"stonemasons" poems
Rivers of life rush in as each moment enters my mind
slip down and plop - slowly flowing
Trickling as the past comes forward
And each bellowing cry leads my flowing eyes
To reach within
Each breathe does not run smooth
I fall back into my mind looking I see the
Cinematography lights capture your faces
And each passing laughter captures your spirit
As each passing moment enters my mind as a spinning glow
Every waking moment I'm holding onto what is left
Every pixelated second reached from your pocket
Lives, breathes, and encapsulates your eyes
Flickers as a breathe from the under currents
Stirring inspiration
Your grace - beautiful - posed - sparkle
Breaks every boundary I knew about you
I climb my mountains, and burn my bridges
Stonemasons carved my road, yet I stand looking at an empty well
I heard laughs and cries of joy, but my trees hid a waterfall
And all were jumping but me
I dipped my toes and now I see I could not dive
But do not be afraid to jump
The glowing mist will circulate in your body - casting a god like shadow
Greeting, gently, fervently - you are here
Do not be afraid
The wheat grass blows beneath me and you stand with me
Seeing what I see
The city lights melt in my arms - and you fade into flashes
Movements of passing gestures and
My love for you only grows, but I stay asleep
Your adagio string symphony fingerprints my fluttering breathe
And your whip in the wind stands still as I see you dancing to your heart
You can not see the regret - it shall not pass
Again, I see you in the wheat field
My hands reach for yours - the dandelion is lost in the wind
The rain falls - the music falls to a slow ending
I grab what I see
Hold it for as long as I can - it will never be to late
Never
To start once more
While holding what - I've become
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
when i applied for edinburgh
i was thinking:
i have to get away from these people!
i could have applied
for Oxbridge without thinking,
i applied for Bristol - fair enough,
if some dean asked me to recite
Wordsworth i'd have recited
a recipe saying 'rustic ambiance, you
see, better a recipe off the top
of my head than a date in a chinese restaurant
citing woo 'rds' worth',
like today with leftover Moussaka -
is aubergine the national veg of greece?
anyway, the salad:
spring assortment of cow dung in reverse,
cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, basil,
spring onions, a drizzle of ****** olive oil
infused with chillies,
balsamic vinegar, and half a teaspoon of honey,
salt and paper to taste... wordsworth can ****
his magpie and lark's worth of recitation,
i rather recite a recipe, in line with his
rustic residence -
like me tonight, in no man's land between
shy-urban (suburbia) and the wild parts of
the land, three beers perched on a fence
looking into the dark void of a scaled down
forest - you don't get any crows in urban areas...
indeed Edinburgh was the prime gothic
resurrection, Frankenstein's monster could
have been my neighbour -
whereas some in the grizzly north
attack the sky with colours like the houses
in St. Petersburg (pink, azure,
chickpea), other's embrace the grey
with very mundane coloured architecture,
thus when a chance sunshine comes through
people tend to look up and watch with glee -
Edinburgh brown - stonemasons' slip
of the tongue.
a murky yellow moon, a sclerosis of the moon,
the shining part in reverse
where the night the x-rayed sclera
and the moon the pupil fully illuminated with
gossiping sun in want of a listen;
a murky sclerosis yellow moon - fine agreement
with the thinning clouds that
could never be used for Mickiewicz's castles
in perfect blue and perfect cotton cauliflower contrast
of the zenith by the perpetuated day in mirror-standstill.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
So many plans have been ruined by wrenches
that we should rid the earth of them all:
wrest them from metal workers and stonemasons,
pile them up, burn them.
A crowd gathers in the firelight,
cheering the flames on, warmed by
dreams of perfection.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 2:51 AM UTC