"snored" poems
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Me, sitting here bored as a loepard
In your jungle of wine-bottle lamps,
Velvet pillows the color of blood pudding
And the white china flying fish from Italy.
I forget you, hearing the cut flowers
Sipping their liquids from assorted pots,
Pitchers and Coronation goblets
Like Monday drunkards. The milky berries
Bow down, a local constellation,
Toward their admirers in the tabletop:
Mobs of eyeballs looking up.
Are those petals of leaves you've paried with them ---
Those green-striped ovals of silver tissue?
The red geraniums I know.
Friends, friends. They stink of armpits
And the invovled maladies of autumn,
Musky as a lovebed the morning after.
My nostrils prickle with nostalgia.
Henna hags:cloth of your cloth.
They tow old water thick as fog.
The roses in the Toby jug
Gave up the ghost last night. High time.
Their yellow corsets were ready to split.
You snored, and I heard the petals unlatch,
Tapping and ticking like nervous fingers.
You should have junked them before they died.
Daybreak discovered the bureau lid
Littered with Chinese hands. Now I'm stared at
By chrysanthemums the size
Of Holofernes' head, dipped in the same
Magenta as this fubsy sofa.
In the mirror their doubles back them up.
Listen: your tenant mice
Are rattling the ******* packets. Fine flour
Muffles their bird feet: they whistle for joy.
And you doze on, nose to the wall.
This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.
How did we make it up to your attic?
You handed me gin in a glass bud vase.
We slept like stones. Lady, what am I doing
With a lung full of dust and a tongue of wood,
Knee-deep in the cold swamped by flowers?
14.7k
I haven't stayed up this late
since our restless early morning contests
to see who would fall victim to
heavy eyelids and tired thoughts.
I won of course, you most of the time,
but I won on the longest nights (or so I'd like to think)
though my satisfaction was rooted from
something entirely different.
To be honest, I could have cared less about the victor;
I was competitive but I liked when you won -
the shine in your voice and
the glimmer in your smile telling me
how I snored through the night (I didn't)
was much more rewarding.
I haven't stayed up this long
since our late night conversations
turned into early morning slurred sentences
of who could make the most sense
whilst repeating I love you
inaudibly through earphone speakers
and bundled blankets.
And as much as the tiredness
enveloped me in its embrace,
the thought of yours implied through
the telephone waves proved
to be worthwhile, nonetheless.
You were miles beyond my reach,
but you were simple words away.
***I haven't stayed up this late
since we fell asleep falling in love***
in different beds but with the same desires,
on the same line; on the same page.
And I hate to admit it,
but I still like to think of it that way.
- g.d.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
i still remember the first night we fell asleep on the phone together. i don't recall why you were crying and i'm sorry that you probably do. but i sang to you. i sang to you until you were silent. and that became a ritual for us. my voice carried you into dreams and i had never felt so important before. i didn't know it was possible to think the way someone snored was cute but night after night you proved me wrong. the moments before sleep were occupied by conversations of the future we wanted to build. we talked about being together in our bed in our house someday. i conjured up countless images of memories yet to be made that served as pictures on the pages of stories you told me. those images are still stuck to the walls of my skull, clinging to them as if to say, "but he promised." every time i try to peel them off they scream. i told you from the beginning the way promises tie my stomach in knots and most of the time you were careful. but at 4am when my voice was drowning in sobs i let you tell me you weren't going anywhere. you told me to breathe, suddenly i could. and you kept doing stupid little things until i gave in and laughed. i felt you smile. promises still made me feel sick. but i needed your consistency. the nights i had to fall asleep without you were hell. they always turned into red-eyed mornings where i watched the sun rise before managing only a few hours of dreamless sleep. i always woke up tired. i looked for you in other voices but none of them fit. your promises still lingered in my head. you said my heart would never be broken again, and i know this is not your fault, but i have been picking glass from my lungs for 17 days and the bleeding hasn't stopped.
- m.f
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
I once slept
with a few sophisticated rats,
5 to be exact,
on a pull-out couch
from a garage sale
in corona, queens
they had ivy league IQs;
double majors in
evasion and skullduggery,
and a crush on my left thumb....
*the one you ****** on as a kid...,*
posited dr diaz,
my shrink with an md
from the lesser antilles
like freaks,
they came out at night,
in indian file...
as the raging moon dipped
below my cracked glass window,
and a cimmerian shroud
swallowed its receding light,
and I snored...
on the couch,
left thumb hanging loose
near the floor
where a heavily highlighted
textbook lay wide open...
cued by the dipping moon
or the rhythmic rasp
ripping through the room
like a stihl chain saw,
the curious 5 whisked
over the persian rug,
or was it soiled chinese?
like I said
they had ivy league IQs....
thus my heavily cheesed
wire traps
remained engaged
but cheese-less...
as the curious 5 converged
around the couch
for dessert...
~
I skipped mgmt 301 at 10
and dr diaz gave me
a rabies shot:
4 doses ig,
a sterile bandage
for my shredded left thumb,
and a referral
to his realtor...
~ P (Pablo)
(8/8/2013)
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Your skin wasn't so soft
Not the softness you'd find
In great love stories
You didn't always have the
Words to say something
You fumbled with them
While I babbled
You snored -
Only a little, I promise
Yet in ways I found
Them so endearing
Perhaps it was just you
And I find myself
Tripping and tumbling
And scrapping ideas
Of not needing love
Or just not being aware
Because I'm just yearning
To brush against that arm again
Stories be ******
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
His Lady is lovely-
Her verses, Divine.
On her wit and her wisdom
we've all oft opined.
He, Texas handsome,
skin kissed by the sun
in all respects admirable
save that he snored some.
Pilloried in verse
fort his one fatal flaw,
Far too much the gentlemen,
He didn't get sore.
He didn't want her to suffer
on account of his curse
So, like a true gentleman
He'd let her sleep first.
But before he, too,
could drift off to Nod
From her side of the bed
came some sounds rather odd.
Was it a trick of his
sleep deprived brain
or did his lady love whistle
much like a Freight train?
Since its highly unlikely
she will cease and desist
and, awake, she's the Lady
his heart can't resist.
He's taken to counting sheep
with fingers and toes
till the Ambien works
and he gets some repose..
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
Doris bought herself a bike when she were 93.
Thought a trip to John 'O'Groats, would keep her flying free.
Started off at Lands End, from there on she did wobble.
Rode past the tanker.
****** driver,what a ******
He nearly knocked her off.
She noted down his registration number.
Took it to the cop shop.
Wasn't feeling very happy, poor old darling needs a *****
Got back on her bike, to resume her hike.
The raindrops poured and granny snored.
Had a kip while on her bike, maybe Granny needed a trike.
Got as far as the corner shop.
She fancied a little nibble.
Noticed it was getting dark.
She checked out the sky.
Decided cycling was too hard work.
So off she went.
Decided to fly.
Grabbed her broomstick from the hallway.
Off she flew, up, up and away.
Wahey Doris.
Witch granny on an away-day.
(C)LIVVI 2014
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
I don’t remember when I lost my tenderness
And hardened into a thick shelled adult
No more innocent, no more gullible
Like a snake, I have peeled away my old self
It was easy enough, but having shed it
I realize no spring can bring it back!
There was a time when my imagination
Was so fiercely fuelled by fairy tales
How I used to visit the magic realms
Traversing the path from wonder to wonder!
On fancy’s feathered wings, I flew
Dwelling with fairies, demons and vampires
Roaming through the gilded hallways of magic castles
Peering into wishing wells
Wandering into enchanted forests
I searched under pillows for tooth fairies
Lay awake in bed to hear a tap on the door
With the ringing plea, falling in my ears
‘Open the door, my princess dear
Open the door to thy true lover here’
Wondering if a slimy frog has leaped over to my bed
Many hours were lost in fearful suspense
Pondering if the hoodwinked Red Riding Hood
Would escape the claws of death in the woods
With bated breath I followed the three Billy goats
On their way to the meadows beyond the bridge
Cursing the wicked troll that lived under it
Scrubbed old lamps hoping a genie would crop up
To bring things, my little heart cherished,
Looked up to see Aladdin on his magic carpet
Whizzing past the clouds,
Once I left my homework undone
Thinking those helpful elves would do it
While I snored away in the dead of the night
Now bereft of all such queer fancies
My brain has gone into lazy slumber
My world once checkered with colorful patterns
Now lies damp, dull and laden with strife!
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
"Though to my feathers in the wet,
I have stood here from break of day.
I have not found a thing to eat,
For only ******* comes my way.
Am I to live on lebeen-lone?'
Muttered the old crane of Gort.
"For all my pains on lebeen-lone?'
King Guaire walked amid his court
The palace-yard and river-side
And there to three old beggars said,
"You that have wandered far and wide
Can ravel out what's in my head.
Do men who least desire get most,
Or get the most who most desire?'
A beggar said, "They get the most
Whom man or devil cannot tire,
And what could make their muscles taut
Unless desire had made them so?'
But Guaire laughed with secret thought,
"If that be true as it seems true,
One of you three is a rich man,
For he shall have a thousand pounds
Who is first asleep, if but he can
Sleep before the third noon sounds."
And thereon, merry as a bird
With his old thoughts, King Guaire went
From river-side and palace-yard
And left them to their argument.
"And if I win,' one beggar said,
'Though I am old I shall persuade
A pretty girl to share my bed';
The second: "I shall learn a trade';
The third: "I'll hurry' to the course
Among the other gentlemen,
And lay it all upon a horse';
The second: "I have thought again:
A farmer has more dignity.'
One to another sighed and cried:
The exorbitant dreams of beggary.
That idleness had borne to pride,
Sang through their teeth from noon to noon;
And when the sccond twilight brought
The frenzy of the beggars' moon
None closed his blood-shot eyes but sought
To keep his fellows from their sleep;
All shouted till their anger grew
And they were whirling in a heap.
They mauled and bit the whole night through;
They mauled and bit till the day shone;
They mauled and bit through all that day
And till another night had gone,
Or if they made a moment's stay
They sat upon their heels to rail,,
And when old Guaire came and stood
Before the three to end this tale,
They were commingling lice and blood
"Time's up,' he cried, and all the three
With blood-shot eyes upon him stared.
"Time's up,' he eried, and all the three
Fell down upon the dust and snored.
1
2.4k
Deem ennui, the most stinking gift
humankind is left with;
every stroke she countered,
loudly snored, when ***** was hit.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 10:56 AM UTC
You gave me a red rose
To symbolize your love for me.
You gave me a black rose
To symbolize that you are leaving me.
You went onto someone else
And left me in the past.
So, I am angry and coming for your
Head.
You were not my first mistake,
But you will be my last.
Many people have done this to me.
Now they are skulls locked in my closet.
Their skeletons grew
Because of the roses that were tossed in.
Their skeletons kept
As a reminder to everyone.
And up their femurs
Came the vines.
Round their ankles
Slept tired time.
In their sockets
Napped with hate,
And in the ribcages
Snored the love.
And as I threw
More roses in,
I wondered if loving the bones
Was a sin.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
Clenched fist
Paced the little giant about the space
endless body trembles
Chronicles of palm wine infested nerves
What is there in his name?
So much she had stood firm for it
Wanting his love against her kins wish
Offerings to a deity
One that snored with farts
Evil had taken his vision
the first strokes of his cane, the devil’s err
The mighty wrestler had no match
For at the other end stood a damsel
A one in distress
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
A Faded Blue Door
I used to feel so much.
Now I only feel the cold concrete beneath my feet.
As I stand on this quiet and empty street.
A house stands in front of me.
A home is what it used to be.
With its faded blue door which never did shut right.
Holes in the walls, where bricks used to be.
And standing in the yard an old cheery tree.
It used to be fruitful, now withered and dead.
Under that same tree you made a promise to me,
then carried me upstairs into our warm queen bed.
That same bed where you silently slept,
And I stayed awake as you snored, but I wept.
A promise is a promise, but the promise you never kept.
I hope she felt like silk on your skin,
While trickles of tears sailed down my chin.
An antique bathtub stands proud in the bathroom.
Rusted away, and stained with my blood.
I once filled it with water until it started to flood.
I drowned my sorrows, and vanquished my gloom.
A rickety old porch now crumbling away,
Is the place where I sit day to day.
Pondering, will this ever go away?
Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life,
As a wandering, sad, old spirit wife?
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Henry was walking
with his wife
along the sidewalk
in the city
looking for some cafe
she knew
and wanted to go
when he saw this young dame
in a wheelchair
with long hair
and fine features
pushing the wheels
with her hands
and she had these
leather fingerless gloves
and he thought
who puts her in
and out of the chair?
who holds her close
to them and smells
the shampoo
in her hair
feels her small *******
against them as they hold?
who gets her in
and out of the tub
or in and out of bed
who washes her back
or wipes her ***
She had wheeled herself by
but not before
he’d taken in all
that he could
the jeans she wore
the white tee-shirt
the black shoes
the pretty lips
the way she gripped
and pushed the wheels
his wife was yakking
about some dress
she’d seen
in some store
and wanted to go
and look and maybe buy
but the passing dame
had caught his eye
and he wondered how
she got to be in the chair
accident or from birth
disease or some beat up
that went wrong?
He couldn’t ask that’d
be too rude and besides
she was well on
her way now
and his wife was striding
on with determined gaze
but he couldn’t get
the dame out of his head
her sitting there
with her long flowing hair
and those eyes
and the constant questions
of who did what for her
and how did she
do this and that
and who lifted her up
and out? was it some
strong guy some
dedicated hunk?
Or maybe her mother
and father did the job
of getting her in shape
and bathed
he thought
and did she *****
like other dames
have some fond lover
who played the game?
All the questions
and no answers
made him wonder more
even later in the cafe
sipping the his latte
while his wife yakked away
and even later that night
in bed besides his wife
who snored
he pictured the dame
beside him
a paraplegic model
or an art piece
that he adored.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
I stayed home today
to work, when being in a cafe
would be nicer, but there
would be no cats and this ones brother died
and I don't know how much more cat snoring
there will be
my favorite cat
a human snore will send me into a fit
on a French train, a bullet train a man
snored as we passed a nuclear power plant
a big one near a lake with beautiful giant lili pads
floating with flowers in the golden evening sun
and I could have
thrown him out even though he was
in the back far away from me
and I used to kick my husband
when he slept and choked on his own flesh
making that vibration, not a kind
or tolerant wife when it came to snoring
but my cat snores and it's cute and soothing
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
silently he snored
i noticed him laying
crampt
in the corner
full beard
tattered soul
the lights of the subway moving across his face to a steady rhythm
thump, thump
thump, thump
i was a visitor in his bedroom
his blanket of air wrapped him tightly
to wall his pillow
and my eyes a melody
of empathy
but not
of respect
of hope he'd find something better tomorrow
of a naive visitor
i was just a visitor
as the muffled fdsalg of the conductor slightly ruffled his blanket
we stopped moving
doors closed
still
it's cold
good midnight
the smell crept up to him and woke him of burning rubber
and i'm fearful
for you
for me
for us
this subway is a vessel
it shows no discrimination
and death would hit us all equally
but i'd want you to be alive
this is your home
not mine
i'm merely a visitor
i'm merely a visitor
judging you
writing your story for you
reading your feeling from your tired fact as if i know you
as if we go back to five minutes ago
without you speaking for you
i don't see you
i see your salt and peppa beard
your tattered clothes
your upgrade from pillow of wall to arm
your dark worn out skin
your eyes
i see
your eyes and they say
this is just another day
thump, thump
we move
to the rhythm of your breath
you blanketed me
thank you for warming me in your heart
involuntarily
i would give you a gift
but all i have is my complacency in my seat and the comfort of my hotel room at the next stop
but also because i'm a stranger
judging you
writing your life for you
reading your eyes
from mine
you have a voice
i'm just you observation
a stranger
meaningless
my pity would not last you more than second
it would hurt me to hear your
no, thank you
thank you for reminding me
there's life on the train ride
and it doesn't wear a coat of judgement
or lover's holding hands
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
**The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Left crumbs in my bed,
Clothes on the floor and taken me for a lot more.
It’s a movement of a different eye,
A different shape
A different style,
Place and time.
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Left dishes in the sink
A bald tire here and there.
Bills on the table and no food to spare.
The sweetest smile I"ve ever seen;
Shook its judgmental head and left me squarely dead.
Running off in tow.
Screaming words obscene, Then laughing in-between!
The sweetest smile I"ve ever seen;
Wraps around upside down, then pulls me through.
Each year comes anew.
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Comes in red, green, orange and even yellow too.
Some bright and others blue.
Different laughs that echo and others that heckle.
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Snored so loudly!
On the floor! I could take no more!
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Hogged the bed – slurred, read and purred in my head.
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Never drove, not one inch! – so the distance I would go.
Just to hear its passionate sigh, steamy desire and gaze into its bedroom eyes.
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Has depth and vibe. It has a way to survive.
With all its doubts, screams and shouts.
It sometimes hides before it completely backs out.
The sweetest smile I've ever seen;
Will always be, a treasure from those who just can not be.
Will there be a smile just for me?
I’ll just have to wait and see…
Copyright E Perez 2013**
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Hmmmmmmmmm....
She thought to herself.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
The bee worried the flower.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
Snored the man in the chair.
Ssssshhhhhhhhhhh....
The librarian shrieked.
Mmmmmmmmmm.....
Heard during a long kiss.
Ooooooooooooh.....
Surprised by unexpected gifts.
Uuuummmm..........
Unsure of the right words.
..............................
Silence also speaks volumes.
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
you were there for me the first night
i got drunk and drove home
smelling like cigarettes
you were inconsolable
gave me ginger ale
got on your hands and knees
scrubbed ***** out of my mother's new carpet
when i tried to apologize the next morning
through tattered lips and clammy pores
you just smiled, kissed my eyelids
gave me water, let me orbit the drain
on my 17th birthday, you were there
when i drank myself into impotence
showed you hidden things in dresser drawers
we snored our futures into the same pillow
you lied to my friends, said i took your virginity
and i didn't ask you to
i was there for you the first day
of the 9th grade when both your eyes were closed
but you were pretty in your
matching purple sundress, i kissed your ears
as if i could leap into your body
live there awhile
you said your brother gave them to you
he was born drunk and mean
i was there for you when he died
early on a cold morning in december
we shot bottle rockets
into the sky, so glad to be alive
welcomed the sun shivering naked in the river
drank an 11 dollar bottle of champagne
giggled and ****** on the floral tablecloth
of your mother's kitchen table
i was there, whispering lyrics in your ear
watching white pigeons in my periphery
as the grave of your best friend
pulled salt out of your eyes
you were inconsolable
i held onto you as if
you would float away
i still believe you might
i've been holding strong ever since
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
A rotten thief was at work last night
He stole thirty sheep from Mr Wright
He wasn't aware of the thievery
He had his head on a pillow's livery
There he snored till nine o'clock
After he arose he went to check his flock
He noted that thirty sheep had gone astray
To whit he called the police in an urgent splay
The local constable came in a hurry
To investigate as to why the sheep did scurry
He detected a tyre indent on the muddy track
It bore a pattern akin to a badly stitched sack
His instincts told him who did the stealing
It was the fellow who jumped out of Mrs Ray's ceiling
With the crime solved he bade Mr Wright good day
To pursue the robber who'd got away
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
as soon you as you walked through the door
i could see you were not feeling well
you rushed into my arms
buried your head in my chest
and started to cry
i wrapped my arms around you
hugged you tight
pressed you near
your cries turned to sobs
i kissed your temple, your hair
“what’s wrong,” i asked
“i not feeling well, i’m coming down with the flu,” you replied
“i’ll take care of you Minou,” i whispered softly in your ear
i took your hand
lead you to the couch
laid you down
i removed your shoes
covered you
gently stroked your hair
“i’ll make you some peppermint tea with honey,” i said
i turned on the tv
flipped to your favorite netflix show
started the tea
the water boiled
i steeped the bag
brought you the cup
laid it on the table
you were falling asleep
i snuggled up along side of you
warm and cozy under the covers
you cuddled up
a leg across my hip
your head on my chest
you hair tickled my nose
i patted it down
slightly away
i petted
caressed your hair
savoring your scent
your smell
i held you in my arms
sensing your breath
feeling your heartbeat
slowly, you drifted asleep
muscles relaxing
inhaling, exhaling deeply, gently
i held you dear
protecting, providing, nurturing, nursing you
you are my partner
my lover
my wife
but tonight you are my child
you mumbled in your sleep
wiped your nose on my shirt
drooled a tad
you were congested
your breath wheezed
you snored a bit
i loved you more
i never felt like a man
this intensely
caring, tending, loving his wife, his Minou
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
At midnight,
After the rains,
I spread my wings
And flew across
The wide road
Without any company
And there,
Was this board.
Sparrow trading
That’s good.
Trading sparrows.
Trading birds.
Birds to be sold.
I decided
To troll
Ravishankar aka Ra Sh
As a translator
And Babu Ramachandran
Aka Alberto Caeiro.
I entered
The Sparrow Factory.
The Bird Market.
Wholesale trading centre of birds
Without ringing the bell.
I did not want to
Wake up
Even a single little sparrow,
So,
I stepped in
Without a sound
Or even a thought.
There was no bird
At the gate
The watchman
A retired soldier
Snored.
I moved on.
There was no one.
Where did those two cat eyes go?
I pushed
The window
Open
Gently
And looked in.
A lad
Fast asleep
Breaking all grammar
In some unknown language.
Brother, brother
I called
Without the birds hearing it.
That
Unknown language
Blinked awake
And walked up to me.
I felt so sad for him.
I asked,
Softly,
Weighed down by guilt.
Birds?
He said.
Birds gone loose.
Birds gone loose?
Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose.
Every human being
On this universe
Sang
In many languages.
That
Birds gone loose.
Nothing more to say.
*You too can try these three things. Except going in search of those birds that have gone loose.
Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by Anand Haridas
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 1:04 AM UTC
Miriam coming out of her tent
caught the early morning sun;
let it transform her into slow
wakefulness; allowed herself to be
caressed by its heat, its motherly
warmth. Her companion in the
tent, some girl from Lancashire
who spoke such utter tripe, slept
and snored on. She scanned
the field of tents, red and blue
across the greenness. She wished
she knew where Benny's tent was,
but it was pouring with rain last
evening and both fled to their tents
to avoid getting wetter than they
already were. How wet she got,
right down to her underclothes;
sticking to her skin, which had
to be peeled off, and trying to do
all that in the small tent unable
to stand, with the girl gawking
at her as if she'd never seen a
naked body before. She zipped
up the tent, and made her way
up to the campsite restaurant
through the green field still damp
dampening her shoes. The restaurant
was busy; people talking, queuing
up for food and drink, table upon
table packed with other campers.
She lined up; she'd find a table
after; sit where ever. Benny found
her and told her where he was
and the table. She felt a thrill enter
her; a sense of excitement flowed
through her body as if someone
had switched a switch and sent
off a deep overriding desiring itch.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
If I had known earlier that
My almost becoming blind
Would bring you back
Then I guess ...
Even in the darkness,my mind was still active,
It drew up images of you, of books,of the my piano,
But mostly you ,mostly of us ,Mostly of things I thought,
I wouldn't see again but I heard your voice,That was real.
Even in the darkness,My skin remembered your touch,
I felt your hot tears on my skin,telling me you are there ,
At the end of this tunnel,your palm never left mine ,
Even as you snored into the night,You held it .
Even in the darkness,My ears made out what you said,
How you constantly stressed the doctors and nurses,
How you begged me to wake up because you just got me back,
How you still loved me and you forgive me and your sorry ,
How you prayed I never knew you prayed even in Arabic,
How you had secret conversations with my bro,
Just because you didn't want to move from my bedside.
Even in the darkness,my senses weren't dead I felt everything,
Emotions I couldn't hide,Thoughts I tried to push away,
Beauty and peace at all the things and people I had and don't,
Mostly my weak body ironically wanted to comfort you ,
Tell you that am sorry too and am happy you found me,
Mostly I missed reading and playing on my piano.
If I had know earlier that almost becoming silently blind,
Would bring you back to me,
Would let me see the blessings around me,
Then I guess ... but only with the ulterior motive of feeling this,
To know all this but everything happens at the right planned time,
So I guess i wouldn't have wanted to have gone though this earlier.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 4:48 AM UTC
The day all of Israel fell asleep,
bald men in the shuk
lowered their heads onto eggs and squash
and snored out spice and
the tourists
dropped their cameras and lined the streets like
new roads made of
backpack to cover old stone
and
little children watching littler children
sharp in their shabbos dresses
laid in the mud and dug their white-tighted knees into the dirt and sighed
and I
sitting in my room
smoking tea and
standing on my head
forgot
about my broken foot
forgot
the time I turned my
stomach toward yours squinted my
eyes and pretended we were dancing
didn’t ask myself
How many seas I’d sail before
I could sleep in the sand
and I curled up to my
blanket with somebody else’s blood on it
and yawned.
Today all of Jerusalem broke silent,
the buses stopped and passengers froze
sirens singing then stopping one by one like electric geese shot down,
but no one was sleeping
only grieving
the fallen soldiers of a country young as me, old as dirt.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 7:01 AM UTC