"sunglass" poems
You tried to learn everything you could.
About life, love, religion. The whole deal.
You were convinced that you would be the one to go to if there was ever an apocalypse.
You laughed things off, but you always had a heavy heart.
And when you shared your soul, It was beautiful.
You used to call me in the middle of the night
Pretending to be an old black man from Louisiana
Keeping me up for hours laughing.
I ALWAYS found it creepy to wake up on the couch to you spooning me.
And whenever you just randomly licked me across the face,
I was truly disgusted.
I've never seen someone break a bone before,
But you took it like a champ. And still caught the ball.
Washing dishes.
Late night bike rides.
(You riding Mom's bike, honking that **** horn at EVERYONE)
Sunglass and antique shopping.
Ancient Ways.
Bonfires.
Oreo races.
Sushi trips.
Labyrinth hunting.
Our obsession with graffiti.
And SO much more.
We had such a rocky start.
And we drove eachother crazy.
But you made me feel special.
Important.
You saw things in me that no one, including myself, would've ever noticed.
I will be forever thankful to have gotten the chance
To see what a beautiful person you truly were.
You grew to be more than my friend.
You were my brother.
I Loved you more than you'll ever know.
This stupid poem doesn't do justice to explain just how much you meant to our whole family.
You were a part of it, whether you wanted to be or not.
That's where you ended up,
And I've never been so happy to have a *** sleeping on our couch.
You were one weird ******* kid. But man, I sure loved you♥
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
I think of mom often.
Like when I read anything by Jack London
or Ernest Thompson Seton.
Her memory swirls around me when I see a dead opossum by the roadside
it reminds me of the one we had as kids.
Yes, we had an opossum.
It wasn't a pet as much as it was a wounded soldier,
convalescing in a field hospital close to the front and cared for by Florence Nightingale,
except the field hospital was our carport under a suspended Old Towne wood canoe,
the battle, with a Ford or Chevrolet, on the main road near our house in Connecticut.
Florence was Mom.
She peeks at me around corners in the kitchen when I make fish,
or soup,
because I hated fish as a child.
She made us eat it because it was healthy and the blocks of frozen Turbot were cheap
and she was a single mom at forty two with three hungry mouths to feed.
She tried to make me think it was exotic because it came from Iceland.
I thought Turbot was Icelandic for "more bones in your mouth than you ever thought possible".
Mom was, however, an accomplished homemade souper.
She's by my side as I explain wild things
to other little wild things which hang on my every word.
Words put into my head which make it seem,
to the under four foot set,
that I know everything.
Knowledge put there by her in our yard,
by the lakes of New York, the mountains of West Virginia or deserts of California.
She is in every frog that jumps, whippoorwill that calls or each stalk of Jewel ****
which is a cure for poison ivy by the way,
that grows near a stream in the woods.
But then today
as my daughter opened the overhead sunglass holder in her car for the first time,
the Subaru she inherited from Mom over a year ago,
and Grandma's sunglasses fell out,
there were no thoughts of lessons learned
or knowledge imparted.
Today,
I just thought of her.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
I am safe behind my sunglass
Their shine hides my eyes, which reveals much of myself.
And I wear my sunglass in the darkness
I wear my sunglass where I please.
Nothing can touch me
Because I am safely hidden behind my sunglass
If I renewed my shades
When I entered through the door
Then I would be predictable.
I be who I want to be
Safely hidden behind my sunglass.
I am a magician
I am a Dylan
I am who I want to be
Safely hidden behind my sunglass
I can see everything and yet remain unseen
I don’t need to worry
For I am safely hidden behind my sunglass
Like everything they are more than what they are
Unlike myself, they are my fearless shield.
And I shall remain safely hidden behind my sunglass.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 1:16 PM UTC
Fallen eyes and wandering leaves
It's a wonder why anybody leaves
Can you help me find my way to nowhere at all?
Can you kiss me up against the tower wall?
Sunglass eyes and sun-dressed skin
A whole city wondering where you've been
Is there anywhere else you'd like to fall in love?
No one here can do it just once
Drink to dream your color queens
Stuck between movie scenes
Where we beg time to just give us a break
And wonder how long this perfect twist takes
Laugh and play and cry and sing
A perfect place perfects all things
Springtime never ends on the Paris streets
Where you can fall in love with everyone you meet
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
The sweet summer sun shines on me
On a quiet bench in the city park
With my guitar and a softened voice
I write a song about a broken heart
And the way home is lit with sunglass eyes
Reflecting back the summer day
All I see is good and bad
Without much else to do or say
Steam rises from a lakefront balcony
And some react to an inside joke
Some days are meant for misery
But today is meant for calm and hope
And my way home is like a picture frame
With kisses on suntanned cheeks
All I hear is my mother's song
On a day when the air is sweet
A patron sells his portrait piece
But he'll paint you for a fee
With a bigger nose and bigger smile
That you can hang up for all to see
And my way home is smooth and still
Like an easy feeling country song
All I know is I am who I am
And you can always ride along
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
About an hour on the road
And too many left to go
There's a few things still on my mind about something so long ago
Where by the shadow of the smoke
And the feeling of hope
There was story too short to be told
A few feet from the highway line
The trees are as dead as you and I
Put on your sunglass face to cover up those hidden eyes
Whenever it flashes back
It just makes me laugh
To think of how much I cried
Just one more cup of coffee for the road
So I can make it back to my home
Back to that cabin on the lake swallowed up by the undertow
And the shop is closed
No one knows
Where true love goes before it dies on the road
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Other worlds have hopes,
for plants, for trees and
dogs walking by, panting
soaking in humidity like carp
above water.
Not ours.
Dead ends, parked cars supplanting
serenity with passion, desire
crammed into
row upon row of heartless
dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing
**** suckers
blocking their emptiness from the world
with reverse blindfolds.
I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at
them. Walking, I
walk past
their barricaded kennels, under-
construction housing
impersonating natural climes
with sushi and slushy shops.
People like them have admiss-
able drives, hankering after
freedom; they're indoctrinated
to believe admission is
monthly cable bills
wired in beneath concrete slabs
maintained compliance
through lines painted on grass
where overlords can tell livestock
what to do.
Bus chutes form
hillsides, beside lines of
trees which perfume these
feedlots
we call
cities.
**** oozes below streets
walked on, they stared at me
like cows, watching a ranch-hand
suspicion toward anything
beyond bistro fences.
"What the **** are you looking at,
you filthy animal?
Have you no idea which species your greed
feeds?
Do you know where this ends
for you?
Who's tazing your ***
who's making you sit there?"
Moo, mooo.
Mooooooooooooooooooo.
Receipts, a cudgel on each table,
more cudgels ring
from pockets
telling them what time it is,
where they're to be.
Sunday's almost over,
back to blocks of houses!
Graze on painted grass,
then die,
but not before you stare at me
with empty eyes,
you pathetic, miserable
creatures.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
On my usual flight
from Dallas to Boston,
I saw her,
a perfect belle
a white summer dress
red roses in print
Alfred Dunner perhaps?
Lips pouting,vermillion red
delicate nose, dark sun glass
a Gucci, I could see,
scent of Nina Ricci perfume
reached my nose
"Lucky lady", I told myself.
Me in modest clothes
wondered how happy she was,
sure as looks do tell;
diamond ring
perfectly poised,
commuting to work place
has a good job for sure!
On a sudden impulse
glanced at her face,
and was just in time to see
large drops of tears
slide lazily
from behind the dark glasses
roll over the cheeks
and fall on the lap,
and then another
and another.
Yet she sat still
faintest tremor on the lips
I imagined a volcano
erupting in her heart.
I looked at my faded skirt
and closed my eyes,
wondering, wondering;
joy and sorrow
elusive indeed,
where do they strike
how do they ****
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
Never mind the headache, ma'am, I got no time for your wishin that you had another couple hours sweaty spoonin with me
These days I got high time
racing like underline
all the while the future words seem
as if they're repeating
much slower or bleeding
white into the rest of the page
I gotta go ta work
Never mind the simple kiss, the stranger smile, the holy art.
Never mind the needful hand, I hear all the words that you're speaking and I've spent years making them not cut into me.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Stick straight trees line hills, their arrangement phony
less than 5,000 feet in elevation but elevating humanity for over
sixty thousand.
For more than sixty thousand human beings,
think of fish stuck, are stampeded by shiny black
blocks of detonation.
Explosion for extraction, and teeny tiny port-o-potties
sit, enjoying relaxation where an ecosystem once
enjoyed rehabilitation after March.
We Marched on, up a gravel hill where wind
blew but we bolted our boots to the soil.
Sunglass-clad woman concealed her hurt eyes,
but her voice hurt enough to inspire a kind of
throat retching sensation.
***** up that black, ooey-gooey you old, weathered mountain top.
Explosives like a firm finger shoved down the throat
denote a rock spew; regurgitate and repeat a dozen times over.
Flatten and deform, never to reform
the water-giving, life-renewing, shady shelter, stable
stool, magic majesty of my mountain.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Woke up on the edge of it
the sober morning light
woke up and felt assured of it
but it didn't make it right
So now I paint my eyes so blue
and they colour all my days
all I do is think of you
in the sunglass shade
Woke up with my mind set on
all that's come and gone
are you still listening
to the same old sad, sad songs?
Or does the sun reflect your mood
now you made it out alive?
Do you still need a drink or two
to fall asleep on time?
Woke up on the edge of it
the sober morning light
woke up and felt assured of it
but it didn't make it right
So now I paint my eyes so blue
and they colour all my days
all I do is think of you
in the sunglass shade
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
What I take when I go to the beach
A pair of slippers
A bottle of cream
One sunglass
And a lovely swimsuit
A nice looking umbrella
A basket to put all the food
A beautiful Bag to put all clothes
That’s what I take when I go to the beach!
By: menu vianga Dias
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
When you walked out the pub doors
On a sea of tears and last embraces,
The town stood still.
You broke my heart,
Set it back into place
So that I could feel again.
I was amongst the grown men
Turning backs on each other,
Wrangling our hair,
Pacing the floor,
Until we could not hold back
The occasion any longer.
I know when my plane comes
There will be brief handshakes,
Warm, worn smiles
Fastened from the heat
You gave so generously
To a town that grew cold
In your departure.
You taught us that kindness is enough.
Now rejoicing in private sobs,
Return of feeling for someone else.
This town we complained about,
Until you moved each man to song.
French lessons over the ashtray,
Anecdotes and private jokes
As far as the ear could hear.
I remember when the chemicals took over
And you danced in the sunglass shade
Of a darkened room.
Your energy bounced off the walls,
A pink-noise that echoed as I came down,
Nestled on my shoulder, totemic,
As I fought the speed, tried to sleep.
Beer bottles remained, the splintered ends
That serve as proof for last night’s fireworks.
You always made sure we were safe.
Our chance encounter,
Brief moments which collide,
Leaving marks,
Etching names
Onto stone that cannot wear away.
You taught me that sea of strangers
Is not a place to drown,
Just an avenue towards new land.
You could drink all the time
And it would not consume you.
Get stuck on a blue mood
And still leave your slumber,
Wide-eyed and hopeful for balance.
You left us standing in the rain
Our minds a roulette wheel,
Scattering between goodbye and farewell.
I guess I did not understand the stakes
Until you walked out of those pub doors.
I guess I had forgotten what loss meant,
Those years running from the blade of love
That cuts so finely the line
Of grief and glory.
I am bleeding here.
I am not sure when it will stop.
I am feeling again.
Thank you, friend.
Thank you.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
Spun out and liaising with The Smiths,
slow death of living, a decay into night-
this incomplete ****** tend to album sleeves,
wearing the dismal heart
as a tablet for communion.
A choreography of chords and isolation,
a steadied high, sleepless eyes of longing
scratch faces in the ceiling print.
Anxious plots of escape,
the paralysis of a song lyric.
Bludgeon of chemicals, the sunglass confidence
of a new summer, a winter spent inside.
There is calm in desperation, missed chords;
imbalance amongst the infrastructure.
We wait for it all to come down.
Reduced to word,
reduced to sound.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
.
Words from perforated ceiling tiles squawk
as megaphone filters blare
in crackled sequence
around missing stations
and call letters that aren’t acronyms
I hear these words, but shake my head
I know they are for me,
sent by well wishing advisors
wearing t-shirts imprinted
“I’m with stupid”
(and the arrows point at me)
Still I don’t heed the warnings,
I can’t, for dreams require reaching,
top shelf visions waving with
hope filled coupons
offering no discount for the heart
“Don’t want what you can not have,” they shout
As I continue to climb the frozen escalator,
cleaning my shoes on the bristles,
then checking my appearance in the sunglass
reflection of a mannequin missing one arm
(and I feel happy for this plastic person)
For it has no idea how it feels
to be out of style, yesterday’s sleeves
Worn of worried first impressions,
heart beat delusions and needs
at the end of the line…to check out
and yet, until the time comes for me to “check out”
I will not give up on that dream, regardless of
invisible sales clerks on their eternal breaks,
because I will reach that register and I will ask that question
to which she just might say yes,
(and then who will be wearing the t-shirt)
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
The first one this week is named Carlos,
he's tall and handsome and twice my age
He's got tan skin with all the hair burned off
his arms from sunlight sand and surf
He likes to call me *******
The second one this week is named Charlie,
he's married and chubby and masochistic
He's got a sunglass tan and three different cars
He likes to call me "baby"
The third one this week is named Ryan,
I think
He's tall I'm tall we were in his car our heads bumped
several times
He video taped the entire thing from three different angles
He likes to call me ***** *****
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
They only use Latin to scribe what is true,
Every thought that they thought was an epic breakthrough.
Unravel the universe and earn a statue!
(They question their gods and so do you)
But they know more about reality than you.
Some bearded Romantics held meetings (sans you)
To compete so politely for highest IQ.
They poured out their hearts and they thought that was new.
(They want revolution the same as you)
But they know more about fighting the system than you.
They recite their own words in an unknown venue,
They sunglass their eyes and dress in bleak hue,
They do all the drugs that the world has to do.
(They smoke and want peace and you do too)
Yet they know more about levels of consciousness than you.
In thousands of years, there emerged just a few,
Good enough to be published in a book of who’s who,
They died for their art, or a cause, or virtue.
(At least that’s what’s written, it could be untrue)
Still, they know more about everything than you.
What makes you think you can borrow their pen?
You’re alive and well, and Now is not Then.
You’ve not been to war; you have rights like the men.
Apply once you’re dead and we’ll let you know then.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
-
You had the perfect shield
I never stood a chance
Your sunglass protection
From my halfhearted glance
I wanted to say something
But I couldn't see your face
Instead I wrung my hands
And quickly walked away
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
my blood cells are
volts of electricity
supercharged
each time the sun comes out
my eyes are too sensitive
for anything brighter than
a mile-deep cave
i regret not getting those fancy
sunglass lens when i last
refreshed my prescription
everything is too much right now
and i really want to take a nap
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
Tyrent minds beautifully engraved to street sign metal, purified pedals glow to tunnels only angels see.. Try and believe we are what we need when the clouds come swinging in, storms to grins and awakenings of whats new. Sins come with clues when the gas stations empty, lost believer, cross deceiver your mind is full and plenty..Sunglass highway take those fashionists to their old clubs, where girls turn to thugs with tattoos of fiercesome fright, dogs howl at moons baboons turn to, while leather is skin blood tight. volunteers in kitchens where heat is a hundred degrees, ones on knees just to make a cheap buck, beggers cant be givers when sinners are bigger than your orriginal drug bust.. Talented shakespherean, master's invitation given to only those who fit. have you won your prize, one with soft baby eyes your stuck to wordly grips.... Heavenly hips ive yet to find, where one turns boys to men and devils to false ends where captivation leaves your fantasies behind..What signs will one plot? wheres one is to hot to satisfy you every need..You candy you treat how sensual are we these days...How sensual is your memory...........Title- Candy lane... By meself :))))
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
sunglass and a drink
watching a street-lamp in the dark...
hell...
that's schizophrenic...
the light
just splits...
it just splits!
i'm seeing double(s)...
i must be on acid...
because this light source is
encompassing (hiding) a twin!
the laziest of the most
skint boston fweaks;
or as i like to call them:
the milk-maids
for the dog dubbed zero...
yeah, this is the part where i growl,
and never ask for applause.
it was only me, looking at a street-lamp...
and to think... it only took an
aperitif's worth of brie cheese...
considering... roquefort.... is
the most justifiable joice of joke.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
Open Road on my mind
A trail of dust leaving behind
Cigarette in hand puffing smoke
Each letter is words spoken
My sunglass shades and bandana is on
My journey I expect will be long
The Motorcycle is all tuned up
The only thing to do is ride
My itinerary I don’t need to provide
Where I am heading being anywhere I am destined?
It doesn’t matter if is a city or town
But it’s far far away where I want to be bound
I am a Rough Rider being bold
Anything else will be put on hold
It’s just ride
Passing cars, trucks and buses
It’s my past I left behind
However, my journey being anywhere being a new life
My Motorcycle is the key offering a horizon advice
Again, just ride
My journey will go through deserts into the unknown
But throughout, it will be my life shown
I will stop for a bite in a Diner or Café, and take in a drink
If I see a pretty lady, I will certainly wink
In between, I will have time too think
I don’t want to fight to prove my point in a brawl
The opposition will be on a mean crawl
I am a Rough Rider who I call
I am as a Countrymen being tall and establishment for all
Let this Rough Rider introduce you to my world
Travel with me and your heart will swirl
Destination could be permanent in Nashville
Where there’s a way also a will
My Dust of my past is left in the distance
A new life that might not come in a instance
The goodness of relaxation of a new life with refreshing wine
I am also hungry and can’t wait to dine
A tomorrow became a permanent stay
I have travelled going my way
My sunrise has started my day
Rough Rider is ok and doesn’t need any good luck
Life is so sweet, and the bird’s are in their tweet
Rough Rider has truly arrived
But that’s no jive as I arrived safe and alive.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:32 PM UTC
Hey boy! It's your sunglass
That tells me, "Helen, you are so marvellous!"
I am not Helen, not at all,
Is it love that makes you to do wrong call?
Hey boy! It's your lips burnt by cigarette,
Like the allied foeces of second world war to target
The German **** camp for destruction,
And to spread in the world love, divine emotion.
Hey boy! It's your fashionable wristwatch
That tells me, "O queen! Come and take my touch.
I move around you as the clock does,
Only a boy in this heart makes me buzz.
A landslide love benumbs the whole universe sorrounding,
Among the rustle of fallen leaves painful past is sounding.
Who has given me a skyful love?
All the time an illusory song is being sung by a dove.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC