"uncrossed" poems
"I can’t figure it out.” She said.
“I like cigars,
and pretty dresses and crossing my legs.”
She paused,
then continued,
“And I like smoking cigars in pretty dresses while crossing my legs.”
She uncrossed them,
then crossed them again.
One smooth limb over the other.
Just like that.
“But I never seem to have a lighter on hand.
Could you— sir,
please light my cigar?”
“You see, I have no pockets to hold such things and my purse…
Well,
You’ve confiscated that, haven’t you?”
“Thanks.” She breathed,
and inhaled,
and exhaled;
Sluggish wisps of smoke dissipating into the air.
Just. like .that.
“I didn’t know L'homme was into women who smoke cigars in pretty dresses while crossing their legs", She said.
“I mean, how was I to know?
I only noticed him noticing me.
It was probably the way my hair was tousled like so,
Or how my lipstick shone a deep, dangerous rogue,
Or the way I sipped at my champagne…
That made him walk over.”
“But I never asked him to light my cigar
Or comment on my dress…
Or stroke my legs.
So when I whacked him up top over the head with my glass,
I bet he never expected it to shatter and split his skull like so.
He dropped so sudden, sir. I…”
Another ringlet of smoke, a sigh, an uncrossing and crossing of legs again.
“I had no clue,
what else to do,
But to sit still in my pretty dress, with my legs crossed, smoking my cigar trying to figure out...
Just how I'd committed ******
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, my face becoming warmer from the heat of the bonfire. All of our friends were around us, talking and laughing voices lifting up into the sky with the bonfire smoke. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs, eyes still on the fire. I couldn’t look up, because I knew what I would see. You on your phone, either looking for the updates from the game or texting that new girl you’ve tried to keep secret (you can’t lie to a liar, honey). So I didn’t look up. I stared at the flames dancing along the logs, at the smoke lifting up, flirting with the sky. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t look up. I —
looked up. And found your brown eyes there to catch my blue ones, and found I could not catch my breath.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
I sit on my toilet seat,
legs uncrossed but guts wrenching at 5km/hr speed,
staring at the blood stained ******* by my feet,
wondering why merely being a woman makes me bleed.
"Shame, shame, shame", they huff,
as if being a woman was not a burden enough.
Bleeding in shame is now considered religious,
no matter how natural,
For us, 'the time of the month' is never auspicious.
I sit on my toilet seat,
with sore thighs and a pungent stench in the loo,
wondering if it would be as shameful
If men bled the same way as women do.
(M.I.)
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
I will walk the miles in your heart
the distance it takes to prove my love
I will trudge the sands of your time
the moments you need, to know I will stay
I will chase storms into the ocean
and beat the waves to rest on your shores
I will catch fire for you and burn new light
to set aglow the path to your affections
giving up or giving in, will never even begin to begin
and never will I ever beg to be let in
I will earn you
I will ride the comets into your black skies
to get a deeper look into your blue eyes
I will never surrender or be subdued
I will reach you
I will brave the fears and swallow the salt in your tears
to teach you
that we were meant to be one
no setbacks will keep me, no dark streets will defeat me
I will arrive, I will arrive
You are my river uncrossed, you are my home still lost
you are cherished deeply at any cost
you are my quiet moment soon to be filled with music
you are the evidence of love that proves it
I will run the race it takes to chase an angel
I will
I will it to be true
and no mile will keep me from you
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 8:18 PM UTC
if flirt had a body part it'd be her legs
uncrossed, tube top, tight skirt, hoolahoop earrings
smooth hands that say "i squeeze"
i think she's the **** i mean she's the opposite
of mediocrity, she's a siren that i'll let steer me
and everyone will ship us to the moon
but i'm shooting for eternity, beyond stars
and she's laced in the spaces
that my heart struggles to fit in and she's serving me
and everything about her makes me smile
if flirt had a body part it'd be her legs
with a question like
are they
walking away
or are they
going to be wrapped around me
tonight?
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Reach inside Pull it out
Strip down Fall out
Feel good Feel you
Feeling whiskey
Feeling sour
Feeling lonely at this hour
Can’t stop writing
Can’t stop feeling
Can’t stop won’t stop forever for anyone that’s what I say
Scream it ****
Repeat repeat
We getting frisky in the bathroom
We getting lovey dovey in the bar
Don’t ask me why we’re here cuz IDK
Ask me why what I think, you’ll get a novel I think
Don’t think enough just try too hard
Don’t try at all
Don’t seem to keen on loving you
Don’t think we’ll be here long
Bars closing soon, let’s find another
They’re all closed, let’s cross the border
Lines uncrossed we forgot our brothers
Tell our sisters
No family means nothing I told you we lost ourselves
Can I ******* take a break? .
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:26 PM UTC
My thoughts are like gamma rays addicted to *******
Fiending for absolute Truth
Or a new use for Head Space
They come in a swarm that bitch-slaps any bats in my belfry
And rational thoughts flash mob
My cherished illusions
Daily.
I'm on the front line
Of a Psychic War with the Brain-Dead !
My Kung-fu is Confused
By Hatred as an Argument -
Racist Beliefs as a platform to start with...
Asinine articles of faith
As arcane Armaments
Immune to subtlety ...Q.E.D. ~
or any proof of concept !
They've kept the Rubicon
Uncrossed by the Curious
Held stock in kerosene
To burn books too luminous
for
Fearful Men, Unaccustomed to Promethean Gifts
And the Unquenchable Flame of Paradigm Shifts
Mortified by any Noble Pursuit
That diminished the Lie
To magnify the Truth.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
Find me before I am forever lost;
This madness tastes too sweet.
Give direction to these stumbling feet;
They cross lines that can’t be uncrossed.
I gave you up before I knew the cost.
How easily I admitted defeat!
Find me before I am forever lost;
This madness tastes too sweet.
Save my heart before it hardens to frost;
I need your warmth, your burning heat.
Will you please cling to me when we meet?
Find me while my heart is still soft.
Find me before I am forever lost.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
I see for miles, yet all upon my sight
outside my carriage are the endless seas,
the shifting clouds of fog, the tops of trees
that rock a simple path through poisoned white.
And at their feet, some sodden deep in mire?
Some sunk Atlantis sleeping 'neath the weight?
or but a borough innocent of hate,
Not well in hearts, but dead of hope and fire?
A dormitory town? Or have you died?
Though built by stone, your pulse is nearly lost;
though faint your breath, your bridge is still uncrossed:
return before you reach the other side...
O land so drowned in dreams beyond a doubt
dissolve your heartfelt fog, or be spat out.
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
heartspun yarn
arms-length
sifting lupine
for the first time
your half cast eyes
settle on mine
they speak 10,000 words
words like zen or
friend
fiend is not one of them
i sift your heart
undoing shoddy work
red lines
we've given you
uncrossed
man eater
Mooncrazed
canine runes gleam the color dread
worse:
you were cast opposite
Liam Neeson
antagonist
you had no chance
you were not complex
you were
knight-n-shining armor-less
i sift your being, dear thing
seeing your you
my needle speeds through
your sudden burst of breath
a wind of sorts
on my face
evokes the majestic
yet reminds the animal
i sift you
rise to my feet
and feel
that my i
has been licked clean
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
Time elapsed has been good to me
Past pains have diminished
Memories of laughter draw me back
Not for it all, but for the friendship.
Our conversations have been easy
No expectations or complications
Lines left uncrossed, flirtations tossed
For more serious communications.
Deceived by the distance and
Misled by my [fragile] armor of strength
I believe I can see you again
Without falling into your arms again.
We meet with an embrace
I feel a simmering warmth
Initially mistaken as just
The joy of seeing an old friend.
But, Your smile starts to sedate me
I am losing consciousness with reality
Your eyes have launched a stealth attack
On my logic and disarmed my sense.
My ears capture only silence
My eyes keenly focus on your lips
My mouth tastes your every word
I bite firmly upon my lower lip.
The heat now radiating is too intense
My clothes singe in the flames of desire
I am bare and breathless before you
Resuscitated only by your kiss and...touch.
D
a
m
n
Quickly weakened in your presence
I am but an iron particle drawn in your magnetic field
It is now clear
It is in the distance and only in the distance
Where I am strong.
© Tina Thompson
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
rich begat rich
forget the rest
societal nepotism
reserved for the best
bias uncrossed
infinite regress
poor plied
into poor piles
segregated
made less
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
she was a bird, kind of. The kind that was easy to free, you know those ones you hear outside your window on a late spring afternoon, when the sky isn’t quite yet pink but you know it will be soon, and it’s kind of a sad time.
She’s that kind of bird – the little plain brown ones that wait on the trees and suddenly you look out and it’s staring at you, giving you this sort of look that goes, “I know what you are doing and I can see you, deep inside you.” It’s sort of chilling,
but it gives you a warm feeling too, until the tips of your toenails, and you feel very stuffy.
She was that kind of bird. She would often just sit there next to you while you were drawing something, with her hand under her chin, legs crossed, leaning forward. And you would lose all focus of what you were drawing and realize that whatever it was, she would be twenty times more interesting to draw.
So you would casually flick your notebook to a new page and contemplate a few sketch marks, outlining her jaw – and what a jaw. And you would just stare at that jaw and the curve you drew on your paper, and they would look nothing alike. But you hate erasing, but you hate what’s on the paper, and you just can’t take it and you get all frustrated and all the while she’s just sitting there with her hand under her chin, legs crossed, leaning forward, and you mean to jump a little and stand up and stare at her directly in the face,
but you realize that wouldn’t be so nice. And you realize you’re acting slightly stupid, so you keep your poise and take off your shoes and socks, and it’s so nice by the fountain so you dip your toes in a little bit.
Then she turns her head a little too quickly toward you when she notices your toes in the water, and you turn toward her, surprised. She searches your face, your eyelashes, your hands, sighs and leans backward and lies down on the cement, her shirt stretching up a centimeter or two above the waistband of her pants, exposing a white thin cookie piece of her belly.
And then you want to draw her belly, except you can’t see her bellybutton which is the main part, and you get more frustrated, and all the while she’s just lying there staring up at the sky, with her legs uncrossed and her arms splayed out to either side of her, and all the while her blue and brown jacket is – oh no, she’s taking it off, oh no, and now you want to draw her arms except you can’t because you’ve pretty much just proven to yourself within the last few minutes that you can’t draw her at all. It’s so impossible, so you just don’t even open your mouth, and the water is making the bottoms of your toes wrinkly and it’s actually a little cold, so you look at her hair.
So you look at her hair rolled out clumsily on the cement and it’s beautiful, and it’s so unfair what she is, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
He looks on the level of the ground
and level of the sky
and says you only see these two arrows
because there's black in your forearms
when you lift them to your forehead
to hold your eyes
your legs feel the right & left wing pointing up through
your feet, and the right & left wing feel the north sky
your chest felt the shooting star
all the shadow from the top of the dream
the lengthy golden cream from a filled bucket
the back of your neck feels the whole sky
instead of your face, and your arms outstretched
instead of the truth that you crave the sky
instead a lie that your bones in your arms
must point to the ground
must crawl like a stupid fattened caterpillar
who eats and eats all the life
collecting in and out of the daydream
for that cloud, not the face
yet it's the face that is leading the morning meal
not the very top of the distant distant distant clearest shape of a heavenly sway
it's the feet I have swallowing the arrows
it's when I live in the dim shadows of the sky instead of them pouring all at once
it's not the bottom or the top that I am supposed to only see
it's the east and the west, the width, wide, not the north, the south, the extremes
and it's what's inside me
the arrow that I feel the most
and it is not just the blue above my head
and not the brown below my feet
it is my arms
which are friends with size and width
arrowing out instead of too low and high
bending long from the shut chest
knowing peace
and being my skin that I feel my heart like water
speaking the truth that my legs are the things that hold the words of my dreams up by reinforcement
and my eyes look up with the wings of my neck
opening to the fight
and my arms open my chest despite the dark grey and blue colors in breathing space
my arms usually crossed in an X on my chest because it is so extremely hard
to hope
to leave the closed rooms and mental paths
to not cry about reality
yet the doors are thinner than my books
of dreams and emotions during dreaming
and my arms though so heavy have always been
creating, thin as the air, on the floor
painting uncrossed in the world or crossed in my mind
every color between black and white spreading, spreading my roots in the ground
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
As we age we regret words of anger and spite
That were heard and remembered and can't be unsaid.
The remarks we thought clever or proved we were right
That resulted in losses of friendship instead.
All the heartbreaks that came from suspicion and doubt,
The betrayals and hurts we refused to forgive,
The companions and love that our pride had cast out,
And the chances we missed that we'd like to relive.
All the pathways not taken and bridges uncrossed,
All the times, had we acted, a difference made,
The potential delights that timidity lost,
And the kindness and debts that we never repaid.
All the secret dishonors we long to forget,
And the wrongs we inflicted in order to win.
For the strongest of sorrows are those of regret
And the saddest remembrance is what might have been.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC
And they forgot about me
Let sin take over
As soon as Eve
Laid a pearly white finger
Upon the flesh of the apple
For those first poisoned bites
Sent wedges
Like earthquakes
In between us.
A huge crack of rubble
Uncrossed,
No bridges to connect
And dust filled the air between
To cut off breath
And to cut you off from me
So you could not see me
And you could not hear me
But I want to know you
I want to hear your voice
I want to know you more.
I want to touch you
I want to see your face
I want to know you more.
And that injection
That sin
Coursed through your veins
And thickened the blood
That connected us
And made it thick and dull and cancerous
Until it was still.
And one day
I hope for a cure
To this evil disease.
Something to help blood flow
Like a river from the crimson heart.
And I will send
A
Bridge between us
To connect us once more
And make a swept
Breeze to clear the air.
I will send Jesus.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
You can go anywhere in the world
A thousand lies
written on your back,
cursive between your shoulder blades,
Ts left uncrossed.
Falling into the arch of your back
between left and right,
ditch of a spine
pooling with arguments.
Staple you together,
try to make a V.
I’ll write a poem about you,
embroider it into the pocket
of a thrift store cardigan.
The wet pavement will add
a stanza to your palms.
Cheap perfume made with
the empty spaces of melodies.
Scents of vibrato.
Encoded messages
missing number 19.
and see nothing at all
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
<>
(for patty m)
*"always love hearing from you,
it's like a kiss in the wind"*
we are intimate
though never ever close,
but faithful closer
familiar,
though our convivial roads
are uncrossed, except and accept
in the delicate pearl inlay
of our poesy path
our common way station,
where can we exchange private confidentialities
publicly, above and beyond,
the plain and ordinary everyday
intimacies
from the balcony of the sixteenth floor,
I can see the horizons holding
our shared land together.
the wind blows by,
from the Atlantic crossing,
continuing on its
westward ** way
wind comes inquiring as is its wont,
as a faithful and familiar evening-tide messenger,
desirous, needy for its wantings fufillment,
to be a deliverer of
deliverances and
all kind of tidings,
sent by the
in absentia
I post a poem
the letters scatter heavenward,
no worries,
the amorphous wind,
will Oz like
reassemble them
in holy order and
brush them
across your face,
tickle the lips and eyelashes,
still moist from
missing a man who was
intimate different,
in a lifetime way
and that kiss,
that postage paid,
the meager cost
the wind receives,
for a mission well accomplished,
is transferred to you and yours
to enable you to decode
this implausibly but-all-to
plausible,
devoted message
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
There goes that light again,
It’s a sparkle in your eyes again.
Fleeting and flashing, and attention-seeking.
There goes that light again,
It fades from your eyes again.
It makes me toss and turn, and wonder if it was there at all.
There goes that smile again,
It’s a ball of sunshine in the gloom again.
Bright and warm and full of mischief.
There goes that smile again,
It disappears so fast, the gloom quickly recovers.
Then you’re dark and sad and dangerous.
There are those hands again,
In my hair, on my waist, around my shoulders,
Giving me shivers, and butterflies, and making me hold on for dear life.
There are those hands again,
Clenched into fists, motioning for me to stay away.
Your moods swing back and forth so swiftly,
It’s wearying to keep up with the pendulum swing.
But I race to catch up nonetheless.
I have become the wave that clings to the shore.
So quickly pushed away then pulled back in.
There go those arms again,
They’re uncrossed this time.
Opening and welcoming and feeling like home.
And once again I am pulled back in to you.
You wrap yourself around me,
But I feel the doubt sink in.
It’s the calm before the storm again,
Soft and peaceful and reassuring.
But I stay guarded, prepared,
Because when you let go of me again,
Like you always do…
It will be the same story again,
And again… and again..
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
The revolution left you spinning, now you’re sitting where you stood,
Can’t go back to the beginning, wouldn’t fight this if you could,
In the garden that you hated, where nothing has ever grown,
Under shadows where we waited, until the light left us alone,
With our indifferent indecision, and stolen bottles in your car,
We’ll drink until we’re happy here, happy with who we are,
Reaping the rewards of repetition, less memorable memories,
Stumbling sick with superstition in the safety of disease,
But come morning better angels will be beating down our doors,
With tools in hand, their best-laid plans will build us better wars,
Daydream a hero’s fate, but I was too late, lost on that battlefield,
Too dull to be that sword you fell on, and far too weak to be your shield,
Now left with a threadbare chair and TV glare, a dusty driver’s seat,
That unworn path and drunken sailor’s laugh, still mourning my defeat,
But I can’t go back or throw it all away, the things I never meant to be,
A castle built on compromise, a pile of clothes shaped just like me,
So maybe now is not the time to sit and count the things we’ve lost,
How can we admit defeat, when so much hell remains uncrossed?
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Motion sway in deep devotion pounding scheme of hearts true drum
Violet sky moves through moment purple
Past great mountains trail
Following desires of uncrossed river
Endangered eagle in fly
Leaving this side guided by earth beam
Light of a love
A warmth within steed
Heavy wing gust to play
Laughing with leaves of amber maroon without grey
Sunbeam whispers forever in sky
Shielded only darkened vortex
Lost in third eye
The glass of clear
Blurred paralyzed nettled disguise
Mingled in fear willow
Fallen to pass
Unto this path followed
By ray
Walked in sun
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
Tell me, my moondark one, how come that
our journey remained untraveled;
from mirror to mirror into eternity
our passages were left uncrossed?
For the mirage of shedding a light,
we rather chose to immerse into the outer world
than become one with each other's.
Since when were we this hollow
turning into shallow ones,
who are unfaithful to their dreams?
Tell me, that how come
that the snake is already bitting his own tail
for the circle is full now,
and I still wish to tell our never-ending story?
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
She's outside
the nurse said
getting
some sunshine
doctor's orders
so I went out
through the double doors
into the grassy area
outside the ward
Julie was sitting
in a chair
smoking
in a dressing gown
her hair pulled tight
in ponytail
getting some sunshine
I said
yes
got to be
a good girl
she said
get some sun
to my skin
I sat in a chair
beside her
took out
a cigarette
and lit up
how's it going?
I asked
cold and fed up
and wanting a fix
she said
but all I get
is a cigarette
and all this
get some sun
and fresh air stuff
she crossed her legs
her feet were naked
she'd painted
her nails red
I brought you
some cigarettes
and chocolate
I said
and laid them
on the small
white table
by her legs
thanks
she said
wish we could meet
at that cheap
hotel again
I fancy some ***
she inhaled deeply
and looked back
at the doors
of the ward
maybe next month
if they let you out
I said
they say I can't
go out
until I’ve kicked
the fix habit
she said
turning round
and gazing at me
hope they've fixed
the taps this time
she said
confused me
to turn on
the cold tap
to get hot
I smiled
she uncrossed her legs
and I saw
a glimpse of thigh
which hung and stayed
in the camera
of my eye.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
“En dehors”
The mirror emulates their grace,
as amber catches an insect
preserving it in the mind.
I focus on the soft pink
that paints across the floor.
“Passé”
Their feet move automatically,
as gears in a grandfather clock.
Drifting with the ease,
of a fallen leaf.
Gliding through the air.
My steps are crude to the eye,
as oil in the ocean
“Efface”
With each incorrect step.
I burrow even further,
trying to escape ridicule.
I attempt to blend in,
A crypsis of the mind.
Marissa Navedo
- En Dehors: expresses that the leg moves in a circular direction, clockwise
- Passé: working leg passes the supporting leg sliding close to the knee
- Efface: Dancer stands at an oblique angle to the audience so part of the body is hidden from view. Legs are open and uncrossed
- Crypsis: The ability of an organism to avoid observation or detection by other organisms.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 2:34 AM UTC
IT RANG OUT LIKE A SHOT!
Those three words.
Left my body frozen in place
as my mind raced for a response.
Your eyes searched mine -
like hounds for a fox -
Chased me through
thickets
and tunnels
and brush.
Left no stone unturned
nor stream uncrossed in your search.
IT RANG OUT LIKE A SHOT!
Those three words.
Snatched me from my stupor
and left me face-to-face
with the muzzle of your emotions.
Loaded and cocked,
I could see your tongue ready to pull the trigger.
IT RANG OUT LIKE A SHOT!
Those three words.
Couldn't hear myself think
or feel
anything
other than my lips
mouth those three words.
Last thing I remember
is your sinister, sweet smile
claiming your reward - my lifeless body-
after unloading the final shot...
"I love you"
IT RANG OUT LIKE A SHOT!
Those three words.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC