"throughs" poems
I want something other than ****
with the short shorts showing
everything
the low-cut crop top
exploring eyes wander over
on countless evenings
my imagination having nothing
left
I want smokey flannel
a two-day-old pony tail
boots stained by the dirt and grass
a hole in your jeans
that wasn't there when you found them
I want hungover-fastfood-drive-throughs
with my shorts and your tank top
wrinkled from your floor
your hair still wet from the morning shower
I want leggings, a t-shirt
and a backwards ball cap
while we sing loudly out the open window
tapping the dashboard off-beat
hand raised fingers pointing at the moon
laughing at the man that sits watching us drive
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that if the phrase “adding insult to injury” had a feeling,
that would be it.
i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it sounds like “hands up, don’t shoot,” like “i can’t breathe,”
like blood hitting a pavement that seems as though it was built
to catch those droplets.
i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it tastes like skittles and arizona tea,
four years old but still carrying the fresh sting of a wound just opened.
i imagine that it tastes
like history repeating itself,
like seeing your son or daughter recycled each week
on every news report, on every tv station.
each time it is a different body,
but it is always the same hand pulling the trigger,
the same black blood being spilled,
the same cries left unheard;
we shout “black lives matter”
and yet, still,
they cut them too short.
i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it looks like a web of lies too thick to cut through —
every strand another weapon that he did or did not have,
another order that he did or did not follow,
another sin that he did or did not commit;
the only black they care about
is the color of the ink they use
to draw your angel-headed boy
a set of horns.
i imagine that it looks like evidence hidden,
like sparknotes-type skim-throughs labeled “thorough investigations,”
like another unindicted officer walking freely atop the cries of those
who charged into a battle they knew they would, but hoped they would not, lose.
a battle they have fought too many times before.
i imagine that it looks
like an empty chair at the dinner table,
like cold-blooded ****** disguised as justice
with the help of a blue hat and a badge.
i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but if you listen closely enough,
you can hear it
in every cautious goodbye she says to her children whenever they leave the house,
or in the silence that those goodbyes used to fill.
can you hear it?
you will have to push past the shouts
of the big bold letters that they want you to believe.
somewhere,
somewhere in there,
a black mother’s heart is crying.
it is a gentle, hushed cry
that the world does not want to hear.
but the tears are still just as wet.
(a.m.)
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
*If we leave the litter behind,
and run until our legs become a burden and our heads start to swell and come loose like a white-cloth-Arabian-silk turban,
we can make it home before 5.*
Past the market that only makes sense in the sun,
along the terraces slipping from their foundations,
skip on-top of walls before falling back into our run
behind the street of seared spice smells, conjured up by different nations.
We’ve left the litter behind.
We’d run further than these cities and their boundaries,
take transport to the tops of heavenly high hills,
cause havoc amongst the machinery of the foundries
and make it home for five if we run through those mills.
We’ve left the litter behind.
Holding hands we’ll remember the brush of the grass on our thighs,
farmer’s fields and the dark brown cut-throughs we took,
our pockets full of receipts and chewing gum supplies
and the look of your pale blue eyes amongst your fresh air haircut.
I hope the litter don’t mind.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
After twenty years, as cursed as I may be
for having learned computerese,
I continue to examine bits, bytes and words
and insure that I'm one of those computer nerds.
Program design, source code and compile
followed by walk-throughs that place me on trial.
There's lots of testing - a means to an end
in hopes of avoiding future production abends.
There are micros, minis and mainframe hardware
which are made to work with in-house and vendor software.
Provided are many platforms for everyone to use
and assure misinformation in data's abuse.
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 7:14 AM UTC
Let Christ give his final sacrament to us through the holy Eucharist of his jizzum.
He shall raise the skirts of all boys and decimate the trousers of all who fear him.
I was a kid once and i know this.
Don't worry he ***** me too.
Feels good if you know him in the flesh in fruity underwear tighty see throughs.
Death plague.
He brings to us.
Through the work of his *****
Whacking off each head to ***
Come one come all,
to the shitshow circus called religion,
**** morals owned by slavery and god,
All fallacy is see through like his ******* nightgown
God is the **** of ********
Get a hard on from your violence absolvance.
**** one another destroy.
Empathy is for *******
God is dead.
Shot with led, fed to the Nazis, in their death holes for the unclean,
God is a ***
The **** of earth isn’t me or you
It's the constructs of dogma,
That they abused us with as children.
Come on now we all aren’t bad guys.
It's the ***** in power.
**** ****
Follow, follow,
into a pit like the communist.
I had *** with Stalin and created democracy.
Chairmen Mao is necrophagist.
****** was was the savior of the Semites.
The Popes are the largest mass murderers in history.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
"BUG"
I saw a Bug Battle,
in the cracks of the street Blood and Struggle
Their plastic screams and cellophane curses were almost like yours and mine.
Until a brave one crawled to my ear,
and he told me of his trial in the street crack theater,
I grinned as if I cared, he smiled like he had the time
He said "in whose camp does your banner fly, and can I have you on my side?"
He loaded a Pistol while I replied:
I said: I'm anti-pro no shout catechist, so keep your pamphlets political activist,
You take your cause for lack of a purpose in life,
pursuit of happiness, "eudemonia" good spiritedness
you're living proof that ignorance aint bliss
Pray "Libira nos a malo!" and Free Tibet!
But you never prayed for the souls with affixed Bayonets;
so I wave like the man being shot from the cannon;
born on this chunk of warm rock hurling through nothing;
who only on the front of spirit can fight;
Storm the Bastille of desperate life;
and dance in the street every night till the day I die.
The Bug Replied:
Know All, Know all, in the dialog to win,
two grants are a Franklyn one Lincoln's just a fin?
Posit value for this bug since you're so well balanced,
gaining perspective from the outermost valence;
you never killed what you eat and confuse "labor with action,"
but you think you're to evolved to fight for my faction;
We're currency baby as we live and breed,
BASTILLE for you ATTICA for me!
better get in the frae my anti anti teacher
before it ***** you along with every other fighting creature;
I'm going back to me cell where I breathe a little freer;
but let me give a final though like I'm Jerry Springer:
If happiness is purpose than you can call my purpose love,
to survive I fight the Battle and to me you're the bug.
Thunderstruck, I sat on the curb,
realizing I could be a "social surd;"
then I saw my small confessor get killed in a raid;
I would have stomped out his assassin if I wasn't so afraid;
instead I rose to my feet, and walked straight home,
locked myself in, and wrote out this song,
I think of the bug while I'm dancing in the street,
every time my neighbor throughs a sneaker at me;
I feel his wrestles spirit longing to fight,
while I'm drinking and singing in the middle of the night,
than it hits me:
The bug was right
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
the worm burps crasanthyums
like hypnic ****
matter becomes metaphor
thats how the beast works with in us
we are a book of masks
and i'm up to my neck in
mirrors of the marvelous
midnight music beguiles like a blizzard of whispers
flaming candles heat like ovens
burning finger by finger
i melt flabbergasted in dark linoleum clouds
blood gluttonous
tender bites
lips like red rain and trussed thighs
she grins
a face of needles and mice
i think she wants me
this old man, soggy eyed mop
linen wrapped
before aortic aneurysms
i'm a living tarot card
the falling tower and the lovers
break downs and break throughs
my groin a slobbering clot
dreaming ******* drenched
straight jacketed on her knees
***** willow shadows
drooling exacerbations
a caffeinated candy
licked thickly
twitching blinks; rem ejaculations
her face; a tattooed ****
**** mouth smiles
brown one eyed gnome
**** the stinking cyclops
*** talk lubricates
a raspberry crumble
looking for god
omniscient
even in *****
the white swans utterance
incoherence's
dressed in a ****** negligee
her belly a thousand ******* mouths
and i press into her thunder
shattering dawns gravity
a pinhole of empty cups
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
thinking on the mind
walking back and forth
can't put a finger on it
anger of crazy starts
then stope and think
thinking on the time
walking on the line
can't stop throughs run though the mind
waiting on the time
waiting is all you can do
waiting you know
waiting
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 7:03 PM UTC
Seize the moment
they say
live in the moment
to seize is to take
to take is to steal
I begin pickpocketing
moments for myself
and no one else
getting advice from what can
only be a moment thief
Articles with click-throughs
said I could love myself
three easy steps
ten easy steps
arbitrary quantities
erroneous
because it has taken
thousands of difficult steps
to begin loving myself
and only with the help
of moments from
strangers and tourists
in my town
The moment thief tells me
not to be scared of being scared
It tells me to be proud
of myself
never ashamed
of how I came to find out
the moment thief
does not know
what I do not know
why I like to make
generalizations
about humanity
as a whole
after being hurt by
only one person
The snatcher says to me
living is as easy as not dying
There is no use shoplifting
the only good lives
are in the street
and in the homes
be a cat burglar
ahead of the pack
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
As I sip on my Coffee
Which is ever so Thin,
I'm reminded why I Buy
From the privately Owned
Local joint which has Been
In town for Decades.
It's appropriately Named
Coffee Heaven;
And I remain a loyal Customer,
Save for when I'm feeling Like
A fat piece of **** who Doesn't
Feel like getting out of the Car.
Drive-throughs are the Killers
Of Small Business.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
Hot on the tail of that wily, elusive beast
named ‘inspiration’, I travelled north.
North, where colours mute
and transformative shadow
bends in darklight,
revealing the world as it really is,
as it once was.
Hundreds of years pass,
rolling back time, boiling clouds
rushing over peaks in reverse,
a tiny tornado ***** in on itself,
and hundreds become thousands.
Rain blackens the babies of volcanoes,
engorges forces with greater purpose
and cleanses every shred of vision
from my grasping, desperate mind.
Thousands become millions
And I am stripped of incentive to try.
There is no ruination, here.
No furious nor frantic need
to imagine past lives
in this manicured, managed place.
High-vis’d toilers scuttle on mountainsides
carefully placing and re-placing rocks,
funnelling feet and discovery
on a prescribed and sensible path.
Only the rain
wreathing a secretive misted ribbon,
creeping in glacial cut-throughs,
is possessed of fanciful virtue.
Nothing shatters but the slate
and the landscape does not turn inward
to eat itself
in gnawing, atavistic need.
It says more about me,
than it does of the Lake District
that I would wrench out and offer
my super-heated heart
to see the mountains fall.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
grab a book,
sit in the rain,
and write what you feel.
can be ****** throughs,
but in the end,
is pretty good feel,
the cold rain,
in your face.
-d.a
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
What should I write today?
I have too many throughs,
Too many emotions I wish to share.
I am a broken pieces of moments that i long to relive
I have created myself from all the dreams I have yet to become.
In this room I try to write anything other than my heartbreak
But all I can think about is how my memories have been tainted by your disappearance.
I am a graveyard filled with the loss of people I once loved.
I am an unfinished sentence because I refuse to give up on other people that have already left.
My plees echo in the valley of my soul never to be answered.
I hunger for words that express my need for release.
I crave to finish the unfinished sentence of my life.
I demand to piece myself back together so I may become complete.
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 1:39 PM UTC
i am tired
of waking up
in the middle of the night
at the sound of
my skin tearing itself apart,
i can no longer remove
the stamp of
your lips and hands
off me;
my sides splitting open
so my scars ensconced
deep beneath the surface
can tell the story
of how i fell for you.
i am tired
of staying up
with nothing but
the company of the moon,
awaiting for its eclipse,
blinking away
fragments of what we had —
filled to the brim
with adoration —
although fleeting.
memories of
how you held me —
only distant.
again,
the clock chimed
unforgivingly,
reminding me
of late night drive throughs
around the crevices
of my wreckage of thoughts —
spilled and separated;
full of you,
only you.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
he sat with me,
I told him my story
huge smiles and drinking juice in high glasses,
refreshing our souls.
we ran, we laugh in places like fairytales,
he told me stories and promissed to never leave me,
he promissed me to always support me,
even when I went down.
but her, with her pale face and dry lips cried, eyes full of tears,
but he would always be there,
even when I hide my feelings in that dark and lonely room.
I always felt weak and not worth it,
And I would lie to myself,
Because those feelings and broken smiles wouldnt change a thing,
and would only make me more confuse.
this would be the last time that,
everything would be the same.
I left everything in the bathroom,
and I avenged everything I felt in bed,
Because only he knew,
and he never judged me and always saved me from quit,
frail, lost, broken in two with feelings.
I didnt knew,
and I everyday survived,
the storm and fell asleep,
all anxiety would return the next day,
but he would always be there to take care of my broken pieces.
I lied to myself,
hurt feelings but he was always
there to me.
and he always took care of mine tiny pieces,
wipe the tears of my pale and frail face,
while telling me that he would love me,
even if everything was over,
because all the feelings would disappear in a hot bath
where the water would take my anger and sadness,
and would make me feel better, again, or even feel nothing at all,
but I had him always telling me "baby, everything will be alright".
-d.a
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
be
it a Texan star-beam
or Route 66
broken umbrellas
or sarsaparilla
sugarcane
or Korbel champagne
nylon stockings
& neon signs
driving you insane
drive-throughs
& diners
motels
&
Hell's Angels
on motorcycles
Lousiana swamps
San Francisco lights
Mississippi River
jazz men
cowboys
& hobos
Fred Astaire moments
Oh my America
I lost you forever out of sight
wings clipped
drugged-up
losing my voice
shouting for freedom
losing my love
yet America, I still sing of you
& your sidewalks
& Wizard of Oz
hurricanes
all that I've read of
in books
since when do you
not want
Mad dreamers
reconsider
give me back
my dreams
don't let them wither
please
let me breathe
in your freedom
please
let me in
I'm a Believer
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
we will pay for everything
in the future
we will pray for nothing
I had dreamt a silver, shining dream
once, but now that dream
is a mocking commercial
broadcast from dingy screens
beneath ozone depleting
lies
we will pay
for living our lies
we will pay increasingly growing prices
for increasingly decreasing substance
I had dreamt a green leaf, blue sky
lie once, but now
that dream
is just chemicals in the water
now trees are just a dream
now deer, now birds
now fish, and now
now there are no more words
no sounds of life, no thoughts
no lips to tremble
and nothing new for "God's" blundering
sons, nor for Her daughters
now there are no forests, now no cities
now there are no oceans, no airports
no drive-throughs, no "losers" to date
no lovers, , no families
no malls, bridges, or buildings
now there are no could-bes
no factories, or flowers
now there are no smiles, or tears
now there are no old folks, or youngsters
now there are no cars, no buses
no night clubs, parties, nor restaurants
classes, passes, nor tickets
no pillows, no blankets
no warm beds for sleep
now there is no now whatsoever
nor is there a future
because all that remains
is a past that has passed
and some once weres
that cannot be remembered
yes
we will pay for everything in the future
and then we will pray
for nothing
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
writing is writing about nothing
nothing is writhing
so just started with nothing
and write it
like a sea of flames blow me to my mindless thoughs
life is nothing more then hell on ice
Love is something we all don't always need
nothing is the way we live our lives without knowing it
flames burn up in my heart will eat up my heart
writing just moves my throughs
the unknow lines of the pagar befor me
I can't stop, writing is my life, my life is writing
I will never stop
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
grotesque characters smash themselves against Plexiglass windows
the sheer mass bowing and distorting the transparent protector
squeezing into the darkened faux-cave for a glimpse
of the last starfish in the Pacific –
droopy fingers cling desperately to transplanted basalt
slow death from radiation poisoning
the future picture for all of mankind
little Cindy sheds a tear as discolored water flows, unfiltered
saline ratio destroyed by the introduction or pesticides
and straight petroleum
reflective properties shifting the absorption rate
oceanic temperature altered
the tree so memorizing
no one notices the inferno on the ridgeline –
facilitating the fall, politicians look to tax carbon emissions
pretending to understand
while Jupiter develops another eye
and the storms on Venus have gained intensity at a steady rate for 25 years
blaming the diesel SUV, sun worshipers get skin cancer
and ulcers –
unrepentant hordes of sheeple march through drive-throughs
signing up for the slaughter
the gods of old are coming home
and blood sacrifice is all they accept –
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Imperative perception
It was all far fetched, a time when I searched myself in others
No one can ever give me the moment of clarity and serenity
An eternity of peace within oneself, an embody of higher self
This place of ultimate truth and surreal objectification
A reflection of timeless lapses, the laps of completeness
The storms were a taboo, the recurrent flying unquietness
The un-resolving trips and flares of unpolarised magnetic currents
The escape to pristine moments, prestige throughs and peaks
A vision from the drowning sea, me sinking in the whirlpool
I mirrored my own reflection to yours, my 'I' to "you", your 'I" to "me"
Melodious Creeks
The moment called now is my only lullaby I can hear
A whisper so harmonised and crystallised deep in the seabed
A candle light of moment of truth in a rotating crystal ball
The chaos in the jungle have escaped to the peaks of the mountain
Uninformed lands with uniformed pebbles, the shattered glasses
Demons that stood ***** as they pierced and taunted a being
Why did it take so long?
Lets go the springs and streams of pain, the unending past
It's not a feeling, or logic, its a way of human existence
An entwinement of anthems embellished with peace
Presentiment
***** the barred barricades for me to see your pastures
I can feel the darkness that embodies your soul and mind
A thunder in the unending jungle, jiggling in kingdoms
Reject my sharp vision, I cry your tears as you do mine
I stare at your blur as you submerge in the deep waters
The blackening tunnels with no escape reject my eyes
The icy layers squeezing to escape in your sorrows
The narrowed aisles have become the only island you cruise
The trajectory of our blood realigned in our future sins
Found self?
Listen to the strings adjoining in the basements of the cliffs
The line balancing on the centrifugal pump as it impels to shrouds
Of choices?
Predetermination and judgment of other as I lost a piece of my time
In this territory, I stand at the borderline of my devotion in battle
Holding my rifle and connecting to life and all; me a solider of love
Parading in the landscapes of inhibitions and thought processes
A soul I hold is my only liberation to live fully and autonomously
Eyes wide open, mouth wide ajar as we rise and survive doing our best!
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
You long to know what i'm hiding inside, forcing me to run and hide.
Isolating the problem, fearing what you'll think.
You're only in luck if you can read what i scribble in ink.
Will what i have to say really intrigue you?
I don't want to be one of your walk throughs.
I struggle to find myself in all of this haze.
My thoughts are beginning to turn into a maze.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
When time folding life goes by,
For a while did I ask for.
When the day folding sight goes by,
And its other face being unveiled
Fluxless moon glaring into the edge of night;
Being gazed upon by millions of stars
For a view did I ask for.
When the moon dance leads the starry night,
And takes the deep based mine,
The ocean dancing along;
For a space did I ask for.
When the red blossoms,
Where the tender zephyr's aroma blows,
****** green of the Earth break-throughs,
For a smell did I ask for.
Heaven wreathed the sun,
With garlands of myriad planets,
When the depth of the night is found,
And millions of lives awaken,
Over the violet Earth,
Singing nightingales upon the rose!
For hearing did I ask for.
Where the spring flourishes,
Into the meadows midst,
Spring from the secrets within!
Beneath the shadowy bower
Wherein the sun shines
Into the eternal shadow!
For a drink did I ask for.
When to reach end, the blooming flowers
The spring flourishes, utilize to the end,
For a touch did I ask for.
When rises the angelic dawn,
With the whole world anew,
And breaks through once more!
For a return did I ask for.
For your world brimful,
When I am no longer in,
But in nobody, an empty brim!
To fill them all I ask for!
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
She sits in the corner admiring her own artwork
Slowly sipping on her tea while a cigarette lingers between her fingers unlit
She sits alone because she scared to share her self with anyone because she afriad that they will judge her for her mistakes and scars
She smokes because she wants to be skinny...it's working but she's killing her self in the process
And when you see this girl in the hallway you advert your eyes because the littlest contact could infect you with her imperfections and you hold your breath because she wears to much of her moms Perfume because it's the only thing she has left of her
She goes through school with make up smeared and smudged around her eyes
She looks like a zombie
teachers and kids don't interact with because she's different because they all feel bad that they used to bully her in middle school so no one even smiles at her
So when she goes home she decides today is the day I'm finally going to be free...she slowly gets in that tub and grabs that razor from the hiding place behind the soap and begins to cut
Crying with every cut but not tears of pain or death but tears of happiness because her alcoholic dad will finally notice her and kids at school will finally talk about her
When her dad finally stumbles in to take a drunk night **** he's sees her smiling for the first time in a while and then he notices the pool of blood
And he finally realizes all the signs of her depression...the kids at school next day chatter throughs text and Facebook but soon there just memories and distant rumors of why she did it ranging from that she was crazy and evil to dumb and pregnant
But the truth is all she needed was a smile a simple hi how are you today...and she would have made it...she would still be here...she wouldn't be a sad distant memory but a happy alive little girl like she used to be before her dad began drinking because of her mothers death
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
In places where dreams dare to meet
thoughts are scattered on the floor
ideas just waiting patiently on the street
and major break throughs hang on the door.
Under the biggest bridge you come across
Over the toughest hill anyone could climb
Meeting for the first time the strictest boss
and earning money to keep and say "that's mine".
Situations come and go like the wind and rain
Heart aches and headaches show their face
but then out comes the sunshine and kills pain
and whatever situation, it becomes a nicer place.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 2:14 AM UTC