"unthreatening" poems
not forgetting flames me up
like a foam of whispers
bursts into with laconic daring
over darkened waters
your name hangs unwritten
I rolled over on a rib
but it's useless
how long am I going to ferment you in my armpit
with your fragile ****** smile?
chase me away like the passersby do
with the meaning of travelling
I was not and you were not
you were not in my dying
we were only a laden pool of sunlight
I didn't find any solution
than to behead the days
these thin days unraveled from myself
from the bone of the world peeled of magic
the art of forgetting is for those
who sleep on pillows
such a long, long road
I've been travelling to a destination
obliterated by pain
to this gravitational center, to this place
with no hiding space
only mute seagulls
have seen my screaming
I've cursed myself on pages,
diaries of gory hours
I've cupped myself in belated answers,
dancing tears
more than eyes can meet
while I was forgetting nothing about everything
the world revolved once, twice, a dozen of times
you were learning to dissipate your name
to waste it on the lapel of not yet discovered seas
in the silence of leaves
now I know this calmness,
this tenderness of dying
I could write this unthreatening poem
today, tomorrow
till forever finds some peace
perhaps
some forgetting
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
She calls me for bath time,
it’s Sunday night,
the smell of Vosene won’t wait.
I will not face the cabinet mirror.
A pier slumps, soaks water
into fragile stilts
while a Houdini wannabe escapes
from a chamber in the main hall.
Somewhere there is applause.
She offers to come in and wash my
hair; I decline, swish my voice into splashes.
To her I am small, unthreatening.
There is no need for alarm
but she doesn’t know
that I was already poisoned,
that my handwashed bras
smell of sour milk.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 7:40 AM UTC
Byron loves to golf, but in the dead of winter, when he has his wood stove radiating heat, he likes to play darts. The board hangs on a door separating the main garage from his store heap of empty beer cans, crushed and bagged. Thousands of them. He also has a ****** stuck on a wall. The **** just flows out to the ground. He always warns us not to dump in his ****** The very thought irks me. Like golf, Byron threatens to “kick my *** in darts. He has a predilection for my posterior in the most unthreatening way. In fact, he may be homophobic. He throws a dart like an Amazon pygmy. Fatal to success. However, golf is never far from his mind during the raging snows we get. Although I helped with the spelling and small stuff, Byron penned the following. I came up with the title.
Intimations of Fairway Play
I'd rather hit the links today,
Take an eight on five;
Blame the wind or shift of weight,
Than shovel out my drive.
I'd rather search under trees,
Twigs, leafs and water;
And curse the squirrel that thought my shot
Was food for winter fodder.
I'd rather have a downward lie
On pock-marked naked ground;
Than sit and watch Keegan Bradley
Get it up and down.
I'd rather have a green fringe putt
That lines up with goose droppings;
Or see a fine three footer lip
Than hear the snow plough coming.
I'd rather shoot a ninety-nine,
And pay for rounds of ale;
Than sit in front of my wood stove
During snow and sleet and hail.
I'd rather shank or stub my ****
Yes, get a double bogie;
Or miss a hole-in-one by inches
And put up with Francie's stogie.
Francie can card seventy-two
And make an eagle putt;
It matters little what he does,
I know I'll kick his but.
Yet still I languish near my fire
And watch the Pros play golf;
At Pebble Beach or someplace warm
I wish they'd all **** off.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Seattles finally in heat
Warm dry air wafts up encompassing my skin as
I stride out the library's predicted to be heavy doors that are, unexpectedly light
Just like today
The ants precede out from the woodworks
to soak in their habitat's golden hues ricochet
the earth's existing melodies and harmonic undertones
on the faces of the creatures in our purposely lopsided
Double sphere planet
White incisors shine unthreatening
Why is it they convey predatorial death in addition to undiluted joy?
So much is this way
Making perfect nonsense, just felt and done
I don't think we could help it if we wanted to
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
The wind blows my hair,
blows through my soul,
blows my worries, sorrows and fears for that moment.
I close my eyes and feel tranquil.
It is peaceful the wind, in its own loudness.
The wind gales come and stop abrubtly,
like taking a short nap.
Winds come again like whispers from angels,
air from their wings.
Angels are amongst me,
I cannot see them,
I cannot feel them,
yet I know they are there.
It is my escape to nature.
I open my eyes to the rippling of water.
Pure peace, unthreatening.
Sun shines on the water like stained glass,
dangling crystals over the water.
I feel an inner peace I could not achieve in my own mind.
I am one soul.
A lost soul.
Searching for a place of peace within myself.
If only to feel this peace for eternity I would find my soul.
One of purpose, of meaning, of desire, of true happiness, fullfilment and hope.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
Into the hive of the Hipster - No adults in sight.
I find myself surrounded
By the noise of Babylon;
The youngsters Babel-ing on:
Chirping & bleating & screeching;
Mooing & meowing & barking;
Grunting & neighing & beating chests.
I enjoy the noise of youth -
The vocal gesticulations
Washing over me, unthreatening;
Breaking upon my calm,
Ever-so-mature island of peace.
While the pack brays remorseless,
I let it flow through my ears -
Oblivious and uncaring,
Indifferent. A **** - I-don't-give.
Been there, done that - want/need more.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Evil abound in the dark night air
The watcher is waiting
As you feel its blood thirsty stare
Sweat starts to form
On your brow and your cheek
As fear grabs your voice
So you cannot even speak
Icy fingers of terror
Run down your neck to your back
As you nervously anticipate
The demons vicious attack
Palm to your chest
You feel your heart race
As the blood starts to slowly
Drain from your face
White as if paper
Ashen colored with fright
As you imagine the unbearably
Painful first bite
Fear in your heart
And tears in your eyes
As you try to be brave
And await its surprise
It steps from the shadows
And into full view
The hideous evil
That was waiting for you
With the light you now see
A form and its shape
Wondering what’s in store
And wanting death over ****
But to your relief
Through tearful eyes you now see
It’s not evil or hateful
As you believed it to be
It stands in the light
Unthreatening and at ease
Not wanting to harm
But only to please
The wings on its back
Are now spread wide and of white
That shines with a pleasing
Soft gleaming light
Its features so beautiful
And wondrous to see
Your fear and the terror
Are suddenly set free
For this is not a creature
Of death, evil or hate
But a loving blessed angel
From heavens front gate
In that moment it was clear
All your life you did waste
For fearing the unknown
And judging in haste
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
A hand that is open clings to nothing and no one
And none can tear its grip away as it holds but air,
A hand that is open is unthreatening,
An open hand is peace,
An open hand invites welcome and presence,
An open hand over the heart is a greeting,
Even if that heart
Is breaking
Jul 16, 2022
Jul 16, 2022 at 7:15 PM UTC
Once I was abandoned in a nursing home
Trapped in a failing body
Surrounded by confusion and fear
Living my days
Memories fading
Those around me dying, one by one
Numbly waiting for the end
Once I was lonely and alone on the playground
Each day — excluded, friendless
Acting busy doing nothing
Praying for the bell to call us back to class
Knowing that the teacher, at least
Pretended we were all equal
Once and again, I was beaten, abused
Covering up, making excuses:
Just a bad day. He’s not really like that.
It will get better. Maybe if I try harder.
Stay together for the children.
Until the day it goes too far
Once I was waiting for the train
Feeling powerless, unloved
Certain no one cared
The present unbearable, the future worse
Finding no point in living
The train approaches and I take that final step
Once I lived poor in an undeveloped country
Ignored by an ineffective and corrupt government
Watching disease take my children
Talk of a better life — just so much empty air
Stretching what little food I could get
Beyond hope
Simply existing
Once I didn’t fit someone else’s definition of normal
My hair, my clothes
My sexuality
Unthreatening, but threatened for being different
Brave, but so exposed, so afraid
If it were a choice, I would choose the easier path
I can’t change who I am
Once I was looking for a job, a way out
But opportunities were unavailable
Because of my race, my gender
Those who mistakenly believe
That minorities ‘get all the breaks’
Will never understand
The impossibly tall mountain
That we view from the bottom
Once I was slowly dying
Fading away
Whispers in the hall
My family full of tears, but already moving on
My friends avoiding me — not knowing what to say
Living my remaining days like a ghost
With one word on my lips —
Unfair!
Once I lived on the streets of a large city
Cold, tired, hungry
Sleeping on cardboard, digging through garbage
Not fully sure how I got here
People pass
To them I’m nothing
But I know how small and easy the step is
From their lives
To mine
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC