"trapsing" poems
To the Williamson Brothers
High noon. White sun flashes on the Michigan Avenue
asphalt. Drum of hoofs and whirr of motors.
Women trapsing along in flimsy clothes catching
play of sun-fire to their skin and eyes.
Inside the playhouse are movies from under the sea.
From the heat of pavements and the dust of sidewalks,
passers-by go in a breath to be witnesses of
large cool sponges, large cool fishes, large cool valleys
and ridges of coral spread silent in the soak of
the ocean floor thousands of years.
A naked swimmer dives. A knife in his right hand
shoots a streak at the throat of a shark. The tail
of the shark lashes. One swing would **** the swimmer...
Soon the knife goes into the soft under-
neck of the veering fish... Its mouthful of teeth,
each tooth a dagger itself, set row on row, glistens
when the shuddering, yawning cadaver is hauled up
by the brothers of the swimmer.
Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life
in the sun--horses, motors, women trapsing along
in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood.
1.9k
I had longed to wash your clothes alongside mine,
For them to share that space outside of ourselves.
And now, I am trying to wash you out of them.
They lay beside mine tainting everything I own
with memories of you.
I had longed to exist alongside you,
Even trapsing behind you would have sufficed.
And now, I am running to keep up;
Begging you to turn around.
But on you go, without me.
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 10:17 AM UTC
I'm at your side, Love, I'm at your side
My Heart is begging for your attention
Why should seeking that be a thing of contention?
To you my truest words abide
I'm at your side, Love, I'm at your side
I'm at your side, Love, I'm at your side
I'm tired of trapsing the labyrinth
And exalting you on passion's plinth
I wish I could go, retreat and hide
But I'm at your side, Love, I'm at your side
I'm at your side, Love, I'm at your side
There's nothing left for me to say
I wish that I could have my way
But I'll be cynic expecting love to, away, glide
When I'm at your side, Love, at your side
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
Shushshush. The black
steam train bellowed
white and grey smoke.
You and I watched it
rise up and push from
the engine.Waterloo Station.
Smell of smoke and bodies.
We sat on the metal seat
on the platform. People
passed us to get in carriages.
Voices called out. Porters
rushed past with trollies
of mail or cases. Your
mother had not been
pleased when I knocked
earlier to take you out.
She stood at the door,
arms folded, smoking.
She said you couldn't go
trapsing round the train
stations.I said we wouldn't
be trapsing, but walking.
A whistle blew; the guard
waved a green flag madly.
The train chuffed, spewed
steam and pulled out of
the station. We watched
it go, waving at hands waving
from windows on the train.
We'd wait for the next one
and watch all over again.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC