"roadsigns" poems
Have you known the winter days?
Late February falls like frigid snow
Merciless undertow
Of evergreen and alpenglow
And grey ground pavement walking
Like Grocery shopping
and weak chai tea
Moonlengths from all family
And surrounded like strawbury temptation,
Late night lamp light contemplation
And drowsy-dampened mornings
Grey glaze of diluted boring
Spattered over every orifice
Charcoal eyes, platonic kiss.
Pull your bow to shoot and miss
Tell me all this is is what it is
And I will tell you, “okay”
(but you know this isn’t what I wanted)
Hide the roadsigns
Blur the guidelines
This is how I love you
Have you known the winter days?
Late February fell like fire on hell
And shook me from my sleep
Ashes cover snow-banked heaps of rubble
I slice my wrist on the sharpened stubble
Of your half-assed beard
(this is how I bleed my dear)
This is how I bear my soul
******* smile
And dominoes
Carnation cults
And buried bones
(This is how I build your throne)
Hide the gravestones
Burn the rainbows
This is how I love you.
And have you known the winter days?
Late February fallen like Lucifer to the underworld
We both knew I wasn’t altogether that typeof girl
But we pretended anyways
Alcoholic halo haze
And foreign intervention
Of somewhat insidious intention
And the legitimate logistical question
That defined our discourse on fear
(this is how I think my dear)
This is how I speak my mind
All that grey
Those missing roadsigns
Smoke and soot and
Blurry guidelines
And Gravestones gone
And rainbows ash
(and we are never coming back)
This.
This is how I love you.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Hungry stones line the narrows
a jagged, muddy trail
aspen trees as pharaohs
gaunt columns of massive scale
Broken wagon pieces lie
testament to treachery
splintered axles cry
hopeless dwell in reverie
only insects fly
Lonely road disintegrate
loose shades of beige and brown
fallen roadsigns instigate
nature steal the crown
Hungry stones in narrows
still are left unfed
bodies strewn with arrows
death they do not dread.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
When you come away from home you can be one of many things:
A ****
A partyanimal
A geek
A talker
A listener
A doer
A drinker
A social recluse
An alcohol abuser
A hustler
A bustler
A fanatic
A panicker
A best friend waiting to be discovered
A great lover in the cupboard
The list goes on
But we are all one thing:
A fresher
A newbie
A greenhorn
Streetfighters
Run up quarterbacks
Soldiers of Fortune.
And I realise it can be hard
With everything going on
Trying everything new
Trying to make friends
We can sometimes get caught up
And lose our field of vision.
If I could give one piece of advice
It would be:
Be who you are.
Standup for what you believe in –
People always come round to respecting that
If you don’t do shots
Drink beer
If you don’t like ****
Pass on it in a dignified manner.
I once knew a guy who lost his field of vision:
He ended up firing a rifle out of a second-storey window
Trying to hit the centre of the O’s on roadsigns.
It might have been the exuberant amount of alcohol
He had consumed that night.
I just don’t know.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 3:47 PM UTC
twirling landscapes on my fingertips
rummaging the depths of the sky
the shattered world at a glance
broken pieces failing to mend
and in the yelled whispers waiting
the syllables of frozen fear
echo the heartbeat of silence
the compass casually announces its disturbance
as if it weren't obvious by the needle of spinning red
guess I should've left the magnet alone
but I'm famous for finding every attraction irresistible
and it seemed so very near the road
swirling colors in my hand
sweet chocolate turns into dirt
believing in the impossible
but living in the now
I want a cutting scream
ripping through this mistiness
to break against the night
the roadsigns are all covered by dark green ivy
and the path is overgrown with tall brown weeds
I conclude I'm traveling in the wrong direction
but maybe only few find their way out here
and perhaps I'm supposed to continue on
maybe
if I stayed here
maybe
I'd be all right but
maybe
it'd be a dull life
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 4:25 PM UTC
This girl?
She’s So **** fine.
I mean so **** fine. And
This girl knows I'm bad with words
So
this will probably
Sound like ****
But here's what it is –
Right before I saw you
Someone threw a dart
I didn't see where it landed
I didn't want to
Your hands were in your pockets
You turned and I felt the dart hit
somewhere
near
the center
And I thought - ****
I gotta stop finding girls
Who got such good aim
So I opened my cabinets
And I started reciting all the foods
You're supposed to call lovers
Sugar honey flour
Why do I want to call you things
I could bake into a cake
Maybe it's cuz I want to eat you up
and eat you out
you know I didn't have a sweettoothe until
I met you
And now I've got these
cavities
Deep dark pits
of her
and Grand Canyons behind my canines
And swelling seas and saltmines…
You know that
I grew up in a valley
So when I run my hands down the slope
Of her thighs
It's a little like going home
I've found myself staring at maps
Books on geography
Cartography
Elevations
Latitude and longitude
How can I navigate
When her hips
are my east and west
but the roadsigns say
thank you for visiting
when I swear I just got here
And so I'm driving down your interstate veins
And I'm speeding, babe
I'm going way too fast
And –
At stop signs I think of you
I think of you I think of heavy blankets
cutting hair like snipping sorrows
pruning back bad days
kissing pretty little words into my mouth
Like candy hearts with pink letters
You buy for novelty
This girl knows I'm bad with words
So this will probably
Sound like ****
But that's what it is
And that's what she is -
She’s **** fine.
**** fine.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
The foot prints with color.
Stamps across the streets where
cars create a sense of second pace,
passing by the signs now faded green
reads not Route 44
but rather Route 4..something..
Will they ever repaint it green?
What's the point? You wonder
when you're late for work and you may barely
make it, because your gas tank is on E yet again.
What else is new?
New job. New wife. No kids.
Because, can you really afford it?
Price tags are merely fiction
and I know this because of what happened once in second grade.
The library was my favorite place.
It's one of the only places that one is never alone.
I was the only one in class to mix up fiction and non fiction on the test.
And still, I am confused.
For I walk this world with carbon footprints
tears like rain drops-acid even,
and not the kind that spin inner thoughts with color.
Instead, the kind that is not kind at all, but
hurtful-scars the surface of green grass
left to fade like an old photograph.
And the colors fade like roadsigns
that the cities overlook.
Lights can be blinding.
No flash photography in the museum please.
I'm living nonfiction.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
Finding the right words is hard when you are constantly choking on sound
This and that
And the aftermath
**** a sunrise
Let my mind set
I try to follow roadsigns but I missed my exit and refuse to turn back
I don't time travel well
She has planted deep roots inside of me
The cold is harsh and all I want is to protect her tiny heartbeat
Shake me
Shake me
Shake me till I erupt with passion again
I've been standing still for too long
I don't know how to grow
I know how to stretch
Pull me apart
Make me feel again
She is pure sunshine and she knows it
And I know that God exists just by how she looks at me
I'm rebuilding for the sake of consistent structure
My foundation is custom
Make me see
Make me see
Make me see what is right in front of me
Life is meant to be wandered through
Not wondering through
And my God what a beautiful thing to be experiencing it with you
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 10:28 PM UTC