"untwining" poems
As the beer somehow kept spilling
over the edge of the ping-pong table—
as its cascading luxury of foam
called to mind, for some reason, ruins
of imaginary Babylonian gardens
and the girls began to unravel with the night,
besotted with spume, gradually untwining
their spooled effervescence—
as our volume rose, and our thoughts clacked
against our teeth, the laughter silly—
as we unhooked ourselves for a time
from the existences we ourselves had stressed,
kneading them—and I smelled euphoria—
I, half-drunk off something
other than beer, turned to my friend and let out:
but what do you say to the doomed?
Teeth clacking.
His eyes heavy at me for having wrenched
at this. His eyes fading behind a film of alcohol.
His eyes silent.
Then his cup to the air, firm, salute-poised.
Then his cup to his mouth, quick chug
amid clamor of enclosed mirth—small,
clanging against walls, girls’ skirts—
as if you could only salute, then wash down
the aftertaste
with imaginary Babylonian gardens.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 8:20 AM UTC
I, too, have seen the darkest dark, shining
Iridescent like a raven’s feather
In the sun. I have felt the untwining
Of my mind, stormwracked by psychic weather,
And I have tried to laugh it all away
Faking that I’m keeping it together.
So often the ones we thought were OK
The ones who helped us laugh and sing and drink . . .
So often the one thing they needed to say
Never got said or got said with a wink.
Listen closely. Watch closely. It is there:
A welling tear can be erased with a blink.
I blink, you blink, we all blink; what’s more rare
Is the unblinking gaze on both foul and fair.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
Along a trickling stream,
there's a hushed whereabouts
she likes to routinely gather
her thoughts from, before
assigning her task
to bathing amongst
the shadows.
Today's reflections vastly
withdrew, untwining
such musings,
as a playful breeze
whispered unto her
of an unbeknownst admirer's
dedication.
And so avidly fixed it was
upon the arched swell of
her lower back,
she quite shivered.
But be it a pleasurable fear,
she allowed him such liberties,
and stepped into the light.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
If I have to get over you..
I have too forget about you.
And...
Our smiles.
Our laughs.
And...
Our tears.
Our fears.
But that's what I have too do...
Just to forget about you...
But I can't.
No matter how much pain and regret I have.
I am still in this untwining bind.
The string attached, the chains holding me down.
Your a big part of who I am.
In the present and hopefully my future.
Your the fog in my eyes, the sight I have.
My heart was pure, but your welcoming blackness took over.
Your the voice in my mind, controlling what I think.
Just know I'm on my brink.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
Hell is not
Fire and brimstone
Frozen
Or sheeted in ice
No,
Hell is
The hollow pain
Inside your stomach
From days spent staring at the walls
It is the panic
That sits on your chest
Crushing your sternum
Under the weight of his absence
The ache
In the marrow
Of your spine
As you wake to face
Another Mountain
Another Monster
Another Day
The terror of forgetting
How all his corners and edges
Feel beneath your finger tips
Or how the constellations
Glittered in the cerulean night
Of his eye
Hell is
The fear that
All the threads holding you together
Woven like tapestry
Will fray
And fall apart
The thought
Of your souls untwining
Pulled and picked apart
By time
Distance
And silence
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
there is no good in goodbyes,
nor the rendition of the universe in who comes and goes,
when the lights have dimmed and I close my eyes,
I venture a seemingly lonely path when the cold wind blows,
there are no memories easily disposed,
from a soul who made me love my own,
for whom now may be the subject of my prose.
we savored the view of the sunrise,
and as the sun sets to dripping polychromatic skies,
I realized my soul was tethered with yours,
filled with a beautiful, dangerous, and impeccable force,
when words so widely known fail to express,
music and poetry were our language,
philosophizing life, death and even happiness
we begin to venture the chaos of our minds like a sage.
when the old wounds are pressed down to reopen,
and apologies begin to slice like a knife,
a sweet misery for an aching soul to resort to a pen,
weeping for time to heal what reason cannot.
the sunset is over, and as the darkness engulf us
I quietly cry and smile, our hands untwining
with such understanding that maybe this too, would pass
but how do we know when goodbyes become a new beginning?
IA
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 4:07 AM UTC