"tardigrade" poems
Be nice
Live politely
Be small.
Be small.
Be small.
Be sweet
Live righteously
Be small.
Be small.
Be small.
I'm here but am I?
I love all the street cats.
I'm here but you won't see
All the ancient souls in me.
I'm here but am I?
Instead I listened quietly.
I'm here but oft forgot,
Drain my empathy.
I am right here, I am.
With borrowed sorrow,
I am here, right here,
Listening.
Listening.
Listening.
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 8:33 AM UTC
Almost as if he had been made
with sin itself, he grew
still a bud on toxic liquid love.
Loving the sweet lies
as the sun loved the moon.
Demons themselves
hide their nightmares in his reality,
with the same canvas crescents
like his.
His waist was sturd
thick as war walls
or a boulder’s heart.
His ears are the bridge
and threshold of a tardigrade,
his hands a dog strayed
with anger in newborn cities.
The heart lifts,
by another he floats
living a sentimental life
of the compressed truth
that has frozen and crackled.
The casted leg
pushes sideways to a safe
cold corner.
Who will say ‘man’
to his boy like core?
Who will say ‘smile’
to his twisted face?
And his plank knees,
a board more similar
as a newly painted fence
the cause of the breaking marriage.
In a doll house,
three old hearts and soft body
out of a picture book,
behind the curtains,
and now he hides
old models in my memory.
Using what little he borrowed,
the setting of pieces back in their place,
plastered on the wall
with sugar coated smiles and merigold lies:
with the help of a finger
too snagged itself
on his passing limbs
with the actual weight
of a lost boy,
still trying to be found.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
The foundation of a society built on getting laid
will last as long as the love it made,
the infinite and indestructible tardigrade, with no tardis
boggles my concept of space and time.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 1:51 AM UTC
slept in ice for three hundred years
with three hundred tales to tell others of his kind
before tragedy struck
and the tardigrade was thawed out
by farmers clearing a forest with fire
tales of valor and despair
wisdom and knowledge
the last stories of his ancestors
forgotten and buried in time
washed away by holy water
in the name of a new diety
flickering lights on the last outpost
three hundred light years from what was once home
he wound his clock one last time
and released the beacon
unplugged from life support
sat on regolith, mesmerized with the view
of last star in galaxy going nova
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 3:08 PM UTC