"swiss" poems
During one of my recent internet travels,
I came across a picture of a “minor”,
posing with tinted lips
and exposed *******
What got my eyes
pinned were the thousand number of likes
by virtually hooting “boys”
and comments by other group of “gentlemen”
telling her how to dress.
HUMILITY: I have been asked to repeat the word
too many times to recall what it means:
the man on the subway cat-called
and accused me of showing too much skin
but instead of fighting back, I smiled
because girls ought to be nice.
I have been taught to survive
by using my body as a swiss army knife,
and I convince myself that
there is protection in being polite.
H-U-M-I-I am forgetting the rest.
The smoke curled up from between his fingers
and he blew out toxic, blurring my vision.
I gasped and wheezed
but I held my sneeze,
I cannot slap him across his face. HUMILITY.
So, I just pretended to cough, hoping he’ll feel ashamed.
I have been trained to flutter my eyelash,
clench my jaw at a whiplash
and business school boys,
who manifest success by refusing to take “NO” for an answer.
And for every time his prying eyes
scan down by body,
as if rating my inexperienced assets on a scale of one to five,
and every time his touch trails a chill down my spine,
I wonder:
Male kindness is so alien to us; we confuse it with seduction every time.
HUMILITY: the quality of having a low view of one’s importance
but, I fail to understand
when did it become synonymous to diffidence;
there is a subtle difference between
papercuts and shattered integrity,
holding hands and chaining souls,
building houses and creating homes,
humiliation rotting down to bones and humility.
HUMILITY, have you spelled it too many times to know what it looks like?
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.
From her lips ampersands and percent signs
Exit like kisses.
It is Monday in her mind: morals
Launder and present themselves.
What am I to make of these contradictions?
I wear white cuffs, I bow.
Is this love then, this red material
Issuing from the steele needle that flies so blindingly?
It will make little dresses and coats,
It will cover a dynasty.
How her body opens and shuts --
A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges!
O heart, such disorganization!
The stars are flashing like terrible numerals.
ABC, her eyelids say.
11k
There is a cake.
There is a beautiful, rounded
Vanilla swiss buttercream well-iced cake
That they gave to you.
This cake makes me miss you
Makes me miss running my fingers
Throughout your hair
And gently pressing my own soft lips
To yours, Instead of your lips pressing
this stupid cake.
And I know that you love it.
And I know that if you do not have
every ounce
You will starve.
I was jealous of this cake, I admit
Jealous indeed of the shiny new replacement
They gave for you for my love
It made you feel good inside and out, as well
Enriched your brain, and your appetite
I was jealous and stole a slice in spite of you.
Then I realized, that you love this cake
You have waited for this cake, every year
Every birthday
Hoping for the envelope informing you
That the time for cake was now
That the cake WAS your time, now, and that
All of you was invested, in this succulent dessert
And you needed to keep as much as you could,
for your sake,
I came to accept the fact, that you needed so.
But like your hair, I brush this cake
with the tips of my fingers, I taste this cake
I understand the sweetness you enjoy
and the sanctity of it being left alone
But if I dare to kiss this cake
because I adore the things you care about so much
and some icing comes onto my lips
Have I stolen something from you?
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 2:45 PM UTC
80
Our lives are Swiss—
So still—so Cool—
Till some odd afternoon
The Alps neglect their Curtains
And we look farther on!
Italy stands the other side!
While like a guard between—
The solemn Alps—
The siren Alps
Forever intervene!
8.5k
You were so hot I spun twice to see, call me a fan
Your regal youth made my blood boil, call you peter pan
*You were like a boomerang I wanted to throw away but you kept* coming back to me,
*And maybe I've always been scared of hurdles and you were my biggest one, 'cause I just can't* get over you, you see
I thought you were like a paradox:
Cool as ice and hot as molten rock
You were like a magician with words, drove me so crazy I was pulling out my hare,
You steal my heart like a pirate captain when I sea you standing there,
But you didn’t have any morals, I deserve to call you whoreible
Yet you still think you're cute. you know? leaving my house the way you came would be adooreble
I discovered your texts to her on my birthday, the cake was ruined with my tiers
You caught my Eye with your animal magnetism, but you’ve been a cheetah for years
What? you think this is a game? No, you don't have a clue!
You had a monopoly on my life and now your name is taboo
You said you needed some time and space to yourself you were the only one in the galaxy I Wanted,
I guess life never turns out how you planet and since you left I've been feeling haunted,
Why did I believe you were a great catch? Just because you **master *****
You made me think we could smash; every second felt like a brawl
Loving you was no gouda, though I swiss you now that you’re gone, it isn’t easy,
I said goodbye, It’s not you it’s brie, sorry that was cheesy.
You gave my life flavor but you were just a masked spyce that made my life sour like limes
I know I need to chili but you have really bad taste and we’re out of thyme
I need a holiday *from your lies, my patience is running short
I’m better off with you gone, and leaving you is my last* resort
I guess we didn't have that spark no need to be astunished,
all I know now is: IT IS TIME YOU WERE PUNISHED.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
Rolling a Pall Mall in the courtyard,
of Ye Olde Swiss Cottage Tavern,
in the last of November's sun:
Lovely sunlight,
You are,
Filling me warmly with joy.
Thinking of our desires,
from summer and autumn months,
up to this bright November morning,
we have happily danced,
e'en in the shadows.
Above me two brick turrets,
as I dreamily smoke,
nonchalantly state: 'Underground'.
High-raised logos winking at our play,
struck through with horizontal blue,
in a circle of enamel white.
'Old Fool,' the towers hiss,
directed at my mortal sensibilities,
'winter has come!'
But nothing buries us
as our sun still comfortingly kindles
a friendly star
which when all is dark,
glows inside,
guiding the shipwreck of my sunken years
- the debts and all those unpaid thrills!
Dreaming and Loving,
as children out,
lost in an abundant *****
each holding off for as long as we dare,
lovers unmasked,
naked before suffocating paternity,
and cold winter's bite!
where to we hardly know,
to avoid its cruel embrace.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
No country’s history makes us proud.
It is mere exploitation and colonization.
the poor were suppressed and oppressed.
The rich reveled in utmost luxury
And the weak lived in extreme penury.
The kings were fond of eulogy
And the poets excelled themselves in their elegy.
In the countries like India, the money was looted
the temples were plundered, and the system was blundered
And her progress was greatly hindered
Slowly the kings and kingdoms vanished
the so called democracies and socialism flourished
the bureaucracy and plutocracy replaced autocracy
Corruption and criminality maintained their status quo
After Independence, a new class emerged in India.
They became the rulers in the name of democracy.
There have been un-imaginable scandals
Money reached the Swiss bank like pearls in the ocean
India is a poor country but the Indians are rich
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry
To you, my aunt, who would explore
The literary Chankley Bore,
The paths are hard, for you are not
A literary Hottentot
But just a kind and cultured dame
Who knows not Eliot (to her shame).
Fie on you, aunt, that you should see
No genius in David G.,
No elemental form and sound
In T.S.E. and Ezra Pound.
Fie on you, aunt! I'll show you how
To elevate your middle brow,
And how to scale and see the sights
From modernist Parnassian heights.
First buy a hat, no Paris model
But one the Swiss wear when they yodel,
A bowler thing with one or two
Feathers to conceal the view;
And then in sandals walk the street
(All modern painters use their feet
For painting, on their canvas strips,
Their wives or mothers, minus hips).
Perhaps it would be best if you
Created something very new,
A ***** novel done in Erse
Or written backwards in Welsh verse,
Or paintings on the backs of vests,
Or Sanskrit psalms on lepers' chests.
But if this proved imposs-i-ble
Perhaps it would be just as well,
For you could then write what you please,
And modern verse is done with ease.
Do not forget that 'limpet' rhymes
With 'strumpet' in these troubled times,
And commas are the worst of crimes;
Few understand the works of Cummings,
And few James Joyce's mental slummings,
And few young Auden's coded chatter;
But then it is the few that matter.
Never be lucid, never state,
If you would be regarded great,
The simplest thought or sentiment,
(For thought, we know, is decadent);
Never omit such vital words
As belly, genitals and -----,
For these are things that play a part
(And what a part) in all good art.
Remember this: each rose is wormy,
And every lovely woman's germy;
Remember this: that love depends
On how the Gallic letter bends;
Remember, too, that life is hell
And even heaven has a smell
Of putrefying angels who
Make deadly whoopee in the blue.
These things remembered, what can stop
A poet going to the top?
A final word: before you start
The convulsions of your art,
Remove your brains, take out your heart;
Minus these curses, you can be
A genius like David G.
Take courage, aunt, and send your stuff
To Geoffrey Grigson with my luff,
And may I yet live to admire
How well your poems light the fire.
6.5k
I looked up to you
I wish I were you
You and I were the same
Even though people told me you were insane
I didn't care what anyone said
Because when I needed you
You always came to my aid
But then you weren't there for me
When I needed you the most
It felt like no one cared for me
I was so lonely
I used to hate you
I'm glad I forgave you
All the thoughts of fantasy
I dreamed us as a family
Ended up being a sad tragedy
I won't make the same mistake
I'll be there for every birthday cake
From the time they wake
To the time we go to the zoo and see a king snake
In fact well even make Swiss steak
Or cupcakes
Or pound cake
We'll play with snow flakes
We'll go see great lakes
I'll be there for heartbreaks
I'll give them the love I never had
I've forgiven you already and I'm not mad
But at the end of the day I'm still glad
You were my Dad
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
**All my late night rendezvous
Have since been eclipsed
By stable days and nights with you.
You save me from the spiders in my shoes,
And when storm clouds start grumbling, I save you.
And I know that this sounds cheesy--
But I don't care. I don't care!
Because I happen to know you ******* love cheese.
And for you babe,
I'll be the best cheese.
I'll be thy holy Swiss cheese,
I'll be your buttered Brie.
And when we've aged 50 years?
Well then babe,
*I'll be your ******* Gouda.*
At least, that's what I want to be
If you'll let me.
I want to be the finest cheese your tongue has ever tasted.
So lay your wine-stained lips on me;
Let's see how we pair.**
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
I never put away all of these socks,
there's just something so final about putting away
all the socks. When I close the drawer after putting away
the clothes, its like saying "remain here for awhile,
for I do not plan to wear you again for some time".
But putting away all of the socks
is like saying "stay here,
I'm not going anywhere". What if
something pops up though?
It gets cold, a friend calls
with exciting plans and I must say,
"No sorry, I just put away all of my socks"
Whats the point in putting them all away if I just
go right back and take some out? Might as well
leave a pair or two by the shoes, at the ready.
Plus whenever I put away all the socks
I find the stragglers, the lone socks, the swiss socks,
the worn out ones and then I have to make difficult
decisions. Weighing the severity of the tears against
how uncomfortable they'll be. Designating indoor only
socks and how many more wears a sock can receive before,
garbage. And every time I put on a sock like this I shed a tear
because socks don't receive burials. Socks are easily replaced.
It's just not worth the trouble to put away all these socks.
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 2:39 PM UTC
Blue Bacon and Mexican Swiss Cheese with Krusty Jam
My name is Bam Da Pam
Bam da Pam my name is
Dat Bam-da-Pam-I-am
Dat Bam-da Pam!
I like Dat
Bam-da-Pam-I-am
Do you like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam
I like them,
Bam da Pam
I like
Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam
Would you still like them
In or out
Would you not like them
In a spout
I would like them
In or out
I would like them
In a spout.
I do like
Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam
I do like them,
Bam-da-Pam
Would you hate them
Up or down?
Would you hate them
All around?
I like them
Up or down.
I like them
All around.
I like them
In or out.
I would still like them
In a spout.
I like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam
I like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am.
Would you hate them
On a platter?
Would you hate them
with a splatter?
On a platter.
With a splatter.
In or out.
With a spout.
I would eat them up or down.
I would eat them all around.
I would eat blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam.
I do like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am.
Would you? Could you?
in a bar?
Hate them! Hate them!
Here they are.
I would,
I could,
in a bar
You may hate them.
You will see.
You may not like them
in a bee?
I would, I could in a bee.
In a bar! You let me be.
I do like them on a platter.
I do like them with a splatter.
I do like them in or out.
I do like them in a spout.
I do like them up or down.
I do like them all around.
I do like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam
I do like them, Bam-da-pam
A train! A train!
Could you, would you
on a train?
“On a train! In a bee!
In a bar! Bam da Pam! Let me be!”
I would, I could, on a platter.
I could, I would, with a splatter.
I will eat them with a spout
I will eat them in or out.
I will eat them up or down.
I will eat them all around.
I do like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am.
Bae!
Would you, could you, in the dark?
I would, I could,
in the dark.
Would you, could you,
in the rain?
I would, I could in the rain.
In the dark. On a train,
In a bar, in a bee.
I do like them, Bam da Pam, you see.
On a platter. With a splatter.
In a spout. In or out.
I will eat them up or down.
I do like them all around!
You do like
Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam?
I do
like them,
bam-da-pam-I-am.
Could you, would you,
on a hippo
Would you cook it with a zippo
I could and would on a hippo
I will, I will cook it with a zippo
I will eat them in the rain.
I will eat them on a train.
In the dark! In a tree!
In a bar! Please let me be!
I do like them on a platter.
I do like them with a splatter.
I will eat them in a spout.
I do like them in or out.
I do like them up or down.
I do like them ALL AROUND!
I do like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam
I really like them,
Bam-da-Pam
You do like them.
SO you say.
Try them! Try them!
And I will walk away
Try them and you may I say.
Bam-Da-Pam!
If you will let me be,
I will try them.
You will see.
Bae!
I hate blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam!
I do! I hate them, Bam da Pam
And I would not eat them on a hippo!
And I would not cook them with a zippo...
And I will not eat them in the rain.
And not in the dark. And not on a train.
And not in a bar. And not in a bee.
They are so bad, so bad you see!
So I will hate them on a platter.
And I will not eat them with a splatter.
And I will not eat them in a spout.
And I will not eat them in or out.
And I will not eat them up or down.
Say! I will not eat them ALL AROUND!
I do, I do, I hate
Blue bacon with mexican swiss cheese and krusty jam!
I HATE you!
I HATE you,
BAM DA PAM!
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
A baby sea turtle in my hands:
the outer islanders call him Wol,
he will be a nomad, if anyone will.
What will the world look like to him?
Will he dream of killer whales,
those Swiss Cake Rolls of the sea?
Of winning the three hearts
of an octopus?
See what the turtle sees,
and rejoice.
The sea turtle, like the human, cries saltwater
and the tears cover two-thirds of the earth.
He risks pirate ship, cigarette boat, Chinese net.
He mistakes bait for food. (Who doesn’t?)
But he can swim away from; swim towards:
India, Mombasa, New Zealand, Ulithi.
The world's a turtle’s home,
why is anyone a nomad if not for this?
See what the turtle sees
and rejoice, carrying only
the markings on your shell.
A jungle.
A shack.
Half a moon.
Islands sprinkled like tiny green beads
across the Water of the Sky.
A first tattoo—seven little turtles--
and it hurts in a good way
like the world does.
Dear Creator
keep me from evil
keep my life
keep my going out and my coming in
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
Go out to the tarmac shove a pig into dirt
Listen to the squeal make sure it hurt
Hogtie'em smack'em on the *** into the van
collect'em off the street and can them in the tan
Ford Transit then we off to the chop shop
The ****** butchers gonna cut some cop
Drag them up feet first arms tied to the side
Hang em up to dry over a reservoir for the gore
Cut the cartery artery while they cry no more
Whats it all for, whats it all for, a long pig cookout
A hairless goat bled out now its time to get guts out
Bleed slows to a drip time to take a head simply twist
Off it comes like pop easy as a ******* croptop
Get your blade nice and sharpish cuz next on the list
Is skinning a cop shave off fuzz into the slop
Then drag a knife from the plexus to the ****
Tie off the **** and yank the excess its painless
**** up and you can try again pick another off the herd
Cut up again and again plenty of pork to slaughter
Almost ready for the grill party just gotta get meat ready
Detach arms, halve and quarter, keep your hands steady
Time to get out the coriander and chili powder
Hammer with a tenderizer on the counter
Cuts of steaks without any guilt, all free range
As I bite into a roast I make a toast to my rage
That made this deranged cookout, pig liver on toast
With some grits and cornbread as the feds approach
Hundred cops'll will roll on the grillmaster
Hundred shots out swiss cheesed by the ********
Read in the paper a monster cop killer
Killed for fighting the terror with terror
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 11:12 PM UTC
It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.
Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.
Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.
India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.
But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.
Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
The little Toblerone bar,
a sweet one he is,
with his heart all a flutter.
He wanted to be mighty,
with as much strength
as he could muster.
Powerful as the pyramids!
Cool as the Swiss Alps!
Majestic as the Everest!
He dreamed of it all;
to become
greater than China's Wall.
But what he never realized
Through his chocolate brown eyes
Was his pride before his own fall.
Like the Everest, Swiss Alps,
Even the mysteious Pyramids,
Humans have stripped them
of their treasure.
Because Toblerone was broken down
to be eaten just for pleasure.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Black, Swiss cheese hulk on horizon
The James Longstreet
immobile old freighter of the bay
Towed to the ignominy
of its last commission
in the curled arm of The Cape
Tides flex their muscles against it
But The Longstreet is steadfast
in its dark purpose
Standing target for practice
A sortie if planes home in on its bulk
Honing their skills
on this “fish-in-a-barrel”
Thunderhead-etched pyrotechnics
Booming follows the miles over water
Against The Longstreet’s silhouette enduring
even God fixes sights
firing bolts across its bow
taking aim at our futures
Standing targets for practice
Vietnam? Cape Cod?
No difference to teens
before life’s ocean of conscription
Sand is cold beneath dunes
Beach grass rustles
to the pulsing surf
to the wind’s whispers
just below hearing
as if there’s a secret
that must be kept
We are targets for practice
We are meaningless din
Pulling our sweatshirts and blanket closer
The Supremes sing thinly
from transistor
“Stopped for a moment in the name of love—
Thinking it over”
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
daily provisioning
wallet watch testicles spectacles
cash (single bills) cell phone
bottle of water hairbrush with vanity attached,
personal technology baggie
(earbuds, variety of charging cords etc.)
loose change in order to fall from pockets & annoy yourself
sunglasses (idiot! summers half over) and something else...
pocket tissues!
skin and bone, muscle, all flavors and multilayers,
a language of music only you hear,
the pumping station internal, the gaga motion
product of the palette of body following souled emotions,
the antacid pills after that burrito;
and that strangely named thang called
libido?
your teeth your smile, your shyest guile,
to catch that lady’s hopefully.
reciprocated pearly whites delight,
pen and pad to record being a sad and mad good lad,
a Swiss Army knife if the tube or bus
should (will) breakdown,
your tiny little bottles of
inspiration perspiration and perspective,
that you forgot to
label
the list to do and the list
to add to the to do list
and good heavens,
a serious writing utensil
to fool yourself when
thinking serious thoughts like
these
the last but should be first,
the house keys!!
keys just an enabler
to do it all again
tomorrow
July 11, 2018 10:22pm
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
Dear ******
I ******* hate you
I ******* HATE you
You ******* rot my loves
Inside out
Leaving death holes and track marks
Killing their teeth to Swiss cheese
******* nodding to sleep in the back seat
I ******* hate you
You ******* double crossing *****
You make them love and forget
Til then don't anymore
Cold and shivering
you leave these "outcast junkies quivering
To steal for their next 2 minute fix
You ******* stole my loves from me
Through their noses
Inhaling your bitter vinegar
Shooting your warmth
I'm so ******* sick of you killing the kids I use to build sandcastles with
I ******* cry how you've infected old friends and lovers
Dear ******
I ******* hate you.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
The smell of swiss fondue
a chocolate fountain
moist strawberries
angel food cake.
The smell of brunch buffet
apple turnovers
honey sliced ham
bacon and eggs.
The smell of exhaust
as we walk
to the chapel
up Oliver Street.
The smell of flowers
rainbowed daises
heart shaped lilies
a single red rose
on the broach
of your six year old
brother.
The smell of family
friends neighbors.
The smell
of your six year old
sister
beautiful Easter dress
sky blue ribbons
silk bonnet
blonde hair
smooth skin embalmed
because leukemia
doesn't smell.
Today
we will all
believe in God
or pretend
at least
for you, her sister,
her mother,
her father,
her twin brother,
and for Ruthie,
her chest buried
in tear soaked flowers
in a four foot casket.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:23 PM UTC
I’ve seen the night’s demise
with the luminescent sunrise
and stood in a downpour
a thousand times before,
but everything I do with you
feels brand new.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
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Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
I'm drunk and I just
want to let you know
my head hurts when I see you
because I like you
and I am scared
because I get intense
and clingy
and you don't like that.
So sitting next to you
makes my bones ache
and my muscles scream
like I just ran a marathon.
When you're sad
which seems all the time now
it gets worse
because now
I want to hold you
rub your back
kiss your head
and tell you it'll be okay,
but you won't believe me
and I don't wanna be clingy.
I know you like it when I'm not
but I like you
so I have to scream
in my head that I can't
that sitting next to you is fine
but not TOO close
can't text him all day
can't show him this poem
can't constantly kiss him
on the shoulder or cheek
can't make him think
I'm clingy.
My body aches
head hurts
eyes sink in
pale red lips
cuts in my thighs like
Swiss cheese
and all I want
is to feel those lips
and hear your voice
and see that smile.
I want to text all day
and know you're okay.
Call you when I get
off work
and hear about your day
and how you feel.
Hear that laugh
that makes my old bones
vibrate as if I'm at a concert.
I am a crazy
clingy boy
and you want someone
that can sit alone
in a house
in quiet
and not feel
a thousand hands
clawing at his skin
and voices screeching and
calling him names.
You want someone that
can fend for himself
but I can't do either
and
I don't wanna lose you.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
gold
ring
finger
nail
wood
tree
house
door
window
open
field
flower
bright
sun
light
switch
wall
picture
painting
face
nose
smell
trash
can
soda
sugar
candy
chocolate
mousse
goose
geese
duck
stew
dumplings
chicken
eggs
hash
potatos
peas
carrots
celery
peanut butter
crackers
cheese
swiss
mountains
mist
rainforest
snakes
frogs
toads
flies
fruit
smoothie
straw
hat
construction
bridge
cars
drivers
stearing wheel
brakes
that seems like a fitting place to stop lol
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC