"retraces" poems
She chases homeostasis,
with assorted frantic faces.
She is home when her heart races
as she desperate fills the spaces.
Replaces
missing graces
with far places
dreamed in cases;
displaces
taken paces,
just retraces
lost embraces.
Baseless
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
In a second grade classroom
a tiny ant with a treasure thinks only of taking it to his colony.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.
he drags
and pulls
and tugs
On a second grade classroom floor,
the ant's work is hard but will be worth it.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.
he drags
and pulls
and tugs
On a second grade classroom rug,
the ant's task seems insurmountable but he knows of no other way.
So for an hour, he retraces his path backwards dragging a piece of popcorn
across the classroom rug.
He drags
and tugs
and pulls
In the open of a second grade classroom,
the ant feels exposed on the carpet but cover is closer now, he can feel it.
It's just there, where the wall meets the carpet.
A space just big enough to hide an ant.
Closer and closer.
He tugs and pulls and drags his prize closer still
Pulling and dragging the popcorn lurches across the carpet.
His rear legs reach cover
Then his thorax, his abdomen, his head with antennae and mandibles
then
The Problem.
and...
In a second grade classroom
a line of popcorn rests
where the carpet meets the wall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
and when i smell you in my clothes
for days after
like the burn of black coffee
when my arms retrace yours
and when i taste you on my teeth
for days after
like the sour of nicotine
when my tongue retraces yours
and when i feel you on my skin
for days after
like the strumming of strings
when my fingertips retrace yours
and when i hear you in my ear
for days after
like the setting of the sun
when my words retrace yours
and when i see you in my dreams
for days after
like the ghost of memory
when my thoughts retrace yours
that is when i begin to worry
that i no longer worry
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
The darkness comes when she closes her eyes.
Her body completely shuts down.
The slow moving heart beat, the soft even breathes.
Tell me again why she only sees flaws?
Her mind retraces her heart's wishes.
She dreams.
She dreams of a bright sky and lovely grass.
She dreams of the changing seasons with every color of the rainbow.
She dreams of the chirping birds and prancing deer.
She dreams of the salt water waves.
She dreams of the intoxicating tree lines.
She dreams.
When her heart wishes a little harder, she dreams once more.
She dreams of love.
She dreams of the perfect guy.
She dreams of *** and lust.
She dreams of kisses and cuddles.
She dreams of robbery.
All while her mind wanders the outside world moves forward.
The clock continues to tick it's minutes by.
It robs her of her fantasies. Of her desires.
When the clock chimes, up she rises.
Back to reality.
Back to the cruel world.
Back to not being able to see her dreams.
Right in front of her.
Why? Why? Why is so distant now? Why can't she just connect it all together?
Why?
Because even though her mind is beautiful in the realm of dreams, in reality it's quite the opposite.
She struggles - but no matter how bad it gets, no matter how many cuts she has, she lives for the chance to dream once again.
And when the sun falls beneath the horizon.
That she repeats. Once again.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
The skin whispers and summons her hither,
To where secret stories lie hidden in depths
That she had not yet discovered,
The sigh of the flesh, the magnetism
Of touch, the electricity of lust beckon,
Her steps momentarily waver,
Yet she retraces them just in time,
Managing to overhear the conversation
Her heart was having with his,
There were sounds of throaty laughter,
Friendly nudges and incessant debates,
There was a fragrance of coffee in the air,
A nip of flirtation had begun to dance with care,
And there were cushions scattered on the floor.
She sat on the pink one,
And he sat at the other side,
Both immersed in that conference,
Knowing they would let their hearts
Talk each other out,
Before the skins began to talk out loud.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
My everything
Is what you are
With our love
We can go far
You are in my life
I will be your wife
Emotions run high
Always your pumpkin pie
My heart races
My mind retraces
Spend my life with you
That’s what I want to do
You are in my heart always
Even on cloudy days
The butter on my toast
My exs are ghosts
I want you only
You’ll never be lonely
No Date
Ashli Jane
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 8:08 AM UTC
*And then there is you
your bladed mind ran through
yet standing so tall
but looking so small
with your spirit tumbled
but still not humbled
by the sound of the glaives
from the tongues of knaves
where the hurt and the pain
join the bleak and the vain
in the choir of the dark
as you re-embark
on the road of deserters
where pothole subverters
and their petty warmongers
look to curb all your hungers
as you look for salvation
but find the starvation
of hatred's embraces
as history retraces
the same path that I'd taken
but was forsaken
by the rock that shook
as my pride it took
and I found no dawn
following the fallen pawn
where I lay down to die
and yet up you fly
climbing over bodies begot
with distances I just could not
and as you run through your life
full of misery and strife
remember the folly of the few
who fell to the dark before you*
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 7:00 AM UTC
It takes approximately 30 years to get the message
that time is actually turning,
that this whirled world is headed somewhere,
that the mirror shows us a new face every time,
only it's nice enough to reveal us gradually
so we're not driven suicidal all at once.
We are creeping towards night
but only because it's day.
The dark clouds loom.
They move into the room.
The sun looms over them.
Do the flowers suffer in rain?
The Black-eyed Susans nod
with tears, Yes, yes, yes.
Yellow is plentiful in our meadow today.
The sun blowing its light all over the grass.
I am not comfortable unless surrounded
by green: grass, leaves, stems.
They place me. They hold me there.
The forest is a spa.
Today, Summer, growth is winning
but the birds are not singing
about transcendence. In fact,
they are quite unhappy.
The sun barrels through the sky
burning away clouds.
The living flute of the beak is forcing
agonized notes into the indifferent face
of a sky so blue as to be totally mundane.
The earth retraces its steps,
an insatiable nomad
or obsessive looking for
something it lost
however many years back.
What it finds is the same handful of skies,
a pearl necklace of stars
strung across it's murky night.
I've been dragged on almost 30 trips already.
It's the same **** every time.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
You are so funny in the mornings
Something about your dazed conscience and sleepy nature
Each morning it is enough to make me weak all over again
Each morning I am reunited with the thought of "I love you"
You stumble over silly words, you smile shy and tuck your head underneath the covers, giggling, I can see your smile, I can see it clear
You are so funny in the mornings
You are so gentle in the evenings
Something about the end of the day as the sun retraces it's steps from the day before, we lay in silence
The sound of nothing but breath in and breath out
As the dust particles in the air settle over our still bodies
A car passes by but we do not turn to look, we do not move
Your hand traces up my shoulder and a warm feeling flows like a river through me
You are so gentle in the evenings
You are so simple at noon
Calm and amicable, something about the way you stare out of the car window
Like you are soaking up every tree, every cloud, every gust of wind and it hits your face
You sway to the music in the car, humming sweetly like the sound of a city at midnight
You close your eyes, lean back your head
You are so simple at noon
Every time of day, you are divine
You are the last breath before going underwater
You are the feeling of going for a long walk
You are the sweet smell of an empty room and fresh paint as sawdust blooms all around, building, climbing
You are a journal I hope to fill my days with until the space runs out
You are a poem I cannot seem to end
But until next time
Thank you for being so funny in the morning
Thank you for being so gentle in the evening
Thank you for being so simple at noon
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
The overcast skies reveal a cluster of cumulonimbus clouds,
a day so dreary and dark that it conjures the idea of fleeing
-- escaping into mindless memories of better times,
sitting in the grass field next to the Markthal in Rotterdam,
opening another bottle of soju in a murky downstairs Seoul bar,
a bar where more than once her feet had buckled under the weight
of one too many drinks, stairs lopsided and wobbly as her steps,
getting stuck in traffic on the way back to the airport of Kuala Lumpur,
tears on her cheeks streaked parallel lines, etched into her make-up
as if a part of her, dripping down into her lap where her fists
were balled up, clenched tight and shaking from the pressure,
visiting Singapore’s Supertree Grove in a one-day trip,
traveling back to Europe, now in Berlin, next day in Prague,
where the standout memory is one too many shots of Becherovka.
Back home it is ten degrees and rain is slowly drizzling down,
the streets are covered with a reflective surface, a mirror
she does not want in front of her, a confrontation she does not want
She left Carcassonne’s castle behind alone, retraces the steps
as if the outcome could still be changed, a mindless mind game
When the sky clears clear contrasts are formed
her escapism has escaped and she is like an esclave to her thoughts.
She travels through all her travels but no what ifs are left to be explored
Tomorrow the weather turns again and so will her memories,
an endless labyrinth she has not yet found an exit to.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
Lost in space
I find my mind racing
Chasing what parts I can still assemble
It resembles a time a while ago
When my days were in disarray and I searched for a way to find where I needed to go
So I stayed below the radar but some how not low enough and it was tough for me to be the center of attention
Especially when it was so negatively directed at me
My brains still races and retraces the thoughts places and faces that got me where I am
But **** does it hurt some times
They’ve committed no crimes against me or the law but when I think of some of the things said my jaw still falls and the drops from my eyes still stall in empty space
These thoughts reside only in empty space
So why do they hurt so much and cause my exhausted heart to pace
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
haunting history
bittersweet memory
sensual delights
of corpus nights
tremulous whispers
emotional fissures
grazing touches
loving clutches
heartwarming embraces
heartbreaking retraces
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
my mind retraces the same lines
the same memories
the same times
it screams "I miss you, I need you..
where are you?"
I walk this empty night
the thin branches dance
the stars gleam and twinkle
the chill seeps down to my bones
into to my heart,
then reaches to my toes
my head is flooded
judgement already muddled
lost inside my mind
locked safe where no one can find--
those thoughts that make me cringe,
make me shake with fear
I dont want to worry you my dear
"but where are you?"
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
The way is foggy
There is no signal here
No maps, no roads
No lights, no signs
Nor signals to guide me
I am a stranger
To this one-horse town
I do not know
So I fall into slumber
To dreams of woods of umber
The ground still with frost
This icy chill biting at my heels
Are these the dogs of winter?
Is the cold of autumn or spring?
Am I the only one who
Feels anything?
As I climb it gets colder
The mist steals further in
More so I feel lost
Torn between the way home
And the way my heart leads
Though I do not know
Which of these is in front
Nor behind me
From love I draw strength
Blindly it pulls me onwards
I do not know if my path is true
If it leads me to you
If it leads to pastures new
If it leads me back to paths already trodden
Retraces unseen footprints
Through marsh and swamp
I feel so small
A speck in this vast landscape
Amidst unconquerable forces she commands
To which I am subject
Strong may be my legs
But a great load they carry
And I fear they may buckle
For weak, she can make me
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
I can recall every detail
On the top of my sneakers
The faded red
And ***** laces
I can recollect my hands
Crossing my fingers
Increasingly clammy
In between spaces
I remember
The wall, ceiling and floor
Cracked and stained
Bland in places
I summon to mind
Your long-sleeved shirt
Buttons and collar
As my memory retraces
I remind myself
Of what frightened me next
The contact we made
As my heart races
And so I relive
The most precious of moments
As our eyes finally meet
Their passion embraces
Don't let me forget
The depth of connection
As our souls were exchanged
Through the windows of our faces
© JL Smith
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
the feeling of knowing
where my footsteps have been
my mind retraces every step
until i feel nothing but the cold, the dark
the miserable memory of your face.
there are roads i never drive down for a reason.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
an Egyptian dancer
who in the bare silk
retraces her moves
over sand and scorpions,
converting morbid infatuations
to desires in the sweltering heat
and as silk melts
I can think nothing of,
than to watch and pray for salvation
for this timid abomination from faith
maybe this how monsters are made,
I wasn't sure
or I didn't cared that time.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
I see her barefoot on the sand
she gazes out to sea
The breeze touches her hair
Her eyes fix on the surf
She is at peace
With the sea
Above the waves there is motion
coloured forms are alive
Butterflies, dancing with the life
of a future unlived.
She is at peace
With the butterflies
The butterflies reflect her moods
Sky blue with hope
Scarlet red with love
Rich green with Earth
She is at peace
With the Earth
Before me she transforms
into a meadow of wildflowers
That sing of 60's peace
on a quiet Friday afternoon
She is at peace
With the afternoon
My mind briefly imagines her
Below Caziel's mural
Absorbing a culture of hope
That lives within her heart
She is at peace
With her heart
And then I see her turn
the sunlight plays briefly on her face
She retraces her steps into town
leaving footprints in the sand
She is at peace
With herself.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
THE WORLD STIR
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
When healing drops of Heaven’s elixir
Drop down upon Earth,
Beauty speaks of Delight of Being
And Brown breathes an exhilratingmirth;
Let the sublime silence of the sky
Meet not the furore of the miry filth,
And let night go without end
Though darkness seems to exist.
A serene tranquility trembles within the
Tremulous expanse of the occult space,
An iodolon of ecstasy soon
Retraces its long lost forgotten steps;
The nascent air is now vibrant with
The message of the incommunicable breeze,
An illimitable joy from the Kingdom of Bliss
Seeks its spectacular release.
The solitary clairvoyant writes
His message in inaccessible heights,
The memory’s archive soon opens
Its pages of formidable foresight;
The desolate despondency is in the soul within
Still, there is magnificent melancholy rapture-clad,
The lightening freedom bares its *****
To make the lone explorer extravagantlymad.
The miracle of mystery unfolds the secrecy
Of the unlocked chapter of the divine play,
The inner audience is the only witness
The appeal of the Ineffable opens its doorway,
The effulgence of a thousand suns
Emerges from the abysmal darkness’ depth,
The moonlit marvel raises alarm
Alas! Ony the stars are wide awake!
It is only in the awakening of your Soul,
The illusory world game disappears
In the purest Consciousness
Beyond Body, Mind and Spirit
In an enlightening Wisdom
You do reach the supreme human Goal.
(Dated 9th June 2021)
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 12:28 PM UTC