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"unplowed" poems
High school's unwitting, eclectic crowd -- sweethearts, jocks, "gangsters", A.S.B. -- had universes stuffed in it. You can clearly picture where you'd sit during lunch, shaded under a tree near the bike racks; disallowed and unaware, the future unplowed. No one expected a baby (or thirty), marriages, deaths, the flit to forlorn bitterness: counterfeit lives. Your peers had much more agency and promise than they saw, unendowed with foresight in a teenage crowd.
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Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
High school's unwitting, eclectic crowd --
It's snowing tonight, and I think ********* Dad, when Maryland beats Indiana and I move to text him. He's beyond snow now. So what do I do with these unbearable photos he took of me standing alone in the withered sun on monumental trains, I was six or seven, out by the rusting roundhouse in Brunswick? It's been snowing for hours & I carve a footpath out to the unplowed street to watch the shining gray banks under the amber light. There is no route to carve through this silence. My father was made of ghost towns, from Manzanar, from the endless pine-dark of Idaho's rivered night, from all the unmapped places, he grew complete in himself. And even now as I watch the snow slant and stumble I am left behind as his son apart from him and without. The snow dives into the night blankness and I wonder if I had died first, cutting short this reckless careless crooked sprawl, would he be writing here? The smeared gray glow of the screen across his hands, the fat flake snow rising like dough beneath the windows?
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Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:20 AM UTC
Snow Threnody
Each contain seven pictures Each drawn and quartered Third easel'd and painted The fourth merely this world and if you add together the dis continents and containments The Field lies unplowed beyond each square of pavement Black hardwood and rainments Bishoprics and taints Elementary you say, we'll ain't it quaint Four Sevens is enough to turn my year ago Enough is how much they say can fill up just one Drawer well add pluralities of empathy and subtract my ego thats hurting for wealth and you'd have some Thing like an object which could represent Well Health is just environments inside shelves of disorder They rarely start me in winter fold fall back to summer and Spring A gracious step across lilypads Strafe not for air covers ground patrols sweep Submariners are the only kind I know not who they are these Cheats I take for honest Honest men I could count on my middle finger Me and you Two Well One is just a Drawer On a cabinet Which I no longer own and it contains the air inside it and whatever you put in it Well I own that too.
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Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
Seven Drawers
A pity that your city couldn't find it in the budget to prop up another "civic win!" 'Cuz the clinic closed its doors at 6 p.m.                    for the final time. When you're wearing out your shoes on their unplowed streets in the Winter, while they cheer the college football team, will the ledger sport the error margin for relief?         Or will your hole-filled coat suffice?                            Goodnight...                              It's so hard to say                if we could script out any other play.                           The blocking's down.                            It's so hard to know,                      when your prescription's low,                           what you're gonna do--                     or where you're gonna go now. The new athletic center on the campus gleams, a glass-and-money beacon. They slashed faculty. Rent is climbing ladders with the cost of heat                    all the God **** time. Your eye's on midnight pleasure at the liquor store. That snowy route will wind you by the nice wine bar, and then past the clinic's closed and boarded doors,                    under buzzing lights. You see him through a window sipping fine, dry whites. His vote to cut off funding drew his party's line. His lips are sketching praises for the team's O-line.             That's a city councilman's night.                           Good times...                              It's so hard to say                if we could script out any other play.                           The blocking's down.                            Will the curtain fall,                      when cooler nights turn cold?                            What you gonna do?--                           What you gonna do now?
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Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
Civic Wins
A pity that your city couldn't find it in the budget to prop up another "civic win!" 'Cuz the clinic closed its doors at 6 p.m.                    for the final time. When you're wearing out your shoes on their unplowed streets in the Winter, while they cheer the college football team, will the ledger sport the error margin for relief?         Or will your hole-filled coat suffice?                            Goodnight...                              It's so hard to say                if we could script out any other play.                           The blocking's down.                            It's so hard to know,                      when your prescription's low,                           what you're gonna do--                     or where you're gonna go now. The new athletic center on the campus gleams, a glass-and-money beacon. They slashed faculty. Rent is climbing ladders with the cost of heat                    all the God **** time. Your eye's on midnight pleasure at the liquor store. That snowy route will wind you by the nice wine bar, and then past the clinic's closed and boarded doors,                    under buzzing lights. You see him through a window sipping fine, dry whites. His vote to cut off funding drew his party's line. His lips are sketching praises for the team's O-line.             That's a city councilman's night.                           Good times...                              It's so hard to say                if we could script out any other play.                           The blocking's down.                            Will the curtain fall,                      when cooler nights turn cold?                            What you gonna do?--                           What you gonna do now?
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36
In the beginning there were three seemingly undeniable Truths ****** upon me subtly at first, as a cautious lover may approach his lady's thighs with tender fingertips and a darting tongue. As years progressed and Time brought the growing tide of self-will upon me unexpected and outrageously violent this Trinity became a mantra that surely the Saints must have suffered for as they in their wisdom created for those poor souls such as I who knew that one day a reckoning would indeed arrive. Recited by rote: I believe in the Unholy Trinity and the immutable facts imbued therin that there can be no Love without Pain and to believe otherwise is folly that said Love will only ever be a laughable farce unless it be bought with power and fame and money and that the Life one lives should be one way and the path laid down by one's forebears is indeed the way it should be. And then somebody welcomed me into painted arms with no terms lacking expectations of anything other than simple love affection and respect meeting halfway and behaving like a human being no need for nice cars and glossy trinkets and finding my withered hope a beautiful thing worth rejuvenating. She found my heart a field lain fallow for years unplowed and untended left to wither and return to the desert wastes from whence it was born. But now..... the rains have come.
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Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
The Unholy Trinity
Walking an uneven road, carrying a heavy load. With no place for repose- or spot to unload. My mind writes an ode to open spaces and rain. For seeds, we haven't sowed, and links of time like chains. Feet planted in soil, l left unplowed. the earth beneath us, rough, rugged- tears drops fall from thunder-clouds. pouring from- an emptying bucket. Like memories fade away, as metal turns to brownish rust. The past like boulders weighs upon me, reminders of broken trust.
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Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
[ Walking an uneven road, ]
I thought I'd write you a letter It's to tell you goodbye, even though we've never met There are so many things we've shared You've written about all of them, how could you forget? Prosaic gravity pulled us together You know you felt it, but to which lonely globe have you fallen? The air is not the way you remembered But what you learned to breathe, was the awakening pollen I want you to know how I will leave you Your heart will be half what it was, but I will only take the backside You thought *** was a gift I wanted So why did I paint black walls black again when I was on the inside? You can’t answer that question my love You felt less than a woman but that was because I was less than a man The mistake was your beauty If you had only spoken first seduction would not have been my plan The pilgrimage you made drove you mad You reveal your sickness because you are consumed with passion You cannot avoid me my love You have to give me everything so that you can be full of reason I made love to you in the ocean Everyone could see us but there was nothing we could do I wanted to terrify you with exhibitionism But instead it's me who has to live with the salt burned residue Tell me now that you hate me I know you do, but remember I only took the wall that is shadowed You feel as if you cannot give again But he will see the façade I left and believe the field is unplowed Never ask me why I am the way I am You could never explain yourself to me even though you tried Both of us would rather write about it Than say things with eyes that will only feel like somebody lied
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Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
A Letter For Never Be
I thought I'd write you a letter It's to tell you goodbye, even though we've never met There are so many things we've shared You've written about all of them, how could you forget? Prosaic gravity pulled us together You know you felt it, but to which lonely globe have you fallen? The air is not the way you remembered But what you learned to breathe, was the awakening pollen I want you to know how I will leave you Your heart will be half what it was, but I will only take the backside You thought *** was a gift I wanted So why did I paint black walls black again when I was on the inside? You can’t answer that question my love You felt less than a woman but that was because I was less than a man The mistake was your beauty If you had only spoken first seduction would not have been my plan The pilgrimage you made drove you mad You reveal your sickness because you are consumed with passion You cannot avoid me my love You have to give me everything so that you can be full of reason I made love to you in the ocean Everyone could see us but there was nothing we could do I wanted to terrify you with exhibitionism But instead it's me who has to live with the salt burned residue Tell me now that you hate me I know you do, but remember I only took the wall that is shadowed You feel as if you cannot give again But he will see the façade I left and believe the field is unplowed Never ask me why I am the way I am You could never explain yourself to me even though you tried Both of us would rather write about it Than say things with eyes that will only feel like somebody lied
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32
I woke underneath the blind illumination Where the dazzling stars sleeps behind the clouds The wide flashes of light draws the sight But left the strata-cumulus unplowed The gaze changes as the sky rolls above me All I could see is the embracing darkness' existence Like a lover's ballad of delight and tranquility Where light and dark shatters the boundary of divergence The fading mist above disentangle When the dawn blooms at the horizon The lanterns of the village starts to illuminate That's when I realize that the stars are kept in every person The starry night is seen in every eye Don't keep it hidden, illuminate the sky
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Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
"Starless Night Sky"