"stalky" poems
They are always with us, the thin people
Meager of dimension as the gray people
On a movie-screen. They
Are unreal, we say:
It was only in a movie, it was only
In a war making evil headlines when we
Were small that they famished and
Grew so lean and would not round
Out their stalky limbs again though peace
Plumped the bellies of the mice
Under the meanest table.
It was during the long hunger-battle
They found their talent to persevere
In thinness, to come, later,
Into our bad dreams, their menace
Not guns, not abuses,
But a thin silence.
Wrapped in flea-ridded donkey skins,
Empty of complaint, forever
Drinking vinegar from tin cups: they wore
The insufferable nimbus of the lot-drawn
Scapegoat. But so thin,
So weedy a race could not remain in dreams,
Could not remain outlandish victims
In the contracted country of the head
Any more than the old woman in her mud hut could
Keep from cutting fat meat
Out of the side of the generous moon when it
Set foot nightly in her yard
Until her knife had pared
The moon to a rind of little light.
Now the thin people do not obliterate
Themselves as the dawn
Grayness blues, reddens, and the outline
Of the world comes clear and fills with color.
They persist in the sunlit room: the wallpaper
Frieze of cabbage-roses and cornflowers pales
Under their thin-lipped smiles,
Their withering kingship.
How they prop each other up!
We own no wilderness rich and deep enough
For stronghold against their stiff
Battalions. See, how the tree boles flatten
And lose their good browns
If the thin people simply stand in the forest,
Making the world go thin as a wasp's nest
And grayer; not even moving their bones.
23.6k
Once upon a time
There stood a frigid little snowman
With finger holes for eyes
Which spoke no truth nor lies
Two twigs made his disfigured arms
And a stoll for keeping him "warm"
There he stood with all his smiley charm
From the dusk until the dawn!
His head covered with dad's old beret
And a stalky little carrot nose
Oh yes,He was our brave little snowman
Who grew as he further froze.
Then came the mighty spring
Putting our little snowman at risk!
And then came the sunshine
Leaving only the beret,stoll and the twigs.
Months passed by
Winter came again
And Childern came along
With the Brave little snowman!
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
remember the last great
unpredictable summer
deluded by codeine and cigarettes
pulled by lunar cycles toward reproduction practice
interconnected over coral reefs
before real estate won the forest
we slept untouched on the beach
encouraged by chemical overuse
with our hair tied together in knots
and seagulls flocked on long leafy wings
their beaks pointed out passed the big rubber sun
and i struck your vein with a needle
and you struck my strange heart like a runaway slave
you danced naked in the florida sun
and i stood behind you on tall stalky legs
laughing, getting high like an osprey
sweating into a shrine, wringing out my heart
on the banks of that lazy river in my hometown
when the sun went down we chased each other
through the thready umbrella of vines and pine roots
under the old abandoned bridge
a mile long
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
Rudimentary trifling in creativity
Boiled down, frothy lines
Stumbled, broken relations.
Too much, too open,
Yet nothing is hidden between.
It’s not about the words
Stalky presentations mask what is meant
Overthought, underappreciated.
Expecting the praise, knowing the torment
Embarrassment.
I want the spaces.
**** the lines.
A blank page says more than a thousand full.
No thoughts, shot spark
Tired form, ugly flow.
She has no shame,
Takes no judgment
Jealous gawk,
Rooted fears,
Expression is the enemy
Lack of substance drives the ghost.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 3:12 AM UTC
i got into my car hurriedly
Wednesday, Thursday, saturday
(i chose to walk on friday)
so it wasn't until i had to wait out the rain in my car
sunday, 12 pm
that i looked over,
fully immersed in the scent of your favorite perfume
half expecting you to materialize from the cloud of fragrance occupying the passenger's side
and in my haste from the days previous,
i wasn't yet aware of the tiny pin you left in your place
before dashing out into the city streets
a bobby pin
that must have escaped the locks that touched your skin
it made mine crawl
to think of an object blessed enough
from the graces of an atheist's god
to be given the opportunity
to touch a being so holy
and there i sat
in a parked car,
cursing everything that made me into the awkward, 5 ft. 8
man i am
longing to be close enough to her
so that i might
smell the scent of lavender and honey
that lingered from her embrace
but instead,
i am the stalky man who can not seem to say goodbye
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
An airport of exits and merits
in and out, side to side ruts
filtered destination tethered
fading back to a fed bubble
An airport of resits and delericts
back and forth, western rides
misconstrued openness analysed
tantalised, fantasised, revised
An airport of open cases and causes
where it has all stopped, the unpopped
in words called stalky trodden dreams
the crab waves a thorough goodbye
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I wanted to be a sunflower
Writing to you.
Dear you,
I felt that our connection bloomed in the most random of winters
I was the sunflower who responded to your sunlight's kisses.
I remember I tried to instruct my stalky body to not forget the Feeling of you that pressed on to me that night.
It felted like sensations of signals that it was the season of spring.
I had forgotten the feeling of being a shy lonely dormant seedling.
You've stimulated every cell in my body to mustard a seed of courage in the pit of my stomach,
To root myself down with the audacity to germinate myself out of My cocooned lifestyle in the hecticness of Christmas time.
All I want is to be enveloped in your halo of warmth.
To feel you infinity,
To be touched in forever and
Dipped in a painting to be just left right next to you
My starry night.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 12:38 PM UTC
One day I went to the river
where it rolls through the land like a steam engine.
Summer breezes blew through
the open meadows tossing my hair.
I walked barefoot to the water shouldering a backpack,
hands in my pockets.
I took a full breath.
Then another.
I went there each day to connect with the earth.
It was my heaven
and the path was lined
with wildflowers.
There was Lupine, who was purple-petaled and geometrically pleasing, and whose fruit's a legume in the fall.
There was Ceanothus, a shiny-leafed-shrub
with sweet smelling pastel-blue inflorescences.
Then there was the most majestic of all, Yarrow.
Achilea milefolium, to the botanist.
A perennial herb in the sunflower family
that grew nearly everywhere.
Stalky clusters of tiny white flowers
rested atop a firm stem
growing delicate fern-like leaves.
It's floral aroma so fresh it made my mouth salivate.
At the time all I could've said about it was that it was white and smelled nice.
I was no herbalist, but I had an open heart.
My mind knew that there were healing properties of some plants and poison in others.
I was raised here among the rock and snow.
I knew that it was never the same water
but the same river that swirled by.
My skin was used to being bruised,
splintered, or scraped up,
being a recreational explorer.
I stopped carrying a first aid kit everywhere.
I would heal.
It was a usual day.
Gone to the river for a dip.
I swiftly dove off the rock into the turquoise
current.
My frustration and confusion washed away.
I got out with all the usual symptoms of a glacial swim:
heaving lungs, elevated heart rate, shivering, and crystal- clear vision.
But this day an unusual symptom of fresh blood dripped
from my pointer finger.
I looked around in each direction,
I was near a thicket of willow and poplar,
patches of brown grasses, and blossoming yarrow.
Instinct took over. I went for the flower.
I ripped off a leaf and chewed it up, it was bright and bitter.
I spit it out and applied to my cut with pressure.
It didn't sting like rubbing alcohol.
It just stopped the bleeding within seconds.
I let the poultice stay on as long as possible.
This one was a friendly plant.
Yarrow waved at me
"You're welcome, it's time we met."
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 2:15 PM UTC