"unload" poems
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ----
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly **** out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness ----
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence
36.3k
Drawing images using some words
Telling some stories that are unheard
Stealing the moment, freezing the time
Killing the beast that vultures the mind
Spilling blood, the pen is our knife
Collecting traces from this mysterious life
Connecting dots to create a line
Polishing stones to make it shine
Our words are riddles, a must to decode
Giving multiple key for them to unload
The meaning of some could make readers insane
If wrongly unlock it will conquer their brain
We are a shape-shifter just like the cloud
Painting angels and demons to enlighten the crowd
Hoping they’ll listen to our joy and our pain
Wishing they’ll get the lesson of our every rain
11/03/2015
Mysterious Aries
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Perhaps I'm encased in a box
made out of two-way glass.
A biased one-way mirror...
Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass.
When you look at me,
you only see,
yourself for all that you care...
Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.
Maybe that's why...
you ask about my life,
about my strife.
When I'm about to unload my
head,
I end up having to hear about yours
instead.
Perhaps at times I travel around
in a bubble of frosted glass.
Only a blurred version of me...
Clumsily ploughing through the mass.
Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear.
Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.
Maybe that's why...
My words are just perceived as
playful rhymes.
Never keeping up with the times.
Words regurgitated but no one
realises what's coming undone...
Perhaps what I need
is an armour of bulletproof glass.
One of unique quality...
One ahead of its class.
You can do and say what you want.
A shell that would bear most of the brunt.
*I'll be impervious.
I'll be protected.
I can be indifferent.
I can be jaded.*
Maybe that's all I need...
*A shocking stunt.
A fresh perspective.
A new plan.
Revised objectives.*
Maybe a different name to start all
over...
To tie the binds and thoughts that
scatter...
Hoping of holding everything
together...
Come morning, all will be
forgotten...
Maybe I'd still be beaten.
So for a chance that's,
fat as hell
or
thin just a sliver...
Truth is of the three, I have neither...
So...
what I've said doesn't really matter.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
Sometimes maybe the dreams should
go away
--What do you dream about?
Last night I dreamt I journeyed
into that dark part of the city
where even hard-armed truck drivers
refuse to unload alone.
It was late. Street lights knifed
the false dawn and wet sidewalks
shivered off shards of glass.
Perhaps I had come there for a pack
of cigarettes
or maybe I had a message to deliver.
It was dark. I was dreaming. I knew
I was dreaming. When they met me
outside
at the bottom of the long ramp
and told me all the stores were closed,
then I could see the bars across the door
and the sign that said, open at seven.
It all seemed too obvious
but I had found some friends
and they didn't seem to mind the
long walk back to my car.
This was only a dream, after all,
so it came as no surprise
how my blood drenched the dark pavement.
I waited for flowers to bloom or butterflies
to rise from the spot, but
nothing happened.
I think I killed them then,
but it's not clear how I
got to to the soft lights
of an all-night drugstore
and cuddled up between the rows
of witch hazel and staionary supplies.
--Is this what you dream?
This is what I dream. I have yet to find
a satisfactory substitute for the warmth
of sleep, so I dream.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
With mechanical portals known to be doors
That either lead to different worlds or take you home,
These cabled vehicles like tunnels on wheels fastened on a railroad track
Stretch to both ends of the universe under a single route.
And as you get in for closure,
You put your trust on the obscure.
Just say the magic words;
It will take you anywhere you wish to be.
Even though magic always comes with a price,
The only cost are countable units of your time
And also a few dimes,
In return for the travel of your life.
Across the carpeted walkway of reaching out,
Through the glass windows of visible silver lining,
Behind the blank and arid faces that lure the soul to sink in deep wonder,
The lights and skyscrapers, and mist silhouetting the scenery,
All appear in bokeh, all blend in your eyes;
Your eyes that glow brighter than fire on ice.
The coldness lashing perennially on your skin
And shaking your bones to its final breakage,
Couldn't beat the absolute zero amity between these strangers.
But your fascination has enough radiation
To melt the tip of the iceberg
And shine over what's behind their opaque walls.
Settled on the plastic seats that serve as time machines,
They nestle between unfamiliar bodies;
Static, in a state of inertia.
Blocking out force, resisting change;
Like cars stuck on parking mode,
Couldn't bring themselves to unload.
Grasping on loose handles
With a grip more secure than seat-belts,
Some tend to pull away despite of the constant push.
Like engines on reverse, they take time to backtrack.
For all we know, for every action,
Is an equal and opposite reaction.
The brakes hit; there goes a screeching sound.
But when it comes to a break, we don't really hang back
Or fall to a complete stop;
We only slide forward.
For we must keep moving ahead,
In order to keep our balance.
The portals once again unlock to let you out to the open galaxy
And let in another for the same adventure.
You've reached the end of the trip,
But not the end of the road; nor the destination.
For the journey is infinite; you know you are going to ride again and again,
Until you've run out of wishes of where you want to be where.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Beat the rhythm
empty hand,
Iron cast chains
rattles command.
Ol' Boss Hogg,
baton raised
Self righteous fool
has need of praise.
In order that
he gain acclaim,
thinks with hate,
acts with shame.
Human beings,
commodity,
ships hold stacked
with those once free.
Bodies piled
upon high
you will not see
the strong ones die.
Scars embedded
on their backs
chained and shackled
to the racks.
We deal in branded
breathing stock,
Unload black vassal
from our docks.
Beat the rhythm
empty hands.
Iron cast chains
in far off lands.
We keep our skivvy,
wired hair blacks.
We work them hard,
we score their backs.
They do for us,
they work the field.
Grow the cotton,
pick the yield.
Keep the body,
take the mind.
Labour whatever's
left behind.
And if demeanour
does ever flinch.
We'll introduce you
Willie Lynch.
Beat the rhythm.
Empty hands
Iron cast chains.
Unfair demands.
Beat the rhythm,
shackled feet.
We take their worst
but can't be beat.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Early morning comes too soon.
Fish are biting by the moon.
Father and son make their way
Out of the house to meet the day.
The men of the house are outward bound
Seeking their fortune on the water sound.
Fishing poles and tackle boxes in hand
Off they go, to the dock to be manned.
Eyes gleaming bright, with the wind in his hair,
My son grins wide, and says, "Dad, Look There!"
Sure enough my son sees, fish to be caught,
Their trip is promising, will not be for naught.
His father smiles at the look from his son,
Saying, "Yes, son, you've found them, quite well done."
Bringing their boat to a stop they let glide,
Unpack their equiment, and come along side.
Taking their time and setting their hooks,
Plenty of fish here, judging by the looks.
There's sunfish and carp, some salmon and trout,
Walleye and crappie, and catfish so stout.
As the sun rises higher, they reel those fish in.
There's plenty of fish, with tail and fin.
The father and son are laughing together.
Can't believe their luck, or such perfect weather.
Returning home from a long day of fun,
They unload their catch and in they run.
Fish stories abound, They can't say enough,
The fish they missed, get bigger and rough.
I watch my two men, with quiet delight.
Enjoying the warmth, they create in my sight
Fishing is fun, fishing is great,
My men bonding, makes my heart elate.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 11:30 AM UTC
Kimos, son of Menedoros, a young Greek-Italian,
devotes his life to amusing himself,
like most young men in Greater Greece
brought up in the lap of luxury.
But today, in spite of his nature,
he is preoccupied, dejected. Near the shore
he watched, deeply distressed, as they unload
ships with ***** taken from the Peloponnese.
G r e e k l o o t: b o o t y f r o m C o r i n t h.
Today certainly it is not right,
it is not possible for the young Greek-Italian
to want to amuse himself in any way.
3.5k
Yahya Kemal Beyatli translations
Yahya Kemal Beyatli (1884-1958) was a Turkish poet, editor, columnist and historian, as well as a politician and diplomat. Born born Ahmet Âgâh, he wrote under the pen names Agâh Kemal, Esrar, Mehmet Agâh, and Süleyman Sadi. He served as Turkey’s ambassador to Poland, Portugal and Pakistan.
Sessiz Gemi (“Silent Ship”)
by Yahya Kemal Beyatli
loose translation by Nurgül Yayman and Michael R. Burch
for the refugees
The time to weigh anchor has come;
a ship departing harbor slips quietly out into the unknown,
cruising noiselessly, its occupants already ghosts.
No flourished handkerchiefs acknowledge their departure;
the landlocked mourners stand nurturing their grief,
scanning the bleak horizon, their eyes blurring...
Poor souls! Desperate hearts! But this is hardly the last ship departing!
There is always more pain to unload in this sorrowful life!
The hesitations of lovers and their belovèds are futile,
for they cannot know where the vanished are bound.
Many hopes must be quenched by the distant waves,
since years must pass, and no one returns from this journey.
Full Moon
by Yahya Kemal Beyatli
loose translation by Nurgül Yayman and Michael R. Burch
You are so lovely
the full moon just might
delight
in your rising,
as curious
and bright,
to vanquish night.
But what can a mortal man do,
dear,
but hope?
I’ll ponder your mysteries
and (hmmmm) try to
cope.
We both know
you have every right to say no.
The Music of the Snow
by Yahya Kemal Beyatli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This melody of a night lasting longer than a thousand years!
This music of the snow supposed to last for thousand years!
Sorrowful as the prayers of a secluded monastery,
It rises from a choir of a hundred voices!
As the organ’s harmonies resound profoundly,
I share the sufferings of Slavic grief.
Then my mind drifts far from this city, this era,
To the old records of Tanburi Cemil Bey.
Now I’m suddenly overjoyed as once again I hear,
With the ears of my heart, the purest sounds of Istanbul!
Thoughts of the snow and darkness depart me;
I keep them at bay all night with my dreams!
Translator’s notes: “Slavic grief” because Beyatli wrote this poem while in Warsaw, serving as Turkey’s ambassador to Poland, in 1927. Tanburi Cemil Bey was a Turkish composer. Keywords/Tags: Beyatli, Agah, Kemal, Esrar, Turkish, translation, Turkey, silent, ship, anchor, harbor, ghosts, grief, Istanbul, moon, music, snow
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 4:28 AM UTC
I see your hand waver, now you're faced with a ghost,
not the raw, killer features that were nailed to a post.
Just an old, dying cowboy, trying hard to play host.
There's a chair if you've mercy, and a story...come close.
The liquor of youth lights a fire in you, son.
Puts that flame in your eyes and the heat in your lungs.
I wore that expression, before your thread was spun,
so let me unload, you can shoot when I'm done.
Growing sore in my saddle as the nag became lame,
I sold off my shooters, then re-mortgaged my name.
But tease out the creases, we're exactly the same;
two felons of fortune, wanting someone to blame.
See, I never got settled, didn't take me a wife.
Sailed a ship in a bottle, on the edge of a knife.
I put stock in misfortune and invested in strife,
took diminished returns, paid no interest to life.
But corralling cattle won't hold them for long,
they're born to roam free where they know they belong.
Soon the lipstick and whiskey begins to taste wrong,
as the backroom piano sighs its monotone song.
By a tangerine sunset I scraped off my boots
and considered an orchard as it set down its roots.
As a buzzing of insects idly nurtured its fruits,
I was deafened by silence. My own garden was mute.
So I clutched at the earth as I fell to the floor,
to ask for forgiveness, as you darkened my door.
Seems redemption's eloped, like a gold digging *****
Just a name on a tombstone, for a few dollars more.
Quite an end would be fitting for a fool so innate,
who has squandered his years until the hour is late.
Son, unholster your weapon and wipe off the slate,
I beg execution, swift vengeance, But wait...
Did I catch my reflection as it fell from your face?
Like a hound in a heatwave, too tired to give chase?
Son, the trail that you're riding is easy replaced.
You can stand in the sunlight, or come sit in my place.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
I offer you this innocence,
come on in,
condemnation
judgement
vitriol
are left on the other side
of the walls of skin.
Hearts may open here
tears may tumble
walls may fall
in this moment between you and me.
We will offer
truths and tenderness
for every imagined sin.
Life's a puzzle
the pieces are in
earthquake shambles scattered
across the floor.
There are places for each puzzle piece
to put together,
we may even find bliss.
Sometimes this life is too complex
too hard to fathom
too easy to plummet,
we all need a place to
explore
unload
forgive.
This is the innocence
feel free to come on in,
your secrets are safe here,
never told by me.
It has been said
we are as sick as our secrets,
burrowing through our eyes
in dark packets of disguise.
But in this sanctuary
lies dissolve
innocence returns,
We find a chance to begin again.
Put down the masks
Put down the resentments
Put down the propped up sorrows
Our truths will set us free.
The door is open
the glowing warmth of connection
is at your disposal,
come speak to me
the accumulated hurts of where you have been,
through these true confessions
hurts pass
not forgotten
but
forgiven.
We can begin again.
The puzzle pieces lost
will be found,
compassion and forgiveness
become our friends.
Abandon all pasts
seen through a child's eyes,
in this time of now
we can become cozy
snuggle up in this warm bath embrace.
Sometimes we all need a place to hide
in all the necessary pillows and comforters.
Either in words or in silence,
we'll find that spot of transformation,
begin again,
once you enter this innocence,
from the tangle
as birds well know,
we can fly free again.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
he asked me why
I'd absorb his ardent spirits
and chain want of soul
he knows why
I demand total control
...to convey my lust for pleasurable pain
this ache in thighs
denies an uttered sigh
as I cry inside with lust
strutting before him in nylon and pumps
he jumps through hoops, leashed;
he begs and flex, hungry for what is next
while I slap his hardened ****
tick tock its almost time
unwind and rock
to tease and please
I think not;
as heat of breath
taunts each slap of ****
his moans go unclocked
...as he loses control
Mistress, please he begs and moan
how long? watching hardness grow
long, strong in fits of hunger
he whispers and drools,
Mistress!!!!!
...your sweet ambrosia I know
eager beggary to be unleashed
ready to pounce
unload every ounce
but, I won't as I blindfold
and ring his ****
fore, his time is still
on the clock...tick tock
I smile, while he gropes
in the dark...leashed...now bark!
tell me! are you hard enough?
...I tease and taunt him some more
**** now hard as a rock...lash of whip...whack
...in your corner...I'll be back...after Jack laps wet ******
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
*I unload your god in that laissez-faire way
where the bandages mend and have no need to be placed,
formidably, regret to admit the moonshine in my hair
looking Gothic, but beautiful:
sober the men’s breath as it falls, falls, falls
not more mild than a snowstorm in its final lapse.
Sat there to be dreamt. He put his hand to his beard,
and I would have kissed if had I believed
that he was not merely trying to haunt my body,
the hair I kneaded into air.
It flowers, and flowing these marzipan sands
where God lays man next to his wife,
she bears the peaches: juicy, ripened, but not to eat
expecting us to swallow ourselves in turn, spin the bottle.
I could not care less for the braces in his lips –
or their fur, but gums beneath like peaches.
**** it out until the pulps mirror,
you have the skin of a four fruit, or an eighty,
flames high as kites. But suffering for each flicker-knob
and dating a girl who smokes cigarettes in bed,
I know he could not support that, your god.
Morning comes with a glare, now eating her hair
the involvement of some odd raconteurs. I beat them
and they beat my ******* for their heat –
God is a cabin boy with genitals in his palms,
said he would love the women as long as they are gone;
if he does not see me, the flames, I cannot exist
not more than falling falling falling hair.*
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
There they were…
Lying on the bed, with her head resting below his shoulder, listening to his heart beat, and praying it never stops.
One leg draped over him, as if she was afraid he’d free from her embrace. As though her leg, a restraint, holding him in place, keeping him from leaving.
Her arm resting on his body with her hand on his chest.
There they were…
The safest place she could think of.
Her favorite place to be.
She was with him.
Their love, shielding them from the chaos of the outside world, while she silently worries, that he’ll someday leave.
He notices, and reassures her… he’s here to stay.
“He’s here to stay!” She thinks to herself. She’d finally won the fight against her own mind.
He said it himself! He won’t leave!
She could finally feel at peace.
His reassurance and validation was all she needed to believe.
And just like that, she could finally sleep. See… he made her feel safe.
He said “Let me love and protect you! That is the job I want!”
So she let her walls crumble, opened the door, and she let him step in.
He dusted the cobwebs, and drew back the drapes. He painted the walls and straightened the frames. He fixed the creaky doors and floors, and mended broken shelves. He brought light to the darkness, and color to the grey.
He even bought flowers for the empty vase, that had seen better days.
He just strolled in, and he made it a home suited for two.
He said “no more need for walls” and he put in a sparkling moat. “You’re safe with me, you can rest and unload.”
She didn't yet know, that what she’d need protecting from, was him.
For when he’d rip it all away.
He loves her.
He loved her.
Up until one day…
And there they were.
Both, unaware and unafraid.
Mar 5, 2023
Mar 5, 2023 at 8:38 AM UTC
We go deeper than we realize
Memory of us bleeding pictures heavy
Endure a number of slices from words
To assure us we are very unsteady
My soul has not stopped shaking since
You set off the earthquake that destroyed
Any defenses in okay shape
Your ripples I tried to avoid
Is it wrong to say I wish we'd never become
Friends so I would not get caught in your net
Let you entice me with flattery
Today my feet aren't getting wet
Crumbling but cannot show cracks
Taking measures so you won't decode
The variety of contradicting statements
I eagerly continue to unload
Leftovers of our romance
Strange and out of place
Feels like we are actors
Or athletes in a race
Despite the villian you see me as
I am hurting beneath my skin
Do what you like with lonely days
Jealousy predestined to creep in
Poetry too honest for you
Been a critic at best
I have found negativity can motivate
Claimed strength put to test
See you and I struggle as well
You run, catch up to my heels
There's no way you can match my pace
Tired, I let you control the steering wheel
Know exactly the right buttons to press
Tempers over edge when we fought
Dream of forgetting your incredible name
In reality mind for some reason will not
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
ive been going out every weekend
i dont know if its bad or good
i don’t know if im sad or masking
I dont know if i am replacing habits with other bad habits
maybe im the bad habit
the liable rabbit that fell down the rabbit hole
i always seem to overflow
producing tears by the bucket load
i didnt mean to unload too much
unfold too much, save that for drunken spring brunch
grateful for my team, i know that much
but its hard to me to show my real love
but i live and i learn, i larbour and earn
i wait for my turn, the tables always seem to turn
take a left, trust i’m right, work the day, come alive at night
Mar 21, 2022
Mar 21, 2022 at 9:49 AM UTC
*
In poetry I unload to explode
To break free from all the dynamite
I usually kept hidden
My passive nature makes me resistant
to its pollutants.
Sometimes they’re more like landmines
Awaiting for someone
Who stomp the wrong buttons
Then detonate
And explode between my shouts
And cries.*
*In all honestly
No matter how resistant I am to become resilient
my core is too vulnerable to crumble
By a simple backslash of toxic tongues
And suddenly I fall in my knees to simply walk away
No battle is worth an effort
When you know it’s just pride
Battling himself.
*
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
Written by Arlo Guthrie and Pete Seeger; adapted by Mike Essig.
Halfway around the world tonight
In a strange and foreign land
A soldier packs his memories
As he leaves Afghanistan
And back home, they don't know too much
There was just no way to tell
You know you had to be there
To know that war was hell
And there won't be any victory parades
For those that's coming back
They'll fly them in at midnight
And unload the body sacks
And the living will be walking down
A long and lonely road
Because nobody seems to care these days
When a soldier makes it home
Somewhere in America tonight
In this strange and foreign land
A soldier unpacks memories
That he saved from Vietnam
They said it wasn't easy
Just another job, well done
*Then the government in Saigon fell
To the sounds of rebel guns*
And the faces of the comrades
Who were blown out of the sky
Leaves you bitter and disgusted
That they didn't have to die
*The old men who planned that war
You know they all died safe in bed
With none of their rich and privileged sons
Ending up torn or dead*
Back home they didn't know too much
There was just no way to tell
You know you had to be there
to know that war was hell
And there wasn't any big parades
For those that made it back
They flew them home in secret
and told them to make tracks
And the living were left walking down
A long and lonely road
Because nobody seemed to care back then
When a soldier made it home
The night is coming quickly
And the stars are on their way
As I stare into the evening
Looking for the words to say
That I saw the lonely soldier
Just a boy that's far from home
And I saw that I was just like him
While upon this earth I roam
And there may not be any big parades
If I ever make it back
As I come home under cover
To a world that can't keep track
Of the heroes who have fallen
Let alone the ones who roam
Guess that's why nobody seems to care
When a soldier makes it home
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Roll up...Roll up
the show is set to start
One playing for your head
One playing for your heart
It's time for an election
To see who rules the roost
Time for your selection
Who gives the bigger boost
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
make me a match
Pick me a President
Which one to catch
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Show me a name
It's doesn't much matter
They are all the same
Roll up, Roll up
They're all set to speak
A ten minute talk
That may take all week
Choose either party
and their rainmaker head
make promises of fairy dust
You'll get once your dead
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Show me the one
Who will unload the bullets
But, still own the gun
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
The time is now here
To pick a new President
Please ally my fears
Roll up, Roll up
The choices are few
I'm voting for one
But, I do not know who
Roll Up, Roll Up
The show's set to start
with enameled fake smiles
I can't tell them apart
Roll Up....Roll Up...
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
{•}
unwanted love
we, the human counting crows, tracking everything, steps, bank balances, heartbeats & especially,
those dastardly calories that need burning
pre yoga, her morning banana,
she takes but a half, and looks to unload the balance on a sucker/victim in the vicinity because a whole
is greater than a half,
and God knows a whole could make you fatter!
fully prepared for her desperate supplication, reply so quick,
"you're forcing me to eat unwanted calories,"
she crestfallen,
near to weeping from guilty feelings,
a crime so heinous!
but more than ready, added words, prepared years ago:
*but to save your life gladly give you any body part,
step in front of a vehicle, for a certain somebody,
you may know, to preserve, life and liberty,
put up with your inanities, border-lining on insanities,*
answer your questions before you think of them,
*and will restrict my singing to sole showers in the basement
but never will I eat for two, that so undesirable,
in the name of love*
to which she came to my bedside, kissed my nose, whispering,
"thank you for my life saving,"
while stuffing my mouth with said weapon,
"thank you again,
please don't make this into a poem"*
somedays you just ain't gonna win,
you see she loves me too well
and knows
my answers before I do...
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
***So many things are lost in transit
In haste, to unload the luggage
Unaware of the fragile things
Shoved away in haste to unload
When I open the luggage
Thousands of broken pieces
Cutting deep into my hands
Bleeding profusely from the wounds
Losing valuable things in transit
Wounds that will stay forever***
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
As you can see now
We've lost two men to Father Time
They were your friends
As they were mine
They both were outlaws
and they lived life their own way
If we had our choice
They'd still be here today
But, I am not the one
Who took them both away
That's all I've got to say
They were our brothers
And they stood here dressed in black
Close your eyes and they are back
They're in the ether
Waiting there for their return
They'll tell us what they saw
And then we will all learn
That life's a circle
And death is no concern
When they do return....
We are all highwaymen
And we all travel different roads
We all bear witness
Carry loads
We will all pass this way
More than once I'm sure
There will be other times
When we meet at death's door
But as for now, I say
No more than evermore
For we will meet again....
Once there were four of us
And the world was our domain
We've gone away
Come back again
We sailed the seven seas
And rode the highway roads
We flew on starships
And we followed our own code
We met the horsemen
And our souls we did unload
And we'll be back again...
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
Uniformed and re-upped,
We are the mind sweepers,
The navel gazers moving lint,
Waiting for the image to strike.
We are the missals
And the launchers,
Looking through cross-hairs
From think tanks.
We captain verse vessels to shore,
Unload and return for more.
We are the Romantic
Ancient sub-conscious mariners
Stitched in hammocks.
We are rocketeers.
A force
To reckon.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
“hey” is the only thing you say
pressing your hand against the doorframe
and leaning in
looking past me as if you would see anything different, but it's all the same
nothing has changed except maybe you and me
and whoever decides to fill my body next
the chain on the door covers your eyes
and i can't help think about how different you look
like a stranger; one i wouldn't expect to meet me
at my threshold with groceries in a brown paper bag
now, of course, you only bring me a heart
and say it's nothing
“hey” is the only thing i say,
unlatching the chain, and letting you inside
like i'm letting you drip down my throat
i busy my hands with the locks,
the locks i put there, at first, to keep you in, and then, eventually, to keep you out
but now it seems, to anybody watching this exchange between our worlds,
like i put them there
to keep my back turned to you,
to avoid you while you spread out on the couch
and let all your dead-eyed visions collect on the coffee table
“hey” is the only thing you say
when you notice the missing ash tray,
the one you used to use as a church,
where each burnt shell was an empty prayer,
and each smoke tendril was a hand to send it up to heaven
now it's just a black spot engrained in the wood
now you're just a black spot engrained in the wood
some things did change, i guess, but nothing as much as the two of us.
i remember when our old bodies fit together so well,
and how they rested so easily right where you’re sitting
i remember when i shared that smoke with you and helped you send it up to wherever you wanted it to go
i want to talk to you about that smoke, now, among other stupid, half-symbolic things that i'm not entirely sure you’d understand or even remember,
but i don't. instead i finish with the locks, which are also stupid and symbolic, and spread out next to you on the couch
i wish i had my own dead-eyes visions to unload next to yours, but then i remember that i left all of mine
somewhere inside of you
“hey” is the only thing i say, and sometimes, its the only thing i can say.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC