shoot it, Grandpa!” she calls to me
And what can I really do but comply,
I shoot and hit the roof, missing very clearly,
But she breaks into applause, and I begin to cry:
For she is my biggest fan,
Though the smallest in stature of them all,
And her applause is all I need
To look again in the mirror, first time since the fall.
She shows me I am worthy
Of affection, I am my granddaughter's glory.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour.
westerners define western slav as cleaner material,
if not simply the plumbers and electricians,
got a blocked toilet? get a pole
to unblock it. but you see... the thing is...
the slavs see the spaniards as
euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan...
spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs...
western european nations (excluding
the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth
that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating
without colonising... when the western
powers migrated and colonised,
never really preparing themselves for jihadis,
st. john the decapitating tyrant spoke to st. george's
dragon with a cockney accent:
oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth
of 20 quid!
so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican
rather than deutsche swiss keep time and
penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain ****
the slavs mock the same tier with a choice
of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan...
because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs...
oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature
of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled)
stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden
might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
a scientist on the radio
says in three decades
a coastal town will
be submerged in water.
i picture seaside resorts
& promenades absorbed
& know the same fate
awaits this city, as sea
hungrily consumes
coast it looks to us,
our bones, our docks
& ports, parliaments
& courts, our isle added
to a pile of things extinct.
a future where children are
driftwood blown ashore
with foreign tongues
& dreams of sea;
reluctantly coming up
for air jealous of all the
creatures that get to
stay down there.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
Could you contain my sighs of solitude
by harboring the anxiety in this fragile sea?
On your streets lies the tenderness, aging,
incandescent wind shelters and recalls
them in the distance
the flame anchored in your colors.
Habana,
Lucid, shadowed reminiscent garden
in an infinite insomnia
harnessing the dawn.
Throbbing uniquely,
uniquely understanding,
following the beat, freshness,
watercolor eyes of the city.
Giraldilla, proclamation, mystery,
chaste voice in a calm urge.
I consecrate your vitreaux,
sensing your baroque capitals,
Dusty, unraveled.
I'd like to talk:
Game, rainbow, love,
People, noise, cars;
Essays on flavors.
A captivated rumor,
your arbor dances a naked certainty:
A park, a cloud, summer, God.
The boundary hurts the clef,
the litany resorts to music,
when the stars nurse your elusive chant.
Far… blood calls for your passion,
Languishing, nobody edifies it,
in the absent dwelling of your sun, your moon.
The corner dwellers come to my mind,
the adjacent towns, trembling bedrooms.
I seek within you, dear city,
that home, The Cathedral,
that childhood, concrete flesh,
mother's kiss fading goodbye:
upholds my venerated memories.
Translated by Vanessa Cresevich
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
(
•
)
^^^
In the ole days a girl who used her sexuality
to invade the sanctity of life
was called a ****
//
now she's called
A SENSITIVE POET !
especially when she resorts to
a phony and maudlin self - pity
and reveals the deep hatred imbedded
in her un-wholesome life of lies
••
I hear
HELLO POETRY
is going to change its name to
THE ************ **** PAGE
FOR THE EMOTIONALLY INFANTILE
!!
honesty is the best policy
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
last time we made love.
stagnant heat bitter night,
the smell of petrol from the highway,
the old wind out on the balcony,
our open windows,
our thin white curtains,
our industrial city,
our smogged stars.
and then –
our fast breathing and oh gosh,
when you slipped your skull against my mouth
i swear i could taste the scene:
some romantic technicolour western
we’d watch in our friend’s garage
on their old TV.
(years gone past)
your hand against my skeletal
cheek; our wandering minds;
our palm tree resorts,
our electric hollywood dream;
the setted sun
the golden beaches
the tangerine taste in my mouth
from your love,
the smell of our skin.
two.
alone.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
Like so many of us, surrounded by binaries and cold concrete,
he finds it hard to say what he feels, and I found it hard
to understand, for a while, that he loved me just as I did him,
when he never vocalised his feelings completely, and I did.
It took me some time to realise he shows them instead, and maybe
that is all the more eloquent than anything I could ever
materialise on a piece of paper filled with smeared ink.
His love manifests itself in lingering gazes and the lightest touch,
in private smiles and the softening of his eyes when I laugh.
Like a child resorts to pointing at things they cannot name,
he ends up holding close what he cannot verbalise he needs.
- “You make me happy,” I tell him. He looks vulnerable and smiles. c.s.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:17 AM UTC
Done feeling the shivers from cold blows of wind
No longer need the warmth of those thick sweaters
'Coz now the sun is out shining so bright enticing us to unwind
Feeling its warm kiss on my skin while its rays reflect like glitters.
People going on out of town vacations
Beach resorts are the common target locations
Chillin' out under the sun, not worrying to have some skin discoloration,
Wearing colorful swimwear that get a lot of attention.
Summer is the perfect time to have some rest
Be freed from all the stress;
Like living life at its best
Feeling the sun rays' warm caress.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC