"seasonally" poems
Scared, to let the words die, he hid, amid the languid luxuries of solitary structuring, lavished of the jaded and anguished lines, for lines melodrama, of the deviled days, of state, of mind, in fate, in kind, of the nether commas, devoid in honest ignorance of written words, dying on the caterpillars, cocooned, in all that's assumed, lost, in metamorphosis, never knowing this, is a dream, within a dream, of hope, clinging with stinging fingertips, ears ringing in the ripplits of a synesthesic pulse of visual signals, subliminally sounding the sirens, of solidarity, in the silent screams, of the sun rising, writhing in wanton seduction of my functions laying the heartened words of dead birds, falling from the sky, hardened in sloven cries, to justify, the means, tapping out on the screens, of a misnomer, a loner, in a coma, phoning you from the corner to warn ya, of the storm, in words prone to patience, in imaginit immaculance of the limitless limits, of livid lovers loving each-others lullabies, lolly-gagging in the illegibility, of our lucidity in the pity of leveled lofts, lovely-ly, levitating in elevating thought, fraught with passionate poetry, of ghostly words, blurred in the debilitating reasoning of reasonable reason, seasonally.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
I respect my body.
The same way I respect my house.
My red brick skin
Blushed with flowing blood
From my space-heater heart
My air-conditioner lungs I have routinely maintained
With long drawn out breathes of cool wind
I have protected my house with toxic pockets
Of termite poison
To protect my wooden frame
And I hang up pictures of love ones with
Nails inside tattoo guns that spell out their names
And I paint my home’s walls with different shades
Of colors to bring out its ascetic value
Like how I use blue eye-shadow so my guests
Can better see my eyes, bright blue
I eat vitamins like I vacuum my carpet
Cleaning up and persevering its worth
The ting-tang sound of a working vacuum
Paralleling the pitter-patter of those circular pills
As they fall down my throat
I seasonally change out my couches and my chairs
When I go to my mirror and tie-up my hair
A different look for a different season
Because my house deserves a separate look too
For when it feels the wind changing
And like myself my house would rather not be bare
So I dress it in marigolds and poppy flowers
And ivy that I have to cut down when I notice it growing too fast
Because like my house I am too beautiful to be covered completely
Each shrub I trim another inch of skin I can share
And I respect it when I get home
I say just a little bit
More skin at the top
To show off my brick house.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 1:27 PM UTC
Would you still love me if my sea blue green eyes were puddles of icky brown like gas station toilet water,
Would you still love me if my locks of autumn sun kissed hair follicles fell off my head like they do seasonally,
Would you love me if my skin was orange like bright cheeto puffed style, and would you still love me if I had no nose,
Would you still love me when I'm sad and unconsolable,
With tears running down my eyes like the waters off niagra,
Would you still love me if I died,
Like not existed anymore,
Would you even cry,
And would you love me if I had no value to this world,
If everyone hated me and ran from me like a squirrel, Would you still love this pathetic girl, If she was all that she set out to be but couldn't. Would you still love her like you do,
Would you love me for all my ugly faults I cannot change.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
We sit in a café
Ceramic mugs of
Seasonally appropriate beverages
Wrapped in our grips
Surrounded by folks who also have
Ceramic mugs of
Seasonally appropriate beverages
Wrapped in their grips
But we are not here
To chat on about the weather
Our significant others
Or careers; no
We certainly are not
You glance at me
In a nearly
Conversational manner
“So you had your heartbroken”
You say, a combination of an
Unsurprised sneer and a nostalgic frown
Upon your face
“So I had my heartbroken”
I repeat, my lips cracked and my mouth
Blistering slowly from the heat
Of my seasonally appropriate beverage
“Are you, like the good little kid you are,
Doing the things
That they tell good little kids
To do in order to recover from such an ordeal?”
“I am, like the good little kid I am,
Doing the things
That they tell good little kids
To do in order to recover from such an ordeal”
“I haven’t even given into that
Deep, gut wrenching temptation
To do something terribly
Terribly destructive”
I state this in a mockingly proud way
Before pinching my chapped lip between my teeth
And gnawing on it until a swell of blood
Dripped into my seasonally appropriate beverage
“But what I have found”
I say, slowly, licking my coppery lips
“Is that despite all these
‘Coping Mechanisms’”
Your expression is inquisitive
Brow raised, eyes lit up
Like storm clouds with lightning
Stirring somewhere behind them
“I suppose you’re wondering why…”
I state slowly, before sighing an a
Somewhat irritated manner
"I’ve thought this thought too many times before..."
“Because no matter what
My mind refuses to even ponder
The thought that I am meant
For anyone but her”
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
The news says:
the scouring of the earth began today,
so press your greasy fingers
against the triple-pane window
as you crave the heat of summer.
When we peer fearfully around the curtain,
we see the worms,
a warning the ants carry off the pavement.
There are holes punched
out of the whole world,
gaping,
unmoving, unapologetic,
wounds seeping into every thing on Earth.
Even the people bleed,
letting into and onto each other.
I open my mouth to sing,
and they dump the plasma in.
To chew with no result
(either spit or swallow)
is the request.
I try and pour the sorrow
back out of me,
but to do so is to look
into the holes I must spill it into,
their eyes shining back through mine.
It is endemic seasonally,
seemingly to every season,
so I seek an end,
seemingly endlessly.
In the morning I wake up rotten,
and by the evening I have been debrided.
Then the news comes in again;
I must start the search anew.
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 7:24 PM UTC
all her nails, freshly painted,
the smoothed shaved legs,
seasonally and saintly nick free,
the eyeliner,
A+ student penciled in,
eye shade applied with lightest of touch sensual,
threaded eyebrows,
curvaceously straight,
streaks of red,
the appliqué upon her head,
parfume strategically dabbed in spots near where any
body's lips might invade,
*and yet,
not one primped place upon her
was safe!*
all turned awry,
when knocked I
upon bedroom door,
bursting to read a poem freshly made,
the oven's writing warmth,
still faint discernible,
giving off the aroma of heated ink,
upon a skin-smooth page,
a bakery smell irresistible
presented her with my best,
a man's rawest essence
refined, honed, then, honored, favored by her
she, overcome!
weeping pleasure at the pleasuring
of my words so gentling,
all by my soft speaking tongue applied,
that engendered this response
she,
in a slow pouring, half turning,
presented me with an act of counter-balancing,
no embrace, no equality of caressing,
nonetheless,
a weighty visible estimation of
her physical esteem and appreciation
presented me a bill for repair,
a body's bodyshop estimate,
undoing the undoing damage done,
by my careless, thoughtless,
ecstatic reading of
only love poetry
she added a weary, seasonal, lyrical
claus(e) of some folk familiarity,
by way of apology
"that's what you get for loving me"
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
My skin, shoulders and forehead
vibrate in place
as thoughts of relation cross my mind
Passivity, neutrality, rationality
used to work to keep me sane
but have been, as of late, laid off
in influence of these aggressive,
opinionated,
economic hands and lips
that I find myself seasonally at odds with
I've come to resent spending my youth
staring at the back of student's heads
knowing their skull's restriction
I find it likely the root of this resentment
is an undeserving self honor
inappropriate for this economy's well being
I dare not interfere
just reemploy
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
nebulous mercury, or old neb as friendly namesome, was a longtime salty marner.
one day he was seasonally easing along with the flotsam and jetsons
when there appeared before his worn and weary orbs a macabre confoundment,
the vastly ghastly countenance of a slithering slimy see servant,
a critter that rose from the sea and had to hunch over so as not to break the sky,
the kind of monstrosity you only see in miffs.
he began to wrap his protuberances and testicles around the clig as to make repast.
ohh, dreadful tingers draggled forlorn!
shunned and electrolytical he was, old neb, awash in gloombulches and grovel gullies.
but then old neb snapped to! "Not my chipper clig you don't!" he charged allowed as he fingled forth in fury!
the battle eschewed in the stub of legends. old neb will ever be memorial for what he did that day.
to this very day, indeed up to this very moment right now, even chipper cligs flying scallion bones cut him a big bertha,
such is the perspective they feel for him
no hobo, but a ****** chum.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Every year
the same deal
treats
obtained too early
under the
seasonally seductive
store lights
nestled next
to the fake fall foliage
become mysteriously
rerouted
from their final destination
as intense inspections
conducted
under the guise of
quality control
these pilfered provisions
perform a vanishing act
visions of sad
costumed tots
at the doorway
with empty bags
hurry a return visit
for rapid replacements
tragedy narrowly
averted
once
again
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
the cobwebs in the
moonlight
snatched her up while she
was sleeping
we didn't see her for
months
she fed on dust
& old photographs
when she rose she looked
more beautiful than
she ever
had
bathed in silver
& memory
she never forgot her place
in the line of
the earth
& every whimper kept me
tethered to her tears
in the winter she was lost
again
this time it's been for
years
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
my nose now runs seasonallyfrom sigh droplets
every new season celebrated by the constant continuation
of its running from, running to ?, or as I joke,
from September to September inclusive
but something new, my eyes now watery, a permanente daily irregularity, the imaginary laundry lady whines consistently, as she cannot always locate, prior to machine insertion, for all my secret hiding places of the always everywhere ***** tissues!
“too many pockets, too many tissues,” she underbreath mumbles,
but secretly I observe her similarly daubing~dabbing of the eyes,
in this time of constant sorrow, no one immunized, the sigh droplets
pass through any mask and gown, and then become full time residents
wry thinking, “let he or she who is without stone, cast the first tissue”
but we are all ****** all the time, heavy heaving, eyes tearing and
noses running
it don’t take much, the continuous reportage batters me and turning
away from my electronics impossible, they now hard wired inside the maniac-brainiac, wifi’d, from every side, even a actual glance outside at the desert of our dehumanized streetscapes always amazes
we no longer worry that every sniffle or tear
is a warning sign of a more serious ailment;
no, we understand too well this is a sad spirit inside,
it’s symptoms unleashed but un-lethal, the antibody
to a weariness that has no name, only tissues that
cannot cure nor disinfect
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 11:55 AM UTC
Still vocalizing, moving, our beings stay alive,
If we were to suffer or find pause,
Together we would not grow. Then, I should die.
Ode to our arms,
And open hands to call forward
If it’s been years, months, weeks,
What do you say, after so long?
So, begin, bring warmth
Like the first trickle of spring waters from the mountain,
We swam, watched, nourished, & grew
By it’s side, and seasonally it will freeze
And still be back.
So bodies hold, it’s natural to know.
I’m thankful for voice,
Our speech, diction, shared mannerisms
Carrying across the boarders, down coast, over streets
Even with the aid of electronic pigeons,
Still, I’m thankful
Because then, you’re almost near
We’ve said goodbye
But the very cement around us gained permanence
Of a forest, our promise grows,
Its words, that assures them of what to be.
Anticipation, want, delight
For just moonlight or raven wings
Swaying, swooping, falling
Upon my vision and past my hand
Still, in two senses I’m reminded
You are breathing, my lungs are swelling
Here, as if pulses still doubled
Wrapped in this ink & silver cloak.
Will never unravel, this thing time cannot ****
I’ll sing praises,
Go everywhere to my altar,
All systems function, during this ode to “still”
For it’s now, I hold
Till you return.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC
We were teenagers
Sun kissed
Surrounding a bonfire
That burned the marshmallows
We roasted working all day
Sinning all night
With a blazing connection
That made me wonder
What you were waiting for
I was falling harder for you
As the leaves turned orange and red
With the fading warmth
Your feelings faded too
I thought there was still hope
As winter approached
But you got just as cold
As the weather
It was me, you and
Her
And what was meant to be
But you chose her
Leaving me to freeze alone
In the dark with my thoughts-
the what ifs
I told myself I was over you
I kept a distance too
But then the flowers returned
And so did you
Springing memories and empty promises
Like whispers in the breeze
The subtle sun rays
Rolled in
Just like the charm
Behind your smile
And it was summer again
We were still teenagers
Making the same
Innocent mistakes
The seasons continued to change
You changed seasonally too
But no matter the damage it sprung in my heart
I'd always fall back to you
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
It means the seeds have sprouted
and grow larger every day
the rains, and fairer weather
grass, flowers, dance and play
It means to some, renewal
to still others, begins, and ends
places, people, and things
life and hope, portends
It means to me, and others
brighter days, and greater ways
seeking to discover
better lives, with spirits, raised
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
I'm tired and always cold
Almost finished a family size box of Cheerios...food comas.
Lack of motivation because it's so gloomy and cold outside.
So, it seems like a better idea to stay in my warm solitude, rather than being productive and having a life.
But this too shall pass shortly,
It's just depression seasonally.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
Advent Remains Unoccupied
Advent remains at peace, unoccupied
There are no Advent trees to buy or steal
No seasonally-discounted lingerie
No Advent hymns background the lite-beer ads
At Mass: a wreath, a candle every week
And music set to God, not to the sales;
The missal now begins again, page one
And through the liturgy so too do we
Almost no one notices this season, and thus
Advent remains at peace, unoccupied
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
walking between, along sights of seasonally scenic timber,
bare but budding tree tops shimmer and
divide my eyes from falling blind to springs sights,
filled full of advancing dawning light.
orbs glow of reds and blues, around and inside, the
internal and external rims
of successively smaller and larger orbs of golden rings;
appearing before my spectral vision
of delightful astral projections.
water slowly passes beneath my feet, connecting
sides dissected by light and
i know that you will see me
but just without your eyes.
birds flutter and clean their crested chests
of crawling, clinging life. feathers ruffle as
the breeze of dewey blue flanks my rose flesh
faced and white knuckled winter hands;
like a cluster of early, much too early, plucked but
ripening chardonnay grapes.
the smell of thaw emanates through drying bones
and decaying leaves and sprouting blades of grass.
the green breaks through the thawing brown
where ice and frost becomes the running force of life
and there, just there,
i know that you will see me,
but without your eyes.
it's not that i think of you.
it's not that you think of me
it's that i can feel the impressions i've made;
because i can feel your impression too.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:43 PM UTC
warm wild wind, what are you trying to tell me?
you swim through the trees so recklessly
what is it you long to tell me?
sometimes a whisper sometimes a roar
your swell it serenely surrounds me
and nudges me home to a familiar front door
where i fumble in darkness for keys.
you haunt through my hair
rushing against my ears
and always reverse on a dime
destruction occasional
seasonally sensational
what is you keep on your mind?
and once in my room, you greet me soon
and dance life through two tired curtains
i sit down to talk
but you suddenly stop
your message left vague and uncertain
the stir you possess still silent as all,
i drown in a stagnant sea
of aimless air that sifts through the hall
with no ambition or reason to flee
warm wild wind
please visit again
for my heart begs a simple inquiry-
under what spell are we?
people pondering the breeze-
what is it that you're longing to tell me?
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
i have a lot in common with flowers
they're delicate but have some power
if they don't get enough sun, they'll wilt
if i don't get enough sun, i'll need a jilt
a flower is born and a flower will die
for humans, all the same rules apply
their petals are the layers of my personality
but by far the biggest similarity,
people love us
seasonally
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
A fiery sensation looms
Seasonally ever so fickle
Majestic temptation blooms
A fiery sensation looms
As nature escapes its cocoon
Spanned was a universal ripple
A fiery sensation looms
Seasonally ever so fickle
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
Across the world, there are many
Energy production sites that produce
More energy than can be used locally.
This is stranded or isolated energy since
Electricity is difficult to send over distance.
Therefore
We need a power consumer who can use
This stranded energy anywhere on earth.
Bitcoin is providing solutions right now
To this problem, and here are the top
Six where Bitcoin is a working solution.
Stranded Natural Gas - typically flared, Bitcoin miners use the energy, reducing methane.
Geothermal Energy - often produces more energy than a local grid can use. Bitcoin steps in.
Hydropower - seasonally variable, Bitcoin is a flexible consumer when supply is high.
Solar and Wind - intermittent, Bitcoin mining consumes surplus during high production.
Landfill Gas - produces methane, and Bitcoin captures this methane for mining.
Remote Locations - such as small hydro dams, biomass plants, or remote oil fields.
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 8:52 AM UTC
Dear God that created heaven and earth
And set the colours on the feathers of birds
Dear God who knows tomorrow
And points the water waves in the direction it should go
Dear God of my forefathers...
You whose voice aflames the heavens with a clap of shattering thunders
Or cry when you may seasonally in startled sizzling showers
You are my God, i have no other.
Dear God who formed my being from dust
And made me rich whilst i was but poor, undone
In grace and in the gift of your gracious love
I am most humble to wash in your preciuos blood!
You who speak and the sea is stilled
Or decree a thing and it cometh to be.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 5:11 AM UTC
I feel them crawl all over my skin:
Up and down,
Trying to get in.
Molesting the fibers of my hair:
Behind my ears,
They scratch and tear.
Down my neck and across my back:
Searching for voids,
Attempting to attack.
All they want is my discontent:
Uncomfortable me,
And happy them.
I know that they aren't really there:
Imagining pain,
Seasonally impaired.
Anger tries to make itself norm:
I must keep swimming,
Get through this storm.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC