"speedboat" poems
curled in bed
eyes pinched tight
whole body trembling,
sleep escaped hours ago
this is how it is trying to talk to you.
like pulling teeth with pliers
clenched in a small boy's fist
a wry grin on his determined face,
knotted eyebrows will ache for days
like being pulled by a speedboat
tossing and turning in the wake
skin on my palms already gone
taking a breath, giving up, letting go,
crashing hard onto cold water's surface
like my chest giving out
every breath catching on its way in
hands digging through a too messy bag
inhaler nowhere in sight, help nowhere in sight,
breathing is too hard to handle right now
like a beach beyond the caves
crawling through at low tide,
sand gritty under fingernails, sun stinging on flushed cheeks
lounging on sharp boulders that dig between shoulder blades,
then rushing back home to escape being trapped for the night
toes tickled with goodbye kisses from the dark, growing waves
through missing teeth and breath,
under wrinkled sheets, and sand and water,
I can't hear anything.
I never could.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
We spill our coffee and reach for the paper towels
We toss tons upon tubs of aluminum cans with the trash each hour
We turn lights on in the middle of the day when the brightest beacon is all we need
We stay glued to televisions evening in and morning out
ANd don't even listen to what they're saying
We sure hear it in the background
Of our cell phone chats and screaming brats
Need Need Need
Is all they say
Day after day
WHy must we need these things so badly
It takes more effort to get ********* and stupid
Than to peacefully sit
And think
About anything in particular
And nothing at the moment
Or something in time
But we do it anyways
Week and week and weak
ANd we wake up the next morning and toss the cans
In a plastic bag
WHich we throw in a bigger can
Which gets picked up by this rolling thundering truck of a thing
That burns more gas than a speedboat
Which is what we're all riding through this life
Rather than paddling down a gentle brook
In a hollowed out tree
Oh wait
We cut all of those down to make more things
Like post it notes we use once
And then toss in another metal can
With another plastic bag
Which as you may guess
Goes on and on in this excessive
And perpetual cycle of total waste
Those trees make pieces of plywood
Which kids paint designs on
And toss ***** back and forth
into more plastic cups
When we could just set our own glasses
Around the place in random spots
And they don't even need to be cups
They could be fishbowls
And you find a small item that does not need to be a ping pong ball it could be a lil toy lion or a seashell or a miniature book
Or an acorn
In fact
Why do we even have houses in the first place
It doesn't rain that often
And when it does
You might as well just climb under a tree
Or duck into a cliff
Or be ******* resourceful
And find a natural solution
Stop buying bag after bag after bag of plastic party cups
Take the ones you already have and make someting fun
You could use them to play a game where you build a palace
By balancing the cups and making walls and such
You can do that with anything you have in your house or outside or wherever you are
Find the fun in things
Think about the infitine number of things you could do with each item you see
We should just sort through our dumps and take evertyhgin and make it into something useful
Stop resource production completely
And live naturally.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
Frogs stand , eyeing the ending oceans touches
Fruit on shoulder - woman walks in front of tanning visitors from far off places
here to grace the island with beach novels and naps.
Zip wetsuit , speedboat serenade attempts in vain to drown the roar of ocean and soft coo of dove
nor splash of body in pool or the glimpsed brief conversation in passing from no faced strangers
Low and conspicuous hang the cumulus cloud , or could be base of thunderstorms stiring brew.
Return , Re - Turn to open ended , natural flow of water lines and bike bells toll , to late night samba and leave the propaganda , tender touches and daytime lunch , with night time conversational munch .
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with W.”
“Water.”
“Yep. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with S.”
“Sky.”
“Yep. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with W.”
“Water.”
“Yep. I spy with…”
It just goes on and on, ceaselessly sailing towards another shade of blue.
A cloud, white against the heavens, floats by.
I want it to stop right above me, shelter me from this incessant colour.
It carries on, ignoring my waving arms.
I even dream of it, blue walls, blue ceiling, dripping wet.
Out of the window I look, eyes staring at more blue;
azure, indigo, ultramarine, aquamarine, cobalt and Prussian,
variations on a navy theme.
A storm gathers in the distance, beautiful grey.
Skyscrapers rise on the horizon, beautiful shapes.
A speedboat skips past on the waves, beautiful sounds.
A city offers itself to me, beautiful sights.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
The vibration of the bus and the sun shining on my arm felt good
I couldn’t help but feel a dislike for myself despite it.
As I looked out the ***** bus window I saw the Sun kissed water and the deep green trees so far away.
It was beautiful
in this moment untouched.
I wanted to feel it.
Brought back by the ripples trailing a speedboat.
The water cut with the deep blades of human interference.
The ripples spreading magnificently
one after one after one
unwavering
Its shine distracting from the impact on the deep calm waters.
I felt the pain of the water.
I felt the dislike of myself for the impact I have.
I felt guilty for wanting to touch the untouched.
Who am I to touch?
Everyone needs their piece.
The piers, the boats, the yards, the perfectly developed plots in which to raise their families and plant their non-native gardens.
Violently pull their roots , so we can plant ours.
Unwilling to change ourselves
to see ourselves
to reflect on our touch
On our impact
The giving tree can only give so much, and it will never be enough.
I wrote this on my iPhone
drinking out of a plastic bottle
riding on a bus.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 8:02 PM UTC
Ideas, a thought bubble,
constrained by a colourful
umbrella of canvas.
The inflatable was running
out of gas, chased by a
speedboat across a bay.
Leaving far behind
banks, stability and
vivid colours onshore.
Once people jumped off,
the purple banking balloon
was able to float ashore.
Remaining no wiser.
Leaving hot air, wet clothes
and the cast aside at sea.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
*the blood in my veins a speedboat
a suffocating feeling in my throat
this body is not made for the brain
unexpressed frustration and pain
should there be a reason for it all
or is it just the me seeing it all fall
simply living in a land of the fittest
however not fair to criticize the nearest
alone when i see them losing their minds
lonelier when i see i have lost my mind
i wish to be free but i feel brainwashed
being judged and misunderstood
expressing the bottled-up hatred
it's so exhausting, often feels wasted
then you start writing - let some **** go
still trying hard not to go with the flow
and always wishing, wishing to be a bird
untouchable like an eagle
invisible for the entire earth
then i'm just existing, being there
pure behaviour and unspoilt nature*
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC