"shortens" poems
I
Tomorrow waits in the dried plant bones
splintering balcony karma
next to the ****** galatic twilight.
Moon poems paralyzing yonder
one color chess matches on transcended leather
--thigh laughter buried alive in rubble
under fifteen cushions of red flesh.
Let's go wave our bottom banners undying
in the realm of lifetimes and its spontaneous chases.
Plethora inhales
from one-legged warlords under fragrant wash pillars
obstructing the pilgrimage
of wrapping my stranger
around a blade. The second blameless pantheon
of Christianity.
II
put down the flowers,
thought scars
from a thirsty delusion
that taste the industry instruction
deep in meditation spoons
that pierce the sides of students. Heaven rains/*angelic ************
on the obscure sail drifting towards the horizon
--a mad-religious shape
from the bottom banners undying
III
there isn't even the smallest incense
that the earth's door shortens,
an attempt in debt
to defame the impregnable summer
with washroom axes
on the grape's night before you and I snap.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
u emerge from the smoke
and merge within again
i ask myself
if you're the same person
inside & outside the smoke
are you?
the haze turns purple
findin yu, gets harder
my rovin eyes..get
not a moment of rest
findin yu &
buildin stories..
distance shortens
between me to yu..
m 'ere
yet i feel
your warm breath
on my cheek..
there are moments
when i want to go
actively insane
this is one such
i can't help myself
can you?
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 9:56 AM UTC
The inevitable will wait
I will remain whole as I greet,
as I recount my days away,
as the road to home shortens,
as I sit through dinner.
It wont hit me until I'm alone.
My teeth brushed,
good nights are said,
and covers pulled.
That's when it will strike.
When I realize just how large my bed has grown,
or perhaps I've gotten smaller?
Did I drink a rabbit's potion unknowingly?
Maybe I left a limb with you,
and these phantom pains settle in late.
On the verge of sleep
when we are too tired to fight of the gravity of reality.
An ache resides somewhere in me;
my arms to hold you
my legs to tangle in yours
my lips to kiss you
my heart I've gifted to you.
My blood lacks its motivation in my veins
and therefore, so do I.
Cocooned in my comforter
but to no avail.
These pillows do not hold the warmth of skin
and do not have arms to hug back.
I have grown used to your lullaby,
heart beats sang me to perfect sleep.
Now only stillness and the sound of a busy world
ignoring this pain that I silently bear.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
Dynamite, dynamite
Put the light out.
The pigmented ones
for their freedom devout.
Dynamite, dynamite
Douse these flames
Years they have tried,
Converted their names.
Though we are the same
but differently tamed
to put out the fire
is their only desire.
The fuse shortens,
Heat ensues
Fear protrudes.
Douse the flame
before dynamite explodes.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
Time shortens
like the fractured legs of a runner
accidentally propelled by the laws of physics
to decelerate like frozen matter.
The uncertain quantum leap from now to there
has no healing properties
just a void
a black hole of despair
swallowing up memories and joy
that even my little daughter
can only temporarily prevent....
She say's "I love you Daddy"
and I think about my own father
and the love travels like the
search for extraterrestrial intelligence
that goes unanswered
not because there isn't any,
but because we're never here long enough
to receive the answer.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
You are a benevolent visitor
Inaudible as my dreams
Everything you touch
Turns to crystal and white
Oh how my eyes delight
In your beautiful patterns
As you lay quietly upon glass
Can you stay forever?
My flesh abhors you
For the sting you administer
yet Autumn's half-stripped trees
Wear you as a morning garment
I do blame the sun
As it shortens your reign
Your brevity intensifies my desire
To see you on the morrow
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
There is a thief who lives with me
A thief that steals constantly
He steals my sleep my time and my peace
He saps my strength and shortens my reach
There is a thief who lives with me
He steals my hope and shortens my days
He runs his hands along my spine clenching and twisting and he smiles
His reach extends from my spine to my eyes locking me in his vice
He wraps my mind in his dull red haze and he makes me stupid and vile
There is a thief who lives with me
We battle every day every hour waking sleeping
There is no time when he is not a constant companion
He keeps me spinning in bed searching for a place of rest
Every hour it is He that controls my work and my play
There is a thief who lives with me
I try to seal my world from him
I stuff the cracks and bar the doors
Dark the windows and stopper the gates
He finds me no matter
There is a thief who lives with me
But he knows me well, this thief of mine and soon he's found the cracks
The chinks in my Armour he knows so well and soon his art he racks
There is a thief who lives with me a companion old and wearisome
There!! You see he comes stealing minutes and hours
My thief of days
My Pain
Solita _2007
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
there’s more
than 1 theory
in string theory, more than 1 dimension too
sometimes 4, others 26
all of which but few
are flat
genus 2 donuts would have less dough
some things are super
symmetrical, quarks
didn’t exist ‘til 1968, my attention span
shortens
to 5 feet 2 inches, when a String smiles back.
it’s intuitive
that 2 quarks attract
when pulled apart. a tachyon
fits cross legged
in a chair. gum pops sing
and the theory is boring without fermions.
strings absorb in the D-branes
of blue eyes
and matching glasses. stray
hairs, electrified with brilliance
warrant cats
that even Schrodinger knows are alive
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 2:44 PM UTC
I light my cigar, from whence comes the nicotine
That blackens my lungs and poisons my blood
But the taste of it becomes a sensational feeling,
A satisfaction to my nicotine enslaved wind-pipe
A huge urge to take it again and again
One after another
An addiction that enslaves me.
I light my cigar, from whence comes the nicotine
That keeps me company all day and night long
An enemy I cherish and revere
That shortens my days and nights in disguise
One after another
An addiction that takes away my own life.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
If he says one day, he takes seven.
Does he know it shortens his life.
A two month job takes a year off him.
His runs to the lumber mill, and beer,
To the hardware store, and tokes;
Then to the beer store,
And smokes.
Sometimes, not often, but occasionally,
Whiskey and wine,
With beer.
And the morphine for his back... whew!
Seven to one ratio sounds true,
but poor odds.
In his favour, he's below average
in height,
like a small dog,
it helps longevity.
In most small dogs,
In what we call the Free World,
With government assisted suicide.
There's a call coming in.
George G is building a shed
Out back.
Gotta go.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
mine own psalm musings
*living between two broad, sea-emptying rivers,
a Majesty’s sentries to mark the differentiation~
division tween divine and a moderate human’s
moderating steps, as his stride shortens as the y/tears
lengthen, and it is accepted as an inevitable musky must,
no matter how the sweet spring day refreshes, the newly
planted trumpeting shards of bright yellows daffodils
pinch his yellowing eyes, few notice the tiny tears of
discrepancies of an annualized emboldening, a grand
heavenly rebirth and a slow man’s body self~editing,
shedding of a life’s~ending~of~story psalm musings*
*the man looks for the terrible swift sword, but its
failure to grace us with an appearance, is but a
modest disappointment, for a deferred delay is but
a causation to eke out a few mordant, pungent, caustic
reminders of all that is yet to be, to be accomplished,
though the smirking lips of the necessity of yet, one
more unloved poem extant, tilting the Earth’s axis
benevolently toward the open palms of his beneficiaries who*,
you,
*are among them numbered, is but, a green shoot in a city’s
hopeful earth planted, by summer, will shed seeds to come
thy way, as an evocation, a good consternation, a joyous
provocation, an asking kingly~gentle, a royal polite inquiry,
would you care to add a a verse to this eternal verse?
before time shreds it too into a yellowed crumpling,
and to the earth it is returned, for the mine of this
psalms is only generic, genetic, and what is mine is well,*
and truly yours too.
nml
<>
March 31, 2024
NYC
9:16am
Sunday Mourning Service
Mar 31, 2024
Mar 31, 2024 at 9:25 AM UTC
Wasting time
shortens life.
Spending time
studying
other people.
...One's you don't
care about.
Wondering
'could you be like them.'
Succumbing
yourself
to doubt.
...doing
things,
you never
wanted to.
Telling yourself,
what you cannot do.
...Telling lies to yourself,
then saying,
that
you never knew.
...Qestioning
Life,
....rather than:
...trying,
..to find out ,
...the asnwer,
on your own.
Scolding at yourself,
...with a constant
pity tone.
If it didn't make you happy,
then it wasn't worth your time.
life won't have you,
doing over,
..mountians
you've past
climbed.
© J-d S. J
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
My mouth dries and my eyes water
My throat tightens and so does my chest as
Our song beats through my headphones and flows with my blood
Warming my insides while I shiver on the outside
I throw your sweatshirt on over my head and sniff it every few minutes to remind myself of you
I forget how to breathe
My breath shortens until I realize I am suffocating myself
The thought of now
The thought of being without you
The thought of how much I care for you
It draws from my soul
It weakens me
I need you.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
Told myself not to
to dream about you
but i do anyways
it just shortens the time between
the time i spend waiting
for your response
the time i spend hoping
that I'll become your everything
the time i spend wondering
if when you close your eyes
you picture for a moment
me and you
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
An empty street succumbs to one
solitary walker, anonymous
in his raincoat, listening to his
own footsteps, and the camping holiday rain,
dripping. Pigeons mutter disapproval
at this inconsiderate interloper.
His stride shortens, pace quickens, feeling
discomfort at his isolation,
his cold wet feet spattering through puddles.
Grids gurgle, lace curtains tremble.
Mute unseen watchers focus on this
dark figure at the centre of the
taciturn invisible crowd.
Guessing his destination and
motives - a night worker
or burglar up to his tricks -
until his key opens number
twenty-six. Uncountable stealthy
spies retreat and sigh.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
I breathe you.
I breathe you in the first breath I take every morning
I taste you in the NyQuil I have to abuse before I can sleep
I see you in the purple dreams I remember every night
NIGHTMARES
I have nightmares of you.
I nightmare you in my inadequacy and my ignorance
I nightmare you in my clothing and the way I cut my hair
I nightmare you in the tumblr girls I reblog
*I nightmare you in the way my breath shortens when I can't breathe you and when I don't want to breathe you.
Asthma attack, you're my air and I loathe you
I want to suffocate but I can't keep suffering like this*
I NEED AIR.
REAL AIR.
NOT THIS HELL.
I want to breathe air.
I don't want to breathe you.
I want to dream dreams,
Not nightmares.
You have total grasp of my mind
And you don't even know.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
The table sways
The dark abyss that surrounds us
Is only brightened by the light
Of the sixteen candles
Shifting, side to side
The table does not sway
It is the room
For it is living
Breathing, I watch the walls
They breathe as well
These candles which dimly light
This tragedy, start to dim even more
One by one they go out
Each time one goes my heart sinks
My breathing shortens
And when the very last candle is about to dissipate
The room becomes black again and ceases to sway
And a tear rolls down my face
As I collapse
To nothing
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
It's weird
I never like it
never understand it
why would they have it?
it's weird
it's long, in fact too long!
it looks uncomfortable
it looks heavy.
it's weird
and expensive
no lasting value,
like a day it shortens
and slowly fades.
it's weird
but does have some
sort of elegances to it.
A fashion statement I guess.
It use to be weird
Acrylic nails.
I can't fully relate to it
but I'm beginning to see its beauty
now, it's weird that it's not weird anymore
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC
Would you be my friend?
Yet in time, I gripe with Plato.
Could you be my friend?
Socrates and Gorgias spar...
These bandages can only be shrouded.
Underneath grains of sand
Falling upon this dune.
During every heartbeat
One thousand grains agument this mound
Within every heartbeat
The earth spins away from day's light.
Time shortens between friend and foe
Their pearls are rusty now
I simply wait for sand.
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 7:31 AM UTC
A quick poem.
I begin to formulate, forming a string of thoughts
I put together a sentence I'm fond of.
I ponder, smile and then light the thought on fire.
The string, now more of a fuse, consumed by the flame, shortens
The string burns getting closer to the bomb, my poem, the sweater from which my thought was pulled.
I close my eyes and cover my face expecting a bang.
I flinch and must look utterly insane for there is no bang, no pop, no explosion.
Nothing.
I must have been mistaken, like I am now, as I sit striving to unravel a sweater by only staring.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
I'm sad.
I don't want to
be poetic about
it, and compare my
tears to the
drops of
rain before the
storm, or how this
weight inside my
chest shortens my
breaths and
makes my
heart work
harder,
beat
harder.
I'm done with trying to
write everything
away, like paper can
keep my emotions
prisoner when I
shut the book.
Why does my
throat tighten,
and my
eyes feel heavy
with grief like lead?
Why can't I
shake the
dread and the
worry, the belief that
there won't be
a better tomorrow?
When will I
be at rest?
When will I
be asleep at two
in the morning, instead of
nursing my
demons at the
mother's breast of
my mind,
too tired to
wean then from the
****** that
drains me?
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
I am the salivic twinkle in the eye.
I am the loss of vision when I look at a light.
I am the placement of a thing now, only put in my past, and played in my future.
I am the thing there now, that I placed in the past, and will leave there for the future.
I am too many to count
I am too dark to describe.
I am the colorful shades and lines of the inner eye perceiving my physical body.
Physical isn't quite right.
More like eternal-like being.
More like eternal-like spleen.
"Me" is so far out,
I don't know what this body is here before me.
What do these clothes cover?
Asymmetric from the center out.
Saying this like I gave humans life, made them walk upright.
I am the multichrome of closed eyes in a lit room.
I am faux wood.
I am that thing from the past, placed in the now, and still doesn't understand it's creator.
I am the question "why" which was never meant to be answered.
I am realizing those who are sanctified in their breath.
I am nerve meets bone meets skin meets hair.
But all in one form, I can't see how it happens.
I am what my eye looks like without seeing it, just imagining it.
"I am what I am" when I ask this question.
Sort of a mix of shape, mind, and hue.
Or is it head, line, and imagined body?
Does my hand touch my skull? Then is the hair and skin something unknown or forgotten?
What comes of the thought that is unrecognized during contemplation?
Are these really the bait for the goldfish in the mind's pool?
"Oh no, what am I going to do?" as a "bad" trip shortens my view.
The bone dry feeling of the fear of God, crushing every tendril and way that once carried me along merrily.
"What if I lose God by taking too much nutmeg?"
"You can't (or shouldn't) do that" a voice whispers to both losing God parts and taking too much nutmeg.
Now I'm contented and thoughts will no longer emerge from the pool.
So I must dive into sleep.
Good night.
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 3:36 AM UTC
Love ties bows
around garbage bins.
Turns losses into wins.
Brightens a sky,
shortens a queue.
Changes one into two.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 11:16 PM UTC
Coldness lulls my
head
for an eternal
nights slumber. The arrhythmic
thumping of
my chest
dele-
teri
ous
l
y
shortens.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC