"saltier" poems
I whispered your name into the inner
twisting curl of a conch shell, hoping
an echo from saltier waves would carry
it through shadow-rimmed currents until it
flowed softly along the shore, like my breath
settling across your neck
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
I remember that Day when we sat
(side by side)
On those Stairs
(Waiting for our Train)
And you bought us Miso Soup
(It tasted like Tears)
The Sun hit my legs
(With all the force of sepia toned Nostalgia)
Covering them, bathing them. glorifying.
The traffic was the push and pull
(To and fro, magnetising, Synchronising)
Of waves.
Harsh, solid, mechanical waves
(Full of the force of Human Atrocity)
Japanese Culture was "in" and everything was "kawaii" and sweet
(With the underlying disturbance of Sexualisation - *** takes pride of place in our Civilisation)
I thought I was eating the sea.
(I could see the tiny fish Nibbling us that time we went snorkelling. We saw a Sting Ray that reminded us of Steve Irwin: Danger; Barbed Wire)
The Snow-flakes
(Fish-flakes)
Swirling in the snow globe of my Polystyrene Cup
(A new kind of Fish Bowl, A new Exposure)
And they swam around and around, Hiding
(Cyclical, controlled by Lunar Activity. Natural?)
If I stared hard enough I would, no, could see myself
(Floating, Filleted)
Amongst those Ribbons of Sea ****
With each Salty slurp
(That tasted of you, of the bitter Crust that Crowns your body in Heat)
I expected saltier Bladders to Burst in my Mouth
(Drowning me in Poison; Poisson)
I imagined the Japanese fisherman Catching Sun-Warmed Sea
(In a Polystyrene Cup)
The thousands of fish, tiny eyes that Blink, tiny gills that Palpitate - Suffocating in Air
(Aboard his boat, that Famed boat: "Daigo Fukuryu Maru")
Harvesting Silken Strands of Sea **** that Clung to its Crate
(In the same way that his Wife's Freshly washed Hair Twines about her Body. Static, Electric, Alive)
We didn't finish the Miso Soup;
It tasted too much of the Tears that I Cried.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to?
Where do they call home?
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged
How do they cope with the scarcity of love?
Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not
Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works
She's the only real love he ever had since birth
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof
Neither one of them have anything to lose
His dudes are equal to himself cubed
They rely on one another like proofs
And they are radical from the roots
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine
The other side of the number line
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"
They are neck deep in the streets
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew
But nothing around them is cotton
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week
Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing
Asians don't get any waivers
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling
Haitians don't get vacations
The **** life is given
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it
It's hard to deal
When all they know is reeling in deals
To people who are saltier than Dill's
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical
Never learned how to be grammatical
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface
Thugs need love
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug
But he's hurting
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
I attempted skinny dipping once. I was on a beautiful beach, with a former lover. I had a concoction of colourful cocktails coursing through me, too many that I couldn’t have completed that sentence, at the time, if I had tried!
I felt good, amazing even! I giggled and skipped, I breathed in the warm air, I glided towards the sea, I could smell the air getting saltier by the second, I could taste the ocean.
As I pulled at them, my clothes left me, They fell away with grace and floated off into the night. I am so feminine so free I thought! I almost felt as if when I reached the shore line my legs would leave me, a beautiful tail would form!
I would be a mermaid, I would dive in and it would be magic, I would splash and laugh, the moonlight would dance on the water, making my hair sparkle! I would glance back at the land and at my love, he would be raw with emotion, sad for my leaving, wonderment for the sensual, ****** siren I had become!!
Instead.
On the way to the water, I kicked a small rock, fell to the floor like a sack of bricks and let out a noise I can only describe as a deep and gutteral mechanical whine.
As I lay there, disheveled and naked on the sand I could hear in the distance, the heavy laughter of my lover.
I gained some bruising, I lost a toenail and my dignity.
I havent attempted skinny dipping since.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
Lisa looks like she’s stood a little too close
To Dante’s Fireplace
A *** soaked ham left in the dirt
Small crust spots where the skin broke
She’s stopped wearing her dentures
Looks like her face is sinking inside of itself
I was napping
Dreaming about a rock on a hill
That overlooks my city
Was dreaming about what the gun said to the mouth
About how the bullet wanted a kiss
Found her lying in a window
Like a fish whose bowl has just shattered
A bowl that has been ***** for too long
It’s a mixed blessing
The glass bubble burst
The blood
I keep my window shut
The smell of the *** I dumped into the earth
Creeps in
Juicy apple pie smoke fingertips calling
Lisa’s kids
They don’t understand the anger
Don’t feel the neglect until it’s too late
I patch up her face
As she begs
Just don’t call the police
Don’t call anybody
I’m okay
She passes out
On a ***** couch
The kids crowd their mattresses
So they can sleep near her
I think about something I read once
About a company called LifeGem
And how for a small fee
They can turn your ashes into diamonds
Enough for a necklace
Or two bracelets
Several sets of earrings
Even when you’re worthless
You’re worth something
I buy dinner before work
Something fatty and saltier than their tears
She would always say things like
YOLO
You only live once
And then have a drink
Or hang up on a police officer
Or shut a door
YODO
You only die once too
I know how I want to be remembered
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:51 PM UTC
Sometimes it's not demons that break us,
the times when the angels forsake us
Sometimes they're all that remain.
Their whispers giving voice to the pain.
The pain that burns to the core;
allowing tears, once silent, to pour.
Saltier than a draught from the sea,
yet sweeter than we dreamed they could be.
Yes, these demons which lay bare our soul,
also allow us to regain control.
And the faster we flee from our pain,
the quicker we are driven insane.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
A large **** slashed open its side.
A collision with a boat we all think.
Though no boat has claimed its ****
The wind whipped its scent through the crowd
a saltier tang than usual.
More concentrated; more direct.
Its chest heaved with the rhythm of the waves
as water poured into its lax mouth
expanding its chest
in a mockery of breath
before deflating again like a balloon spent.
Bites from opportunistic feeders
marred the solid gray-blue-white skin
with a pinkish hue
and gaping holes.
Its blood lingered in the dark green waves
a sandy-pink as it flowed with the current.
And people still swam in its wake!
Unperturbed by the dead still bleeding
or the funeral procession watching on
in a half-circle of grief and awe and humor too
as the largest of lives we don't normally see
lay dead on the beach.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
I do believe that there couldn't be anything,
Present or past or even in the days to come,
Which match the **** contours of her neck.
Slim & young it got me hooked for lifelong,
It is just as some branch of the mango tree,
As the tree it bears vivid fruits of her face..
A short story of the luck fruits is necessary,
Be it her sweetest voice or her saltier tears,
I relish it all and I receive it as the dainty...
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Fluid like the Guinness that flows from the oil rust taps, rapid and white battered. It laps quickly between every bridges thigh, whining as waves do in captivity. The air is thick and dewy in the Galway harbor. Each breath tastes saltier than the next. The rush, the rapid race signals the open sea. Spring could not come sooner than is demanded. Still six old rust stained fishing boats bob along the mossy stonewall. Untouched. The flow churns quicker; the longer the eye stands in gaze. A ***** yellow sign signals caution –a stolen ringbouy, a stolen life. And there amid the unrest I like to rest and reflect beside fettered waters whose tempest surface hides my face.
I am not alone,
the troubled waters
call my name.
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 3:04 PM UTC
I thirst to drink from that well of nectar,
More refreshing than any drink.
Sweeter and purer, and better by far,
Than honey from any bee.
Saltier but savory, and better by far,
Than all the water in the sea.
Thicker and smoother, and better by far,
Than any milk that flows from *******
Far more intoxicating, taking my impulses,
Than even the strongest wine.
Like a bee or a hummingbird, I hover,
I lean in to taste.
Parting the petals, inhaling and tasting,
Sweet nectar on my tongue.
Just a small taste, then one more,
And then I am drinking deep.
Lapping and licking, drinking and swooning,
From that well of nectar.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 5:41 AM UTC
A lack of presence
left the blind poet saltier than Scrooge.
He drowns in ink
clutching the hand of his past.
Transparent with an iron grip
he'll never let go.
The grip of the pen
finally has him feeling life between his legs.
Straddling his fears
being on top makes him feel complete.
Atop Mt. Olympus
the high feels more noble opposing the mere mortals.
Romanticism is the seed he sows into the ground.
Sprouting a tree tall
that none can climb.
He looks out his window
marveling at his roots.
The poor fool will never learn.
Through this frame
he is destined to brood.
Alone
he will fantasize his next epic.
Rather creating it.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
The flavor of lemons is bitter -
That’s why I don’t need the mints;
I locked away your blue sweater
With the lint still on the pillow.
I looked into the sea and saw the stars
Saltier than the tears and the lemon ****
We shared in the tearoom on that last Sunday –
There is a dry blue rose in the closet all pressed and crumbling.
Blind agony stumbles in frustration; your presents are my poison -
Now the porcelain needs dusting, the Valentines are jumbling.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
Cleopatra's Boom, as worn as earth as economy, salivating stone-head medusas turning Hercules to stone mending torn shirt-sleeves as it's posterity's sign of decay when nostalgia melts like an old bucket of icecream, not empty—but gooey sticky sugar-salt in mist of phosphene glare from a quarter of the deserts heat. You can see 64% of the picture. The other 36% is forever lost in the splattered blindspot dots of your diamond optical nerves, an eternal mismatch eternity—the parts you won't notice when your stomach aches after three consecutive cigarettes for breakfast. Cleopatra's Boom, belittled like oceans, always so alien tho it makes up 71% of our global entirety—thoughts find external storage on disc drives, in water—there's a mouth out there with a saltier kiss than the Pacific, one that caws like seagulls in exodus, announcing to the Peace Arch: “I American. I need a greater space to spread my legs.”
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
*** was the beginning
when a baby became a whale,
skin like diamonds and cotton candy.
They left their son early,
drank many colors and tasted the seven wonders,
breathing slowly so as not to wake the gods.
Their potatoes turned to meat and tasted saltier than usual.
Once at the bar, they drank nicotine
with their eyelashes.
God told them, **** you!"
and they touched each other on the knee
because abstinence from *** feels like cotton mouth.
They stole their child's heart
because they needed a second chance,
but they kept the body to feel less like aliens.
They lost reality in words,
unspoken or spoken.
Their son listened through his eyes,
regretful of his age and of the times.
They began to feel their actions more softly,
taking deeper breaths and
moving in slow motion.
The thoughts made their skin heavier,
their chins began to wrinkle,
their touches became cold,
and the only way to feel warm was to
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 10:20 AM UTC
"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
and with strange aeons even death may die."
-Abdul Alhazred
Piercing light digs itself into my eyes
A spread of bird calls funnel past open windows
I lift my throbbing head off the splayed pages
It seems that morning breeze has been perusing my book
The Necronomicon
With groggy effort, I go about my daily routine
Brushing leads to breakfast which leads to brooding
Today is Saturday and I am beyond unimpressed
Not many activities catch my eye like they used to
I think I’ll go for a swim
Thankfully, the empty lap pool provides a haven
Loneliness was never an outstanding issue among our family
That pervasive sense of dull dread invades my heart, yet
There is a thin verisimilitude between loneliness and contentment
I muse upon the power of individuality while submerging
Half-past 11, I notice some peculiar glow spreading in the lanes
Emerald ooze steadily overtakes a pair of arms and legs
It is not long before this strange goo overtakes my skull as well
Instantaneously, terror plunges deep into my amygdala
I assume sounds of thrashing water and stifled screams
How does my body drift deeper than physically possible?
When does my mind disconnect from our tangible world?
Just why are suction-cupped serpents binding me?
Questions spill over the brim and are not met with any answers
Nonetheless, I embrace impending death
Visions assault a cloud of sensory panic
The chlorine chaos takes on saltier flavoring
I see images of cyclopean kingdoms draped in sea growth
Stupendous beings lumber with apocryphal disregard
To these incomprehensible entities, I am dust
They relinquish me back to my microscopic world
I do not know why the cosmic horrors revealed themselves
All I am aware of is that this was a mere glimpse at true evil
One born millennia before the most ancient of stars
One that will persist millennia after such bodies have extinguished
I sink back into the water, exhausted
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
-H.P. Lovecraft
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Mason jars filled to their rims with iced tea and my tears
I've packed this picnic lunch for two but now only need enough for one
We sat on the cool gray rocks and looked out at the ocean
The way it reflected the suns light made the world seem at peace
But then your voice disturbed the silence and stillness in the air
And it filled my ears with the cruel phrase that escaped your lips
"I can't play this part anymore, I don't love you"
My heart broke like the waves lapping at the shore
The quiet stillness had forever been broken as your lips motioned still
And even though I knew you were talking, the words made not a single sound
For in my mind all that echoed was the proclamation of your non-feelings
My eyes stung with the brutality of your beautiful jaw moving up and down
They filled with water saltier than the ocean before us
And then the world crashed to a close as I became a used to be
Unloveable and just another part of your history
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
It's not difficult to think of stopping
when the green light is on.
******** up on an everyday basis,
when everything should be easy,
only to end up with another crisis.
Spitting out the blame on everything
instead of swallowing it down,
just to avoid the bittersweet of it all.
A bubble harder than concrete,
Tears saltier than the Dead Sea,
the waves of frustration when
expectations and reality don't meet.
Lone wolf hunting down dead leaves,
Slumped on the forest ground.
Abandoning the will to retrieve,
Giving up on the wolf that believed.
**** the perfect cups of tea.
All that's left is bitter coffee,
Not my taste but life's not sweet.
I should get used to lifting weights
and doing tons of things I hate.
Not doing well and all but I'm
trying to survive because it's
me.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
You say you love that I see you through only my eyes and not the worlds.
But that is only because
You are not your bitter mood on your bad days when the world is not in your favor.
You are not a naive teenage boy who doesn't know enough to form arguments with adults.
You are not your hometown or the funny kid in class.
You are not where you plan to go to college after high school.
You are your favorite meal and the way it tastes just a bit saltier than sweet.
You are your favorite songs and the way they get silent right before the bass drops in the car and the sound overwhelms you with goosebumps.
You are all of your witty remarks that I will never cease to be amazed by the quick intelligence that your mind holds.
You are your kind words that I crave to hear every morning and every evening.
You are your favorite movies and why the part where they accidentally shoot the gun at the wall is hilarious.
You are your passions and deepest dreams that no one bothers to understand.
You are a beautiful living form of art and deserve to be loved.
You deserve someone to wake you up with soft kisses and quiet whispers.
You deserve someone to make you breakfast just the way you like it.
You deserve someone to make your bed and put away your clothes.
You deserve someone to be there for you even when you are in your grumpiest states.
You deserve someone who loves music and thunder storms just as much as you do.
You deserve someone who loves spontaneous adventures and quiet summer evenings.
You deserve to be loved and I hope that one day you come to see that.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
What sonnet drowning in I have drank again?
For the 119th time. It's taste sweeter than ,
the siren tears saltier,
my heart feeling more.
Replay thy fears and conquer.
Sir, your and mine hearts are committed,
woven, in errors ringing,
sin, desires.
That is, My Sir, greatest Bard,
is drowning the silence out.
Oh, God of words,
you won.
I am understanding,
one 119th part
of your genius.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
unrequited love
the hottest product on sale
it'd be flying off the shelves
if it's instructions weren't in braille
its release date is june 15th
in the year Two thousand, never!
between that time and now
you'll be trying to hold yourself together
ah, but this is business as usual
in the shop of hopeful sorrow
where flowers line up by the dozen
wishing for changes by tomorrow
only to be left out in the cold
drenched by a familiar substance
slightly saltier than rain
but don't fret
no don't worry
we'll open the door a little bit
just to keep you here
to make the lines a little blurry.
don't try to come in though,
we've got to get things in order
so here's a few more flyers
they'll get you a deal or two
so you'll stay at our doorstep
we'll open the doors real soon.
maybe.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Dreams do not go away
they stay in the dark corners and hide
bide a wee
then come back to see
what we do.
You who have slept and been kept in some luxury
don't even know when you see
dreams unfold.
Nothing is as cold as a fire that won't burn
or the heart that won't turn
nor yearn for a love.
When push comes to shove
I stand to one side
and in dreams I shall bide a wee
See what there is to see
and
though I have cried at injustice
this is justice for me
Lonely
Lonely as can be
Deeper than the ocean
tears saltier than the sea.
She will not come back even
if I attack the grave
I cannot in no way save her
or even save myself.
Selfishly I try
but as time goes on
goes by
The tears dry
I heal
feel
steeliness.
Less of me is what I need
let me seed
this Eden.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
Why do spring and autumn look the same here?
Tears always taste saltier in April.
May flowers never come.
Why,
on the day I felt most afraid,
did the water in the creek stand still?
Doesn’t the water care about me?
Does this creek not weep for the dying trees around it?
For the fish whose corpses quietly float down on it’s floor?
This crow seems to know.
Alone, he squawks,
mauking my pain.
Maybe I’m the stranger,
The irrelevant dot in a map more complex than my cogged brain can understand.
Or maybe the world does dance all around me each day,
Choosing to ignore my thoughts and actions.
But it’s selfish to think like that, right?
Or perhaps that’s just me falling in love with myself.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 9:37 AM UTC
The voices in my head
The voices that always say
That I'm not good enough
That I'm not capable of love
That i'm ****** to be hurt
Bleed to death
Keeps getting louder
And louder
and LOUDER
UNTIL I HAVE TO SCREAM
TO TALK AND COAX MYSELF.
Each time I think
I had the best, the better of me
They keep coming at me
Throwing shades
Making me feels small
Like I'm not enough
Like I'm not going to make it
You say that it's in my head
But i feel them in my bones
You say that I am okay
But I cry myself to sleep
You say I'm happy
When i'm holding in the tears
You say I'm going to breakthrough
But all I see is a quick exit
Nothingness taste bitter
And the suffering is getting sweeter
Life is getting saltier
And daylight is going sour.
And here i am
Stuck in the endless cycle
Of self pity and euphoria.
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
Blood shed
but it wasn't blood
it was something
saltier.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC