"uninhabited" poems
Ah yes, the magic of human touch,
Trusting to warm my soul's skin
Tis nature of loves connection, as such.
My body accepts, oh if you only knew
Like an honored guest, I grin
Anticipating the pleasures, one of the few.
Skin to skin, our bodies converse.
Uninhabited, my mind wander
Deep inside, my craving thirsts.
Artful hands sculpt with purpose
Lulling layers open, you're quite the artist
Soothing caress melt my body formless
I'm yours, silently, I surrender.
As my flesh cries out for more
Arching waves of splendor
Rewarded my senses sated.
With newfound clarity reborn
Mind, body and spirit replenished.
I thank you for your gift of touch.
Lovingly, I would return the favor,
as such.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
“isn’t it crowded in california?” people always ask me
but you should have seen the way it looked from the sky
expanses of empty valleys
mountains of uninhabited ridges
cities that i could touch with my fingertip
much like the stars in the dark night air
and green as far as the eye could see
the silver snow that dotted the land
reminding us not to forget about it
never had i been so far above that i could notice it all
always stuck in my corner of the universe
and you should have felt what i felt
knowing that there are still
areas of my heart that have yet to be
realized and explored and populated
by anyone who is not you
even though at one point
you occupied the spaces
the cracks in my chest and lungs and limbs
so much that i thought you were a piece of me
but the seasons change and so do people
so my winter will be drastically different than my summer
when you climbed out of my life and into another’s
and hearts break and shrink and expand
to make room for different hearts
(mine’s currently in the process of getting rid of you)
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Broken headstones speckle
the even sea
of your grassy hill
Panorama of your crest
hugged by blue sky
Among the memorials
long since uninhabited
the residents
returned to the earth
My thoughts are seeds
and your soil is fertile
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Ragged mountains and rough terrains,
Withstanding storms and heavy rains.
Warm rays of sunshine bring light.
Bearing hues of black and white.
To the touch it feels like a freshly mowed lawn.
A promise of tummy tickling at dawn.
A relaxing walk in an uninhabited forest.
A tempestuous hike to the top of Everest.
You could be a renegade or a mad scientist
An investment banker or electric guitarist.
A biker's beard could be just as immaculate.
Rough as sandpaper or soft as velvet.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:00 AM UTC
Vision
is a molded masterpiece
from the Almighty Maker,
an optical order
from the Divine Creator,
becoming sight for we who do not see
Sent to each visionary
to believe
in the simple truth
we possess
Vision
is to glimpse God,
the artistic nature
that His mighty hand has left
Obvious details about us,
even if focus is found
through failing sight
With a heavenly pair of lenses,
looking at what we cannot behold,
we can imagine eternity
Vision
is a tuning device,
a fine violin
rupturing the eardrum
of mediocrity
An untapped well
in refreshing water
designed to leak and splash
and spring into potential
upon the souls and minds
of mankind
Vision,
a prerequisite to each breath,
a telescope to uninhabited skies,
a stethoscope to the desires of the heart,
is Godly intent,
the gut of greatness,
as we mortals
any purposeful plan
conspire
creation
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
are feelings of love felt alone, feelings of love at all?
or selfish yelps for attention borne
of boredom & a sense we only hold on our own
of childish
- - - - idleness.
singularity less; more independence from a whole
the only company he keeps is furniture
together with the furniture of the house he sits,
with seven seats left empty,
the curtains tales appear to grin
without validation from another he feels
like a child standing
the school's final bells rung
the bustle of the day has droned
now dissipated
the bustle of the day irritated
when it droned, he longed for home
for the bus
as he waits for the bus the quiet surrounds hold tight
but hold cold
like a fridge door keeps, it clutches, encloses
the school yard empty
he stands; singular; out of place in the surrounds
the school bleeds terror when empty
The laughs & shouts & jeers & footsteps
keep the wholesomeness whole
empty of shouts
a graveyard now
the ghosts of the day linger
& they finger
your buttons they push
your tenderness they kneed out
they **** (with their cold digits they ****
just like the furniture does.
just like the furniture in the house laughs
when uninhabited
it silently jeers
'Why so many seats mate?' it pokes with its linen digit; fuzzy but cold
as it continues
'you're alone
waiting for someone
to come by and pick u up
& take u back to home
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.
An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -
Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
those mistakes were never the same,
snowflake, snowflake,
i melted in the touch of your cold cold heart.
i see you frantic, romancing the stars,
show me the world again, my gentle penpal and my proudest critique,
we circled the landmarks until you made me heart start to beat.
I’m petrified of the ride, this gifted one way system,
my commitment to you is beautiful true.
i pictured destruction - i couldn’t function in ways,
years and years, days and days, it was peace at last, if only you knew.
a thousand friends and a million faces,
the snowball effect melted me snowflake mallow.
you were right all along, i was spun from the whirlwind of your world.
give me Disney love now or nothing at all.
i’m all yours now my sweet princess,
theres no contest or battle just a universe of you.
the placebo effect is so far from the truth, an uninhabited land - i belong here with you.
theres only one question that remains unanswered.
snowflake don’t ever change. x
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Little rag doll in poses I place, smiles non linear
lipstick is smeared not as it should be perfection
is not on the features as statically smiling.
Meagerly patched doll how you are in my thoughts.
Knotted hair ill placed bobbles that don't show
the best of the features frozen on your hollow face.
mismatched clothes not in a way a woman of choosing
would place, odd socks an ankle one, poppy long stocking
contrasting is size and colour but you'll never know.
I look at you, a Picasso of imagery displaced on your face.
Looking like you got dressed in the closet blindfolded and
alone. My little rag doll I strategic leave in a lonely place.
I collect these porcine eyes drained of essence, I open
your thoughts and they are discarded in a bag.
Later your thoughts will feed my hungry dog.
I leave you empty vacant as you should be, my rag doll
with uninhabited motivation. hollowed shell of what you
used to be, blank stares between you and me go silently.
They find my dolls in there houses distorted like my
vison of how sights are seen. A play house of disillusion,
my dolls are my creations come will you be a rag doll for me.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
feel lost.
I feel alone.
The feeling of complete brokenness.
I am empty,
Widdled down to dust.
My body is uninhabited.
My spirit is in millions of pieces.
I feel distant.
I wasn't always this way.
I once was filled with joy and laughter.
I once had hopes and dreams.
I once had a purpose.
It once was so easy.
Now its to difficult to bare.
I am now lifeless pieces lying on the floor.
Everyday is a tragedy.
I fall, I shatter.
Sorrow drips from my face like a water fall.
I am an empty shell.
Pain, regret, and despair is eating away at me from the inside out.
Then you find me.
You mend me together with gold.
I am now worth something.
My spirit is no longer in shambles.
I once again have a purpose.
I laugh and feel joy.
I contain hopes and dreams.
When I fall I don't shatter.
The brokenness I felt before is gone.
I am whole.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
No such beauty
longer dwells
under the guise
of flesh and bones,
in the garden
of a sullied heart
fallow heart
barren and longing .
time built walls
an unfillable void
burdens tall,
beggared of light
befallen within
a devolving moment
so many flowers wither
left in a broken
heart of gold
a gardener knows
sweetest soils
of love and light,
without sunshine
sour
as unripened fruit
memories fading
as if florae
never blossomed
perpetuating
wholly starving,
unweedable roots
too deep,
rupture when pulled
a **** let be
beauty
unfertile seeds sown
where nothing
longer grows
in an uninhabited
silence
raging unseen within
the fires of the ages
still smoldering inside,
mingled with hope
left for dead
hidden in the shadows
an engulfing stone cold,
handwriting on the wall
of silence growing taller
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
That lover of a night
Came when he would,
Went in the dawning light
Whether I would or no;
Men come, men go;
All things remain in God.
Banners choke the sky;
Men-at-arms tread;
Armoured horses neigh
In the narrow pass:
All things remain in God.
Before their eyes a house
That from childhood stood
Uninhabited, ruinous,
Suddenly lit up
From door to top:
All things remain in God.
I had wild Jack for a lover;
Though like a road
That men pass over
My body makes no moan
But sings on:
All things remain in God.
1.9k
The road back to you is full of thorns
every step is a pierce through my skin
soles bleed from the sharp edges of my agony
wounds that time hasn't healed yet
and its pus cry out 'for how long?'
The road back to you is full of thorns
and I am still made of eggshells
crushed each time i roll back in
which is why this road is a road
that i should travel back no more
The road back to you is full of thorns
but it calls me even with memories i no longer welcome
my footsteps can lead to many other roads
but your arrow is a test of how much I've recovered
and so I go...
The road back to you is full of thorns
but i know one day the thorns will hurt me no more
and your familiar signs could lure me no more..
with my new compass, thanks but, No thanks!
No longer barefoot, no longer on foot
[Recalculating... Turn right]
a road that my GPS system won't even recognize
because the road back to you is full of thorns
Abandoned, Uninhabited, Untraceable
In fact, it's a road no More...
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
Every step I take forward in the abyssal sand
I lose myself farther in your desert
I saw only dry bones and uninhabited land
but in this desolate wasteland you were my hallucination of an oasis
so I wasn't afraid to get lost in you
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 8:24 AM UTC
palms are masks
that cover nothing
fingers, frustrated fishermen
combing dark waters, searching
for the uninhabited isle.
the tree stump pitifully trying
to grow,
melody of the typewriter,
the letter opener's song,
withered daisy in a plastic display,
hidden bookworm art
carved into dusty paperbacks,
overgrown, abandoned houses:
sleeping animal,
dormant jungle.
wet asphalt puddles of fallen sky
dead butterfly
blind blue eyes;
tragic, difficult, poetic
you are
poetically
(unplayed piano furniture)
useless.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
With weary frankness I lean into
Evenings diffident shadows,
Wavering hues, grays and blues
Peering between the cloistered stars:
Endless dream I forgot how to navigate
Encompassing moments built by tidal movements
And sudden divisions between orbital shells
Inertial havoc starts the blood rushing
The world's a quagmire of uninhabited space
With lonely islands of pulsating matter
Suns unnumbered, rippling the waves collapse
Take all my heartbeats too, that as I languish,
The resonance might start another avalanche
The fiery, seeding vacuum of dawns early light,
That old magician's hat trick.
But be merciful to me, centrifugal womb of time;
Both the product and the witness
The sum of the totality only here, only this, only now-
This forever world, always just on the brink
Of breaking into a hundred thousand new worlds,
From insignificance multiplied
Far beyond any meaningful purpose:
For nobody controls even one solitary particle down here.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
Drooling from pharmaceuticals,
and being told what's beautiful.
Recklessly using our mandibles,
and idolizing party animals.
No time to get personal,
Cuz I must go out and buy the product being scammed on this commercial.
Back.
Intelligence being blinded by fear,
So many don't pay mind, too full of beer
and confused why they can't see clear,
or even eye to eye with their closest peer.
Time spent pointing fingers
and wondering why "bad luck" lingers.
A society high on measurements and value measured by possessions.
The "Iwant" society diseased with obsessions.
Sold opinions with television and magazines,
Never realizing the atrocities behind the scenes.
More psych evaluations and pills to swallow,
Or open love connections and spirituality to follow?
Many homeless, while uninhabited homes shows a higher amount.
Pop-culture won't show ya, can the counter-culture even count?
Fatty fast food paired with fast athletes, just to get a meager billion some dollars.
There's still time to change though, which is why we need to bother.
Too cheap to buy selfless items, well then at least pay attention.
See me for clarity, there's a wealth of info I didn't mention.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
pocketed shelter of grass, bordered with my
legs belongs to your
uninhabited region.
And I lull a song down the street because
I feel your clammy hand in my own and
Press against it because my own affection
for you
is as strong as pain and you must
feel it
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC
1.
You remembered June when this morning's sun
was there with the care of a father's hand
etching each leaf into filigree--
or with the unsequestered heart of a crazed lover
with his impossible love letters and artifacts
of century's old over-ripened fruits
that even as they hung precariously from the oaks
dazzled and made space for the stark blue.
A change from last night.
The constellate, dispersing fog
that brought the sense
of an overwhelming descent to a seabed,
the submersion a baffling return to a night
from childhood, enclosed at all ends
and unknowable. A shut book.
2.
Warmth lingers on skin even after
a few minutes of exposure, a caress.
Then, step outdoors and the wind,
whose listlessness and beauty
picks up your step and hurries you on
with characteristic mercilessness
through the cold.
While you were sleeping and roaming and reading
it has crept into the uninhabited crevices,
under doors, fuseboxes, the shades of streetlights
to mold like frost.
3.
Cold is a life-form,
growing and budding in the absence of green.
And it is at this time of year we strangle
the neck of uncertainty.
The sun peeks. The cold air climbs
out of the bottoms and hollows of things.
When it reaches an excitement, as now,
her absence reveals herself:
there is nowhere you can touch her body.
She is the thousand particles
she is the spacing in between:
twirling, gathering and thrusting through the streets,
she calls you to witness her now as she comes
like a first snow.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 12:27 PM UTC
I've pitched my tent close to
the cloistered stars
where the cool breath of heaven
caresses my cloud capped face
and my heart can exile
her pain in the uninhabited
sterling stillness
no footprints lead to my door
in this endless white tundra
not even an echo enters
silent black pearl
crystallized, suspended
inanimate
exhaled
but I am not lost
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Underneath these artless skies
I marry the ghost within you
because the stories are now
screaming mad, and dark,
and every time your name
rolls unto my tongue, it thunders,
and I tremble, and tremble,
and like a thousand ships set against
the tide, I will my eyes to sleep;
cold as ice, mother, pray tell
how does one go to sleep when
Thanatos is the one weaving the
blanket; rather awake than dead;
half a heart than half a soul;
tell me if I open you up I'll find anything
other than flesh, other than nothingness;
you're so vacant and uninhabited, I forget
you're not an abandoned building;
tell me how I can go to sleep
without being woken up by the ghost
of you in my head, dancing to music
we once made when we touched; I'll
revisit those little joys, and maybe I'll
understand why empty vessels make
the loudest noise.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
Is tonight
Wheezing is still there
Thrilling soul longing hugs
About your beauty, of your story
I chose a name
My night was my decision
A face that is always approached
No tertepis every corner of the night
Sigh it has leached the image of me
Spoiled and ****** my restless
I remember crashing
In a restless night skinning desire
Wild romance getting chills
Strengthen the sense of an increasingly bubbling full of passion
My ***** was increasingly peaked
on a knoll longing in love.
My night was my decision
Longed lull in the swathe of memories
Closely in the hand held
Behind the no man's evening
Story uninhabited ago
It's never wanted cracked ..
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
A cool wind touching crevices
of your face, escaping
hot air and dodging quickly
as to not be caught by sun.
Your eyes gleaming deeper
than ocean waters
disguising life below them as thick,
uninhabited.
White birds sink deep into sunsets,
seen from different windows,
all whispering the same words..
look at me and feel beauty
I can picture your hands,
cleaned, but stain imprinted
placed softly on my skin,
alone, with waves crashing.
Time is no constant.
There's only light and it's absence.
Your smile never fades away.
No envelopes with red writing.
I can hardly feel the fabric
worn loosely on my skin.
There's scattered sand upon it,
on sun-soaked salty bodies.
We're happily pacing
a shore of endless shells
laughing about stories
of work and other chores.
I want no one other
than your green eyes, blinding
to take me there, love me bare,
a shore with just our footsteps.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
I ripped out of the old tavern
Into the torn indigo overcoat
And traveled under the porticoes of a billion fantastic stars
To celebrate this marvelous November night.
In the labyrinth of bricks and stones
I hum and whistle the Irish song
Like a singer before the orchestra, my multitudes.
How exquisite—Avec un plaisir de génie—is my peripatetic existence!
Lungs full of air, and I see the Muse in me.
My treasured newsboy cap from a thrift shop spins on my hand,
And my feet bubbles off the floor like soda pops.
I pray my gratitude to the one above the altar
For my indomitable freedom. Amen.
A pocket change rolling, bikes uninhabited, and lampposts perpetual.
A rolled cigarette wantonly leaned between my sticky lips.
Autumnal dews wetted my forehead like spiriting wine.
And while, scarf blowing, boots tattered,
I raised my odalisque eyes heavenward
The world pixelated above my moist eyes
Like a seabed of jewelry stars
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 1:03 PM UTC