"unsticks" poems - Hello Poetry

in the clay *** by the window the arthritic orchid unsticks its tongue and with fat-knuckled roots pokes the dust for water the crayon sun emerges from the clouds and draws the water from the garden

0

Mar 24, 2015

Mar 24, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC

rosemary4

orchid

in the clay *** by the window the arthritic orchid unsticks its tongue and with fat-knuckled roots pokes the dust for water the crayon sun emerges from the clouds and draws the water from the garden

7

she seems like a saint in my dark moments as she graces me with her gentle smile because her nomadic heart came to rest for a butterfly's moment within my grasp and with noble intent i heart and soul to her attentions so she unsticks my head with her own road of good intentions she is tender in my wilderness placing small acts of cataclysm in my path to dislodge my mud filled head and with her devices nailed to my mind it is easier to think so i think so with her delighted mind she tinkers with my comfort zone trying to find the greasy spoon that i eat my metaphysical meals with leaves me hungry for words when it comes time to put pen to paper my head full of mud grapple with the notions of her divinity but the weight of thinking too much keeps me from doing freestyle take to wing so it is me that must unstick from her influences and her rubber band heart that keeps bouncing back

0

Oct 6, 2014

Oct 6, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC

mark-john-junor-1

her delighted mind

she seems like a saint in my dark moments as she graces me with her gentle smile because her nomadic heart came to rest for a butterfly's moment within my grasp and with noble intent i heart and soul to her attentions so she unsticks my head with her own road of good intentions she is tender in my wilderness placing small acts of cataclysm in my path to dislodge my mud filled head and with her devices nailed to my mind it is easier to think so i think so with her delighted mind she tinkers with my comfort zone trying to find the greasy spoon that i eat my metaphysical meals with leaves me hungry for words when it comes time to put pen to paper my head full of mud grapple with the notions of her divinity but the weight of thinking too much keeps me from doing freestyle take to wing so it is me that must unstick from her influences and her rubber band heart that keeps bouncing back

26

what wild dreams do you have as you sleep away the days til rain comes again and unsticks the glue around your door whilst you are curled up inside your nautilus door closed to the world do you dream of lettuce leafy and green, or puddles and wet grass that tickles your foot what do you dream all tucked up, tight with eyes retracted and stomach slim. what are the dreams of the small snail as he awaits, the rains

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Jun 17, 2017

Jun 17, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC

betterdays

dreams of the small snail

what wild dreams do you have as you sleep away the days til rain comes again and unsticks the glue around your door whilst you are curled up inside your nautilus door closed to the world do you dream of lettuce leafy and green, or puddles and wet grass that tickles your foot what do you dream all tucked up, tight with eyes retracted and stomach slim. what are the dreams of the small snail as he awaits, the rains

20

there's mud on the front steps the pools in other people's houses always seem much cleaner than yours to you when you dip your toes into the chlorine water you think that only the extremely lucky can be devoid of dirt the thought lurches away from you with each tide your body makes and you forget what you're really arguing about in the first place like a band-aid that unsticks when you're not looking leaving an exposed scab and an embarrassing gravity when you think of whoever will find it next when driving through houses that all look alike and the expanse is nothing but dry look-alike lawns in the middle of lush trees you can imagine if you really try that at the end of one of those roads it will eventually lead you to the beginning of the ocean you admire so much the gravel road kissing sand for miles until you can feel the salty breeze lick your eyes and once again nothing can hurt you and once again you're pure in your actions

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Jul 19, 2019

Jul 19, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC

nosebleedbaby

seaweed in the swimming pools

there's mud on the front steps the pools in other people's houses always seem much cleaner than yours to you when you dip your toes into the chlorine water you think that only the extremely lucky can be devoid of dirt the thought lurches away from you with each tide your body makes and you forget what you're really arguing about in the first place like a band-aid that unsticks when you're not looking leaving an exposed scab and an embarrassing gravity when you think of whoever will find it next when driving through houses that all look alike and the expanse is nothing but dry look-alike lawns in the middle of lush trees you can imagine if you really try that at the end of one of those roads it will eventually lead you to the beginning of the ocean you admire so much the gravel road kissing sand for miles until you can feel the salty breeze lick your eyes and once again nothing can hurt you and once again you're pure in your actions

12

Stopped moving, final twitches - ****** dry - Colorless - Eyes still open, tongue hanging free - "Dead as a dog" - just cold. No I don't want to linger on the cliche of death But I still wonder how the life ebbs away, silently How it unsticks itself How the limbs, once stiff with life Resign into the shadows With that final sigh.

0

Jan 15, 2016

Jan 15, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC

kjoy

funeral tunes

Stopped moving, final twitches - ****** dry - Colorless - Eyes still open, tongue hanging free - "Dead as a dog" - just cold. No I don't want to linger on the cliche of death But I still wonder how the life ebbs away, silently How it unsticks itself How the limbs, once stiff with life Resign into the shadows With that final sigh.

12