"visor" poems
Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.
That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.
And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.
Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
39.3k
As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep
the black river of himself.
The grain of his wrists
is like bog oak,
the ball of his heel
like a basalt egg.
His instep has shrunk
cold as a swan’s foot
or a wet swamp root.
His hips are the ridge
and purse of a mussel,
his spine an eel arrested
under a glisten of mud.
The head lifts,
the chin is a visor
raised above the vent
of his slashed throat
that has tanned and toughened.
The cured wound
opens inwards to a dark
elderberry place.
Who will say ‘corpse’
to his vivid cast?
Who will say ‘body’
to his opaque repose?
And his rusted hair,
a mat unlikely
as a foetus’s.
I first saw his twisted face
in a photograph,
a head and shoulder
out of the peat,
bruised like a forceps baby,
but now he lies
perfected in my memory,
down to the red horn
of his nails,
hung in the scales
with beauty and atrocity:
with the Dying Gaul
too strictly compassed
on his shield,
with the actual weight
of each hooded victim,
slashed and dumped.
3.5k
Simply stunning
You were,
A glint of sun
Radiant ray,
From your
Sapphire smile
And diamond eyes
I was blinded
Blind sided,
As a fiery ball
Just beneath the visor
A lingering sunset
The shape of you,
That pierced
My windshield
As I sped down
Not taking my eyes off
The view,
And would I crash
Still entranced
By your intense
Focused tractor beam,
Interrupted only
By the words
That I couldn't hear
And all I could do
Was nod and smile
And nurse
My wounds,
Soon to be
Further scarred
By the likes of you...
APAD13 - 120 © okpoet
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
The boy with the heart winning smile,
He’s always asked to stay a while,
Girls love his laugh and guys like his smirk,
But what they don’t know?
Is it’s so much work..
He smiles so he won’t talk
He smiles so they won’t analyze his walk,
A walk that is limping and numb,
From the forenight’s rigors he had done.
To himself so he could actually feel something,
Cause I mean pain and love it’s the same..Right?
But so he smiles,
he smiles so he keeps the persona of a magnificent confident boy,
When all he truly feels like is someone’s little toy,
Because you tell them that he mangled your emotions,
When really you were the one who gave him the false love potion.
Treating him like he was never going to disappear,
Like he was your little knight carrying your burdening spear,
But then when he finally drops your ploy,
And stops being yours obedient little toy,
All of a sudden he’s the monster,
The one who tore YOUR heart asunder.
And that’s what he grows to believe,
Seeing how he’s stills naive,
So he puts himself back in his armor,
Clamps the latches tight and closes the visor,
Because he doesn’t want that to happen again,
He’s already face pain greater then some men,
And the only thing he’s ever held dear,
Was the hope that one day,
someone would hear.
Hear the pains through his winning smile,
Notice his walk is a little misguiled,
The hope that someone would tear off his armor,
Lift his visor,
And say,
N’ayez pas peur mon amour
But.. Who would go through that trial?
For the boy asked to stay.. Just a while,
Who will fix the boy,
With the hear splitting smile?
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
this old year in its last hours
checks its tie
its coat tails
its long trousers
spats
its insalubrious look
gets ready for one last stand
at the times square of our minds
sick in singapore she wrote
i rather be caned that live one more day
and i concurred i rather she'd be caned
than i
here in ohio i hear some winter birds
i swear and i attest
their forlorn cries carry far
and sometimes i believe i see their shapes
remotely flitting far
their cries carry far
here in ohio
where the winter snow came and went in two whole days
its surprising whereabouts both seen and felt
now we are back to flimsy silver lace affixed on
windows
infirm in beijing she said
they all spit!
i took that as a sign she was getting well
here in the post soltice winter there is hope
for longer days ahoy
the maritime soul departs in yet another lost boat
inexplicably tied to the date
sick in mazatlan she said the water makes me puke
i heard later she bought a boat to sail from the west coast
down to the panama canal then up the east coast to new yor
k
that was her plan
but no she gave it up after she bought the boat
she realized she would have to fill it with ***** and nothing
else
choice give up the ship or sink under the influence
i hear the "Rosa Linda" i still tied in long beach pier
I mourn such passing as the days
disclose and hide in a foggy patina of misremembrance
see this was her coat her gloves
the angle of her visor gave us more of her
than i can just now tell i cant even remember the color
of her eyes
and yet firmly believe that we once met
as i get ready to welcome a new year
back to the chalk line
on your marks
ready
set
go to my habitual everyday
here in ohio some winter birds
pester the air with their calls
perhaps they know something about time
I don't know
anyway, let's go meet another minute hour or day
sick in
ohio i say
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:19 PM UTC
her perfume tells stories of ambient destruction
and i always kiss her good night in bed
struggle to keep watch
keep my eyes open and in the clear
but every morning she's disappeared
a fading memory that claws to be set free
stuck somewhere between reality and fantasy
somehow trapped between unspent love and unleashed fear
familiar warmth on your pillow
were you just here?
a flash
and i remember the welcome in your eyes
in your summer dress smile
wow, that smile
i would build a rocket with my own two hands
plant your precious smile for all the world to see
right up there
on the silvery moon
wait,
where am i?
it's dark
oxygen alarm blares
hear my breath inside the visor
i startle awake
open my eyes
realizing
it's morning
no gravity
and it's me
not you
that's not really there.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
Burma-Shave
I remember........
Getting hit in the head with the swing set;
Doctor sewing up my scalp at home,
While setting on the step.
Taking the bus downtown with mom,
Car shopping for dad.
Picked out a Ford with a windshield sun visor.
A two tone black and cream collage
Mom using it to "move the garage".
I remember family vacation:
Driving to Florida before the interstate
Before Disney became a nation
Motels with pools, swimming laps,
And all those tourists traps:
The house that reverses gravity
Burma-Shave signs leading the way
To where the fountain of youth lay
Driving to the lake,
Dad forgetting his hat
At the halfway restaurant cafe
Finding it still there the next year.
Those were special days
Weeks at the lake catching turtles
Cleaning fish guts and scales
Swimming and skiing on glass.
Great fun and no care of details
No telephone at the cabin
Copyright 2014
Richard L. Ratliff
Published in The Indiana Voice Journal
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
Sometimes, when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the side-view mirror.
And I say:
“Man, who’s that stud in the side-view?”
And other times when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the visor mirror.
And I say:
“Man, who’s that stud in the visor?”
But most times when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the rear-view.
And I say:
“Man, that stud is never going to get anywhere if he keeps living in the past.”
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
Where are you, O valiant knight,
riding on your quest?
Capturing your deadly foe,
your metal for to test...
O'r the mountains lies the dragon,
secure within its lair.
It's gloating over victory...
it ate the maiden fair!
And so you mount your steed,
silver glinting from your spurs,
sally off to slay it...
avenge the death of her!
Oh! Is not this dragon beautiful?
Yes! An AWESOME prize!
With crystal wings and citron scales
and sapphires for eyes!
Emeralds on its sloping breast
rubies are its claws
fangs of alabaster
line it's fiery maw...
Perfumed incense, spicy smoke,
from its mouth a butane flame...
Once you've tried the dragon once
it is hell to tame!
Have you your armor fast secured?
Does the visor block your view?
You may chase the dragon
or it could be chasing YOU.
When will you turn and rend it?
Tear the ***** APART?*
Strap your lance to your steed
and pierce it to its HEART?
Now, if you are victorious
you still must have a care...
for its blood is virulent
that cup you must not share!
You could quick behead it.
Mount it on your wall.
But it could poison you instead...
my! *How the mighty fall!*
So ride off in the sunset.
Leave the dragon where it fell.
It will slowly rust away...
*and blow back into HELL*.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/19/2015
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
herman harding showed me his truck today
in the muggy high school parking lot
in the sweltering sun
that could easily set my still temperament ablaze.
"she calls it the **** wagon."
he told me.
"she calls mine the firestarter."
i told him; he gave me a look.
"surprised?" i asked.
"so what do you think?"
"it's a battered wife."
"what the hell does that mean?"
"all bruised and broken down,
probably only runs because
you give it gas."
"it's a hand-me-down, okay?
so am i giving you a ride home,
or what?"
i crawled in the **** wagon.
"i should be getting my license soon."
"that's nice."
herman seemed uneasy.
"yep, i'll be driving by next school year."
"that's nice."
the truck had green seats
and a yellow dashboard.
obviously replaced.
approaching the highway,
i opened the glove compartment-
insurance information.
"you're telling me you bought insurance
for this piece of ****
"why should you care?"
"i'm just wondering,
seems like a waste of money."
almost home,
i flip down the sun visor-
down flutter a couple of pictures of her
that shouldn't have been taken.
i flip the sun visor back up,
take a look at the photos,
and deposit them in the glovebox.
"tell me, herman:
do you like getting hand-me-downs?"
"get out of the truck."
Apr 8, 2011
Apr 8, 2011 at 1:17 PM UTC
I don't care
to cut my hair.
Realism is important
on Halloween.
I may be bald,
but ******
I'll still be ****
With my visor,
shades,
smoke holder,
Hawaiian shirt,
and khaki shorts.
Everything will be just
GONZO.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
RED
Your bright red visor
turned backwards so the wind won’t devour it
Your bright red skis
zipping down the race course
Your bright red visor
facing forward to block the sun as you swing the club and strike the golf ball
My bright red lipstick
kisses my mouth,
as I prepare to perform
My bright red costume
sparkles in the stage lights
My bright red lipstick
ruined from the tears streaming down my face.
The thoughts running through my head
are like traffic
Bright, loud and slow moving
I can’t think
Can’t breathe
Can’t speak
What is happening?
When a person dies
Where do they go?
Heaven?
Hell?
The after life?
Space?
All these questions that will never be answered
Science can explain how someone dies
but not what happens after
Science told me that he had melanoma
Science told me that our time was limited
Science can’t tell me how he felt
Science can’t tell me what he was thinking when that last puff of air reached his lungs
Science can’t tell me how much he loved me
But the answer to that last question, is so clear
My bright red lipstick
kisses my mouth,
My midnight black dress
draped on my curves
My bright red lipstick
ruined from the tears streaming down my face
Your bright red visor
now worn by the man I call my daddy
Your bright red skis
still zipping down the course,
but with a different skier, your son,
Your bright red visor,
a reminder to those, that you are still with us.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
Such a manly man very rare
Dripping with forbidden
Luxuries.
Complexities bringing out the besties in me.
Owee
Owee
Touching places imaginatively.
At thoughts of beauty.
Guilty guilty..
Diamonds sparkly out shining reality.
I was driving to the store for some seasonings and something refreshing.
As the sunlight kept appearing rays of bright.
Pulling down my sun visor.
The heat of the evening. Gets hotter temps are steaming.
As my mind starts to reflect.
Trying hard to redirect.
Flowery thoughts best to forget.
Walking down grocery store isles.
Looking for black pepper, and onion powder.
As emotions inside scream for hearts attention gets louder.
I need to get some tomato sauce, parmesan cheese,
Feelings leave me alone please,
hearing that voice "come here baby I'm recalling.
Woman quit running suga your stalling.
He states I see you truly I've been going thru my own
lonely thangs I'm a man. Living day by day
working hard laboring with these hands. Meeting life demands.
Your cool such an Angel Brush me with cool wings.
I do compel.
I admit I fail. Just need water from glowing wells.
Mercy for me..
You run away from me.."
Guilty guilty ..please forgive me if I trouble.
I'm shopping isle hopping escaping. All I want is to find my own paper.
That will belong to the words I scribble on it by my own flavor.
Pen courting simple free good dots careful no out of the line spots.
Finally at the register ready to check out.
Tempting treats thoughts to grab them mind plots.
Don't grab any candy junk at the register. Keep it moving.
Guess who's entering.
As I'm exiting. Beautiful luxury manly casually strolling up to me.
@SelinaSharday_H.E.R POETRY S.A.M 2023
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 11:51 PM UTC
Oh, i'm far too soft
in a warm beer kind
of way, won't burn
when I go down,
no heart-of-dixie
kind of wild, and I'd
only climb into your lap
when the truck's in park,
and only then just to tease
because my hips probably
do a thing or two--but I've
never had the chance to
let someone in on my
secrets, on the road map
to my thighs, and how I
hardly keep quiet--
but I got bible verses for
fingers although the holy
spirit won't seep through,
know lots of things about
the revival in Wales and not
much out of the log tucked into your
visor-- I'm not as scared as
I seem, just ***** easily, if you'd
just wait, if you'd just wait at the
bottom of the hill, I'll eventually
come down, I give everything
too much thought, but commit
100% when I've got the answers,
and sometimes I do, sometimes
i've got the answers, so the wind's
whipping up the dirt and pickin'
up my hair and i must look like
something crazy, but I'm not
I'm not,
I go down smooth.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
Can you fill the position as my outlet
as my spout
my bucket is filling up,
I am spilling over
can you wade through the knee deep water
is it my anger?
can you put up through the stupid
“how are you”'s
Sure,
you can stay
if you can be a pathway out of the dead end street
that leads me to your creek
if you can be the sun ray that blinds me,
so I’ll put the visor down
the first spark that starts the fire
the first poem out of too many
you’re the hole in the wall that’s inside my chest;
let me out
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
You walk like your shoes are made of coals.
Restless,
dancing on your toes as you waltz
between the window
and the kitchen.
chiseling a weak smile between sallow cheeks.
You're wiping loose strands of auburn from your lips,
tucking them back into your greasy visor
and praying for 2 a.m.
And by the time it rolls around,
and you have been sick from the smell
of angsty undergraduates
and overcooked, pre-frozen meat patties,
you could collapse in the parking lot
and let the snow bury you till spring.
Marching across the lot,
into a grimy liquor store
purchasing your poison at a questionable bargain.
supper that warms you inside out,
takes you blissfully to sunny dreams,
leaving you in heap on the kitchen floor
every ******* morning.
Moving through your woozy wake-up call
of sprinting to the bathroom to surrender your shame,
and wipe away the traces of a cold night on a linoleum mattress,
your fingers slipped
while you attempt to piece together this china-doll visage
that you shattered every night
and the curling iron caught you on the neck,
a perfect metaphor for the day-in-day-out
that roasts you on a spit,
slow and searing,
wrinkled and
wrung out into the flames,
crisp and blackened
like the very meat you served me
between stale bread
this evening.
Don't succumb to our fires,
not in a place so fried by it's own hand.
Take your tips, little lady,
and climb aboard a Greyhound
Use those legs and skip to a different coastline.
breathe new air, kiss a new shore
and roast over the fire
somewhere with better *****
and a nicer view.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
So straight you stand,
Your bold chest out,
Same posit from hand to hand,
Sir yes sir, they shout.
The badges of many shine,
The visor tilted down,
They move in cut time,
and he wears the crown.
Not a single flaw,
In this entire act.
A glimpse of your smile I saw,
Then you turned your back.
The pride in your eyes,
and the bravery in your fists,
You set your sights to the skies,
and your priorities persist.
Forever by all means,
You'll always be my Marine.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Phyyt phoo, two aqueous lenses peeling through, the oxygen layers.
Pupils turn as they unfold, hungrier for light behind burnt sand barriers.
The switchboard like a carnivorous plant field independently moves points
And compacted, segmented panels respond like exoskeletal joints
There come the staccato screams of steam one at a time, puff, lining the door
Capsule, contaminated with air, is cleaned when the beetles wing lifts the floor
The boy I was, offers a raised thumb from the ground, science disciple
With Helium fission equations on a sheet hanging from a bible.
My eyes behind a visor open slowly, it’s time to take control
Still tears slowly lift from my face like a violin bow rising to sing low
Now in a place where time means nothing I can’t regret a thing
I just wish this clinical empty cold on all, to take the warmth that lies bring
With Creaking myofibril strings so imperfect in this black vacuum dream
I shake the hand of god; with polystyrene gloves as his work is so unclean.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
one mother
beside him
pulls disease
like ivy
from the wall.
he puts his glove
where her breast
should be.
with a finger
of hers
she traces
the moustache
drawn
on his visor.
I like this scene
because I have kids.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
the mother beside him pulls disease like ivy from the wall. he puts his glove where her breast should be. with a finger of hers she traces the moustache drawn on his visor. I like this scene because I have kids.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
The knight strides forth to battle
In his suit of Maximilian
Sword-edges turn aside and bodkins bend
Powerless to pierce this fortress of steel
The visor veils his visage
His voice muffled within
Admirers acclaim the armor
Valor, virtue, and victory
But only she beholds
the man within the Maximilian
And her arms are his safest stronghold
His sweetest solace
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 2:08 AM UTC
“Important message from Pioneer credit to cover Inc. my name is Larry Stevens requires a visor is communication is from a debt collection company is attempt to collect a debt and information jammies purpose please call my office at 1-888-287-4431 please use reference 125-**** to get my name is Larry Stevens please call me back at 1-888-287-4431 thanks…”
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Our brave new world has turned remarkably cold
There is no place for inefficiency among the looming towers
Religions have been replaced with the worship of screens
Charms have been supplanted by tungsten and lithium
One by one, metropolises fell to “necessary” modernization
I consider a certain member of these abaddons as my unfortunate home
The city’s structures stand like monoliths, without luster or familiar name
A place surely dredged from the deepest hell of mankind’s achievements
Mechanical arachnids skitter across streets on continuous patrol
their silver claws and whirring sensors passively click and scan
We’ve no longer needed any member of sentient life to protect us
Apparently, that was a task more suited for our heartless creations
Any soul residing in the world has become artificial
emotions, dreams, and identities discarded and digitized
Former humans are now composed of more metal than meat
They tread with measured steps and a uniform lack of expression
I breathe the heavy clots of air through my visor and flip a few pages
Long ago, this ancient relic came to my unsuspecting attention
It held secrets of organisms that ran rampantly among landscapes
Old Terra’s fertility sprang out from yellowed paper
There is one creature that I found especially endearing
It endured the harshest of the world's conditions, as I do in mine
It was the deadliest of its kind, as I am among peers
I bestowed my home with the creature’s striking moniker
Now and forever, I live in the city of Taipan
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
I’ve got an axe to grind, so am sharpening it
on the wheel of my wit — hey;
blunt-force-trauma’s enough to a **** a man.
Who, by right, should’ve been an abortion.
I’d unflinchingly watch dogs
rip him to pieces.
In-fact I’d whistle
and call more dogs. But I
wouldn’t be the only one doing this.
If we were in space
I’d smash his visor
then ****** when he pops.
If this were to happen
it would, just mean that
I got there first.
If he were dangling off a cliff
to the bottom I would race
inflate a mattress to safely catch.
But I’d fill it with rocks and knives
just to be sure.
To be sure, to be sure!
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 4:43 AM UTC