"stoney" poems
THERE'S RUDOLPH, FROSTY, SANTA CLAUS AND GOOD OLD EBENEEZER
THERE'S CAROLS SUNG BY EVERYONE FROM KISS ON THROUGH TO WHEEZER
THERE'S CD'S OUT FROM NAT KING COLE, THE BOSTON POPS HAVE TWO
THERE'S ONE OUT NEIL DIAMOND WHICH IS STRANGE BECAUSE OLD NEIL'S A JEW
THE STORES HAVE TINSEL EVERYWHERE, THEIR TREES TOO,LOOKING NICE
THERE'S WRAPPING PAPER, CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND EVEN PLASTIC ICE
THEY ATTACK YOUR SENSES CONSTANTLY, THEY MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
FOR ALL THIS STUFF IS ON DISPLAY, BEFORE THE KIDS GO BACK TO SCHOOL
THERE'S A RASTAFARIAN SANTA CLAUS WITH DREADLOCKS KNOWN AS "STONEY"
GENETICALLY ALTERED TURKEY MEAT THAT TASTES JUST LIKE BALONEY
PEOPLE DON'T BUY CHRISTMAS GIFTS THEY SEEM TO JUST GIVE MONEY
SO THEY GO SHOPPING BOXING DAY, AND THIS I FIND QUITE FUNNY
THE CHARITIES ARE ON THE PHONE AND AT YOUR DOOR EACH NIGHT
THEY WORK YOU WITH SOME CHRISTMAS GUILT, AND SAY "IT'S ONLY RIGHT"
TO DONATE TO UNFORTUNATES AND THEIR FOLKS NEED IT MOST"
AS THEY FLASH THEIR SMILES, FAKE I/D'S BEFORE THEIR PHONY BOAST
PEOPLE SHOP AND BUY AND BUY AND THEN THEY ALL RE-GIFT
MOST TIMES YOU'LL GET CHRISTMAS CAKE, THAT'S REALLY HARD TO LIFT
YOU WORK O.T. AND DO YOUR BEST, YOUR CHRISTMAS CASH TO SAVE
AND YOU SMILE WHEN YOU GET YOUR GIFT, AND IT'S THE ONE YOU GAVE
CHRISTMAS IS LESS FESTIVE AND TO ME IT'S GOTTEN RATHER CLINICAL
WITH SCHEDULES MADE AND SALES AND THINGS, IT'S MADE ME RATHER CYNICAL
TO SAY WHAT CHRISTMAS REALLY MEANS, I READ THOMAS ACQUINAS
BUT INSTEAD, I'LL USE A QUOTE FROM SHCULTZ'S PROPHET LINUS
..."AND SUDDENLY THERE WAS WITH THE ANGEL A MULTITUDE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST PRAISING GOD
AND SAYING "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOODWILL TOWARD MEN.""
AND THAT IS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT....PLAIN AND SIMPLE.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
This stoney patch
of impenetrable gound
our relationship
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 3:31 AM UTC
Hello swans with your brown signets
On the near edges where the weeds blend
And the green meets the trusted stoney bed
You frighten a little with those huge wings
The strength to **** if fear struck an orange eye.
The ducks and drakes trailing fluffy ducklings
So linger daring the hands of bread and biscuits
A continuity of return until fat and bloated, stop.
Their tail feathers sharing a twitching line march
As they swim back to the safety of the reed beds.
Love Mary
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
*We bask in light when morning comes, yet tremble in the night.
Halloween must be the cause to give us such a fright.
Ghosts and goblins haunt the streets where moans and chains abound.
Ghouls and vampires lurk in shadows, scared of holy ground.
Werewolves stalk unwary victims. Frankenstein is loose.
Ogres, trolls and spectral zombies hanging by a noose,
Gorgons with their "stoney" eyes and bats with leathery wings...
Mummies wrapped in yellowed cloth with rotting flesh that clings,
Pirates, gangsters, space invaders, just to name a few,
All in search of "Tricks or Treats"(or just a head...or two).
Beware the time when darkness comes. Be sure the door is locked.
But most of all .... to just be safe ... keep lots of candy stocked.*
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
Today I walked in from work
Making my way throught the strange and quiet house.
I couldn't understand when I walked into my room and saw you snuggled in my blanket
My bed has never looked so warm and so inviting
Your red hair spilling all over the pillows
Cascading into the shadow
I laid down fully dressed
Laying there in a dream
You are evreything that I will ever need
My best friend
pocketwatch
rain cloud
kissing booth
So strange to see your lips agian
Pursed and perfect
Red stained Beautiful
All so warm and simple
Not like the others
Her whole life is sweet and gentle
You can watch the parts of my life you touch
Turn away from the stoney lonesome
Your vines, your ivy, sweet smelling flowers
Wearing angel soft petals bloom in the pale moon
So what is left for me?
What more do I need?
I have my "Shelter from the Storm"
So
a long tired kiss is in order
on sleeping lips
soft and unkowing
Curling up in the warmth next to her
The flower wrapping her warm petals about me
I need nothing else in this world
As I begin to drift off into sleep so complete
A rustling on the bed beside me
Warm lips touch my ear
I hear her breathe "thank you"
and like that she left me there
I wake up alone
On this old couch
Sunlight creeping in through the broken blinds
In this trash apartment
In this nowhere town
Sober
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 12:57 AM UTC
I remember well
The creaking of
One hundred year old
Pine planked floor
And the ticking
Of the 100 year old clock
In my family's old home
Before the highwaymen
Took it with the widening
Of Highway 91
But Mom got her new house
Set back just a little
She loves it and new amenities
At least they didn't steal the barn
Or clock
But I miss the creaking and the ticking
Of my childhood home
On Highway 91
Across from Stoney Creek
My real home
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
Call me when you have gasped your throat to splintered wood
Reach for me when your fingers have calloused to fractured stone
From the depths of the stoney pit of echoing isolation
When your legs hold you weary as rusted tin-soldiers
If your heart is hardening like lava reaching the ocean
If your song is submerged in a rain-on-tin-roof din
If your hugging arms are pulled asunder by monsoon landslides
If your eyes have filled with the angry spray of November hurricanes
Remember a warm hand against cold skin
Remember closeness like a heavy felted great-coat
Remember a low voice breathing fireplace hot upon your neck
Remember two hearts
Just two rib-thicknesses apart;
Two taught drums,
Beating in time
Together
In song.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
Life passes through when im hear with out you,
I'm on a totaly different side beyond the out,
hearin all the ghetto my new ***** gotta dead bro,
I've bin with all these red rags mind graffiti sketched tags,
So I miss my girl my sister,
My story tellin listener
my main true,
my blessed boo,
seen my life she has the real clue,
when I got hit right there stuck wit me,
step dad did uncalled for beatin, cant help me gettin eatin
when we got caught callit go book free,
played a role got your back,
look forward. erased the wack.
no mom,
I gotta stoney,
didn't lisson always roming,
growin with my one friend never was a loney
one two I got you,
three four I'm out the door
five six, new home cant fix,
seven eight, I lost my great, (hailey)
nine ten, I'll be home when?.
when I got In foster so close I could of lost her
your my completion I'm your creation,..
ying to the yang
the big,
the loud,
The shoot the bang.
we never for the reppin but we ain't afraid to steppin,
got our own gang ,
me and hailey togetha daily,
our name no shame same heart from thee start
aimin for big,
bullseye I'm the dart
walk our own way,
head up with no say,
got my noes in the sky cause you know I be high,.
finger In the air for the ******* that stare,
why the **** you stalkin?,
cause you scared to be talkin,...
make out my way before i get cray
best get to walkin before I get sockin.
whatever I'm a youngin,
I'm blessed that I hung in,
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
Quietly...
a new future
races past my attention.
As thin as,
a liberals funding
chased by an old
and toothless past.
Slipping changes by...
in bite sized pieces
now so regularly
that some pass ...
barely tasted....
almost inhaled.
Tides of modern history
are beating
rhythmically
on ugly
worn out barriers
affecting all,
both near and far
As bright and untouchable
as the new moon.
The looming certainty of...
what now seems
inevitable.
Lingers...
not quite accepting
it's progression
and now is both...
dragging it's feet...
and clumsily
rushing over
what's left of
ancient weights...
that lay so heavy...
so long....'
Equality and Justice
are hummed to
and called forth...
to not simply usher in
a few changes...
but navigate the floodgates
of what our world
now dare to dream of...
The last of the Boomer's
are having their say
and the idealistic. psychedelic,
poets and builders
dream through a "stoney" mist
and contemplate
next season's crops
and the affect they may have
on moral turpitude.
Finally.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Life passes through when im hear with out you,
I'm on a totaly different side beyond the out,
hearin all the ghetto my new ***** gotta dead bro,
I've bin with all these red rags mind graffiti sketched tags,
So I miss my girl my sister,
My story tellin listener
my main true,
my blessed boo,
seen my life she has the real clue,
when I got hit right there stuck wit me,
step dad did uncalled for beatin, cant help me gettin eatin
when we got caught callit go book free,
played a role got your back,
look forward. erased the wack.
no mom,
I gotta stoney,
didn't lisson always roming,
growin with my one friend never was a loney
one two I got you,
three four I'm out the door
five six, new home cant fix,
seven eight, I lost my great, (hailey)
nine ten, I'll be home when?.
when I got In foster so close I could of lost her
your my completion I'm your creation,..
ying to the yang
the big,
the loud,
The shoot the bang.
we never for the reppin but we ain't afraid to steppin,
got our own gang ,
me and hailey togetha daily,
our name no shame same heart from thee start
aimin for big,
bullseye I'm the dart
walk our own way,
head up with no say,
got my noes in the sky cause you know I be high,.
finger In the air for the ******* that stare,
why the **** you stalkin?,
cause you scared to be talkin,...
make out my way before i get cray
best get to walkin before I get sockin.
whatever I'm a youngin,
I'm blessed that I hung in,
Written By Jesse Mckush Dedicated For Hailey *Haglund
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Is this not prayer?
is this tool not the tool I hoped for? The pen
filled by the ever-flowing flowery ink
that re-news old knowns
left to ripen under bald and hoary heads
in stoney hearts softened by seventy years worth
of salty tears
and sad songs
"great was the number of them,
wombed ones all, who sang of the victory to be"
Miriam and Hannah, Deborah and Jael, who
retold those tales by the rivers of Babylon?
And who fueled the furnace seven times hotter,
to signal the unbelivable fourth.
being likend unto the son of god, though the
analogy seems
lacking evidence that the likeness can be reproved.
Look again.
This magi-tech converged from all the poetic,
pathetic
ethos of logo marks making proper
ification of a rythm's
un legit singin' in public,
on the corner, wit' Willie and the po'boys
beat me daddy six t' the bar---
Oh
--- those ethnic poundings on my skull,
--- send those feelings, urging, grow grow grow
--- 'til the roofs cain't hold hope in
then
hear come them ol' time thought cops,
wee gray dominees preparing dominoes for
one reason,
dominos are never stood to stand, but to fall
touching one, touching one, touching one
whisper, rest
the waiting is over, this is the time
to start all over.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
A newborn father
wears a path to heaven
in polished holy marble
'neath the pedestal
of stoney saints.
Deific overseers
cast artificial glory
incandescently.
A slice of dimly lit
hospital heaven
is framed with two candles
and the incense of Betadine.
Saint John's shadow
shares confessions
and supplications
over a once-immortal man
now unashamedly broken,
bartering trade with God -
his life for his son's.
This shoebox chapel
is starking cold.
Cold enough to preserve meat,
and doubts
which mock peace
against nun-hardened walls
echoing Satan's laugh.
Hope drowns in the ripples
of a basin filled with water
to wash our sins
but not our fear.
In the air hangs
the promise of eternity
(which is spiritual code for "death", but no one says "death" outloud. The more they don't say it, the more it sounds like "WE AREN'T GOING TO SAY "DEATH", WE CAN'T POSSIBLY SAY "DEATH", UNTIL IT IS SO UNCOMFORTABLE THAT WE MIGHT AS WELL BE SAYING "DEATH, DEAD, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DEATH AND TO TOP IT OFF...ON YOUR MOTHER'S GRAVE").
Yet piercing through
the promise of eternity
is the frail wail
of his baby's voice.
Legacy lingers in a
plastic manger down the hall.
Resurrection is more
than a prayer, it is his spirit
rising for one more miracle.
Faith is summoned
like a woozy fighter
demanding his will
to go on,
beaten,
half-concious
on the mat
refusing to lay down
for the count.
"God, I believe.
Help my unbelief."
The weeping man
stares into a statue's eyes
for salvation.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
bounced around from here to there
this girl didn't know
where to call home
mommy loves her
daddy loves her more
but she doesn't feel it
never did
maybe never will
so she'll seek love
spend her lifetime looking for it
not trusting what is presumed real
going from him to him
a her in between
never fully satisfied
they all love her
this one more than the last
that one more than this
but she does not feel it
and she grows cold
stoney
hard
but still
she continues on her search
for that one true love
that she may not ever find.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Demons Lurk In The Crevasses,
In This Temple,
My Body,
I Lay In My Bed,
Wondering,
Am I Ready To Get Up And Start A New Day?
The Red Mechanical Orbs Of Satin,
Flicker In The Thick Erie Mist,
"Leave Me Be," I Scream Into The Fog, "Go Away!",
A Small Chuckle,
Loud As Thunder,
Seeps Into My Ears,
That Empty Feeling Just Below My Sternum,
Is Becoming Even More Vacant,
Leave Me Be Demons,
I Can Feel Your Cold Fingers Groping My Skin,
I Feel Your Stoney Eyes Burrowing Into My Soul,
Leave Me Be Demons,
I Know Why You Are Here And I Don't Like It,
I Know You Are Here,
Because This Is The Feeling Of A Broken Heart...
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
Stone of massive solidness, shards of gemlike flint
Crystalline refractions flash in noon day's sunshine glint,
Obelisk in grasses green, immense in grey repose
Has lain in place for centuries here, how long, nobody knows.
Created in the hellfire deep and ****** up from below
Molten in its’ infant form to flow with orange glow.
To work its’ way down mountain flank to plunge to cascade’s grasp
And tumble, grinding river stone, worn smooth in torrent’s clasp.
Rolling swift in flooded flow to beach by river’s edge
With grasses green against it’s’ girth in shade of leafy hedge.
Seasons come… cold rain and snow with baking heat in summer past
Millennia doth flow on by to leave untouched this boulder, vast.
Until this day I happened by, perchance beneath a clear blue sky
To rest my bones upon this rock, remove my boot and empty sock.
Admiring, in the midday sun, the snow clad peak and river run,
In wilderness of debris strewn from high volcano past it’s noon.
To notice with discerning gaze the rock, on which I sit, is glazed
With crystals of refracting fire to capture, now, my eye entire.
What secrets lie within this stone that lies so massively, alone?
What history has passed it by beneath its centuries of sky?
What stories could this boulder tell should I remove its silent spell?
Bemused, I tie my boot and yield,this obelisk to chosen field…..
Marshalg
On the timeless bank of Taranaki’s wild, wild Stoney River.
25 November 2013
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
I.
Please give me shelter
from the rain and snow
Give me a place
where I may grow.
I'll mend you up,
make you look new.
Strike a fire in your hearth
and make those coals really glow.
All I need is some solace,
and a place of sanctuary.
I dearly need to get out
of the rain and snow.
II.
Grant me to watch the roses
creep along your stoney walls;
you look so ravishing
sitting abandoned in these feilds.
There is Perfection in your windows,
Triumph in your thatched roof,
Wisdom in the worn walkway
leading to your door.
I see love in your sturdy structure,
And as those roses grow up you,
you grow more upon me....
III.
The seed of my affection
becomes a burning infatuation.
I've plummeted into a
great sea of flames
contorting and licking and biting and twisting
pulling at me like the waves
caressing your near by shores.
I long only to stroke the stones
of your existance, to run my hands through your dirt
and through your grass.
I long only to exemplify you, worship you
To me- this home, this shrine, this temple,
you are omnipotent.
To be held above all else,
a treasure to be beheld by only myself.
IV.
As time creeps along
your walls commence to crack.
Your straw turns soggy and brown.
You are leaky and drafty.
and your door hangs crooked
as you begin to slouch and decay.
Yet, I shall stay.
I wrinkle and become stiff and grey.
I will not leave you, I refuse to stray.
For you've given me shelter,
you protected me from the snow and rain.
So for you, my love shall never wane.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
Peace.
White lilac atmosphere
Laced with Autum’s farewell
A fragrant kiss whispered into his lover’s ear
Moistening the staid air
With a sweetness
Of chlorophyll.
A green so rare
A jade for writhing.
Lilacs bloom, daffodils, roses
She fearfully forebodes the night
And waits for him.
Too cruel for snow
An icy caress of stoney lips
An arrogant tease of affection
Crimson petals
Frosted in the blackness
Only to be comforted by mother’s loving arms
When morning blooms.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
Stoney belloni
Gettin high with my homies
sittin back watchin sweet life of Hash and cody
Eatin this burrito my friend calls jodie
But wait
**Holy **** is that macronni**?!
I take a hit
and ****
I start to choke on that ****
I guess we burned it all
that ***** dawg
weeeeeeeeeeed
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
What are the thoughts you're hiding
behind those stoney eyes?
What dreams have you whispered
to the million passers-by?
What happiness will ever find you
if you always stay so cold?
What trouble will befall you
if you never break your mould?
What substance will you treasure
if there is nothing there to find?
What stolen moments would you have
if I could see into your mind?
What life is this that has you jailed?
what sculptors tool won't speak?
Did he realise that he was strong
but he has left you weak?
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
Weights are simple, painful yet simple.
You claimed I wound easy, you have no idea how wrong you are.
You are the search party,
The ship in waters too shallow,
The child too curious.
You dug your fingers through my godforsaken sand and found all my deadly treasures,
My triggers,
My scorch marks.
I have no idea how you did it.
You are correct, I have been wounded,
But not by this, not by us.
You opened old wounds on accident,
I child treading on a mind field.
You are innocent within your lack of,
Unaware of who you have fallen on top of,
Find another girl with a sweeter heart and a kinder love,
Find someone with comfort too.
Don't look for warmth in stoney arms,
Don't search for happiness in lust,
I'm no friend to Aphrodite.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 10:43 AM UTC
You penned an unsealed note to yourself,
Its Writer, Verse and Address were as one -
A Wholly Poetic Trilogy.
You were brave:
Left your paper-lips wide open and
Let the letters leak;
Watched them run
Into the grooves of the creased spine
On the back of the pushed envelope you posted -
Wounded origami angel wings
Sprouting from the shoulders of your scripted self.
You feel you were delivered to your pretty little house face-down,
Desperate to fly but tied by glue to some side-table surface,
An ornamental cardboard carrier-cherub,
Smiling in the furnace,
But unable to breathe...
I read through the words you tattooed on to your feathers
Again and again,
From their bold beginnings
To their ruffled dead-ends...
...ends which say:
..."Stuck"...
Behind a parchment-brick wall...
That's why I've picked up my pen -
Cracked it open,
Moulded its cascading ink into a ladder,
So we can climb over
And look at what's on the other side
Of that stoney-faced page -
See, its edges came unstuck:
While you nested, and rested your eyes
Your vertebral quill was effortlessly flapping,
Whipping up a written wind with ease,
Like second nature,
A cathartic breeze
Mutating the rock you carved on
Back into a leaf once more,
And turning it over...
Letting it hover and settle anew.
Now it's a hive of technicolour graffiti,
Not a dead-end
But boundlessly alive -
It shines and thrives
With designs
Voluntarily plucked
From the lucky minds you've touched.
They bustle decoratively across its columns,
And among them is this reply:
You are now, always have been,
And always will be:
Not just the Writer, the Verse, and the Address...
...But all the happiness you inspire in others too...
Because of who you are in writing,
Because of who you are in life,
Because of you.
See, that Wholly Poetic Trilogy,
It needs its Fourth Wheel to become Holy,
To roll and rumble towards
And crash through
The gates of that pretty little cage.
So, mould your beautiful ink into a key -
It plays a minimalist melody,
A ringing note of ignition.
Push it,
Turn it...
And let's drive.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
read his stuff
https://hellopoetry.com/r-2/
n.b. nowadays I write here only in praise of others,
as the rewards are far greater than any of the meager
stuff I got laying around.
a poem for his summer soul-stice
<>
self-confessed to the priest, we us, both, meeting
in the confess-urinal, wee needy for a solid projectile
purging, me, cause, I’m a plagiarist of inspiration
**** it every time a ce r tain poet writes,
its a sock to my multi faceted square sided~head,
discoloring my eye shadow, my maskara crazy running,
frustration, admiration, mortar and pestle pounded
into a white powder of unadulterated adultery with a
frothy topping of a jealousy muse laughing face, at me,
cappuccino made from bitter herbs and pink sea salt.
in eight lines the man accomplishes
what would take me eight, eight full
poems, even then, not coming close
still failing to retake his brevity skills,
his summer solstice way of seeing,
by keeping the dark away,
by inviting the dark in,
making it under duress,
spill the beans of his life’s
ironies, some hellish,
some not, all well kept,
in Georgia granite stoney face.
the softest steeling of words that irritates
me into a fine frenzy... what’s the use,
point made, in how he undresses
the eyes
into just outright gasping,
and that is the only
permissible comment emoji.
______________________
r
Her verse
I need to taste the salt
of her soliloquy
be drunk on the sobriety
of her verse
those words she writes
behind my eyelids
makes me want
to crawl inside her skin
and listen to her heartbeat.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 8:22 AM UTC
Life hacks this stoney universe
with belonging
Old paths claim our steps
as their caresses
Step upon me with meaning
I'll get you there
Scars of pleasure unseen
leave carved knitting
Knots of time
in some future gloom
to be rubbed by whom
Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 7:49 AM UTC