"stranding" poems
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
August before the arrival, cloud water hearted, Yula drift, long Sasa, Laji a monk's footsteps, I walk alone, walk in July.
Breeze disrupted my thoughts, I will stand in which to stay, at what station will also continue to drift, but life was however, learned to understand life, to understand life, learned in this way and the way the landscape room becomes indifferent, learn to be a wanderer. (Yiwu export)
Standing on the junction of the season, I do not know the years makes us hurry, or we go hurry.
Earth road, Journey, life mountain water a ride a ride, who can use words of happiness and sadness to resist the pace line prime years. I like the night, a person can go to find quiet in the memory, to the longing to stray, along the way, seen the earthly noisy, bustling seen the world, I think I should be quiet, give yourself a little heart lake, let my heart sink to the bottom of the lake, guarding a suitable melody, so that I can put down his heavy heart. Let yourself get a little dry soul to rest, get a little water moisture.
How many nights like repeat such feelings.
I do not know, tonight the cold moonlight cut the silence who dream? (Yiwu buying agent)
I do not know, who are independent of Migiura up for ages?
I do not know, a cappella blowing a flute in the moonlight hurt much Red?
Youth wind gently blowing, will we gradually grow, gradually happiness, sadness gradually, gradually, we are lost.
Our short life is to experience something, meet some people came. Some encounter in life, like gentle wind, snow, like (yiwu export agent) purity, should meet, then please cherish each other, give each other a warm smile, a warm hug, Xiangxi too, cherished, Should really gone, maybe not leave any regrets, I remember your world I have been to in my life have your shadow. Vicissitudes of time to write more than just wandering, there was a Shizumori, a quiet beauty. Sketch moonlight, I write and draw, describe all the thoughts became a ****** pieces of painting, set into roll of a roll, hidden in the depths of my heart, you can go to wait until spring, waiting to all things prehistoric, waiting for the world to the next reincarnation.
Life, melodious, memory or stranding, go learn to really make a person do a lonely wanderer. I was alone silently took years before the trip, like the horizon of their Su Yi Strider, became a vagabond, wandering around the world.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
At dawn on my twenty fifth birthday
416 pilot whales beached themselves,
in the shallow tides at Farewell Spit.
I woke to rain on the wooden roof
of my new flat
and confused myself in unfamiliar blankets and
the words of your message,
written heartfelt and wobbly
in the early hours before morning,
caught in the marine ebb and flow,
that stranded us too.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 5:06 AM UTC
If you would be my man, baby I'd take you anywhere you wanna go - so let me know, if you take me down, I'll take you around- give me those eyes and I'll love you for days like birds live for skies. And, baby, the way you touch me is completely an accessory to mesmerize me - talk to me, lover, you, the one with the eyes, I'll be yours if you say so in my ear but it's clear you're just a dear, so close never near. Desperate for a heart to hold, fall for smiles and break apart the mold.. Storms that put you to sleep keep you awake, make you shake - it's all in that machine that makes you dream midnight's moonlight on that scene.. Glowing arms reach for your embrace, soft and creamy skin against your face race against your pace, stars fall into place... Dizzy in my dreams, so it seems daily streams of delinquent screams for serious fears and this is what you wanted, you wanted to think, you're here so you speak silence demanding patience since straying, stranding my hopes in hopeless hopefulness helpless for an accomplice.. Designs in my mind lying on the floor like a crime for fame, what a crying shame - dying for the same life-defining, death-defying love stunt mind ****
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
She lets her body slam forwards.
She let the glass slide backward
Break.
Don't stop
Gas pedal.
She feels freedom like the wind
like someone about to jump
She feels the dangers of being skinned
But she doesn't care
Cause she, she,
she is freer than the wind has ever been.
Break. Gas. Turn. Wheel. Pull.
She slides forward the world slides back
Like the destination is tomorrow
And the Road was yesterday
stranding miles behind.
So she laughs
Because
Gas. Gas. Gas. Break.
Has never felt so powerful
Like it wouldn't be the end of the world to use it
abuse it
Cause she thinks she's stronger than the wind
Cause somehow she thinks she is free
As the dollar sign on the meter rings
Ka-Ching
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 3:18 AM UTC
In the last quarter of the twentieth century, much of the world sat on the edge of an increasingly expensive theater seat waiting for something momentous to occur. Christian aficionados of the Second Coming scenario were convinced that, after two thousand years, the other shoe was about to drop. And five of the era's best-known psychics predicted that Atlantis would soon reemerge from the depths. To this last, Princess Leigh-Cheri responded, "There are three lost continents…we are one: the lovers." In whatever esteem one might hold Princess Leigh-Cheri's thoughts, one must agree that the last quarter of the twentieth century was a severe period for lovers. It was a time a time when romantic relationships took on the character of ice in spring, stranding many little children on jagged and inhospitable floes. Nobody quite knew what to make of the moon anymore
Consider a certain night in August. The moon was so bloated it was about to tip over. For more than an hour, Leigh-Cheri stared into the sky. "Does the moon have a purpose?" She inquired. The same query put to the Remington SL3 typewriter elicited this response: Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question in life is whether to **** yourself or not. Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end. Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm. There is only one serious question. And that is: Who knows how to make love stay? Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to **** yourself. Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time. Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon.
-La Dispute, One
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Rangers edge of the city
August before the arrival, cloud water hearted, Yula drift, long Sasa, Laji a monk's footsteps, I walk alone, walk in July.
Breeze disrupted my thoughts, I will stand in which to stay, at what station will also continue to drift, but life was however, learned to understand life, to understand life, learned in this way and the way the landscape room becomes indifferent, learn to be a wanderer. (Yiwu export)
Standing on the junction of the season, I do not know the years makes us hurry, or we go hurry.
Earth road, Journey, life mountain water a ride a ride, who can use words of happiness and sadness to resist the pace line prime years. I like the night, a person can go to find quiet in the memory, to the longing to stray, along the way, seen the earthly noisy, bustling seen the world, I think I should be quiet, give yourself a little heart lake, let my heart sink to the bottom of the lake, guarding a suitable melody, so that I can put down his heavy heart. Let yourself get a little dry soul to rest, get a little water moisture.
How many nights like repeat such feelings.
I do not know, tonight the cold moonlight cut the silence who dream? (Yiwu buying agent)
I do not know, who are independent of Migiura up for ages?
I do not know, a cappella blowing a flute in the moonlight hurt much Red?
Youth wind gently blowing, will we gradually grow, gradually happiness, sadness gradually, gradually, we are lost.
Our short life is to experience something, meet some people came. Some encounter in life, like gentle wind, snow, like (yiwu export agent) purity, should meet, then please cherish each other, give each other a warm smile, a warm hug, Xiangxi too, cherished, Should really gone, maybe not leave any regrets, I remember your world I have been to in my life have your shadow. Vicissitudes of time to write more than just wandering, there was a Shizumori, a quiet beauty. Sketch moonlight, I write and draw, describe all the thoughts became a ****** pieces of painting, set into roll of a roll, hidden in the depths of my heart, you can go to wait until spring, waiting to all things prehistoric, waiting for the world to the next reincarnation.
Life, melodious, memory or stranding, go learn to really make a person do a lonely wanderer. I was alone silently took years before the trip, like the horizon of their Su Yi Strider, became a vagabond, wandering around the world.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
He lived alone along the coast
Small hut he built back in the 20s
He survived the war by
Stranding himself and living off
Critters, tiny insects, and berries
Although he lacked education
He was severely intelligent
Struggling most his life to stay alive,
He would write poems to women
That he never met, but only
Thought up to pass the time:
"I saw you in my sadness
One night we were alone
We had no clothes on
But we were no longer cold
There was fruit out for us
And blankets on the floor
In front of a small fire
I would kiss your back
And with each kiss
Upon your glowing skin
You had shed a tear
First from the left eye
And then a tear from the right
I kissed you over and over
Never asking why you cried
Because your turned around
With an enormous smile
And kissed me on the mouth
And held me so tightly
Later you told me that each tear
Was a layer of yourself
Peeling off
A bad memory in the past
It was you losing pieces
Of who you once were
Of what you once knew
And you wanted to start over
Tonight with me
Right here in front of the fire"
He wrote poems and ate berries
For the rest of his life
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
A teacher died at our school today
and tears dropped from black lined eyes
the chapel was full of
somber human creatures
praying without noise
sniffles thundered the heavy silence
everywhere I looked were red
swollen glossy eyes
and blank
pained expressions of sorrow
water fell down on ripe grass
cascaded down cheeks
and spilled off of noses
choked voices cracked liked fractured bones
the priests voice wobbled
a loose stool leg
as he recalled visiting her in the hospital
stranding strongly at the podium
tales of her existence bloomed out of mouths
and watery laughter could be heard
from the classrooms
I
a lowerclassman
watched indifferent
yet silent
embracing my older friends silently
as they cried
we came together as a family
to remember a wonderful woman
Mrs. Hansen
may you rest in peace
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
I spent your birthday riding busses trying to forget you. HSBC's and courthouses falling by the wayside give way to farmland. $25 left in my chequing account and I can't help but consider stranding myself on Salt Spring. strangling myself with salt water. what is it worth, life, if love fades and creatures exploit each other like coal mines till 9 PM- or maybe it's just my life that is so empty and void. maybe this is my last day alive because the last time I lived was so long ago I can't remember. I'm put on antidepressants, then I'm put off you. I'd seek out *** to validate my self-worth but I don't much feel like sinking to that level would do much to purge my system of this evil presence. I hate myself and you made me hate me more. I watch the highway land scape by like a collection of our hopeless, anxious hopes, and I wonder- what was I doing in the first place?
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
So this is the watermark
The stranding after the deluge
Tidal storms recede
And I am wreckage on your shore
Gulls hover
Strident cries they scrabble
For cast off sparkling trinkets
Dead flesh
Winging requiem for a life unlived
Slip the yellow tape boundary
Drape daisy chains and platitudes
Across my fractured hull
Would you find wild beauty
In weathered wood
Barnacle scars
And the echo of measured surf
Set this longship by the sunstone
Radiant light when skies are heavy
Sullen with winter chill
Would you cleave to the beat
Aegir’s heavy hand on your prow
The moon pull of open water
The tease of salt spray
On full lips whisper my name
One more time
Quiet
Voice across the deep
And I will breathe
Will you simply wreath
My memory
“ see the line of my people back to the beginning
Lo, They do call to me”
Cast the fire and plot the stone ship
Pebbles skipped cross brackish water
My legacy sinks
Little rippled terminus
Wont shred butterfly wings
Or froth the wild tides
To the maelstrom
So this is the watermark
Strand my heart
With one spilled tear
TL Boehm
09/03/2014
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
THAT ADLESTROP MOMENT
Train stops.
Stranding us in real life countryside.
Townies gobsmacked.
Silence attacks.
The world melting
in a heat haze.
Where has our real
reality gone?
Tracks lead away from us
be we are going
nowhere
fast.
As if the future
had ceased to exist.
We are like the male member
caught in the teeth
of a too hastily
done-up zip.
Yep,,,,,,,doesn't go up!
Oooops,,,,doesn't go down!
A kestrel free
of our dilemma.
Laughs at us
"Humans, eh....who'd 'ave 'em!"
Smaller birds gossip
discussing this all too human
situation.
I recite Adlestrop
in my mind
to my reflection
staring dumbly back at me.
"There is a countryside
in my face..."
I Marvell.
As if Nature
had invaded my physiognomy .
"Unwontedly...something
something something or other."
Oh bother!
"No one left and no one came."
The birds stop to listen.
"Yes, we remember Adlestrop!"
they twitter.
"Hear it one day
in what you humans
call
the Past.
Wot a laugh!
They unaware that there is only
one great big forever."
I fell silent.
Deserted by all thought.
"Give us some more
of that good old Adlestrop stuff!
The birds chirrup.
"No what less still and lonely fair
through cloudlets in the sky."
I ventured.
"Naw...naw...naw mate!"
a crow caws.
"The bit 'bout us birds
if you please!"
I cough and continue.
"Farther and farther, all the birds
of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire."
The birds all cheep and cheer.
"Hip hip hooray for Edward Thomas!"
The train remembers itself.
Rouses itself from its slumbers.
As if all this
had been but a dream.
"Yes, I remember Adlestrop"
But not all of it.
It was June.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
she sat with her back to the brick column
holding up a vestibule, she found useful
as a public sorting place for the private
contents, of her camel coloured purse, remarkably ****
tered as her ****** life"*, her short term
fix, IT, took a carefully cared for, crack pipe.
Running late was I, and eye contact was made
and I quietly but firmly said to the seated glazed eyes look-
ing up at me, "might be best if you leave."
next day kilometres away, early morning bank
deposit, and a coffee run, me and the dog, out
for fun "car rides" bring her much delight, a voice
from behind said "mister, mister you gotta help me!,
I'm, not an addict, and last night I could not get home,
rode transit for free out to here from Kitsilano but,"
she breathed, "in the it cost me a ticket for one
hundred and seventy five dollars, when I got caught"
I looked at her, seeing her hair dishevelled and a face full
of what, despair...? "so what do you want from me?"
She
ran on with her mouth, playing with her top, the sentence was
run on and wouldn't stop. "*I made some bad choices, came here to meet my EX, found him with a girl having *** and I need ten or twenty,
bucks to get me home, the transit cop said he would not let me back on and would still be working until three A.M., stranding me, until this morning see?*!"
We
went back and forth, verbally,
"transit does not cost that
much, stop asking me for
money!", and she fired
back,
"my math is bad,
the money would be
nice and do your Karma
good, I am a big believer
in that", finally I left her
with a small handful of
small change and watched her walk
away, got in my car, got my coffee, got going home...
but as I drove by her, she was standing back to the hedge,
calm had returned as she waited, her hair was in place,
I saw something I failed to observe during our dialogue....
under her arm was
that camel coloured
purse...two women
suddenly became one
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
do not say it, express it
my life in a moment has been
a momentarily lapse of reason.
my heart in this venture has been
a vexing vent into a loving treason.
my soul caught up betwixt has been
a bewitching of what makes "me".
my fate in mutation has been
a mutinous stranding at sea.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
She rode the wave of exclamation,
a borrowed stirrup buckled the wind -
of promises broken,
turning pledges to gorse
yellow stranding into infinity.
She pardoned with forgiveness,
self serving without a kiss
and finished the morsels
the crumbs
of her hard fought victory.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Going through a life filled with pain,
Thought Being born in this life was a shame,
In the making it was love I always wanted from my family
and friends and a girl to call my name,
cut a human being off like a speeding limit,
Only to be pulled over with a speeding ticket,
learning to do right in an economy that doesn't care
about your well-being, or your soul and spirit,
You were in it,
honorable mention,
linked up all your limits,
and the feelings, well,
they just left and did some feral shifting,
Stuck in a dark fantasy or maybe a death stranding,
i was here from the beginning and when you took your last standing,
you were,
misunderstood in a world full of impurity,
lived for the love of another in this monstrosity,
serve a near purpose for people you'd die for in eternity.
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
The wisps of the rainbow
streak through the sky:
The soaring spectrum of the tears
in all its vibrant glory.
Shades: Tints: Lengths: Depths
of redemption
diving onto the land
into the arms of those
who cry for it.
For it is receptive of the tears of men.
Together, the tide hearkens to the beacon
to fill the fallen
with a submersion
of rushing glory!
And in its descent, building charge,
stranding streaks of silver shoot
deep into the realm
piercing the souls
of the worthy:
Throwing them to their knees...
Engulfed with the life: The surge.
Sobbing joy. Laughing praise.
Raising their heads to the sun:
The mighty
city of emeralds
from which the path
of the soaring spectrum
begins.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
A glitch, changing certainty into turmoil.
Myriad of thoughts that unhinge doors.
The lines of sanity are blurred,
Bridges are falling, stranding me.
The ice is thinning,
And I'm alone,
Pretending to skate.
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 4:19 PM UTC
words words words.
in what language
could we ever say
all that we mean,
ever be seen?
silence thus glides.
a shore for stranding.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Those dreams fading away,
carried by the clouds, that suddenly surfaced.
Those worry clouds - surely able to take away those infatuated love.
Those guiding hands of yours are no more here,
I am so lost in the wilderness,
Without you by my side.
Those feeling of not wanting and wanting at the same time,
I am so perplexed, yet try to understand the full context of it
by seconds by minutes by hours and by days.
Maybe not maybe yes,
we are so selfsame however unconnected, unrelated here and there.
So here we goes our epoch of love, swaying, stranding on the beach of blurriness. I stood dumbfounded not knowing what to do.
Do I failed miserably or we haven't tried at all?
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
I thought you loved me
Showing unfathomable amounts of passion
Understanding me on unreachable levels
Accepting me for me
And then you vanished
Stranding me with thoughts of anguish
Questioning, what I did wrong
You abandoned me
Leaving me empty with 3 words in your wake
What is love?
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 12:53 AM UTC
The streets are dark,
on Christmas eve;
with none to rule & conquer darkness...
Staring at an abyss...thinking there's hope,
the long Halloween's nightmare lies still...
Snow slowly stranding shadows upon such a splendid slumber - this macabre alley presumed a plain phantasm.
The scent of chestnuts...flattered nothing but a bitter sweet souvenir;
even you...resemble a phantom of grief!
That terrace taught turmoil & tragedy,
on Christmas day;
all reunited to cherish cruelty & carve out hypocrisy from honesty...
~ A. Rose
Dec 29, 2024
Dec 29, 2024 at 3:42 PM UTC
I crave her warmth,
However, her love was filled with thorns,
my eyes sparkled when I saw her as if she were golden,
only to find the blood in her veins was frozen,
so close to her, I could hear her rapid heartbeat,
I wish our love were more concrete,
I wish I could stay with you one more night,
And Make love to you as if it were destined for life,
Hours would go on and we end up panting,
Now those meticulous details have me stranding,
Now I look back and I consider it my zenith,
But people think of it as a blemish,
My affection was myriad,
And I desired a longer period,
Whatever we had was venerable,
Oh lord, I wish it were not ephemeral,
And now I have been yearning to feel your skin,
But you repudiated it by committing a sin.
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 3:33 PM UTC
I remember, I remember
The fall that splintered
into your eyes...
Our kiss goodbye
Your first time and my last night
Everything is alright
It’s alright
if we shudder,
I’ll stutter
every time you walk by
The legs and your neck,
My teeth; stuck in between
The curtain and the chimney
It’s not what it means
Do you see?
Let me lay down now
Let me see what’s at store
I wanna see your bluebird fly
I want to tell you what it’s for
It’s all for nothing!
Oh no,
Not now...
Not when!
Maybe things will be different then
Maybe I’ll look like a stranger that you once knew
Maybe you’ll begin to wonder
What it is about you
What is it?
It’s
death stranding
Leaving me lost in a fog
that was never there.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC