"reunions" poems
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Spiders.
Snakes.
Late nights, due to the fact that once I saw a possum in our garage when it was dark out.
Good looking people not thinking I'm good looking.
Holding children. I might drop them.
My brothers growing up to be just like me.
Shark attacks.
Jumping off high places.
Headphones that go too deep into my ears.
Going the opposite direction of so many cars. I'm the only one going my way. They're probably headed the right way. They're probably having more fun.
Realizing that, after being on the road for a while, my high beams have been on the whole time. Sorry.
Cockroaches.
Family reunions where I'm not sure if that really attractive girl is my family or someone's friend.
Climbing up the stairs of the Bombay ride at Wet N' Wild because there just slabs of stone I can see under. I could slip and fall right through.
Enjoying bad bands.
Letting my girlfriend look into my eyes.
Talking on the phone.
Growing up.
Refusing to grow up.
Reading this over if I ever finish it and realizing that I am something less than a regular human being. Probably an animal of some kind.
Frogs.
Big animals.
Waking up one day as the same person I always have been.
Standing still.
My parents.
Not spending the rest of my life with the girl I swore I would.
Texting people too often.
My parents dying.
Whales.
My teeth being this awful the rest of my life.
Braces.
Making people think they offended me. People never offend me.
Writing anything that's ever as good as Ernest Hemingway. How dare I think that I ever could.
Running too hard. My heart might burst.
Being unreasonable. Am I unreasonable?
Sticking my finger inside an air conditioning vent in a car. I don't know if there's a fan in there. I don't know if it'll take my finger off.
Getting people's hopes up.
Letting people down.
Fish.
Bees.
Being a teacher.
My laugh.
Wearing bad clothes.
Holding her hand too hard. I might cut off circulation. She might get mad.
My brother disapproving of what I do.
Heaven because it sounds awful doing the same thing for the rest of forever.
Finding out I've been gay this whole time.
Cracking my fingers.
Being a parent.
Whales.
Final exams.
Paranormal Activity 4.
Singing on cue.
Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
Eating insects.
Whales.
Silence.
The open ocean.
Whales.
Whales.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC
*Morpheus has never been kind to me
His somniferous ways leave me wanting
Grasping at the cusp of a reality
As evanescent as the morning mist
That greets this reluctant gaze.
He exists to these sheathed
Bourbon eyes
Within the veiled carapace
Of the only form I've ever wanted more
Than necessity and air.
His torment lies
In false reunions, in joining and parting lips
In forest eyes that linger behind in my thoughts
Like the echo of a cannon
Long after it's wrought its own havoc.
Yes, that twisted Lothario
That Grecian sandman
Exists to overcharge the soul with
Hope so poisonous
Bodies and minds are wracked with it
Inspired by it
Haunted on into the waking world
Where he waits on the periphery
Eyes narrowed in the light
Of the waking world that renders him useless.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Her beauty shined from within
With her golden hair and fair skin
But she still wasn't enough for him back then.
Ugly duckling...
She was soon labeled
All of her peers, joined in
Chanting and ranting
Ugly duckling, ugly duckling
She bowed her head and cried again and again
Time passed
And people moved on
She found she was better off on her own.
Reunions come and gone
She opted to stay at home,
Til one day she realized
She had become a swan...
No longer would she sit at home...
All alone...
No more...No more
Opening her door
She found freedom to explore
And everyone swore...
Anna May...Was gorgeous...
More so than the "chosen ones"...
Back in the school days.
One day she come face to face with...
Juan...but he was to good for her back then...
She sat smiled and listened while he chat...
How did this come about...
Your gorgeous lips, pout...
Round thighs and hips...
She smiled and said...
I am who I have always been...
You just never saw my beauty from within...
Juan, gathered courage and asked her on a date...
She smiled and said...
To late...
This swan...already has a mate.
Epilogue... Never Judge a person from the outside...whats on the inside, is what really counts.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
three sets of withered, wrinkly hands
with chipped
tired
pale-pink nailpolish
flutter in the air,
describing.
three froofy perms
one browny-gray
one white
one salt and pepper
bob
jutting forward,
one
wobbles a little.
Grandma wears
a green-foam party hat
with a thin, white elastic band
that runs under her wrinkled chin
it sits atop her fuzzy perm
comically...
she smiles
at me.
"Ah! my cappuccino! you remembered i like it, didn't you?"
she chucks her great-granddaughter
under the chin,
grins
"oohh! look at these gardening gloves! Cidi! look at these gloves! i like the green ones."
she hands them to her white-haired sister
aunt cidi told me
this year she is
ninety-one
oh, and the gloves were really
blue.
aunt cidi
misses uncle harland
he was buried three or four years ago
in his uniform
i remember sitting next to him
at awkward family reunions
eating hotdogs
i never saw so much mustard
in my life
he could never hear me
when i tried to talk to him
but he smiled
anyway.
the talk turns serious
suddenly
over our black coffee
crossed legs
sweaters
and chocolate cake
grandma turns grim
in her lime-green party hat
"did you end up killing that trumpet vine in your yard, Jeanie?"
aunt jeanie's head wobbles a bit
she squints
wrinkles her nose
"i TRIED to!"
she scowls.
schemes of ******
plotted by three chunky-earringed
sweet
old ladies
who are a little late
for the 1940's
but never too late
for a handsome
soldier
"we're older..."
says aunt jeanie
"but not THAT old!"
they all
giggle.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Within those walls were crowded halls
with classmates never met.
Tormented now and evermore
with sorrow and regret.
Passersby we remember well
but really never knew,
A feeling of remorse today
for not befriending you.
Pleasant greetings should not have been
so difficult to say,
Immaturity and shyness
somehow got in the way.
Perhaps we should inspire youth -
It’s not a daunting feat -
To greet others with open arms,
no matter whom we meet.
Within those walls were crowded halls
with classmates never met.
Tormented now and evermore
with sorrow and regret.
Those halls and walls are sure to fall,
ramparts will crumble, too,
But maybe we are bound to rise
as we will follow you.
When the final class has ended,
and bricks are never-more,
Perhaps God’s all-gracious grade book
will balance out the score.
In His luminescent classroom,
with bright and lucid view,
I pray that there’s an empty desk
where I may sit by you.
Within those walls were crowded halls
with classmates never met.
Tormented now and evermore
with sorrow and regret.
The poem above was written for our 45th class reunion, for the 1970 class of Forest Hills High School, Sidman, PA
#classmates #high #school #reunions #regrets #sorrow #passingon
Written by
Dave Potchak 67/M/Central PA
— The End —
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
Forgetting is the only clarity.
It was a day of forgetting.
No unquiet dreams or
casual reunions with the dead
who wander the halls of sleep,
the bodies of someone else’s loss.
No ghosts in the gazebo.
No echoes in the fading light.
Exiting sleep’s empty waiting room,
She woke. Blue sky blinked into her eyes.
The room’s climate began to clear.
There was writing on the wall.
Old fragments came to closure.
The windows slowly turned to mirrors.
She fiddled. She soared.
She played with her ancestors’ building blocks.
She lent a myth to god.
She stood in a garden with five black stones.
She foretold an eclipse,
Burned the witch of winter,
Stepped in the same river twice.
The moment froze.
Then there it was.
The compound inviolate paradox
at the heart of things,
the answer flickering in light and shade,
to the sound of a child’s voice,
then the roaring wind.
She chuckled as it faded to a point of light
then vanished, like the picture on an old TV,
Like the moon shrinking into the alarm clock’s face.
Her breath brewed clouds above her forehead.
She sat aloof in the empty air,
Alone in the immense morning,
At rest in this inviolable disconnection,
the clear cold innocence of now.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
To it, I've never been.
but I've dreamed of a place where everything
is coated in corn and comfort.
Wished the past had taken me,
can't help but feel it was about my skin.
Cactus candy and cowboy boots.
Zydeco and haunted hotels.
The voodoo Frank sang about in the end.
The horns sound the streets.
Close curtains, be discreet.
Encircle the barest neck,
with colorful beads.
His family reunions
made me realize I'm on my own.
Until I met a prettier soul.
I don't kiss frogs for love.
I forget the ease in slime.
and let the grease define
an unhealthy outlook.
Sip another lime or a sour.
A ginger begs the hour.
Lonely never leaves,
but warmth is a soco shower.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Sewn together out of old
flannel memories and work shirts of the past
a network of veins
plumping generations of
angry blood
We carry traces of mean,
scared people
Terrible things
not fondly remembered
at reunions
And yet are present in the tapestry
But
There are many
kind
compassionate
beautiful souls as well
They are all on your tapestry
Know it
and display it well
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
subway
ed sheeran, especially give me love, our ******* wedding song
black and white photos
england, you wanted to show me everywhere
6"2'
the fault in our stars
always
italian, why did you even feel the need to say ti amo
***** you were drunk when you said it the second time
5.30am
scars on people's wrists, don't be silly, you said it was an accident
collar bones
tumblr
dreams, the good ones were mine, the bad ones were yours
voice recordings
11.11 wishes, the ones you promised you'd help make come true
the word ****
succulents, like on your windowsill
bastille and cars, you would always sing along in the passenger seat
postcards
airport and train station reunions
all those songs i played just for you on my guitar
my sister's birthday, why did you have to choose that date
you're perfect for me, you swore you weren't a liar
***
the anne frank house, where you were ******* texting me from
february 26th
melbourne's federation square
your name was in a movie and i started to cry
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
*every life is unique and connected
no one understands
all or even
most of
human existence
sometimes you need
encouragement
sometimes god really
does cut you
a break
sometimes idols crack
asking whom do i serve
when i try to create
a little celebrity
out of a soul which is
too precious
to be reduced to numbers
what is a world
whose creatures
hide inside machines
fear of humans
is enough of
a prison
fear of thoughts
they probably aren't even thinking
but who knows
in this world
at least the brothers tell the truth
whom shall i fear and what
control is an illusion
when the tsunami
almost comes
i see we all
must go to
the calling
only
like you taught me
if you're going to believe something
believe it
everyone has to come out
about something, i had
to come out about cannabis
it's true there's two sides to everything
if i judge you
i condemn myself
i don't know
where those tears
have been
rhino pi and i by the fireplace tonight
rhino gives me his soft stripe sweatshirt
purple black white red i say i'll wear it
and think of you all over the world
and bring it back full of
stories and
mice and
fire
i was writing into the abyss
when i was in the abyss,
when the abyss
was me,
no longer
who jesus bless no man curse
born again
into a rhythm of
waves and reggae
hey hey hey
it's you
i've been waiting for
no one remembers the reunions
of those who came before,
what they did or them at all
except the Creator
who transcends lies and clocks
who creates in wisdom acacias and watermelons and whales
who keeps our tears in his bottles
i bow my head at the door of his hut
i stand by the light of his fire
my bread i accept from his hand
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
At night I hear them
Tiny footsteps
Sneaky little feet running around my head
The creatures they belong to
Biting on my brain cells and
Rummaging around my memories like
They're trinket hunting in a dusty old attic and
Pulling out the most repulsive, musty things they can find,
The things I hid in boxes, embarrassed about,
Old snapshots of a past I’d rather not remember
But they always creep back out of there come family reunions.
These sneaky little creatures that bite on the back of my brain
Cackle over my most mortifying trinkets,
The kind that I try to give away but the thrift stores won’t take them
And I’d be too humiliated to sell them directly
Because that would mean I’d have to share the fact that I had them
When the fact of the matter is that I’m walking in the snow
And trying to cover up my footprints
With an evergreen branch
That does nothing but leave bigger, clearer marks on
The cold white unforgiving ground
And makes the marks more visible
But less obviously mine.
And the sneaky little creatures don’t like this,
Because it’s taking away from the treasures they keep
Up in my attic with the moth-eaten shawls
And dusty old rocking chair stashed in the corner.
They love the old, repulsive musty things
That I don’t want and cannot give away,
And so they make me look them over and over
And shove the hideous things into my face
Dissolving my sense of self as easily as
Salt into water
And gradually changing my taste buds
From honey to brine
As I wonder
Why, why, why
And the sneaky little feet that run around my head
Turn heavy, as if clad in iron boots
And every little trinket that they share
Makes them less and less easy to ignore.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
There is something about this
House in Hackensack...
It attracts people...like a magnet.
They often gather here, and
They are welcomed any time.
Eyes and souls surround,
Even strangers are drawn to it,
Like bees attracted to the flowers.
Reunions are looked forward to...
Even short chats and visits
For some coffee or wine
Are always welcome.
This house....
It makes people want to come back...
It's not just the food,
Or the help it offers...
The comeliness of the place,
The people that live within...
The noise... ever-present,
The shaking of the stairs, when the boys
Chase, tease each other...
The squabbles, replete with tears...
Cabinets are real heavy,
With weight-y stories to tell...
The bedrooms, so inviting, where jokes
And giggles underneath the covers
Could be heard till late hours of the night...
All gather in the kitchen,
The hub in this house...
Family, friends...even new guests
Do not go to the living room...
They walk straight to the kitchen.
There, where the home scents
Exude warmth,
Fragrant with home-cooking.
The long dining table says it all...
A different kind of music
Plays every time
And invites everyone
To stay for a while and relax...
It beckons each time...
It whispers...
"Go, find your corner...do your thing,
You'll be okay..."
And so, the cozy sun room became
A favorite spot in that house,
Where beautiful poetry bloomed
At any hour during that whole month.
From out front, along the street,
Circling around to the backyard,
Then back inside...
It has now finally dawned on this clouded mind,
What that "something" is...
This house, metamorphosed
From an old, kind of cold Victorian, to a homier,
More comfortable modernized domicile...
Now radiates with love, warmth and kindness,
The energy emitted by the family living within...
The people are the crown and the charm...
They are the smoke coming out of the chimney...
The A U R A of this house, standing proud
Along Catalpa Avenue.........
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Reunions are great.
Catching up with old friends and family.
After months or even years apart, that first meeting is sheer bliss.
But with you, every meeting is a reunion.
Every second air fills the space between our finger tips
Every second our sweaty, caloused hands are apart time slows down.
Slow enough to make seconds feel like days, days feel like weeks, weeks feel like months and years..... I'd rather not think about it.
I just want to tell you that when Im with you, time feels right.
Not too fast. Not too slow.
Just right.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 5:38 AM UTC
I lit the candle
with two hydros,
and burned the house
down with a bottle
of whiskey. The next
morning I wandered
through the ashes
looking for shower
invitations and aspirin.
Back in bars, filled
with screaming amps
and glaring ex lovers
I wove my way
in-between old friends
and mating dances,
losing Hemingway
and storm clouds.
I dropped the anchor
in your apartment,
falling mid sentence
into stain ridden furniture
and empty Budweiser bottles.
The only thing I broke
that night, was my determination
on not being a blow up doll
molded after some girl
I was never going to be.
So I laid there kissing
ghosts and shook
with a fever and chills
vibrating like telephones
on silent. And you wondered
where I went once
the door closed.
You can't define cordial as
branding someone
and mailing them back
to a delusional soul falling
in love with them
after. Hot metal
pokers weren't made
for joyous reunions.
They make sure you
always know where
you leave your scars.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 6:39 PM UTC
Morpheus has never been
A kindly lover, nor precious friend
Yet in this stead, he strives to be
Replacement for reality.
Sominiferous ways that heat my blood;
Make my wilting spirits bud
Leave me wanting, never free
There on the cusp of reality.
Like morning mist, not half so pleasant
His remedies are evanescent
From where he lives behind my eyes
And plagues my shattered paradise.
He wears the exquisite carapace
For whom I yearn upon his face
And therein's where my torment lies
From golden skin and forest eyes-
From false reunions, makeshift bliss
From joining eyes and parting lips
Like cannon fire, the sound's refrain
Draw parallels to this cruel pain.
That Grecian Sandman, Morpheus
Lothario, for whom exists
To overchage the soul with hope
So poisonous, I gasp and choke-
Yet bodies, minds, and souls alike
Find inspiration from the strife
And haunted persons, like myself
Endure his falsehoods where we're held.
He haunts the dreamless, lucid world
Upon the cusp, the conscious swirl
His narrowed eyes, his blunted sight
Despise waking world of light.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
I aimlessly drifted in teenage years,
From subtle scion to zaftig plebe.
Seen phony glory, vanquished fears,
And the stench of a wicked glebe.
From below, saw the stars up high,
Igniting horizons with callow wonder.
Beheld colossal beauty with mine inner eye,
Begged for chained thoughts asunder.
Amidst the serene flock to be slain,
Oft' a titan, seldom a vacant savant.
Known sorrow, elation, gain, vain, pain,
This mortal hour, hear joyful lament.
How quick we are to bid farewell,
How slow for friendship to pierce the cloth.
The rhythmic ache of that darkened knell,
The sobbing whimpers for a lover's warmth.
Nix for reciprocated amity, yet!
My seat of affection thrives in twilight.
Herein discipline is adamantly set,
Whence shall this ****** ire take flight?
Into the night that covers my soul,
Unleash that verdant star I see.
The divine abyss have taken its toll,
I pray the shadow is only me.
Note the ease to neglect one's clan,
Yet savored glee of reunions by blood.
Fury cease my elder ties, an infant plan,
By filial ardor, I still kneel in mud.
Star-shine ablaze onto vivid blooms,
Arise the stench of broiling debris.
Beauteous summer-tide metronomes,
The sinking scythe follow gales of peace.
Labor come sweat yield sweet fruition,
Tis annual come the bronze harvest.
Wrongful vengeance seek humble redemption,
Autumn under siege of well-fed zest.
Stormy vista rime graying meadows,
Entrench the sepsis by the ice age.
Taste weeping woe of guilty widows,
Lest their beloved hunger in cage.
Arise young lilac out of barren frosts,
Touch the vital aura to begin anew.
Altruists gladly pay auric costs,
To stalk vile leviathan into dew.
May stones bear indistinct distinction,
So my stride shall stumble and falter.
Peace paint heroes of sluggish fiction,
Chaos rouse prodigies from quiet slumber.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
Have you been searching for that perfect gift?
Want to say something special, give someone a lift?
Are you popping the question? Is it someone's birthday
But you're just not quite sure of the right words to say?
Is the one that you love feeling lonely or sick?
If a card or a letter just won't do the trick...
Pick up the phone call Poetically Correct
With our help, you'll achieve the desired effect
Just give us some details, and in a short time
You can send someone special, a gift that's sublime
Anniversaries ~ Apologies ~ Any Occasion ~ Baby Dedications ~ Bachelor/Bachelorette Party ~ Birth Announcements ~ Condolences ~ Congratulations ~ Eulogies ~ Father's Day ~ Get Well ~ Graduation ~ Holidays ~ Love ~ Proposals ~Reunions ~ Roasts ~ Secret Admirer ~ Special Friend ~ Surprise ~ Tell 'Em Off ~ Told U So ~ Valentines ~ You Name It
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
goodbyes—
there were always goodbyes
and silence
more silence
but always more goodbyes
goodbyes—
ended without an hello
just started
we began again
but always more goodbyes
goodbyes—
ended in our reunions
maybe virtually
perhaps personally
but always more goodbyes
goodbyes—
this time it's goodbye
that just could—
that just might—
that just may—
stick.
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful things inside,
108 of waves, you are searching for.
The true colours you love, wrapped up in a blissful layer by layer, our doorway to knowledge path,
Expounding the absolute power,
As committed and receptive naturally.
The parcel I am sending you, to say how much I miss you.
Holding the heart- " the mystical heart",
Where you always remain, beautifully inside it.
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
The remaining just flower for you, the way the potters wheel is,
Opens up various levels of perception,
Everytimes puts out, when it silence, gets hurts.
I am trying to be flower for you to your potential, external and largely fortunately internal.
I am sending a parcel on its wings, be careful when you open it.
Better to maintain conducive atmosphere
Is called KAVACH, create a cocoon energy inside,
That simply transmit that you wish.
The parcel , it has , things inside, full of beautiness
That you had initiated into meditativeness,
generating receptivity , you transmitted into me,
In a short time,
as a doorway to knowledge.
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Trying to praise your emotional integrity,
Whatever i send, be careful when you open it.
The beautiful things inside it, The thought
Quiet powerful transforms spiritual process.
Starting the aware of kundalini with the help of ganapati.
I am sending a parcel on its red wings.
Grounded bases of balance emotional issues.
For reduction of anxiety to energize your powerful spirituality.
With another parts of parcel on its orange wings.
Which help you to open up for the feeling of
Maintaining harmoneous relationship together.
Because of human beings being empowered with this.
To promote your beautifully things, self confedence and
To be continued effective manner in which you are travelling miles and miles,
See in this parcel.
I am sending a power with its yellow wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful heart , the mystical heart..
On its green wings
Having full of love , kindness, experiencing compassion which you opened a balance of sympathetic love.
During our conversations.
I am sending a parcel on its blue wings .
When you open it carefully, you will find positivity,
Singing a song that you most love.
It has also contain a indigo one called 3rd eye
Helps you to visualize inside
And connected the way the path of spiritual heaven.
I am sending a parcel on its violet wings
The crown you will find,
When you open it carefully.
Enjoying with spiritual connections.
Creation of emotion, bonding meditative path.
Melt completely wisdom.
Leaving probably me alone
In the world a path spiritual
Where we will be reunions
Our soul again and again.
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
Grandmother,
Do not feed me with the scent of tomorrow - it has a certain pungency that I cannot stand. After all, I am still full with the taste of this bitter residue lurching in my stomach left by memory.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
I know I shouldn’t be
Digging up graves
Unlocking tombs
So I can listen to
Your breath
I know I shouldn’t be
Picturing you
That way that I did
Moonlight pouring through windows
Onto perfect dark skin
One of many reunions
And so many unions between
Timid lips
Our alliance was strong
But never quite steady
Two years later I’ve got that steady
Got that “hey honey you’re home and dinner’s ready”
Two years later I’m a liar
lying in bed
My ****** fan is loud
He is breathing
sleeping
but all I hear are raindrops
from summer afternoons where we collided again
The shhh
Your lips made
Trying to keep quiet in that closet at your dads place
I can’t decide if it’s my youth
Or you that I miss
If it’s
Your smile
When your kid sister beat me at video games
Or the perfect simplicity
Of living like kids
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 12:08 AM UTC
We're all dramatic goodbyes and tearful reunions.
It's like something from a movie.
My heart has been broken by the miles between us,
my mind and body abused.
I wish I wasn't the way I am.
I wish I could turn things the right way up.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
2 years of separation
leads to reunions & dissections
of the shared heart we once betrayed
split symmetric down the chamber veins
& drained into a vacant maze
of muscle-coated misdirection:
from a gory war of self-destruction
to a boring morning-long discussion
on the proper functions of affection,
a lecture on the subtle pressure
of stitching missing years together.
so we descended through the memories
of manipulation tendencies
& our blended lungs breathed in relief
at our splendid self-discovery:
you're a different you & i'm no longer me;
thick skin grafts & habit transplants
transformed us to an image abstract
from a former siamese attachment,
our blurry split from commitment
carried independence infinite
& we soared more weightless through the clouds
with our orphaned organs on the ground
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 6:41 AM UTC