"staled" poems
Ashley,
Your blues inspire me, insipid triangles, walking cold, sweating more and wetting the bed your lips the sizes of gods that I married through hidden video cameras, I caught bias in bliss, racism in slow disasters, tornado sirens and just sirens, and justice on the horizon. My eyelids the sizes of your little ******* the party of tomorrow, the starting sounds of scarred and stripped *** sounds. Caught in a drift, my bottom lip stuffed with lift-lust and jolting up and down your porcelain rift. Messed up and round the back to the buttons, the clasp too heavy to drop your ego down, the cold too swift to catch me as I fell. The heavens too burdened to beat me with your god. I just wanted to me smacked in the face with your flaws. Hips the sizes of doorknobs, hurdles that I caught one weekend sipping slow gin with granddad and papa and Tootsie, your evils carnivorous, your mess much more than your message. Your koo-koo voodoo and big bad red frock. Tuesday's made me the man I am today. The Slayer made me the hate I stuffed into my **** jock-strap to puff out my chest and make prisms in kitten litters and furrow the night clauses to match stick the pumped-up bypass of hazmat and heroism, I was won and didn't know it, you were one and now you're all one.
She,
came to me in French class holding straws. I picked swiftly and came, all staled and stiff, lock-jaw and threesomes one moonlit night the fourth of July.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
I miss you you know.
you were my best friend, back then I thought for sure you were god sent, something about you stayed when everything else in my life seemed to shift and I was down right scared. My head blared and fear stirs the air, it's a heavy scent. You stayed and others went, you came when my will bent when my heart broke, when emotions welled and I started to choke. I was there every second you tested my resolve, I was there when you staled in the last moment before lashing out, loud shouts you called harsh names, aimed to pain and for awhile I wondered if we were both insane. But we always got out you and I , we stayed the same. Life killed my faith in **** near everything. I'm so alone tonight and yesterday, hell I've been alone a lot of days and you came. Unannounced for a moment to fleeting to feel healing just long enough to see me not cry until the door clicked.
I miss you, you know. And i hope more then I have let grow in a long time, that tomorrow you can take a day and let me feel, like someone I used to know. Take a few hours and a hug two ears and smart *** remarks to rekindle a spark in myself I let die in the dark. Just a day to say that i'm not completely alone and that we haven't changed.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
I grab a cart handle and smirk, I have a cold this time
One less thing to worry about.
The wheel squeaks and pulls.
One more thing to worry about.
Shooters of wine greet and then mock
At my lack of age.
I turn down ails like
The pages of a well worn book
A no longer interesting text
On how to troubleshoot Windows 95.
Pages filled of colors and high fructose corn sugar
White bread and corn tortillas.
Clothing. Seems already dropping from the hangers.
Workers. No longer holding their heads up.
But wander the ails as I do.
I see the look of a job
Sat on too long and has staled
I see milk.
Organic milk.
And yogurt nearby.
Hot pockets.
Organic hot pockets.
Organic chips.
Bacon ranch organic chips.
It is all in the branding.
Less heat and more thought control is needed
For the American public than the average feed lot stock.
At last what I need is found.
And I can leave before I drown
In over-consumption .
Then back into the cold of February.
And into my van.
I cut someone off as I sped away.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
a funny game i wanted to play with me
writing poem within mouth holding
a seed of blackberry.
the fruit was fleshy sweet
till tongue exposed its bone
staled, made it insipid,
as if, was never grown.
spit it out i could not do
that seed utterly dry
for i had given word to you
a poem to write must try.
as i thought up cutish rhyme
that must pleasure fetch
****** grew the seed with time
my mouth was messy wretch.
my tongue was thick of blue
too intense was my plight
but i had given word to you
must hold till end of write.
it's over now this awkward game
what a relief to throw it out
and never again shall i write a poem
with a blackberry seed in mouth.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
My uncle insists that he accepted God into his heart
when he was six years old.
His daddy was a preacher too,
his momma stickthin red-headed submissive
and lovely
he remembers them as lovely folk, but he was lonely.
Art did not exist back in those days
neither did color television, sometimes the sunshine
raised too much hell for babes to go outside.
He was lonely, he insists,
he knew that he did not belong on Planet Earth
if the universe was a legitimate thing (nobody knew
for sure in those days).
He decided to believe in God like his daddy
at the promise that Jesus would ride him on a rocket
ship to Mars or Heaven or something
after his body staled,
but I argued that he must have wanted to be dead
sooner than his time
because space and Heaven are really great things,
he must have wanted to **** myself for them.
I did not believe him until he told me that
mental hospitals did not exist back in those days
else they would have put him in one.
Somehow he turned seventy last week, still breathing.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Putrid smells of dirtied innocence,
A veil of eager stupidity,
Misfortune converts to violence,
Roots caged by the ashes
Of what once was,
My hometown of resilience- staled,
Replaced with glory seekers
Spewing words void of value,
Pickets of dishonesty,
Weekends of gloom,
Shame.
I feel foolish as I reside here,
Bleeding within the garden of thorns,
Punctured by the claw of the bird.
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 9:38 AM UTC
They always say, "the past repeats,"
but ours can never again.
We were sworn together with knots,
and bled together with needles and thorns.
our window is closing
on the 70 mph highway
because too many bees flew into the car.
Your batteries are dead and my
charger is torn apart.
Your nicotine breath has staled,
and the fire's out of wood.
We can try to write a new script,
but sequels are never as good.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
project yourself through the eyes of a chain-smoker. he tastes cigarette matches and drinks staled coffee but eats nothing else. when he lies, feel your empathetic fingers curl around the throat of his soul. when he says he want to die, feel the birds in your chest tremble. when he stumbles through time, through city streets, dead hallways—watch him go. he is asking everyone for innocence. he remembers the days when the sun was bright, and the museum was cold, and there was a frail, freckled hand clutching at the blood in his washed-out skin. but today he cannot buy anything because his pockets are only full of ashen questions—the kind all the quiet people burn away in their loud, loud lives. they keep spinning and he can’t make it to the end of the street.
your heart hurts. watch him ask for innocence back and whisper, to yourself, “i want it too.” fight over it. you know you will both lose. his last words are ink. he’s sick. he never had it. you will go to war with the pavement. it will slip. simmer. bleed. fall.
no one has it. it died.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
As men, we respond. With sticks, in garments wet with black anthologies of life
Which whistles out of us as thorns, and sticky eyes that point that way. Exact hours.
Despite lust, from what has taken us before- to that androgynous triumph that brings
Us tears as we undo our buttons. That rakes time over our backs with the needles of small
Trumpets the teeth of ghosts, blood on the stems, awarded to brass ballerinas dancing on
Wounds each quotient inside our breaths, terrified strips the branches from the everywhereness
In front of what we can't see. Or open our eyes. Or follow our hands. The legs that we used to know.
The pallid girl I called home, dusty eyelids with energies sharpened with the sweet water and gold Threads atop a haystack I burned in pyres of all the yesterdays.
Once I was human, but not for my breaths or my volume or my sullied attitudes. Not for the denature of
My rotten mood, or the noxious smells from some evil words, or noisome meat, or grueling and expired
Thoughts. Unrolled canvases cauterized with the silks shreds in a suitcase beyond. A caption unread Intwined at the bow of her hip, or the hems that dotted her skin. Black and blue staled songs a father Sung so long ago. The hill rolled on as our bodies clung to satchels we hid, each watery step we steeped In the mud, culms fell and I didn't think, I haven't thought; everything I forgot approaches the tines of my Nose once aching thews overcame the moors I'd undone, there acarpous hues were pried into me.
Everything I've seen, is a muse that disperses my lungs.
Is the incantation of the thoughts I don't spake. Intwined in the fingers I shook, at the people that I
Wanted to hate, I am steal the weight of their steps. This urgency, penury hides. The silt hasn't moved
From the cenacle place. While cloffined the ashes stuck to my face. An eroteme I still uphold
As if this rock inside of my chest, only wanes when I lay on her breast.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
*Soap froth sprays in the air
Up down up down it goes
Rhythmic swings don’t care
If the detergent smells of rose!
She has to cleanse all dirt
Rub off the dourest stain
In it she puts her heart
Thereby forgets own pain!
Rises the lever up far
Swoops down fast with a thud
Rainbow bubbles scatter around her
She knew not when staled a rosebud!
In the tub water her ocean
She squeezes the wetness dry
She knows only this motion
Got no time to look at the sky!
Now in the sun she must spread
Fabric of brightness on sight
Her own life’s long lost thread
Is buried in the hush of night!
Does she remember the broken oaths
Her life never nurtured in sun
Worn out as all her washed clothes
Faded like all the years gone!*
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
Adorned on self, it hangs like wind
on the breeze statically woven on
form. Embroider of linguistic thoughts,
all in notions that are enriched but still
never totally fallen on its emotion.
Enhancing what was just embellished
reflections, now seen in the movement
of a yearning to expel but never descended.
just passive in the needing of its expulsion.
Ornaments that hang on my tongue, kept
in staled rejection. I only want to garnish
your yearning with what I'm trying to
embellish with these spoken words.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
mourns in the form of lilac fields and ginger gardens;
emanating spectacular sights, exuding savorous scents,
witness true hearts blooming, singing for the silent and the dead
winds beckon;
to submission straight stalks succumb
gales graze over but vanish, stilling staled souls
as if they have never been touched before
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
Over the water I fly
So be it
Through these wings I see them
Boys to become men
Men to fall old
Eyes to close for a countries fight
Never to return
Lest we forget
Billowing stacks of fumes fill me
Thousands upon thousands of mini islands
Floating away from their mothers womb
Dunkirk's morning is ready
Sand from the beaches in a foreign
Glistening
Waiting
Offering a hope that there is a tomorrow
Lest we forget
In the after much blood has been spilt
To many decisions have faltered
Yet come my demise from the great war
My purpose came
I know what these wings hold
I know how they fly
I know how they care
For the next
Lest we forget
Now as age creeps upon me I look back
I see the failed,fighting staled to a shortened breath
Redden eyes become my flooded floor
A storm rages within me for the loss of our past
For the waste of lost future
For the pain that I've seen
For the wars that I've witnessed
For the love of pure greed
LEST WE FORGET
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
*suppose you're on a sea beach
where the waves are frozen dead
you don't hear the seagull's screech
not one is flying above head!
in the wind not rise the rolling roar
the sea is a darkish gel
no silver spray bounces on the shore
clouds not on her blue face sail!
the sea is flat dumb and still
staled painting on papyrus
that weary of man's mindless deal
is lying in dying hush!
think of it as our good fortune
the sea isn't so looking as yet
but she can't be from us immune
if we dump on her our waste!*
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
In the rush of new, old ones go dead
Ink dried up, their colors fade,
Poet, pause a while from the race of rhymes
To dig out the ones buried in olden times.
They’re precious pearls, each some moments’ capsule
Fires of bygone era that soon cindered cool
Your tears, joys, broken pieces of your mind
Made with alphabets, with your spirit refined!
Though pined for life your poem’s each word
Once delivered, you consigned to graveyard
A day’s applause that staled into night
No sooner than born, shoved out of sight.
Poet, the old ones, beneath dust they moan,
Dig them out, they are your own,
Take a break, from the gushing ones’ race,
Dip your heart, in the old wine’s grace.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
The painter in Me
By Otuogbodor, Okeibunor
I paint not with brush strokes
On weary canvas
Nor with mesh colors
Darkening my concepts.
I paint using no tattered Coates
Expressing my pains
Nor with mute abstracting mixtures
Contradicting my designs.
I paint with words straighten in lines
Juxtaposing my world in humournic gospel.
I paint with lyrics n rhymes
Soothing the souls of my clime
Positing joy n laughter.
I paint with literally candor
Subjecting pains n sorrows
Mirroring my world in truth
My rhythms of love n peace
The only colors I know.
My language is succinct
Rendering sounds of blue n bliss
Greasing humanity crave to live.
I plaint not with staled oil Coates
Staining the muse of creation.
I orchestrate my colours in word vibes
Thrusting my Visual syncs to heal
For I cream my onions with ease
Printing my ego on black n white.
--------------------------------------------
Oh God bless this painter in me!
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
You raised me to rise above the
shallow pills that are sometimes
caught in the throat of life's dry moments.
But when we swallow to many placebos,
longevity is staled by us collecting
false remedies to our problems.
I'll never do as my friends did and choke
on every struggle, clearing my throat I never
took anything I just rose above life's problems
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
Over The Water I Fly -Lest We Forget
Over the water I fly
So be it
Through these wings I see them
Boys to become men
Men to fall old
Eyes to close for a countries fight
Never to return
Lest we forget
Billowing stacks of fumes fill me
Thousands upon thousands of mini islands
Floating away from their mothers womb
Dunkirk's morning is ready
Sand from the beaches in a foreign
Glistening
Waiting
Offering a hope that there is a tomorrow
Lest we forget
In the after much blood has been spilt
To many decisions have faltered
Yet come my demise from the great war
My purpose came
I know what these wings hold
I know how they fly
I know how they care
For the next
Lest we forget
Now as age creeps upon me I look back
I see the failed,fighting staled to a shortened breath
Redden eyes become my flooded floor
A storm rages within me for the loss of our past
For the waste of lost future
For the pain that I've seen
For the wars that I've witnessed
For the love of pure greed
LEST WE FORGET
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
You're now a villain
In the tale you used to star
The staled heroine
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC