"slivered" poems
bat-tastic lung
collapse
fragrant raspberry
leaves
gas exchange gone
wrong
little sailor
slivered ocean
reverse gravitational
sinking into
blackened angler doom
new age
humanitarian
loves others
loves discovering
new
truths
loves
plummeting through spaded
blinds
insanely unappreciative
red
the new harvest
the magician blinking
the the sky
imagination finally
makes
sense
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
I may not do things traditionally
But I'll get them done eventually
If they're the things that are right for me
I'll be okay and set myself free.
In this life of turbulent strife
pitted and ripe with rotten tripe
a sunlight bright pains my sight
but your soothing ice cools my vice
The aid you paid is not ready made
it gives me hope I'm not just a dope
your love is more than a pity rope,
slivered and raw it gives me splinters
But luckily i'm in for a treat
more than a friend sent to mend
oh yes, you're more, my candy store
settle my sweet tooth you randy *****
unwrap the rainbow you insane *****
ride the rhythm of my *** prism
a rod shaped crystal built like a missile
cocked locked and loaded it cant miss-ya.
explodin' and remoldin' the fabric of time
an infinite blanket wraps us entwined
in a frantic romantic purely satanic
ritual of reality, the utmost sensuality.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
for Harlon Rivers
the river potion,
the river portent,
the river potent
it is all of these and not one
he is bank sided,
observing the false idols,
the image mirrored
in the glass of the river
transfigured molecularly
he becomes something ferried frothily, forcefully
as if a twig
or a small thing of human manufacture,
an object tossed up airborne-repeatedly
his poetry:
the clash of particles at the many junctions
of objects and water, eddies and the currents,
ceaselessly circumnavigating,
searching revisionary pathways
directed,
but randomized,
prisoner of the flows,
servant to the wind's directives and the
earths magnetic indivisible undulating waves
thinking,
this life,
its unsteady gait,
the irreverent wavering of drunkenness
resultant from potent potions,
portents of inopportune position
in him,
my own histories,
my poetic recordings
also become
water borne,
watermarked,
replayed back for me,
for erasure, censure, closure
and rededication
this River
is a tapestry,
a torn map,
drawn on broken shards
of slivered water,
living with all the others
but we,
are the untitled,
we,
are the un-entitled,
and he is the
Rivers
<•>
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
each time her bare front
is full with illumination
she is defined by the mystery
of infinite black behind her
and at her most enlightened
is dappled with caters and scars
ensconced in darkness
lined by an aphotic slivered edge
shadow speaks
most deeply
of the ways
in which
she moves
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
###
the buzzing in your limbs when you lie on them for too long
is the buzzing in my head
the static in my mind that makes
the world
s p
n i
in deadly motion;
as rivers run from my eyes
tear-soaked tissues clenched in my smothering grasp
lungs
c
o
l
l
a
p
s
i
n
g
inwards
while the world spins around me
threatening to spin me into infinite inexistence by breaking me
into an infinite number of slivered
p
i
e
c
e
s --
for i am too smothered by the world
and it is not the first time today
i couldn't breathe.
###
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
I found the class fish wrapped in single-ply
tissue and pencil sharpener refuse,
her poinsettia-sunset scales picked clean,
gathered in a Styrofoam cup. Her coral
fins crumbled, leaving rough edges like split
chalk or hopscotch gravel. Her last ocean
was the cover of a Nat Geo from
1995. Easing my fingers
beneath the matchstick spine, I deftly walked
to my desk, and laid her on construction
paper. I casted her slivered ribcage
in glue before I poured the scales, hoping
she'd triumphantly flick some harmless fire
when she woke, but she just laid there, shining.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Crucified
My spirit cries
in grief
and in dismay.
The reality of
what you purpousfully have done to me.
I reflect upon
the intentional hurt and hate
from you to me
That's when I see...
Where you've gone out of your way
to make sure things were extra hard for me.
When your the one who is supposed to
Show me love Unconditionally .
I see where you
shattered
the remains
of an already
fractured heart .
There is agony in every salty tear,
That fills the open wounds
as they streams down from in sorrow.
The shards of malice for years
piercing deep
into my very soul
and embeding
their sharp.
slivered tips
just like the nails that
penetrated the hands and feet of the "Son".
As you spew like lava the words
roll off your forked tongue.
Only after their burden I carry the weight 'across' a
rough and rugged path as they grows heavier and bigger
I make my way to where finally, stripped of any last
shred of dignity, left hanging there up high upon your
wicked, evil, vengeful lies.
Am I....
I am THAT Iam
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
Alas, this miniscule moment of separation,
Igniting infernos of cardiac anguish,
Coursing silver slivered lightning to the cerebellum,
Shall not, sever the connection of our entanglement.
Entangled like microscopic electrons,
Bound by more than optical illusion,
Our hearts have joined for eternity,
No matter the distance in time or space,
Your heart skips a beat and I lose my breath.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Ate the slivered pancake
Drank the plastic wine
What did I expect
No one gives their body that freely
The horses have serpentine tails
While Neptune drinks his lemonade
And all the mermaids are being washed ashore
Pluto floats on like a speckled egg
And she has Solomon’s house on her head
While all the birds read our minds amidst sunbeam glass
Mercury still gets a tan
While Venus dances in her shell
Here we debate about heaven and hell
Jupiter weeps but we don’t know why
Saturn is a spaceship of time
And Mars used to be blue
While Uranus hides its bottom half
Ate the slivered pancake
Drank the plastic wine
What did I expect
No one gives their body that freely
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
For she too believes in happy ever after,
But after what she's been through,
Those deceits and broken trusts,
Its not wrong for her to build her walls higher.
-HIY
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
Like the plates of the earth
the world beneath my feet is solid and withstanding.
seemingly resolute,
it has held together with manageable
cracks and tears;
a steady foundation.
Like the plates of the earth,
my world begins to shift;
the cracks and tears grow suddenly
without warning I am thrown
into a tumult of confusion and discord.
Shifting becomes breaking;
slowly, piece by piece,
my plates split apart,
creating not a giant hole,
but a small and slivered crevice that
appears to swallow all of my breaking pieces.
Discomfort
unease
fully aware of each falling part
this turbulence continues;
days go by and more pieces
are breaking
and falling
and disappearing
before I can catch them
and hold them close
until my ground quits shaking.
For I have hit an earthquake
and I close my eyes
and grasp the few roots
left in this mess
and wait.
Now the shift is over
while the earth has finished its quaking,
my world is still trembling in recovery.
The balance has yet to be regained;
I am still assessing the damage,
waiting for the sun to shine again
to show me what is left to mend.
The bridge from discomfort to normalcy
quivers with every step,
but I find solace
on the rising sun’s horizon.
A small voice whispers,
“it is good.”
Today it is March
what a beautiful march it will be.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
Going to sleep
is the best thing
a person can do.
After a long day of work
just slip under the covers
clean, wrinkled, soft and daring
the night a comfortable pillow
in which to rest sleepy tired eyes
while finishing a dystopian sci-fi movie
taking place in the desert.
Furiosa takes the night
across her shoulders
black engine grease smeared
across her forehead as Mad Max
rides shotgun
before the heat consumes them.
Enjoying every sand crusted
machine cranked thrusted
water tank bomb shell.
She is the best kind of heroine
taking complete control
of the current situation.
But sometimes there’s a break
when the dusk becomes depth
merging into the white halo of moon
slivered like a cut thumbnail
just hanging there, lifeless.
And this is when
the truth becomes
completely apparent.
Resting one’s body
after a tough week
of physical and emotional sickness
becomes first priority
where relaxation nods its weary head
to slumber under a pile of blankets.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
each tempered by slivered moments:
slovenly on the floor lay tethered,
both, separate,
honest light.
when it is time that you do not
see anymore, the shadow of my passing,
when the twilight gives rise,
a felled star in the world,
when damp kisses are beleaguered
by the driest of lips,
out of merely, a wide-eyed vainglory,
there will be nothing that all my songs
send a dancing, tiptoeing light
careful to arrive at one day
when you face is held with utmost care
and my hands not its owner,
but a handful of names.
when it comes that we are two fish
struggling in a current's dream —
not a single twitch is born. you will slip
past the interstice of love's net
and i cannot see you anymore in the
depthless blue.
the intelligence of stone tells me
nothing but silence, hemmed in
to a great monolith of daylight.
i exaggerate, the sinking of ships
and amble blindly with the whole of
my motion, like flotsam weary of its
preordainment. portraits sow themselves
battles, cleaving them minutely against
the simmer of quiet. when it is time
to let you go, i will watch you leap forth
into the ripe air like a child seeking
home, reiterates in flight a height
i cannot reach for.
when it is time all of this,
mote it be, clenches in thinned streaks
of turpentine, all of my walls will be clear
and not a sign of your colour
will scream pain like a tortured vandal.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 5:33 AM UTC
my inspiration
and worldly alligation
seems gone
like a vivid eluscation
writings in thin air
as mindful retardation
slivered like a broken mirror
of lost fantastication
my mind feels empty
my mind feels blank
like bound for a fall
my body feels drained
like sunk in a tank
of nothing at all
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
My eyes envision a blackened wood
Where my heart longs to roam.
A shudder wracks my supple frame
And I long for it, my home.
Paws flex slowly on slivered glass
As I follow this trail to the end.
The howls of my pack dance on the rain
And my spirit begins to mend.
Blood soaks the night, I slip sinew and bone
While shedding this frail human skin.
I scream to the moon, my Mother above
And signal the hunt to begin.
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 6:42 PM UTC
what they call a heart, my every anchor chained
what the pages make my story, every loss explained
like words in letters, as if they retain it, like they make it better
as if the knowing of it loosed or broke these fetters
eight ways the shapes of my only alphabet spells s-u-r-v-i-v-o-r
infinitely too short a word and leaving me to wander again if I'm alive in her
they think it breeds strength to outlive the beatings
they think it makes a great chase never retreating in the pursuit of what's fleeting
just once couldn't I rest and feel safe like it could all get clearer?
in the haze of aging when I'm sure it isn't my real smile in any mirror
in the crowded, faceless streets of having to stand on my own two feet alone
with all the hurtful, hateful, squalls this living condones
everyone thinking they know me because they know my name
know the face that's a mask over what's hollowed out by the aches I don't explain
and someone asks me to come near, to be dear, to love again
and they give like gifts and they mend the rifts and they care and then
the cycle of costs begins again, the loss of the friends again breathes
and makes every swallowed wine taste less like escape and reminds that it never relieves
and every candle on a cake burns another year I waited to start over
and every green field yields beauty unnoticed in my frantic search for a lucky clover
the pages pile with words wasted on hoping for better
and my few days waste away with so much time lost in trying to understand "forever"
so if you think that you know what made me then you haven't been listening to the words I didn't say
and if you've ask me for love then you've never felt what I already gave away
so put the times you've felt greatness on one side and see if they outweigh the hurt
or if the scales tip in favor of the ways you've failed and it still hurts
and trudge the horrible roads to the edges of the maps and see if you outrun the hurt
and see if any hand held or risk taken or affection given dispels the way you hurt
all the slivered glass pieces of my heart just cut me to blood as I try to pick them up
and all that my view of what could have been does, is lend tears as I watch those doors shut
and all another line will explain
is how it will never be the last line if I'm trying to write out the pains
I can never explain the hurt
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
The exquisite taste of iron
Lingering enclosed
A sanguineous river
The bequest of mine adversary
A purple mottled blossom
Burgeoning forth
Flowerbed of
Battered frame
Extinguished flame
The corporeal battlefield
Ravaged
Iniquitous intentions
And dominating force
Unabated terror
Reigning forth
As with every new bloom
It claims new ground
A daring boldness
Possessed of strategy
With motives unsound
A brink battled raged
Body consumed
Lost shattered frayed
Within and closer
A planted cerebral seed
Rising forth malady
Nevermore unchanged
Though the body heals
The mind retains
Lasting casualties
Slivered charred remains
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 1:26 AM UTC
And the worst thing is,
I muttered to my right thumb’s torn cuticle,
The Absolute Very Worst Thing In the History of the Universe is
My tongue flounders to find
what I want to say.
So I say,
I’m talking to myself.
I bite the cuticle,
and it stings in that way
that somehow makes me want to do it again.
The Absolute Very Worst Thing in the History of the Universe is
that I don’t know.
I don’t know what I want,
I mean.
The Absolute Very Worst Thing in the History of the Universe is
to have a frozen skeleton,
I sample, though I’m not quite sure
what I mean to mean.
To have these metal fish-hooks
snagged in my skin,
one pulling north, the other dragging south.
You see?
To keep digging holes and sowing seeds
that I have no idea what they’ll grow to be
(pumpkins or daisies
or something awful. Like beets.)
but I’m blistered and there’s sweat that stings my slivered palms (not in the good way) but I keep digging and digging and I can’t stop because someone says I have to move forward, forward, forward, but really I’m just moving in circles, and I’m not doing anything but something, and what is the point, in that, really?
But the worst thing is,
that knowing that to be happy,
and not even like a kid,
beaming, triumphantly holding his lost tooth up in the air,
(I’ve given up on that)
but in the,
I suppose I can sleep at night
way,
(these days, I apparently talk to myself instead,)
The worst thing is
knowing that to feel warm,
to feel things,
Something drags me forward,
in my stupid shoes that make me hobble instead of walk,
I must keep moving forward
in spite of
the shade of a ghost,
that kisses the hollow of my neck
traces his fingers down my spine
and whispers,
you’re getting tired.
Come lie down with me.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
I don't care
if you
remember
years from now
how the lacy
kitchen
curtains beat
against the
slivered
sills
or how the oven
spilled its
heavy air
into the house
each
August night
It's only here
only now
only in this moment
where I'm washing
my dry hands
of cooking
picnic and
rose park
things to
chew
with
our
w
o
r
d
s
I'm so effected by
the way the oven
heats me
the way this summer
heats me
the way I can't explain my love, you
heat me
and the thought of
a rose park
engulfs me
in flames.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
Because when I drain my coffee and see my face reflecting in the dark glossy bottom of the mug, my eyes are holding something that I can't blink away.
No matter how hard I try, it sits along my lashline, glazed over my pupil, reddening the corners and doubling my vision.
I set my mug down. I've dripped coffee on my t-shirt. My eyes are gripping tight to a sensation that is so painfully familiar that it almost feels welcome. Like I wouldn’t know what to do if it ever left.
It’s a scary comfort, curling up in that feeling. I know it so well. Sometimes I want to reach out and cradle it against my chest where it purrs like a childhood cat. It’s beautiful and black, sleek, with paws so big they weigh down on my chest. Makes it hard to breathe but I don't dare move.
My hands find reprised solace along the ridges of its back, petting patterns down its silky fur. When I look down all I see is its big yellow eyes, drowning my sight and filling every corner with that numbing company.
It's a dangerous cat, whose dark slivered pupils I see in my own. In the bottom of a mug, a storefront reflection, a dark screen. It's so comfortable that I sometimes forget to miss the feeling of being alone.
My legs are pins and needles where it sits in my lap. Makes it hard to believe I'll ever stand again. It's a blessing to have a quiet mind.
The cat purrs and purrs and purrs.
Oct 7, 2022
Oct 7, 2022 at 5:30 PM UTC
Nights like this
Are the nights that will **** me.
Nights when translucent ghosts
Drape their long arms
Around my waist and take me
Waltzing across you bedroom ceiling;
Nights when sad songs pour
Out of the cracked walls
And fill my heart
With their bittersweet nostalgia;
Nights when my body freezes
In its despairing loneliness,
Cold stone wrapped in stiff sheets
And sopping pillows.
Nights like this,
I lie awake, aware of
The tangible emptiness,
The stale smell of grief.
Nights like this,
I **** myself the way I killed you,
I break the way you did:
Delicately, like the slivered backs
Of infant birds
Left the nest too soon;
Like thunder collapsing,
Shaking cupboards and windows
In time with our trembling shoulders.
You told me, you told me
"I can't just forget this like you can."
But I don't forget.
Like a soldier cut open
By the knife she obliged herself,
I bleed.
I hold my insides
Inside, cram you back
Deep into my chest,
Wrap memories around my spine
A spiral staircase of sorrow and
Sweet intentions, where no one will see
The trail of blood
Save for me.
I,
I do not escape this.
I cannot cast aside
Ashen remains, box up burning coals.
I can only carry them with me,
A red thread around my finger
Burning your name in my skin.
I carry my sorrow like a crow on my shoulder;
It pecks on my neck sharp reminders
And gorges on my acute isolation.
You say I forget,
But nights like this,
I remember everything
And regret nothing,
Even on nights like this
When all of me screams
But nothing hurts.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
...and i woke up, and
my motion persists, my
trailing light- split to trail-
lines, to curl out and line
up with your perfect
skin. imperfect smile, love,
it is invisible to all eyes:
shaking and glistening, i'd
give it all, for one simple quivering
moment spent with you. just
one photograph with palms
aligned. eyes alight. alas, for all
this is but nothing. all a ploy, you're
finding affection in patterns in
static, monumental, clawing eagerly
through the dark; here, it's high
noon. and i'm stone sober, and
missing you like malfunctioning
lungs. i haul breath to roll your
syllables over my tastebuds, again
more broken
glass down the back of my
skull just to steal a thought away
from inscrutable you. oh, honey,
the things i'd do...
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
The all embracing
warmth of a coastal night
The heavy humidity
when love is no longer right
The water ripples restlessly
The tired slivered moon
has had enough
Goes on down without a goodnight
The hollow deck makes scuffing sounds
You stop but there are no other sounds
A disturbed bird flies on by
Squawk ! letting you know
It disapproves of you being nye
An ancient breeze of feelings
ruffles your hair
string up the cares of
the yesterday's dawns
They were red flag warnings
but you sailed on blissfully
You savor the ropes last release
Taking time to store the lost will
Cast off becomes a minimal thing
as you slip free of your mourning
There is a cast of grey across the sky
Dawn is coming pushing the winds
of freedom across the bay
You drop partial sail and
the ship responds
Making knots out of a knotty situation
You hear the bow slicing water
As you release all the canvass
Slipping past the jetties
on the falling tide
you sigh , a relief , a release
It's just you , the sea , and God
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
*You flipped my switch
took me for a ride
words were a nectar'd bite
in the same sigh
wrote me a love song
slipped into me
set my wistful desires ablaze
fiery words lit with rapture
tickled my inner thigh
foreplay of sweet nothings
titillated my spirit's senses
write on my skin and set me free
Sign your name in ecstasy's reverie
my body shudders ********
when you lay my soul a'fire
deeply etched utterances
slivered from your mighty sword*
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC