"thousandth" poems
i always thought
you were thru traffic
that you were just jet lag
background noise
the kiss in the rain
i've never had
but what if you aren't?
what if this
was the thousandth time
i have loved you?
what if this is just a fresh coat of paint?
what if god
keeps a handkerchief
soaked in the day we met
next to his bed?
maybe theres a reason
i reach for no one in bed
the way i would
if someone used to be there
you know, they say
the road behind us
is littered with things
we couldn't hold onto
i wonder how many times
you've slipped through my hands
like hour glass sand
do you know
how much erosion you've caused?
i heard cupid
stopped keeping count
of how many times
we came together
just to come apart again
maybe it was just a rumor
it makes me think
about how many times
i've almost had you
like if all this talk
about history repeating itself
endlessly replaying is true
i wonder how many times
things have happened already
like the time
i tried talking you
into loving me back
back fired
or the time i could have sworn
jesus & lazarus were playing chess
with my heartbeat
but it was only you smiling
how many times
have i tried to tell you
how many times
have you read this poem
how many times
have i tried not to meet you
in my dreams anymore
it's like sleep tries to warn
me of what's happening
before it does but
i keep having this dream
where i tell you bedtime stories
and each one
is a different way you die
and in every one
i can never save you
it's like you're this song
i have on repeat
and every time it starts over
i forget the words
it's like you picked up the book entitled "us"
and the back cover
said you'd leave
so you never bothered reading it
tell me you aren't
going back in that bookstore
just to do it again
or will you tell me tomorrow?
or is this the time
you don't say anything at all?
if this has all happened before
if we call it quits
before we begin
again
from the beginning
i just want to ask you
to be my fire
because i am tired
of these old lives
and i'd like to see them
burn
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
~a question of a thousand dreams~^
“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”
this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes
but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen
these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white
elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red
but
certainly unmine,
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers
heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,
but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted
she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated
and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
“perchance to dream”
3:49 pm
see the notes!!
someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago
so here is my response to
“just saying”
congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules
“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“
http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
Sweating on my mat, I curse!
As the light dimly flickers
Off and on it wavers
Like a torch amidst a storm.
For the ten thousandth time I wonder
What is wrong with mother?
My aggrieved home and country
Her pain is mine to bear.
She has many a tale to tell
Troubled much from deep her belly
Wonder how much she can endure
Till body and soul give in.
She was blessed by the heavens
Much to the envy of all
Yet! Alas, she mourns
And weeps in pain untold.
Time and again she follows
Sheepishly trusting her shepherds
She has had a quite a number
With tongues unknown and known
Her plight is not their vision
As she inevitably learns
Her wool and meat and milk
Are all they dare to care.
She breeds enough to share
And feed her dying lambs
But much is lost to thieves
Who lurk in shadows of shepherds.
Destined for royalty she was
But penury has robbed her glory
Awake! Oh mother Nigeria!
And reclaim your lost birthright.
© Raphael Uzor
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
You are the only one who my madness doesn't touch,
and the only entity whom can touch my heart, simultaneously.
Tell me, "I love you."
Say it with conviction.
Wait for the time.
Where the nine realms collide.
A touch of insanity with a wicked kiss.
Silver-laced tongue, sharp and keen.
Did pleasure ever feel this exquisite?
Nay--
from a morals hands, calloused from tiresome battles.
Verily; with hands carved from flesh and blood.
life and death.
A hundred times over;
have I fled from a lovers touch?
A thousandth time;
did I plea for mercy.
I spit the cry out
with fire and brimstone burning my throat.
For all this chaos and despair surrounding me,
A god on his knee's begging for repentance.
What a sight to behold;
malevolent creature with a benevolent cause.
I worship you,
a man made of Iron
You are the only one who my madness doesn't touch,
and the only entity whom can touch my heart.
Fin
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
professor Burke and professor Lee
two mathematicians who could not agree
loudly voiced their differences at half past noon
having daily lunch at the Greasy Spoon
the subject on the fateful day was Pi
and they could not see eye to eye
a disagreement on the thousandth digit
had Burke turn red and caused Lee to fidget
said Burke “No you are off by one!”
spat Lee “Your math is poorly done!”
Burke shouted, “Lee, you have gone too far!”
reached toward the counter for a candy jar
but his hand instead encountered pie
a hideous gleam sprang to his eye
he flung the pie with all his might
hit Lee full face, eyes wide with fright
but Lee recovered and found more pies
Boston Creme took Burke between the eyes
apple, custard, lemon, berry
pecan, pumpkin, key lime, cherry
pies of every kind were thrown
plates' radius squared remained unknown
the police arrived to break up the fray
took the two meringued men away
many hours later in the quiet cell
with pie for ink and tempers quelled
the two stood looking at the wall
upon which lay their equation scrawled
said Burke, with both their faces long
“Well, what do you know. We both were wrong.”
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
Hell hath no fury like a toddler who wants it and wants it NOW
!
Screaming pulling and flailing…a reminder of how she was conceived in the first place.
Hell hath NO fury like a mother on her last straw!
So close to breaking that camels back
.
Though there feels like there is no other emotion as strong as fury when you are just…
You just can’t.
You need a minute.
You collect yourself, or at least try, because who else is going to make that hamburger helper you despise so much?
You step back in the room scattered with death traps that play those oh too familiar songs
And the storm...has calmed.
You huff a sigh of epic proportions releasing the stress of the eternity that just passed,
(Which is equal to about 10-15 normal people minutes.)
and she mimics you with the grin of innocence a hundred times over.
You sit there staring at this exuberant life form you’ve created and you can’t help but wonder if it’s all real.
You notice, for the thousandth time how much she looks like you.
You notice for the millionth time how much she means to you.
Hell hath no fury compared to her admiration and love for me…
And my love for her.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
I am not your accessory
a statement piece
to your spineless connections
The thousandth image-oriented festivity
That you thoughtlessly threw
Due to the boredom of your own reflection
I am not a string of pearly witty conversation that you casually bring up when you aren't capable of employing stimulation
I am not a magenta lipstick you reach to cover up your mindnumbing gossip about the neighbors indecencies
You try to duplicate me and slip your right, then your left foot into vintage leather Jimmy Choos
Oh but your archless perception of life
Doesn't quite fit your soul next to mine
Empathy was never your strong suit
Oh but a tailored cold charcoaled judgement suit--that fits just.right.
Still you try to wear me, despite discrepancies
And oh how you hate the way I mock your silhouette
I clash with your champagne clings
You try to bash me against silverware but I remain mute
"Oh but if I can't make her an accessory, I shall make her an appendage!"
Oh how Christian and courteous of you
In the same way you asked your bridesmaid to step off the alter when she came out to you on that heavenly day
You ask me to be your brothers appendage
Oppressive and aloof
Asking was always a waste of time for you
You expect.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
The thousandth
****** beneath
Lake Baikal of
The Trident
The gods' mouthful
bristling iron
is spat ashore
Leviathan's bones
glint and crackle
Man is one celled
Apocalypse
yet to divide
His name in Manganese
splinters under the paths
of the mastodon
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 5:58 AM UTC
Theirs tears are wiped by your words
Your prayer, the prey to their sadness
Hope is the response to your call
These radio waves push them to greener shores
Yet, I pray for you
That the thousandth, millionth time
Still has that first time glow
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 9:27 AM UTC
Life's Better When You're Dreaming
Of a Transcendental World
With Deliverance and Freedom
Under a Sky of Neon Pearls,
Where the Populace are Former Loves
All Gathered in the Clouds
And Lend an Ear, for Bygone Cheer
So Memoirs can be Ploughed.
Life's Better When You're Dreaming
Of Archaic Silver Screen
Parading Lavish Garments
And Conversing with James Dean,
Where Bowler Hats are Stock Attire
And Pea-coats Line the Hall
And Champagne Flutes, Say 'Fill your Boots'
To an Infinite Curtain Call.
Life's Better When You're Dreaming
Of a Ride on the Good Ship Hope
With Secret Codes and Yellow-bricked Roads
And ***** with the Pope,
Where Lotus-eaters Man The Decks
And White Rabbits Scale the Mast
We'll Sail Away, On a Tranquil Day
And Pervade the Ocean Vast.
Life's Better When You're Dreaming
Of Unblemished Skin and Bone
On a Bed of Fragrant Petals
On which Countless Seeds are Sewn,
Where Laborious Figures Embrace as One
Compelling Magnets to Concede
And Music will, Amuse them 'till
They Repeat the Final Scene.
Life's Better When You're Dreaming
That all the World's a Stage
And that Pair are a Distant Footnote
On the Thirty Thousandth Page,
Where the Cast are Poised in Waiting
And the Finale is About to Start
They Take a Bow, And this Tells Me How
I Came to Play this Part.
December 2010 (Completed April 2011)
Apr 20, 2011
Apr 20, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC
she was spinning
for the thousandth time
and never fell once,
though gravity pulled at her ears
in circles around her skull,
and the ground yanked
at the corners of her eyelids.
she was blind
and couldn’t see the point at which
her heels rotated against carpet,
but she could hear the washing winds
that swelled inside her ears,
whose disembodied whispers
echoed out of her pearly eyes,
whose voices broke her knees
every time her head shut itself tight.
in the night,
she broke herself back open
to stop falling on an axis.
she peeled the whispers from her bleached skin
in succession,
replaced them in a wooden box,
and buried them under her damp sink,
where they crawled around
in the dark’s ink.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
That's how long they say it takes to become an expert at something.
That is one hundred ninety-one years or seventy thousand days
if you take one hour per day, one day per week. Twenty-seven years
or ten thousand days if you take one hour per day every day of the week.
I have been living for one hundred eighty-five thousand nine hundred fifty-two hours
or seven thousand seven hundred forty-eight days,
and I am no expert at living. At the rate of twenty-four hours per day
every single day we all should be experts of living after four hundred sixteen days
or just over one year of life, but this is not the case.
All of this breathing, and I am no better at it then I once was.
Sure my body is efficient at all of the things a body should be
but that is not living. Living is waking up in the morning
with the smell of fresh dew and a lover's sweat lingering in your nose.
Living is that taste of freedom that creeps into your mouth whenever
you sense a chance to try something new. Living is holding
hands, and sprinting headlong into the horizon.
Living it being scared, but for all the right reasons and living is
being proud of the results. I am no expert at living. I have yet
to meet one, and we have people on this earth that are over one hundred
that is eight hundred seventy-six thousand five hundred seventy plus hours
of living and still no experts. Yet still I search for the ten thousandth hour.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC
The first thing I remember is breathing under water.
And what do you remember, dear and distant friend?
Lifetimes, braided together like blessed challah bread,
are intertwined, one into the next, sometimes glimpsed.
Living so differently, in music, through earthquakes and
tidal waves, we visit from one time into another,
to learn, to see life through one heart, our one unbounded
mind, the one universal soul that inhabits us all.
I have heard it said that after our ten thousandth lifetime
we can go home to our limitless beginnings.
Are we ready, dear, and distant friend?
Are you? Am I?
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
I start to write into a
puddle of metaphors
meant to be a love poem
and as I write down
the word love
for the thousandth
of the thousandth time
I accidentally misspell it...
...with the letters
of your name...
and I know visually
that it looks wrong on paper
but when I hear it in my head
it sounds right
and now I can’t quite remember
any other way to spell it
and thats not really the worst of it
because I’m really just rewriting
the same poem over and over again
somehow hoping that rearranging
the letters and the words
will somehow align the stars in heaven
causing my heartbeat to sync with yours
and somehow you will just know how I feel
and I won’t have to stutter
and stammer and choke on the words
because every time
you’re are sitting across from me
or standing anywhere near me
or being anywhere out there
in the world breathing
while just being you
causes my mouth and my hands
and my body
and the whole world around me
to tremble
as I begin
to feel so dangerously close
to not feeling so alone
and alone is a thing
I have grown to be
incredibly comfortably with
alone is a safe heaven
of quite and peaceful solitude
where pain is a thing
easily stitched away
inside secret pockets
of regret
that nobody knows about
alone is something that has
become the best friend
my heart has ever known
a secret companion
no one can steal away from me
the person that knows everything
about me that is too embarrassing
or strange
or heartbreaking to talk about
it knows things that
I don’t even know about myself
I am sure that I am
about to be swallowed
by some armageddon level event
and be forgotten by history
because this isn’t the kind of story
that i get to be a part of
except for the character
that no one notices
so there is no need to remember
who I was
or how when I thought
I misspelled the word love
with the letters of your name
was the first
and only time
I ever actually got it right
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
You hide (fear) your feelings
better than me (I)
fetishized flirtatious banter
(that is) cavity syrup sweet
I’m contemplating the calculus of your eyes
mind ******
by the shell game Sudoku/chattel slavery chess of our distance
Your movements a projection film noir
my favorite cinematic fetish
The flesh?
The mind?
... a thousand stolen glances (for the thousandth time I love you)
What would (should) you have me (i) do
I'm an open book (chest)
I could write (carve) our (your) story (name)
on a thousand lonely pages (my heart)
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 12:31 AM UTC
When gullible fools held a party
Wisdom was not invited
that's 'wise' all the fools agreed......
Oh...he's so grumpy, says the snail
as the cheetah calls 'hurry up please'
for the thousandth time
A gentleman never tell tales
so let's hear the one sided story
And always the teller has not a single hint of guilt
Loyalty is a virtue
But do not expect it to be present
In nine year olds or the blackmailed
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
the homesick one looks up to ask
"please, when do we go back?
for tears will quickly do their task,
will carve another track"
the knowing one just turns and smiles,
explaining once again,
that back is so much more than miles,
that now has become then
the homesick one, though, doesn't hear
the answer, for the thousandth time,
she wants to turn a deafened ear
so may the truth well chime
the truth that home is far away
that there will be a thought of when,
until that longed-for summers day
when she is home again
that home forever grows
the knowing one reminds once more
as sure as anything she knows
it's right there in her core
yet homesick one still asks and calls
relentlessly for home
she feels imprisoned by the walls
she wishes she could roam
she begs and screams for unity
for just one little trace
of love, of that community
where she had found her place
the knowing ones exterior cracks
the smile cant further hold
the tears now finally run their tracks
and masks begin to fold
and suddenly they all burst out
my knowing, homesick tears
of longing and I almost shout
something to never reach their ears
I want to scream how this is wrong
that I feel empty without them
that where my love and joy will stem
is the home where I belong
I dont, of course, I never would
the knowing one reminds me soon
that home I know is just as good
and still I long for come next June
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 4:24 AM UTC
Born the war drum
I was beat until the cries became the sub-audible pounding of a thousand marching feet birthed of beatings.
Truant was I to the current flowing like the wind that leaves the leafs chasing that end from which they've stemmed, rather moving to the inner drum beating out my doctrines engraved on skin, a prescription through inscription it allowed me to see through jade eyes and experience my near life experiments. The temple trapped within I tore the doors off of to find the one I could love, only to be left with hands stained of (His/her) blood. Bleeding the gods of Din and (w)Reck on in(g)sides work against the world I'm in, the perception deceptive eluding the corrections of that War Drum originally beat, the per(cus/sua)sive force of that forced message left lessened in the face of realities newly perceived, though still accepted in universal truth. The heart beats new root, a tie-in to every action bourne of a falling hand drumming out that beat of every thousandth fallen feet.
And I am left to (Him/her), that hidden god of Din, and I am left without that temple once held within so I may decipher that left upon my skin, that forgotten prayer I begin,
"forgive me father, for i am sin…"
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Well I'm ridin through the crossroads
on a midnight jet black horse,
got my pistol cocked and my sabre sheathed
,but loosely as a matter of course-
In the past I could let my guard down,
but Tonight I must not fail,
I'm like Jonah riding in the belly of the beast
while Ahab takes aim at the whale,
screaming from Hells heart I stab at thee for hate I spit my last breath
but tonight's my night
the coin's just took flight will it be life or endless death?,
I'm a wanted man with a blackened name,
and the hunter's have my scent,
but it's my one true love who I've got to save,
so on her rescue I'm Hellbent.
And the hell in there is not a turn of phrase,
she's in the grip of Satan's kin,
and if silver and steel can't save her soul,
I'll trade my own straight in.
because Sweet Alice always warned me
'bout the company I kept,
but I ignored her wisdom and for my sins,
she was taken while I slept,
by a Hell spawned demon creature
straight from Lucifer's darkest dream,
and her sob of fear is all I could hear,
now I'm haunted by that scream,
and for 11 years I've faced all my fears
on an evil infested trail,
a Witch woman omen caster told me I could save her with the holy grail.
I turn to see the demon following me
thru the gloom and misty hail,
and for the thousandth time I curse my oath to quest for the holy grail,
but Sweet Alice needs me to be strong,
and so I must not fail,
to face hell's hordes and save her soul I must find the holy grail
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
Swimming in honey is impossibly difficult.
Unless you don’t know it’s honey.
In ninth grade I started dating this guy.
I dove into the deep end with him and broke out into a sprint.
It took eight months to reach the other side,
eight months until the sweetness seeped into my teeth,
eight months until I recognized the bitter potential of this swimming pool.
Swimming in honey is impossibly difficult.
Unless you don’t know it’s honey.
My mind has always raced and I never had an issue with it,
up until the moment I was thrown a life raft.
It’s impossible to tell how sticky your situation is when all you’ve ever known is under the nectar.
Swimming in honey is impossibly difficult.
Unless you don’t know it’s honey.
We’ve been friends for so long that’s all I’ve ever thought of you as.
Yet after my thousandth lap you dragged me out of the pool, scraped away the syrup, pointed out to the place I had been for so long and told me
“Honey, I love you.”
Swimming in honey is impossibly difficult.
Unless you don’t know it’s honey.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
If you go to the dictionary,
Flip to the letter L,
Find the word Lovely,
It'll probably be defined as
"Charmingly beautiful,
Beauty that appeals
To mind and eye."
But to me,
Lovely means all that
And more.
Lovely means
Being love,
Even when it means
Getting your hands *****
And feeling unbeautiful.
Lovely means
Getting up at 12:00 am
To change ***** diapers
Or calm someone down
After night terrors-
Because even if what you're doing
Isn't very lovely,
But you do it out of love,
That's when you are most lovely.
Lovely means washing the feet
Of those you hate-
Doing it with a smile
On your face-
And that's when you look
Most lovely.
Lovely is
Washing laundry
For the one thousandth time,
And cooking supper for your family,
Even when you're all cooked-out.
Lovely is
Giving birth
To the earth's Savior
In a ***** rotten, ugly-lovely stable
On a cold night.
Lovely is
Being beaten
With a cat of nine tails whip,
Hanging on the cross,
Bloodied brow,
Grieving heart.
Lovely is sacrifice,
And pain
And bleeding forgiveness
And scars of heartache
From what some would call
"Loving too much"
But if you live lovely,
You know you can never
Love too much.
Lovely is more
Than lipstick
And blush,
And fluttering your eyes
And faking the right smile.
Lovely is
Getting hands *****
And loving until
You don't think you can,
And then loving with all you have
And more.
Lovely is
More than being beautiful,
Lovely is living life
Beautifully,
Even when it means
Being unbeautiful.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
My mother is no mother.
For some time there is laughter, a tangible happiness runs through the air.
Day to day and everything is ok.
As the laughter fades the days grows dark, because, my mother is no mother.
What was bubbly, sarcastic, and even fantastic! is now rude, ungrateful, and hateful.
My mother is no mother.
The time has come; she feels it at the very core of her being. An internal
clock, tic tok, tic tok, tic tok and stop!
Calm before the storm, we wait. What more is there to be done?
Its world war three for about the thousandth time. Down to the bunker, also known as our room,
we'll wait out the storm. Call in for back up; it’s going to be a long night. We can leave, but what
about the others? Decisions we shouldn’t have to make. Decisions deciding others fate.
For, my mother is no mother.
I’m sorry, it’s ok. I love you, I know.
The peace is weak, how many times can you sign the same treaty?
Force a smile....look some light creeps back in.
But still, my mother is no mother.
Tentative at first, but then more secure. We laugh, we sing, we run, and we yell.
Simply for the sake of a hiatus in hostilities.
Even if, my mother is no mother.
Inside she knows she is lying. I'm sorry, are you? I love you, I don't care.
My mother is no mother.
How much more can I take?
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
And for the thousandth time tonight
you dance in the flickering light
and everytime the beam crosses your face
I can see that you are lost in the moment
Your slender body
moving gracefully to the music
Your hair whirling in rhythm
reminding me of autumn winds
And you become one
with the beating of the drums
with the soft guitar sounds
and the never-ending pulse
And I just sit here waiting
Waiting for a glance
Waiting for a single word
And for the longing to fade
fade into pain.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
i sparkled a couple trillion
brain cells
one-one thousandth of a second ago
blue sky an whiperwill
May 4, 2023
May 4, 2023 at 8:45 PM UTC