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"unpaired" poems
The stream twists, slithers, binds two banks to each other, slinking ‘cross the dry gaunt gulley, unpaired. Under the faded trees’ blinds, I sit on stone from where riparian-paradise explodes; California’s stolen soil, air, are logorrhea in the toilets of my ears. I sit stream-like, apart, meditative – echoes of Kumeyaay swirl inside my head.
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Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:56 AM UTC
Rose Canyon Split
The day we roared with infinite jest the larder packed tight with provisions burst. So much canned meats, tinned, pemmican hardtack we had stored knowing our journey north would be sufficiently trying that sustenance would prove difficult. The slog. The slacking day when you rolled off the sled, creviced. Your voice booming blue crystalline as we see, no escape. Trapped and the cans I hurl into the hole. Hours I read to you lipped, curled into a snail, a shell, a crocus of yellow a dread of finishing the story and saying to you there is no more. So you cannot tell, when the pages have ended I make up confabulate truth and fiction embellish. Pretend the story line marches forward decades and we are in the Amazon; You’ve discovered that the water that seemed guileless is crocodile filled. They bite hard and you can imagine. All primary colors on the floes, all glacial movement, slow to melt, fast to burn through the colors of our arctic rainbow. I had primed the lamp the last night, before that dawn, before the ride in which you fell. The wick trimmed and each consequential action of the day I placed hanks of hair neatly side by side into banks of snow. Under my cracked tongue is a bump that rolls mole like cyst. Partner of my travels to this cold realm, your self shelved. Below: Did you hear me whisper? Asking why today have I become. The whispered promise of holding upright against the dark. I thought. It would be magnificent. Not even fanfare. Or aurora borealis. Or flight. Yes dreams of flying. Yes dreams of ahah so it is after all. I thought I would recognize the moment of unleashing. What makes the special now? If I whisper Abandon I might hear you echo in the ice. I might see your boot, attached to. A glove alone, unpaired. The story they lived, the story they tell is one of each husky, one by one, no longer. Starvation and then there are none. But we are in the Amazon, and it is a scorching hot day and there is much to be explored until you fall into the river and get bit. I take it all back. You laugh because I add flying monkeys which is us pretending that we’ve explored this terrain which looks like a bed in a room and a chart. They cannot stop your bleed, and so we begin again.
0
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
When did I know it was the last goodbye?
The day we roared with infinite jest the larder packed tight with provisions burst. So much canned meats, tinned, pemmican hardtack we had stored knowing our journey north would be sufficiently trying that sustenance would prove difficult. The slog. The slacking day when you rolled off the sled, creviced. Your voice booming blue crystalline as we see, no escape. Trapped and the cans I hurl into the hole. Hours I read to you lipped, curled into a snail, a shell, a crocus of yellow a dread of finishing the story and saying to you there is no more. So you cannot tell, when the pages have ended I make up confabulate truth and fiction embellish. Pretend the story line marches forward decades and we are in the Amazon; You’ve discovered that the water that seemed guileless is crocodile filled. They bite hard and you can imagine. All primary colors on the floes, all glacial movement, slow to melt, fast to burn through the colors of our arctic rainbow. I had primed the lamp the last night, before that dawn, before the ride in which you fell. The wick trimmed and each consequential action of the day I placed hanks of hair neatly side by side into banks of snow. Under my cracked tongue is a bump that rolls mole like cyst. Partner of my travels to this cold realm, your self shelved. Below: Did you hear me whisper? Asking why today have I become. The whispered promise of holding upright against the dark. I thought. It would be magnificent. Not even fanfare. Or aurora borealis. Or flight. Yes dreams of flying. Yes dreams of ahah so it is after all. I thought I would recognize the moment of unleashing. What makes the special now? If I whisper Abandon I might hear you echo in the ice. I might see your boot, attached to. A glove alone, unpaired. The story they lived, the story they tell is one of each husky, one by one, no longer. Starvation and then there are none. But we are in the Amazon, and it is a scorching hot day and there is much to be explored until you fall into the river and get bit. I take it all back. You laugh because I add flying monkeys which is us pretending that we’ve explored this terrain which looks like a bed in a room and a chart. They cannot stop your bleed, and so we begin again.
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62
I am down To my last stick, But I am still not Over the thoughts of you... Of your gentle voice, Of your tender lips, Of your warm embrace, Of the tiny c r e a s e s you make on the bed sheet, Of the fragrant musk, Of the window dust you used to wipe off, Of the unpaired slippers, Of the now cobwebbed toothbrush, Of the hair strands left on my towel, Of the socks, And of the smell of your mocassin. There's just so much of you I am helpless about Now that you're gone As I blow this last packet of smoke Into the darkness of this spirit room. I weep.
0
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
Superfluous
To touch base, I've mixed with bass, treble; or tremble at the highest volume, audiotapes left in the closet, those love confessions in secret; titled into a mixtape, Or was it a mistake to place myself in the music I tried to write? The lyrics are just me ranting away, in the thinking of finding a way. I feel a little blue today; in a jazz of a saxophone, ordering snacks on my phone. It feels too easy to rhyme. To play with my words. CD discs, I was scratched by love; in the ignorance of bliss. Sad playlists saved in good question, earphones stuck in my ears while I'm still asleep. Good reason for me to seem so restless, bluetooth speaker; hoping to successfully connect. Still pairing to an unpaired match I could bet. But music is always emotion, just in beat, catchy hooks, melodies, and shuffling your feet. To get you off your feet, get you to think, and as my dad would say, "your favourite songs gets your *** lit" I can't function without my music.
0
Jun 21, 2022
Jun 21, 2022 at 3:44 PM UTC
Music is emotion
Think of the lonely hearts at the zoo Kept captive for reasons they haven’t a clue Souls kept unpaired on the ground Not a mate for them could be found! Should have thought of it when trapped from the forest Or acquired them from another zoo Showcased them those unwilling guests Forgetting they need mates too! Mightiest animal decides these creatures’ fate Dictates how they should live and be grown The right time to love and have a mate Or spend life in their enclosures alone! In the name of care you make their lives messy Consign them to the doom of loneliness You ruin their home invade their privacy No wonder the zoo doesn’t have a happy face!
0
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Lonely Hearts
Will I lose or will I break. I can not let my Addict mind Take over as it will convert quick & dope will become my fate. For ever Gone, unpaired & Lost. Toss my self away to the drugs
0
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
Con2vert
The poetry of longing is but the bright side of despair. The expression of a yearning for a love no longer there. The embodiment of our parting that cold dark Winter’s night, brutal in its finality beneath the stars unblinking light. We turned there from each other as two halves, now unpaired, Each knowing in our hearts the bitter tasting fare.
0
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Finis
keep plodding Keep plodding the great unpaired line up basking in the illumination that streams from those opposite of them some sick trick of light or dark that sends those caught in the crossfire on a wild goose chase into the night some version of this that works our limitations Breed Stagnation daily
0
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
Go on
I feel like "orange", Nobody rhymes with me, I am bright and bold and delicious And I am loved... But I am alone. I am unpaired.
0
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 9:46 AM UTC
"Orange"