"sheens" poems
Welcome the new day
As night lifted her screen
The sun had brought its palette
Boasting of colours never before I've seen
Rays like paintbrushes
As they dove into the water
Light explosively burst into emeralds
Ripple and eddies would sparkle and shimmer
Bolts from the orange orb
Speared the tops of trees and sprawling ground
Tinting their leaves with green of olives
And grass with freshness abound
Its wand touched the tip of the distant lighthouse
Turning it the brightest green
It brought life back to my surrounding
Layered my eyes with the greenest of sheens
Such beauty laid bare
The difference was literally night and day
But my heart is also green
To readily accept what my mind has to say
As if a child
Or yet still a greenhorn
I should ignore the stains of yellow
And enjoy this new day that had just been born
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.
to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.
embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.
creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.
luminous lengths of birthday candles
lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
As leaves of crimson fall,
& bleed like cherry wine
sleeping parrot greens,
they overtake mind,
I quietly approach,
set up a sneaky blind,
I spot a toucan looking tree
in colors rarely seen
it takes my breath away
in soft & brilliant sheens,
showing off the beauty,
& creating quite a scene,
Amber hues of mustard,
blending in with rust,
others look like wheat
that was baked inside a crust,
so telling you about it,
is something that I must,
Burning up the sky
in flamingo sunset pink
as if I'm in the Tropic's
just sippin' down a drink,
look at all the colors,
just amazing,
don't you think?
Like a lovely bird of paradise
is landing in my hair,
so I can write it down
a story we can share,
I'm jotting down the words,
like Ginger & Astaire,
Out arift upon the skies
I hear the weeping willow
I close my eyes to dream
& lay on leafy pillows
like sheets of iridescent,
quoting as they billow,
I stand in admiration,
a journey that I applaud
sent to me from heavens
from hands, a loving God,
leaves today are burning
stand mystified & awed
So beautiful & grand
your plumage is at peak,
waving me dear willow
I softly hear her speak,
Listen to the sounds
as they open up their beak
Go press a few examples
to savor every day
listen very closely
to every word I say
you take 'em out again
when the skies are turning grey
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
Under this canopy
of dark
gleaming stars
I now sit
allow my body
to take residence
in the aura
of my own
glowing
let thoughts
of reason
slowly unravel
until they
become
one
long
thread
connecting my
mind but
releasing it
to the air
Molecules, like
the tiniest of crystals,
gently whir
energetically
about me
in almost
invisible stirrings
letting the power
of energy centers
take over:
Red,
for my root
for I am
tethered
to this earth
Orange, for
the passion
so strong
and truly knowing
my own worth
Yellow, for
my gut,
instincts open
and a-light
expanding into
universes, broadening
my sight
Then my heart
washed through and through
in shades of green
its own incandescence
filled with verdant,
fiery sheens
It beats a lantern
of vitality
in this ocean of pain
sending a beacon in
the darkness
helping to break old,
patterns
prompt them to
snap like rusty chains
Here it pumps in growth of
leafy, budding light
Guiding my spirit
in ripeness full and bright
I rise up
into the
indigo-turquoise
of my throat
as words burst forth
in surges,
in the salty froth
of ocean spirals
they float,
get pulled by
mysterious urges
Like waterfall mist
just kissing
the tips of eyelash
flickers
these words that
have the power
to calm
or make my blood
run quicker
And then:
the deep purple
of my crown
that tapers into
a shimmering white
and I know
I can now
receive myself,
calm, in queenly
presence of mind
of spirit
in my highest
form of
light
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
i love the fact that most people
rather enter the concept
of karma rather dialectics
to argue their point - makes
emily austen seem like a nutcracker
of ideas to come from
ikea as the self-assembled semi-detached
heights, otherwise known as wuthering, heights
or the disco-ball done in mahoganny eyed splinter
shine - sheens the spot!
it's just so ****** blocked nose rotten,
the opposite of polite society,
a bit like the middle-ages... reigning
paranoia imported from a lost colony,
library cards of blue indian peasants
turned into pheasants that did the cancan dance
all of a sudden... miracles christ couldn't even forsee!
i'm free every saturday if you're hashtag up-for-it...
never mind... i'll leave my quote and oil my phone-number
for a missing mobile telepathic nuance on
when differentiating blue indians with garam masala
and red indians with mohawks - easiest game of all:
snakes & ladders, noughts & crosses... garam masala & mohawks.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
a half moon rises
as the sun sets over
a golden Charles
the Fens
luminescence
guide scullers
chasing the days
ebbing light
shimmering
upon near
stillness,
as dancing
black ripples
push silver
splashes of
floating sheens
toward the
gentle slopes of
grassy banks
fisherman cast
the day’s final
hopes upon
gracious waters
as shad fry
breech to
proclaim
a promise
of a dutiful
return to fulfill
a future bounty
this accessible
river, the pulsing
heart conjoining
two cities;
flows as a
democratic spirit
drawing all to its
hospitable shores
my eyes remain
transfixed on
the glowing ember
of a twilight Charles
drifting under darkened
portals of the
Harvard Bridge,
while the rise
of a sunset breeze
whispers a cool
end to the
summers day
I imagine
Luna blowing
a goodnight
kiss to a
yawning Sol,
as she winks to
young *****
lovers embracing
the long shadows
and sweet fragrance
of tall bulrushes
a slight puff of wind
anoints my minds eye
as lazy water rolls
toward me, lapping
my feet, lollygagging
along, slowly strolling
towards the bay
as I salute pilots
navigating this
most friendly
course
Music Selection:
Grant Green, Moon River
Cambridge MA
7/7/91
jbm
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Sometimes I imagine that you could use a flat blade knife and separate parts of my body.
Like an anatomical model, an arm in half, a wrist entirely off.
An outmoded coloured wax model. Perhaps, a very old one. A decorated one with human or horse hair, closed eyelids and uncomfortable lips, and like those ancient roman ones, thinning sheens of paint on top.
The blade would slip through neatly, perhaps catching friction as it passes the block of soap texture, and leaves grimy residue on the knife.
You can see the vessels.
They are not clean.
Like my soul there are very nearly translucent scrapes and patches of liquid. Some days the liquid spills out.
Some days I just want to clean out. I want to purge, but I know I will just melt and the mistakes will be just as visible. You will see the marks that look like mouse's claws or pincers where I have pulled apart the skin trying to work out what went wrong. Doing some kind of surgery. Inside tying double sided sticky tape and chips of plastic, driving them in deep and forgetting about them.
When you say those things I can't be big anymore. If I'm tired you make me cry. Salt crisps up my intestines.
You make me imagine what it would be like to plunge a knife into my stomach.
I bet it would be satisfying like the braking of chocolate. Cracking of value bars.
But I have to remember that you are the organs thrown out at the end of the day, sloshing around in the bucket and I deserve to be preserved and anything that had been cried over or crafted is better than a remote controlled car. Stop telling me that it's not.
It's not as if I'm trying to be a petal or a fragment of netting fallen off a ballerina's skirt.
I've chosen to hover above the blades. I am nothing so frivolous. Feeling at home in a web of metal coated in paisley oven gloves. I am safe here. In fact I'm glad that thick haze separates us. You will never be able to find somewhere so tranquil. It makes me happy that there is no possibility that we can meet in the middle. It just makes it easier to keep the space, without the concern of some congealing platelets tethering to a surface which was never there.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
CJ attack you from the metronome
Catch you in your groove home alone
Blowin wit the chrome
Im blowin to the bone
My title be known.. cannibal.. dynamical maestro
Sparked and fully hydroed my team of psychos
Sell it higher than the Eifel Towers
Seconds minutes led the hour.. wein the power
Spittin bibles..the sunshower.. the wise out on the scene
They think we forget the dream
My aura sheens like morphine in your veins
Pastors saying can you and your crew.. oooh stand the rain
Many men possess the gin in the jungle of sin
Deeper than.. Sum chosen others frozen
From the explosion, my opposition
Protect my team of demolitions, full competition
Keep em drinkin Benjin
Like some chicken heads on the ground
Bite the trey pound for foes that wanna get down
Me and my clique sharpen the sound
Infiltrate the town
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 4:50 AM UTC
Exchanging
recommendations under flickering lights ! we transpose the nature
? of our insect-like movements
$
with the slick of our collars,
our dull-shine badges.
Eye
makeup
arrayed in sheens
to blow your eye's burn
away
back into
the cold of space,
where you belong
the skirt of the star's burn,
to sear you (un)clean
without alarm.
with a certain sweltering silent charm
Somewhere, saturations swell
in non-
casual ******** singsong.
Klarity is substantiated.
Forgive a whiff into cigarette dust.
Into reticulated (t)rust.
✙
How many leaves
connect
to form the tree's glow?
I'm sorry for asking
now
*I must go*
...
Forbidding madness
with a
keen
brow-
bent
glare
ballroom harpies
chase you backwards
down
a
flight
of
stairs
.
.
.
*what is this caution
here cushioning me
porous like bed foam
harm eating me slowly*
?
smirking consistent smart
a loneliness for hatred
.
.
.
Tear me up for what is holy in me
crumpled 'piss-poor' regard, it's a satin-shure smile
I am churning and I know (not the exit)
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
I slash open
the fine lines
of my veins
to let in the
starry breath
of night
fresh and fiery
as a snap of chaos
left out
in the firmament
to chill,
the frigid air
weaving an
icy filigree
upon the black
cooling my blood
soothing the
night creatures
that swerve and sway
beneath my skin
restless as tiny demons
always locked away,
within
They emerge from
their hibernation
into the gelid
crackle of air,
zipping over the
sheens of ice floes
unstopped by sudden
change in climate
frozen moss between
their claws, their toes
In this icicle-dipped
troposphere
a burning
descends upon
my tastebuds
just as if
you have
kissed me
the ebbs
of time seemingly
bringing you closer
an energetic wrapping
up and through
my being
like the breathiest of
polar mist
and as I gaze up
at the tiny
wisps of light,
lustrous as the
full moon scattered,
the astral plane
whirrs deep within me
stirring up my womb
ploughing the fields
of my mind
creating riverflow
from icy drought
soothing the
cuts and fissures
and rocky edges
of my aching
prophetess
heart
Fragile yet callused,
toughened with time
as it beats
beneath the ice
soft as the inside of
a wounded animal
blessed by its hunters
for making itself a gift
to the tribe
apparently
your warrior's
palm alone
can melt it
down
and sometimes,
as I get
lost inside deeply
wild tundras,
suddenly
I'm
found
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
I do admire
How our seasons change
Winter's tale
Becomes summer's sonnet.
Quaint complexes
And their uncomplicated dwellers
Existing in solid metronome.
Years skip over
And it's always the same story.
How do you keep your composure so well?
He painted still life on repeat.
Sometimes things
Are better admired from a distance.
Her tattered quill
Has been crafting chronicles
For ages
Most with mixed morals
And chapters of relentless passion
Shared by the wicked,
The naive,
The reckless,
And the virtuous.
Divulging into each finely chiseled character
Their legends, their struggles
Bid to cease only when
Clocks move in reverse
(History may not repeat itself here)
Here we believe
We posses the entirety of the universe.
(Infinity stops at the border
Of silver sheens
And construction beams)
Within our pool
Of blood and glory
The myths are no longer only
Fool's dialogue.
In this city,
They are alive.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
I treat beef like lions in, the Ramada inn, dying to sign into the luncheon,
go to work,
I punch in,
these beefcakez, is munchkins, my dough nuts, and bunch Keens.
We Brady Bunch,
and Punch like Kens -sheens.
we punching through functions
like a bunch of alienss at the Days Inns working equations off all kinds of ocassions, mostly Caucasian, facials so amazing, when their facebook, if they face them..I page in,and they page Kim, to let him, know that I'm waiting; the appointment meant, we dating, no promo, so stop your hating. take a selfy in the **** stop ur waiting. ctrl, alt, delete. there's no.escaping- staple the email to your upper lip, recycle trash every other weak in. *** Ginny, run, Freddy creeping. slow, creepy walk, Jason mask out the Lake Inn, my neighbors laughed, Chevy chasing there *** child's play with a ****** hockey mask, i'm up to task. dog had a limp,so I made him part of the cast! Bruce Lee kicked, thier ******* *** I'm talking full body cast.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
There is an inch of sleight in this house – this cold chair,
a burst of cologne clogging a 20 minute stride. The stringent
air tonight blusters deeper than gashing sheens.
The little dryad of dew outside and the cadenza of frogs
after lambaste of rain. Whenever you sing, your voice
communes an immense pain, something unconscious of its
gravity, something that levitates back to momentary ululations
swelling in the grime of times and heady chances. A long stretch
of a day submerged in silence resembling a howl underwater.
There will be many sorrows and they will take form of doves,
assume the skin of the populace. They will come in a volume of
names pressing the linoleumed musk the way the body turns
maneuvering over the saltine, the mattress, juxtaposed to a lover,
a brusque aroma of coffee brushing away the calm demeanor
of the morning, dragging along the weight of its lassitude
towards the sprays of fern opening a dense ornate of forget,
you, in all places that pulse without recall – an obtuse
fish feeling its life in a surge of blue, overtime, finally knowing
what it means to sing and drone only words.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Delicious eyes of magic fire,
Warm shafts that finger forth a touch
Of Love;
Enticing my desire
To surge through lancing beams
As rolling waves o’erride the ebb,
Which sheens, a mirror of the sky,
Leaves pools of cool tranquillity,
Enriched by sprinkled stars of pollen-
That fell from flowers, that hug the heaven:
Hidden beyond the misty trees,
Which blossom founts of rustling leaves.
These forks of light lash through the woods,
From dawning suns that melt the ocean floods.
PAUL BUTTERS
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 2:10 AM UTC
Hasten, sun, hasten
your walk across peaks and troughs,
the drag of your golden cloak,
the slant of every shadow,
the traverse of many sheens.
Hasten, sun, hasten
but slow down
on your brilliant slice,
on your orange bleed,
on your warmest death.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder?
For I was torn between the wondrous musing
And the unfaithful, the treacherous verity.
Dad said that it lies in the wit and the wisdom,
Mom believed it to be synonymous with serenity!
I roved in reverie, pottered with presumptions;
What is beauty? From where does it emanate?
But may be, there was no oasis to my quest.
The answer breezed in and out, gusted here and there;
To catch hold of it was a big, big test!
Was it the reflection in the mirror?
The unbearable, the ill-favoured, it couldn't be.
The face that lacked glow, the face sans any sheens,
It longed for glory, for eminence.
I sighed; for was beauty the boulevard to my dreams?
There are the gifts of botany lacking blossoms,
And scads of scars blotching the moon.
But never could they blotch my view:
Splendor couldn't stop itself descending upon my eyes!
Even in murk, even in dim, I could descry hue.
'Twas in my eyes, they could life the lifeless
Like a shore serenading a cove or
The Ocean constantly kissing the shoreline.
These epitomised allure, incarnated love.
For me, it was an emotion 'divine'!
I realised: Not in the skinny legs and the fair hands
It is found in the vivacity of spirits.
Neither in the mascara nor in the mole;
Beauty has never found it's way through these,
It resides in the heart, in the soul.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
Well Lookie’ LOOK LOOK... !!!
... ALL That It TOOK...
Was The World To Get SHOOK...
Like Some Mobb Deep Crooks...
For MORE Than Gang Colours...
To Create... DISCOMFORT... !!!
Cos’ I’ve Now Learned About Guys...
Whose Pride And LIES...
DEFINE Why Blacks...
Like To Make Attacks... !!!
Against Other Blacks... !?!?!
Because of The GUISE...
They Like To... HIDE BEHIND... !!!
of... Making CLAIMS...
About LOVING The DARK... !!!
When Darkness DOESN’T...
Sleep Under Their Covers... ?!?
It’s Skin That’s... LIGHT...
That They REALLY LIKE... !!!
And Their Colours Are GREEN...
And Those With LIGHT Sheens...
And Then... OCCASIONALLY...
The DARKEST Skins...
Are Treated As If They Belong WITHIN...
Their... "Tight Knit Crews"... !!!
of Those Who USE...
And Choose To ABUSE...
When They Are REFUSED...
The Right To Do What They Like To Do...!!!
Which Is... Act As Though...
EVERYTHING That They Know...
Is WISDOM Filled And Will Instil...
A Level of Thought That Is The SOURCE... !!!
of... Knowledge SUPREME... ?!?
I Mean... SERIOUSLY... !?!
Their REALITY Is FILLED...
With DREAMS And FALLACIES... !!!!!
That Make Them BELIEVE...
You Should GIVE THEM TRUST... ?
When They’ve LIED About Stuff...
That’s IMPORTANT As Well As SERIOUS... !!!
It’s A... CRAZY Time... !!!
Where A LOT of Black Lives...
SUDDENLY NOW MATTER... ?!?
Because RACIST Factors...
That Were Coloured As FALSE...
Have Now Been SHATTERED... !!!
Because of CAMERAS...
On... Mobile Phones... ?!!!?
So Now Colours Are HOT...
Like Topics That Were LOST...
APPARENTLY... " In Translation "... !!!
So Now HYPOCRISY BLATANT... !!!
Has YES Been... Stationed...
On The Kind of Stations...
Where Mostly White Faces...
Have... Discussed Colours...
As If They’re... ABOVE US... ?!?
While These So Called Sistas’...
And Blood ******* Brothers... !!!
Have Sat And Resisted...
Explaining That HATRED...
Remains UNDERCOVER...
Because of The BLUNDER... !!!
of... Keeping Mouths CLOSED... !?!
When They SHOULD of DISCLOSED... !!!
How It Goes On Shows...
And In Employment Zones...
For... MOST Black Folks... !!!
When It Comes To PAY...
Above The Minimum Wage...
Well They Should Be ASHAMED...
of... Being AFRAID... !!!!!
of... Speaking UP... !!!
When... RACISM...
Was What They GOT...
On Their Way To The TOP... !!!
of The... BIGOTS Club...
Where Colours DO NOT Run... !!!
UNLESS Of Course They’re For...
... PROFESSIONAL Sport... !!!
So The RACISTS Can CLAIM...
That Equality REIGNS...
Like SLAVERY CHAINS... !!!
Whose Colours Have Changed...
And Been... REARRANGED... !!!
To SHINE A LOT MORE...
Than They Did BEFORE...
They Did LAST SUMMER... !!!
So Now It’s CULTURE VULTURES...
Who Are BANDWAGON JUMPERS... !!!
... Coming OUT of Cupboards...
Because of Their... LOVERS... !!!!!!
And Because of Movements...
Now Causing CONFUSION... !?!
Because of ILLUSIONS...
That Now In Conclusion...
Are RISING In Numbers...
Just Like These SUCKERS... !!!
Who These Days Are NOW SHOWING...
What REALLY Are INDEED... Their...
..... “ TRUE COLOURS “..... !!!
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC
Fall to be
Life, a sea
To freely see
So calling me
Feeling leaves
Crunching frees
When, but tithing
The freest breeze
Is but every,
Astounding thing
Maybe a remedy
Cradling dreams
glowing streams
Foggy sheens
Making these
Diamond seams
Echoes seem
Frailer things
Which beauty brings
Castigating, floating beings
Though without,
The warmth they bring
Though within,
Melodies teem,
with no strings
Welcoming.
I was glad
Just to have seen
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Almost 4 a.m.
on a misty Kansas morning.
I try to wash away
the sleepiness
from my insomnia crusted eyes.
Flip my racing thoughts
resting on a fresh sheet of paper—
spread so clean it sheens,
like fresh snow on a sunny day.
clean pen and magical colors.
drop and watch in wonderment,
as the colors sink in...
waltzing,
into the white stillness.
words never heard,
until this very moment..,
dancing in my frenzied brain.
the fresh trees reaching out...
a drop of sea, a chilly souvenir,
the stories of sunsets,
peeled back layer after layer...
and a moon laid on lake waters.
a tender breath of mystery...
a river filled with apparitions
here now—
then gone.
wet roads reflecting,
winding around echoing hills.
the stale winter breeze, now reborn...
floating across the valley as a new dawn.
steam rising from forgotten coffee.
my eyes wary, and then closed.
I feel the calm glow of lights,
the hum of the city,
the silent shadows.
the peace of the morning symphony.
Pen to paper, again,
mind firing untainted tales,
as the pigeons rise.
followed by the squirrel...
and the downstair’s neighbor—
a flick and puff of his first vice.
a new chapter, a clear desire.
the trees rise, the day rises.
night slowly walks,
forward.
onwards,
towards the
spring morning, reborn.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 9:12 AM UTC
Gone are the tails,
the shimmering whales,
gone are the watery sheens,
absent are mermaids
and absent, her trade,
told 'neath the blue and green sea,
quiet are sea maps
and quiet are *****
that conduct and yell and keep time,
silenced are wet niches
and silenced are witches
that spellbind within the dark brine.
But on songs will twirl
in the soul of the girl
that coils the gold strands together,
and beat the drums will
with a pulse in the still
that holds in our young hearts forever.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 8:38 AM UTC
Elevate me, bring me to a separated plane,
That would culminate my thoughts from somewhere between spiritual and deranged.
But ok, debunk yourself from stable,
From making magic between the tragic epiphanies; reversed serendipity to cradle.
This traffic of ideas tesselate the snake train,
Elaborated in definitions of tapestry and fake names.
Wallflower, with no protest to bonemeal,
Kaleidoscope of diets from eggshells and chlorophyll.
Hmmm, this brain food's a drug inducing misdirection, that holds no compass but somehow still sheens a cruel reflection.
Of course, consolidated losses, juxtapose the crosses,
Sway the form of faith to a diluted array of traits. +
And when the gullets a game for gross concoctions,
It's obvious isolation and failure seem the only options.
But anyway, with a sober mind still intact,
I could follow lines of letters from loosely to exact.
Clearly there is no sure thing, especially when the puppet contorts to the willful rhythm pulling at his own strings.
Look how far we've come, from willing to unable, that would shatter any semblance of cards still on the table.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
1
Fails to realize the momentousness of the ordeal. Syntax means nothing. Delineations weak. It is all obsolescence, this one. This thing that has no name. This agreed-upon assault of objects. Its loose fizz into the air. Buildings without balconies, or balconies without height – a plunge will mean that there is only little ache left to wring out of some futurity. Arrange the furniture, you said. Take pictures of the sullen victory right after. There is no place in there but only spacious silence. Like meat before it goes into the melting *** Like light before it reaches its tippling point. Hence, let us both agree to this once again. An end. A limit has been reached. In most days you say nothing. I wait – concealed, overwrought with time’s unloosenings. I do no waiting at all. I do wait at all – this made moment is your new retreat.
2
This is an old woe with a new name. I ask you things, you answer me endless. Endless as in quiet is infinite. There are so many places in this world fat with stillness. Feelings flatten and fall at last, here, its exoskeleton. Keep it in your drawer with your DMs. To make a metaphor out of you means I acknowledge your disappearance. To keep mum about it means I take it inside me, deeper and deeper. Do you dream of fish now? Or waves? Or the undertow you take with you, dragged in miles of feet through dunes of sand? I ask you again, and you show no signs of being uninhabited. Although there is sometimes the warmth of pressing sheens, you take them as the passing of buses – you emphasize the waning. Although this has been written, there isn’t so much writing done here. If I could be abject like say, a washrag in your home, there would be little difference made.
3
To keep myself intent is declaration. To quote otherwise the world that you breathe in, simply suppression. It is much imaginable that way, much more attainable, resolute and quick with sense. A new kind of wailing. What I want, I destroy by earnest regard. There is a paradoxical way to cultivate this thing: and it is to leave it there, thriving in a space meant to contain it, alone. Nothing will be retained – it will always be one, and never two. You believed me. I asked you again. Your answer compressed everything to shadow.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
The eye of my blood blinks crimsons
And sweat thick nuggets of gold
It glistens through sheens of purple
And flickers when it be so bold
It throbs with pulses of grayness
So stricken in pain and sore
It ravages pitches of black
And swallow it dark even more
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
I am summoned
With others
All walks and sheens
Colors and creeds
All the same
But never met
We shiver
In Various stages of boredom
Half lidded eyes
Opened suddenly in disgusted salute
To the wet hacking of a dying old miser
Or that disembodied voice
A wraith
Whos pleasant words
Drip with the undeniable fear
Of wasting away
On this cheap throne I've been displaced to,
Or being brought to bare
In some jade kings court.
Made to don a jesters hat
But told to keep the bells silent
And our emotions, our humanity still
While being forced to feed on the horrors
Of civilization so that we may better
Judge the complexity of one life
In a time frame whos picture within
Is too small to be anything but abstract.
This drought of the living time
An infinity to my blood
My bones even twitch at it nervously
Begging for the freedom
Of the common fools
as we twelve,
The demi gods,
must choose what to do with the remnants
of one desiples plate
of under decided decisions
In a life that most have never known
And even fewer wouldn't trade
a half buried pile of cat turds for.
I guess he didn't know
that we are free
as long as we Bow low enough
Not to be seen
And so we sit low
Staring at a message
A countdown
A simple marker to represent
The life we give in the hopes of
Being let back into what ever cells
We have built for ourselves
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC