"steepest" poems
the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in the twinkling stars and constellations
but refuses to see
the ones in her hazel eyes
the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in the tallest mountains
and the steepest hills
but refuses to see beauty
in her most beautiful *****
and most curvy behind
the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in the scorching sun
and the glowing moon
but refuses to see beauty
in her warmest embrace
and her illuminating smile
the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in everything
but refuses to see beauty
in herself
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
They say lots of things about love,
They make it seem it is the ultimate desire,
Wanton and wilder than the known universe,
An cataclysmic explosion of two personalities,
Born separate, reborn together,
And yet...
I have loved worse men,
And lost better women than I deserve,
And now my convex chest is as vast and devastated as abbey ruins,
sanctuary,
sacred,
crooked,
ruined,
beautiful,
still here,
After hundreds of years.
Maybe I will live on in my memories,
For there are graveyards in my bones,
Eulogies imprinted on my arteries,
Long lost love letters scarred on my very marrow
For those that I drowned,
And those I saved.
My faith is a moorland hillside war memorial,
An obelisk to reach the very gods,
Your love is but a squall,
My hope is a trickle, a stream, a reservoir, in the deepest steepest canyon and Valley,
Your love is but a rain drop,
My clarity is at the bottom of a whiskey bottle,
Your love is but an ice cube.
Do not ask me brazenly to die for you,
When ******* me is your finest hour,
And I am but a pleasure boat ride for your masculinity to take a trip in,
We are not divine here;
My expectations are as low as your esteem:
A water you paddle in, a toe dipped perhaps,
but you wouldn't swim through, dare to at least,
And yet,
I am a rushing beautiful rainbow of a waterfall on a sunburn induced day,
The haze in the corner of your eye,
When you begin to question,
"is this too good to be true?".
Yes.
We are all but fallacies.
Dip your fingers and cross yourself,
As you wish for clemency.
But still,
Be still,
And know,
That,
I am,
God.
Am I?
Or am I just divine on your tongue?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
No my name’s not Bennett , but I’m really in it.
Never one to just go with the flow,
I’m just trying to win it.
Not wanting my relationship to be a situationship; it’s dangerous.
Can’t even see the monsters that you’ve made of us.
Raising up.
Raising brows.
Cover up my own smile.
Thinking I could fill the void by having me a second child.
My hearts full.
Full of emotion.
Full of neglect.
Full of myself.
Full of my friends and loved ones that are left.
Feeling out of touch, I’m trying to change my life and run it up.
The marathon continues , but I can’t be no runner up.
Dumb it down.
Sound it out.
Passion’s what I’m all about.
Crazy, but I want a happy home before I get a house.
Feeling by myself but it’s like ten people on the couch.
It ***** for me.
But soon I’ll reach my clarity, guess lucky me.
Stuck to me.
Looking up the definition of custody.
My words and my heart’s all I got left, don’t give a **** to me.
I need a hug.
Find comfort in myself but I can’t see the love.
Back and forth with self worth.
Thinking bout my son’s birth.
AMB, this thing will last forever long as I’m on Earth.
Almost had that took away.
I’m suffering like every day.
Mentally I’m in maze, trying to fix these evil ways.
Evil thoughts.
Thought about it all when my last breath was caught.
Almost in a hole for real, my demons had a hold of wheels.
Heal just to rebuild, but I ain’t got the time, I pop a pill.
Things been wrong for so long that I can’t even taste a meal.
Chasing thrills.
Heavy with the consciousness, maybe I am too chill.
Rolling down the steepest hill, premeditate my own will.
Jun 1, 2022
Jun 1, 2022 at 4:19 PM UTC
I know how it was in that time
sixty years ago when roads seen
from above were little more than
two thin tracks through grass.
My mind has heard the noiseless roads
cutting unfenced fields, passing cherry groves,
skirting steepest hills and flat lakes,
making settled burgs where roads cross.
I know how it was in that time
when many-handed harvests,
sweet smells and back breaking work
were wrenched away without referendum.
Wrenched away by Ford's cast iron.
Wrenched away without option of staying
to enjoy the scale of day-long trips
on foot, in wagon or buggy.
Our innocent grandfathers too,
wrenched away, not unwillingly, from plowfields,
to be told by newspaper and newfangled radio
of the one-day Atlantic crossing.
I know how it was in that time.
I've seen it from three or five hundred feet;
the quick shadow and lake-mirrored
image of fabric covered wood and wire.
I've gently flown, pocketa, pocketa,
in that time; in a ship as much a product
of those shifting decades as of its tinkerer/
designer, builder, pilot, Pietenpol.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
Back when I was a follower
I had a good friend Ed
He grew up amongst the Alps
His Pops worked for the Ambassador
Details left unsaid
Ed could climb the steepest crags
Like a mountain goat on ****
And ski the steepest slopes
Like a rocket on a sled
As I said
I was a follower back then
And my friend Ed
With his prematurely balding pate
Would chuckle at my dread
Following him up a sheer rock face
Free style climbing into outer space
Rappelling down the other side
No belay to slow my glide
I remember the first time
Ed led me wrong
Clinging tightly like a lover
Halfway up the face
Hugging tightly a giant rock
Like a gambler hugs an Ace
No holds left or right, up or down
Too scared to breathe or shout for help
Till there was Ed like a monkey scurrying round
A smile of reassurance
Laughing at my plight
“Left hand here, right hand there
“Right foot to the left, left foot to the right”
Till finally at the top
Sweating, swearing, trembling
Lying on my back
He sitting there without a twitch
Thanks Ed, you Son of a *****
And then we hit the slopes
Ed starting with the Black
Piece of cake he said
I thought I had the knack
First mogul flying high
Second one I kissed the sky
Third I began the tumble
All head and *** and skis
Face buried in the freeze
I knew it would come one day
Ed asking me to dive
He didn’t mean the water
Ed loved to dive the skies
Finally I decided
No more the follower to be
I repeated the grunts number one rule
The only things that fall from the sky
The snow, the rain, bird **** and fools
We shed our uniforms
Said our goodbyes and headed home
Me to the South and East
Ed further West and North to roam
Last I heard my friend Ed was dead
Jumping from a bridge
The final dive for my friend Ed
Deep into a river gorge
I think he just got bored
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
From the carpet floor of the living room,
I peer down the low-lit hall:
a ukelele and flaming lips song.
On my elbow, I seesaw,
waiting to hear that tiny voice
from the other end of the call.
Father sings to daughter
about the darkness of the world
and Yoshimi, the warrior
who has to be the strongest girl.
She must stand between
paper doll and machine,
to make a better world.
Little girl, you cannot know
all the dangers up ahead--
the mountain with the steepest climb
is your path to tread,
a Kracken under your boat at sea
is your ghost to slay in the end--
so don't look up and don't look down
and make Time a dear, old friend.
Set out when winds catch your sail,
let the land beneath you go.
Cast nets wide, take on the gale,
and when it gets bad, just row.
Row until you can't,
then look to shore
for the lighthouse that you know.
He's been waiting there on the sand;
he never let you go.
Set anchor there and stay a while.
You were fearful or forgot the smile
he saves for you.
But no matter how far you've gotten,
no matter the wrong or right you do,
a father's love is hard and sure--
an anchor to steady, a calm to settle
the storm that chases you.
And when you feel uncertain,
don’t make yourself a ghost.
He is imperfect, and may forget
you’re at the other end of the rope,
and the one that he needs most.
I'll tell you how I know:
if he ever lost his little girl
his heart could never be whole.
She is a part of who he has become,
even when it doesn’t show.
A tiny voice comes through the wire,
singing, chirping, silently mouthing,
like the changing glimmer of fire.
It's not yet quite what it will be
but it is hers and will inspire
with a lightness that comes steadily.
From the carpet floor, elbow-propped,
it could be any other day,
father and daughter making their way.
So I wrote this down just to say:
daughters are stronger than they know;
their hearts break quick in the undertow.
Without preamble or self-defeat,
when it’s your turn to make salt sweet,
the other end of the rope will show,
for a daughter’s love is nestled deep
in the strength she learns from you.
And nothing can strengthen that bond more
than what you’ve both been through.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
There is no perfect someone waiting at the top
of the steepest peak, waiting for you
like some comic superhero in a cape
here to save you from your faults and failures.
No.
Love is looking at someone and going, "Wow, you're pretty ****** up,
but I love you regardless."
"And baby, even if you make a tremendous mistake,
I will always love you."
No dramatics, no perfection.
Just seven-hundred shades of awkward blushes
staying up 'till 4 o'clock talking about kittens
tripping over your pants to answer their calls
and spending hours in angst over what sweater to wear on your dates.
There is no shortcuts, no steep passes, and most importantly, no heroes
only little mistakes, slips of the tongue, and sweetness
but, if you go in expecting mountains
the disappointment will be your downfall.
So, just live with it
go to sleep, embrace your lovers, laugh at yourself
and don't dread the mountain pass
for, in the end, there is no true mountain at all.
Only kisses and the simple taste of what is to come.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
My mum tells me to be careful as I close the front door
Every footstep the tick of a bomb about to go off
And I know that she will worry until she hears me return
That maybe this time I wasn’t careful enough
But I know Careful
Careful is a woman who walks in our skin when the door shuts behind us
Faceless and watchful
With keys jammed between each finger
And her honey voice is flowing through a perpetual conversation with the home screen of her phone
Her gait wide and her hood up,
hair down but tucked away
She never looks up
only shifts her eyes from left to right on a pendulum trajectory determined to read the cadence of the shadows
Like they are palms or tea leaves or a CCTV in operation sign on the front of a shop window
On the walk home
She is always moving
A waterfall rushing down the steepest drop to get back home with all her foundations in tact
Careful is always waiting for the other shoe to fall
She is texting texting texting details of her plans
Where she has been
where she is going
what is the license of the taxi she is in
Are the doors locked as soon as she shuts them?
How salty is too salty for a margarita or a tequila or a glass of water
Can anyone vouch for the milliseconds that her drink was out of her sight?
She has a pair of earphones attached to nothing jutting from her ears
and her key clawed hands wrapped tightly around a can of pepper spray
And her car is parked right outside the building
Careful is always a woman living in a war zone
where the enemies can be the ones that she has trusted most
Or strangers that cast long shadows
She is a landmine that is always in danger of being stepped on
She is made into a three star salad that the jury reject because she was underdressed
Overexposed like the photos that Careful should never have sent
Because even she knows that she cannot exist
A woman is always careful
But never careful enough.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Their were plenty of times i tripped over my own feet
Falling behind the more fluent riders
Waving my hands, pointing to the sky
My knees bent, the longboard beneath
my feet is trembling, wind smashing against my face
Swerving lane to lane in a figure eight
On a long asphalt hill
We called it swagin'
We cruise through school buildings walk ways
Campus lights over our heads
Brightening the smooth brick paths
We traveled across
Sliding around cars, curving on to the sidewalks
We met at the top of the steepest street
Formed a circle, and revealed our deepest thoughts
In a bond we agree to keep the words we said to ourselves
No holding back we pushed off the ground with our feet
no fear in our hearts
Our yells and laughs echoed through the midnight trees
we lit the empty street with our smiles
climbing the peak of a roller coaster
Time stood still as gravity took its toil
At the end of the hill, The boards calmed down
and the wheels rolled to a halt
My heart jumping out of my chest
Skin soaked of warm air
Tears in my eyes
I was victorious
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
Some things come naturally,
like breathing or crying;
they are embedded into us.
Other traits we seem to
acquire over time --
like a carefully raised
Thoroughbred, being taught
to clear the steepest jumps.
Some things come naturally,
like sleeping or eating;
we're born with the urges.
But others will fall
into cyclical habits slowly --
like a filly taking
her first shaking step,
I place a pen to paper.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC
I briefly stood outside her shelter until I heard her gentle voice speak to me, inviting me to come inside.
For me it was a simple yet cautious request, seeing as how we had never met.
I put forth my trust in her and slowly parted the silken drapes as I entered.
“What is it you seek?” she asked.
“I was told to appear here.”
“Who sent you?”
Hesitantly I replied,
“I did.”
Her lips formed into a cunning smirk, indicating her willingness to offer me a temporary sanctuary.
I told her that I was on a vision quest.
She smiled and replied, “Well then, let this be the first of countless enlightened moments for your mind, body, and spirit. Let me guide you into a fleeting realm of pure bliss. Do not be scared, my dear. Close your eyes, and grant yourself total freedom.”
I scaled the highest, steepest peaks only to lean over and fall into the bluest of seas, tasting the salt my body unknowingly craved for.
I further descended into the sweltering valleys, ceaselessly chasing the echoing screams of Aphrodite.
I swiftly shot white, porcelain arrows into the rhythmic, beating sun, causing it to explode and pull me forward into the world I had momentarily withdrew from.
I lethargically parted the silken drapes and ventured off.
I would soon return.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
A vampire of nothing, an open bible of paperback. A man with identity theft. A panda racing a racoon. North, south,east,west. A chemical steal of stealth stars to you none the vampire slays, a cup of blood on top of a counter top, and the steepest dark awaits.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
I don't feel safe,
as though a predator has found
the combination to my comfort zone,
and now has unlocked it,
and is stealing my peace of mind.
"Please stop," I plead.
My arms are shaking, my hangover
is bigger than Trump's Wall.
The same blocked number appears and reappears
, then repeats on my phone screen.
I had to block you on my Gmail (Is that even a thing?).
Tinder used to be for fun,
and now I have contracted a haunting for five lifetimes.
My old friends do not want to speak to me.
I understand their worries, finally,
and I hope it's not too late to listen.
But your screeching voice is deafening
and it's hurting my sanity.
I'm sitting on my soft couch,
writing this poem,
and my fingers tremble as I write.
Because I don't even feel safe in my own house.
Once upon a time,
I thought we would say the "I dos."
Now, all I want is whiskey until I reach oblivion.
IRL is the steepest road to travel on,
but I chose a shortcut,
and now I have fallen off and into a descent
into a madness that Ginsberg has only whispered about
during smoke breaks at the temple building.
Quitting to smoke cigarettes is easier
than dealing with your stab-wounds of sentences.
Like my FaceBook Status,
if you've ever felt violated and controlled
by an old flame.
Then grab a fire extinguisher,
press the lever,
and put out the conflagration,
before it burns your life away.
-Andy
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
<soft spoken intro>
...see your still here again,
.....think your still welcome here?
...here,
huh
Closed our mills, took our jobs, put in down our throats,
Fed us lies, took the pensions, thought we were a joke,
Media all bia's -steal my sentence, voted 'ere to revoke,
Cratering down! Cratering down the steepest slope!
*We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...*
*We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...*
White people,
are raging, against,
The Machine..
So Welcome, welcome...welcome...
To The Machine...
Floyd
I once woke up covered in blood on my parent's steps,
My truck was miles away on the side of the road.
*We're taking you, out back and to the side,
Gonna be a genocide...*
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
The stench of battery acid in the morning
The slippery lubricant of littered snakeskin on the floor
Trash that once found liberation, salvation in the motion of its use
Now limp, lifeless, devoid
Abandoned without muscle.
The shadow of our wicked forms, braced against the balcony edge
Nerves alight, take fire. The steepest bet, a wager of the deranged sense
And that smell. It hangs in the air, still
Engulfs you as the animal sense is heightened. Without reason, all is pleasure,
All is primitive.
Out on the veranda, Diana dances. Part impulse, part stimulant. Her dimples stretching wider, farther apart as continents. Her hips convulsing
Man with the long hair, "You burn you burn"
Oh mother, we were created equally. Together in one cruel, carbonate mass of malcontent motives, of wicked intent. Selfishness attracts selfishness.
We are but a refrigerator door full of strange magnets, gleaming. Your southern fingers,
Dancing a slow tango down my spine. Your grip, lowering, sweaty and deliberate
Oh viper.
The texture of freshly cut grass and ***** crusted over bare toes. All smells of peppermint,
Bitter citrus flower.
Woke up in the morning, dowsed in kerosene
Rose petals sticking to the roof of my mouth
"There is no heaven, no hell," he said. Only us.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 1:27 PM UTC
*To someone like me, it has always been easy to pen down the pain
than to just dump it in the violently flowing rivers of the past
and forget it ever happened, it's been easy to etch every bit of it on the rocks
everyday and admire each and every melancholic tear it brought
it has been sour sweet painting every ugly scar and every bruise
and admire the blemishes on dirtied canvas than let heal
those grotesque wounds without any memo to remind me
because to me the hurt has but been an adventure on the map of my destiny
I've sailed past hard waves, I've gone through dark oceans
to both poles of the sphere and witnessed how cold this world can be
and I've even juxtaposed the north pole to the south
I've climbed the mountains I thought impossible,
hiked even the steepest of cliffs,sometimes fallen and fractured
I've gone against caution and whence my ribs ruptured
healed and painted the despondent healing process yet gone
ahead to find fresh memory to paint, to write, to etch.
I've not wasted my mistakes, not a single tear has gone for nothing
for some should learn from mistakes of those who lived before them
and if life is too short and uncertain to live to tell
let the marks on the rocks at the pinnacles tell the story,
let the sad painting on the canvas do,the sculptures
let the cacographs make sense to eyes keen enough to squeeze out some sap of wisdom
I've not cried, bruised, battled or stumbled for nothing
it is not for nothing I've lived my life the way I've lived
with no manual or mentor to point out the rough edges
the looming pitfalls and risks of living in the twilight zone on the fringes
it's not by mistake that the ship of life is rudderless to most of us
every bruise, every mistake, every imperfection has its page
just as every century, every decade and every millennium has its age
I often write about the uncertainty I live so that someday
someone will be grateful I spared some time to say
that those who didn't err,who didn't whimper,
who didn't have the luxury of looking struggle in the eye
and walk side by side with her didn't really know the truth about life
because it's from the tears that comes the beautiful smile
after the blunder that lies the precious stones of a mile
after the pain that comes the long awaited gain
for the star filled clear blue skies always show after the stormy rain
I pen my pain time and again, because laughter's easily forgotten
but the pains are like plastics, so close to impossible seeing them rotten*
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
*If it's raining for you
it's raining all the time for you
It's a storm and you're alone.
If it's summer for you
It's too hot
and the mugginess makes your sweat useless
If it's too much for you
you're knees are buckling
and you're climbing
the steepest hill is your route
It's gonna get better.
If the rain's gone
your shirt been dried by the sun
your friends are outdoors
and it's time to make fun
If it's late spring for you,
you're comfortable,
a moist air keeps you the same
If you've just let down your burden
You've no lead in your shoes
and the road is a gentle downward slope
It's gonna get worse.*
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
VI
Several hours to the nearest coast
away for a night and day is all
our landlocked lives would allow.
That first time we arrived at night,
down the steepest hill to the road’s end,
to wind and rain, and a hardly visible sea.
Then up three steep stairs we climbed,
to that attic room where opening
its window on a November night
we sat in its deep-silled space
to see the waves seething below us,
waves vying for room in a bay
crowded with rolling forms
of water eager to break and fling out
foam and **** spray and stone.
Later and despite the rain
we walked the length of a beach so dark
our shoes could hardly guide us home.
Always the incessant sounding sea.
High above a drama of moon and clouds
throwing jagged shadows on the wet sand.
Caught in this play of natural things
how could we not hold these images
ever closer to the imagination’s heart?
VII
I’ve come again
to my favourite place:
below the coarse grass landward,
above the wet sand seaward.
This zone of discovery,
my well-found land of treasure,
rich in bewildering textures.
Some of it I could do without,
but even the plastic is
beguilingly ornamental.
I carry with this bag of mine my third eye.
I will collect and even curate (in the field)
ephemeral exhibitions on suitable surfaces.
Never camera-shy these found objects.
Later, they may appear
on my studio table, or pinned
against the wall, then primed
with carborundum on
a collographic plate, stilled
into life for the purposes of art.
Whatever the object may be,
it carries my tide-mark,
a quality sign endorsing a choice
made on a deserted beach,
and proved to be right
when placed in my hand.
It registers rightful ownership.
Who knows, one day
it might embody something
more than an image of itself.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
I will climb the steepest hill,
I will dive into the deepest ocean,
I will fly into the highest part of atmosphere,
Just don't say goodbye.
I will catch the stars at night,
I will sleep at the coldest place,
I will punch the hardest rock,
Please, don't say goodbye.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
We cry behind cold stares
While thoughts prevail behind the stair-
Cases winding deep and sharp
Careful of the steepest part
We hide behind fake smiles
While inside our bones break-
Ing down the final door
Locked to keep out memory’s war
We shrink behind our lovely lies
While still the past you can’t deny-
Ingly walking straight on toward
A future broken and uncured
We laugh to keep our feet in motion
While sinking underneath the ocean-
Waves so high they can’t be beat
You’ll die unknown and obsolete
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
So many unchartered channels,
and coursing currents, in the deepest ravines,
or the steepest hills,
masked in shadow, drenched with emotion,
this is the human heart.
The poor explorer,
the one who wants to know every nook and cranny,
must endure the rain, heat, and cold,
the light and dark,
he persists, deep into the human heart.
That poorest fellow,
but by choice he carries on.
In every season,
in all our misfortune,
he persists until every sector,
square and quadrant of the vast human hearts
expanse, is chartered, and know,
leaving nothing to mystery.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
*summer heat like a rifles barrel,
swelters through me, i see her with wandering eyes,
shots fired,
oh im alive!
pulse quickens in an agonizing heart beat,
shes two steps too close, arms around my neck like satin
and smelling of rose...
the world.. stops
the clock ticks, it tocks. lips lock
I measure time in the burgundy red marks on my neck...
one hour...two hours three hours four..
how in gods name did i end up on the floor?
cheeky smiles wripple through ghostly sheets reverberating into giggles expelled through the air around me
I swear im in heaven....no,just my bedroom floor,
but ive not had enough!, i climb up the bed sheets
challenging as the steepest mountain.. colapsing upon the summit,
flag in hand
the curves of her hip...pouts can be heard...solved with loving kiss...moments of bliss turned sour to sweet...*
L.G
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
you can’t gnaw from the outside in,
when the world is quaint
and you’re freezing in sin
and darkness falls
from the east suffocating the west
and the end calls
from the deepest wilderness
like a lonely wolf
the debris of truest paradoxes
the kiss of undeath
i follow my mind on the steepest paths
through otherworldly traps and boxes
and we sink into the comfort of our thoughts
because the world as we know truly is not
let your voice rise up
let it echo the blackness
let it scream of
silence
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 8:49 PM UTC