"swerves" poems
From far away a breeze in a rush comes;
From far away the sky breaks into crumbs.
A brightening purple lightning,
it is both enlightening and frightening.
In rhythm with my pulse flashes burst,
horripilated, in purple I am immersed.
With every heartbeat in my veins,
with every grain of sand in my hands,
I watch that ray of light on the edge of all my nerves,
how unpredictable it is, how it swerves.
First silent in a bare heavenly light
it strokes your skin, that godly shine.
Then loud, purple turns to night;
It brings forth hell from the most divine.
Tender lake, it does not wave, stars remain, above is calm;
Purple surrounds me, I’m in the middle of its palm.
Purple trembles the sand and lake, faster and faster,
without any pester, it just simply embraces all in fester.
Every breath like last I gasp;
I sit in awe, this is beyond any human’s grasp.
No reason, no choice, no need;
The most peaceful thing now I see, it is from it.
It does not decide, it just makes its own path;
Astonishing beauty I find in that purple, atop its wrath.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
Is is trust
or disrespect
that swerves
avoiding cats
but carelessly
bulldozes pigeons—
who make it out
just in time?
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
A wind blows like a wilderness of wolves
A vendetta, an apocalyptic vendetta
In its unpredictable, accidental quality
That swerves images of realization into tragedy
Neglecting all with swift intent upon a fallen fortress
In complected interests of caresses
Neither invited nor encouraged yet displayed
Displayed vividly with exclusive claim to that oppression
That howls by casting itself as a consequence of transgression
Upon a conventional expectation that claims a privileged sense
That persuades without an orator grotesquely amputated shapes
Extending extraordinary artifice as its priceless wealth
But who, yes who, has envy of so rich a nothing
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
My home, my life as I always remember
Through the rough stones of the hard sand, I see my memories clearly
The heated scenery collapses into the bustling busy streets
That swirls and swerves into the grand markets of beautiful colours
and smells of spices that waft deeply into the clear sky,
where it’s always warm and comforting
The blue skies filter the noise of the large city
My home, My life as I always remember
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
"I think he started
his Sylvester's a bit
early" my father jokes, as
the motorcycle swerves
in front of us. "Stop," I want
to scream. This
is insanity. Three tons
of steel under your command and
a man on a motorcycle
is so vulnerable. We continue
blithely on, my father won't
see how his jokes
paralyze me.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
Lavender thoughts hung in her heart, airing
out her blood with the scent of daydreams.
She wanted to believe in love letters
but a blue fox warned her not to.
Handwriting is a dying art he said between cigar puffs. Even we know that.
She longed for the purr of an R, the double swerves of an S.
The snow brought her breath to life
as she stood by the frozen pond, staring up at the stars and she wondered
if she’d ever hold someone’s heart on paper.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
Rippled and waxed with want
Flesh un flesh
Desire lines
And drives.
She’s in the backseat
Unervously
Takes doesn’t placates
Sharp left
She swerves
I swerve (swine)
Not to the right
Flashes, beams of light.
Piercesome lights
Flooding the nights
A Borealis got naught
On this blight.
Shadowed beasts collide.
Oh. Look. Crash.
At the wake.
Desire still breathes.
This time though
On her knees.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
My head is filled with voices
Each have something to say
Telling me to make different choices
Each wants to get their way
I am trapped in a box of confusion
Inhaling water of a million oceans
My broken parts have suffered complete immersion
My heart has dealt with a thousand erosions
The voices chew through my nerves
Like acid
Their tone of voice swerves
Their faces placid
I have a gift for pretending
Keeping this smile on my face
As if my world was not ending
Even though that is the case
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
I've stopped caring if people call me Mr.
I'm resigned sometimes to fade away
like a moldy apple rotting quietly in the bin
it was only a taste of me that ever counted
but I'm not done yet
(sigh)
babies...this is the rowdy bus ride
on the long windy island road
shouting holy ****
as the driver power swerves around the sunday driving couple
in a flash, white knuckled eye to eye with the semi driver
not even surprised
that we are colliding
no-one else seems to notice
this ride ends too,
a red house on a hillside over looking the pacific
monkey toucan sloth
a private pool
infinity style, ends at the edge and tumbles into what
nothing to signify
no goals met
I'm just alive,
perhaps underachieving,
this number on my check is a third of last years take
maybe I'm not charging enough
maybe I'm working too hard or not eating
I've gained no weight since college
and I barely seem to care
I learn night moves, sometimes I can sing
fearless full throated belts
a sign in some ohio river town
in front of some church
that some people still go to
and maybe get charged at the door
says
pray ceaselessly
they say
yoga is a way of being
a person goes to the gym for an hour
but what about the other 23
I keep my back straight and my breath full
and count a days labor
for ******* in my *****
and keeping my triangles engaged
just like Bomchew and Paul taught me
an old lady smiles at me in a white stair case, calls me cowboy
she said she saw me standing in court
a judge threatening to throw me in jail
and said to herself
now theres a man
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
Can she hear me?
See me
Feel me glance her swerves and curls
She has a sweep from her meniscus
A bend so perfect, I see math
Silent curves smooth as jazz
Her angles romp and swing
In consensus with the beat of my heart
The music creeps up my skin
Inaudible sounds are seen and touched
Never before has an opera of perfection
Made my gut dance
My tongue slides back in my throat with electricity
Harmony rules from head to toe
I crave more of this girl's symphony
To taste the sound of her voice
The drama of her sculpture
The melodious song embedded in her arch
Create a concerto of romance
Or a home for the warrior poet
Passion composed from gunfire
A rainbow of smoke engulfs these eyes
What does she see?
What does she feel?
Can she hear me?
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
Thoughts spinning, creating insanity, Twenty Four Seven.
God do I Wish I could be sweet old Eleven.
All wanting sanctuary, Want to be on Cloud Nine.
Instead we sit in our lullaby, stuck in Our Rhyme.
Black Crows fading in the grass field.
Turning fast , to defend, pulling out The Zelda Shield.
Whistling back and forth, calming nerves.
Heart dropping, where tires are not stopping, she swerves.
Music helps along the way,
Helping figure out a reasonable comeback to say.
Waking up, you're my savior.
Finding the key to this rusty ****** door.
Living in the unknown,
Almost nothing is really shown.
Under the blankets is where She turns Alive.
With no Authority, all She does is Connive.
Each measly passing second,
She drowns slowly, hesitant to go in the deep end.
About to die, left with ourselves, are only true friend.
High hopes, the letter She wrote was for you,
Collecting thoughts of passion was all She could pass on through.
Through the trees, fast speeds show flashes of unconscious views.
Jumping off the rock sides, She misunderstands, How to find her Muse.
With my canoe, I'll trying my best to save you.
Every bone in my body needs to, cringes, fiends, breaks, as you petrified me to do.
She spoke out, in no means of worries.
Not listening, growing ignorant.
Unaware of Her affair,
Leaving Her, to jump, leaving Her indignant.
She becomes whole, in the Levant.
(est.j.r.e.)
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
Oh , I'd love to let my fingers talk to your skin
Let my fingertips whisper electric nuances
to the receptors within
Send shivers all over your body
Let my palms place the curves in the swerves
of my imagination
My breath saying warm subjectives
next to your ears
My lips pondering the distance
behind your knee
The numbness of your toes tortured
by my trembling tongue
The kiss counts upon the ribcage
of your breathless chest
As the sun wishes it could set
as beautifully as your best
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
Celebrating father's day early
With Billy in his black lab tee
And Abby passing cards
Under the table to me
We close down the restaurant
The sky falls in sheets as we're leaving
And wet hair chases me
Into the wine shop down the street
Where I decide to be polite
Not just dry
And I buy a corkscrew
Now I can drink the wine
My ex boyfriend made me
Now I can get tipsy and
Finish the book my current man gave me
It took 8 years
2 deaths
And too many well-timed broken hearts
To bring us together
Collaterally
It's almost too much
And on my drive home
From dinner
A dive that's now our
Family favorite
With a menu I met
Chasing a boy before I came to my senses
And my stars aligned like white picket fences
To make May and my new man
Taste like heaven
A car swerves in front of me
The license plate reads
SRNDPD
The ***** cut me off again
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
busy verbalizing my merchandise
a display of teeth reefed behind my smile
because merchandise is what i am after
and The Revels watch over me
and laughter drains down through sewer grates
i am watched over
my potential client walks away
but returns again with queries
on this hot day
a smell like burnt hair raises from the gutters
and these are the streets that radiate
on this hot day
an honest clash and not some some touchy bout
and here we are
the costly coil of pushing business together ;
a lively thrive
thrifty **** you"s and a dressing down
circling the other and striking their buttons
interlaced within is a genuine pressing
toward each other goals
this partnership
swiftly made
has an extreme edge and chaotic balance
the both of us must master or abandon our productivity
shall we be served by this union
or sever fighting ?
unfit
it swerves and suffers a pity
let's keep this one brief
we manage business
handshakes
and scowl away with our wares
each of us feeling equally scammed
(we've made useful enemies at best)
i break out laughing all the same-how
and howl because i feel
that feeling that this could go on forever
and business has roots in all my moods
i crouch at the curb
the curb is abrasive
i sit
i look at the dry heat radiating off the tarmac
the slight greasy lime taste of the air passing
the roof of my mouth
the electric wires running hum into the buildings
the storm drains at the edges of the roads
where laughter siphons down to the magma of Hades
it is waning off now
and i feel vague
i stand and i scan for more players
i spot a vivid orange one
one that i may barter their aura of vigour
traded for my sketchy wares
Mar 12, 2022
Mar 12, 2022 at 9:55 AM UTC
He burnt away my eyes,
he said it would make it much easier,
to beg, so I traded it for fear.
I was a little above five, wandering,
on streets a motley of black,
may be not, but my eyes couldn't distinguish the lack.
People would throw coins into my glass,
burnt eyes led to anticipated pitying,
towards the miniaturised cauldron of the dire I lived in.
I went to my master’s garage during my perceived evenings,
my hands felt the swerves of cars and formed shapes in my mind,
and before I departed, I would leave my glass behind.
Blitzed, he would hit me at times I didn’t collect enough,
I wouldn’t run away, the known seemed less horryifying,
than to trip against invisible, in the trying.
I survived each day, stayed thankful for life,
unfair as it may seem, my other senses were in poise,
and I learnt to see through reflections of noise.
He took away my eyes, my dreams stayed invincible,
so I left into a world, incognito,
my master waited for me that night, never to discover though.
I couldn’t steal, so I continued to beg,
I hitchhiked to stores, for a loaf of bread,
but God resolved to bless me with a stranger, instead.
He put me to work, for food and shelter,
little did I know my pay was in kind,
the kind was love, against everything left behind.
Sometimes he read to me, stories with happy endings,
he bid me goodnight before he would move on,
a word I recently learnt, to not be an oxymoron.
He taught me to read in braille,
being blind is no excuse he adjudged to me,
he couldn’t return my sight, so a vision he gave me.
Every night I cried myself to sleep,
for the choking in my throat helped me to believe,
believe in my angel disguised, so I cried myself to sleep.
He gave me fortitude against the vice,
he gave me words, and the power it imbibed,
and he taught me to live, when I just survived.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
He gave swerves to uncategorized happiness, with spins that ******* back into his despondencies. He was never given a chance to applaud himself for being a second-long happy or get back to the spotlight where he did belong to his whole **** life. He's properly beautiful when he dances, or when he's proud of his weakest points. Him singing, even the most heard songs will sound re-engaging as if he owns it. Our eyes pace head-on against our cars' contraries. Every scar I had given to my wrists soothe when we wrap our sinful hands in an ill-starred manner.
Love, for him, is altruistically pouring around like sudden downpours on a midsummer day; he had everything to offer yet nothing for himself. He invests a lot with what he wins back. He's the grandeur of a boring ensemble of actors yet still believes he's the subpar star when in reality, no such star existed like it. No one would ever dare to leave him with a river to bleed, or cherry wine bottles with teary send-offs.
Anyone who does that will rest assured have a slot in his own obscenities - oh, how I wish hell would be a lot better than that.
I wasn't briefed for safe keeping such recherchés, that I had to jilt. A handful will be curious, why my decision is a ****** or rather, why am I a **** up. But I would say people with better anything deserve his still-endearing dissonances. And all I have are lyrics while he gives song compositions. All he ever needs are happy mornings who hugs him back so right. Behind their curtains are joy-tinted windows with episodes of cuddles and husky 'Good morning's'. I am not that person, so I had left him in his most heightened situation yet - loving me. In a bed full of my inconsistencies, he was sleeping beside his hard-to-swallow Ecstasies.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
Some and not others whipsaw crazy headlights gleaming not in the right but swerves heavy to the left and cackles it's ok, it's alright. Grackly hands descend from ahigh to grasp a young cheek and laugh why. Too-bright lights and too-harsh smiles carry us into the future for days and miles. Brought up on too much salt and too much sugar they burn like moth gods and they die in droves. Speciel endization is all in the lighting, the moisture content and land levels. Look at the moon and say it isn't true; it's mocking us yet awaiting you.
She was born at zero and waited seven years to be a hero and the story is that instead of dying she pushed all the red buttons and got to flying. Mars was on the loom so she needed extra room for all the food and water. She arrived at age eight and a galactic hero, to be everyone's daughter but eventually just a genetic *** barrel.
Because the farther we go
The farther we are.
But the further we go
The further we are.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
I climb the hill: from end to end
Of all the landscape underneath,
I find no place that does not breathe
Some gracious memory of my friend;
No gray old grange, or lonely fold,
Or low morass and whispering reed,
Or simple stile from mead to mead,
Or sheepwalk up the windy wold;
Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw
That hears the latest linnet trill,
Nor quarry trench'd along the hill
And haunted by the wrangling daw;
Nor runlet tinkling from the rock;
Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
To left and right thro' meadowy curves,
That feed the mothers of the flock;
But each has pleased a kindred eye,
And each reflects a kindlier day;
And, leaving these, to pass away,
I think once more he seems to die.
1.6k
Snaking through the cities roads into highways
that connect people from all suburbs
to a central spinal cord of lanes that
take you up and away from slum to slum.
The upmarket stores are full of bright lights
and little else that is elegant
its a cosmetic upbringing, mirage that
rises over the city's mist and clogs up the minds
magic as it swerves and rustles up the
the energies of other super cities
where commerce and hard labour have
equally sculpted a life of crime and distance.
Watch out for the airport which swings
in between the mountain of rubble
and municipal mania and parthenium ****
what finds every possible nook and cranny
to manifest itself. The politicians mumble and jumble
their way through manifestos and gimmicks
that endorse themselves as saviours of greed.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
I watch this bird up in the sky
I see it sail further to the high
Spreading all the love and feeling free
Looking down, smiling at every tree
I watch this bird spread her wings
She rides above and she sweetly sings
Her focus reigns down on mother earth
With a unique beauty of jewel worth
She's proud, her wings flap aloud
Her mates come gathering a crowd
Tenderly she swerves not so far away
I love solitude, she seems to say
She stops to flap as the winds start to blow
Lifting her higher, she seems to glow
The little her beauty says means a lot
I fall in love seeing how she keeps afloat
She's neither a kite, nor an eagle
Yet she dons their stunning ego
She sails above for over an hour
I'm puzzled by her super power
I watch her till the wind calms
While slowly down low she comes
I get to know her mates are gone
It's obvious she's lost her aero tone
About me everyone watches
While on a high tree she softly perches
"I know that red neck",a lady spoke
"Was all that beauty a Marabou stork?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
I got my ears plugged
Eyes tight
And
Lips shut
Reluctantly refusing
Self alluring truth
Profusely inviting
Petty captivating lies
Reinventing exits
To build refuges
Soothing fugitives
Before the hurricane rise
Are we daydreaming
When the sun's ray shines
Or are we relieving
Among the moon night sky
Promises burying hatchet
Imparting forgotten hatred
Cycling seems to be reversed
Rewinding lost tapes reserve
All this delusions inverse
Contrary motions now swerves
Hallucinating angles preserved
For I shall ink no further
The truth of this lies tethered
As this true blue love leaves
Incepting my stray mind free
©2014 Maman Screams
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
On an L shaped couch on the eleventh floor
I spend these short days with my ghost, hosting tea-parties for silence
drinking espresso like a cure for hurt- I need a drug that's stronger than Love and bolder than Compliance-
-my brain has wrought violence upon itself as I tumble again and again into the abyss of affection, seeking the path but losing the direction. Perhaps when I called you, you detected the inflection of a woman who feels so absolutely that she can no longer discern...
and without careful reflection nobody can learn.
I was never good at playing for sport. I aim for hearts. Every day is Open Season, and my arrow will shoot true-
I'll be ****** if I cannot find something to love in you.
And I'm divided in two, no- a hundred and two, watching myselves like mirrors upon mirrors reflecting every motive, every spark, and every smudge that swings the pendulum from instinct to conscience. Showing the audience centre stage where the white knight swerves off-course to save any soul who's fallen off their horse.
Love will be the end of me.
Cupid, we need a divorce.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
Trying to navigate these bumpy waves,
While maintaining my gaze with my goals.
It's more difficult than the past me could've ever known.
There's a long dotted line that swerves along my map.
I've marked each stop for when I'll take naps,
but I'm still struggling with unexpected crashes.
A wave flips my boat and and it feels like a million minutes go by
Before I patch things up and things feel okay inside.
It feels like a tear in my map,
the map that lines my heart.
How do you recover when someone from your crew falls overboard?
What if something embarrassing happens during my journey and I can't press restart?
These are the kinds of questions I stay up all night asking the stars.
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 9:07 PM UTC
Across the leather,
Backseat confessional,
Secrets fly through the glass,
At 30 miles per hour,
This church is a refuge
In a sea of faces,
Traversing the asphalt
As only a person can,
With the everyday pride
that their trade can bring,
Perfectly timed swerves
out of the way of
yet another pedestrian,
Or the sound of the muffled radio,
and the bottom of the 9th,
As we finally roll to a quiet stop,
I jelly my way out of the seat,
Handing the crumbled
*** of bills and loose change,
Sauntering on home yet another night,
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC