"specked" poems
I.
and I galumphed
to the rock salt
shore and
collapsed
waiting for
you
to run over
the dune’s
slope
II.
it had only been
a few minutes
but I could see
the rhino cloud
coming
full
steam
and spitting
fire
if only I had
the strength
but you stole that
from me
too
III.
the steam was
fresh against
my cracked
skin
I could feel the
salt melt off
into the
sand
crane swinging
jaws engulfing
my twisted
body
IV.
I did not find you
inside
only an
unbreakable bottle
with an
unreachable
note and a skeleton
with rings
on its
fingers
V.
my last dreams
were ones
of us
on a mountain
hot air balloon
shadow
specked against
the sunset
everything was so
big
the wind blew
your hair
everywhere
as I drank
in the
storm
this was the last
time I remembered
smiling
VI.
black expanse
with a little
white dot
popping from
corner to
corner
life always played games
with me
death was no
different
VII.
this creature
feared you
this creature
was a long visit
with fire burning
and love notes
this creature was
spit out by
your mouth
this creature
was loud by
your breath
this creature
spackled and
magnetized
never reborn
boat stench and
teeth
mashed
and mashed
again
raining on
your body as
the desert breaks from
its last
drought
VIII.
we will meet
again
I’m sure of
it.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
There is a blue stain from my pajamas blotched upon the white wall from where you pushed me up against. From when your hips gridded against my thighs, a graph with linear equations that doubled and doubled and tripled. From when your fingers found the furrows inside my skin, planting seeds I am eager yet scared to see blossom.
There is a blue stain from my pajamas specked upon the wall, from when our hunger was too ravenous for even the wolves I tried to suppress. From the sweat I licked off and tasted sweeter than gumdrops coated with honey. From when my legs found your waist, squeezing, Medua’s hair demolishing a man too good, too tasty. From where your palms collided with my wrists, blacks and blues and yellows shooting through closely knit pores.
There is a blue stain from my pajamas splattered upon the wall, and I pass it with a smirk, feeling the presence of you. What will be our next victim, I wonder
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
Frayed and grayed
Oversized and overused
Why you still hold onto it,
has everyone bemused.
Freckled and speckled
Like a cinnamon stick
warm winter stories
Keeping it thick
Pale fingernails, peak through the sleeves,
Tears and holes decorate the wrists.
From between cupped hands
Rise cinnamon flavored mists
Warm memories ride down your throat
Thawed hearts melt with every sip
Cinnamon specked bubbling froth
Settles above your lip
Cinnamon flavored laughs
Punctuate the conversations
Spicy aroma tickles the nose
Sniffing for winter’s indications
Warm memories on cold nights
Fill up the empty holes in your sleeves
Packed with stories soaked in cinnamon
And the sweater becomes fuller with the memories it weaves
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
Train Sets were always the coolest gift
I mean, I never got one
but that's what the movies say
now I ride trains daily
monotonous jumble of
commute.work.commute. sleep.
a ******
brains get swallowed whole without my morning Joe
but there was a time...
...there was a time when
I rode that Polar Express to bliss
crazed off hot chocolate
golden ticket in hand
then
I slipped on ice caps
instead of sleeping on beaches
dreaming up Mad Hatter candy mogels
then
Tom Hank's voice was the patter of reindeer
and magic was cast by wizards
not scientists
A White Beard
wise as Gandolf & Dumbledore
specked with canyons of God
would laugh jolly into a nation
into a season
into that dusting galaxy of a child's eye
that beard
holy and revered
would laugh humanity into a rattled world
slipping down chimneys
it would leave propaganda of hope
in the form of trainsets
No, I never got one
but I loved that beard
and the silver bells on its sleigh
they are voiceless now
but I keep them for their shine
I miss those days
...sometimes...
I think about them on my train rides
wishing I had a different destination
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
I will never be
ensconced in
charming lace
valentine
hearts
candypink encased
You will not see me
withering away
back of hand
upon brow
in fainting stance
in a flowing silk dress
swinging on a
perfect bough
For I am a river
wild and true
sometimes quiet
sometimes
roaring and
soaring in
shimmering hues:
Blues and greens
mixed with shades
of earth, of fire
bespeaking emotions
in tones of desire
My river can get messy
can flood over too fast
because my heartstrings
get pulled
by the strength of
the blast
It can bring up
colored stones
in its undertow
fish and otters
spinning
in voodoo
overflow
As the colors rise up
in this heated coolness,
this deluge
the influx overwhelms me
with a power so huge
and then I need
some metallics,
flecks of silver and gold
to soothe
passion's piquancy
when it gets
particularly bold
Specked within rocks
to ground me, keep
my feet on the soil
prevent my heart
from slipping
down into
a choking,
hot oil
Bronze minerals reflect
peaks of sadness,
searing pain
from rawness of hurt
with no one to blame
Yes, it can be a balm
and also a burn
to be so linked
by spirit-threads
to another, in emotions
that churn
just on the brink
but never truly there
to experience the
fullness of rush
ripe culmination
abundant and lush
and that's when the
river turns
into molten
lava...
and I must dig
deep under
layers of ancient strata
seeking relief
in coolness of earth
as my spirit
again undergoes
a kind of rebirth
For when we
grow to love
strange things
happen, indeed
In the core of
my essence
you are the root
of my
seed
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
ants protest the rain
in vain / water flows / terrain
specked with ant remains
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 5:51 PM UTC
Mediocre Flow (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
==Mediocre Flow ==
by
SassyJ
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Copy the link below to your browser)
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/mediocreflow
In the woods I get lost, arrays of green specked by the rays of the sun. The wind blows but its swift in measure. I get lost my body in the breeze, as the time runs faster I breath slower. Lost in the wonder of the nature. I lay it all down, the worldly desires, disused contributions… all in the mediocre flow.
The grounds feels so alive, alone but never lonely. The trees talk to me, they journey my vulnerabilities. A hug of the branches goes far beyond. The only lean over that drives me to ecstasy of …….my mediocre flow.
All done with expectations and chasing the unending mazes. We become the mistresses of the earth, arching and protracting with emotions, lotions ……looming greyed blues. Hold this packet of stars, I pass it to you to touch, to overflow in it’s magic and fantastic voyages of the. …..mediocre flow
Feel the greenness patched on the muddy grounds. Have the enliven nature of the flying bubble. See the flow of the waters, the contraction of the streams to the lakes. Touch the drops….the raindrops, nurture them as they sink below your feet. Feel the life, feel alive….. the mediocre flow
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC
See I will remember you.
My brain, categorizing as it is
In its Obsessive Compulsive ways
Remembers everything-
Filed away to one day illicit
An emotion I know not of now.
I will remember your fingers skillfully tracing
My outline, your breath
Against mine as we lay
On the bed you made
Up with new sheets.
I will remember the new
Sheets and your excitement
For them as our sweat moistened
Their crisp newness on that
Balmy early summer evening.
I will forever remember purple:
The color of those sheets;
The color of anything favorite
And happy and nice and You.
But that was then and
Years from now, as I walk
Down the street in a town
That's not this one, my
Fingers interlocked in the
Hand of a man who is not you,
I will see a girl pass
Me by in a lovely purple dress
And I will remember. I will
Remember the night
When that girl was me
And that dress was mine
And that color was yours.
But, there's the rub, the
Sandy rub after a long, hot, sweaty
Perfect day at the beach,
The salt to the sweet of
This all- my brain will store
This, everything, store it away
And I will remember. I will
Remember the leaves that crept
Down your shoulder, permanently
Inked into your freckled skin.
I will remember the look and
The words and the touch.
But will you? Will you remember
The way I smell of
Sunflower and stale smoke
Coming in from the rain, blue
Eyes peaking up from
Rain specked spectacles
Gleaming in the dim light of
Your livingroom?
Because I will, I can't help it.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
I am under the sun’s dust-specked rays
With the low mumbles of a nearby river flowing into my ears
My brain bathes in it’s cool water
The pitter-patter of energetic drips hopping in and out of their prism
Becomes the only sound that occupies my head
Leaves,
Brown
Gold
Holey
Deep
Crunch crunch crunching
Dirt like magnetic attraction clasp to
My boots
My pants
My hair
The sky
Empty
Unoccupied by nothing but the birds that fly in it
Deep breaths of wind proud and tenacious caress my eager face
And it gets dark and the sky swirls and contorts
Screaming out it’s agony and frustration
Over another dying day
It assaults my eyes with it’s canvas
Melted oranges, cascading reds, opaque violets
Illuminating all it looks over
With the glow of it’s ferocity
The scent of pine needles and bark seep into my weary lungs
And I am invigorated with a burst of life
I’ll laugh and let the cold air cap my teeth
And grab my naked eyes
And shake me and shake me and shake me until
I can’t take it
And I cry from it’s frozen clutch
And I laugh and my face is as red as the burnt burgundy leaves that cushion the bottom of my boots
And all
I can hear
Are the echos
Of my solitude
And the toads
Croaking
And
My skin
Warms
And my
Heartbeats
And
My brain
Is silenced
And my eyes close
When I open them I see nothing but my ceiling
And I look forward and my TV is staring at me
With the look of nefariousness it always has
Frantic, desperate, delirious
I grab at my skin
And I
Am
Cold
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
Spider
Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.
The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you
You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.
Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
they come into your life
leaving everything important
untouched,
in its place
but certain things they change
like picture frames
at jaunty angles
these magnificent creatures
flit into our lives
and back out
so fast
you barely remember them
until drunk summer nights
at the river rock festival
they seem to line up
beneath star specked
inky skies
and the heavy blanket
of summer humidity
girls with hugs
and guys with great roars of joy
as if they had been searching for you all night
memories are remembered
new experiences embellished
before the thread of your lives
untangle once more
and they are gone
off into the chasm of darkness
indefinitely
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
Lounging on my windowsill are the two most beautiful plants I have seen.
One has half of its leaves chewed off, the other half are wilting but it is full of life.
It is full of good intentions and affection.
The other is a thriving Cactus Collection,
although they are better classified as succulents. Deep shades of green specked with reds, they are the apple of my eye for when the giver of these gifts is not present.
She is beautiful,
let me tell you,
she is stunning.
I once compared the feelings she gives me to the high of various drugs,
but that sad attempt of expression is a bastardization of how she makes me feel.
Of what she makes me feel.
She makes me feel the entirety of the cosmos painted onto her lips.
She breathes the life of earth into my neck and ***** passion out of my pores.
Her fingertips are a skeleton key to a chest containing any hint of beauty a human could possess.
She is magical, mystical,
beauty personified.
She is an essence.
Of what?
Of moons, stars, and birds.
Of elementary school playgrounds,
of Chinatown jasmine tea.
Her legs are soft beyond comprehension,
like the feeling of silk in a dream.
Her laughter is vibrant beyond comparison but let me try;
With words? I cannot! But with a kiss, I may attempt.
She is my favorite book,
she is French existentialism,
she is freshly cut grass!
She is the Yuba River!
Her beauty is measurable just as each drop of water in the Russian River is measurable.
She is immense and powerful.
She kisses tenderly and ***** wholeheartedly.
She speaks genuinely and loves truthfully.
Their will be no ending to this
because their is no end to her beauty.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
"Hello baby, how have you been
You know I'm coming back there soon,
I'll get to tell you of things I've seen
As we sit beneath the moon
I miss you so with all my heart
And till we meet again
It's been rough to spend this time apart
So, I will wait until then.
To hold you once more in my arms
And look upon your face
You know I'll keep you safe from harm
You make my heartbeat race
We;ll have our wedding in the churchl that
We were christened in as kids
You know there church where we once sat
And as children we once hid
We'll soon be one when we are wed
Our family has begun
It;ll be like we both said
We;ll be stronger now as one.
You know I miss you every day
But you keep me alive
A safe return to you I pray
It's the goal to which I strive
It's been three years that I've been here
In this hell hole of a war
But I've been strong and shown no fear
With your love at my core
My time is short and I must go
Our squadron has to part
But in two weeks you know I;ll show
The love that's in my heart"
As I look out upon the field
The green grass specked with white
I really think how beautiful
To see this scene so bright
There are those who've come beofre today
and stood here just like me
Of those who come for JFK
Who died in sixty three
You see I am in Arlington
To lay my love to rest
He died when he was fired on
With five more of our best
He wrote me that love letter
Post marked two weeks ago today
Our lives would be much better
When he got home from the fray.
His squad was taken quickly and
Not one of them survived
They're together now on sacred land
And my letter just arrived.
Hello baby, how have you been
You know I'm coming back there soon,
I'll get to tell you of things I've seen
As we sit beneath the moon
I miss you so with all my heart
And till we meet again
But now we're not so far apart
Now he's in Arlington.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
No this wasn't platonic, white and placid
Made out of crimson cherries and blueberries
It was amplifying, reddish, corrosive as acid
I couldn't move my jaw, or breathe; I choked
Like breathing was an illusion I saw before my eye
No! This didn't go away with time.
It resided, very well groomed in my heart
Oh closely! Listen! Can you hear it beat?
And thump, and pound and pound and pound!
No it wasn't an aimless seed planted perfect
It was an explosive, a bomb you say!
What has this world got against my heart?
It cracked, held still and shattered, by sudden?
No! Well rehearsed plots, undergoing attacks.
And words came bursting out,
And blood flooded my mouth
And specked your charming face .
And I fell...
Into your arms, you ask?
No! Onto the ground..
Onto the solid ground that kept me company.
You left, my dear!
Knowing not! Knowing not!
How my craze is a realm of love
And a touch of reality...
Tina RSH ©
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 5:13 AM UTC
The olives groves you uprooted
And the homes you bulldozed
They may be gone now
But the soil must still know
To whom the land belongs.
From the rubble,
From the blood,
New branches will grow.
New homes will rise.
Because doves will fly on blood specked wings
To pass on the message
That Palestine still sings:
of the children you shot
and the blood that you spilled
The young men you imprisoned
and the hope you hoped would rot.
Our children have been promised
Your so-called promised land
So don't get too comfortable
On my well-worn couch.
I'll come back to reclaim it
My couch, my country, my land.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
Don't trust boys with maddening hunger and hazel specked eyes i guarantee you there's a monster behind that mask, don't let him sweet talk years of your life away, he's insanely good at it. Don't let him ****** your mind so he can put you in a closet for when he wants you.
Don't trust boys with glasses and slouchy shoulders, his heart is cold and his mind is tilted, believe me he's not worth the fight save yourself the trouble and walk away before he tears you in two.
Don't trust boys with lip piercings and dusty hearts, he'd run back to his drug of choice if given the chance and I promise you no matter how much you pray, it won't be you. He'll take your last breath before you have a chance to scream, don't you dare let him run away with your voice, he may have left you breathless but I swear to god he is poison.
Don't trust boys with bruises and curly hair, there's no telling how deep his wounds are and no matter how much you beg and plead and cry and howl at the moon that this wasn't suppose to happen he'll walk away too, he won't be able to close the door to his past. Believe me it will hurt like hell, some days it will feel hard to get out of bed. But this is exactly why you should not trust boys with whirl winds in their eyes and daggers in their fingertips and this is exactly what they will do to you. I would know, because it happen to me.
vm
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
In the land that bleeds,
Sighs, weeps and screams-
Yet silent, sans vision
Crowned with unspoken dreams,
There lived a hope,
A wish to see the day-
A day not stained with blood,
The one five oceans away.
Paradise on Earth, as they call,
Breathes through nostrils burnt.
Its skin specked with landmines
And not a single soul concerned.
Two Watans, one tug of war-
To drag it in their maps.
Soldiers killed, the innocent blown,
Parched Earth, thirsty taps.
This never-ending show of greed,
Will shatter everything, they say.
So, to Kashmir, tranquility
Is but five oceans away.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
You can take what I have
You can hurt me into nothingness
You can speak about me in that foul way
Use me, berate me
There's no one to inflate me
You can grab my hand
And tell me you hate me
That I'm unworthy
That I should be dead
That my birth was a mistake
That I should go to church and pray
That I'll die today
But let me tell you something
You are a piece of dirt
Would I stoop to your level?
To get trod upon?
I think not.
But you will never be better than me
You will always be the filthy person who,
Untrue to their words,
Will never be something great
I will rule a nation
I will organize a society
I will be recognized.
You, however, will be the beggar on the ground
Begging for scraps
Your wild hair specked with mud,
Your hands covered in dirt.
You will remember when you treated me like I was the dirt beneath
Your expensive shoe-clad feet
When you thought you had me beat
You thought your insults were sharp spears
Ready to impale me,
To **** me.
You will look at yourself
A ***** person with puffy, ****** lips
Tattered rags that hang on your body and show what is under them
You will cry,
And it will be a bath.
You can tell me I'm not good enough
You can tell me I'm a spawn of some horrible creature
You can tell me what you want.
But there will come a time
When you look at yourself.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen
gentlemen, no.
He exclaimed Oh
The crow in the blue specked mansion
has not yet showered
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
question mark eyes,
dust specked with
anguished lies.
his graceless feet
are always dancing
but not to his soul's beat.
songs sung with unknown
notes, so he drowns himself
in the bars that are shown.
perhaps one day, he'll
read the sheet music,
but for now he's still
dancing to the mysterious
tune and he always will.
stuck with what he's got,
tortured by what he sought.
that's the tune of the world.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
All of your relations
Acquaintances, Lovers, Ancestors,
Stand buried in the rock
Which you left for the stars.
All of your dreams
To be anything but
A passenger of exploration
Hurdling towards the stars.
All of your advancement
From fire to fission
Brought you to the edge
To the unknown light of the stars.
All of your history
From nomadic to communist conquest,
Dwindles to bygone feuds of nothing
Specked with glimmers of the stars.
All of your prayer
Inquisitions and moral apostasy,
Matters not to the mirrors of Fate
Refracting illumination, reflecting life
Parsecs of attainable depth, here we are.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
Destiny
i think I’m in love with you
your freckles placed in all the perfect places
i have never laid eyes on anyone as beautiful as you
your belly, your kisses,
i want to make you my mrs.
everything about you radiates like sunlight,
bright, the light of my life
maybe i knew i was in love with you
when we snuck into the city pool
the different evening hues of blues reflected
onto the most beautiful face God ever created
tomboy, you exude confidence
you’re my destiny
my excellence, my queen my princess
your eyes, sea specked emerald
your hair, damp and curly
you.
your culture, you represent
your skin, you take pride in
you.
your tattoos, like braille under my fingertips
goddess of the moon
i love you, i belong to you
maybe i knew i loved you
when we baked apple pies to have a picnic,
(i still have your floral blouse,)
and you rowed us out to the rivers
between the mountains behind your house
when we were boating, floating, breath holding,
you need love to feel alive
and i need you to love being alive
you are so free, a butterfly, the wind, my high
maybe i knew when we stayed up watching Pokemon
on an ancient glowing box, the ones that have VHS slots
not quite a television
the ones that say play in blocky letters
where we would sit and watch in nothing but our oversized sweaters
your energy,
your hands between my thighs
the days we would eat fries, through the window,
watching the sky pass by
there are many things about you,
you are unapologetic, i admire that
you have me under your spell, witchcraft
maybe i knew when we clung to the end of the train
instead of paying two fifty for a ticket,
the wind whipping, slapping the hair into our faces, onto our lips
everyday we were together was an eclipse
our hearts practically mended into one
you were the most splendid, the most fun
maybe then i knew
ripped denim jeans, black belt
you’re my Calvin model
with a brush of your fingertips,
you could make me melt
the comic books spread messily but aesthetically
across the white bedsheets we lay on, unmovingly
in each others arms for days,
we had no price to pay
you are the most fabulous ***** in the room, i agree
no other could have what you have, you are someone i need
maybe i knew i loved you when the sun set,
as we watched on the roof tops of the endless new york skylines
you are a gorgeous woman, i agree
our chemistry,
the way you walk
your personality, i need to pause just thinking about you
your voice, your accent,
our matching checkered vans, our matching tattoos
i love you.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
There was once a poet from long ago
Who stories told of transformations
I shall tell of one that you may not know
Pyramus and Thisbe who loved through a cracked foundation
Whose houses were connected, neighbors were they
Families ensnared in rivalry and outrage
Oh how did it so weigh
On these blind lovers left with lips to assuage!
A crack so small only a desperate lover could see
A whisper only could dance through to ease
Two star-crossed lovers crouching on hands and knees
Expressing words that warm and please
To bring to light
Their love they did agree
To meet late at night
By the white mulberry tree
Thisbe first to show and await did she
Until a loud rustle filled the air
Frightened she ran off and hid thee
So fast her veil escaped the grasp of her hair
A lioness fresh from feeding
Paraded on passing by,
She went sniffing and licking
Veil now red left under the midnight sky
Pyramus, with the white specked tree in view
Sees just an empty sheath
Just a mulberry tree under a blanket of moonlit blue
With a crimson soaked veil underneath
Thinking he lost his heart's desire
She the cure to eternal strife
Life now nothing but mire
Wishes to follow her in afterlife
A sword he did reveal
With both hands set and firm
Fell on this stinging steel
Left as food for the callous worms
Oh how his blood did gush
Painting white mulberries incarnadine
Thisbe returning in such a rush
For Pyramus she did pine
A lifeless corpse awaits for her
Under that maledict tree
Blood soaked veil she did incur
So she dropped to one knee
Life without him she hated
A breast she did beat
Cried to the gods, fated
His sword she did greet
Forbidden love changed white to red
The berries we have today
Ill fated lovers left dead
To embrace in rot and decay
Together on the pyre
Rivalry has come to end
Lovers cradled in fire
Ashes in one urn, together again.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
*The dark, fog, shadows... Sunset...
The sharp sound of a ****** of crows in a carrion tree
that has more stories to tell than the earth itself.
Slight chilling breeze
Ropes slowly swing
Specked with blood, from past lives.
The face, crying upon a rock, as if it were tears of crimson.
Echoes of children through the hollow air.
But there is nothing*
...
Nothing at all
You are alone.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC