"skydiver" poems
He draws a man
wearing a space suit
When he grows up,
does he want to be an astronaut?
Then he draws the hands
gripping to puppet-like strings
When he grows up,
does he want to be a puppeteer?
Later he draws the parachute
floating in the sky
When he grows up,
"I want to be a skydiver!"
He says,
whom he
wants
to
be.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
SPREADEAGLED
Bucharest,
*
Spread-eagled and naked
in her crop circle -
this one in a sunflower field:
she’s a wheel of limbs,
some sort of a ********
lusted after by the seed heavy
flowers bowing to her curves
like drooling surgeons.
*
She’s finished with running,
waiting for the fading light
to join the last of her loves,
faded with processed proclamations
of undying certainty
which were a little worse for wear
after courting
and checked into intensive care
soon after.
*
Love thought it had
ducked its obligations,
passed again
like a heavy goods train in the night,
shunted across the border
while guards waved it on;
interested only in sleep or beer.
*
But this time she’s making sure
love returns,
pays its duty and dues
and hits its target.
*
So, splayed
aryan and vigorous,
apeing a pagan
resurrection,
she waits
for the skydiver
who – with precision
confidence – happens
to be bearing down
on her charity target,
slowly filling her
with his ***** shadow.
*
She sunbathes under mirrors,
she’s a real
tough nut to crack.
I repeat myself into her.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
I know what a skydiver feels like,
though I've never actually jumped from a plane
because with you I feel I'm skydiving.
Free falling, chutes failed
Crashing into your arms, into my world-
Yearning for the touch that grounds me
better than this planet ever has or could or will.
And in your eyes I see an ocean
One I plan to swim forever, trusting that
the water will be warm and the waves never too rough.
But it's in your soul that I find home,
in a space made just for me,
the one that waited, patiently waited-
Knowing only I would fit.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
*From above, the skydiver's eyes scan the verdant landscape-
rushing towards him, but she can't see that, he regrets,
though she too jumps, sitting in his heart, the quiet dove
dreaming immortality being his habit, he is in yogic trance as he land,
rushes to see her, as in here and now, is his foot hold as a householder
awaiting him for long, she kisses him ferociously on his mouth
"I can't wait anymore to roll in our bed"she warmed it for this moment,
If one is incapable of imagining the the higher reaches of particle state,
immortalities hug, after quietly going back, enjoy the sojourn here
It's a cycle, there isn't no two; Dive down from the air craft
over the clouds smiling, hear the whisper of the winds in both ears.
Live dangerously, raise to the sublime, before touching eternity.*
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
"what do you think I should do?"
you looked in between your fingers and said to me
don’t be her cigarette
don’t let her light you up when there’s nothing to do and
put you out once she’s bored.
don’t be the aftertaste of chemicals in her mouth.
don’t be the black **** she spits onto the sidewalk.
don’t be convenient.
don’t be one of twenty in a pack of Marlboros.
so I left her.
you always knew what to say.
I never would have guessed that two months later
I would call you crying to say goodbye
hoping you would at least make a half assed attempt to care
with my phone in my left hand
and a handful of pills overflowing in my shaking right,
I never could have guessed you would’ve answered
with a complaint about how I woke you up.
I landed in the E.R.
like a skydiver lands in the ocean—
fumbling to unbuckle yourself from the parachute
sinking heavy in the salt water
being dragged down by the very fabric that was supposed to save me
trying to claw your way back up to the surface
like desperately clawing at the ceiling of your coffin
like lungs about to burst
like vision blurred
I was drowning
the thing that was supposed to save me
sunk me.
I sat under the florescent lights
that first night
wondering if you had called back
knowing you hadn’t
the whole week I picked at the white bracelet on my wrist
“female, 5’6”, 115 pounds, INPATIENT.”
While wondering if you cared
but knowing you don’t
But hoping you did
because it’s hard to hear for months the
“I’m not going anywhere
I love you
I’m right here
Call whenever you need it
at 3 in the morning or at 3 pm
you don’t need a reason to call if you
want to call just to hear my voice call.
we have something special
and I hope we never loose it
you’re my best friend
I was meant to have met you”—
********
You were my parachute.
The message I had from you
when I got discharged from the psych ward was:
“I have a lot going on and won’t be able to reply much.”
You always know what to say.
You pulled me under
you, heavy fabric
you, life-saving-invention
you, malfunctioned son of a *****
you—chain-smoker.
I have been one of twenty in her pack of Marlboros.
And now I’m one of twelve in your pack of Camels.
I've since quit smoking.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
I am a skydiver
a cloud walker
A time traveler
in a bodiless soul
Feeling dared
to live the dream
Feeling strong
to move mountains ahead
Feeling brave
just to keep you safe
I might be broken you know
but I am forever yours
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
_i've been jumping in front of trains lately_
_asking myself if it's really worth the risk_
_the way a skydiver looks at the ground miles away and wonders if today is the day it doesn't work out_
_while you're halfway across the country by now, leaving this all behind_
_i've been jumping in front of trains lately_
_wondering what the hell it will take for you to see the pain you left inside me_
_if I could just find the right thing to prove to you that I'm dying_
_maybe then you'd come back home_
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
Consider a drip,
Falling from a faucet.
An effortless glide to the sink,
Plunging into the drain.
Twisting,
Turning,
Tumbling.
A skydiver’s free fall,
With out his chute.
A direct flight,
And then – the curve,
Hard,
Full,
Yucky,
Ding – **** “ It’s the plumber he’s come to fix the sink.”
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Seeing a vessel.
A catcher of fishes.
Espies another catcher of fishes.
These little fellows are destined for dishes.
Crew watching the crying ones.
The gulls as they rise.
Screaming wildly, they're on fire with excitement.
Gulls watch the Herrings, as they're breaching the foam.
Flapping and flipping, they're struggling to breathe.
The trawler man in the South westerly squall.
Struggling to cling to the slippery deck.
Tries hard not to fall.
He's used to it.
Another dollar.
Another day.
Only way to scoop his pay.
He's landing his fish.
Amid the squawking and bombing.
Keen and mean.
Tatty old trawler, chugs into the safe haven of harbour.
Today's catch thrown onto the dockside.
A different gull swoops.
A sly diving skydiver,
He's diving for dinner.
Never a loser.
Always a winner.
(C) Livvi
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
So I fell.
Recklessly,
headlessly,
in all of the ways I said I wouldn't.
I fell deep
and hard
and fast.
Like the skydiver who's cord won't pull.
Like the traindriver who's car is full
I moved too quickly.
There was no time to stop and realize
this could never end well.
Whether now or in twenty years.
And all I have done is postpone the expiration date.
It hurts sometimes.
Especially when I realize the way I miss you
now
is nothing compared to the way I will miss you
then.
The day you lock that door for the last time will
**** me inside.
I gave you the code
to everything about me.
My fantasies, my family.
My deepest fears, my future dreams.
The words I speak will form the key that allows you to unlock me.
Leaving my heart broken open,
spilling all my tokens of
rejection and affection.
All my lifelong infections in
my lungs
my heart,
my brain.
I don't hold things back from you because I
can't.
I can't be anything but my crazy, needy, sad, scary
self, when i'm with you.
But recently, that isn't true.
I have been bottling everything.
Saving it for the perfect moment when
I could say it
and you could own it.
And that moment hasn't come.
It is no where in sight
and that makes me run from
feelings
like these
that I have for you.
I keep thinking an end is the right thing to do
but something in me won't give up on you.
Some part absolutely must refuse
my heart in letting go of you.
And I
am *******
terrified,
that this thing might be really true.
But I can't shake the feeling it isn't.
What is it about you that you keep hidden
that drives me along in my endless mission
to stay with you?
And will I find it
before you find out
that
everyone leaves eventually.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Sitting very quietly, looking at a blank page
Prompted me to pen a poem about toys that were all the rage
I had some wooden jigsaw blocks when I was only two
In a wooden box with a shiny brass clasp
And a picture of Winnie the Pooh
I remember at the age of six, when I was given some stickle bricks
Plastic shapes so colourful, with brushes of small plastic fingers
Making a train of red, yellow and green, the memory of it still lingers
Then at the age of seven, I remember ‘coming a cropper'
When dared by my cousins to bounce up the street
On their big and orange space-hopper
When I was eight, my favourite toy was a plastic daredevil skydiver
Many parachute jumps from the top of the stairs, that guy was a true survivor
When I was nine, the Spirograph, a drawing toy based on gears,
Was my favourite toy to play with, watching marvellous patterns appear
At ten years old I found building with Meccano lots of fun
Metal strips and gears and nuts and bolts, invented in 1901
When I was eleven the Rubik’s Cube was really all the rage
With coloured squares, six sides of nine, a puzzle for any age
At the age of twelve, Shinsai Mystery was my fave
Two eight-hinged polyhedra could be folded into many shapes
At the age of thirteen, my baby brother was born
His favourite toy was Lego, my love of building things was reborn
There are many toys of yesteryear, would take ages to mention the rest
But for me, after all these years, Lego will always be the best
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
Sharp darts
Spits barbs
Cut heart
To bleeding shreds
That no meds can cure
Torn in two
Push pull
Stay or go
It's a lose lose
Suffering waits around every turn
So I'll misspend my soliloquies here
Pour my bleeding heart out to nobody in particular
For no reason more particular
Than to not do so might **** me
Spill me out on the pavement
Like a skydiver with 16,000 feet
And no rip cord
Although nowhere near as fast
A long protracted fate awaits
Death by a thousand cuts
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Serafina was a skydiver
And she was always falling.
Jimmy was her instructor
And the next in line.
"The thrill of love," she said,
"Is about how high you can climb."
If the moment's spent
She parachutes out.
A risk,
No doubt.
But on she plays,
Crossing her fingers
This idée fixe
Never comes crashing back to earth.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC
Everything he does
To the way he talks
And the way he laughs
Every little things makes me fall
Fall even more in love with him
In love with him
Like I’m a skydiver jumping from the greatest heights
Every little thing he does
Reminds me why
Why I fall in love with him
Over and over again
I love him for who he is
Nothing will ever change that
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
I feel cold,
broken and old,
forgotten, sold,
tossed aside like a bad piece of meat.
Overdue,
expired,
and in a way,
underappreciated.
Wasted.
Used up.
Like an old tube of toothpaste,
or an eraser to small to hold onto,
it's shavings spread across the universe.
I know there is more,
more to me.
Potential lost,
in a carcass tossed,
into a burning fire.
Hate,
no desire,
and a fear of what I could become.
But what could I become if I tried?
A philosopher,
a hero,
a story untold.
A skydiver,
a tree climber,
or maybe just an *******
I could be a world,
a world of possibilities.
Or I could be nothing,
lost in infinity.
But I'll never know,
guess I'll be nothing.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
A slow fall,
A skydiver
Without a parachute.
A straight plunge,
A meteorite
Crashing to the ground
Engulfed in flames.
What will it be,
This time around?
Will it drag me down slowly,
And force me to watch
My own self destruction?
Will it grab on
And force me down
In a moment
That’s faster than a blink?
So abrupt,
That it takes me a moment
To understand
Exactly what happened
When I wake up
Surrounded by the wreckage?
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 7:34 AM UTC