"safeguarded" poems
Warm, sheltered frame, tender heart
Little girl delightedly arrive the world
Bright and joyful, safe and secure, she believed
As men bow down and pray to the She lord.
Her home filled with love and faith
Brilliantly safeguarded her wholeness
Curiously pondered on the world outside the home
Would be bright and joyful, safe and secure
As men bow down and pray to the She lord.
Stepped outside her blessed shield
Got entangled in the scary ropes
The beautiful world suddenly played a cruel role
Whenever she ran, many watched her go
Many minds, eyes, strength shackled her soul
Once the safe and the secure world
Became the unguarded, unheard, and unsaid hall
Still, men bow down and pray to the She Lord.
Many touched her and go
Play with her extant and throw
Bruised heart, wounded skin
She kept herself dragging, seeking her home
They failed to feel love, passion, and peace
Courage and devotion dwelling within
Still, men bow down and pray to the She Lord.
Men worship Lord Durga with the feel
but don’t succeed to see her essence in every being
Daughter, mother, wife, friend, colleague
Every girl carries Durga in their will
And men bow down and pray the idol She.
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 12:58 PM UTC
We slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
We have to, even though it was only a seven minute walk
to the dining hall, because 1) the food was just
“weird consistency”
(which we tend to say regardless), 2) the light
in there yawned indifferently to us (when does it not?), and
3) the reassuring clink of our forks on our
plates wasn’t even there this time it was
hiding underneath slop
and smothered on top by the intruding sound waves
(who asked?)
of our next-table neighbors’ lives.
You made a sly remark about seconds to catch
a glimpse of youthful ****
She’d gone to get some more baby carrots and cucumber slices
to put in her salad maybe
(who knows? who cares?)
Either way, her youthful **** would make the food taste like
something to you. And you
described them to us when you sat down again so
the slop would taste like something to us
(there’s pride in that type of generosity, don’t forget) and
(congratulations)
we had the faint impression of
some sort of
****** there, but
we didn’t tell you
(it’s easier that way).
A cup, a squeeze, a kiss on her ******* yes that could feed
our hunger for a night. And tonight was a night
like any, so her ******* led us to talk
of women, and women led us to talk of
love
(and the blooming one for the poor *******
as we who lost withstood the vicarious twinge of
an addling ****** very different from
the first.
This one led us to pine for sweets, but the ones we found
were dry, so we left the table, left the dining hall, looking around at
the others: the lonely, the couples, the blessed
lonely couples, and the fortunate friends
huddled against everything with open laughter, enjoying
the weird consistency like drunk theoretical physicists before
they discovered bubbles and inflated eternally meaning
when they safeguarded a
zoo with a pistol they didn’t know how to
use, in Soviet Russia.
(So you see?) We have to slump on the couch
when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
No one even bothers to pick up a guitar, we leave all four of them
strewn on the floor like
dead wooden boxes because
Dylan or Young or Cash (or whoever)
is already in the living
room. Any
bubbling, inflating, theoretical physicist
(any drunk, pistol-packing zookeeper, for that matter) will
tell you that.
So we slump, comfortably uncomfortable,
(at least we’re trying!)
feeling their (our) strings plucking. No sounds, no voices.
Because we don’t need
to hear this that.
Not right
now. (Not right
now).
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Now days spent without cause,
Without things desired by my own heart,
Her presence always attached to mine soul,
Though her touch far from reaching.
Though now she being the integral part of mine mind,
Does she thus ever see mine heart or lacking of hers?
Mine lips sealed without words to utter the heart clear,
Or are this feelings so big enough to give out such fear?
Love or maybe the desire hers growing without deeds,
Why have I become a man whom hides his face?
Is this concealed love worth it?
Or will she ever see mine heart safeguarded from hurts?
Or should I even let her see through me?
Maybe I should give her a try and let it be.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
You wonder why you can’t crack
The combination lock to my heart.
You wonder why you can’t steal
The treasures safeguarded inside.
You see me through the hazy fog,
And you reach for me.
But your hand passes through the mist,
Holding onto nothing.
And as fast as I come, I’m gone.
I’m a nomad.
I live off the land.
I change with the hour,
Switching directions without warning.
Forever a wanderer.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 12:34 PM UTC
****** suspicious schemes,
Right or wrong, I see past all communication into extreme expansions of a negative mindset,
Scarlet buttons compressed with Indian shaded tint, through mistaken pigment,
Veins pumping overtime with boiled fumes of something condensing,
You’re running out of immediate clockwork when days brew skyward and panic appears to be tempting your envious iris,
Behind the machinery are the blueprints,
Directed only towards agitated agony and sour sorrow,
Illuminated by locked doors-
I ask you- as the reader- the listener-
See passed my memories and create room for visions of a tangible imagination and leg-pumping adrenaline,
Needle infested wrenches lock arms with the absent intelligence of conscious deprived brain flow,
I see you peaking around my duct and depict an abstract view of confused, focused eyeliner,
Slick and plentiful dew drops linger between a plugged safeguarded build,
You’re running out of precious seconds as Antoine Fisher burns free the story behind a smearing disguise of gratitude,
Amen to the present and many men for this lopsided track record,
I’ve got a key witness in my pocket, along with images of what I lived for, before mistakes took flight,
Continue on with your heart, as nothing more than a stranger in a cauliflower society where I erase the painted tapestries,
Beware of the ticking, as I await my calendar to run dry,
Prepare your own stopwatch and click on the rolling minutes my old friend,
I hate everything you represent,
Everything you expose to the previously tainted atmosphere,
But mainly, everything you have coming home from war,
Tick…tick…tick…
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
your eyes are red like youve been crying but i know youve just been
trying to pour the ocean into your blown pupils.
you told me they were so dark because they were
burned from all the salt you rubbed into them.
you told me they were wide to find the
untouched valleys inside me,
virginal land, unsullied by
the eyes of man.
ha.
ha.
honestly,
i wish i could say theres so much more to me left undiscovered,
unknown by all those who claimed to love me but, no, they
always discover the same
******* things
that arent even ******* there.
you discover that i'm broken,
a delicate flower of a poet,
whose feelings are gentle eggshells crushed by the hand of life.
discover depths of emotion safeguarded by an iron shell,
"discover" that i just want to be loved,
is this some sort of sick ******* joke.
im not a ******* eggshell, im not ******* broken,
life hasnt shattered me. life will not shatter me. life has given me calluses hard as stone.
i will live to be old and crooked and sagging,
wearing a full suit of armor,
i will die old and withered.
when emotion catches in my throat,
i rip it out like multicolored scarves,
like a magic trick.
just because i dont choke you with the fabric
doesnt make it any less real.
i dont just want to be loved. i dont need
your love. youre not saving me when you look at me like
your favorite broken doll.
i don't just want to be loved.
i am already loved. i am overflowing with the love i have received,
i am full to the brim, my cup runneth over, i dont need you.
i don't just want to be loved. do you know what i want?
i want you to look at me and not see
the living embodiment of a metaphor,
a walking love poem, a verse in a poem you memorized and mimicked
instead of writing your own,
i could rip your lungs out through your mouth, i dont think you realize
what my body is capable of,
even if my mind is weak.
if i could stop thinking youd be dead on the floor
before i took a ******* breath.
i am not for you.
i am not writing for you,
i am writing to remember how to fall asleep without dreaming about soulmates-turned-strangers
and friends pulling out my teeth.
i am not dreaming for you.
i am not bleeding for you.
i am not for you.
i am not yours.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Yea, ye shalt ne'er be discarded
such as is aged linen lace,
rather ye shalt e'er be safeguarded
insofar as is my place.
Thou shalt see auroral fire
and eavesdrop on the surf,
and embody thy soul
with another soul
so as to blaze
with
e'en brighter
worth.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
I sometimes think it is unfortunate
That nothing escapes my pen but tales of an unrequited love.
I wish I could write about
Why I have not stepped foot in a church
Since the day I found catharsis in the word "alone",
The first time I truly felt safeguarded
Or the first time the word "divorce" shattered me.
I wish I could describe
The smell of a chilly fall night with crisp air and rain-dampened pavement and how it inaugurates autumn
Or the remorse felt toward a child who let go of his balloon to be left to the mercy of capricious winds on the Fourth of July.
But instead I am stuck incapable of writing anything but run-on sentences about Loss,
Why the burn of whiskey tastes better than that misconception of 'home'
And turning cracked pavement into metaphors about heartbreak.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
The green leaves
The turning autumn leaves
The branches barren from leaves
The strong dark bark
Initials and hearts with promises
carved into its thick skin.
The perfect curve of the branch,
bending but never breaking.
Taking our weight as we climb, sit, and bounce
Constantly testing its strength.
The passing cars
oblivious to the tree
hidden by rocks and neighboring branches.
Safeguarded by the promise of a tourist’s ignorant and focused eye.
The quiet rustle of a hunting coyote
The sweet melody of a Spring Robin
and the answer of a nesting squirrel.
The worn and weathered marble table.
The rusted water fountain that fails with each attempt.
I wonder who ever drank
from its bronze spout
in the woods.
On inhale:
the crisp, fresh air
and scent of miles of blooming apple trees.
Trusted family and friends
discovering a place
old and dear to me.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
The timeless sound of buzzing, sap and tweet
Winning over the rushing clock of Athens' heat
In the garden, souls rest their busy minds
while
the birds
and insects
make a mess of sounds with the wind
When some humans peacefully disrupt the humming for a second,
my mind goes to the clouds.
From where I see the character...
a chubby black bird playing with dry leaves on the ground. Or...is it looking for something? maybe a lost bright feather
to regain self confidence. In vain.
Cause little does it know what's not safeguarded can't remain.
I pity it for a while as my eyes take up the sunbathed trees
and the little creature gets even closer to me.
...Here's to say that if I've ever accomplished something in life,
that is not posing a threat to a chubby black bird in its pursuing rite.
and the spectacle background,
Grasshoppers, waxwings, dragonflies, swallows and bugs
try desperately to be successful in their appearance. But they need to resign themselves to their beautiful lack of musical coherence.
I'll get down from the clouds,
say goodbye to my courageous little friend
and head to thousands of years ago.
Good luck with your feather, bro
...Well, maybe it was just looking for food after all.
we, humans, tend to complicate everything when we have our minds in the clouds...
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 2:17 PM UTC
Waking up this morning felt like i’d already done so much wrong , the taunting voice i haven’t heard for a while was back with jibes of ” not good enough”.Still, the day moved by and the sun blazed most of the time away. So we spend a few hours napping and wake up thinking it’s the morning again. Soon after a movie lunch i’m anxious , heightened to a level where i scroll and scroll through social media screens until i pull myself away and meditate. This time i am aware . I sit facing the west , asking for release , feeling and not running . Acknowledging and sending love with conscious intent of “let go” to the moments, “let go” the people whom those moments are attached to. I feel it out , like being birthed. Like being birthed there is painful slowness where the depth and intricacy of the moment are safeguarded by sturdy patience , slow my soul to a standstill …. Of breath and closed eyes - frankincense smoke and angel guide so close to my ear breaths whisper fallacies away and when all is still , there - then , the tears and drooling mouth where i don’t care for the vampire stealing some poor soul elsewhere nor the motion of the sun’s axis. Breathing , stretching , balance. A timeless viewpoint arriving back in the frame. When all is ready the tree calls out for a conversation . The bed is filled with a love , whom i eye with new lenses each day , checking to see if i am seeing an image i desire or the majestic view of a wild solitary flame in the middle suburb. But , there he is. Even clearer than before. Take one hole at a time he told me once about a golfer. Take each 24 hours at a time. I become honorary American. I eat 2 smores and 3 deer grace us with their ethereal presence as the luminescent flare of final sunshine dip dives to dusk’s quintessential hue of deep ocean blue. Grandma has a hungry monster inside her as i eat the watermelon grown with pesticides in a house full of things. Tarot cards are up to 35. It’s easier to wake up here early , it’s like the day slides like melted butter off pancakes.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Our days roll away like dropped coins.
Individual moments are continually lost,
Often never to be reflected upon again.
But the epochs of a full life remain,
Safeguarded by the cushions of our couch,
Waiting for when we are in need of a treat.
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
Fear not the brazen and bold
nor cower before the mighty and oppressive
but be weary
of those who fool and sneak
Infiltrating the deepest and even most safeguarded parts of yourself
for it is they
who can manipulate you
abuse or destroy you
They dance dauntingly around
so you want to be theirs
to build and destroy at will
The strong cannot subdue your beliefs
The Brazen cannot out do your hopes
The oppressive cannot contain your hope
The bold cannot destroy your spirit
but with a single word
the infiltrator will annihilate your entire essence
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Here again I sit alone, wondering...
Why there must not be always, love...
Again, forlorn, my heart doth weep...
My purpose wane, my faith come weak...
Future, past, present are but not what I have been...
Self; illusionary...
But, for to whome I tell not when...
The line, the wax; coordination....
My falseness bare not witness to thy lovely...
Eye of the storm is not; but hurricane eyes, not, too much, mine heart...
Be the still, the ne'er loved...
Forlorn, my purpose wane...
To ne'er I go, thine heart not slain...
Carry thine love with thee, under pillow safeguarded...
Mule's day, play's night...
To see the lovely, wonderful...
Storm-less skies, wonderous eyes, after all..
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
Covered
by the warm weight of 3 blankets because she is cold, and I must hold her lightly to keep her warm
Comforted
by the timing of her breath drawing down my neck, and her heart beat keeping the rhythm of the restless world outside my open window
Comply
to each sound I hear which conducts vibrations that remind me I am still alive, and there is a war to be won in my dormant mind
Concerned
by the redundant consideration that I remain vital within a chemical comatose dreamland as her reassuring eyes beam through like an angel, and I remain safeguarded
Concede
to the blackness which is bordering the confines of the slanted wall above my head, and I no longer can remain awake in the corner I am curled into
Unconscious
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
You're stronger than I ever thought a person could be
When your world broke, when god left you
You singlehandedly rebuilt your own empire
Chased after god and made him kneel before you
But when you were lost for just moment
My world fell to pieces
You are not invincible
Your walls may look like marble but shatter like glass
And your love can disappear from my life with a single gust of wind
From the moment that I lost you
I've grown an unshakeable fear that I will lose you again
I hold you like a delicate bubble of air in the palm of my hand
Regard you like the Mona Lisa, an invaluable piece of my heart safeguarded by every precaution
I lay down clouds before you feet so your goodness may never touch the treacherous ground
I pray to a god I don't believe in to keep you safe
Every moment you're away I imagine the tragedies that may befall you
And how I could never rebuild an empire like you, find faith again
I can't do this alone
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Safeguarded by shadows
I saw
Servants performing
Sedated but live
Sacrifice
On a stone altar
I saw them sever spines
And several limbs
I heard snaps
Saw skinning
Stabbings
Some wrists getting slit
And I slipped
Suddenly
The stairs were slippery
And I stumbled
Among skeletons
Skulls, skins
And serpents
Stupefied and scared
I stood
In the sanctuary
Surrounded by soulless shells
Swarming me
Seeking to sink
Their shredding teeth
Into my shivering skin
And stick their sullied spears
Through the sockets
Of my eyes
To stab at
my sanity
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
I loved the way she felt.
Wearing her like a shirt.
Soft and snug.
I wrapped her arms around me, safeguarding her just as shes safeguarded me.
Her essence following me everywhere I went.
She was the perfect size.
The way she wrapped around me.
I buttoned her up, feeling the caress of her back.
The deep dimple that ensued.
Covering me with all of her.
I blushed at the warmth she provided.
When the time came, I hated to have to take her off.
The fear of washing away the stain of memories we have created.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
and of how many howling a times
have i watched the closed lid
patches of bonsai tiger tattoo
in stitches and in wrinkles
the rekindled routes of rivers
and veins... that might take to
the route of heart and molten iron
as sourced...
thus my fright,
that aged begotten by only pride,
and cat in pillow safeguarded
by the stuffing of lullabied sheep
of forked duck feathers
into a volume of bypassed flight,
that huffed and puffed a wheezing of sleep,
sepia too arable, kept the pedigree
of unexplored surrender kept for some concern
for signature; and thereby i too served the tongue,
as a plated palette of forehead
that once scorned acne worthy of constellation
but later make stars an inconvenience
should obstructions be limbed and active
to raise hand and simply orientate with a wave:
so to the incomprehensibility of what defined
poetics rather than simply selling a car,
of what defined poetry and came to be merchant's assertion:
the economy of language never provided its beauty:
and the second economy never lifted a stone
to say it was mountaineering for a zenith of the ever resting
as challenged to be above: for each child nonetheless
in rubric a confirmed multiplier
but hardly a welcome addition that posthumous fame desires.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
She is a picture of strength
Crumpled and frayed
At the edges
Her firm resolve
Held together by a single thread
Her glass heart safeguarded
By paper walls
Her feet secure
On unsteady ground
Teetering on the edge of a
Destructive Hope.
Quiet Whispers echo off paper walls
With renewed promises of an
Ethereal Hope.
She belongs to a moment now
Each moment she is shattered
Then put back together again
Lost then Found
Each moment a thread
In a garment of her destiny
Muddled voices hushed by quiet Whispers of
"Persevere in the moment
For the moment"
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 3:30 PM UTC