"rungs" poems
It's elementary, my dear
This bittersweet affection that I feel
From one boy to the next I grew
Ladder rungs of broken hearts
First grade
Blonde hair and disarming smile
Recess games and hallway passes
A note in a diary and minutes spent giggling
Never talking, always watching
Fourth grade
Glasses frame of brown hair and thin shoulders
Curious enigma to come and go
A bit more literate diary entrees
One year of crossed legs and shy smiles
Fifth grade
A growing tree of lean muscle and blue eyes
Short brown hair and a charming grin
Side by side on a rubber track
Gray skies and sweet goodbyes
A bright dance floor and a shattered heart
Miserable nights and heartbreak songs
Seventh grade
Long dark hair and chocolate eyes
This spring has brought a strange surprise
Wiry muscle and soft cheeks
Once admired, then adored
An ongoing thrum of sweet affection
Sidelong glances and gym class stares
New discoveries and quiet realization
Girl can love girl
Tenth grade
A firecracker packed with mysterious boys
And an enigmatic girl
A bomb in the summer sky
Spelling new names, new faces, new hearts
A whisper of 'I love you' at long last returned
Names carved on my ribs and pulling my lips
A tightened chest never felt so good
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
I kiss like
a thunderstorm,
crashing into your lips
with the force of a
hurricane, I haven't felt
the rain in far too long
There is a promise
sealed to your mouth,
a record you can feel
beneath your tongue
reminding you that
I'll stay forever
locked in your eyes --
I won't move until
you break your gaze
I kiss like
I'm dying, the candle
flickering down to
the wax, no amount of
kindling can revive me
from a death like this
And when your breath
unfolds from the back
of your throat, you'll
kiss me back to life,
falling back into step
with everything
I knew before,
your bricklayer's tongue
chiseled between
my teeth --
we fit
like rungs on a ladder,
pulling me back to the surface
I kiss
like a firestorm,
knowing that
one day
something
will blow me away
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
What we have named Fire Escape
(an ordered, angular tangle of ladders and rail)
had made picture geometries in my west window
well-framed and flat--set foreground and background
in two dimensions, as the sun hid,
and my round eye opened.
What we have named Fire Escape
was flaked-paint brown orange, as if
first it had been born of a flame
and then had taken up living as metal--
tempered itself into usefulness,
which I should trust now, in case of the yelling
and the engines.
What we have named Fire Escape
was happy Jungle Jim or Jungle for Jane
for the sparrows I saw this morning
which flitted and wildly played
within, rising up
arched and back again.
Made of the square pairs of ladder rungs--
a tunnel entrance or ducking posts,
or highway bridges to clear;
the birds like small plane, daredevil pilots
each following each, going under.
No sparrow would ever crash.
And what is this I remember now?
How one bird eased its engine and perched there to stay?
As if to offer me, with a little turn of head gesture--
a thank you, for the bread I'd left on the sill? Or to say
I'd better shut the curtain and make my exit?
Either prideful guess gets me nowhere fast.
Failed even is speaking in any sparrow languages
from my recline stuffed chair; again, but now imagined,
to draw beady eyes to fix on me, telling me much less.
That morning, with the very last sparrow gone,
I remember that nothing in my sight moved,
save an American flag at a distance in the wind,
with its one red-white striped wing
waving toward the cold north,
as the white church spire,
framed in open quadrilaterals,
held its position.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
Sara L Russell 20/1/15 11:32
Windows of opportunity
ways of touching base
teamwork with alacrity
cutting to the chase
jingoist linguistics
speaking business tongues
ladders of loquaciousness
rushing up the rungs
See all the little workmates
running for the bus
trying not to be late
not to cause a fuss
every day frenetic
a speeding metronome
a life too energetic
so glad I work from home.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
feel the wind whistle
down the tenebrous sky
come to carry away
my silenced heart
hold dear the love
you see through
my dried tears —
before the glint
doth fade
lay me down alone,
my dearest friend,
eyes to the sky
neath the lone oak tree —
atop the meadow hill
where a lonely child
climbed gnarled rungs
in hope to sail away
on fleeting cotton clouds;
dreaming of a place
in the distant sky
to call home
Jesse Stillwater ... September 21, 2018
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
There is a ladder that I climb
And climb I shall through all of time
The wood is rough and splintery
And so the task is hard, you see
And as I climb my arms grow weak
My bones, like the rungs, bend and creak
Sometimes resolve abandons me
My head goes down and I can't see
When climbing in this careless way
I lose my hold and slip away
So, quickly I fall ten feet down
I tell myself to not look down
I grab hold of the rung again
Then meditate and rest my chin
The rung has now a coat of slime
It feels I'll slip another time
I push the thought out of my head
For if I fall, then I'll be dead
I wipe away the dreadful slime
And climb again, step at a time
And though the top I'll never see,
I keep my gaze ahead of me.
"Why do you climb", a man once asked
"...If you cannot complete the task?"
"There are two worlds", I said to him
"...And one of them is filled with sin
Within that world, you'll find no light
Your soul is bound by fear and spite
In the other, you can see
Your heart's made whole and you are free
The line between these worlds is broad
That is the world on which we trod
But even here amidst our strife
You'll find there are two sides of life
We start between and go one way
By choices we make every day
This road we take is gradual
We slowly fall as blinded fools
Unless we climb the other way
And so please hear these things I say
As I climb, the light gets brighter
And the load on me becomes much lighter
The truth's revealed and my heart made full
As I climb away from sin's dark rule
So, where's this ladder that I climb?
He's here; take hold. He's yours and mine"
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
scaled your apartment in one of my favorite dresses
right before sundown
watched the wind billow the blue silk up my thighs,
parachute like
as i looked down,
several stories above your neighbors
(wonder if anyone looked up)
swallowed my human fear, counted the rungs
had opened our forties prematurely in your apartment
sure didn't make climbing any easier
that big map stretched out yawning across the bricks in your living room
spotted the city you were headed for
blame it on uninformed geography but didn't
realize you'd be completely across the country
(didn't tell you but
your cat kissed my nose from the bathroom counter
while i was peeing
and i thought it was one of the most endearing things
that probably ever happened to me)
got to your roof outta breath
all adrenaline and eyes
took off that big leather jacket lined with fleece,
wrapped it around our backs and sat
facing the city you'd be leaving and i'd be entertaining
watched the traffic crawl on the BQE
the sunset bored, you spilled your beer-
kept rolling in it innocently- ******
laughing, god i just
wanted to keep touching you
couldn't decide what to eat
both didn't wanna impose
neither of us could remember the name of that tree
littering pink slippery offspring in spring
for you and me to exclaim fondness over
you were the birth of a simplicity
it was so
terribly easy to be happy
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
her skin is jaundiced, quite like the color of the sky before a storm
if you look at her long enough you can almost smell the rain on her skin.
her ribs are not unlike the rungs of a ladder.
once delicate fingers have been burned at the touch of acid and bones have been made brittle.
her nails are jagged, each impacted with crescent moons of soil.
the digging is ceaseless.
she is searching for something she will never find, something that beacons like a lighthouse on the horizon
a sign of safety but blinding when you try to take a closer look.
she slinks along the edge of an unremitting chasm,
dancing with the devil throughout the evening,
but the night draws on and she comes dangerously close to stepping on his toes.
her rhythm is wrong, the metronome is feeding her lies,
but she is greedy and devours them all.
the gnawing inside her returns.
to sleep she goes, under the spell of the guilt washing over her like the sweet, sticky air of the summer, as the gnawing inside takes over.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Let’s take everything we have,
and build a bridge up to the moon.
From parked cars to table tops,
apple cores and spoons.
The broken toys under our beds
can be the very base.
Our weathered dreams from child hood,
will hold it all in place.
We’ll race for broken window panes,
and empty trash can bins.
For boxes once used as forts,
and endless bobby pins.
Shampoo bottles tossed aside
will make such lovely rungs.
Bubbles dripping out their sides
smell of summer and bubblegum.
We must hurry before they all catch on,
and yell for us to stop.
They’re fearing broken bones,
that we won’t survive the drop.
But still we climb like furry ones,
monkeys in disguise.
Jumping up from bar to bar,
higher in the sky.
Quick! Reach for the balloons
we let go of much too soon.
Tie them to sides of our new
pathway to the moon.
Make it look like a carnival!
Make everyone come and see!
Our dreams have gone far past their reach.
We’re actually doing this, you and me.
And in this day we’ll accomplish more than they ever have.
Because today we took our dreams, and ran with them hand in hand.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 10:47 AM UTC
Why can't I fly? Because, I am caged in the bowels of bitter, deceit.
Why can't I dance? Because, my body is bound to the gravity of unacceptable, honor.
Why, can't I sing? Because, my lungs are choked by this haute reservoir of insanity.
But, the Trapeze, artist...
The trapeze artist, climbs the ladder of awe, itself, and walks the silver lining of death.
Why can't I write? Because, my hands are bound in the filth of my past,
meddling with broken things.
Why can't I speak? Because, the honor I am bound to, is to live, life, behind closed windows.
Why can't I see? Because, the blindfolds that sheath my eyes from sin, are more sin than any satan incarnate.
But, the Trapeze, artist...
The trapeze artist, climbs the rungs of the narrow road, and walks over the pit of doom, to save itself.
There is no explanation for this act.
So, why can't I shout? Because, I am voiceless to the concerns of the audience.
Why can't I beg? Because, the world has no room for weakness, fear and more loss.
Why can't I scream? Because...
Because...
Because the Trapeze artist dropped off the high-strung ledge of wonders...
And plummeted into a darkness, that has robbed my audience, of all conscionable thought.
Because... the Trapeze artist, is dead.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
Don't talk to the old man
on the ladder he's likely
cleaning eavestroughs
end to end full of leaves
kite string & black
beetles
He may mumble
teetering on the rungs
but don’t interrupt work
he has enough to handle.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
This is the ladder---your first steps into the height. There are no apples. There are no angels. There is only broken shadow and socket; a rounded house of milk and voltage. Now, as you unscrew the bulb with fingertips, listen for the sand. It is sand from ancestral beaches were all families of glass have been blown. A beach where dinosaurs are continually struck by lightning. Continue swiveling until the blown-out bulb is free from the ceiling. Come down, but do not look down. Use the eye in each shoe to find the lower rungs. Place the old bulb in with the dish of pears. The new carton of bulbs are close by, sleeping. Unwrap a fresh bulb from its onionskin pajamas and ascend the same ladder previous. Using your musical hand, insert the threaded end up into the unthreaded beginning. Turn gently in the direction of sunrise until snug. Pull the chain, for the light of God's echoing equation will now sing. Squint and descend.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
my date with thc,
serendipitous and sublime,
like the first time
curious george killed
the black persian *****
got me sky-hiking
in a cloud of delusion
and creativity,
climbing ladders of abstraction
for nine mystic rungs
from mundane muse,
regrettable
like drunk ***
with an octogenarian
to lucid peaks of eccentricity,
a vaunted house built by
jimi and john,
long gone,
but resurrected
this date
we split a dime
into 3 nickels
and rolled every penny
into a top-5 billboard joint
we sprayed the submarine
purple
with haze
then made the wind cry
mary
as we gazed at two
giraffes making babies
on the serengeti,
laughing hysterically
like schoolgirls watching
riding miss daisy
then the cbd kicked in
and I toodle-ooed
my two
ungratefully dead hippy
stoneheads
and crashed from
the ninth rung of
the last ladder
onto grandma's bed,
clutching the first lines of
my date with thc,
serendipitous
and
sublime...
~ P (#Pablo#hcgktbpp)
(8/12/2013)
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
i am waking up
pushing my way through the plastic covering all of the ideas i was never supposed to touch
so many ideas
i am choosing to walk down halls with varied perspective mirrors
i stop at the ones that make me look fat
and don't believe the ones that reflect a flattering figure
i walk on
i observe
i internalize
i try to understand
why do i think the way that i do?
i was born
into a straightjacket
on the rungs of a one-way ladder
never saw that others might be scaling or ascending the same wall
with rope
sheer strength
the stairs
who am i to judge which way is better?
"the injuring of another can be in no case just."
(as long as it's not hurting anyone)
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
The sun hides behind the clouds
but I see feet beneath those curtains
on a Sunday a girl with short hair and lesbianism smiles at me
You shouldn't mix plaid with stripes
that's like fashion 101
so I walked down the street
buttoning my plaid shirt up
when I fell down a man hole
and a mole man said to me
you shouldn't buy those Adidas shoes
they treat the workers horribly
so I took them off
and cut my naked feet on rust ladder rungs
I went to the top floor
they told my I shouldn't wear my jeans so creased
they scoffed at the words denim
so I took my pants off and made them into a sail
I went to the mirror
and it told me I should fit a size bigger
and that I should probably work out some more
I tore muscular and skeleton systems from the pages of biology text books
and used it for kindling
to warm my cold shoulders
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
The coffee *** just signalled, Ready,
So I pour the cream before the java:
A cup of divergent thinking.
There are roads running
In opposite directions,
Sharing points of similarity:
A tree, a sign, me.
Inside or outside the box of thinking,
Using the lower and upper ladder rungs
To paint the same wall,
Prologues and epilogues to the same story,
Lawyers in clown suits,
Children using,
Kittens chewing slippers,
Dogs in litter boxes,
Earth cooling,
Healing and feeding the masses,
Elected monarchies... NO monarchies,
Sleeping in or getting up,
Cursory letter to family and friends
(Though this is coming to an end),
Making love while wearing gloves,
The moon moves east to west
In the blink of sleep,
Churches giving alms and unlocking doors,
Schools excelling,
Parents attending.
To juxtapose is divergent,
Like sobering up with detergent
(You may be clean, but are you dry?).
If insurgents were divergent,
We'd have more convergence.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
Reason burns the prime
leaves in their cinders no solace
for one likely answer are a hundred questions
where crumbling bones can’t have the will
to climb anymore the rungs endless.
Finds beneath feet a resting ground
that in glimmer of hope abound
a tunnel light an emerging design
to craft from chaos a face divine.
Utters a prayer that’s never too late
succumbs blissfully to the savior the faith.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
illumination
the sun rungs fears
pusher of its inquiry
ringer in of chore
and civil obligation
dissolving this days events
jonesing for the eve
when poaching the social solution
will bait me into the night snare
Nov 26, 2021
Nov 26, 2021 at 1:51 PM UTC
I left the coast
on a tiny blue and red rowing boat
I left my shoes on the pier
and jumped right in
I row to a beach and look along it
in moonlight
searching for those certain blue eyes
that I only half-remember
but all I see is strangers staring,
why are they sunbathing at night?
I give up, row back to land
the only sound is me pushing water
I struggle up the rungs of the ladder
lose my footing
fall
then suddenly
I don't know
whether I made it up the ladder at all
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
I step towards the pool.
You look at me like each step is the end of my life.
I swing my leg on the side.
You flinch.
I laugh at your expression.
You didn't find it quite so funny.
I guess it's really not that funny to you,
how your mouth puckers into a straight line when you hear me laugh,
like the picket fence outside the house you were born in,
only the stark white boards of that fence don't curve downwards at the ends.
There's a fine line of difference between us,
the difference being "don't", "won't", "can't"
and other four letter words, such as "fear", "play", and "lame".
I stifle my laughter and try again to coax you to the edge, the edge of the earth.
You frown, and back away, mumbling like that one Muppet.
Beaker, right?
"Come down!" Beaker cries. "You're being crazy!"
Meepmeep.
The thought of this causes me to laugh again.
You. A Muppet.
You would die if you knew.
I take another step, another, another, further away from you,
up the metal rungs to the top of the world.
The ground slaps beneath me, resilient and springy like summer grass.
I remember your face, panicked, frantic.
I dove.
You claimed you couldn't.
From the bottom of the pool, the world is crisp and clear,
like a vat of liquid nitrogen biting at my skin.
When I resurface it becomes blatantly evident.
I dry off and walk away through the counter.
Don't try to follow me.
I tried.
You didn't.
Maybe I AM crazy.
The bottom line is
even though I'm afraid of heights,
I still climbed that ladder.
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:10 PM UTC
This moment was never mine
But somehow I found the arrogance to hold onto it
To fear it, to fight it, to somehow decide if it was wrong or if it was right
or if I was even alive inside it, and if I would survive it
To see the next one roll around and drown whatever fragile solace I found.
But before the answer finds me, the next moment and I meet.
And this one isn’t too keen to let me believe it’d be okay to just breathe
Without thinking about the million little reasons I'm too scared to leave
So I’ll stay
And I’ll huff and I'll puff
But no amount of breath will ever be enough
To satisfy the divide between my lungs and my mind
Whatever moment is next to be, but I guess it’s not meant to be
Because I never find the next moment, it always finds me
But there doesn’t seem to be any peace in this fresh start
Only faster thumps from my restless heart
Telling my fingers and knees to shake so violently,
The pillars of sand beneath my feet dissolve back into the sea
And leave me bobbing for air like it isn’t free
And then a new moment hangs its noose around me
and tightens an iron grip around my throat
taunting “think fast kid, dead bodies don’t float”
But I can’t let go, so I just sit there and watch myself choke
And just when the oxygen no longer comes
A new moment claws its way down to the pit of my lungs
Digging up an old ladder with a new set of rungs
I’m still alive, right?
The wires are crossed, but they’re still clicking, the gears are still spinning, clock hands still ticking,
So why am I so incapable of winning?
Which moment am I living in?
Or maybe there’s not much difference between now and then
But before my mind and I can make amends
A new moment interrupts and begins it all again
Send help, dear friend.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
TV’s going in living room
Talking about our doom
We’re laying on the front lawn
Yesterday’s long gone
Woman showing skin
Too fat, too thin
She can never win
Throwing up yet again
Listen up man
We’re all ******
Re-repeating reprimands
Demolition on demand
Locate security
Trying to make camp
In independent infidelity
Strutting to the bank
Cashing in corrupted currency
Stock markets sank
Guitar man teary eyed
Rock and roll came and died
Record producer’s big old lies
Broken dreams and wasted time
Colorado Smokey Joe lights a bone
Faded out to the ozone
Smoking on home grown
Got glaucoma? Get an O
Shut up dude
We’re all *******
Forget the olden days
Give marriage to the gays
Let go of the narrow minded silly ways
Let it be as common as classic Frito-Lays
Rolling in the new waves
Is it God who really saves?
Is there even one big deity?
Guess there is if you believe
Be born, live life
Go to college, get a wife
Get job, sacrifice
It’s the norm, is it right?
Have a kid, then have another
Father, mother
Sister, brother
Try to tolerate each other
Watch your back bro
Because I don’t know
Undecided, undeclared
Run in circles, running scared
Take a risk, double dare
Love needs to be redefined
Unanimously agreed and signed
Peace in the heart and the mind
Going down the rabbit hole
Striving for that same goal
Anti- bullying campaign
Kid comes home blood stained
Toughen up
Enough's enough
Individuality
Opposing mainstream reality
Wiseman taken as a fool
Becomes another social causality
Feel it
Taste it
On the back of your tongue
Hanging by the gallows martyrs hung
Climbing up the ladder’s rungs
Foul smelling whiskey bums
Grab a *** and stash it
Looking like your bat ****
Steal a car and crash it
“Always wash your berries before you eat them and fly toward the sun”
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
A broken ladder is all I seem to be
worthless
once used to achieve great things
to climb to great heights
What am I now?
Ah,
a broken ladder
I'm missing rungs but don't seem to care
I'm scratched
creaky
old.
People used to fight to climb me
they fought to get the "good" ladder
now I sit alone in the corner
waiting for a moment
waiting for someone to need me
but in the end
I am not needed
They found another ladder.
Now I shall be thrown away
or have I been already?
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC