"swingsets" poems
lips open like a
v s
e u
n
fly trap
with fox-face eyes
&
a smiles that
could paralyze
the toughest of men like flies
in a spider's w e b
Multi-armed and covered in
muscle
this goddess hides
her blood red
tongue behind flirtations and butterfly wing
eyelashes
her mating dance and hunting style are on in the
same
"you will fall in love with me, and i will destroy you"
she breathes out like the iron smoke from a dragon's throat as smooth as a lady in** silk**
the souls of a hundred boys form stars and constellations
in the night-sky blanket she wraps herself in
when
nights get too
c
o
l
d and lonely
a hundred hearts rest in her throat
but she swallows them -- and laughs--
and holds my hand on swingsets
she is a goddess of a different sort--
belly swollen with the compliments and awe of a thousand potential lovers
they should make room for her in the heavens
somewhere between Cetus and Vulpecula
but there is no place for her there
because she has already eaten zeus
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
We raise our kids on words like suppose and almost.
A lifetime of Hallmark cards and empty promises.
Years of just nearly reaching the top,
only to fall short.
Parents with hands like swingsets
and whose love fluctuates.
As does my sanity.
There is no solace in a stutter.
A stutter will take every thought
every dream
every compliment,
song,
I love you,
and make you feel each letter stab its edges into your throat
and second guess every word.
And I refuse to wait for the day your hands
form an I love you necklace around my neck.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
February 26, 2015 12:43pm
Last night I felt the moon drop it's light on me.
Swinging upside down, I saw the world from a new perspective.
Tall towers illuminating the highway horizon,
I remembered why I breathe.
Stars and ****** stories on swingsets
pushed warmth into a February evening.
Why have I stayed locked up in my room?
Hopes come high with revolutions of the moon.
The nights are dipped in ink
drawing life inside of me.
Lurking in the Tulsa twilight,
tangled dreams at seventeen.
–newportsmooths h.g.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
When getting there is half the fun but nearly empty,
the wood nymphs cart-wheel halfway out their minds.
Their giggling gallops over pawn-shop rooftops
like a dogs' noses dipping to water.
We'll drink with grandeur gestures
poised in the warrior-ridden bell towers of sin and love
where we groaned like mules stomping
unnecessarily chipped, run-down steps.
Our cackled coughs ripened with jollied folk tales.
Our eyes starry in a tortoise-shelled puzzle of nostalgia.
Our whims were gently rocking swingsets under cloudy canopies
and no one skipped a beat on the journey.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
The swingsets,
the relief from the world's hypocrisy,
the only place I can feel as if I am a bird in the sky,
the bird that flies it's own pace,
acknowledging it's goal, but keeping it's distance.
The swingsets,
the make me know how it feels to die,
how it feels to go to Heaven,
and how it feels to fall off and go to Hell,
the contrast between the igneous, dry land,
and the subzero, wet heaven,
if I even believed in that ****
The swingsets,
they set me free,
from how the people came to abhor me,
or how they came to have intimacy of me,
in reality,I only like those who present a medium of their standards,
for I am not perfect enough for those,
who try to exterminate me,
for those slaughter my wall I had constructed,
like the Roman's had done to Rome,
so carefully, and in coordination,
so no one would hate me.
The swingsets,
to make my ill intentions,
and my good will fade,
so I will both realize and reject the idea,
the abstraction,
the truth,
of the concept of nothingness,
nullity,
void,
because I want to be isolated,
but I do not want to be or see nothing,
so please world, continue to grow,
and
at least
leave me a swingset
for all
of my sins,
and virtue.
The swingsets,
where every child has grown up,
where every adolescent has matured,
where every adult felt nostalgic,
for they shall live on in existence.
The ,
it has continued.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
Music, in the ear of a teen who needs it.
Alone,
The stars above.
They sit there, like the many emo teens who've done the same for many years before them,
Full of emotions and confusion.
A feeling of freedom for once,
Wind streaming through invisible wings,
Flight to the skies and beyond.
When before,
There was just fear and hopelessness.
The cool air cleansing,
Calming,
Unlike any consolation could.
A self-directed riddance of negative thoughts
Through self-reflection,
And the gathering of positive energy.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:29 AM UTC
flung forward over slick asphalt
six cylinders speeding towards eternity.
your legs, our arms, tossed out the windows
grasping breezes raindrops freedom.
scents of summer storms fill our lungs
drenching us, cleansing us from the pollution of
cluttered basements, chemically-treated arguments
the stale musk of lonesome and striving.
trespassed swingsets launch us into skies, hazy city lights
love born of fading stars and whispered stories
breathless utterances of shared sorrows, griefs-
Grace uncovered in nods and glances
-clasped hands when words fell short.
barefoot toes urge a hesitating pedal
throwing us faster into our borrowed Kingdom
as fanfare trumpeted from skipping tracks
announced our four-wheeled ballroom blitz.
this automotive palace became our confessional,
our summertime, our refuge, a long-sought embrace.
we were vagabonds, saints, sinners, artists.
we were heroes.
washed in waves of sound, our fellowship burgeoned--
souls knit together in a tribal affection
ensconced in a fortress of rubber, glass and steel
steeped in diner coffee, wrapped in warm fragrant incense:
we sampled salvation.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
Swingsets on playgrounds and leaves on dying trees
Shoes that stopped fitting your feet
It all sparks memories
Of happiness I'd hope
Or maybe of deep pain
Of warm and humid summer nights
Or dancing freely in the rain
Inspiring you to travel?
Do they move you to explore?
The darkness of your busy mind
To remember things you can't ignore
Feel the hatred running deep
And the angry fear you couldn't fight
All the weakness once thought stifled
The soul that died yesterday night
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 6:29 PM UTC
from binkies to blunts
i watched my world change
around me
like little watercolor swirls
dancing in the sky of my memories
from binkies to blunts
swingsets and playpens
seemed ever so distant
in the rearview of childhood
we traded barbie dolls
into ***** bottles
wondering why
smile lines
seemed so hard to come by
we had always missed the times
when things came easy;
naturally (almost).
from carousels to learning
how *** sells
we began to draw parallels
of who we are and what we should be
the definition of me
never seemed to have
the stability
i had long to see
ever so constantly
from closet doors to liquor stores
feelings became trapped
in the constellations of thoughts
instead of the web of words
i wish to go back
(sometimes)
to the days
with the little teacups
filled with the tinkles
of warmth and laughs
of bliss past.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 1:14 AM UTC
our tongues were
postponed
in ecstasy
and now i
can
feel the tension
mold
around the warm glow of your breath
the tremor of my body is born
in my heart and etched in cold swingsets.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
We light matches till sunrise
And drop acid on swingsets
Forgetting who we are
Till the cops come
And ask us for our IDs
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
Heat bears down on
seemingly sponge like pavement
and sings of scorching summer sun.
It is times like these
I am usually in my prime.
Usually so excited to go out
and live my best life.
But lately, there is only
an overabundance of scared:
of everything and nothing, all at once.
Maybe we haven't gotten
the medications quite right,
or maybe I haven't
perfected my grounding mantra
but I don't quite see an end in sight.
The voices are deafening
it's starting to keep me up at night.
It's funny, because
in my youth, I had an infatuation
with swingsets, but yet
this back and forth of
upward swings and downward spirals
is getting tiresome:
it feels like I'm losing the fight.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:23 AM UTC
Sometimes, I think about our future children
Who will grow up not knowing of the stars
Or of splashing in streams of childhood
But only
Black smog and masks
Filtering the poisons we have put
In our lungs
Will they find familiar
Dead animals, dead plants
A dead Earth?
I wonder
If they will be able to run in fields
Without glass between shrubs and on their feet?
Will they know a life?
Outside of the dystopia of our own making?
Meanwhile, here we sit
Living our lavish lifestyles
Not having a care about
Who dies in the process?
Do we not believe
The polar bear who drowned
From a lack of ice
Has a right to live as well?
Or the animals who starve
From humankind's greed
To eat lavish fish and exotic plants.
Do we not think twice
On pumping our plants
Full of toxins
That destroys every insect and ****
From the inside out
In our bodies?
Do we have no idea that eventually
Our land will hold heat so well
We may no longer dine
For everything is dead?
Or will we only care
When the melting ice
Has flooded our towns
Destroying brick homes
And picket fences with
Swingsets in the backyard.
Will it only matter
When we cannot grill meat
Produced from suffering
Or when there is no more profit to be made
From pumping our rivers with manmade monsters
Wonder about our future children
How will they grow
Living a life of disease and death.
But no, it will only matter
When us in the present start dying.
Even more, it will only be of importance
When it isn’t killing people across the world
But in our own homes.
It will not be significant
Until you lose a mother, a best friend
A lover, a child.
Sometimes I wonder about the children
And I apologize
For the life we have condemned them to.
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 5:33 PM UTC
I feel all wrong
But can't contain it in words
A type of wrong that makes me think
That makes my head hurt
And heart ache
A wrong that makes the rights all smudged
"What's wrong" My mother asks
"I'm Fine" I shoot right back
But yet there is a deepened pit
A stone within my stomach
That urges me to think
Prompts me to listen
Forces me to deliberate
About nothing
Or everything
I feel like there is more out there
Yet I'm cocky and scared to death
I feel this wrong building up
A biding time for the emotional tsunami
BUT.
I.
DON'T.
HAVE.
A.
CLUE.
As to what is eating me a away
And I hate it
All of it
The soul crushing knowledge
Knowing the maze will never end
No hint
No help
This wrong in me begs to know
To know of its own confusing worth
It urges me to look inward
But when I toil I come up empty
People yell and dreams crumble
Swingsets still slowly sway
I feel the wrong inside me
A tumor in my soul
The feeling that you've left something
A feeling a numbing isolation
It starts in your chest and symptoms all show
As it spreads it slowly consumes you
Leaving behind the mangled corpse of a victim
Who never knew he was ill at all
Or simply thought it yet never sought to fix it
Fix the problem that I never knew
The problem that made the most sense
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
A picture of her on his back
Laughing as they fall into unforgiving brick
Surrounded by anyone who ever mattered
On the back porch
We were all drinking the cheap beer that recalls at least twenty memories from dusty, rusted oblivion
And the expensive craft kind that I stole from someone's sister or dad or uncle or something
A night spent in overalls
Where everyone's head exploded
In mini vans, swingsets, and white wicker chairs
Anyone who could cry did
The others had already gone numb
A picture of her on his back
Falling gracefully into certain demise
In and out of love as fast as she drank all the whisky
When mothers and brothers and lovers die
We place flowers in their lips and wash their hair with wine
We press our faces up to theirs to make sure we're not looking in a mirror
Or worse, a window
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
I didn't know my own strength
(I should have known how weak you are)
I had a bad dream last night
(I think you're cheating on me)
I have so much work to do
(Let's stay in and have *** all day)
I miss the swingsets of my youth
(The way you breath so loud ****** me off)
You can do better than that
(I'm definitely more insightful than you)
I'm sorry
(I'm sorry for now)
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC