"sizable" poems
I almost forgot about you today. A sizable
spill of coffee shot me to my feet, holding
up my mocha-soaked notebook like an
unclaimed child. A dozen eyes found
me at once---a security measure meant
to bring shame to a klutz breaking his
social contract. Attention for **** living.
When the pain receded I stood in place
and imagined you brushing your teeth.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
I
Like lightning
It strikes me
Beautiful
And a sizable
Occurrence
The current
Courses through
I like lightning
It tears me through
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
My tummy rumbles rolling
into bed with you, before a big
test and when I think about
my future.
It twists at the thought of
lazy summer days and time away
from school and stress and
sadness.
With new years come
new resolutions and new people
in and out of my life. It comes
with people pandering for
weight loss, new jobs and
fatter wallets.
I sit and stare at the girl with
a sizable waist line, bigger heart
and even bigger brain. I stare at
a girl who works hard for what she
has and harder for the ones
she cares about.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
***** stories make front pages,
Massacres and killings,
Mayhem and ****** ,
A mad man is dealing,
This masked man antics
Is masking the city ,
The mind behind the gore
Is on 30th floor,
In a dormitory with no door,
Only a window,
With which
The nocturnal tenant tends to
Look over.
Watching
The overnight onlookers
Night walkers,
Alley cats,
Insomniacs,
And boulevard hookers..."
"....My eyes lay
On a prominent, candidate
For cannibalistic practices,
My dominant traits
Widows peak,
Vampirical feats,
Long, hollow teeth,
With massive molars,
Used to chewing meat,
Which sit beside my
Sharp Canines.
But my sizable incisors
Scissor inside the side of my
Silent victim
Select venom in him
Bereft of vocalism
Vocal cords torn
I violently vanquish
His speech.
He’s paralyzed from his
Neck to his feet
I throw him over
My shoulder,
Escape the obscene scene
Before I am seen..."
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
There is a never ending breed of bracteria livig in my bones
It
almost chews with the full intent of biting off but not quite, holds back just enough to leave me hanging
my joints, nooses of collateral damage,
they
almost wiggle like worms but burn with less intensity than pain.
There is a never ending wall of inter knotted muscle within my back
I call these things frustration
although alot of the time they feel like fury
make my neck ache like guilts burden.
I have ground my teeth to tiny sizable pellets and
picked at my charred white skin,
until there is no more youth in this body
all you will see is five foot seven of sallow eyes
pale faced
bloated frustration
corpse-like
if corpses smiled.
Untill my teeth are yellowed from coffee and cigarettes and the laugh lines around my mouth taunt me like the scars on my upper arm (if you are scarred just as painfully by laughter as a knife what is the point of it all)
12 inches of stitched back frustration that reads:
you cannot undo
what was done
stitches I want i want to rip out in the company of polite
normal people and
smile at their disgusted faces
have you ever as a child
been so unhappy by what you put down on paper
you would scrunch the whole thing up after crossing it out in the thickest black marker
throw it in the bin and start over?
This is what living feels like
I am just a canvas
I can almost remember what it was like to laugh
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
dark leaps when
there is the frothing light
beaming a sizable aureole
on your face
this evening
and its palpable brigade.
dark is having your
inwoven dress free
from swaying
pressed against raucous
facelessness of things
rogue and renegade.
and when i have you
not, shining the light
and its intone,
wind felt like
stabs or
i in attendance
of a crazed vaudeville—
trapeze is the hinge
of the void
afloat, upstream, space-hovering;
a display of love
and not so much
is shown of the vertigo
trapped in a square,
a face
impinged in the seamlessness
of this fabulation
when you've gone
quickly fading out;
light is my remember,
o, dark my
forgetling.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
The Great Alone
The greatest fear is to lose the one dearest to oneself the shadows even darken soulless darkness
The day goes without sunlight even at noon day where does the brave contend while loss bends comfort
No hiding place exist you understand the lifeless void love taken only obstruction lives in all starkness
All is gone the tumblers of the safe are dissolved you can’t lock anything in safety nothing can oppose
No desert ever formed looks and feels like this landscape baked to the point nothing recognizable
Shade is filled with inner burning always turning thoughts are only heavy weights you must bare
Where is the water once it held you with buoyancy now seek as you do none is found at all sizable
Burnished sand this wayfarer knows its captivity well it is only like a tightening rope around the heart
The still frightens because down its corridors the laughter of yesterday still quietly forcefully echo
Avoid natural reflections those images the most painful hurts dwell you feel their presence can’t touch
Embodiment longing that holds the greatest promise now a cross a twist on the crops of the god Peko
What mocking to speak of harvest when there is only devastation your heart where not one plant grows
He once walked where you walk his experiences reflect these very facts they are the human equivalent
You have lost that which can’t be replaced you know pain and sorrow he lost most of those he created
Then by love he came to rescue that which was lost he carried your pain by their action he is irrelevant
In the soon clearing mist all eyes will dry dead hearts will be made a live with joy and what a gathering
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC
Does it take you the entirety of a slow summer day to fall in love?
Starting with sipping coffee in the company of the chickadees
and ending with conversation sizable enough to fill the Big Dipper.
Or does the feeling crash down on you like a tsunami?
Not quite knowing the cause and not quite caring.
You know, that inability to feel reality during an aftermath.
Maybe you like to resist the inevitable instead.
Pushing love away with bursts of gut air exploding through your teeth.
Coming from the need to control all things, including every motion of your breath.
But I don’t know.
that’s your thing.
My thing?
See, I’ve been trying to figure that out.
At times I crawl towards love like a starving alligator would towards a deer.
Think about how they drink unsuspectingly from the river. I know it sounds impulsive.
We’re all just trying to survive though.
Like when my head is on your chest and your arms are wrapped around me.
Sometimes I feel so close, yet so far away.
It makes me want to dive into your brain-but then I think you might not like that.
Then I slow down.
And the love I’m feeling reminds me of a *** of water just before its boiling point.
Bubbles full of compassion and trust and admiration coming up to join the little piece of the universe I’m blessed to be a part of.
Like when we’re talking and the words just spew from my mouth.
There’s not a negative feeling in the atmosphere and I feel on top of the world.
Because I’m thankful to have found a friend within love.
There are other times when my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
The emotions are just sitting on the edge of my soul waiting to jump.
You know when the only thing and the last thing you want to do is cry?
Like when you wake up in the middle of the night and I feel you kiss my shoulder.
That’s the feeling of wading in the ocean, and watching fireworks, and cuddling children all rolled into one. A feeling in-between desire and fear.
Then, against my better judgment, I think, “maybe everything does happen for a reason.”
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
With the Hebrew letters of MEM,
VAV, LAMED and SHIN, one finds
an inner meaning overlooked by
most people; it also condemns
those who are following Satan.
Although its primary influence
is a declaration of serenity
and peace, souls may be shaken-
as they learn about the prayer’s
prophetic nature; its numeric and
pictographic language contributes
another, sizable spiritual layer
to its foundational definition.
At its core, it translates to:
“Destroy all authority connected
with any chaos and confusion.”
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
Carefully caressing your cheek
Fretting fiercely over fig cake
Greeting gracefully
Gorging gloriously
Happily humming hyms heroically
While finishing fig cake ferociously
Starting in p ending in y
Plainly pointing the position
The poppies placed with percision
Deliciously devilishly delightful
Boy! Fig cake filled me up...
Sitting, satiating sizable crumbs
Placed on the poppy plate
Suddenly the slightest smell sinks my sore eyes
I decided to rise to go to bed
Ahhhhhh....
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
I still hear your voice
in the dead of the night,
I still feel your touch
in the morning light.
I see your face in a sizable crowd.
I see your smile in a cottony cloud.
You weigh on my mind,
and you reside in my heart-
even though we're worlds apart.
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 10:12 PM UTC
for reasons unknown to me,
the urgent need to commence
this one with the words:
Oh man,
this is, this be, challenging,
but these words were found on the drying rack in my
abattoir, my nickname for my unending Draft Day
filings
and kept poking despite another overnight splash,
the product pool is full of creativity's synaptic junctions,
a wild night of up~writing, from god knows when,
and here it is 7:18, there are obligations, needs that
a demand a face to face meeting, tho the troops are
in their boarded beds, gently snoring…
so quick, to the sizable task at hand
the search is perpetual, not eternal,
for no one comes forward, willing
to admit, they have been around
since King David's time, practicing
this verbal chicanery game of using
words to guide the perplexed, unless,
of course, unless someone you might
know might be a big fat fibber
right about now, you're exasperatingly seething,
"where the heck is a poem gonna show its face?"
well, and now,
some struggle mightily, to ascertain
who and what is their uniqueness,
oft turned and twisted, caught between
competing entities, asking quests that
take lifetimes to resolute, and when
you look at the typewriter roll silently
choking the white cloud surrounding it,
you, you want to cry/pray out aloud, who, who
shall I be, to make a completion between
the person inside of me. the person I think
I want to be, dream of be-coming,
and yes it is too, eternal, for as long as humans
can think dream, create and anticipate, we all
will nonetheless perpetually search for the other
someone, sometwo
in us…
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 3:46 PM UTC
It was not long, a few days at most, before we hit the storm
The first wave hits with ineffable force, knocking me off my feet
A well placed bolt of lightning took out a sizable portion of the ship and her passengers
The second wave carries them away, never to be seen again
Thunder crashes and the foremast falls to the sea
The third wave swallows it up
The captain remains stoic, shouting orders to what little crew he has left
The fourth wave strikes the starboard bow, some men are thrown from the edge
I grab hold of the rail, my grip strengthened by some primal fear
The fifth wave washes over me and I’m torn away
I thrash and struggle up to the surface and fill my lungs with air
The sixth wave takes me under again
Again I make it to the surface and climb onto a passing piece of wreckage
The seventh wave drags what remained of the ship to the ocean’s murky depths
At least the sound of thunder and rain blocks out the screams of drowning men
The eighth wave breaks
I remember how the ship once stood tall and proud
The ninth wave looms over me
I take a breath
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
Yuch,
I tasted Chrissy's canned food today.
Though our tastes differ
her personality is sizable.
Her thinking faces
and her dog winks
make me think she is an old fuzzy lady.
Peoples and their pets.
Not a petty thing
yet treated as such.
This morning she
crafted an omelette
for me because I requested.
I would have liked it
but, as I said,
yuch.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:32 AM UTC
Demode
Dodo
Dorothy doesn’t talk to me much about her feelings, she’s either happy as an elephant or angry like a needle being forced through skin. Dorothy doesn’t go by Dorothy. She was Dodo to everyone but her aunt who didn’t know who she was. Dorothy lived across the road in her sizable yellow house, with way too many windows, mum says. Her mother is a big business owner working in the man's world. Dodo’s father is her mother, we joke, always doing a woman's work. Dorothy has a little sister Iris. She looks like Dodo, but Iris doesn’t have the same bruises on her face as Dodo does.
Iris must be quiet.
Mum does not want me hanging out with Dorothy, she says, she doesn’t act like a lady. Dodo never crosses her legs, but why would she do that? She doesn’t even wear skirts. She doesn’t finish chewing before her words and spits of food fall out. Dorothy does what she wants. Iris doesn’t do that. Men remind Iris that she's a beautiful young lady as we walk down town. Dodo flips them off.
Iris is quiet
I don’t sit with Dorothy at school. She sits with the boys, and I’m not allowed to. Dorothy fits in with the boys. She has a voice of a lion roaring through the cafeteria. Iris sits with me instead but we don’t talk. We stay quiet. Dodo laughs too much, the girl with red ribbons in her hair says. Dodo is just asking for it, responds to the girl with blue barretts. She’s gonna get hurt if she doesn't shush her loudmouth red ribbons says. Dorothy doesn’t care what girls with ribbons think. Iris does.
Iris stays quiet
Sometimes I wish I was more like Dorothy. I could tell mum to mind her own business and to let me get my ears pierced. I’m old enough to face the needle. Dorothy likes her big hoops, but I would rather have studs like Iris.
Those are quiet
Dorothy is a bad liar. I know she didn’t fall and hit her head on the table. The yellow house with too many windows tells me Dorothy’s mum hurt her. No one does anything because we don’t know what to do with women who work in a man's world.
We all stay quiet.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
Out on the track that fateful day
I had just turned to train a mile
When old man Finn, asked where I'd been
could he tag along for awhile
"Of course" I said, he turned his mare
we set out for the quarter pole
The leisured mile, we made in style
a two forty clip was the goal
Reaching the quarter then the half
we were on track to make the grade
Three quarters down, I turned around
to see Finn looked a bit afraid
His mare was at a full gallop
bitten by a horse fly I thought
Over the rail, with Finn in trail
their fates tied to the lessons taught
He'd been thrown over the withers
came down hard on the limestone track
Finn was old , but cut from the mold
of men who go forward not back
I pulled my horse up, turned around
hoping to help him if I could
He'd had a stroke, his hip was broke
he lie gasping against the wood
We then took up a collection
to help the old man convalesce
Each man knew, Finn's chances were few
as this made of his life a mess
Kind and charmed I knew him to be
five handsome young sons to his name
Sadly then, those who knew him when
said life would never be the same
I had saved a thousand dollars
a sizable sum for a lad
As I was young, my life unsung
I had given them all I had
My father threw a fit that night
"I can't believe you sometimes son
Hard as it is, in the horse biz
how can I look past what you've done"
Each of us knew the hardships then
we shared part and parcel the same
But as a boy, I took no joy
in most truths of that deadly game
I ran my horse four days later
The Finn's drove in every race
my mare in back, of the pack
that night circled the field in place
Each of them smiled as I rode by
hell they might just as well have waved
While each was as drunk, as a skunk
yet they were all so well behaved
From that night on they cared for me
I laughed as I knew I'd been played
Life was no chore, it gave back more
I was proud of the friends I’d made
Tate
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
There's a sizable difference
between our lives and existence.
But, we can cover the distance
with an epic persistence.
We should try out indifference
without leaving our imprints
and cast away our existence
to the edge of fickle brilliance.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
We have a sizable job before us poets
the serpent used a poem so sweet and subtle
Eve's swoon was akin to Elvis' adolescent entourage
lyrics that could talk you into wanting to know more about
how to talk using lyrics that could talk you into wanting to
know more about how to talk using more of a language
that operates the mind, that speaks to will itself.
and Adam, like the Junior High sympathetic, waiting by the phone
wondering what she does when she's out of sight,
finding them in the clearing smiling with casual familiarity
only to say, 'Oh, hey, where have you been, care to meet my new friend?'
and He, obliging since he already knows that what she likes,
He ought to find well and good, enjoys a chat and a snack with
this beguiling stranger who seems so learned and worldly.
our duty to redeem the artifice, to turn the mechanics into a
tool for what will come to be understood as good, the aesthetic that governs,
where the dust in the creekbed shuffles similarly to a star devoured by gravity,
light in the dewdrop with the fragrance off the petal, the song and the wing
together in the tree, the telling of a tale in weight and measure,
brushstroke and letter, the definable math, the falsely fathomable organic
randomness, precisely ambiguous, colossally specific, superficially profound,
is tasked with using the design, generating every nomenclature through metaphoric
action, the most real thing, the underpinning, the scaffold, the Tao.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Looking away from your eyes,
I realize the size of the rising situation.
In your eyes lie no lies
that give rise to despise or desperation.
I dare to compare anything unfair
with that glaring stare you wear.
Bright and full of wrong-less right,
their bright white glassiness contrasts the night.
Sincere fears rearing near tears
by the mere peering on clearly seen "dears" of yesteryear.
Eyes despising the realization of past situations.
Be bold and unfold your reservation.
Only good truths shall be told.
No lies spoken.
Old molds broken.
Sympathy and empathy and things causing the heart to flee.
Breathe.
One...two...three, lift your lids and see.
Hates once realized,
words you once despised,
glances once causing your very demise,
shall not be recognized in my own eyes.
If we again allow our eyes to close,
and the world around us slows,
and our instincts move us nose to nose,
we shall realize a sizable rising situation just arose.
by R. Craig David-Copyrighted 1998
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 7:10 AM UTC
If only it was so
to grasp claim bottle
delete
What is so
evasisive yet direct
as those mesmorising swirls
of memmory
such a sizable spectrum
shifting softly
drematically
caused by so simple
a trigger
Invading that grey
ensareing
A
previously lost
Sense.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
the chickens we are eating
are pumped with antibiotics and hormones
and those substances
will finally be absorbed into our stomachs and bones
due to us needing a feed
we're also obtaining
the odd few chemicals
in our grain seed
down the line
we'll be in for a few ailments
which have been bought on
by these nasty derailments
our food shouldn't be made unrecognizable
so steer well clear
of sprays and drugs
which are so sizable
the labeling on food packaging
oft doesn't tell the entire story
and if it did it maybe
quite a disturbing story
whence you sit down
for a feed to-day
ruminate for a while
on what the food producers say
we've fed the chickens
a hormone
which is safe
for human consumption
we've sprayed the wheat crops
with a non toxic solution
which is okay
for your stomach's constitution
the proof of the pudding
is yet to be tested
our food products
are so grossly infested
organic foods
offer an alternative
for they've not had any interference
and for our stomachs and bones
they have an uncontaminated clearance
the time has arrived
for us to be less like thoughtless hobs
and watch what we're spooning
into our gobs
on Christmas day
our turkey was fattened
a little too quick
for our tables
at the poultry farm
is his intake of hormones
going to do us some harm
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
The Great Alone
The greatest fear is to lose the one dearest to oneself the shadows even darken soulless darkness
The day goes without sunlight even at noon day where does the brave contend while loss bends comfort
No hiding place exist you understand the lifeless void love taken only obstruction lives in all starkness
All is gone the tumblers of the safe are dissolved you can’t lock anything in safety nothing can oppose
No desert ever formed looks and feels like this landscape baked to the point nothing recognizable
Shade is filled with inner burning always turning thoughts are only heavy weights you must bare
Where is the water once it held you with buoyancy now seek as you do none is found at all sizable
Burnished sand this wayfarer knows its captivity well it is only like a tightening rope around the heart
The still frightens because down its corridors the laughter of yesterday still quietly forcefully echo
Avoid natural reflections those images the most painful hurts dwell you feel their presence can’t touch
Embodiment longing that holds the greatest promise now a cross a twist on the crops of the god Peko
What mocking to speak of harvest when there is only devastation your heart where not one plant grows
He once walked where you walk his experiences reflect these very facts they are the human equivalent
You have lost that which can’t be replaced you know pain and sorrow he lost most of those he created
Then by love he came to rescue that which was lost he carried your pain by their action he is irrelevant
In the soon clearing mist all eyes will dry dead hearts will be made a live with joy and what a gathering
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
when i think of the lines and scratches
that scatter my hips and thighs
i realize that each one
is a release
a small bliss
of the sizable pain inside me
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC