"unweathered" poems
you are beautiful
i have thought this truth before
many times
while watching you stand in the door
my lovely elvis presley in disguise
memphis has put a sparkle in your eyes
let me have no other! so you can feel my love, unweathered,
it would all be much better if you just--forget her,
the only thing that makes miles distance is fear
so do a little something for your soul, and come on over here
i have sung this song before,
hummed the very same tune
to younger ears a couple years ago
look at me: a mockingbird marionette, fumbling
a millennial juliet reincarnate, crumbling
beneath familial fears and plain lack of years
it's not what it seems!
do not drink the poison!
i will see you on the other side!
i mean, it's just a ride, but
my ears have started to ring from
the sound of going mental
the sting of crashed potential
the forget-you-forget-me riptide
i still see your face, i step inside
i must move on and live my life
but how lovely would it be, to be together?
to cross time, and space
for the intergalactic sparkle of your face
for the pure pleasure of watching
each other make each other
happy
we used to write poems for each other
i have pictured myself there
in the pink atmosphere
floating with you, fellow air sign
for quite some time
i have prepared my body and my mind
for the pull of your gravity
washing over me, my skin, my spine
to let you have me
my atoms would surrender
on every eve
but elvis presley was a thief
and tennessee has nothing for me
i now
admit
defeat
this poem:
obsolete
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
I wish I could fall in love with the boy I see in the mornings
The one who sits in the back of the class
With his fingers resting on his desk
I know his face so much better than the faces I’ve lost over
It is soft and unweathered
Yet to be traded in sinister motives and the mortal conscious
The way he breathes is not overly considered
And it’s easier to convince someone who has the time to listen
…
He is taller than me
With a strong jaw to wave when we talk
A mighty gesture to the glory of the weather
Or politics, some godly small-talk
My face fits between it and his collarbone
The heartbeat is easier to reach
A simplicity that becomes luxury in silence
…
His toes slope in a way I could want for a son
They tap when he sings his ballads
In a voice good enough
He can sit through a symphony without falling asleep
And he nods to acknowledge the history I tell him
With a smile
He smiles at me
In a way that could mean something if I camp under it long enough
…
Perchance we stamp our wedding vows
On a monument to convenience
To legalize curling up in each other’s breathing place
And tolerate the stench of desperation
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
The exterior is thick with humidity,
damp with rain,
and I’ll never experience fever like this again.
My body is being taken
(through the wind of a thousand hurricanes)
to a building with no climate;
I will be my own meteorologist,
forecasting eroded rocks and failures,
and seldom I might discover a window to peer out of.
Squinting,
I could catch the stories –
those of capability, disability, and susceptibility –
my willowed reflection screams.
And, though I will always have my wrinkled palms,
they will never hold the weather.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:02 PM UTC
My Tango Master
His hair was deep, rich,
the black of unweathered basalt,
slick backed, like his look,
an arrogant dare to stare,
eyes directed at newcomers,
intended to make me,
a novice especially aware,
a bon voyage has begun,
now a worshiper, full of faults,
warning that I sought entry
to a temple where admission was a
sworn affidavit promising
total sacrifice of body
The flat contours of his body
disguised a airy litheness that
embraced and made me giddy,
pliant to his methodology,
mastering my psychology,
making the whole of my body breathe,
as if for the first time
No questions asked or allowed,
he bent me, taught me supple,
the surety of the pleasure of
following a leader unreservedly,
my body straight from within,
but the exterior,
a symmetry of curves,
I am,
his precision human tool
His hands grasped me
with utter certainty,
with a petal light touch
and fingertip precision,
directing me to Rio de la Plata,
where his swivel hips
lift this black robed disciple
upon a golden altar where
I have remained, entranced,
a devotee forever more,
enslaved to our one god
Demanding the perfection
that comes only from rigidity,
irony of ironies,
it was a vocabulary of
spontaneity and fluidity
step by step learned,
this contradiction, soon intuitive
With posture *****
he taught the history of seduction,
constructing the tale
each time differently,
creating within me
the ravished need for the
surprise of the unknown,
teased me into obediently
accepting the satisfaction of
joined at the hip ecstasy
With boleos that mesmerized ,
but not a one memorized,
he captivates me,
a tandem for a tanda,
until cortina-released
What is your name?
Tango
he whispers,
his name is in his eyes,
never spoke aloud,
I am your new master,
now come and master me
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
Let me borrow your ear
I need to clear
This up for a minute
By far
Everybody is scarred
But no one wants to hear it
They wanna believe
A spirit can be wise
And pure
Unweathered
When in actuality
You and me
Barely keep it together
I’m a fretter
I’m anxious
Brimmed cup of anxiety
And it took a lot of patience
And mistake
To create me
And I come in different shapes
And colors
A variety
To the point I have to wonder
If I compose society?
Do you feel it
The heartbreak
Due to the overwhelming pressure
A feather
Dancing on an flame
Trying to pull it together
I better be better
Cause a better better is coming
Across my way
And I am less than adequate
A bruised peach
They will not taste
A waste
A want
As we all lay ever starvin’
I’m pulling punches
‘Cause of time crunches
I’m reminiscent of Marvin
In the way
That each day
I wonder exactly what is going on
And something something else
I’m too stressed to remember the song
Dear lover
Dear dreamer
Dear whoever you are
Love beyond the frayed bonds
And see all of us
Scarred
I hope you love with love to spare
And that you spare some for me
Stop looking to be perfect
Because you’ll be very
Very
Very
Lonely
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 10:50 AM UTC
I've been living as a flame without oxygen, warmth and fury underneath the skin without a means to breathe.
Attached to that which gives me life,
or at least the illusion of it.
Fire needs fuel
A spark remains
This world is cruel.
Oh please explain
Why do I feel my spirit growing weaker every day?
The energy from within is not what it used to be,
and I am the only one to blame.
Relying on fleeting sustenance
while the true hunger
wears and tears
my cares and prayers
making me think I'm beyond repair.
I've been searching for nourishment in all the wrong places,
while my soul accepts defeat
and my embers all deplete.
Yet...
that voice has never silenced.
*"It's not too late to change.
It's never too late to change.
Stop your life and rearrange,
the puzzle of existence that seems so concrete."*
If my essence is fire,
then let it become
Unbound.
Untethered.
Expound.
Unweathered.
Give me strength to burn away the artificial reality I have created;
become a creature beyond reason.
A dying phoenix on a path to be reborn.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
It is there,
Under the splendid sun unweathered,
The moon lights Kindle and rekindle,
Under the stars stuck in repentance,
Unlike their perpetuality,
It is there,
The urge to redraw myself,
Into the reflection of others perfection,
To be spun in accordance to what lies,
behind those shallow eyes,
My complexity beyond compare,
Not sincere,
Am I the art or the painter?
Because I destroy myself so beautifully,
A symphony sung and unsung all at once,
Broken cords that heal themselves whole.
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 12:28 PM UTC
Somewhere deep
inside the
unfading black
of the universe
I know that
hope exists
inside a flower
that is
not afraid
to bloom
and where
conviction
hides,
where she sleeps,
unweathered by
her
loss
and by
her pain
you survive
in a rose
as warm
as every
high winter
sun
and every
flooding
shadow.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
It’s nice to seek
In low spaces
Unbothered by others
And hide in high places
Unweathered
What do you think?
It does not matter
For I’m happy right here
Away from today
Crossing chasms
Into fields once resided
I could hear the giggling
From our childhood
I let go of her hand
Against the brisk wind
It was then she said
"You will never leave"
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC
Oh what song
The love bird sings
Who woos the bird
Under its wings
Showing his colors
Gets the right answer
The look in her eyes
Loving and tender
His crown unweathered
And beautifully feathered
A stem in his beak
The future is not bleak
Become one together,
Together forever
JM 10/3/16
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC
this was meant to be a minute,
but then i began to spin it
and the words just took a hold,
so bold so bright
thrown like torches
into the indigo night
casting shadows on the back of
the retreating blocked,
blockhead blight,
setting grass and tree alight,
loosing now the tight hold
of poetblock fear
loosening the reins of rage
making the transition
into the feathered thing
that takes flight
and flys upward
on mirrored wing
to the sky,
not tethered
but also raw
and unweathered
unlimited by time,
but destined to fall
as energy becomes
one with all,
did not touch moon ,
did not see the sun
but this minutě wordmoth
soared and swooped
before it's minute was done
And now it flutters
down to earth,
saited and pleased
to have been..
birthed, never to die
but become byte eternal,
read once twice or more..
does not matter
wordmoths
have learnt
never
try to keep score
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
I miss familiarity;
soft skin pulled over
cheekbones,
red lips poised to speak.
What came out of the mouth
changed as do the seasons.
Summer got the worst
of me, it seems;
angry words at best.
I extend my wrist now
in this blustery fall
to a fresh face,
hoping it will lead me
to unweathered bliss.
Winter will come
as the beginning
of something new.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
Sundown after the charcoal town
We've been burning since December
I remember when you and I danced on Ice
Such a sacrifice we held together
Unweathered and untethered
Pleasured and unmeasured
You held me over your shoulders
The weight was so heavy,
And we still never sank under
What a dance
I still remember
Two bright stars over frozen layers of water
....
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC