tragedies Oct 2017
the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.
10.12.16
Did you know
you can dance
even when you're sad?

It may seem inappropriate
to shake your hips
while your heart is exploding
But I swear-
some of my best dances
I did with my heart in a sling
and my soul in a cast.

Draw an invisible circle on any surface,
turn up music that flies in the face of your sorrow
and give it up to the sky

The worst that will happen?
you'll break a sweat
The best?
try it for yourself
moonwalk through your despair
and get back to me.

Dance.
Even when you're sad.
wrote this back in 2016
anya Jun 11
you wake up
his hair is spilled across the pillow,
the sun slants across his cheekbone
and his breath is slow and even.
he smells like an open field
and his body is wrapped around yours
so he keeps you warm.
you think,
there is no moment better than this,
that he is too perfect to exist.
but you wake up gasping,
skin soaked in sweat.
you lie there for a long time,
in your completely empty bed.
Freddie Ruiz Jun 19
All I want is for us not to forget.
I had a dream and woke up with tears of color red.
Memories are not erased, they remain.
I keep ‘em where thoughts are well kept.

I hide away,
so they won’t disintegrate.
They’re so real I can feel them,
I could lose my sanity I swear.

All I want is for us not to forget
I had a dream and woke up covered in sweat.
What I thought would get erased still remains.
Thoughts of purity won’t fade away.

Hypnotized
I’m floating high.
I rhapsodize
as I hide.
Open your eyes
I think we’re still alive.
Written on July 28, 1998
Composition number: 51
dinner Greenport-side, watching the shuffling ferries do
their sworn duty, a back ‘n forth wearisome toll,
while we sip a rose and a PBR, respectively and with respect

no enthusiasm afterward for anything but an early off to bed,
and slip into pj’s asap

me in my knackered wholly Hanes fundie knickers,
no thinking required
but she
retires, re-attires in a summery combo,
a gray sweat t-shirt and green and white
plaid pj pants

which she is unawares are my favorites
cause they lop off fifty years,
a teenage woman re-incarnate recreated
cause her figure now womanly full,
better than then

morning awake l, a disturbance of the peace,
recall a snuggling a wake up hug,
and her bottoms conspicuously
gone missing

over break fast I inquire
over yogurt and berries and a
smoked mozzarella omelette,
what happened to those plaid bottoms?
assuming I was innocent of any transgressions
as best I could recall

with a sheepish childlike grin,
that made look like she was twenty again,
to match the now yoga toned body,
she confesses:

forgot to tie the bowstrings
and they slipped down to my ankles

blessed and cursed I thought!

too much of a gentleman to take advantage,
AND my situational awareness was slipping badly,
but when a poem comes across,
ready and pre-writ,
I’m still young enough to grab aholt of it

and never let go


6/23/18
It's like
I haven't seen you in so long
But even that's a lie.

I've seen your past in pictures
and I've see your present
In Facebook updates.
Seen your new happy
so close to your old sad.

And even when I tear myself
from the screen,
there still remains
the imprint of your face
burned into the inside of my
eyelids, so that
Everytime I want to look at NOTHING,
I see you.

Everytime
I rub my eyes,
or wash my face,
I'm haunted by your look.

When I try to sleep,
I see you staring back.

It's like Everytime I sneeze,
my body wills me into
catching a glimpse of you.

And even when I beat myself into dead slumber,
you burrow through my optic stems, claw into my cortex,
and even sink your teeth into my dreams.  

I wake up, too shaken to scream,
too weak for words, and still,
somehow, I manage to spell your name
on my back and my sheets,
in trickling droplets of sweat.  

You linger in my mind like nuclear fallout.

I tell myself,
Maybe one day
I'll brave Old Chernobyl.
I'll pass by the radioactive signs,
the wise warnings, without fear or worry.
I'll use my coward's camera to capture
preserved pockets of the past, looking,
helplessly, for the secret to having loved you,
and maybe even the secret
to forgetting you.

But even that's a lie.
Ah.. shes here...I shuffle around the stalls... watching..out of the corners of my eyes.... she knows ....Intimacy...a hand on flank..careful..
.you'll break me....with your gentle hands..
..My hard mouth....your soft lips..
..unruly, unruled....old horse...a kiss.
.. Confused, ...stallion in name only.
... You whisper... My ears prick..
... forward..the hunt! ....your scent on..
..My bridle...I smell u still...
.. Calm...Comfort...Welcome...
.Gentled, not too gently....a strong hand.
. It grows trust …..truth...a Stallion! Once more.
Panting...pawing...'Be easy'..nervous eyes roll.
.a hand on the neck...a caress..'Gently '...you whisper,
.... hot breath against ear
… I snuffle and toss my head
…. still a bit frightened…..her power!
..Will you ride.? ! ..firm thighs and buttocks..
..Toes point... Heels dig...all Give and Take….
. Instruction to...from...the muscled beast.
..straddled. Awkward… too long without….
..A Rider … the matching... Gait with hip...
Walk-on.. Trot, pounding...Heels clip.
..faster, just a bit..Then smoothly they fit her to him.
...a canter.....this long stretch....rocking like one creature
….each a part of the other...breathing evenly…
...caught ….. Breath comes quick...bodies warm.
. Exertion...strength..trust.. Leaning forward..
knees grip..pulling...toes curl..in..
..hot breath..whisper in an ear… Now!
...hands grip mane... As they clench
… bit between the teeth...She..
...gives him his head... Finding his rhythm
…. home in sight...a last burst……
Rider/Stallion sweat soaked … blood pounding..There... againthe scent of her...Sweet Hay rising.
..she whispers… yes oh yes… I knew…
you had it in you.. In me...oh gods….YES! ! .
. No! not the pasture yet for you.. She chuckles..
.bodies tangled in sheets ….. Her mane of dark hair..
Scent of her fills him …
glad to be..Alive? Yes..head…. Heat…
heart...bursting…Not now… But soon.
. A gift.. This youth.. Who see's value in an old war horse.
..ridden.. but no more to war and blood..
.gentled, both he and she… sleep…bridled passion.
..her...a scent of sweet hay…
.him...an old spice..and gunpowder? ..mmm.
by Alexander K Hamilton
For my rescuer
I have a dream
That one day
A white man will say "nigger"
And a black man
Will take it as a compliment
Then
We will all finally be healed
From the disease of the past
If it could ever happen
I have a dream
That when people say "nigger"
It will mean
"Person who's ancestors built this Nation
Into greatness
With their bare hands
And sweat"
If i were to pay attention, id probably care to notice that some people don't like me because I am vocal about race, and how much I respect black people.  I'm not sure why it has to be an either or thing.  Pro black is not anti white. Most people know that, but some do not.
Ilion gray Jul 2
The sun has come up-
We are scarcely draped
In sheets and skin,
shadows and sweat thrown
Through cracked
crooked wooden blinds,
Uriel was
pouring sunshine into the
openings of our
broken shutters at dusk..
I could hear your blood rise-
black,
As a comets inner crust,
Raging down
From heaven
Restlessly escaping
Infinity.
Yet,
aimless.
Like a drunken scotch devil-
Searching for treasure
With the bottle as his shovel.
I could hear your pores erupting
Through tiny chasms of
Your skin,
I want you to know-
that
I love you
Perfectly/
Knowing now,
I have witnessed you,
How
raindrops
Are born
flying,
Not falling,
How they crawl down
The stomach of clouds,
Then dive into the stone,
The impact resonates
through everything/
Shaking silence from
The shingles of caves
Lodged deep
In the outstretched fingers of
Earth,
Beneath floating valleys
that are holy,
And secret streams rushing through
Mid heaven, dripping down
The staircase of wind crashing
Through rooftops,
Seeping through ceilings
Where sons and daughters
Dream,
a dream,
all things revealing!
Evelyn May 9
Bury a man and he stays
under your fingernails and in your pores, bleeding
out in every sweat drop and tapping
on the earth your favorite bass lines, becoming an itch
you only get from lying
on airport carpets knitted like mating tarantulas
or from picking at the underbelly of a scab.
For months you’ll smell like him.
Like a dead man’s hole.
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