"segments" poems
A white dove turned black yesterday
and I wonder if peace can be a piece of me. If my body gets broken down into segments and thrown in a body I'm pretty sure I'll come out the soil of my mothers land.
Less recarnation but more invention.
Ideas thought about for a long time only to be released by another mind.
See thats the problem we hold on the tightest to things that carry less weight. See Gravity can be a real *****
but I love the way it holds my mind in place.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
some dogs who sleep ay night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coimng down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about.
12.8k
I used to smile all the time, all day and to everyone.
Along the path of my painful and difficult experiences I lost my smile
I have left segments of my smile in people’s lives
People who do not care to bring it back
Can I blame though? I let them take it
I let them take my smile
Their wear my smile on their faces as if it’s their own while I walk around without one
I have to make a new smile
It’s hard to because I was so used to the one I had
It was filled with genuine innocence, joy and life
Love, hope and faith
Yet now I wear a mask to cover up the non-existent smile I have
I listen to music to find my smile but I find pieces of myself rather in every song that I listen to
So I have lost my smile and myself
I don’t know who I am anymore
They took myself away from me
If I had opened my mouth and said something when I had the chance to
I’d have my smile and be myself
But here I am writing this poem, tears swelling in my eyes
My hands are cold and stiff
It’s hard to write about how I lost my smile
Will I ever get it back?
Time is going, the clock is ticking and days are passing
I am getting older and wiser yet I still have not my smile
Dear Little Child:
Do not let them take away your smile and innocence. You won’t know any better but because I have been in your shoes once upon a time I am asking you to not let them take away your life. For those are your most vulnerable and precious years and not everyone lived those years so they always want to deprive the innocent and clueless of their own years. If someone had warned me like I have warned you I would’ve lived to see your sinless face. Do not let them tell you otherwise, be who you are, be happy, live joyfully and most importantly do not them take away your smile for once it is taken you can never get it back again.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
death mourns a life
that succumbs to suicide...
classical lawless-ness?
calls the jyst...
a thieving;
a stolen death,
a suicide....
bride riddled to a bridge...
baking...
left half awake and half baked...
you count with the number of
blinding equations...
your 80+ segments?
i want nothing to be part of,
whether polymath,
bilingual, or polymath...
you resd yourself into "it"....
fuck you, and...
**** off...
in terms of .gif ***** files...
no... the part where
we don't parrot?
for no worthwhile surprise!
death is alal b & w...
memory?
all invigorating sepia...
life?
the blooming of color...
you take shrooms,
to invigorate the colors?!
oh look...
you're as loony as me...
and why would i
give a **** about your
tall-tales of subversive religiosity?!
you're right!
like you have been with me
to begin with...
there aren't any!
now?!
suffer!
you're in good hands...
turns out?!
i'm a sadist...
i somehow tested the pain on myself...
i enjoy...
the pain, of others,
having, prior, teased the pain
on, myself!
i forgot teasing the pain...
i taste it...
i welcome it...
i've become welcoming
in allowing it,
a stature abbreviating a transcendence
of victim-hood!
i need pain,
to craft an erasure of ever having
the capacity to instruct
a modus operandi for pleasure!
death contra suicide...
a fact contra a premature contest
of pleasure...
suicide is what
death calls thief...
there is no moral artifact
of a "question"...
suicide is the thief,
when death is the executioner...
what moral question is
to be entertained?
non!
i can't blame the mortality
arsonist...
less Tartarus and more Gehenna...
less S.S. and more khaki
S.A. night of the broken windows
and less...
hyper-Hindu
reincarnation,
hue hue grey...
woo woo the ashen pillage...
no... i'm not here for the
cinder and the ********
it's enough that i drink
the sort of excuse,
that sober people could hardly make
excuses about...
and that's enough...
and enough, is, where i'll stick to.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
every achy bone inside me a relic
of the former self still inhabiting this shell.
exquisite fossils of the life once lived
my silhouette, housed in rock,
yet the softest part of me rotted out.
the vacancy in my expression
mirrors the hollowed out spaces
between each rib and every "what if"
my lungs carry haunted cries
apparitions you forged in my memory
phantom fingers singed the word
“remember” into my paper skin.
i am still smoldering.
chambers of my heart filled with cobwebs;
every strand of silk an unfulfilled wish.
we are still tangled up.
the spiders have crawled from our throats
but the dust is settling.
your fingers have intertwined
with the segments of my spine,
fists taking root in my chest, cradling a stone heart.
knuckles bent comfortably around each vertebrae,
your hands are cold.
the weight of all my sins is crushing me,
i suppose i should have noticed
when you read the lines in my palm like an obituary.
forgive me.
- m.f. & j.a
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
We're two one-sided cardboard pieces
Segments of a cloudy sky
It looks like we would fit together
But we won't
But we try.
But we try.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
once someone asked me what my favorite flower was
i told them, "a dandelion"
they looked confused for a moment
before i told them why
i like dandelions because
not only are they cute and fluffy [hehe]
they're also weeds
found in every day places
nothing special
but i love them
and for me
i will always think of them as little wishes
running around crazy in the garden
as a child, if you blew it all away in one breath
then you got a wish
now every time
i see one of those cute
fluffy, light
everyday weeds
i smile as i bend down to pluck it gently
trying not to ruffle it too much
i draw in a breath
and watch as the segments go flying
dawdling through the air
and i make a wish
on that flyaway dandelion
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
It was orange -
spherical symphony of segments
I liked to
cut
up,
peel off the skin,
lick the surface
while you
stared
and
shouted
and
clapped your hands
and called it Art.
We both devoured it
anyhow.
I spat the seeds into the air,
you waited for
gravity
to catch them in
your wastebasket.
I noticed the sour
before-taste
dripped into
sweet
-bitter
so our fiction of
pulp
melted on the
tongue
into facts of juice
running down our chins
until we were
hollow-hungry
no more.
Facts like
frightening
words -
you may decide which.
It was orange
like
the globe
of irrational truths
some people pray to.
Dropped out of a tree
into our mouths
but we bit into
everything
but
nothing.
It was orange.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
Reaching out for what delivers its existence
The thirsty tree extends its limbs further to the sun
An encounter craved, but still valuing its bestowment
Forever longing anxiously for that connection
The summer winds carrying this hopeful firefly
Emitting the lonely light that calls out for another
Releasing these signals in hopes of discovering you
Again a flicker and finally the mate is matched
Sprinting to the sea, the relentless river runs
Passionately carving its way through the slighted landscape
Obviously enraptured by its desirous charge
Awaiting the second its frenzied rush reaches home
Like the sun now churning our eager energy
Overthrowing senses with this rampantly raging need
Overwhelming magnetism lures us toward temptation
Inescapably mesmerized by this sensation
Profound in nature, driven by this timeless dance
Sophisticatedly conjoining into fulfillment
A base for these unbridled electrical impulses
The quintessence of our fusion now realized
We are the union of two wandering forces
Ignition progresses affectionate meditations
Quietly absorbing the synthesizing of segments
Once unrelated, now entangled eternally
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
Light drunkenly reels into shadow;
Blurs, slurs uneasily;
Slides off the eyeballs:
The segments shatter.
Tree-branches cut arc-light in ragged
Fluttering wet strips.
The cup of the sky-sign is filled too full;
It slushes wine over.
The street-lamps dance a tarentella
And zigzag down the street:
They lift and fly away
In a wind of lights.
2.7k
You were always so fascinated with silhouettes.
The way the slope of the nose flowed into the lips,
flowed into the curve of the chin,
then the ******* and finally the heart.
You told me I looked beautiful that night
that you first kissed me.
I could swear I heard my heart soar but
maybe beneath that flutter,
I failed to notice the slight crack.
Because the moment you made your home
in my ribcage,
I lost segments of myself until the day you left,
I now notice, you actually left nothing at all.
Looking back, I see that it was actually my fault.
I was hasty in loving you so fully.
My mother told me to be wary of the drugs on the street,
the day I left home.
But she failed to mention that some drugs come
with a beating heart and hazel eyes.
I still feel you flowing in my blood stream.
Your scent, permanently embedded into my bones.
And I don't know what's sadder:
The fact that I'm still in love with you,
or the fact that you were never loved me to begin with.
You only loved the idea of me.
You only loved my skeleton.
And you were all I ever wanted.
But I was not brilliant enough.
Now I see that you only love silhouettes
because you're afraid of fully seeing someone,
out and vulnerable.
So, you settle for shadows.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Heavy metal never really called my name
What have we come from?
Where are we goin?
Information at fingertips
helios
sunshine
moonshine
chromeshine
writing , for writings sake
No prescription - the session is free
for the
meaning to fit the key of the lock of knowledge and wisdoms fruit
gems
are the segments of an orange.
Who knows -
maybe this is best
the fleeting but perpetual motion
vibrant motions.
to whom do these shirts and clothes am i wearing belong?
=
A beige coat , with the old mans jumper.
and the best friends tshirt cut at the ends with whales on them
just riding the waves
in the floating oceans shores
drifting kind sifting but with intentional grace
slow
or fast.
Horns blast.
=
open
=
ding . ding . ding.
level unlocked !!!!!
=
boom ,, de la bot
robotics.
Ghosts in Machines....
ha,
ha
.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
Surrounded by empty parts of a forgotten past
Chasing myself around to end up in the same place as last
I spiral all night on a bed beaten by time and mistakes
Just to sleep in segments of new horror in a different time of space
Helplessly in love with the possibility that you may impossibly have what I'm looking for
Hounded by remedy crooks with cold coffee and platitudes
Abandoned by the church of the broken, to fall back into poisonous loving arms
Now I'm talking to the walls and crying with the windows
Spinning with the ceiling and alone in our bedroom
Remembering the promises made in a 101 proof haze
Living on borrowed time remembering yesterdays
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 11:15 PM UTC
The sun is resplendent and warming.
on this bench in front of these shops in a town we’ve never been to.
Italy’s a lot nicer if you’re in a small town.
I’m watching her peel an orange
slowly,
meticulously
she’s removing the skin from the meat.
She reminds me of a boxer wrapping his hands
before a big fight.
The last moment of meditative solitude
before the **** hits the fan.
She’s finishing with the peel now, setting the pieces on the bench next to us
as she splits it in half, an aerosol of juice sprays from the orange
she hands me one half
and begins to eat the other herself.
I peel the segments apart, eating them slowly
and spitting the seeds into the gutter.
she’s smiling,
the juice running down her chin,
and neither of us are speaking.
Later I’m smelling the citrus on her fingers
as she runs them through my hair;
it’s barely long enough to run fingers through,
and I’m thankful for that.
I’m thankful for that orange.
I’m glad I saw that small town,
the one without tourist attractions or snakeoil peddlers
I’m glad my scalp ever knew her citrus fingers.
it came,
I saw,
it went.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
*Strip into segments the colours of life
At the birth of my sons, loving my wife,
Like the moment of truth when, whilst shivering clear,
I went eyeball to eyeball with that, which I fear.
Like the time when the engine went dead in the plane
And I ditched in the pines to confirm the insane.
When my Father collapsed and died in my arms
And childhood departed with God and his Psalms.
When I first kissed a girl’s soft velvety lips
And felt, with wild rapture, my hands on her hips.
Discovered ripe apricots fresh from the tree
Taste sweeter than nectar collected by bee.
Felt the presence of death compellingly near
Though the body was wracked, the thinking was fear.
Climbed impossible peaks that I dreamt I perceived
To weep the hot tears in a life’s goal achieved.
Laughed loud and long with the wind in my hair
Yet cried when an enemy lost to despair.
Pondered the mystery of what’s round the bend
Concluded beginnings are part of the end.
Compiling the rules to maintain my space
Lie in keeping the oddballs out of my face.
Clasping friends, so few, to my breast
Embracing the true and to hell with the rest.
Committing my time to my one darling wife
And thanking the Gods for this colourful life!*
Marshalg
Sitting in the long summer grasses
3 Decemeber 2012
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity;
examined the void with intellect- deprived precision,
inspected every crevice painted in colour.
you left the blue for last because you say
the amphetamine matches my eyes.
you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth,
denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness,
reach inside for unfleshly meaning.
you say all my filthy secrets implode into
ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue
and that is why you bite it off.
you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes.
you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks.
i like it when the moon is yellow and not white.
spread me across your bones, you make me cold
**** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever.
you lick the lily, burn away its petals and
then you use the ashes in your next drag.
there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments.
they want anatomised angels and amputated wings.
they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments.
and electric ***
i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness,
prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain.
i only remember realities when they are expired.
the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist.
the psychology in undesired sentences.
this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves
like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging
eight-balls, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat.
this vanilla immortality that we no longer need.
i'm watching the end of the world
from underneath your clothes.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:42 AM UTC
Two-tongued and long,
Slander and smooth,
Naked and wicked.
Moves hissing,
Delivers kisses of death,
With tongue flicking.
A revered reptile.
Lives in dead piles of woods
In trees, and deserts,
The cold earth's hugger
Crawls like nature's gymnast.
Never has he ever laughed
Never made any friends
Never trusted by anybody.
Sadly he has a king,
Black like me
But has no soul
he lives in Africa
And in parts of Asia
He bites and hisses
But I don't bite
only on my food
He doesn't chew.
I do, and I swallow.
Him, his preys whole
I despise him.
I have many reasons
He social-engineered his ways
Around Adam"s woman
One day, he ****** eve up
With smooth lies
What this even implies,
Empirically, logically,
I really don't know,
All I know, I was told!
Hold on, I know not
From whence it came,
Maybe from the good book,
That's a Long and twisted story.
It says he used his tongue
Not on her as a woman,
But to break her home.
Adam was a **** fool,
To leave that girl home alone.
Unannounced, he came in kool
Using his double tongues.
Was she kinda blind?
He isn't even cute.
This story I can't refute
Yet millions have concurred
I'm not a friend.
Not of the story.
Of him, the notorious,
The venomous
The infamous heel biter
Once again, I hate him
Never was a friend
Never will be,
Because of that poor woman.
He's the First home breaker,
Frickin' liar
Cursed by God
His head to be severed
Using a sword,
A stone or stick,
Day or night,
Right or wrong,
Because of poor little eve
Adam's kids will strike
At his tiny little head.
Death to the serpent!
Eternal condemnation
Even if he repents,
Strike his elongated body
With a double-edged cutlass.
Don't you ever feel sorry
For this sorry ***
Chinese add him cooked
segments by segments to curry.
He has no class
He Kills at will.
I hate him very much
And I do have my reasons.
He's the infamous snake
The symbol of evil
Father of confusion
With evil intention
Perpetual guide
To eternal hell
From the garden of Eden
Who gave Eve a heartbreak.
He's toxic and venomous.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 3:25 AM UTC
smooth like a breeze
let us move, let us walk
in this snow
Crow and Heron
they might call us;
those who see
my clothes in black
and yours in white
as light as falling snow
let us go
gently together
elegant and ephemeral
under one umbrella
close, warm
my arm on your delicate shoulders
and those who know
they will say:
*See, the eternal couple walk
Heron and Crow
Ying and yang
Never appearing never going
But always being*
Let us walk
smooth and precious
side by side, while fools think
there are times or moments in our lives;
while the wise know
we are always being –
not within time, not within segments
but Crow and Heron
beyond concept and ideation
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
There are too many segments in this orange,
I tore away the rind and pulled at the pith with my thumb,
exposed the flesh that fell apart,
but there are too many segments in this orange,
it won't fit back together.
Ill fitting fruit, mutated citrus genes.
You were bigger than yourself.
What freaky secrets your cratered, sunset skin
hid beneath its thick, fragrant glow.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
Oh, they notice.
Yes, we do.
It just for ethical reason of manners.
We must not admit to the truth.
Oh, we notice the hips, the lips, the walk.
Yeah, men's notice this all about you.
Even with their spouse.
And they about to break their necks not to look.
Believe me.
Men's notice you.
The debate between them.
Is long as they don't touch.
Many feels it's not a big deal.
But on the other hand.
You'll hear the religious segments talking about lusting after them.
When in reality, it's them hiding in pretense.
Men's notice.
Whether within church.
Whether at work.
Men's notice.
Whether in the park.
Or relaxing in the pool.
Men's notice.
And believe me.
Women knows, who's looking too?
To some, it's a compliment.
To others, it's a hinderance.
But either way men's notice.
They always do.
Except, some like to play the blind man game.
As, if they don't see a single thing.
We notice, the eyes, the hands, the skin.
Some even go beyond respect to notice your friends.
Where do this noticing begins to end?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Chapter I
I once was young minded,
vulnerable with wide tooth grins
and fluttering words,
binding soft skin with liquid
metals - like gallium,
clustering in my ribbed fingertips and
letting love level in my lips.
I turned old the day I watched
rough bodies portraying the new style
of
***
on a vhs tape, and he
gave me a shaking milkshake to
turn off my developing
voicebox.
I always wore this barbie nightgown
that had tears from the nights before,
but that's ancient dust that folks
flip past in encyclopedias.
as he knelt down to tie my veins
together in little bows,
I untied after each loop was set in
my bones.
his acidic fingers braced my eight
year old metal frame,
so I broke the nuts and bolts since
I wanted to see if he was
a part of the human race,
I wanted to see if he could bleed
iron-richness that kept myself breathing.
Chapter II
he was beautiful.
his philosophy branched in
segments and he tasted of
earthy tones, but sometimes
he couldn't smile easy and
I felt his love only in acts of passion.
The football game stuttered in
pure vertigo,
as if my body was still
positioned in missionary.
he held me in concern, his arms
laced as protection from myself.
as a survivor, his words felt like
whiplash or lagging from too much
flying in the high altitude.
I needed to forget, float, forgive
and begin the process over again.
I would never see the shades of love
from anyone other than from him,
his words used to brand me.
Chapter III
I drank too much.
I wished on meteorites,
lead-filled, hoping they wouldn't
fall on the tent.
my luck was never strong enough.
I felt as if a wildfire was singeing
my dysfunctional limbs.
I wanted him off. now.
and my tongue was made of
parchment paper. crisped.
I woke up ten after nine.
my body repulsed me,
throwing up the last of poisonous
alcohol I left stranded the
night before.
I devoted that I will never sleep in
a tent again.
Chapter IV
I am finally free.
I still have energy in these
old bones,
and I want to put them
to good use.
so I'll walk for centuries to
find truth and trust.
I use my voice to tell myself
I am more profound than the
surface film those insignificants swept
on my skin.
I found my voice again.
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC
It had been snowing all night
light slight white
almost invisible flakes
falling on the garden below
While you slept I lay awake
between startling dreams
adventures (with my children)
amongst pinnacled peaks
Should sleep in an unfamiliar room
so effect the unconscious mind?
Here you became a young adult
‘I lost my virginity’ (you said)
‘and it was messy’
I didn’t want to know this
but told you how it was
for me a beach at night
in Devon Tarka country
And so a tracery
emerges from the past
It emanates it draws together
intersects conjoins segments
a tessellation map-rich
by and through and which
(bathed in the snow-light
of an uncurtained morning)
together we move now too and fro
in this still-experimental passion
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
There were segments of you through this world mirror parallel..
Increase the mystery of your smile as your tears leave behind light trails.
I can't find you anywhere..
Even though I can make the anywhere...
This control let me give in..
And it also let me reverse all of my sins..
And through all the magical haze..
You are still lost in my dream maze..
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC