"trailblazing" poems
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.
Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.
In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.
Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
My indecision is neatly stacked in lines along the walls.
It circles towards the center.
There is no drain in the middle of the sunken floor.
But by the way gravity seems to pull the endless stacks of papers along the walls, you would think the room was liquid.
You would easily be convinced that indecision is fluid.
I would say that I am torn, but truth be told, I am not.
I am simply sitting calmly in the space between two paths.
Some tell me I should trod where nobody ever has.
Others seem to think that I should pretend to be water,
Blend with my indecision, and just go with the flow.
And then there is the second pathway,
I would think it would be the opposite of trailblazing -
but that is where i stand in indecision.
No, the other path is also a path of resistance.
But not for the difficulty of the path.
This is the place where i must choose to chase the other shipwrecks,
or to head to the shore.
This is where i must either allow myself to be healed, accept the healing, move on, embrace my new life - or where i hold onto the chemicals - where i hold onto the emotions - where i hold onto the rush, the rollercoaster, the addictions -
where I , ironically, am met with the choice to define the value of my experiences
in terms of their unpredictability and the lack of wisdom and safety among them
or to choose wisely, disallow myself to continue in that which will further destroy me,
I have been empty, Now i must be filled.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
They're such shiny chemicals:
Dopamine, Norepinephrine, Phenylethylamine.
Life shimmers,
and each day is painted with purpose
When dosed with such potency.
I would like to believe that love,
The long-lasting kind,
The one you're supposed to want,
The one that settles you,
Where you grow old and spend Wednesday evenings answering emails and rewatching some old baking show in ***** sweats
Is enough to keep life interesting.
But chemistry doesn't always work that way.
My path might dictate some other measure of wholeness,
And more than one type of love,
And more than a couched lookalike storybook ending.
My path may require
Risk, Adventure, Longing,
Questioning, Exploration, Pain,
Brilliant platonic wildfires,
Intellectual dalliances,
And unrequited amorosity.
In short, my path may require some trailblazing.
But this precious neural spark
In my body
That keeps me in love with love
Is mine to keep
For as long as it continues to shine.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 5:49 AM UTC
Trekking terra incognita
With some cranial damage
Below there’s tide-pooling
And no one has a bandage
There’s turbulence and opulence
There’re roads that are reeling
Floating along this obstacle course
When all I need is high ceilings
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
if you had to talk without speaking would you touch, or just try and mouth the words? i will go through and like all your Instagram photos at once. i don’t care about the path less traveled, i am making my own path. i am trailblazing through the woods towards a destination that is completely unknown! often i drive my mom’s Chrysler van and crank the volume to the max. i’m sorry mom. i drive through the woods and put the windows down and let wind fly through my hair. i love driving through the woods almost as much as i love cities. catch me in the strangest places at the strangest times. i am in a restaurant on my laptop typing this and having a vanilla malt. this is diary entry #447. i have so much to tell you, there’s still so much that i haven’t said. well, if i had to talk without speaking words, i think i would touch.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
Playing laser tag on canopy beds In
Trailblazing *** kitten style;
Blue eyes staring down upon.
Tanning In the graveyard
With butterfly kin and
Spent time In swimming pools
Of aquamarine,
Shaped like a leopard spot.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
You are quick to question but
Occupy cisheteronormativity mindlessly
Unprepared for queer identities
Assuming I lack knowing of myself
Reshuffling the same deck of cards
Engaging in a play of poker with hatred
Subjected to foul treatment
The words you spat
Unsolicited and unflattering
Chasing my mind endlessly
Kidnapping me hostage
I have been coated in sweltering biohazards
Nevermore to find protection and healing
To see another day seems impossible
If my own blood casts me away
Malevolence becoming motherly
Eliminating my mental health
,
Its those who think they are greater
Trailblazing a performative show
Sabotaging an already discriminated space
To go another day with your words
Itching down into my skin
****** becoming friendly
Envisioning how I'd feel left alone
From the moment you open your mouth
Orchestrating emotions like a ballad
Reconsolidating the toxic bond with binary
Can't seem to wake you up
Having to constantly do the work for you
And what am I left with
Naive justification and selfish excuses
Gravitate your energy into doing better
Exploitation is your entertainment
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 1:13 AM UTC
Walk along, behind or ahead of some
Many walks behind,many to come
Waiting for the rainbow paved road
That will lead to a *** of gold
Over the edge, across divides
To undiscovered countrysides
Trailblazing through highs and lows
Valleys of mist and shadows
Go where winds of change blow
hopefull of better tomorrow's
Friends made on this rainbow road
What I learn is my *** of gold.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Desynchronized glances,
evaporate
into long, ravenous gazes.
Each of us is a mirrored pool,
a reflecting pond,
that the other could swan-dive, into,
facefirst, and drown in.
We drip hotly
and melt, for each other,
like simmering rivers
of molten candle wax.
I twist around you
like a curl, of oiled hemp.
Your fingers tense, grip,
and peel back the skin, of
cotton thigh highs
as your face elongates,
and your mouth, moves...
languorous tongue,
trailblazing downwards
from the mons veneris,
to worship, devoutly,
at my sacred shrine, below.
The slippery wetness,
of exposed thigh
slicks, and grazes,
your stubbled cheeks
tenderly perfuming
the tensed column,
of your working throat,
with my feminine scent.
We interlock, tongue and groove.
Your tongue tip flicks the nub,
back and forth,
like an ignition switch,
as the engine hums, to life.
You stoke my fires,
with every lingual stroke.
You blow my torch,
into a fervid flame
that spreads heat throughout
the inner chamber,
and you warm your face
in its baking, radiant glow.
I bite down, delirious with ecstasy,
into the skin, of my own tensing arms;
wrists bound, in python restraints, overhead:
resisting the force, of the virulent scream
forcibly spreading, throughout pink lungs.
Yes...oh, God, yes.
I churn, from the hips, down
raining, into your expectant face,
mouth pealed, helplessly, for the scream...
and the sunlight breaks overhead
as I smile brightly, and collapse, around you.
...Oh...puddin'...have mercy, on me.
Now...
we separate,
and interchange places, smoothly.
Your hands, dig, into the voluminous depths
of loosely bound, twin comet tails.
You wrap their trailing, cherry cola ends,
around tight, clenched knuckle fists,
as my lips, purr, against ever-expanding skin.
Don't you dare...let go,
of these handlebars, baby,
as I rev up, hard,
hit a wet patch, and SLIDE.
....Hold on tight, to me, and RIDE.
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 5:07 AM UTC
This is my way, not any other,
Though roots and stones yet cling to cover,
Though thirsting, thorny vines yet smother
The way I'll pick and shovel
And day by day reduce the rubble;
This way isn't easy, but it's worth the trouble.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
CORTÉS
Trailblazing pioneers, God’s harbingers:
The shining daylight of the Renaissance
Now swiftly dissipates the blindfold gloom
Of this benighted, dark, and iron age.
And as this dawn of culture greets the globe,
Our own Castile, of all the hosts of Europe,
Emerges as its greatest modern power.
If we receive the bounty of these lands,
So must we bear our duty to convert,
And shall redeem these hell-bound debutantes.
Coincidence?- That as the graceless Moors
Were drubbed and shunted from our Christian sands,
And in the very year our spiring cross
Eclipsed that toenail paring of a moon-
That new horizons opened in the west?
Do you not feel, my fresh adventurers,
That you are precious to the Lord, and chosen?
Strike sail! Exit.
ALVARADO You heard the captain. Up and at ‘em.
You porters, lash the tents to tame these winds.
The horsemen will untwine the provender. Exit Garrido.
SANDOVAL
The women must find tinder, turf, and fuel.
The sun is down. We race against the dusk. Exit María.
ESCUDERO
These heavy, gathering clouds have opened up,
And threaten to bestow unwanted gifts.
DÍAZ
It is the cyclone season out at sea.
SANDOVAL
Such scuddy weather bodes a sudden turn.
ALVARADO
Let’s hustle then to fumble up a camp,
And save our “oo-” and “ahh”ing for the dawn.
Exit all but Olmedo.
OLMEDO
Thus shall the ardent lights of Europe come,
And pour upon these newfound neophytes.
But will they be enlightening Catholic lamps,
Or a consuming fire to destroy them? Exit.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
Rosa, some heroes doesn't know hen they will becomes one.
Malcolm, just by knowledge and wisdom you provoke others to think.
Martin, simply by concentration you contributed to changing a nation.
Charles Drew, some still within the medical profession to this very day owes you.
Dinah Washington, what a difference a day makes? When you left a trailblazing path behind.
The Ink Spots, long before others became vocally known.
You once ruled that throne.
Leona Horne, Dorthy Dandridge, Ruth Brown you left a massive history.
When you go ahead and plant your heart upon your goal.
God let's your greatness just flow.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
2.13.
I’m walking through a
Masterpiece
This lonely dirt road
Reminding me of
a old familiar place
In a time
before time
became a
long time ago
Where your
white bones
were carved
to become my own
In the stories of
past and present
constellations
Of how we all fall down
The Values of
the Dead Wildflowers
All fall down
Hush now
Listen to the
sound
Of petals decay
Let them fall down
Rotting away
Cold fingers lifting
away lullaby lingerie
Corporate corpses
refilling graves
Hush now
As you fall down
Singing
Ringing
Around
Again with the
death threat lies
Give me a breath
of life when I die
So I can break
free
So I can fall
down
Hush now
Gun to my head
Hush now
Don’t make a sound
Breaking free
I found your
broken body
I know you
I see you keep your
Demons close
I do too
The tale of stars
and their
troubled hearts
trailblazing down
together in
tangled sheets
In the arms
of God
falling asleep
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 10:07 AM UTC
Mashing Up Book Store Titles Again...
The Boys in the real Harry Potter Wand
The Girls Who Made America Hermione
I Wrote This for You and Only You (sure)
Pontius Pilate recycles the end of time
The Last Pope is hiding out on Oak Island
You are my identity group breaking ground
And it’s all the better if you like trains
For you alone are my identity group
Women writers breaking the mold trailblazing
Second feminist wave decolonizing
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
broken up inside
wear and tear
falling into
disrepair
i'm walking
somewhere
destination
i-don't-care
if i'm going down
i'll do it with flair
why walk on water
if i can swim through the air
tired of being typical
speculated and compared
meet the new me
trailblazing extraordinaire
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 4:13 PM UTC