"unpracticed" poems
[new moon]
Moon girl is breath and curve. She catches light and throws it back to the universe. You see her and tremble, falling, as she once must have done from some heavenly place.
[waxing crescent]
Moon girl is wild. You follow her into the forest where she steps barefoot into a stream and takes your hand, water swirling over her feet and hers. She talks about roots and branches and flight. You are in love.
[first quarter]
Moon girl is dancing. Moving her body, dynamic, unpracticed elegance, shaping space, graceful, unafraid of audience, unafraid of pause, unafraid to bend and swish and rise, flying, electric, boundless. She gets everywhere. In your morning tea, clouds, April storms, wrapped in sparkling strung-out melodies, and especially in your head. You dream of waist, skin, movement holding her and warmth, closeness, desire kissing her and your heart burns soft inside your chest, a lantern lit by lunar beams.
[waxing gibbous]
Moon girl gives you violets. You give her your hands, open; your heart, open; your soul, open. You give her everything, or you try.
[full moon]
Moon girl is with you, always, this silver fire here in the filth and blood and terror, head on your shoulder, palm on your skin, speaking to you in ways language cannot, grounding you, saving you, saying your name, holy, lifting you up, repeated tenderness, voice low, eyes deep, glorious, and she is steel, she is iron, she is endless.
[waning gibbous]
Moon girl smiling. Moon girl watching. Moon girl brave. Moon girl rough and sweet. Moon girl creating. Moon girl radiating. Moon girl moving, toward you.
Moon girl.
Moon girl.
Moon girl.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
Before I breathed
A young man held my mother
coaxed her with unpracticed grace
from Irish Catholic garments between
rough sheets that smelled
like carpentry and dirt.
In photographs from back then
we have the same wrinkled eyebrows,
the same reddish beards,
but different creases
kissing the corners of our eyes.
There are canyons in my knuckles
carved out by cold.
Not New Mexico cracks
in too-hot soil,
but staff-lines of the song
New England skin sings—
I cannot deny I was born here.
My father wears gloves now when he works outside
Says he never used to, but
the pain maybe got too much
Too many winters laying palms flat
against elm, ash, sycamore,
feeling for a pulse
counting on his wrist,
waiting for a murmur, subtle hush
in the rhythm;
telling symptom
of a faulty valve.
I work weekends at a veterinary clinic
and the doctor there does this, too,
though sometimes, being held,
cats purr too loud to listen
and I must reach across the room
and turn the handle on the faucet;
Most cats fear water.
Well Father, I cannot drink from the soil
and I do not always land on my feet
But father, listen to my heartbeat
Put your hand on my chest
and don’t fear as my body
creaks in the wind—
Hear it?
Father
My boughs, my winter-catchers
are thin, but
it is not root-rot, moth, parasite;
I am not felled
like the beard you hacked from your chin
the day you decided to love, to suffer
the rest of your life
with that Irish Catholic girl—
This is merely my first season.
Brush the snow from my shoulders.
Please
comfort me
quietly,
like skin,
cracking:
*“My son
my sapling
you’ll grow.”*
Walker Staples 15 March 2013
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Difficult for unpracticed hands
Valuing it, protecting it, nurturing it.
It should have been all that she needed to carry
She felt sure it was there,
In the dark place
Beneath the joy,
Between this breath
And the next laugh.
I see some echo of it there still.
It shows itself in the negative spaces
And desperately needs the light and air.
She thinks it small and cheap, and well-covered
Beneath the bite of a vinegar voice
In the folds of a silken smile
Muffled by the thick wool of persona.
She keeps her arms folded
Her irises blank.
Idly pulling loosened threads,
And tunes the prototype.
Sometimes there is the terror
Of cutting isolation
Of an icy apartness
In a dense and moving crowd
Of friends and cohorts.
Once she tried to let it free.
Arms spread wide in the street.
Ready to give that gift to herself
From deep within the erected façade
Amid the mass of anonymous humanity,
Amid the ********** legs and cab-hailing arms.
Later, a mirror brings a cold draft
Chilled by the empty spaces.
And then a fear,
Not knowing where it was anymore.
Hidden too deeply?
Lost along the path?
Maybe it was never given to her at all.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
i am cracked ribs when it's
raining and the road
is slick
with car oil-
car crashes.
stinking rubble,
the bottle of oxycontin
that rests by your bed,
cold dead feet motionless in the morgue.
i am the graceless stroke of a violin
in unpracticed hands,
the rip rip ripping of a dress
torn off,
the chill in winter breath.
you are the sun that found me
fixable,
not hopeless
or yellow addiction.
you were the cast that healed my broken
bones
piecing back together my
fragmented whole.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
We all derive from the same paper
that which is forcefully folded,
patiently pressed and
carefully creased.
We all speak through the same pen
that wishes for stencils,
grimacing at unpracticed,
crooked lines.
We all take action with the same scissors,
cutting away from the whole
to create paper people
holding hands.
We all are constructed in the same accordion,
snipping away the background
that falls like snowflakes
to create identity.
We all fear severing the same sections
that conjoin one being to another,
waiting with knives in our hands,
anticipating to cut.
We all fall from the separation,
slicing the connections that bind us,
sacrificing our grip
that suspends us in safety.
We all meet at the bottom
of the same paper shredder,
lost in the screams of its blades,
obsessing ourselves to be
broken pieces of an individual,
but forgetting that we paper people
once all derived from the same paper.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
a light burns hot--the spark of inspiration.
your questions asked are fearful answers spurned.
to soar on ink-drawn wings of another's pen
dares more boldly desire to soar again.
*yet desire wings of one's own
might spell trouble*
Truth mined in the caverns of harsh experience
refined by trying, failing and daily dying--
Life and art are earned only by such actions.
Hard-won is your credit, blood-purchased your praise.
what light does a fresh candle bring to a roaring fire?
scribbles in margins make meager explanation of
stumbling hesitation to be ignited by raw, reckless stanzas...
so forgive the trifling of my unpracticed pen,
and accept what you can of this gratitude
for a spark passed from pen to pen.
if silence resurfaces understand--
your word simply struck too deep.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
To a manner unpracticed I thoughtfully drift,
preparing the actions in which such hope might exist.
And though hopelessly broken, I cannot refrain
an intent that has woken: a refrain of disdain.
These shames be postponed while the outcomes could be,
lest the speaker alone should condone prophecy.
Other factors removed, in truth I'd concede;
for the evidence proves that I cannot succeed!
But in spite of the actor, hope must persist
though external factors and the chances of risk.
-Elicit reaction by means that are blind-
so that a manner unpracticed becomes a manner defined
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
I stare
at this screen as if unpracticed
Though my reaction anything but masked
So naive we can be to feelings abstract
I see
You lack clarity to recognize beneath you
As if you really see, truly view
What it is I so badly wish to say, hope to do
Of all that surrounds, subjects, and subdues
I fall
Forward into the plot of despair
Who will hear me, who will care
But then I recall of one passively there
I shudder
To think of what you would say now
Watching you breathless, wanting for air
Made my own lungs hostile, for how unfair
That which I craved, you had to bear
I know
The cancer was quick, it took you well
I really was not sure how to tell
You
Now there's no chance, no choice
Oh, how I miss your beautiful voice
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
At the peak of the broken unspoken she broke
Her voice carried so all could be merry
But when they heard the shrill of the unpracticed
Tablets broke for the sacred word was turned to ****
Love is the melody that rings but has no sound
It lingers on cracked lips and is already dead
Art is dead
We are dead and argue with but instead
Listen to the way the window opens around 4am
There is more pleasure in that sound
Then the pounds and pounds and pounds
Of steaming green grass shat out by the fairest bovine
Voices were once considered a sacred thing
From GOD they say
Now they line the walls with different tones
Like a far away village worshipping ancient bones
Compulsion to spread is human behavior
A feature that should have been extracted long ago
Soon the rats will have to pack up their yoga mats
And the bears to diminish their wears
Up in the dirt the worms talk amongst themselves
"Were alright, right?...we got it all figured out?"
While the corpses who were buried just yesterday
Flip through the paper but don't have the tongues to say
With care we will open the gates of fiery hell
With care we will glimpse into the pupils of eternity
With care we will **** our way into death
With care we will discover what love is all over again
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 9:15 AM UTC
Hologram (translated)
Wary and full of hunger, we lie
the rumor of Love
with such haste
for physicality,
the urgency to embrace
blurs our faces
Reluctantly, we find
there is truth in tenderness.
But like former convicts
unpracticed in honesty,
we let it slip between the bars
of doubt
We’re not living we just
flutter
and hope to touch something real.
Hologram (origineel)
Vol van leegte liegen we
het gerucht van liefde
met zo’n smacht
naar tastbaarheid,
gezichten vervaagd
door de haast
om te omhelzen
Doch aarzelend wanneer
dichtbij, de tederheid
glipt voorbij
aan deze voormalige gevangenen,
ongeoefend in eerlijkheid
tussen tralies van twijfel
Wij leven niet, wij zweven
en hopen
iets echts aan te raken
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
You stroke your violin
And tickle your guitar
Your hands glide over the piano
And bang on the drums
Such talented hands
Accompanied by that beautiful voice
Your eyes promise life
But your actions tell the truth
Intimate whispers
Unpracticed lies
The fall of a great
The heartbreak of a minor
Life by your design
Music came first
The baring of a soul
In every verse
My lips mouth the lyrics
But I trip over the lines
The chorus picks up
And I can't follow along
I take a breath
And the music changes
A song I've never heard
The rift strikes hard
I'm being left behind
I never have a chance,
Did I?
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
Bonded by love
Separated by greed and jealousy
I've seen families and friends fall apart
because of money
Empathy, sympathy, compassion, understanding, they've all gone missing
No wonder there's so much disunity
All we need is genuine love
I'm aware that statement is a cliché
Overused but not actively practiced
I say, true love is the way
Only if we would translate it from saying into doing.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 9:35 AM UTC
Moon girl
I catch light and throw it back to the universe trembling; falling
as I once did now 17 years ago
Energy within my core...I am filled with unpracticed elegance, a girl unafraid of pause
Unafraid to bend and to rise
My mind is restless, flying, soaring above the clouds
My hair gleams of silver
My heart of filth, blood, and terror
I radiate passion: eyes a deep glorious boundless void
Moon girl
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 12:02 PM UTC
Preacher
give me
a practical
parable,
a pleasant metaphor
for
something deep
and meaningful.
Preacher
pass on
some wild
wisdom
that I was
sadly lacking,
please go on
unpacking
with unpracticed ease
whatever lie
you please
wrapped up
in your
bibleleese
bubbling
********
I know you’re
very content
with it.
So, preach away,
but do not
expect me
to swallow it.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
You are the reason why
I lie awake at night.
You're the reason why
I stare at a plate
Knowing I shouldn’t have taken so much—
Knowing half if not more will go to waste.
You are the reason why I'd rather watch movies
Or play videogames
Than do homework or practice piano
So that I show up to school empty-handed—
So that I show up to lesson and have to learn a piece there unpracticed.
I'm so tired of you
You have ruined my life.
No one would miss you, would they?
If you misteriously dissapeared—
If I slit your thoughts out of your head,
And stabbed your future to death.
I can’t wait until I get the courage—
Can’t wait to feel your last breath leave your chest
Because im tired of living with you.
I'll bet you figured it out, havent you?
That you are the one to which I write,
But you haven't figured it out.
You think you'll claim this note as your own—
Let it sit upon your bookshelf,
When, in fact, the “you” to which I write
Is none other than myself.
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
They're so obvious
In their want and desire
Hands itching to *****
And lips longing to kiss
It's unabashed and blunt
Greedy eyes staring
Down your shirt
And you say to yourself
"it's me they want"
Boy after boy
Ad you feel your skin
Become loose
And your hips jutting out
And your smile turn into a smirk
Because they can say
"you're not a *****
But in their eyes you can see
That word printed
Into their corneas
And pupils
And you know.
Ÿöü know you are a *****
But so wasted and spent,
You give up,
And let the next boy
With unpracticed hands
And sloppy kisses
Have you.
It's only after that you
Can even feel like crying.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Something, Someone;
Worthwhile, Special
Above all undeserved
of negative intent, thought...
Action... Had not wanted;
To hurt, to be assaulted.
I was relearning then
No simple task, a decision
I wanted, oh I did so dangerously.
Capablity in means of measure,
Fell short, too little, too inconsistent.
So much,.. All there was to give.
I was unpracticed, crude
I had not wanted whats become
Torn apart, insulted, in pieces
For fear of worse I go
With regretful heavy heart
It is for the best
Had not wanted for you
But for you to be happy
Be happy love,
Please know...
I never meant to hurt
or cause you harm.
I really did love you.
You should too.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
In the proud of the night
(well past the community allowance of social mirth)
curfew has been ignored on mass
The town is flooded with its near full population
on the streets
A tension
Intelligence is lost in the mob formation
all tender that something is frowning
that a ‘big thing’ is about to happen
How do you speak out in this field ?
Town Cryer
An old fashioned post but still held
Professional,
he strikes out a pound against the atmosphere
Might I hold your attention Good People
Gods People may I bend your ear ?
Upon my authority
Mark my words
And
As Goodly subjects of our fare town
I ask that you return to your abodes
Account for your household
Barrier your threshold
Tend a warm hearth
And wait out this night
Praying as family
As unit bond
And union under Gods kind eye
The Cryer has given direction
Repeating to all the gatherings he comes upon
By his office he has told them to swear off
The public move
Infected by the nights vibration
Addled and inflamed
Disperse
Crowds coward together
And relax apart
Walking foal, new to footfall
Unsecured
Sparks in the dark
Unguided and untested
Weapons into the criminal night
New spawned characters
Fused
Laughing giddiots,
scolders,
prancers
Diners, not surgeons
Fledded on venoms
Sense riders
As their individual monsters grow they distance one another
They pepper
Repeating the town
Strays of mess opportunity
Few go straight home
A remattered night is made place
An unpracticed costume horror
No dress rehearsal here !
A remattered night is made
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
Shadow walker
Follow me into the light
The world will know
Your name - strong
Your suffering - silent
And the boulder
Blocking away your soul
Will crumble under the weight of the moon
Shadow walker
I understand life
In the depths of everyone's glory
Drowning in your unclaimed gold
And the tears of a silent voice
Life's talent perched on your tongue
Shadow walker
Come closer, I'll listen
Your lifesong is beauty
Cracking from unpracticed lips
Mouth dry from unuse
Shadow walker
I've lived in the dark
Take my hand
I'll be your guide.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC
Khepera rose from her couch of snow—lonely woe washing over her like a persistent crow.
as the night struck her face with its gleaming light.
she tied her hair and walked into the night, smiling at strangers with reluctant delight. walking upon the bumpy path—her thoughts mislaid, lost within the loudness of the parade, her eyes roaming the leering unfamiliar eyes
—
Khonsu sat in the back of his cold sedan. curses hurled from his father like a shattered romance. the night sky laid gentle comfort along his skin—a silence soft where screams had been.
Khonsu treaded down the crowded lane, his cold fingers clutching at his blouse like hushed whispers of pain—his thoughts casted about, his gaze sondering upon people.
Within the crowd—their eyes both knew, a silent connection as if a secret rendezvous.
Khepera’s gaze softened as her steps slowed, sighed softy and smiled with a gentle familiarity—hands sewed together as both of their smiles growed
Khonsu tensely brushed Khepera’s autumn draped hair away from her pale moonlit cheek, and with unpracticed ease—laying a kiss as holy as mary onto her cheek.
Khepera smiled and in silent victory—reached up her jittery hand to cradle his cheek of rose kissed ivory, her lips inching closer, laying a kiss onto his cheek. “You have my heart” she whispered.
“you have all of me.”
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
Warm shadows, forgotten names, a torn and tired journal stands for all to see within the flames.
Whispers from the past.
Light dances on the sea.
Wisps of the future.
What we're born to be.
The lights will draw you in.
Love will mend your heart.
It bursts, the dawn of day.
All of it, faded memory within the start.
Id like for you to stay.
Golden river beneath the sun.
Moon submerged, the days tend to run...
These days.
These days for you and I, our fingers pricked by brush and lovely roses for our eyes.
Smelt it, your nose did.
Slipped beneath the hush hush tide of yesterdays home miss...
Once I had a home of stone. Ask it to be bold if...
So alone in yesterdays home this...
Brick by brick our love was sown.
The puzzle pieces sing for peace in the melody of the past and lovely roses.
We grind it up from stone to sand and feel it, just as our toes did.
We waste our halos on instrumental ears and chase away the cold along with the fears of yesterdays run.
Sub Mental fun.
Our peers are plain, beneath the tide, beneath the sun, i try and write in the brightest way.
And yet delicious treats line their way back to the shore. The shire falls. Wisps of the future drinking on the past.
Watch us soar.
These halls of greats.
I prefer whisky to wine made of grapes and yet a man of god would fast and then would ride on his high horse fast like he were the last man special inside.
So special is a snowflake in the devils eyes for he lives in the heat.
No surprise.
I take the leaps without looking.
No sunrise.
To defeat the light and he's all alone, rookie.
I'll summarize...
Mr jack and Mr. brown get what they need.
Baby words fall trickle up towards the unknown and unpracticed.
I planted the seed.
Fickle flakes lack this sensation.
Tentative imagination.
This all leads to light sometime.
I find it in my rhymes.
Memories find they are satisfied.
The present gives them peace.
I am not perfect.
I write my mind at least.
I love you.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
A void of black is like a plague, creeping, peering into your mind. Inside that black lies fear. And the fear of unknowing is worst of all. transported to a place unknown. To be thrown into a situation unpracticed, unplanned. Like a rocket taking off my mind is exploding. The creeping and peering is finally here. The people all stare as I step into madness. The shots round ring as I break through the final plane. To nothing. To my mind. To that final place of black. People are staring, and I am screaming. I am freaking, I am tweaking. I am shriveled against the wall. Tightly wrapped, chin tucked. Rocking in a ball. Eyes closed inside all I see is black. My skin crawls like an addicts last breath. Up here I feel so close to death. Open and I see all the people gone. All in my head they now reside. I've realized now I'm cold inside. I take one more look outside that glass. I see the stars and planets pass. I realize now there's no return. My rocket now has seemed to burn. I realize now there is no trip back. I close my eyes one final time and now that fear it has arrived. For years and years I've feared this day. And now I have one thing to say. Calm
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC