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"upheave" poems
We spread our blanket on uneven ground, bodies embracing in descent,                                They lay on the boxcar floor,                         fingers twisted, clutching slats. Transfixed by the spell of evening, limbs entwined, interlaced,                         Barbed wire punctured palms                         faces creased as in old photographs. We stretched in dawn’s light, poured coffee out of cups, and left as it merged with the dust.                          Bones upheave ground                          unsheathed fingers                            clotted with soil. Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
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Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
PICNIC IN A FORGOTTEN CLEARING
to love it is the me to care for lips seriously fragile. the for me to leap strenuously knowing and dance amongst unknowing the towering cadence, my heart. to the for me (love) the sturdily upheave the slowly clamoring of soil, and march widely the span, my kiss, through closing and meet with your kiss, the legion, my soul; (a parting of silence. a fiercely innocent foal)
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Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
Untitled
swollen cheeks and bellies dancing with the succulent satisfaction of being filled. but i am empty. my palms desolate deserts searching for the source of energy to quell my wandering soul. yearning for deeper connections and a sink to upheave the dry heaves of lonely nothings.
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Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
speculations of a lonesome atom
Hold her tight Sing her to sleep Play with her hair Love her deep She's built a castle made of books around everything she loves Hoping that no one can disarm her and dismantle everything she keeps, Close to her heart. She sings lullabies of a broken heart The words she keeps no longer form, A cohesive sentence that could help set her free. She's on her own again, With demons that hug her to sleep You've lost a diamond, In search for sheep This is what it has come up to; Always neglecting those that want us for keeps and Going after everyone who has agendas, That aren't so clear We're tortured in the process of hazy love, Unclear and untrue, Unwilling, unmoved Hold her tight Sing her to sleep Make sure, you give her lots of love, Lots she can keep Let her know, That being too much was never a curse, But a blessing in disguise and one you aim to upheave
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Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
Castle Made of Books
I had a moment yesterday where I had something to say to you. But you can never know. So I came up with this concept to keep in mind, keep to yourself if you want to get to know me not gonna mention date me, love me I have a list of don't you dares. Don't bother telling me your favorite bands   I can't even learn of new music from you I need to be able to listen to good music after you're gone. We won't have our song. Don't tell me what you like to eat in fact, tell me what you can't stand it will be hard enough eating at all when you leave I'll need to enjoy something I know would be Wasted on you Like I do I don't need to know what you smell like You don't need to come to my place Because then when you leave I won't have to upheave All my stuff that you left with your trace Let's never go to the same spots We don't need our own special place It's hard enough to get out on my own Without memories tied to your claims Please don't ever give me anything Material items at least Because I only have myself to give away And I've already been picking up the pieces For hours, and ours.
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May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 5:32 AM UTC
Ours.
a few words to knock my mandible loose I set it back into place; she can be sure my ears are ripe to listen her nails grew in her rearing days clamantly clawing 'til quiet is connate to me condign, burke a silent sting spoil, spoil, spoil spare the rod save a disparate word and you turn to strike the wind from me with it snag my heart on something keen rip it from my filthy sleeve cosset my mother when she cries bleed my wounds to quell her whine I could never spill enough to sate that empty barathrum just waits to lay me in her snare lets the bile sleep on the tip of her tongue best to burn the skin that's young upheave and hurl my cares around would I wait for your sorrow? for your penitence? I long for it but it would be swallowed up before the moon could set.
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Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 3:45 AM UTC
disomus
Epizoons come by trillion man armies, Flies prey around me, as leaches they take mine best. Such distress! Episodes I see daily of young lovers who march,eating fast food and starch, yet their eyes are to busy feasting the neighbor next door! Cuppy lips I want to drag me under, to annilate this every structure, buttons snapped off, clothes are ripped to all passion! Sensual reactions... Connatural baseburners, needers and groaners, dialect between to unearthly cheribums.. Basilica of fun!!!!!!!!!! An alt altocumulous, hyper by ourn own hydrous hose, Unclothed.... Lacuna's we shall upheave, we shall grown to thine own beats, and tribalize to ourn own submission... Leaguer's of our own team Players to the game of purest ******** wholesale!!!! A warden to make mine bail.../ A gelatin to mold in, To ease away in our bath soaked togetherness....
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May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
epistle to anyone?
If you had lived, would the sun rise any different? Or would the stars gleam any more, any less? If you had lived, would the winds cease to blow, to cry? No. But if you had lived, I would rise, I'd be your blinding star, A whirlwind to upheave and change the world! If you had lived. Not a dead promise of a daughter A sliver of what you were. Papá, si aún vivías, ¿estuvieras orgulloso de mi?
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Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 12:52 AM UTC
To My Father
An admirable quality, if there ever was one Is faith in things which can’t possibly be done The improbably, the unlikely, the hard to achieve Can sometimes be pulled off without too much upheave, But the truly preposterous, the incredible stuff – well To accomplish the impossible seems unbelievably tough. Those mountainous obstacles, which won’t seem to shift Like enormous stone boulders, too heavy to lift Will not budge, give no leeway, no helping hand Despite the ingenious workings of a well-thought-through plan. The strongest ones will find that their muscles are weak The wily ones success with their cunning will seek The nervous ones will stand down without any fight And the impulsive try their best but then they take flight. But the quietly faithful, those with no outward force No great grand schemes, no ploys, no resource Armed with simple assurance and a mind-set quite humble Yet miraculously those mountains begin to wither and crumble…
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Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
Faith in the impossible
In elementary school my favorite part of recess was balancing on a teeter totter talking with a friend. I don't remember our conversations anymore but I often picture us crossed legged or legs dangling balancing opposite of each other. Over two decades have passed since those days and I find that I still aim to sit or stand relatively balanced. On this teeter totter I now play on in the recesses of my memory a loud and obnoxious boy comes to upheave me from my post. As the years go by the person attempting to knock me off my station changes. I long for a companion to sit with me and just balance. To be engaged with me in a silent communication. I long for a counter balance to lighten me when I become too heavy and to strengthen me when I become too weak. And I yearn for a partner that can dance with me along the thin board of this teeter totter, completely in tune with the patterns and motions of each other in a splendid harmony. Falling off the teeter totter one too many times. I no longer trust others to maintain the balance I am seeking. Maybe this is why engagement has become so frightening.
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Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
Engagement or Something less Frightening