"stripe" poems
Crack in the ceiling
Expensive repair.
Crack in the glass
Duct tape
Crack of a switch
Stripe the *****
Crack of a gun
Someone's done
Crack the vein
Relieve pain
Crack of lightning
Frightening
Crack the whip
Obey
Crack my skull
My mind mulls
Crack the mirror
Old wives’ tales dither
Crack the door
It's her …
Crack of her ***
Beautiful tail
Ends this tight little piece
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
Drop of red,
Large orb in the sky of orange,
Sour yellow,
Soft lushes green,
Body's of wavy blue,
Romantic flowers of fake purple,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
Sweet red stripe,
Juicy orange fruit in my hand,
Bright Yellow petals,
Long green branches,
Silky blue scarf,
Deep purple bucket of hope,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
Red lace on a white dress,
Orange skinny swirls on a white dress,
Yellow collar on a white dress,
Green bow on the red lace,
Blue stripes on the green bow,
Purple string keep the whole outfit as one,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
My Rainbow is natural.
My Rainbow is the things I hold.
My Rainbow is my dress.
My Rainbow is me, is you, is everyone,
A Rainbow has bloomed over you.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
I’m working to unwrap you slowly
To form you up like a theory
To create a habitat for you in my head
My steps grow wider when I see you at the end
Lying, lounging, an old lion
Afternoon sun low and tired
Rays and shadows streak the road like enveloping arms
As I grow closer, you project even further away
I just long to reach you
Rest my head against your ***** and
Sleep against your softness like a pile of feathers
To rest at last.
But at times I think I’ll never reach you,
As I approach you reflect even further away
I wonder that this road is endless, thinning into the distance
The black wires radiate into the air above me
Mutating my simple DNA into something else entirely
A sole purpose survivor, a solider
The cause is more desperate now
They’re buzzing to each other above my head, talking about me
Their scrutiny banging between my ears
The dust becomes a new layer of me, with incredible thirst
Just fields of dehydrated dandelions, just nothing
They soak up the liquid from everything
With their chemical and electrical waves
The fields are screeching as they shrivel up, like dying children
Now it’s all yellow, beige, and far away
It’s all so tiny against the horizon,
For all I know, your silhouette has become a statue by now
Just this long stripe of dirt I treat like a passageway
Just a ladder to a final place of rest
I’m desperate for a stop in my trudging motion
But I know I can’t lie down in this unworthy sand.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
The singleness of mind
as the pavement lobotomizes you.
No forks in the track
at any point.
from point A
to point B
Employ your limbs or you might fall asleep
as you are serenaded
by strange music
from universes
just discovered.
Some universal truth tough to explain.
How every galaxy
in every glint
on this desert road
is, with precise frequency, interrupted
by that yellow stripe
running in intervals down eternity lane
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Lone leatherback cruises up from the deep, pausing on the fragile reef
to feast ancient eyes upon the show, a bright parade laid out below
butterfly couples paired for life, graceful angels in black and white stripe
brilliant clowns and their toxic lovers, a plodding gang of giant groupers
puffers bob like comic balloons, humble gobies on every menu
beaked parrotfish grinding the coral down, in the ears a constant sound
cowfish blowing puckered kisses, sea stars catching fishy wishes
white-tipped, hammerhead, tiger sharks, triggerfish mean bite worse than their bark
untamed unicorns too wild to ride, dogfish snapping, biting alongside
coral trout color-shifting fools, attracting ladies in dull-hued schools
**** headed wrasse rumbling through, thick lips mumbling go get a room
sea horses nod in labyrinth caves, razor-toothed eels lying in wait
if tentacled embrace should be your fate, nudibranchs will light the way
to a place of bliss, none of this can exist, without the builders
coral and algae bewildered, the ways of man egotistical
rising ocean temperatures, carbon emissions, and el Niño
victim of abundant greed, say goodbye to the Great Barrier Reef
so massive is this magical place, one can see it from outer space
astronauts witness its demise, ninety-percent barren, bleached bone white.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
I'm sitting in the big chair
Taking my fingers and tracing them over the patterns
I'm making shapes and scratching into the fabric
A thread or two tug and make a noise as they cling to the tips of my nails
I'm looking at the wallpaper
Slowly moving my eyes and counting every stripe on the wall
White, blue, red, blue, white
I count 136 before i lose my place and have to start all over again
i notice a flaw in the pattern and move on
I'm closing my eyes and resting
Trying my hardest to ignore your gaze and your difficult questions
I don't speak
I don't listen
I don't feel
I just sit and rest
136 stripes, 208 triangles, 2 flaws- one in the wallpaper, the other is me
That's why i'm sitting in the big chair today
With the lady i don't care for
Listening to questions i don't know the answers to
Ignoring her cry for some sort of reply
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
When I'm near you I'm anxious.
At any moment I can explode.
A coloration of floral hues printed across the sky,
Covering you; the night.
Appropriately expanding.
A sizzle awaiting detonation.
Catapulted high.
Nothing to do but fall.
Fall in love with you.
Plummeting down unable to sit still.
Your hand the stripe that surrounds me.
Stars; echo in a crackle.
Change is inevitable.
The glory of being held close,
Counting every second until we burst into pieces.
Wandering around your essence.
Wandering in turquoise yellows & purple strawberries exhaled in smoke.
The moon forever jealous
Every night July everlasting.
The closer I get to you
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the initials 'F T' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
In the green desert--and am free.
For here the fair savannas know
No barriers in the bloomy grass;
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,
Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.
In pastures, measureless as air,
The bison is my noble game;
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.
Mine are the river-fowl that scream
From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;
The brinded catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
Even in the act of springing, dies.
With what free growth the elm and plane
Fling their huge arms across my way,
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train
Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!
Free stray the lucid streams, and find
No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind
Where never scythe has swept the glades.
Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere
The heavy herbage of the ground,
Gathers his annual harvest here,
With roaring like the battle's sound,
And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:
I meet the flames with flames again,
And at my door they cower and die.
Here, from dim woods, the aged past
Speaks solemnly; and I behold
The boundless future in the vast
And lonely river, seaward rolled.
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew;
Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,
And trains the bordering vines, whose blue
Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?
Broad are these streams--my steed obeys,
Plunges, and bears me through the tide.
Wide are these woods--I thread the maze
Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies
O'er woody vale and grassy height;
And kind the voice and glad the eyes
That welcome my return at night.
4.9k
Some day’s I'm like polka dots bouncing all around,
Can’t keep my feet on the ground,
Never lying around
Colorful and brilliant
But other days I’m more of the like a single stripe,
Plain and out of site,
Wishing it was tomorrow
In pain and full of sorrow.
Which one will it be?
Well, for today we’ll just have to wait and see.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 8:56 AM UTC
Crystal White Pearl paint,
red racing stripes,
MX-5 traced
on the side
Lightweight aluminum
alloy, seventeen inch
wheels wrapped in
205/45 summer
performance tires,
Limited-
Slip Differential,
rear wheel drive,
Six-speed manual
transmission, weighted
shift **** perfectly
palm-sized
Black sport clutch
bucket seats, seamed
racing red stitching, a clutch
worked with a snap
of the heel, a flick
of the wrist.
Crystal White dash panel,
red racing stripe
MX-5 traced lines
match the stripes outside.
Piano Black
mirrors match
bucket seats
and the cloth
soft top
unfolds on summer days,
spring nights, fall
mornings.
Heaven/
Nirvana/
Happiness
found
now
with a snap of the heel
& flick of the wrist.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
"Stop It!" shouted the man
who was dressed in a ***** pin stripe suit,
eye glasses half askew on his nose,
ski-slope haircut sported since his youth.
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the hundredth time I felt it's sting.
I stood there, patiently and quiet
caressing my double bass violin
my secret seventh grade lover;
she had **** curves and a deep, soothing voice.
I stood there, impatiently and quiet
waiting for Mr. Heidrich to finish the lesson
focused on the third seat violinist
whom played without feeling, again.
I stood there, overbearingly anxious
tapping on the shoulder of my wooden BFF
my rendition of the William Tell Overture
A performance worthy of a Grammy!
The man in the ***** pin stripe suit,
turned and looked at me, scornfully
his half-bald head turned beet red
body shook violently like an earthquake!
The energy released from his gullet
would have made Mount Vesuvius jealous
fiery vocals of curse and rage
would have made the evilest of demons run for cover!
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the 101st time I felt it's sting.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
Forsythia,
here blazing out,
in,
is it tractor,
center stripe,
or school bus yellow?
A distant cousin to the olive tree.
Would that a rioting branch,
when offered,
would never fail to restore
tranquility and peace.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
~dedicated to the old poets here~
the addictive pairing of certain words, a line,
a lyric, slap-snapping you to full attention,
unfailing decades of instant recognition,
an adrenaline + caffeine shot that powers
a chance, a tensile injection that causes
the lips to commence a new choreography,
the fingers to tap, a jumbled, hurried, embattled
disorderly mess that regenerates, reformulates,
concords into agreement, a harmonic consistency
a geometry of many differing angles that equate
a hard physical, a soft mentality in a singled work,
coexisting in a sacred state of singed confluence,
though imperfect, satisfies mathematical boundaries
of a random outpouring, crowning the stripe inspiring
the spark that finally satisfyingly silences an ignited
filament a-glowing for years, that holy happens
to cross your antennae, fulfilling the need to honor,
the sacred geometry of chance, the honor to need,
the joy of saying, at last, this unwritten debt, paid!
————————————————————————-
(1) a favorite of many years, a lyric from “The Shape of My Heart” by Sting
(2) Dec 3 2020 2:53pm NYC
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 2:59 PM UTC
all the zebras
gather in the night
to rearrange
their
zebra stripe
just two color
black and white
a jigsaw puzzle
oh what a sight
but
what if we exchange
the
colored patterns
between
the
zebras and the giraffes
still
the
lions are there
in the soft moonlight
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 9:02 AM UTC
Asleep, your touch sparks arousal
Brings, sparks, kindling fire
Carries, your desire
Deeper to the night
Embrace, sultry words whisper
Fingertips grace, tighten
Gifting life, hardening
Hands explore, so soft
Into and out, dreaming flight
Just give to me this sin
Kinship in sensual prowess
Left not to my devices
Mouthing delicate blessings
Not silent, your moans
Open, spreading for you
Pulsating bulb, dripping nectar
Quivering thighs, devour
Rapturous entry tight
Some pleasures indulge
Touch me, send me over
Undulating, spinning for the edge
Vicious nails, like teeth
Wanton desire show the night
X rated, our bodies only
Zebra stripe across my back
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field
wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando
she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -
her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s
- lordy, lordy -
she said they bolstered her
fire power
we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.
12/5/14
:)
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
In my yard stands a tree
tall and sturdy
lone like a hermit,
regal like an empress
her roots dug deep
her branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
She has a coy dalliance with the Wind
Sometimes he comes tickling
her tender parts, whispering
sweet nothings in her ear
Overall she is still
Still....................
like waters without ripples
She stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
Indeed a tryst with destiny!
Under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
she remained uncomplaining.
Below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle ******
she stayed nonchalant.
When the wind swept across
bending her branches in all directions
she stood on firm feet unwavering.
She tells a tale of struggle and survival
She had stood there before I was born
Now she displays every scar and every stripe
on her knotted bark as a proud trophy
Sometimes I feel her pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
Yet she holds an umbrella over all
who come to her in sun and rain
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
As I move along this Jaded biway
Gathering up all the discarded refuse
Of all the people freely moving on
With the scattered discourse of their lives
I wonder if they ever even realize
The wonderous thoughts that materialize
In the minds - of those confined
To time upon time upon endless time
Let loose through the portals
Of rubber wheeled time machines
The half consumed french fries
And the other assorted wrappers
From the king or the colonel or old MacDonald
To await the attention of me
Or one of my Band of Brothers
Stripe garbed attendants on a social mission
To gather up all that is discarded
Picking up all the pieces for a dollar a
day
Serving my time for some stupid crime
That I might never have done
If I'd been given the job... Like... Perhaps
Picking up trash on the side of the road
And for the feeling of pride - at earning my own
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
or HOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
or COT,
The Akond of Swat?
When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
or SHOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people **** in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
GAROTTE,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
SHALLOTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
or a SCOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
or a GROTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
or a ***
The Akond of Swat?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
or a KNOT.
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat?
3k
Old stripe-laced tiger moth of the Serengeti with your sugar-seeking tongue,
Your powdered fang stubs into another ******* hartebeest of some bud.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
The
weight of the world sitting dumbly on
those fructose eyelids.
They, in turn. melt into the mummified
morning.
laying in the corner forever like a
favorite-shirt
ruined in the wash.
Every other stripe on you is stained pink
from
some cheap volunteer tee that ****** up
The whole load.
Each ray from the blinds
Takes some life away.
Searing past you- into the floorboards
with
quiet fury.
Time passes_
It shoves us down into compact spaces.
(but)
I thought of you
In a shoplifter's prayer.
(There is something left that evaporates out in the form of you)
I imagined you
Still.
But growing
Like
Crystal salts
Crusting up the pores of the earth.
Vapors fumbling upwards to rehydrate
My dry fingers_
We make decisions . that stick around.
We break off blisters. Rip little things that hang off our lips.
We take breaks before we need them.
Take too long to say
**** this.
Thoughtlessness.
*Somewhere out there, they are screaming loud.
Somebody either cares or
Doesn't.*
The marks on the carpet know better than
us
How to last forever
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
Maybe these wonders
that float by the bed
of the wandering traveler
will ever find peace
to the rivers it washed
on the shore of tomorrow
but the train has departed
time itself frozen
in ice-trays for scalding
hot yesterdays
lollipop remnants
askew in the hallway
of this rundown shack
rewind the
disk so as to portray
all the shame felt
by this day
we say Hello..
hands waved to the sky
as rainbows descend
heaven above like wings
white as the
snow, but pure like
nothing seen before
we dance...
mixtures of speech
blend like smoothies
of strawberry finess
every stripe, every spot make
the gold seams of the dress
stars wear. year
after year it grows
to burst with
confetti they float and
we stare...
blankly each moment
is blurred
muddy images pierce the walls
drip do they fall like rain
on the ground covered in
petals and petals of flowers
so red but yellow
we hug...
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
I know what you want.
It's what they all want, all pine for
You're like animals, animals, savage and oh
The pride that you have, it reeks off of you, from your skin bones core face eyes
I don't understand it
Because oh, they enjoy it so much
And they view themselves as items and such
But I can see you, see into your eyes
You trapped scared cornered bullied worried little boy
You think you need this
It's the animal inside you that I can feel
Languishing and writhing inside, desperate to feel something, feel anything
You need the connection, but it's waning breaking distant over away from your reach
Intangible, irreplaceable, lost
What are words when they can't reach you?
Used to communicate but oh you use your body
And your eyes, they tell me stories
Of where you've been, where you're going, where you are
But you're not here right now present ever because you're lost hidden silent child crying wailing sealed away suppressed
I can feel it all in your touch.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC