"retuned" poems
Cal-i-fornia (verb) the state of being golden.
Can you see the way the sand sparkles on the shore?
Golden shards of glass, or broken dreams.
Who possesses the Midas touch now?
The crushed gates of Atlantis on our shores.
Aphroditic bronze goddess of the sea,
Hair blown by the breeze.
Sea air & salty &
more than anyone could need, or was used to.
Giant sequoias stand
As mighty and proud protectors
Behemoths of lifetimes past.
Explosion of seeds inside
Fireworks waiting to explode
Pinecones, little grenades of life.
Ghost towns reminiscent of the Wild West
Mining camps from the Gold rush days.
Tumbleweeds & reptiles & powder fine dust.
Some say the earth is red from the natives’ blood spilt, and sunk in,
Reality – Oxidation turns iron in the dirt to rust.
So that’s why Mars is red.
After a bad storm in San Diego
Dollars lie broken & shattered on the shore
A bankruptcy of marine proportions!
Just go see for yourself,
The sand dollar apocalypse.
We were echinoderms too.
Life gone dormant, and violent beginnings.
As if Calliope’s harp needed to be retuned,
Sun god, Apollo & Helios with his chariot in the sky
When did we become so heliocentric?
Solitary white cross on the hill.
Never did anything to harm anyone, yet they fear you so
Enough to try to remove you from our presence.
Mount Soledad, or their SOLEs-are-DeAD.
- You know San Onofre is a power plant right?
- Radiation, is that a problem?
- Only if you want to have kids or stay cancer free.
- 25 foot sea wall -- To keep the waves out, or the kraken in?
- 4,000 tons of nuclear waste, who’s gonna get rid of that?
Ghostly tendrils of death
Blown fifty miles down the coast.
They call it SONGS, how quaint.
A symphony of catastrophe.
The greatest arias of death and destruction.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as
lead from no. 2 pencil
am **** and blood, skin and hairless,
all-to-come-to-go,
return retuned, at their own chosen speed,
gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings,
morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently,
to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions
that govern the lunatic cycle
you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming,
scorn with spittle and deem unfit,
I know the difference and it is inconsequential
see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty,
as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku
that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing
think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of
your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted,
therefore unlimited
for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they
appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine
forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating,
the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you
as inputs that bear newborn children notions in
my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain
my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide,
but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are
my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour
if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from
wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn
they, the residuals of a man’s *********** with
other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l,
man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity
as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA
in the vial labelled Medusa
Who else?
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
I Am Eleven Different Shades Of Regret Tonight.
One For The Way I Left You. Hand Prints In The Quick Sand Of Our Last Memory.
Two For The Way I Was Too Afraid To Love You The Right Way, Blade In Left Hand, Afraid Of What I Was Capable Of Doing To Myself, And To You.
Three For The Heart Break You Wore On Your Sleeve, Unafraid To Tell Me How Deeply I Hurt You.
Four For The Emptiness I Left, The Broken Promises, Picking Up Your Prices, Scarlet White Lies, Written Up The Length Of My Skin.
Five For The Way I Waited For You To Tell Me You Needed Me. Over. And Over. And Over Again.
Six For All Phone Calls I Never Retuned, The Facebook Messages I Never Received, The Text Messages I Didn't Said Because It Was Easier For Me Not To.
Seven For The Self Hate
Eight For The Way We Turned Out, Afraid Of Our Own Shadows, Empty Handed And Worthless.
Nine For The Way I Missed You
Ten For The Empty Jaws We Held All Of Our Resentment Inside, Bared Tight Until They Bled.
Eleven Because I Never Said It.
I Am.
So.
Sorry.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
Broken hearts are taken for granted,
their sunny shapes are torn;
their tiny windows are doomed and forlorn.
Broken hearts are never noticed,
they are no more than abandoned,
they have never existed;
as far as people can recall,
or as long as their sanity allows them to.
their truths are denied,
no attention are they given by their lords.
Broken hearts are injured,
their wounds probably incurable,
their eyes are now full of hate, pain and recurrent danger
that will never be healed.
Broken hearts have been deceived,
tricked, stained, disregarded, and disgraced
without ever being able to be fixed or retuned.
Their minds have been scattered,
their fragile little fingers that feel sore,
and nobody with their vanity will ever know.
Broken hearts feel lonely in their loneliness,
sad in their sadness,
cry in their doom,
weep silently their misery
in the center of their darkening rooms.
Broken hearts are never known,
even when they are truthfully true,
even when they are as subtle as glue,
when they feel that they are nowhere in blue.
But above all,
their honesty is graceful praised,
their patience is sacred graced,
their courage and loyalty regarded embraced.
They were lied to and thrown away,
they were betrayed and laughed at night and day,
they were kicked out and are now withering away.
They have hands that are now crippled,
their eyes have lost their cheerful sight,
their smiles are false and sort of painful.
Their waves are nothing but smoldering red anger
in their murky oceans,
they roll and roll without ever glancing backward,
and soon they forget who they really were
and embarrassed are them,
deciding to turn away and never bother to look back.
Their carols are never sung,
their chords have now flown away,
their melodies have not any single remembrance of themselves.
Broken hearts have desires that are never fulfilled;
destiny that is never reached,
and craves that are never satisfied.
But truly,
their devotion and humility as sacred and holy.
Unfortunately,
everything is just never more than unfair to them
as if they deserve to be humiliated
and for their prides to be consumed
and cruelly torn
into pieces of irreparable tears
when their deserted nights appear
and the massive lies start to bring out their fear
to haunt their very innocence,
their breaths, and flashes of sadness.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
You are carlights through white window shades,
You’re moonlight on the shore.
You are sun before rain had a chance to fade,
You’re bare feet at ocean’s floor.
Your voice echos atop the hollow waves
that we sleep to every night.
Your laugh is your heavy heart being saved,
all silver shadows fighting golden candles’ light.
I am grays and blues and evergreens,
I’m early sunlight reflected in clear eyes.
I am ever changing and ever seen,
I am pastels trapped inside thick black smoky ties.
We are a single whispered chord, retuned and redefined,
We are coastal byways and yellow dotted swerving lines.
We are deep navy skies inhaled by wintry crystal night,
We are watercolors cooled by the sea then cast in firelight.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I was lost. Lost in the echoes of the ancient
rhythms pleading to play, sifting it’s vibes
throughout me. I become a mannequin,
with strings that do not pull but glide as a
breeze to a snowflake away on a blissful
journey, to places unknown but ever
welcoming. In the midst of this transit a
single wave, unique from the lot, kissed the
shoreline of mine. With connected vibes I
felt her beat slide up my limbs, nest into
my flesh, and wrap around my core as lush
ivy rising towards the light just to fuel my
fire. Two rhythms that crossed for one night,
one place, one time; One. Hovering on
limber limbs I reached into you and we
retuned the frequency of our hearts in sync.
Catching each other on every missed beat
we unified till we became a dynamism that
could make the planets align. Your waves
tickled at my toes, trickled up my spine, and
coursed through my lips erupting to a
frequency that birthed a super nova, killing
our very sense of survival, leaving us with
nothing other than Being.
I am still lost. The season’s winds have now
spread us away from One as two leaves
from the same tree that never fully lost
their color. Yet I still feel the rumble through
my bones when you echo your thoughts of
me from where ever you may be. In that
moment I vanish once more in our limbo
where time and space are at a stalemate, a
place where the impossible looms, a home
where Being awaits. It is said that these
waves never cease to move, that they
traverse to the very edge of the universe only
to bounce back; forever changing while
changing all in its path.
Where are they going?
What are they looking for?
Why did You find me?
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
.
Nights don’t change…
Perhaps just the stories
they weave in infinites
from the fires of stars
and embers of hearts…
Or perhaps it’s the way
they were captured
and deciphered;
Reworded and retuned
to the song and dalliance
of the hand-wielded ink.
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 5:02 AM UTC
Infinite flake of destiny fall
upon outstretched broken hand,
cursed by ages dying
in some distant abstract land
in some abstract distant land,
in some land abstract distant
in some ritual, literal heaven.
An old eye watches all
flickers ////
blinks ----
in a crowded empty room
that fills my gut with a fear larger
than I dare Imagine - blank cells
crawl away, consume lining.
A gilded sense of depths of desire
riddles the head of my Medusa mind
with tales of half borne inquiry and
half formed sensual prodding
to daze me in the dead of night or morning
(can’t remember which or cannot tell)
Lift self up on the crucifix - feed the totality
tone of self sacrifice until that day the sheep
finally fold and swallow their own tails
till the end of time - to the end of the matter
borne from it, until universe is crushed under
the weight of it’s own promise
retuned again to zero point.
Rain down a halo upon this ancient marble
witness a black Rainbow
forget the ***** that chew at skin
and fly
into
the
sky
and
dreaming of black rainbows beat the tune
of aching hearts set to 11.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
She was born 7 pounds 7 ounces
So clean and beautiful
Untouched from the dirt of the earth and the corruption of society
The stars shined so brightly for this one
Riveting mountain hills and green valleys beamed when they heard the news
The ocean's tides grew momentous and spilled over the beaches in joy
Nature had gained another unstained soul
The sun selfishly, but necessarily, tried to shield this one from the elements of others
The pain and the suffering
The sadness and the melancholy
The sun couldn’t see another one of earth’s babies grow up to become lifeless
For the sun would not allow the moon to take another
Another baby that belonged to the moon’s dangerous night sky
The moon reeled in these children with the promise of a sky painted with glimmering stars that could spell out your name
And brighter lights that shined adjacent to tall buildings in a buzzing city
But this was merely the moon’s treacherous trick
And the rain was in on it as well
For once the moon gained a follower
The rain would join in
Buckets of liquid depression would pour and pour from gray skies as they broke through the clouds that couldn't hold the weight of sadness anymore
Then these children would sleep while the sun bared its face and heat
And become insomniacs when the moon would reveal itself
This way, they’d be forced to look into its lonely face all night
And realize themselves how forlorn they were as well
So now they crave the color of night forever
They wish to see the color black eternally
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was born 7 pounds 7 ounces
And was retuned back to the Earth within 17 years
The knotted roots that brought her down thanked the moon
*It was so cloudy that day
The sun was nowhere to be found*
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
for oh so long you stayed,
ripping my heart and brain to shreds,
stealing away my innocence,
willing me to do awful, dreadful, things,
that sounded beautiful coming out of your mouth,
you said it was the answer,
and I was foolish enough to
believe.
you said it would help, and it did and didn't.
you said that it would make me feel better,
you pried and pried and I caved.
and let my mind take over my actions.
and let the feelings sink away.
and so you hid,
ran away to a little corner,
making me believe I was free of this addiction, free of your grasp, free of your pounding fists upon my lungs,
and so I tried, and tried and tried and tried,
and it wasn't worth it,
because your drag me so slow that,
half way back, felt just like the beginning.
felt jus like a half real smile, felt like a half way honest comment,
but you see,
your imaginary leave of absence,
led me to believe,
I was out, I was done,
I was
better.
but, maybe you should have just stayed,
because,
now your back,
and while I thought I was climbing, I was sinking,
even lower than before,
where there is no branch for me to use,
where the light, is a figment of my imagination,
so your back, and thriving, feeding off of there beautiful comments,
gaining control through someone else's words, and actions,
so you have retuned.
will you stay, or put me under that spell again?
will you finish your intentions,
or will I prevail?
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
the reluctant apprentice, trained
with brown paper and string.
the redundant book binder, left
to the world with care. hoped
to eradicate a lack of training , gold
leaf tracing a memory. retuned eventually
through mappe mundi, national libraries
all ancient tape and frogskin.
chained.
the books are bound.
sbm.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
i wonder why i do this to myself,
make it seem like it could be.
i find myself falling for every man i see.
what makes me think you'd want me,
the way that i want you.
i always overanalyze every little thing you do.
maybe one day it will happen,
my desire will be retuned.
until that day however,
i'll continue to feel burned.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
I am but a man
I posses none
And none posses me
My spirit I give freely
And experience more freedom
The gift of giving soon becomes the retuned gift
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC