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"tracers" poems
#(a travelogue) He stared down through the unbroken silence lapping the shoreline Water skippers dart around the rocks and windfall driftwood settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds and emerging broadleaf sprouts A petrified heartwood timber lie fallow waiting bare barked, hushed like a pining lover’s      timeworn love seat,      rubbed smooth as      the crystalline waters      of  half-moon lake Lingering for a while  ―   like a hidden stalker, a perched wildcat waiting for the full moon’s   swooning spell to saturate the thickening dusk quietude;      arousing the urgent      call of the wild — exhaled from the held breath of the wilderness nocturne     on half-moon lake The stillness was scattered with the soft downy hairs of the sleeping cattails,  and the newly shed catkins a spring gust bestrewed from a tall resin birch tree nigh the Sitka willows      He  sat  quietly ...      time out of mind ― tossing his eyes up into the sky; taking the time to read the stars ― catching  them  each  again as they fell into his gentle hands, to show him who he was Seeing their sparkly tracers   trail-out above the cattails,      from a distance they resembled falling stars unable to perceive their own renaissance ― plashing lightly upon the still-water      on half-moon lake A lone shadow glides stealthily near mid-tarn,.. swimming   enchantingly with the grace      of a blackswan Appearing to glance shoreward at the glowing low stars rise and fall, as his eyes twinkled skyward over      the moonlit lagoon ― heavenward of its moonlit ballet; the lone sleek dark shadow      slipping through      a faint circular ripple stirring the smooth as glass waters ―   disappearing like a fleeting moment      waning deep aneath      a subtle silent wake. When all the clear lines blurred, he knew it had been so long ...      but hearken ! … an interceding      long drawn out wail        echoed  a feral ache      across the stillness,      breaking the silence ― as the shadow reappeared;      his tears surrendered to the undulating call of the wild; he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,      as black and white      as the moonlit night, stir deeply in his wanting heart ―      lay bare the silence in lengthy yodeled psalms to the god of the moon Diving down deep yet again, keeping the light he’d been given, vanishing into the lifespring sanctuary of half-moon lake harlon rivers ... May 2018 travelogue: 4 of some more
0
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
harlon-rivers
On half-moon lake ☽
#(a travelogue) He stared down through the unbroken silence lapping the shoreline Water skippers dart around the rocks and windfall driftwood settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds and emerging broadleaf sprouts A petrified heartwood timber lie fallow waiting bare barked, hushed like a pining lover’s      timeworn love seat,      rubbed smooth as      the crystalline waters      of  half-moon lake Lingering for a while  ―   like a hidden stalker, a perched wildcat waiting for the full moon’s   swooning spell to saturate the thickening dusk quietude;      arousing the urgent      call of the wild — exhaled from the held breath of the wilderness nocturne     on half-moon lake The stillness was scattered with the soft downy hairs of the sleeping cattails,  and the newly shed catkins a spring gust bestrewed from a tall resin birch tree nigh the Sitka willows      He  sat  quietly ...      time out of mind ― tossing his eyes up into the sky; taking the time to read the stars ― catching  them  each  again as they fell into his gentle hands, to show him who he was Seeing their sparkly tracers   trail-out above the cattails,      from a distance they resembled falling stars unable to perceive their own renaissance ― plashing lightly upon the still-water      on half-moon lake A lone shadow glides stealthily near mid-tarn,.. swimming   enchantingly with the grace      of a blackswan Appearing to glance shoreward at the glowing low stars rise and fall, as his eyes twinkled skyward over      the moonlit lagoon ― heavenward of its moonlit ballet; the lone sleek dark shadow      slipping through      a faint circular ripple stirring the smooth as glass waters ―   disappearing like a fleeting moment      waning deep aneath      a subtle silent wake. When all the clear lines blurred, he knew it had been so long ...      but hearken ! … an interceding      long drawn out wail        echoed  a feral ache      across the stillness,      breaking the silence ― as the shadow reappeared;      his tears surrendered to the undulating call of the wild; he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,      as black and white      as the moonlit night, stir deeply in his wanting heart ―      lay bare the silence in lengthy yodeled psalms to the god of the moon Diving down deep yet again, keeping the light he’d been given, vanishing into the lifespring sanctuary of half-moon lake harlon rivers ... May 2018 travelogue: 4 of some more
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88
"The thought of  the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go." The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man. All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again. The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra ********* lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers. Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life.. Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake. This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of  it's unwanted face.. The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence. "Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.   This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
0
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
stone-fox
Tasseled Dreams
"The thought of  the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go." The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man. All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again. The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra ********* lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers. Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life.. Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake. This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of  it's unwanted face.. The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence. "Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.   This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
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10
The ground was turned We sewed the field Toiled though, Night & Day We sewed the harvest of WAR, Seedlings of Death Bullets were littered to flower Different calibres Bearing the fruits, Those picked ripe on the branch Magazines Armour piercing Tracers, Explosive, Rounds, best not to drop. C4 planted watered with Nitro-glycerine, Like a ripe melon it grows Till it is plucked form the stem, A war head hangs heavy lest it falls, Wiping out the harvest & more, Planting the seed of destruction Is a hazardous Job, One wrong step And a spoiled mine Can take off, Toes, Legs, Insides, Spill out in to the field of WAR Feeding those objects That would spill more blood Once harvested, This field full of the seedlings of WAR.
0
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
poetic-t
Sewing The Seeds
The ground was turned We sewed the field Toiled though, Night & Day We sewed the harvest of WAR, Seedlings of Death Bullets were littered to flower Different calibres Bearing the fruits, Those picked ripe on the branch Magazines Armour piercing Tracers, Explosive, Rounds, best not to drop. C4 planted watered with Nitro-glycerine, Like a ripe melon it grows Till it is plucked form the stem, A war head hangs heavy lest it falls, Wiping out the harvest & more, Planting the seed of destruction Is a hazardous Job, One wrong step And a spoiled mine Can take off, Toes, Legs, Insides, Spill out in to the field of WAR Feeding those objects That would spill more blood Once harvested, This field full of the seedlings of WAR.
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38
Four A.M. Nothing, at first, then clouds part, and stars fall like showers of seed pearls: perfect white particles of creation, God's tracers, tiny droplets of beauty raining on a still, dark world. - mce
0
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
mike-essig
Leonid Meteor Shower
Four A.M. Nothing, at first, then clouds part, and stars fall like showers of seed pearls: perfect white particles of creation, God's tracers, tiny droplets of beauty raining on a still, dark world. - mce
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16
In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.
0
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
jj-hutton
The Misfit
In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.
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4
Sijo 1   The rapid rattle fire, red tracers screaming in silent air, woke me from half dream sleep--eyes open are better than eyes closed, when ears are filled with black noise, and Victor Charlie wants me dead
0
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
spysgrandson
Sijo 1
Sijo 1   The rapid rattle fire, red tracers screaming in silent air, woke me from half dream sleep--eyes open are better than eyes closed, when ears are filled with black noise, and Victor Charlie wants me dead
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4
O the mustangs stung like mosquitoes, fast as lightning & thunderbolts, liberators & fortresses, hurricanes & tornadoes, hell cats & bears, invaders & dragons, good grief Lord, those mighty Gordons! O wily foxes & quick lancers, avengers & vindicators, swordfish, barracuda, some tuna, albacore. Gladiators in the gauntlet, zig-zagging & spitting fire, spewing molten hot-lead, bright-tracers in the night, forever fighting with their all their might, bombing their daylights out and into submission, la morte, stone dead. O they sank the Rising Sun, 'cause they had that ***** battling against all wrong & protecting only what was right!
0
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
jonny-angel
Plain Truth (About War Planes)
O the mustangs stung like mosquitoes, fast as lightning & thunderbolts, liberators & fortresses, hurricanes & tornadoes, hell cats & bears, invaders & dragons, good grief Lord, those mighty Gordons! O wily foxes & quick lancers, avengers & vindicators, swordfish, barracuda, some tuna, albacore. Gladiators in the gauntlet, zig-zagging & spitting fire, spewing molten hot-lead, bright-tracers in the night, forever fighting with their all their might, bombing their daylights out and into submission, la morte, stone dead. O they sank the Rising Sun, 'cause they had that ***** battling against all wrong & protecting only what was right!
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26
Infinite, iridescent ribbons Spinning out around us. With every word you let slip, I dare say I see every hue, Drifting closer to me, and you. They speed up with every second of anticipation, Wrapping tightly around our skins sensation. But somehow, these mingling ties, they cannot bind me. instead they move us. A deep blue undertow, your eyes, washing over my entirety. Bright hot Scarlett's sweetly pulling us in, Closing the only gap left between us, now chest to chest. white light, tracers at your mouths content. silver as winters first gasping breath, shivers as you reach for me again. Our strings of thought do not break as they should. Concoctions of enthrall, tangling, mending, strengthening, as you move to my hearts rapid beat.
0
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
sienna-burroughs
boundless ties.
Infinite, iridescent ribbons Spinning out around us. With every word you let slip, I dare say I see every hue, Drifting closer to me, and you. They speed up with every second of anticipation, Wrapping tightly around our skins sensation. But somehow, these mingling ties, they cannot bind me. instead they move us. A deep blue undertow, your eyes, washing over my entirety. Bright hot Scarlett's sweetly pulling us in, Closing the only gap left between us, now chest to chest. white light, tracers at your mouths content. silver as winters first gasping breath, shivers as you reach for me again. Our strings of thought do not break as they should. Concoctions of enthrall, tangling, mending, strengthening, as you move to my hearts rapid beat.
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23
The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane 506th Easy Company Of the 101st Airborne The leg bag Tore right off They jumped lower than they should have been Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute Tracers spraying around in the air Firing in every direction Paul "Buck" Rogers Lands in a tree Some worked their way down Through a farm area To a hedge row Easy Company captured and destroyed The guns at Brecourt Manor Saving countless lives on Utah Beach They helped to liberate the Dutch Angels from the sky The black and white footage is amazing The gratitude and love the people show To the men is wonderful Finally free after four years Of Occupation by the Germans Battling from village to village Along "Hell's Highway," Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River Nine men of Easy Company Lost their lives Battling in Holland By the End of the Holland campaign, Easy Company had been on the frontline For more than 70 days On Dec. 16, 1944 ****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes The Battle of the Bulge would become The largest engagement In the history Of the U.S. Army 600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne Surrounded by Germans Branches knocked off of trees Holes in the ground Artillery attack 88s, mortars, rockets They jumped into foxholes He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole The wounded got relief from battle Maybe a ticket home If they died they were at peace At Berchtesgaden They uncovered artwork In Zell Am Zee, Austria Easy Company helped secure The surrender of 25,000 German troops On November 30, 1945 The 101st Airborne Division Was inactivated Day after Day They fought together Fought for each other Knowing some would not return This veteran said, "I cherish the memories Of a question my grandson asked me the other day. 'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said no But I served in a company of heroes."
0
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
MattG
God Bless 506th Easy Company of the 101st Airborne
The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane 506th Easy Company Of the 101st Airborne The leg bag Tore right off They jumped lower than they should have been Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute Tracers spraying around in the air Firing in every direction Paul "Buck" Rogers Lands in a tree Some worked their way down Through a farm area To a hedge row Easy Company captured and destroyed The guns at Brecourt Manor Saving countless lives on Utah Beach They helped to liberate the Dutch Angels from the sky The black and white footage is amazing The gratitude and love the people show To the men is wonderful Finally free after four years Of Occupation by the Germans Battling from village to village Along "Hell's Highway," Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River Nine men of Easy Company Lost their lives Battling in Holland By the End of the Holland campaign, Easy Company had been on the frontline For more than 70 days On Dec. 16, 1944 ****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes The Battle of the Bulge would become The largest engagement In the history Of the U.S. Army 600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne Surrounded by Germans Branches knocked off of trees Holes in the ground Artillery attack 88s, mortars, rockets They jumped into foxholes He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole The wounded got relief from battle Maybe a ticket home If they died they were at peace At Berchtesgaden They uncovered artwork In Zell Am Zee, Austria Easy Company helped secure The surrender of 25,000 German troops On November 30, 1945 The 101st Airborne Division Was inactivated Day after Day They fought together Fought for each other Knowing some would not return This veteran said, "I cherish the memories Of a question my grandson asked me the other day. 'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said no But I served in a company of heroes."
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69
We could not understand because we were too far and could not remember because we were traveling in the night of first ages. And those ages are gone, leaving hardly a sign and no memories. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there, there you could look at a thing monstrous...and free.  The Heart of Darkness Slowly ever so slowly Gliding above the burning things below Some still moved but we did not attend We were tired of carrion food There was too much Still we could hear the distant passage Of a great beast Earth shaking roars and shrapnel filled flames Shaking the backs of our eyes We waited for that moment of stillness When the earth breathed between eruptions Just like that night in Stalingrad Or Gettysburg when the cannon stopped that summer afternoon All that could be heard were The groans of the wounded Then the clatter of the gunships returned The spell was broken Just as it began to move toward the lines of tracers and the 20mm rapid-fire, Flinging the broken skeleton of the city before it The beast met our eyes for a moment Shared a sly grin Then we knew it for our own Our private monster
0
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
gary-gibbens
The Beast
We could not understand because we were too far and could not remember because we were traveling in the night of first ages. And those ages are gone, leaving hardly a sign and no memories. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there, there you could look at a thing monstrous...and free.  The Heart of Darkness Slowly ever so slowly Gliding above the burning things below Some still moved but we did not attend We were tired of carrion food There was too much Still we could hear the distant passage Of a great beast Earth shaking roars and shrapnel filled flames Shaking the backs of our eyes We waited for that moment of stillness When the earth breathed between eruptions Just like that night in Stalingrad Or Gettysburg when the cannon stopped that summer afternoon All that could be heard were The groans of the wounded Then the clatter of the gunships returned The spell was broken Just as it began to move toward the lines of tracers and the 20mm rapid-fire, Flinging the broken skeleton of the city before it The beast met our eyes for a moment Shared a sly grin Then we knew it for our own Our private monster
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24
***Dearest Tommy I think of you every night I lay awake listening to the thunder and the lightening, and the rain on the old tin roof (which is leaking again by the way) but during the day I can't hear it, I'm so busy staying sane Just want you to know, even though it's only been 2 months I'm thinking of you, again*** *My Heart, Melissa I'm thinking of you out in the desert there are 50 million stars and several stray bullet tracers but they can never mar the beauty of the night sky, from where I lie thinking of you and maybe... our babe? Don't leave my hanging sweetheart, give me a hint to make my darkest day I LOVE U!* ***Dear Tommy The mailman came again today with no news from you, I can't pretend that it didn't light a fuse beneath my temper but I understand you are busy and it is September Autumn months where life lies fallow I'm not trying to be shallow I'm just trying to plug up the leaks there is no babe, I'm sorry (I'm not) but it's cold and life is bleak without you*** *Darling Melissa I'm hearing you cry out to me I'm getting your letters but you're not seeing me? How can that be? I want you to know that each grain of sand that I pour out of my boots at night I count as minutes spent away from you and I'm seeing you beyond sight when I close my eyes under stars that don't shine for you in your universe and I'm sorry for that but under each shining light, I pretend that your looking up at the same star and you are whispering what we rehearsed... No matter where you are, you are my star. Remember? Love your Tommy* ***Dear Tom The leak was fixed last week by Steven Treadle remember him from High School He played football for a little while and then he decided college football wasn't for him so he decided on a trade and now he's a roofer He wanted to be a soldier but his injury prevented him He's doing well, here in Suburbia... and with me... I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry, so sorry but he's here for me... I'm so sorry but Tommy I Loved you and the idea of you and me but Tommy I need someone by me... Sorry*** the last response Melissa received was not a letter from Tommy but an Official Sorry from the Military but it was never as sorry as Melissa felt that Tommy may have (or may have not) received her last Sorry or the Hell it may have spelt
0
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
helen
Tommy and Melissa (fighting a war that wasn't theirs to fight)
***Dearest Tommy I think of you every night I lay awake listening to the thunder and the lightening, and the rain on the old tin roof (which is leaking again by the way) but during the day I can't hear it, I'm so busy staying sane Just want you to know, even though it's only been 2 months I'm thinking of you, again*** *My Heart, Melissa I'm thinking of you out in the desert there are 50 million stars and several stray bullet tracers but they can never mar the beauty of the night sky, from where I lie thinking of you and maybe... our babe? Don't leave my hanging sweetheart, give me a hint to make my darkest day I LOVE U!* ***Dear Tommy The mailman came again today with no news from you, I can't pretend that it didn't light a fuse beneath my temper but I understand you are busy and it is September Autumn months where life lies fallow I'm not trying to be shallow I'm just trying to plug up the leaks there is no babe, I'm sorry (I'm not) but it's cold and life is bleak without you*** *Darling Melissa I'm hearing you cry out to me I'm getting your letters but you're not seeing me? How can that be? I want you to know that each grain of sand that I pour out of my boots at night I count as minutes spent away from you and I'm seeing you beyond sight when I close my eyes under stars that don't shine for you in your universe and I'm sorry for that but under each shining light, I pretend that your looking up at the same star and you are whispering what we rehearsed... No matter where you are, you are my star. Remember? Love your Tommy* ***Dear Tom The leak was fixed last week by Steven Treadle remember him from High School He played football for a little while and then he decided college football wasn't for him so he decided on a trade and now he's a roofer He wanted to be a soldier but his injury prevented him He's doing well, here in Suburbia... and with me... I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry, so sorry but he's here for me... I'm so sorry but Tommy I Loved you and the idea of you and me but Tommy I need someone by me... Sorry*** the last response Melissa received was not a letter from Tommy but an Official Sorry from the Military but it was never as sorry as Melissa felt that Tommy may have (or may have not) received her last Sorry or the Hell it may have spelt
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84
trip flare   and they are in a singing, soprano sea of light my heart thumping, baritone,   my eyes digesting this metastasizing meal   choking on it, until   the guy beside me opens fire,   emptying a magazine before I flip from safety to rock ’n roll auto   both of us now filling the killing fields with tracers, whizzing shouting shadows in this sorrowful symphony…   the light fades in the newly darkened pit   the crawling ebony clad shapes stop, the conductor, long gone   to another stinking stage,   while here, the blood dries black and I have new mournful memoirs of  the music of madness
0
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
spysgrandson
1971
trip flare   and they are in a singing, soprano sea of light my heart thumping, baritone,   my eyes digesting this metastasizing meal   choking on it, until   the guy beside me opens fire,   emptying a magazine before I flip from safety to rock ’n roll auto   both of us now filling the killing fields with tracers, whizzing shouting shadows in this sorrowful symphony…   the light fades in the newly darkened pit   the crawling ebony clad shapes stop, the conductor, long gone   to another stinking stage,   while here, the blood dries black and I have new mournful memoirs of  the music of madness
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22
Best of all, there are lives in every skin. They know the words to your favourite language and the aching corporeality of smoke wisps as overused poetic analogy-- sativa with grapefruit, the particulars speak in toungezzz and sometimes I smoke **** and I'm so hungry, but I'm not hungry.. 6 o'clock and Dionysius means what the heaven needs **** done, it's awful-- no misfit twists and yab blam undeclared winter this year we call Fort Summerforever, BLANK, BLAM, expressive bottom-line, you don't look around anymore and check the bookshelves of your lives for those lucid Lucy detailers, trailers a warmer word for tracers, do the replacement parts fit all of the models and every time I went back to Trippy's it was the same guy, $70, oh the whole **** with the slide and all flattened preference to how in-this we are, how imagine how mystical, hanging those mushrooms on the wall, that weird pipe, cover ashes I dunno. In here it was I / thou and the digital paper-- I climb behind the eye and continent for a moment and hear see do 'it was a huge *** bag just filled with all this weed' bazooka balloon. crick the neck to create a feeling, oh but you'll listen to be come and be
0
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
softcomponent
inaroomfullofbegotand ok
Best of all, there are lives in every skin. They know the words to your favourite language and the aching corporeality of smoke wisps as overused poetic analogy-- sativa with grapefruit, the particulars speak in toungezzz and sometimes I smoke **** and I'm so hungry, but I'm not hungry.. 6 o'clock and Dionysius means what the heaven needs **** done, it's awful-- no misfit twists and yab blam undeclared winter this year we call Fort Summerforever, BLANK, BLAM, expressive bottom-line, you don't look around anymore and check the bookshelves of your lives for those lucid Lucy detailers, trailers a warmer word for tracers, do the replacement parts fit all of the models and every time I went back to Trippy's it was the same guy, $70, oh the whole **** with the slide and all flattened preference to how in-this we are, how imagine how mystical, hanging those mushrooms on the wall, that weird pipe, cover ashes I dunno. In here it was I / thou and the digital paper-- I climb behind the eye and continent for a moment and hear see do 'it was a huge *** bag just filled with all this weed' bazooka balloon. crick the neck to create a feeling, oh but you'll listen to be come and be
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1
I need a release, a relief from this pressure. A cessation of the flooding, An infestation of the catalytic chemicals that feed my brain The battle for attention is overwhelmed by anatomy, keeping me on the fringes of insanity I can't control it, only roll with it, embrace and encase this energy inside Projecting my being; rejecting the snares, the lack of cares that fill the air Cognitive dissonance entertains and persuades the whispers within as they swirl and whirl their tracers are all that remain The red of satisfaction yet to be attained, a heart unrestrained and a feeling still unnamed.
0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
mackenzie-rose-frank
Fringes of Insanity
I need a release, a relief from this pressure. A cessation of the flooding, An infestation of the catalytic chemicals that feed my brain The battle for attention is overwhelmed by anatomy, keeping me on the fringes of insanity I can't control it, only roll with it, embrace and encase this energy inside Projecting my being; rejecting the snares, the lack of cares that fill the air Cognitive dissonance entertains and persuades the whispers within as they swirl and whirl their tracers are all that remain The red of satisfaction yet to be attained, a heart unrestrained and a feeling still unnamed.
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13
5a.m. for the fourth day in a row ruby red filigree in my eyes glows sleepless fissures reflect in the window glass and I ride this train again and I still feel nothing 6p.m. for the fifth night in a row snuffer of light continues on his show sleepless pursuit demands another dosage and I ride this train again Focused I feel Nothing 12 o'clock noon for the tenth day in hand lunchtime finds me at an old street side stand hypnotized, eating, still entranced by a man and I scan his dossier and I still feel nothing 2a.m. neon tracers over dance undulating bodies keep up to task sleeplessly bound for fate encounters of chance So I stand in rain again Lonely I feel Hopeless Would waking correct me I'd kneel down, delighted! Fall softly to sleep under these streetlights. Would my call permit me I'd retreat in belief that all will be well! Under these blinking white streetlights, under the cosmos but my work commits me to wakeful burden, to half-light alley- ways in Hell
0
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
jaymisun-kearney
****** and Modafinil
5a.m. for the fourth day in a row ruby red filigree in my eyes glows sleepless fissures reflect in the window glass and I ride this train again and I still feel nothing 6p.m. for the fifth night in a row snuffer of light continues on his show sleepless pursuit demands another dosage and I ride this train again Focused I feel Nothing 12 o'clock noon for the tenth day in hand lunchtime finds me at an old street side stand hypnotized, eating, still entranced by a man and I scan his dossier and I still feel nothing 2a.m. neon tracers over dance undulating bodies keep up to task sleeplessly bound for fate encounters of chance So I stand in rain again Lonely I feel Hopeless Would waking correct me I'd kneel down, delighted! Fall softly to sleep under these streetlights. Would my call permit me I'd retreat in belief that all will be well! Under these blinking white streetlights, under the cosmos but my work commits me to wakeful burden, to half-light alley- ways in Hell
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44
. Even after visits to apartments in self-named cities to see soccer stars swathed in orange tuxes, Swerving off country roads in berating fits of tenderness, Sputtering 'i love yous' in ditches and river canals; Even after chais with Ye Ye Elders, Messenger powwows with ancestors, and holding the hands of comforting Harmonies, I Never got it right. . It was a pathetic attempt to join a traveling circus; a passive means for an escape. Who were the Elephant Man, the sword swallower, or the contorting twins? ****** if I know. Buddy had his hands wrapped around my neck in a nihilist noose so tight that it bubbled up amaurotic visions within my retina. I couldn't see or feel a ******* thing. Lost consciousness on his cold bathroom tiles, sprinkled with ***** confetti, **** all up on my cheek.idonthavetimeforthis!sleeponthecouch! Watching 'Teach Yourself Circus!' videos at circus camp, I learned to juggle, albeit groggy and disoriented. Only brightly coloured ***** at this point but I was up to seven tosses! While the freaks and geeks headed to carousels in the big top tent, I headed back to my dilapidated den leased on a broken Concord. getoutbitchgetoutbitch Back at camp ( hazy lazy crazy ) rivets affixed so I could only stare forward at the wall. An e.ch-o-y sound in my left  ear voice reverberating down thru t h e w e l l   past    t    h    e    b  u  c    k  e  t I turned my head, slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed, glacial stares softened into slushy moss. A buttery soft cashmere reply,                                       i'm sorry? what did you say?                                                              you seem nice... . Infrastructure collapsed.     **** Gone. Crumbled in a heap of rubble. Impaled by rebar and rebar erections. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. in a black plastic sack And....then.... Who's to say about the linear sequence of events, anyway? .
0
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
julianna-eisner
~ Hop into my Cabrio I'll explain everything on the Autobahn ~ .
. Even after visits to apartments in self-named cities to see soccer stars swathed in orange tuxes, Swerving off country roads in berating fits of tenderness, Sputtering 'i love yous' in ditches and river canals; Even after chais with Ye Ye Elders, Messenger powwows with ancestors, and holding the hands of comforting Harmonies, I Never got it right. . It was a pathetic attempt to join a traveling circus; a passive means for an escape. Who were the Elephant Man, the sword swallower, or the contorting twins? ****** if I know. Buddy had his hands wrapped around my neck in a nihilist noose so tight that it bubbled up amaurotic visions within my retina. I couldn't see or feel a ******* thing. Lost consciousness on his cold bathroom tiles, sprinkled with ***** confetti, **** all up on my cheek.idonthavetimeforthis!sleeponthecouch! Watching 'Teach Yourself Circus!' videos at circus camp, I learned to juggle, albeit groggy and disoriented. Only brightly coloured ***** at this point but I was up to seven tosses! While the freaks and geeks headed to carousels in the big top tent, I headed back to my dilapidated den leased on a broken Concord. getoutbitchgetoutbitch Back at camp ( hazy lazy crazy ) rivets affixed so I could only stare forward at the wall. An e.ch-o-y sound in my left  ear voice reverberating down thru t h e w e l l   past    t    h    e    b  u  c    k  e  t I turned my head, slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed, glacial stares softened into slushy moss. A buttery soft cashmere reply,                                       i'm sorry? what did you say?                                                              you seem nice... . Infrastructure collapsed.     **** Gone. Crumbled in a heap of rubble. Impaled by rebar and rebar erections. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. in a black plastic sack And....then.... Who's to say about the linear sequence of events, anyway? .
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52
Staccato beats pulsate; contrast deep lines, extended exposure. The stars carve bright tracers across a sky so far past midnight, it may as well be mourning again. I can see the city from here, but my eyes do not truly see us in the backseat holding hands. Your eyes are endless even in still frame photos, the fire in your hands can't compare to the fire in your heart. Desire; I look down on a sea of stars, and the atmosphere so foreign to me, so alien. I can't even begin to describe what's really real to me, it's so different from what they taught us to see. My eyes are open. Footsteps silent and ghostly, across miles in seconds just to see your smile. It rings across dimensions, the demands of the commander to protect and love. We run miles upon miles to settle this fury, to wrap you in the warmth of spirit. I can't see the forest for these concrete trees. If there was ever a horizon it settles only upon this city with the sunset, If there was ever a moon, there it hides among our clouds. Crown me king... this kingdom unseen, its citizens anonymous, and unaware. Can I comfort all who run for these outstretched arms? I will never be sure, but I can be sure there will always be room in this weather-worn heart for another smile, another try. We run together, like rivulets into one tear drop complete apart and together.
0
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
EnigmaCentauri
SHAMAN
Staccato beats pulsate; contrast deep lines, extended exposure. The stars carve bright tracers across a sky so far past midnight, it may as well be mourning again. I can see the city from here, but my eyes do not truly see us in the backseat holding hands. Your eyes are endless even in still frame photos, the fire in your hands can't compare to the fire in your heart. Desire; I look down on a sea of stars, and the atmosphere so foreign to me, so alien. I can't even begin to describe what's really real to me, it's so different from what they taught us to see. My eyes are open. Footsteps silent and ghostly, across miles in seconds just to see your smile. It rings across dimensions, the demands of the commander to protect and love. We run miles upon miles to settle this fury, to wrap you in the warmth of spirit. I can't see the forest for these concrete trees. If there was ever a horizon it settles only upon this city with the sunset, If there was ever a moon, there it hides among our clouds. Crown me king... this kingdom unseen, its citizens anonymous, and unaware. Can I comfort all who run for these outstretched arms? I will never be sure, but I can be sure there will always be room in this weather-worn heart for another smile, another try. We run together, like rivulets into one tear drop complete apart and together.
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27
ive been drawing for you all day impermanent scrawlings on the white board im just trying to keep my hands moving so my students dont have to see me weep because today its not going to be pretty one of those hard lump in the throat ones i would have taken pictures of them the doodles but you know how i am with technology all thumbs if thumbs werent the only thing you needed you keep coming to me in my sleep and in a cold sweat i search the house for your wet foot prints and now your visage is imprinted in orange and yellow dry erase camera phones clicking behind me performance art that hurts wild and swooping gestures leaving tracers to be erased
0
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
allan-jain-bonder
doodle(s)
ive been drawing for you all day impermanent scrawlings on the white board im just trying to keep my hands moving so my students dont have to see me weep because today its not going to be pretty one of those hard lump in the throat ones i would have taken pictures of them the doodles but you know how i am with technology all thumbs if thumbs werent the only thing you needed you keep coming to me in my sleep and in a cold sweat i search the house for your wet foot prints and now your visage is imprinted in orange and yellow dry erase camera phones clicking behind me performance art that hurts wild and swooping gestures leaving tracers to be erased
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19
Over the music I knew it Was too good to be true I thought that I heard you Say, "Hello" Oh, Imagination Under the tracers Of lasers You stood out peeking through Auburn hair cast in blue And yellow Oh, Anticipation Are you hungry? Are you lonely? I feel you staring Burning a hole right through I know you're staring Projecting those three words Don't speak Hush Bare teeth Rush Grasp me, moaning, gasping When I cut your lips for you As we both leave to continue Once before Believers Once before and again Crossing with frigid wind On shallows If imagination taunts Like holding haunts I'll be broken down if I turn If imagination taunts While we still walk the wasteland May we meet in the melt of rings To find Spring
0
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
jaymisun-kearney
An Arterial Winter: Those Three Words
Over the music I knew it Was too good to be true I thought that I heard you Say, "Hello" Oh, Imagination Under the tracers Of lasers You stood out peeking through Auburn hair cast in blue And yellow Oh, Anticipation Are you hungry? Are you lonely? I feel you staring Burning a hole right through I know you're staring Projecting those three words Don't speak Hush Bare teeth Rush Grasp me, moaning, gasping When I cut your lips for you As we both leave to continue Once before Believers Once before and again Crossing with frigid wind On shallows If imagination taunts Like holding haunts I'll be broken down if I turn If imagination taunts While we still walk the wasteland May we meet in the melt of rings To find Spring
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39
We revel in the sky, and dusk, and eventuality. Love, hopelessness, diaspora. Moment to moment, we are the ever-changing aurora. Our lights and our heat, in the fading dark we watch the horizon where the mountains meet. The tracers go, round by round, beginning at the muzzle in heroic glory ending in the stomach with epic sorrow. The sky is large, the moon is bulging, the clouds are pastel and burning, smeared by the wash of darkness. I am famished, but painless because pain is the dim smolder of love and freedom suffocating deep inside. That fire has not been stoked, untouched for a while. The oven has gone black, the charcoal tastes mild. And I have been loved with no freedom. And lived for freedom with nothing to love. I have gained wisdom, and talked to myself. The sky aches for its reunion with the horizon; humbles itself, all out of color now, and hungers for the embrace of the mountains. Into the murk, the tracers go, round by round, lighting up that dividing line, between hungry sky and famished mountain creating separation in a world lost in time. The tracers go, round by round, beginning in heroic glory, ending in epic sorrow.
0
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Waverly
The Tracers Go.
We revel in the sky, and dusk, and eventuality. Love, hopelessness, diaspora. Moment to moment, we are the ever-changing aurora. Our lights and our heat, in the fading dark we watch the horizon where the mountains meet. The tracers go, round by round, beginning at the muzzle in heroic glory ending in the stomach with epic sorrow. The sky is large, the moon is bulging, the clouds are pastel and burning, smeared by the wash of darkness. I am famished, but painless because pain is the dim smolder of love and freedom suffocating deep inside. That fire has not been stoked, untouched for a while. The oven has gone black, the charcoal tastes mild. And I have been loved with no freedom. And lived for freedom with nothing to love. I have gained wisdom, and talked to myself. The sky aches for its reunion with the horizon; humbles itself, all out of color now, and hungers for the embrace of the mountains. Into the murk, the tracers go, round by round, lighting up that dividing line, between hungry sky and famished mountain creating separation in a world lost in time. The tracers go, round by round, beginning in heroic glory, ending in epic sorrow.
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48
Wide-eyed girl heart in full flight eyes like tracers reddened with night then found myself tangled in green unable to escape stuck in-between weighed with longing heart set in stone wolf wanders closer through grass overgrown promising forever begging to let go holding my gaze is he friend or is he foe
0
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
TheBlackRaven
Breakups
Wide-eyed girl heart in full flight eyes like tracers reddened with night then found myself tangled in green unable to escape stuck in-between weighed with longing heart set in stone wolf wanders closer through grass overgrown promising forever begging to let go holding my gaze is he friend or is he foe
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17
My naked skin glistens with strenuous sweat. My name on your lips urges me faster yet. The Whip in your hand is applied to my back. I jump in my tracers to the head of the pack. As we round the last turn To hollers and cheers, I look forward to oats, My Jockey , to beers
0
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
Hot to Trot
My naked skin glistens with strenuous sweat. My name on your lips urges me faster yet. The Whip in your hand is applied to my back. I jump in my tracers to the head of the pack. As we round the last turn To hollers and cheers, I look forward to oats, My Jockey , to beers
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12
manifesting destiny comes when i'm weakest i'm weakest now, when my shade comes haunting me tracers of past, near and far, grasp my heart, seal my chart forever licking me licking my neck biting my flesh whispering words selling failures in the stead of who could whisper all accomplishments here i am, open, seeping all my wounds for you hurt through the cracks believing that the scars i wear just may reach you here i am, open, singing the only words i have left your shadow my shadow sneaks in all too close hovering beside me your shadow my shadow knows all that it needs to do to destroy me and it seduces blessings rarely come and tell me i'm okay in absence i have learned to rely on things deep within my emotion but lacking from my bed forever taunting me licking my neck biting my flesh whispering words selling love to my loneliness of that i know full well would disable me here i am, open, seeping all my wounds for you hurt through the cracks believing that the scars i wear just may reach you here i am, open, singing the only words i have left what the hell does love mean, anyway? well, open your arms, i'll let you enter the void. what the hell does our love mean, anyway? open your reclusive arms, i'll let you fall in. fall in to the extreme logic fails where the soul has been fall in to the extreme i'm warm, i'm warm, i'm warm
0
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
jaymisun-kearney
Your Joy and Your Pain (Open Form and Open Veins)
manifesting destiny comes when i'm weakest i'm weakest now, when my shade comes haunting me tracers of past, near and far, grasp my heart, seal my chart forever licking me licking my neck biting my flesh whispering words selling failures in the stead of who could whisper all accomplishments here i am, open, seeping all my wounds for you hurt through the cracks believing that the scars i wear just may reach you here i am, open, singing the only words i have left your shadow my shadow sneaks in all too close hovering beside me your shadow my shadow knows all that it needs to do to destroy me and it seduces blessings rarely come and tell me i'm okay in absence i have learned to rely on things deep within my emotion but lacking from my bed forever taunting me licking my neck biting my flesh whispering words selling love to my loneliness of that i know full well would disable me here i am, open, seeping all my wounds for you hurt through the cracks believing that the scars i wear just may reach you here i am, open, singing the only words i have left what the hell does love mean, anyway? well, open your arms, i'll let you enter the void. what the hell does our love mean, anyway? open your reclusive arms, i'll let you fall in. fall in to the extreme logic fails where the soul has been fall in to the extreme i'm warm, i'm warm, i'm warm
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41
who ever sees them in this canopy of night until one barks out… tracers, hot light? oh this ground cleared by chemical fire from orange barrels, then blessed with monsoons, I, kneeling, feeling, the modern moors’ mush wet my knees do you see what I do? do you hear, do you fear, slant eyed demons who can blend into the ground make not a sound until…? it is too late for me I have seen them, I have made them black with light crisscrossed with crimson too late for me, after all this fine art I crafted other pictures I painted still dripping in my dreams you can't see them, framed by my memory, lies I wanted to believe forty-five years to the day after I returned my grandson, six years ancient told me what happened to dinosaurs I didn't see a meteor but I don't tell him his brown eyes wide with curiosity when he rubs the scar on my arm his tender touch takes me back to the fields where the invisible game still lay, waiting for me to return to resurrect them, and me but I cannot see, what was never there
0
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
spysgrandson
a hunter of invisible game
who ever sees them in this canopy of night until one barks out… tracers, hot light? oh this ground cleared by chemical fire from orange barrels, then blessed with monsoons, I, kneeling, feeling, the modern moors’ mush wet my knees do you see what I do? do you hear, do you fear, slant eyed demons who can blend into the ground make not a sound until…? it is too late for me I have seen them, I have made them black with light crisscrossed with crimson too late for me, after all this fine art I crafted other pictures I painted still dripping in my dreams you can't see them, framed by my memory, lies I wanted to believe forty-five years to the day after I returned my grandson, six years ancient told me what happened to dinosaurs I didn't see a meteor but I don't tell him his brown eyes wide with curiosity when he rubs the scar on my arm his tender touch takes me back to the fields where the invisible game still lay, waiting for me to return to resurrect them, and me but I cannot see, what was never there
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40
The gun bled crimson tracers under moonless skies, penetrated the ramparts & those with tattered knapsacks remained vigilant as stalwart sentries fell in ****** tatters to the ground. Maniacally, they laughed at such insane acts, buried their own dead, full of enemy-lead.
0
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
jonny-angel
The Fierce Meeting at The Ramparts
The gun bled crimson tracers under moonless skies, penetrated the ramparts & those with tattered knapsacks remained vigilant as stalwart sentries fell in ****** tatters to the ground. Maniacally, they laughed at such insane acts, buried their own dead, full of enemy-lead.
Continue reading...
14