"straggler" poems
Her long symbolic hair caressing her body
Her torn jeans representing her dignity
Sentimental to the teen rotted inside a lifetime ago
Tears making her smile
Her pink apple suit case was confiding
Hiding in a storm, where rocks were thrown
Bruises and scars across her knees
Killing the young girl
No longer innocent eyed
She's a a straggler
Structure tried
She runs away searching
Fresh start is an opportunity topped off with profanity
Odds pushing her down
A constant, as the sun raises its eyebrows
Her cards she never questioned there quality
As he touched her fingers
She has one chance
Contemplative perseverance
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blind;
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say?
He is Venus' runaway.
She that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiss,
How or where herself would wish:
But who brings him to his mother,
Shall have that kiss, and another.
He hath marks about him plenty:
You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
At his sight, the sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters burned;
Hell hath felt a greater heat;
Jove himself forsook his seat:
From the centre to the sky,
Are his trophies reared high.
Wings he hath, which though ye clip,
He will leap from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part;
But if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himself in kisses.
He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
Still the fairest are his fuel.
When his days are to be cruel,
Lovers' hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest blood:
Naught but wounds his hands doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.
Trust him not; his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet.
All his practice is deceit;
Every gift it is a bait;
Not a kiss but poison bears;
And most treason in his tears.
Idle minutes are his reign;
Then, the straggler makes his gain
By presenting maids with toys,
And would have ye think them joys:
'Tis the ambition of the elf
To have all childish as himself.
If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him;
Since you hear his falser play,
And that he's Venus' runaway.
3.3k
When we prefer the narrow gate
And tire of busy highways
We see the Kingdom come
When the master is the servant
And kneels to wash our feet
We see the Kingdom come
When the straggler is given preference
And the first steps to the back
We see the Kingdom come
When we serve the poor, the hungry
And take the stranger in
We see the Kingdom come.
When children are given pride of place
And followed as an example
We see the Kingdom come
When brother and sister are reconciled
While our offering is left to wait
We see the Kingdom come
When the temples are cleared of commerce
And prayer takes it rightful place
We see the Kingdom come
When the Sabbath serves the worshipper
Not the worshipper the Sabbath
We see the Kingdom come
When fragrant extravagance is applauded
And noses put out if joint
We see the Kingdom come
When the Creator's light is lifted up
And the Son is no longer hidden
We see the Kingdom come
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
The great gaudy flage is screamin' blood in the streets
loose yawn of a gob on him
all bombast n' swagger
he makes a barrage of nuisance
channels through the public
and scatters a juggler's performance spot
lobs away his change hat
then, roughly over the cobbles
he hoicks a resuscitation doll
and stamps down a posing boot
on the 'defeated form'
an unprepared scoop of tourists
a pause for silence and begins a rant
a great performance
of well harassed combustion :
"i smear to god all the phalluses
[he roars, all saliva]
i smug to god
a full jug of uglies
tug on [makes the hand gesture for male ************
i **** off the forger
would slug it in the mug
if it ever did form a tissue oath
took a plug at some drunk straggler
called the baffled *** 'god-father'
and spate spume on his fallen anatomy
[with one hand he indicates the mannequin at his heel]
amen ************ !"
he bows
a long quiet
some people clap awkwardly
two police officers appear and hook him by the elbows
(it has been this show before)
Mar 11, 2022
Mar 11, 2022 at 11:38 AM UTC
You almost kissed me,
and you shouldn't have.
On the gingham tablecloth in the yellow light,
you lifted me from the counter top onto my feet
putting your hat on my head and tickling my ribs.
You know it's my sweet spot,
leads straight to my heart if you're gentle enough.
I told you to stop and you walked away,
eyes lingering on my bare skin between where my top ended on my waist
and where my dark denim jeans began to hug my hips.
I flipped my hair back around, joining in some conversation too late
between a girl drunk on grape juice and a wedding crasher straggler
in a forest green flannel with camel cigarettes in the pocket.
That's when you came back over and started yelling
some story that happened to you the night before.
You told it well,
the circle captivated, me mesmerized
by how blue your eyes stayed all this time without me noticing.
You had the whole room laughing with your wit and stupid vernacular,
but I was smiling because you looked so beautiful in those drunken
honest moments
where I recognized the person beneath the banter
where I saw you.
I was saying my goodbyes to the carhartt boys and their one night girls
when you grabbed me by the hand and spun me around
like we were dancing,
pulled me in by your hand pressed on my shoulder blades
the other around my waist
I gasped as your lips almost touched mine,
but then you looked down at me
with those same blue eyes
and took a deep breath,
slowly letting your hands glide down my back then to your sides.
I just stared back at you,
wishing you'd forget the logic and put your hands back where they were,
tracing your lips with that almost kiss,
and I could feel how much you wanted to be in this moment
desperately searching for a way to my lips
but something stopped us.
And I think it was because we knew it would only lead to something messier
than where we were at
it would be a backwards romance, reversing our ***** footsteps
in something we've tried and tried to understand
that it never works out the way either of us plans.
We were both doing so well, moving on
but in that moment we almost gave all that strength up
gave into something too tempting and too wrong.
Because we can't really stay away from each other all that long.
I mean,
you almost kissed me
and you shouldn't have,
but I swear
I wish you would have.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
Memories of you linger in me
Vanilla coconut perfect harmony
Like the sweet taste of cold Thai Tea
a straggler picked up along the way
wore out their welcome long ago
but you still want them to stay
a decadent treat
only allowed occasionally
we all know what happens with too much
of a good thing
better off with black coffee
they always come back at the worst times
in a meeting
they ask if everything is fine
of course just something in my eye
Memories of you still linger in me
Blazing orange brilliantly
Like sweet Thai Tea
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
1.
to give a chance, to an attending unsophisticate
await proof of whatever revered worth wanted
seeming to have little or no life experience
means not there's nothing to give
time-trenches furrowed in mire too deep . . .
2.
assume nothing so easy of another
chickety-choo, just see it through
fine particles of gray comet's tail ricochet in the eye
friction desired, yet not always
there is some pluck, you know . . .
3.
you see, as many a soul-straggler roams
some may not shine as bright as desirous fit
but (amongst other things)
actually, they do have something others crave
still unconverted, slow-releasing grit . . .
4.
no crisis here, only eager groom-in-waiting
cheerful chevy, too bright on wooden words
zigzagging to capture all-elusive allure
banish each espiegled scab
clip-clop, tear not off old wounds.
5.
So, even as half-regarded not good enough (yet?)
nails screech on board, turbulent cadence
tips dig deep into sinking blades
grant that chance not only to let make, but to make a mark . . .
for strangely, I already know.
S T, 16 May 2013
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
he was terrified of the dark,
and so he chased the sunset across the horizon
stumbling after it with aching ankles
and clinging to the sunset’s wrist,
fearful that he would trip
stumble
fall behind
be left alone and feel the cold soak his bones
this lover of the light ran himself into exhaustion and,
tripping,
stumbling,
fell behind
to be left alone
but the sunset stilled, blazing across the sky,
to lift the desperate, ardent disciple of its rays
into its arms,
and carried the poor straggler
until he no longer feared, nor knew, the dark.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
i.
The day he lost her to a fallen world
He promised to be satisfied with life
His love came from above abundantly
Commissioned to give back put others first
One day the Sturm und Drang hit city streets
He viewed upon his high apartment floor
Then after business hours his neighbors parked
He witnessed many soaked from pouring rain
Instinctively he grabbed umbrella case
He pulled it from the scabbard to withdraw
His saber in right hand, ran down the stairs
Now opened sheltered fabric for the folks
The people parked now waited one by one
Because the gent had hurried them inside
He got the last one in so safe and dry
The people clapped, bade “thanks, umbrella man”
ii
Weeks later:
He heard the honking horn across the street
A straggler struggles out of vehicle
Looks like a neighbor, hadn't seen before
He gets her out of pouring rain, she smiles
This man who was as masculine as can be
Had felt his legs go weak; her pretty face
She saw his handsome face, aglow; proclaimed -
“Am pleased to meet our famed Umbrella Man”
__________________________________________
Glossary
Sturm und Drang: noun - turmoil, storm and stress, violent disturbance and disorder
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
Consider for a moment,
a straggler of life;
his bag of misfit materials;
the empty train car he sleeps in, when he is lucky.
This, to the world,
is my soul to me.
A snowy field of minimalism,
tainted only by the brief, yet constant,
glimmer on the horizon.
In this vision there is truth,
and hope,
There is truth,
and hope,
in loss and in lacking.
For as stragglers do wander,
their dreams provide homes to thoughts,
and warmth to sadness,
and medicine for wounds.
There was not always this brilliant field of white.
Before it, laid the maze of forestry,
the hovering shadow of fate.
Within the trees was confusion,
and within confusion was pain.
But, with the bright blizzard of chaos,
came the simplicity of love, and therein laid acceptance.
There are those who must chop trees to see the sunlight,
and there are those who simply find the fields of snow,
laying pleasantly within the reflection of the sunrise.
This, to the world,
is my soul to me.
Wandering acceptance,
caught in the mess of falling trees.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 3:43 AM UTC
ephemeral laurels,
those lullabies of may,
became fungi while i was still asleep;
none preserved for the non-punctual
who dreamt of spring through spring–
another missed migration.
i walk along the ridge alone at noontime,
songbirds seemingly on strike against the straggler–
the prairie warblers so persistent in july
have gone, with august, silent,
nestled against the mountain walls
of cicadas’ seventeen-year symphonies,
those long encores–
i listen but do not hear.
i press my ear to the escarpment
and feel i’m missing something–
like ice ages are whirling still within the cool conglomerate
in spite of summer and sweaty palms,
like the passenger pigeons blurred
and smudged into oneness under the strata
have become,
without my knowing, the stratus clouds above–
or perhaps there is no spite in spindly evergreens
that flower for flowering’s sake;
that wilt to wilt;
that winter with or without listening.
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC
She text at 4 a.m.
A long forgotten lover,
sending scrambled messages
from beneath.
She is probably drunk,
yet still, my heart is fraught
with worry and uncertainty.
I wish I could transmute my feelings,
eradicate her shadows,
forget she existed at all.
Sadly I can’t.
Her ghost clings to me
like a second skin
rising, her reflection
only serves to
color and confuse me.
Why can’t I forget?
Why is she still a part of me?
Nagging unanswered questions
walking in the deep.
Yes, she is
a haunted memory,
slowly draining me.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
You know that when we run
We go like hell
Not to be the straggler, it's in our nature
You can tell
Jockeyed up with colours bright
The tension mounting now
We spring out through the starting gate
Streaking past the crowd
Now it's all about the money
For those who placed their bets
For us the bit, the kick, the whip
To make us give our best
This time you've driven me too hard
A trip, a stumble, a broken leg
Too bad. A curtain round, the white coats come
Put a bullet in my head
No sense being sentimental
That's the way it is
C'est la vie, par for the course
In the life and the death
Of a working horse
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC
i woke up this morning
with a rage inside
that i never want to subside
put my hat on
threw the hood up
cigarette lit
thinking bout
who i'm gonna **** next
mask and gloves
barrell of sulfuric acid
ready to find a straggler
anyone stupid
or deserving
to get it
i'm the maintenance man
city garbage man
taking care of this **** they can't keep clean
you think it's mean?
well you should see how it feels
to wake up from my dream
or was it a nightmare?
keep quiet and don't say a word
it'll only get you more hurt
who needs a gun and a bullet
when these bare hands can do it
i'm a ***** nasty ************
my scowl looks like a smile
it's so jaded
and foul
but today's just another day
cleaning up the neighborhood
and ******* your wife
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
The Robin called
And I looked out
From windows balmed
By a Summer January.
His little flushed chest
And my crimson vest
Went well together, so I thought.
He hopped along a twig
And dug for buds on the barren wood
Mourning that Winter long forgotten
In the cycle of death and movement.
He called out his call
And as the days fall
I try to speak to him, so I do.
The slow little bird isn't
Some prophet of the new dawn
But a straggler, slow with the weight
Of his heavy, fateful wings.
He flies to the sky
Follows my eye
To the sunlight I'm watching, so I am.
Sad to see, the true spirit of Spring
So misunderstood, so anticipated
Like the robin, Spring is not happy.
Spring is an epitaph of the lost days.
I wish he'd come back
And he will when the track
Of the year's memories lead him to me, mourning once more,
So they do.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
There is gum in this napkin
Poseidon sent Delphin
To fetch him a Sea Nymph
With whom he had children
There was no arranged marriage
No blue borrowed baggage
Just a soul set to sea
Locked fast in the steerage
A put-upon child
Chased by malady
A Mausoleum door
Opened just for the rabbitry
The epitaph read:
He missed his mother.
A lamb to the slaughter.
There was no one’s daughter.
If you pass by,
then throw in some carrots
for the angels have eyes.
It fell at long last,
Carried in by a straggler
A burial shroud for the body
Outlining his master
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
I once reached into the skies
to pull down the light that
would serve to guide your way.
I was never asked.
I once tender hard labor,
and the lashings of crooked teeth
and stained shirts
to find for you the bauble
you so requested.
I grew old under your
careful tutelage,
until such an age I reached that
the hair grew thin and the
spittle became obvious.
O' the wonders you found in me.
I was such a shell
in the time before we fell,
cradling each other through the shakes
like new born babes,
to the Earth.
Together we found lost
realms which we would hide away
from keen eyes and pointed
questions.
Together we squandered our
time and our money on things
we called our adventures.
If only to smell the sweet
lavender and honeysuckle of
your skin, freshly bathed.
I once crossed a canyon on foot,
such days of thirsty work,
to bring you back the sunshine
we would rub into our smiles.
I was not asked.
I once learned the quick, dutiful
motions of a trained glassblower
so that I might make for you
a thing as beautiful and fragile
as yourself.
It is here, as the skies we once reached
grow dim that I find,
after all the effort and all the
painstaking labor that,
together as we promised,
our greatest work is rewarded.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
Straggler whose self-edifying whip
signs the energy of strandedness...
padlocked to the cold ******* of earth,
whose blood flecks gold in a rain of
rays...ready to consume wholes in
that broadening light of upturned eyes.
Its scales, scaling scales that seem to
equalize as open arms...legless, armless--
that belly's bloated deformity.
Fluxing fat off the land, swiveling exclamation
point tapping its head to outer reaches.
Honorary guest ex nihilo,
whose hiss is silence in reverse.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
The yellow sun
Seems to have shied
Away from my father.
I take one hard look,
Cut
His figure like cardboard,
Paste
Him in the throes
Of the Great Wall,
The seaports of Guangzhou...
It fits him like a glove.
My grandfather
Still thinks it's 1937.
He came here
On a boat
That collapsed
Kissing
Our blueing shoreline.
And I'm not sure if he has
Any memory
Of home but
If so, he seems determined
To live as a straggler.
Forever caught in between
His beloved red-ink
Chinese newspapers
And the fact
That he swears
Quite fluently in Tagalog.
My dad
Always forbade me from cursing.
Rarely did himself.
When he did though,
He'd do it fluently
In Chinese,
His beloved
Local newspaper,
Black and white,
Folded
On his lap.
...sometimes I wonder
If the boat
Truly made it
At all.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
When I was there with you,
With you on the desert
The desert was like a paradise to me:
Because, you were there with me.
I was walking with you,
Walking very close to you.
When we were walking in the desert,
You were covering me from the unbearable heat of the sun.
Oh! You were covering me with your hands,
You touched me, when you cover me with your hands,
I still remember,
How tender that touch was.
Though the desert is like a paradise to me, because of you,
The desert remains.
The heat of the sun was unbearable,
We were thirsty, because there was not water anywhere,
We were hungry, because there was not food anywhere,
Both of us knew that it was the end of our lives,
But still, that place like a paradise to me,
Though we were going to die, my thoughts did not change a bit.
Because I was not alone, you were there with me.
Now you were going to kiss me,
The first kiss from you,
I closed my eyes:
Your lips came close to my lips little by little,
But, Alas! When I opened my eyes;
‘You were not there.’
Besides that my first kiss,
From you were gone.
I cannot still understand,
What was happened at that moment.
But then my thoughts changed.
I felt thirsty, hungry,
and the unbearable heat of the sun,
Because, I was alone then,
Oh! Dear you were not with me.
Then I felt feelings of a straggler,
Who was running in illusion.
Not the illusion of water, food or cold,
But the illusion of you.
I was in a dark place where I could not see anywhere.
After few seconds later I saw something,
It was the gloomy sky with the twinkling stars and the crescent moon.
Then I realized that it was my room and I was on my bed.
Oh! Then I was in the real world.
If it was so, what was that sight?
Yes! I was in a lovely dream with my dearest lover:
Who is unobtainable, because he is a lover of another.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Define the emotion OK interprets.
And when exactly people understood the comings and goings of feelings in general.
How can one understand others.
When an emotional war is being fought on two fronts.
Each bleeding ammo and supplies.
Wasting away.
Just slow enough to have the coroner turn it away.
Nearly dead isn't applicable.
And somehow managed to feel guilty for wasting your death warrant signatures time.
As if the words would change the angle on how others viewed your life.
Only pretending others care enough to pay any mind.
Stiffles the rest of any opposition.
To make sure the dark flames imbued regret correctly..
A magician of sorts.
Only falling on swords for too long leaves little room eventually.
A reverse porcupine that crys blood when forced into moving.
But makes not a sound.
Even this can feel like nothing.
It only takes a little imagination and a dash of humanity.
And when playing god loses its hype.
Will the mob desperse.
Retreat into that in which the torches were burning just moments ago.
Only they don't extinguish.
Just remain awhile for the next hand to lift the taunting relic.
So that repetition can further solidify the obvious.
Shoudnt be long now.
As the oddly familar jester sits to watch.
Death is always a spectacle.
Whispered so softly it was hard to decide if it happened at all.
But it matters little.
For silence is all that follows.
Indifference is a disease.
Stricken with such paralyzing apathy.
That A.D.D. becomes a standard.
Take two before human interaction.
Call in the morning if the guilt remains.
Only remembering to forget can get so.... Confusing.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
You were away when I realized it was love,
I'd never feel this way without your trouble,
So I walked back my love alone,
Picking up the straggler's phone,
Swiping new warmth to replace the old.
I couldn't get over your quick getaway,
Why would we pack up on Saturday,
Wait to move out in late June,
In the dark wealth of the new moon?
Looting what is left,
Emphasis on empty space.
Someday maybe I will rise above,
I concealed my heart like I always do,
Beginning again,
I deserve your disdain,
I am nothing good,
I am nothing great.
Someday maybe you will return to me,
And recycle pounds of incomplete pain,
Until then I'll be alone,
I moved too soon,
You say you're good,
Nothing here is great,
Now that I don't have you.
You get home at a decent hour with him smiling,
He scratches your back while you two chitchat,
And you never argue aloud,
Or turn the flowers inside out,
And leave the broken vase in the hall.
How did you get to heaven before me?
Someday maybe I will try to be alive,
Not to die in the war I create,
Memory of when I had something to lose,
I'd give the good for what is great.
I still hate you for leaving me summer,
I can't get over what is under.
this heart is sluggish and it,
Has a temper that's beyond me but you,
Never understood how I loved;
suffocated in a flood like a young god.
That's why I got to alone,
Why did I never let you say your piece?
Nothing's good,
Even if I close
My burning eyes,
I'm practically in hell.
You will never know,
Because you love him,
I'm your blackest sheep,
Count me off the deep.
You owe me nothing,
Pray one day I'll know,
A pantheon that never falls,
I conceived a forsaken afterlife,
Now that I don't have you.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
Tooth grinding rhythms
spun dizzy by solitary kings
Watch the dollars climb
Enamel lost for moments like these
sanity on the counter top
No conclusion in it's beginning
Swollen mouths slowly splattered
spill mad plans at dawn
******* for organisms
sleep with procrastination
No walls broken
no justice served
Familiar biology is the culprits crutch
Written word is the madman's haven
See through it all in these strange silences
Hollow glances for the caregivers
who paint these spaces gray
Knowing nods for the wallflowers
Who melt into plaster backdrops
A sound subconscious falls short
Collect the notions for motion
But haste makes for unresolved sunsets
Lost time on a sideway
a good find for the straggler
Dusted off and put to good use
A path well trotted
A ride well worth it
No time for cruel gazes
no time for criminal persuasions
Master plan lost in red blue cruelty
Crumpled mass underneath the arches
resigned and malnourished
Hoping for a sane tomorrow
Wish it luck
Knowing no soul deserves indifference
Life rides come random in these moments and this passenger was car sick
Taking moments for consolidation helps make time tolerable
No sense for the creator who builds castles without walls
No sense for the observer who watches world's die
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
I'm standing in the crosshairs
Of a future not yet broken
From the chain linked anchor
Sinking
Into the deepening depths
Of inspiration
Yet I'm as blank as tomorrow's paper
Before time presses in the letters
I am buried deep
Beneath the crossroads
Cursed to stand apart
From those with direction
Tasked to confuse
The faltering straggler
By adding doubts to their
Already overflowing collection
I am weary of this curse
I wear ...
Of overlapping cross-purposes
Where I feel my way
In total darkness
Along the walls
Of an ever narrowing tunnel
Squeezing me
Into a panic state....
Attempting
To force me to confess
That I crossed the line
Once upon a time
Long before
The first second did exist
So my passing by
Had no measure
Had no limits
Had no value
Placed by limitàtions
Needed...
For the formation
Of any creation
So in a sense I am
THE CROSSING GUARD
Disallowing
Any and all who seek
A way of crossing
By standing fast
Between
The future and the past
I am hollow to the core
Those
Who have tried
And failed
To break me down
Grow weary ..as I do
Eventually go away
And I stay
Forever more the door
Locked
Not to ever be opened
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
She was the sweet angel so perfectly fragile
and lost like I was flawed and broken
I felt sharp pain it hurt to see those scars on her legs
She was so beautiful when she smiled and smoked her reds
and guitar played me the song she wrote
she wrapped me in her angel wings and said it was OK you're going to be fine
I see you who you are and that made me feel alive again
it gave me hope and strength
that I was worthy of such a sweet beautiful perfect creation
so I need her to know where ever I am in this world no matter where
I need her to know
I am here and I will come to her and be strong for her and hold her up like she did for me
whenever she needs me I am her straggler
I'll always be there I'll never let her go she's stuck with me forever
as long as blood is pumping through me
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC