"unbolts" poems - Hello Poetry

Velveteen and closed with slim metal clasps Laying on the seat next to the edge of a dress. Let me slip my hand inside to find Nothing but a $100 bill that isn't mine. The car comes to a lurching stop I pay the cabbie and get out to walk. A few coins and an aching heart Linger with the clasp's top apart. My silken dress swirls around my knees At the bottom of the stairs of apartment three. One single step leads right to the next Velveteen catching my ragged breath. The metal clasps held firmly closed As I knock on the door to fill the hole. Stolen bills and velveteen held close And the door unbolts… But metal clasps remain closed.

0

Nov 11, 2013

Nov 11, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC

sarina-kay-cassell

Coin Purse

Velveteen and closed with slim metal clasps Laying on the seat next to the edge of a dress. Let me slip my hand inside to find Nothing but a $100 bill that isn't mine. The car comes to a lurching stop I pay the cabbie and get out to walk. A few coins and an aching heart Linger with the clasp's top apart. My silken dress swirls around my knees At the bottom of the stairs of apartment three. One single step leads right to the next Velveteen catching my ragged breath. The metal clasps held firmly closed As I knock on the door to fill the hole. Stolen bills and velveteen held close And the door unbolts… But metal clasps remain closed.

17

Girls have beautiful legs and men have beautiful hearts, both I love to squeeze, both I love to open hide my gold locket inside like a ticking bomb: I use the chain to lasso arteries and muscles for me to chew on but the necklace unbolts for a souvenir collected inside. It could be the curly hair of his shin, one wisp from her neck I previously tugged on with my teeth. I performed open-heart surgery on a man and open-leg surgery on a woman both called me back to say a second goodbye and I wonder, I wonder which farewell will be the final. When will the mementos be massacred glued to a comatose form, deceased into an emotionless resin? I could amputate their limbs and turn off the pacemaker.

0

Feb 21, 2013

Feb 21, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC

sarina

memento mori

Girls have beautiful legs and men have beautiful hearts, both I love to squeeze, both I love to open hide my gold locket inside like a ticking bomb: I use the chain to lasso arteries and muscles for me to chew on but the necklace unbolts for a souvenir collected inside. It could be the curly hair of his shin, one wisp from her neck I previously tugged on with my teeth. I performed open-heart surgery on a man and open-leg surgery on a woman both called me back to say a second goodbye and I wonder, I wonder which farewell will be the final. When will the mementos be massacred glued to a comatose form, deceased into an emotionless resin? I could amputate their limbs and turn off the pacemaker.

13

Premonition comes Like speedy lights In the monitor of half-closed sphere. Clear image of you registered Out of nowhere, Must be a dream, an omen. I sat for a time to dinner with the PC Hours to buzz the alien tongue on the floor Where each post harbors the dagger of its original form Praise heavens the Pacific’s enormity half shielded us. A thought of you is a welcomed thought to begin Before the phoned guests blurt their rants. A moment to play the music of the keyboard, A minute to cast the secret codes again, Another chance to bask in the monitor lights. But why did the PC did not wink back to flash? And the why the codes only I know denied? The monitor only gave a sleepy stare Peered and scowled to the codes, Nullified the words two of us known. I had to call help, the Westerners needed to come Dialed the numerals for assistance Then there came you are. Clear as the apparition was. Bless the divine, The vision turned to be a wish They gave flesh for me. I offered you my throne as you tapped the keyboard To serenade the computer who has forgotten me. Marvelous hands are they, The moody PC widely opened its eyes to flash its lights Onto you and onto me. Now recognizing me as before and the words we shared for months. I thank you. I tell you again you’re marvelous, For knowing as well the codes That my own lock on the chest unbolts. But why then open it up If in the days that came You closed up your own eyes from me. Mr. IT I have to lock myself again Thanks for reminding me.

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Feb 1, 2011

Feb 1, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC

ronald-ryan-carrasca

MR. IT

Premonition comes Like speedy lights In the monitor of half-closed sphere. Clear image of you registered Out of nowhere, Must be a dream, an omen. I sat for a time to dinner with the PC Hours to buzz the alien tongue on the floor Where each post harbors the dagger of its original form Praise heavens the Pacific’s enormity half shielded us. A thought of you is a welcomed thought to begin Before the phoned guests blurt their rants. A moment to play the music of the keyboard, A minute to cast the secret codes again, Another chance to bask in the monitor lights. But why did the PC did not wink back to flash? And the why the codes only I know denied? The monitor only gave a sleepy stare Peered and scowled to the codes, Nullified the words two of us known. I had to call help, the Westerners needed to come Dialed the numerals for assistance Then there came you are. Clear as the apparition was. Bless the divine, The vision turned to be a wish They gave flesh for me. I offered you my throne as you tapped the keyboard To serenade the computer who has forgotten me. Marvelous hands are they, The moody PC widely opened its eyes to flash its lights Onto you and onto me. Now recognizing me as before and the words we shared for months. I thank you. I tell you again you’re marvelous, For knowing as well the codes That my own lock on the chest unbolts. But why then open it up If in the days that came You closed up your own eyes from me. Mr. IT I have to lock myself again Thanks for reminding me.

47

wind rocking the night shakes fences unbolts wooden gates falling rose petals pirouette across unmown grass morning unwraps me rolling sleep onto sunlit floors

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Apr 21, 2016

Apr 21, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC

sheila-jacob

Lune Sequence

wind rocking the night shakes fences unbolts wooden gates falling rose petals pirouette across unmown grass morning unwraps me rolling sleep onto sunlit floors

9

Miriam finds that standing on two bricks over a pit to **** quite distasteful the door just about bolts voices of others in the block waiting their turn unnerving some voices foreign shouting out balancing is the art arms out stretched but crouching as if about to take off in imagined flight the stench of previous users nauseating her underwear about her knees her skirt hitched up no mention of this in the holiday brochure she muses clutching her own brought toilet tissue in one hand the hot sun above pushing down attracting flies she ***** them away with her free hand shoo shoo she says bouger sur bouger sur some one bellows that French prat she muses get a move on your ****** self she bellows back almost unbalancing her hold she breathes out then in finishes her task performs the art of cleansing redresses steps from brick to edge of dark grass and unbolts the door and pushes through the throng feeling undone sensing something out of order like a song performed wrong.

0

Dec 16, 2014

Dec 16, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC

terry-collett

AN ART PERFORMANCE.

Miriam finds that standing on two bricks over a pit to **** quite distasteful the door just about bolts voices of others in the block waiting their turn unnerving some voices foreign shouting out balancing is the art arms out stretched but crouching as if about to take off in imagined flight the stench of previous users nauseating her underwear about her knees her skirt hitched up no mention of this in the holiday brochure she muses clutching her own brought toilet tissue in one hand the hot sun above pushing down attracting flies she ***** them away with her free hand shoo shoo she says bouger sur bouger sur some one bellows that French prat she muses get a move on your ****** self she bellows back almost unbalancing her hold she breathes out then in finishes her task performs the art of cleansing redresses steps from brick to edge of dark grass and unbolts the door and pushes through the throng feeling undone sensing something out of order like a song performed wrong.

75

The blue soul of a black lab & I was once trapped in a misogynist crate Your presence became my release Your smile is the radiance of sunlight I haven’t felt since my capture And your laugh is the code that unbolts my shackles

0

Dec 22, 2019

Dec 22, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC

YoungKudo

Sleepy Theo

The blue soul of a black lab & I was once trapped in a misogynist crate Your presence became my release Your smile is the radiance of sunlight I haven’t felt since my capture And your laugh is the code that unbolts my shackles

5