"retouch" poems
*My life is an unfinished artwork
It needs a retouch on how it should be.*
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
She said, turn out the lights,
I look so much better in the dark.
I said, love is an artist; I like what I see,
And lit the candle beside her bed.
She said the night and shadows retouch my flaws,
Blend tight curves with round intrigue,
I said, the sexiest bits of you are all unseen,
Now smile and let me love all of you.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
A void where when your affection dwelled,
A gorge profound, where satisfaction withstood.
Presently repeats wait, murmurs of agony,
A heart uncontrolled, lost in the downpour.
I meander through days, a ghost's phantom,
Tormented by recollections, a weighty expense.
Your giggling, a tune, presently a lament,
Your touch, a glow, presently an unpleasant flood.
The world appears to be dim, absent any and all shade,
An infertile scene, where nothing is new.
Each stage a battle, a fatigued situation,
Lost in the obscurity, without your light.
The evenings are unending, loaded up with despair,
An unpleasant quiet, stunning.
Your nonappearance, a consistent, a significant burden,
Pushing down on me, constantly.
I long for your presence, your caring hug,
To experience your glow, to see your face.
Be that as it may, distance keeps us separated, a horrible declaration,
A partition, difficult to see.
I look for comfort, everywhere,
In any case, track down no solace, no harmony, no Danny.
The world appears to be chilly, a relentless machine,
Without your adoration, I'm lost, concealed.
I attempt to occupy myself, with books and craftsmanship,
However, nothing can make up for the shortcoming in my heart.
The hurt of yearning, a consistent aggravation,
A significant weight, that I can't maintain.
I miss your grin, your giggling, your mind,
The manner in which you caused me to feel so fit.
Your affection was a fortune, a valuable gift,
Presently lost everlastingly, an excruciating fracture.
I long to hold you, to feel your touch,
To realize that our adoration, won't ever be squashed.
Be that as it may, destiny has mediated, a brutal wind,
Leaving me broken, lost, and uncontrolled.
I look for replies, however see as none,
Lost in a maze, where trust has gone.
The aggravation of partition, a weighty burden,
A weight excessively weighty, to be conveyed abroad.
I attempt to continue on, yet it's difficult to do,
At the point when each memory, carries me to you.
The prospect of losing you, perpetually, is a trepidation,
That torment my fantasies, a large number of years.
I trust sometime in the future, we'll see as our way back,
To the adoration we once had, a lovely track.
Up to that point, I'll continue, with overwhelming sadness,
Expecting a future, where we won't ever part.
Thus, I stand by, anxiously,
For the day when our adoration will vanquish demise.
At the point when we'll be brought together, by and by,
What's more, our hearts will retouch, and our adoration will rule.
Oct 11, 2024
Oct 11, 2024 at 12:46 AM UTC
Beautiful Water
Sweet Spring of Life
You are more than enough as Thee
Each moment I touch
and retouch your beginning
Willingness to Peace
A moment in time
Shared
Memory
Trickling thru
An orchards flare
Of
Apples picked
Macintosh then
First Learnings
Of the Truth
Gladiolus on the Side
Beauty Freed for
A Mothers Love
Ladder
From
Sustenance
To Grace
Something Sweeter Now
Maple Syrup
Tapped
by Wooded Gate
Johnny
A Real Hero
Changed the World
Kindly
And with Love
One Thought
His Pure expression
Always the Same
Gods Good
Life
Guitar String
For the Earth
His Arrow
Split the Heart in Two
An Apple
Felled
To the Ground
Witness
To a World UNComing
Mournful Courage
Put Away
A soldiers
Duty
Paid
Prince
of
Brotherhood
St James
You Now
Are Made
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
Sing your song
Mad bird
Warble in the sky
The world
Has many troubles
There’s much
To make us cry.
Fly above the treetops
With wings
That catch the air
And marvel
At the things you see
They’re lost to us
Down here.
My land legs lug
Me down
I’m anchored
To the ground
A plant with shoots
I can’t uproot
Or else
I’d fly away.
Sing your song
Mad bird
Before I
Wilt and die
My brambled brush
Could not retouch
The scenes you paint
So high.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
This wind keeps snapping at our feet
through shoes unravelling.
Gales are hungry.
Night's abandoned,
streets have emptied.
Still, we own them--just keep talking.
Winter's wailing.
**** the old days.
Clutching coats closed,
tread nostalgia
past these sidewalk intersections.
Claimed by rambling conversations,
often
we're only
rehashing
our worst mistakes
and
shivering
our way be-
-neath stoplights
lit by good memories.
I've got this notion tonight
that we'll find our way
back
into the warmth found behind
our locked front doorways.
Ways we've found to always hide
our faces from the cold outside
have been running dry all night.
So drink down the cold street light
and we'll make a blur of those green-white street signs.
This cold's still clawing at your face
through scarf unraveling.
Chapped lips smiling.
Nights like this have
kept on piling.
Winter owns us. Just keep walking.
Winter's crying,
**** the old days!"
Frostbit footsteps
slip nostalgia
past these frowning checkpoint questions.
Retouch same old observations.
Sometimes
we're only
retracing
the same missteps
but
frigid
friends like us
are melting
into old habits
I've got this notion tonight
that we'll take this route
for
one more familiar cold flight
from here to daybreak.
Say, "let fly those bomb bay doors!"
We've bombed these frozen streets before,
and I've got a couple more
so keep moving 'til we find our front doors.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Better than what I got there
is every single thing or thought that I can
from here touch or recall right now with
a no other way kind of freedom called
Memory. You know what I mean.
When you touch a thing only for the reason
you want to retouch a whole situation metonymicly,
when you want to remember a moment only to remind
you that that moment happend and you find yourself
around old calenders where the workdays do not
match your current deadlines, it's memory I know
you know what I'm trying to say right now. Again.
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
Walked into the dressing room
Questioned the fit
With all the lights angled
To illuminate the best places
While inside, the struggle
holding all together just to feel fit, the lift and separate.
It is a wonder how all this frilly lace, thread, and beading
could make a girl, become woman, turned bride.
its a disposable ideal, one chuckled about since the beginning of time.
Seemingly picture perfect, now the faux retouch
a process where reality turns fake
The day a mere memory
Now about the questions
as we look at the reflection
striving for perfection, but yet it feels incomplete,
next, Watch, strap in, repeat.
there are no yes moments, just...
yes things
the feeling of suffocation
of a day, where this will only be in the closet,
when everyone wants you to dress up
You to play along
you to conform.
(The emotional build up
the pain ensues)
all for a day no longer is about you and the other half
but filled with moments of regret
where simply just having a judge make it happen
would have been better
then seeing family come together
a final step down, back from the fantasy
or nightmare, with increased humility...
it is all clear, the item is beautiful,
but for some, this is a tortured fun.
no single person can imagine
the stress of just trying to celebrate two people forming a marriage,
that this one day can make, break, or dissolve a feeling
with the dawn breaking,
thoughts are revealing.
the last step down off of the stage,
lights, reflection, multiple direction mirror,
makes it much clearer.
can you breathe?
can you walk? Can you talk?
can you sit down and enjoy it?
But if a single no appears, alterations can ****
so save the moment, take picture.
get real.
only in a dressing room
can one reveal the truth, nature, and absurdity
of cloth, lace, beads, and thread.
question the fit.
and live without the regret...
of buying the disposable wedding dress.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
I painted a picture of another time that I existed in
Looked at every color in my view
Thought about the way, my heart beat within
Remembered, the face of you too
I turned the picture over and looked for a nail
Thinking I could hang it on my wall
Every color in my picture my senses did assail
When I remembered the face of our fall
Muted colors of crimson passion flowed in disbelief
From the edges of the canvas I had prepared
Remembering the heart I took like a thief
Tore open and left bleeding there
I turned the picture over and looked for my brush
Every color I had in my view
Thought about the way, my heart beat in a rush
When I remembered, the face of you
I painted a picture of this time we both exist in
Using every color in my view
Thought about the way, my heart beats within
As I retouched, the heart, of you
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
When the boys say they "won't go as big as.." you,
When you look more like a teacher than a student,
When you see the other girls' expressions at you in the school bathroom mirror while they reapply their eyeliner,
When you sweat feverishly around those fragile powder-fresh beauties,
When you accidentally knock their things off their desks because your thighs can't fit and you were nervous to get up and walk in front of them anyways,
When they take selfies with you and your face is a mass of red, your eyes lost in your glasses, and you a blob,
When the boys you care for or even love profess their devotion to girls who are so much more beautiful than you could ever be,
When that baggy t-shirt look doesn't look chic because you have only high-neck boy shirts and are too top heavy;
Don't try to explain that your money goes to groceries so you can't afford team membership dues much less a new blouse.
Don't explain that your nice shoes need a retouch of hotglue so you really only had your snowboots.
Don't tell them that you didn't put on makeup because your mom was in the er, because even though she was, you didn't bother because you knew no amount of makeup could make them see you as an equal.
Don't you dare show them your scars.
Know that they do not laugh at you because you are not significant enough to be the topic of their conversation.
If someone says privately that they want you they will not acknowledge you in public.
If a cute person online shows interest, trust your instincts because those kind of people do not look at your kind of people.
Know that when you meet someone you might like, knowing how others see you, it's your choice if you want to hope that this one will see you any differently.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
one day i will tire
lay my tablet down to rest
then never retouch
for any creative use
bury me with tablet on
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 11:07 AM UTC
a loop in upper atmosphere today
with a model's figure of grass
to postpone his next canvass
this desire to retouch in a wanton lapse
his brush fitted in a cloud
and he steamed aloud
a bubble's glow in a tip of the pen
to exclaim foment
as shape blew doctrinaire
with clasps of tarter
where his strokes were ardor
that trend would enhance with finale
while he deeply supplanted the soul
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 4:10 PM UTC
Dear Photographer,
I’m begging to please,
Photo shoot me...
I want a happy portrait;
The one my lips were commonly clasped together,
And my eyes were looking somewhere.
Adorn me with warm colors to shows it’s a joyful moment.
Focus your lens, in the angle of my heart, and
never mind what they could not see but yours can do.
Please use the rule of thirds grid
In highlighting the spaces of my frames
That would make a better composition,
If not your creativity will seek it ground.
If only you can add light into it,
Please do, it’s a favor to hide
What dark does in each life..
P.S
Retouch and finalize me
for public viewing,
so it wore a mouth,
for brilliant minds.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
I loved you and seriously still do
I'll always love you, my darling
Because I still believe
Love is the greatest promise
in this wonderful world
Yeah, I say this about true love
Do you promise to love me?
What's wrong with me?
Nowadays, you hate me
You don't cheer me up
Stop playing with me!
Tell me, do you feel something?
or nothing anymore
Is something happening?
or nothing at the shore
I don't know what to do
but I must say this to you
Don't do love anymore,
it just hurts more when love ends!
I probably said too much,
because I still retouch
your heart and feelings
but you don't have the answers.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
Wole Soyinka calls it the “one-eyed box”
It captures the tiniest of emotions
It’s lens, ‘all-seeing’ like an eye over the globe
With each picture, a fleeting glimpse of expressions
Stories stuck on film, a whole lot to remember
Complex negatives – images of unending scenes brought to life
In this moment we smile; maybe too much
Problems concealed with style – click and flash
flashing lights, euphoric … some blink in agreement
That reassurance, the light in our darkness
which Lifts the fog from our shadows.
Others, eyes wide open – flash!
Like tourists, they let their senses devour the moment
trusting this ‘one eyed box’ with their deepest secrets
In this spotlight, our silhouettes - naked
Our candid lives, as bare as all the places in our minds
we refuse to acknowledge the man behind this one-eyed box
An artist eager to retouch our imperfections.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC