"seastorm" poems
I am the stain blue candy leaves on your tongue
eyeliner slightly smudged from happy tears
bubble gum that popped on your face
and bright paint stains on brown hands.
I am messy handwritten cursive
and glossy red lipstick prints.
I am singing off key and dancing in parking lots.
I am the laughter that makes your stomach ache
and I am the quickening of the heart.
I am gasping for breath
as I am the sweet smell of summer.
I am sunsets without end
and s’mores that leave chocolate on your hands.
I am not clean sheets unless they are a fort
but I am bold ink that bled onto the next page
and sometimes I am broken glass
clear but for your blood on a jagged end.
Sometimes I am sobbing on the shower floor
and exquisite pain that makes your shoulders shake.
I am fists clenched so hard your nails cut your palm,
the cold and powerful waves of a seastorm.
And I am learning that’s okay.
I am not in your box
and I am not yours to define;
I am mine.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
Alas! The fair one has passed into the sea,
She has passed into the sea and never to return.
The silent rocks like sentinels watched her determined wade
Into the ocean unconsolable:
The ocean who beats her breast with every wave.
In days before when beauty was full-bloomed
There were none alive who saw aught else,
Who saw aught else but she.
Through her form they beheld the fronds unclench
And the first spry sproutings of jubilant berries red as sunrise.
It was her face that showed men theirs,
And pursuing her was lovestruck Time:
His passing spun the world at her behest.
All no more! She is gone!
The forests shall spend their days in winter
And ever in that dreamless part of sleep.
How was her departure missed
By those who loved her unto dying?
O Beauty, why barefoot march across the pondering ocean's bed?
Beyond her boundaries she was sought.
Over her, whole hordes of men have fought, fought and died:
Whole swathes of men so violently ended,
Their bodies drift like fallen leaves.
Over her shoulder so sad she gazed, with toes kissing the surf,
And the seastorm did rage at her passing.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:32 PM UTC
and my fingers will trace these scars on your chest — they're no fault lines but darling, i can fall and fall and fold myself into wildflowers on which sunlight unfurls. but this world, it's a battlefield and red roses bloom not from the soil but from the skin and every death feels like the first.
every kiss feels like the last.
and darling, tomorrow, we have all the time to be broken. we have all the time to grow up. but tonight, let me hold you close; my hands are weary of writing elegies. tonight, let me drown in your seastorm eyes; i am tired of looking for temporary ports and for all the wrong shades of blue. tonight, i will read you poems about a girl named helen, who loved despite the war. tonight, the world can crumble down and i can stay right here, safe and sound in the comfort of your sighs, like a girl resting against bruised lilacs. i can stay right here watching you sleep until the earliest hours, forever asking myself how can someone so ****** so broken by this world possess this much softness.
this much gentleness.
this much peace.
regardless, rest your weary bones, my love. morning still is far away.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 9:55 AM UTC
The current must have taken us both,
But maybe not to drown us,
But rather to reunite us away from a judging shore,
To spare us the poor understanding of the common folk,
To take us to our own island of love.
Because maybe love was not possible on that shore,
A shore of constraint and doubt,
A shore of disapproving, short-sighted glances.
Yet the fateful seastorm knew the potential that lay silently within us.
It decided of its own accord
To take us far away
To get us lost before we could find each other.
It made the current trick us,
Pull us away from all we knew was good and stable.
Accept having lost control of the reins
And think the waves are set to drown you
And fear that dark abyss beneath
Until you see you keep afloat
Mysteriously, amid the dark waves of the seastorm.
Then you start to wonder
If the seastorm is your friend
A necessary evil,
You understand that, maybe,
This is not the end
And things will soon and gently settle.
In the distance, there is a lighthouse.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC