"signpost" poems
It's a still morning, quiet and cloudy
the kind of grey day I like best;
they'll be here soon, the little kids first,
creeping up to try and frighten me,
then the tall young men, the slim boy
with the marvellous smile, the dark girl
subtle and secret; and the others,
the parents, my children, my friends —
and I think: these truly are my weather
my grey mornings and my rain at night,
my sparkling afternoons and my birdcall at daylight;
they are my game of hide and seek, my song
that flies from a high window. They are
my dragonflies dancing on silver water.
Without them I cannot move forward, I am
a broken signpost, a train fetched up on
a small siding, a dry voice buzzing in the ears;
for they are also my blunders
and my forgiveness for blundering,
my road to the stars and my seagrass chair
in the sun. They fly where I cannot follow
and I — I am their branch, their tree.
My song is of the generations, it echoes
the old dialogue of the years; it is the tribal
chorus that no one may sing alone.
7.6k
we hear the dancing men giggle,
**** cloth comedians
two Tarzans twittering
like nightingales singing in berkley square
their female wrestling partners
as bereft as any whale
longing for ruby rings
to signpost the hell out of there.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
By Arcassin B & Quinfinn
::AB::
Where's the love,
If you love me,
Instead you have me feeling so empty,
I've never in my life felt so empty,
This room never been so empty,
And,
You had a love for writing songs,
Delayed meetings to hear you sing,
But the only thing I write about,
Is have your finger tangled with a ring,
In hopes that we could be more,
And nothing positive anymore,
Drug head I think I need more,
There's nothing more to say,
I got the direction , I just hope you know the way.
::WSQF::
love doesn't just go away
so, i guess it must have gone astray
it's not forgotten..somehow i know
just lost its way on a lonely road
but what has filled my heart with dread
there may be no signpost up ahead
a billion stars in the universe
we are merely two, it couldn't be worse
ever expanding is this endless sky
and we lost each other, i know not why
sometimes a man just has to cry
sometimes a man just has to cry.
::WSQF::
while pieces of you still churn within me
like a paper boat in a raging sea
desperately searching for a place to land
as you slip through my fingers like the sand.
::AB::
I was glad to be your man,
But inception got in the way,
Not good enough doubt's,
To have the affection missed in any other way.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
In the civilization game
The mind is a sphinx riddle
Signpost projectiles suffice to be words
Can you be centered in intimacy
Knowingness consuming vulnerabilty?
Our shadows are our ruins
Illuminating social foliage
Love's incisive lacerations
Conforming to moral memory
I savor the overwhelming
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
You were the bowl of oranges.
Lilac skin and a blue heart
On your sleeve.
The lights and colours that erupt
In stars behind closed eyes:
I saw you even when I drank myself blind.
You were the solution of words
Once all the chemicals lost their kick.
The Truth was out there,
We stayed inside sheltered routines
Which blacked out the skies,
Cast a ceiling on our dreams.
You were the Earthly phenomena
That kept me from drifting to the stars.
The coastline in my breath,
On my tongue - to everyone.
You were the name my friends
Were tired of hearing;
The name I cannot forget.
You were red wine;
On my lips and on your dress.
You were... Late-night farewells,
You were the sun salutation,
The birth of a nation
That could blossom into colour in my mind.
You were beautiful in the cloud forests,
Astral depths: we never had to speak.
What age did we reach
Before that daydream started to ache?
You were the faded fantasy
That I held like sand in my hands.
When we kissed I would tremble,
I would lose a little more of you.
You were sad singers.
Old souls that tread the line of their sanity
In fine-point precision;
You were the art that coursed my veins
When surrounded by grey food, grey rooms, grey walls.
You were the messenger with an olive leaf, a blue feather;
A signpost for dry land. You were the panic button
That would take me to the safe place in my mind.
You were the way I said ‘I love you’
In a voice that was finally mine.
You were my lighthouse in the distance
And all the words I cannot find.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
A car is a coffin for popcorn
lost in the back seat
we've driven to Land's End
& are standing at the crossroads
between destinations
I'm twelve or fourteen, I can't remember
on holiday from starched uniforms
blazing red & pins & needles-ridden morning assemblies
I'm not yet a European
not yet a Third Culture Kid
longing for cans of baked beans
whilst sampling new delights
my heart is still intact,
my soul is full of hope & dreams
& my hair is long, the way
mother & society wanted it
the signpost is pointing to America
now my lost hope
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
Colours
blending me now,
sensing,sending me,
how do they know
what I feel?
There are some words to describe what it seems like to slide down a rainbow or what corn hears as it grows in the field,
I don't know what they are,but
ask me how far it is far and I'll tell you,it's as far as the length of a thought.
when you think that you know, in the time corn hears the **** crow, that thought will be longer and further away.
I've never slid down a rainbow but I bet it is soft,like a hollow of hedgerows and the **** crows......doo,
and I will.
Still these colours crowd in on me as
If there's something that they can see
and I can't.
Perhaps I'm being fixed up to pick my bundle of sticks up and carry on,
red means I stop but then amber will pop up and make up the green in me,
seen in me,sensed all about and,
me,
often blind
cannot find the end of my nose but the signpost always shows me the way.
I will chop up the firewood to warm up the blood in me,
do something good for,
I am tired of this selfish destruct in me,while
empathy selfishly laughs at me,
it seems to be always the me in me that can't see the wood for the fire that burns in me,
I should try to be
something I am
something of a man in me tells me that to be free,
it is this I must do.
The **** crows and
I will.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
"Why am I so sad?" he'd say,
those warm wet tears freezing the clay
"I've tried so hard, yet gotten nowhere", he'd scream
When he was my signpost.
So concerned of being lost, that he dropped the map.
Without thinking, he ran, into the dark.
Those warm wet tears still freezing the clay.
Ruining my dream.
Not once did he stop, still trying to get out,
all he was able to do was moan and weep,
which only ever plunged him ever more deep.
Ruining my dream.
In my youth I never once stopped him,
never helping him find that muddy map,
so trampled upon by fear and doubt.
I'd just watch.
Now the tears are my own,
It's me running, my map dropped
My signpost broken, hanging.
No one is stopping me.
I don't know how greedy that makes me,
Or any human,
The fact that we cry over the dead because it's they
That no longer provide us our dreams.
We've only cared about ourselves, so stop them.
The running, rest their feet.
Wake up to give them their chance of a dream.
Maybe then I'll sleep.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Confusion has taken up residence within my mind of late,
An uncertainty, certainly,
Like a crossroads with no signpost,
I'm unsure of where to go,
Where I'm going,
...once, going twice and gone to the gentleman in the tan suit flanked by white-clad orderlies,
Gone with the wind,
My life is a mosaic of mistakes,
Beautiful for some to behold, but broken none the less,
My heart hasn't skipped a beat but I've skipped my last few appointments,
I'm addicted to shortcuts leading nowhere fast,
Getting ahead at lagging behind,
I'm... Afraid.
Too much empty space and yet no room to think,
I'm howling but you wouldn't hear a sound if you cared enough to listen,
Nor see a ripple upon the surface of the lake you used to swim in,
You see what you have to see,
What I have to show you,
You see a constantly constructed façade of smiles, of laughter,
Of everything that constitutes being "okay"
You don't see the jagged edges,
My hands are torn and ****** from holding it in place,
Still, scratched palms are nothing to keep you in the dark,
Or rather, out of it,
I suffer this alone, I endure this alone,
I stand alone
...and I fall alone,
And as I meet the ground, I fragment,
To once again piece myself together,
I wonder when the cracks will show...
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
I stood, with back arched, once,
waiting for pride to find my side,
I tied the knots inside of my stomach into hope,
I was still sinking, then,
but could not recognise the inertia, for what it was,
or which signpost heading it carried.
I thought I could be
whatever the world entrusted my hand to,
I thought I could calm these sporadic weaknesses.
I spent time thinking everything over.
or, wasted time. I'm not sure-
I never reached any reliable verdict.
still,
the world turned and turns.
things hardly change.
or, at least, seem to consistently stay the same.
and the thoughts that keep me in constant check,
foliage on my branches,
weight on my ankles,
ice under my tread.
Someday, I'll figure out what I am,
what I should probably do,
how to live
like I mean it,
like I'm not planning to die
or live, trying.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
To remember your face
the jut of your chin covered in beard is now the only thing
un-erased by your sweep of hair
and even that's a puzzle
show me your face
I miss seeing your lips
but you've lain down fluff
like a mask, like you
want to prevent the path of a kiss
I'm finding it harder to miss,
because I can't remember the last time we properly
kissed
I want to play again
like new born lovers, laughing and
exploring
Instead of the open signpost which
states that lust isn't home right now
So please leave a message after
the tone of the
voice that sounds weary of me, but
desperate that I should never
leave
I want to feel wanted
I shouldn't feel haunted by your laugh
you're not dead yet
but every day I have to check
I'm so tired
Trim the beard
The hedge
Take a mower to the wilderness of your
face
I want to see the
boy I love
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Well, my fault, your fault, their fault, his fault, her fault
The fault line runs through us all
Rubbing off here and there, shattering the unshattered
Creating curved corners, wobbly lines, pointing toward
Leaning posts for us to ponder, procrastinate...
Perhaps cocking a leg to listen and learn
Or be bullied down the chorus of blame
Well....if they hadn't done that....
Or if I'd just said or done that.....
Would things have been different?
The edges neat and tidy...
To see what's coming round all the corners
The unshattered, negating seven years bad luck
So keep the straight and narrow
Refuse to open the boxes and look into the unlooked
'Control' will be your friend, sticking rigidly by you side
But what about the alt...alternative...the delete....acceptance???
Will your blindfold mar your pathway to living
Missing the signpost at the fork in the road.....
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
in this 2012 year
elevating consciousness
our illusive challenge..
an evolution signpost
on a circuitous road..
reaching this marker
finding new directions
depends on awareness..
locating our place
right here and right now..
worthy guides there are
who tell us
we are perched
on a precarious ledge
between light and shade..
other names suffice
for this place
might we say
blessing and curse aka.. (?)
then our guides say..
don't curse the shade
don't curse the curse..
a startling discovery
to be made
in each her own way..
at last she absorbs
the sought for blessing
during a frightening search..
all along disguised
as the accursed curse... (?)
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
A pearly luminosity, and five endless lines live in perfect functionality,
but make the picture of a signpost hold the dust of dim-lit destiny.
It seems to have nothing in the day,
and only once night has come does the charm of this
common intersection show its color.
Grace in form and abundance in solidarity.
I walk across the moon in bare feet.
I stand looking at its beauty in the street.
The days go by, the winds, they change,
and part of me is yet estranged,
but still gleaming on is that lamppost;
Never to want or to die.
Never tasting joy, nor ever inclined to cry.
The pavement goes forth in solemn, straight lines,
like the unquenchable flow of space, and of time.
but just for one moment I see a face in the night.
It calls out my window and beacons with light.
Right right right they stand, save Catherine,
on the left. She’s set herself apart;
unyielding to command.
Nowhere else has a lamp-post been such a lady.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
All I Need is this moment
I will not walk on by
Thirsty by a mountain stream
Without the tears to cry
Denial and delusion
Have not worked out so well
Existing in confusion
Creating my own hell
Love teaches me to really see
What is beneath the surface
Known by the heart but not the eye
Revealing my life’s purpose
In a flash Material World
Gives way, but what is this
A signpost points the way to
A sense of eternal bliss
I am glimpsing sweet moments
In the awakened state
The Holy Instant, satori
Where oneness replaces hate.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
I want the excuse of insanity, oh please.
Broken record, trinket signpost, golden birdcage.
Fey glare into a reflection, power precaused intrinsic to your soul when expressed.
Give me everything I ever wanted without excuse. I'll kiss yours with my own deliverance, by
my salvation you'll be salved.
Don't let them take you away sad puppy girl, you're all I've ever got left.
I hear the faint sound of a soft melody dim, pounding through the halls like a Clam of Military Din.
Don't hear these faulty beams, I'll be good if you stay around. I'll suffer with grace if you don't, just
keep that affection that causes you to smile so wide at my company sometimes.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
it won't stop.
nothing will slow down
i ask for everything to just hang on, hold on a moment
please can you wait
just for a second
nothing ever does
so i pick
pick pick pick
pick pick pick pick pick pick
constantly
over and over and over over and over and over
and over
when that no longer satisfies the compulsion i bite down
longer, harder
until i taste blood
until it's over
at least, for now.
the blood pools at my fingertips
little red wells of humiliation
the pieces of skin collect at my feet
like a scattering of shame
a signpost of the turmoil i cannot contain
the girls around me look me up and down
whisper words of contempt and disgust
"freak"
torn and bitten, i curl into fists
the teachers stare quietly
unable to pass judgement, but the pity smothers me
"disturbed"
the urges are quiet
sated, satisfied
it's done
at least, for now
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
It's safe in daylight, you know.
I drive through my crumbling suburbia
Over all of its bumps and cracks
And feel so small, yet so
Infinite.
Feeling loosely connected
To every signpost,
Every stray cat,
Every filled and vacant house.
Part of a chain that runs its course
Across the entirety of existence.
I am a spectator, an observer of
Humanity though, admittedly,
Not quick to a level conclusion of it.
Yes, days are safe. They are familiar.
But it's dusk where the malaise sets in,
A disturbance that unsettles the muscles
Under my skin
And has me toss and turn for hours on end.
It's night where I trip barefoot
Over every folly,
Every small tick in the course of my life
In a path strewn with broken glass.
It's where the realms between your sanity
And where your demons sleep
Grow the weakest,
Churning your head with static and poison
And constantly reminding you
How easy it is to find your own faults,
How difficult it is to say,
"I love myself."
I wonder most nights when this all started.
I wonder every night when it'll stop.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
"Write a poem"
those three words are all it takes
and before I know it
everything i've ever known
all that i've ever experienced
is wretched from inside of me
and taped (clumsily)
aligned (crookedly)
and stapled (loosely)
to this signpost we call hellopoetry
maybe someone will notice
most will pass it by
but little do they know that it's not my words that are dripping with angst on the pole
it's me
because my words are me
they filter through my brain, my gut
my love, my hate, my biases, prejudices, hurts, scars, fears,
ideas, thoughts, hopes, dreams and most definitely
most importantly
my heart
so remember as you read these words
and their words
you're not just reading poems
you're not just glancing at some scribbles on a page
slopped together to mean nothing
and consumed,
like a 50 cent burger at a diner.
you're reading expression
true, raw, human, expression
and you need to pay attention
because that expression
can sometimes
but more often then not
mean everything.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
After days of sleep and always staying indoors
I stepped outside then the rain began to pour
The irony, I thought.. I looked up at the sky and yelled
“Anything more?!”
The raindrops began to hit the pavement
What a strange scent, the cold rain on hot cement
I already committed to going out I couldn’t go back now
But back inside my shelter I went
I didn’t have an umbrella or raincoat
I wanted to go back on steemit, read articles and upvote
Scroll through that one tab on the front page, called promote
But I’ve already committed on going out today,
I even jotted it down on my “to do” note
So I got my car keys, jean jacket and phone
I started to drive to some place new, unknown
My first instinct was to start driving to visit her
Bring flowers and say hi to her gravestone
I fought my urge and went towards the coast
Radio on low, I thought about what I missed most
I parked on a hill overlooking the ocean
“Torrey Pines” it said on the signpost
I followed a walkway that was paved with stones
It was nice to be outdoors on my own
I kept wanting to stay indoors and postpone
accepting life without her
soft skin, gold hoops, french cologne
fragile bones
Worst part about it is I lost my best friend
It's devastating, I'm not going to pretend
my world is shattered but they keep telling me,
“time will mend”
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
Metaphor is not a bridge over the abyss between madness & the sublime;
It is only a signpost pointing to it.
If there is an end to the abyss it is merely your finiteness.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
the light
at the end of the tunnel
was actually a signpost that read
'maybe you should've chosen another tunnel'
so i took it down
because it didn't belong there
and carried on
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
I read my favourite graphic novel and I see
I need more breath between the panels
The images come too quickly
They combine with the dialogue to overwhelm me
and my ability to process, to ingest
the action and our conversation
Can you afford me more breathing space,
more margin in my morning kitchen shuffle,
can you allow me the time,
maybe as much as the day after the night before
to properly process without the stress
of having to readily express a miserable conjecture
of what I’m feeling, what I'm missing
Then I can signpost where I'm heading
I can pause and recap, provide an opening to map
where my story is going
and then perhaps I can take us with me.
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 12:33 PM UTC
The signpost on the right side of my heart reads;
“Do not sing songs that will sink into the silence that dwell in my soul.”
It is written in bright Bodoni with white ink
solely scripted for sailors attempting to visit.
Only sail across for the deck of my feelings is broken.
The void of the last burgle is yet to heal
so read and adhere to what you see.
The signpost on the left side of my heart reads:
“first five feet farther from site will help facilitate reconstruction.”
It is written in bright Bodoni with white ink
solely scripted for curious pedestrians.
Only use the pedestrian walkway for the bridges are broken.
The damage from the last earthquake is yet to be fixed
So read and adhere to what you see.
The signpost on my heart reads:
“Stay safe and sound till the next storm swings.”
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
*This signpost may point
to the place where joy resides..
A knife edge
found at daybreak and sunset
with oppositional guides as
not earth and not sky
a superposition science says..
An intention with poise
may find this sacred edge
with exhilaration and healing..
There arguments are stilled
a place of oneness marked
with a glint of light…*
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC