"spiraled" poems
They rest all over
whilst I was rooted to the ground,
the water acting like superglue
as my limbs stretched out.
Towards the clumps of land
rods of steal and wood weaved,
to connect and *****
that which we call humanity.
But there were abuse on the rods
formed by hands who'd calloused hearts,
poison coursing through their veins,
but not a single thought was given
for they were innocent in their brain.
Said limbs and rods spiraled out,
as nothing was left to chance,
intertwining everyone's destiny
in majestic flare and grace, grand
like a ballerina's dance.
But the poison was too corrosive,
the termites were too much,
as everything eroded, imploded,
crumbled and buried under
mounds of earth.
But today is different,
a new beginning, a new life.
As if the gods have willed
something better to arrive.
Indeed they came: Ports
forged from purity anew,
where fresh legs are delivered
and old legs whisked away.
For no matter how dark it
was, is, will be,
even during the night,
there always is and will be
a pip of light.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
~Modesty & Respect has been lost and now the tears are too hot to turn into frost~
◄►◄►◄►◄►
Sickness in the mind is revised
As the eyes are revealed to a non-existing surprise
Pretending that the colorful pills are sweet tasting skittles
While tears forms into a spiraled riddle
Generations are messed up because good-teachings are slack
So in the young minds rightfulness lack
There is peace even if chaos may seem to consume
In dark tunnels a dim light will soon loom
But if you perceive
To conceive
Not to believe
Then tell me how will you ever achieve?
Life is not a game, but a vivid reality
So save every special moment of sensuality
Remember that you are an instrument
Play your life story, sing your mind, and bleed your words out loud with contentment
You’re not useless
Humanities truths…believe every single bit of it, release your stress
Strength lies within your heart
You’re such a beautiful sculpted art
Do the opposite of what depression tells you, you won’t lose
Your fate lies in each choice you make, carefully choose
Your future is the next moment
Make each obstacle your stepping stone and then you can easily avoid torment
Then spectral corruption
Will never be able to destroy your inner emotion
◄►◄►◄►◄►
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
all my life
ive only thought of one thing
YOU
you are why i got an education
why i tried so hard to make beautiful things with my hands
why i got dressed up
why i learned to sing
and dance
why i never stopped trying to make a living
why i always went to the gym
and worked out to be diamond hard
why i was polite or inconsolable
why i ran seven miles a day
why i tried to be charming
why i could never stop playing with myself
why i got through james joyce
why i learned
conversational hypnosis
neuro linguistics
magick
and
witch
craft
to invoke a spell
that would compel
YOU
to dance
the wiggle wiggle
naked
from hot rhythms
and slow melodic
sways
as i prayed
burning
blood red candles
during the darkest moon
for adorations
with endless masturbations
to your beautiful *** and feet
for tender red lipped mercies
kisses kisses kisses
because
you are beauty piqued
from your golden angelic head
soft silken hair
to your sweet pink arched feet
and twinkling painted toes
magnetized
to yank my eyes
and be your
**** boy *** toy
my goddess glitter ****
queen of heaven
all paradise any man needs
BUT
sometimes i couldn't have
YOU
and
it velvet crushed me
taught me hopelessness
broke my will
gave me fear
made me cry
and shiver inside
tore my heart to smithereens
twisted my in-nerds
like jagged metal
melting me
as i spiraled
down
into madness
all burning veins of fire
until inferiority dragged deep
suffocating me
shuddery
like
winters
midnight freeze
and howling winds
through
hollow desolations
marrow-less
bones
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC
Last night, a spiraled light
it caught and submerged me--
carrying far off
all my fears.
My drum-pulsed heart was flying.
I rose and weaved my airy way
among jagged mountain rock--
my path opening, opening
until a high-arched gate appeared,
laced with colored flags
and I moved through it and beyond.
In a while I saw among distant shadows of villagers
and wisps of smoke a child there, sitting,
her back to me.
Are you my teacher?
Yes, she said, though not with words.
What do you have to teach me?
Be simple.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:44 AM UTC
She had seen him a million times in her life. He was at her wedding as she married a different man. He stood at the altar and supported her as he always did.
So why was this time different? They spoke to each other in a way they hadn’t in a long time. She laughed in a different way, as she knew she would always be in love with this man.
So when he said “I wanted to kiss you” it made sense why her mind spiraled out of control. She, a married woman, loved this man, but he was taken by another woman.
Aug 8, 2022
Aug 8, 2022 at 11:49 AM UTC
Earlier today,
I laid outside atop the snow,
A feat that I haven't tried
Since life's true colors showed.
The frost numbed my body,
I'm sure red flushed into my cheeks;
I stared speculatively at the sky,
My eyes searched and seeked.
I wanted to understand the beauty,
That nature offers so readily, the solace,
That it blankets us in even on cold days;
I wanted to understand beauty that is flawless.
My tired eyes embraced small, soaring figures
That coursed through the air with grace;
Content to go their own paths,
Not engaged in a petty race.
The figures were falcons,
That spiraled and sailed on wind above me,
Probably heading south,
For warmth to set them free.
But in that moment I compared them
To man-produced ashes;
Gray soot that courses through the air
Dashes, in varying directions,
As fire burns.
In that moment, the birds drifted through the air
So aimlessly, like the ashes do,
Landing faraway,
Wherever they flew.
Nature itself could be ashes,
If people continue on this path;
This destruction ought to incur
Some sort-of wrath.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
The loving puddle in the gutter off market street-- the one that fills with dirt and **** and damp newspaper, plastic soda cup, strange indecipherable Chinese pamphlets with bleeding characters. She smiles at the sun and renders its visions on her face, and with great tension attempts to demonstrate her willingness, her blushing consent to being totally subsumed by its whims. Of course she trembles at the diurnal stampede of feet, but is not afraid-- for she too speaks in eternity. She has evaporated before-- she has kissed the incessant sky over Marrakesh in the soft morning and dreams of the sparkling mountainsides in the night, when she is divided by callous rubber tires or cast below by competing distant rains. Yet she has always found her way back home; Nestled in the subtle indentation of road besides the brickway near Battery.
"Dewdrop, let me cleanse
in your brief
sweet waters . . .
These dark hands of life"
It was one of the waning days of winter, in the blurred haze of rains, when we left the coast and began our journey home. As she drove, I watched the pebbled streaks roll across the window into great vertical streams, to be cast off indistinct along the stationary road. Upon all our sides, Even the black-toothed mountain tops lost their grandiose summits into the fog. Off the road, next to the sagging remains of a gas station, a man sat beneath the naked fist of an old willow tree. He, with a teal umbrella, twirled the nylon circle so that the collecting sheen of water spun and spiraled centrifugal out into the bombarding camaraderie of fellow drops. The damp fields sat empty of life behind him, casting into evanescent black oceans of dirt. As we hurried past, I turned back-- and following him with my own watering eyes, I watched for as long as I could--until he too faded silently into the mist.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
I don't know
What is left of me
Or even
If there is
Anything at all
Ground down to nothing
I am not here
Not anymore
You see
Looking back
I can see
All the signs were there
Over these last four years
Memories can't be trusted
Were they all lies?
Your sociopathic inferno of illusion
Little by little I played into
Your game of chess
Thinking I was an opponent
In good spirits
But only was the pawn
From the very beginning
Spiraled into your manipulative ways
You were the puppet master
Now I see
And now the damage is done
Over
But not
Really ever
And yet
You still find a way
To pour salt in the wound
And you are not
Even here
Just sharp words
That cut me down to size
Smaller
And smaller
Until I cower once again
My mistake was bowing down
My mistake was valuing
Y O U
Over M E
Now I'm left
Deeper in the pit
Damaged beyond return
I am broken
Left less of a being
That I was before
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
In the silence and misunderstandings that separate us
I need to believe there is a place where we can meet
a place of mottled light where the only shadows
are painted by ancient firs who conspiratorially lean
open, welcoming hands down to greet us.
It is a place where all thoughts of judgment and jealousy
are simply too petty for consideration
love being implicit in the moisture of the air
words are unnecessary for our eyes reveal
everything we ever want to say.
Fear and resentment are unknown here
we refuse to recognize them if they slither
into this haven while we are sleeping
restful, innocent, unworried
history does not exist, the moment held is enough.
If this vision were dispelled, my soul could not sustain
reality’s weight. I would be battered, fragile
as a spiraled whelk on deceptively smooth rocks
splintered by hate and unwillingness
to be as the sea, fluid and graceful, all encompassing.
Will you come with me here?
Or is the hour too late?
We can meet in this hollow sacred space
and begin again, let loose misconceptions
clouding the life we share.
The path is faint
trust your weary heart
it will lead us to each other.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
The snow set in the barn,
Where the horses once laid
On a cold night, ice spiraled
We tossed,turned, all packed
The troops tamed to acquiesce
Rifles silenced, bullets sacked
Stocks in deficit, awaiting ambush
Sores overturned and edged in holes
Our nerves dead in the silent night
Risking an aching machine, a body
Pushing to extremities, thrill seeking
My mind numb, body ignited in dumb
Left, right… series audibly recurred
Halting to reflect the extreme valour
A salute to quench and honor a reality
For I once sacrificed my "liberties" for "others"
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
It’s the week before the Super Bowl,
where the Patriots and Sea hawks will meet,
and all that folks are talking about
is Bill and Tom’s softball deceit.
It’s cold up North this time of year
when the Patriots made their playoff run.
Snow and ice require gloves;
If footballs slip, they’d be undone.
“Taking the air out of the ball”
Once referred to the running game.
Deflated ***** are easy to grip
But it’s cheating, that much is plain.
It seems the ***** that Brady used
spiraled nicely through the rain.
When you ***** are small and soft,
Like Brady’s, it’s a different game.
When Tom was asked about the scheme
He laughed at first and wouldn’t tell.
The truth about Tom Brady’s *****
is closely guarded by Gisele.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Small circles,
friends,
habits,
family.
Small cycles,
seasons,
habits,
family.
Small circles because...
seasonal friends.
habitual cycles.
familial circles.
Small cycles because...
habitual friends.
seasonal habits.
familial circles.
Family cycles caused...
circular habits and...
seasonal friends and...
circles of habits and..
seasonal family...
cycles of circles,
circles of cycles,
cycles of circles that spiraled me earth-ward,
circles of cycles that spun me sky-ward.
Circles of habits that turned me inward.
And then breaking cycles that turned me outward.
Sometimes a broken circle is closer to perfect.
Tri a new Angle. Sometimes square is better than circles.
Jun 5, 2020
Jun 5, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
Dear God we need to leave this town, friends!
Please don't let me abandon you all here
shivering in underemployment
The West is calling with a Daniel "BOOM,"
the South whispers in a mountain mama window pat
Other countries laugh at us,
but will we join their jeers,
show them we are not just circus bears?
Multi-national parasites,
we're too trivially divided to terminate
O God, how my leisure hours went,
so much faster than the work room's ones
without any vent
I complained and complained
to my friends and fam on the phone,
but the time just spiraled stagnant
like a slow spirit taking six thousand years to explore a too small habitat
I haven't got nearly so long.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
There so much fire around
Burning down everything
Instead of providing light
On the path that leads to happiness
Fire spiraled out of control
But the fire within has extinguished
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
I stood as still as I could.
Trying to hold in my breath, trying to turn invisible, trying to melt into the wall I steadied myself upon. My heartbeat thumped in my ears drowning out all other sounds.
Were my feet nailed to the floor by fascination? or was it disgust? The knot in my stomach laid no reliable argument to these rushing emotions.
My eyes followed his hands; the way he gripped her hips, the way his fingers traced her jaw. My eyes also followed his lips; how he pressed them almost reverently against the base of her clenched neck.
I watched as he inhaled her scent like he was being squeezed out of breath.
She struggled against his grip. Her eyebrows knit together in an unsightly frown. She halfheartedly pushed him off her weak body. It almost looked like she didn't want to resist, but her pride pulled her away from yielding. She was shaking, her form disheveled, yet it wouldn't sway him.
I felt a stinging in my eyes, that all familiar burning I experienced when I felt that twinge of paranoia. That burning paranoia that plagues me now, as my worst fears are embodied.
How could she easily dismiss him like that?
When I lay nights awake craving his skin, his breath, his words.
I have spiraled out of view, just a faceless backdrop in his hopeless love story.
How could a person hate and love so much at the same time?
It just goes to show that the world doesn't work that way, it works to crush you. All these emotions spurt out at once, as a lesson for all the lucky fools watching you.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
You were once the sun
my world revolved around
but you left me shunned
and my orbit spiraled down
I suppose things wont transpire
the way I wish they had
and what I most desire
has slipped beyond my hands
So I will love you from afar
the way I always have
Even a universe apart
I just hope you know that
Animosity has faded
although disappointment still remains
I would rather feel this way
than replace it all with hate
All I put at stake
surpassed this mortal coil
but I'll leave it up to fate
to determine what is foiled
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
a carnival of hords in withering grass
the high priestess tongues the beast
wet mandible
on a dragging
death gowned doll
like a cyclone coils paradise
trans mutative
prismatic unfurling's
passed bones of confusion
passed scorched refuse
of radiating spiraled phantoms
the more gods, the more demons
battle angel symmetries
in Taoist jaws
galactic lurking's
into parametric infinities
escalating war like cloud light
rush glittering arms of affliction
exhalations like upleaping sail fish
drizzle sooty rain
shellacking tinsel rhinos
on hieroglyphs of the barbarous
a transfixed guttural prana;
apostasy
between advances and retreats
in chimeras earth quake palace
death: a new begining.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
the candy cane sign
is gray with frost
its spiraled dance
stopped years before
the old man died
he, the emperor of hair,
meant to get it repaired
like all good intentions
and the clipped hair
that got swept away
day by day,
hour by hour,
minute by
m o m e n t o u s
m o n o t o n o u s
minute
the cutting,
the sweeping
punctuated by
the clang of the register
the hardy laugh at a racial joke
the passing of a borrowed smoke
and the buzzing silences
in between
when I would watch and wonder
what spell he was under
in his royal white regalia
chopping and chatting away
(at eyeless and earless heads I thought)
until I would sit in his chair
and escape the gulag of my life
with his ponderous questions
about
feather light skies
heavyweight jabbing
the “old lady gabbing”
the engine
in my “shrimp nip” car
and how very far
I would go
when I rose from his
leather and chrome throne
and once again be on my own
with hair a bit shorter
and life a bit neater
for a minuscule dot in time
I would not even remember
when I thought of his implacable place
in the cold past
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
The black hole’s emanations attempted to fill the gap in galactic infiniteness as all spiraled down to its new beginnings while residual harmonic vibrations honed the forms of its becoming .
The insect’s hum buzzed harmoniously almost melodiously in syncopated integrated vibrations as it flew across the room , out the door and into the night sky .
The ship’s deck rolled and pitched as hurricane weather smashed and shattered its empty hull against the wooden dock .
The blazing core of the comet streaked across the sky as it decomposed in the atmosphere and extinguished its self in the ocean .
The blazing light of innumerable suns chaotic radioactive glair was almost audible like sounds of distant campfires as the last bits of wood crackled into embers beneath the starry sky .
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
Just because I’m reclusive, doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Above you stand only second-hand crossword puzzles chucked by gods, their errors in ink. The newsprint covers your head and you fill in some blank squares to make words shorter, how you want them to be. If you had your way, you’d be a philosophy major. You’d submerge yourself in knowledge like a child who spiraled from heaven via twirly slide in a pit of plastic ***** Your way would lead to fortune cookies filled with morbid maxims and hand-picked lucky numbers because computers are so impersonal. You’d call the absence of ignorance death; but until then, bathroom wall banter must do. **** what goes on in bathroom stalls. I touch myself in a public restroom thinking of you, my eagerness a shaken bottle of ginger ale. Two hours later, they start peering in the stall, asking if I’m alright in there. I feel the way I did when Jessica Serber ripped out my braid in second grade when we were playing Marco Polo. I told Coach Fish and she asked, “What am I supposed to do? Glue it back on?” I hated her ever since. And yet it’s not just hatred, but also fear, like the fear of killing spiders in case their family chooses to avenge them. I can never get over it; I can never live it down. So forgive me for never telling you this. Forgive me for never telling you much of anything. Just because I’m reclusive, doesn’t mean I don’t love you. But if one day you decide to leave me, I’ll hire a hustler who looks just like you.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
The pounding of the drum
was sheets of white paper
Each clap falling to the floor
Settling slowly
Like geese alight to water
We were there for this landing
Nosily, gracefully
The geese were
Ourselves
The drumming of the drum
Was a shell around us all
And we all spiraled in
Till the casements of the
windows shook
Till throughout the basement
And up the stairs
Was the sound
Lifted up again
Like the geese
And the paper pushers
And the polished
thrumming,
drumming,
humming
of
our
hearts
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
A clay *** holds your happiness.
It's halfway tall,
reaching up to your thigh,
Narrow, blown up in the middle, narrow.
Simple lid with a spherical dot for fingers to grasp,
and a black drawn line
that curls from base to lip,
and over.
Insides encumbered by sweet darkness,
shaded glory,
because outside,
gleaming.
Spiraled gold that must have dribbled off the sun's ice cream cone
leaked through the bottom where the end had broken
and flavor escaped
to land on your mirthful urn.
Blue so clear,
the sky surely lost a piece of itself
as a crack appeared
and a fragment cascaded downward
to shatter along your pleasant chalice.
And in between,
are lines of green
that could have only originated
on pinewood trees
in a forest so dark
that monsters beware.
Bordering a little town
where children played
and only truth was called,
never dare.
Because there is red on your delighted decanter.
Spattered droplets
of coagulated sparks.
Jaded needles saturated,
with pine fresh essence
emanating from your zesty flagon.
And a single spot,
Barren.
Bereft of treasure.
Parted from cerulean.
Robbed of Viridian.
And severed in the roots of a blushing Amaryllis.
Occupying there,
a white blemish,
a shape of infinite corners
immaculately defined
and so small,
you will never find it on the canister
that harbors your smile.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Nostalgic hypochondriac,
psychopathic goddess--we pray to your weekends.
Sunday night industries hold lunch breaks,
starting with a red bear,
a crude blue-eyed, red bear
by the hands of a child.
Soft steps. Physical form.
Its eyes suddenly gleam
as it moves,
red colors run
forming waving arms that swim into river canals.
Dripping rain forming acid that eats away at the sides of the darkroom. Winding staircase
trees rooted and spiraled like broken porcupine barbs existing off the wall. Each leaf made
of copper, tips of yellow
floating just as drops from the beginning,
expanding to the form
of hot air balloons.
Some of them supernova'd
--momentarily spreading themselves thin
--layers of butter coating this world.
each puddle of lard echoes with the voice
and memory of silver-eyed Alice
and her children.
Irises of cut granite,
wine-stained pupils,
she breaths like Jesus on the cross
--inhales of his bear pelt.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC