"wanderous" poems
And let it flow
as the current streams from your lips
as your words paint the magnificent
your words branch into the images I see
The images I see infect my dreams
lingering into daydreams of places I wish to see
mountain top huts to drink tea
because the passion I feel to see and be
stems from the singular thought
that poured into a picture
and when I reached to grasp
I needed to be part of my steady wanderous day dream
Like an addict I feign for the sights I haven't yet seen
flowing heavily like the spring stream
exhilarating the sense of exploration
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
i've been living off cities
crossing busy streets
traces of neon lights
diminished and reborn
every single night
i've been yearning
off the pavements
of unnamed streets
the ghost towns
the unknown frowns upon me
an anonymous excitement
wanderous
magnificent
and persistent.
the whispers
of the calamity
and calmness
before the storm
worries
and
excites me
the constant
awareness
of dangers lurking
makes me hold you
your hand
tighter around my fingers
my mind spoke of nothing
but to fear
to protect
and to be brave
all at the same
second of it all
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:40 AM UTC
I wear spectacles,
as my vision is broken.
I ride the wanderous trails,
until I am out of tokens.
Each cell of my body excites,
as my senses are tickled.
Life's majestic frights and delights,
of magical visuals and sounds of purity.
As I lay of the bed of decay,
I see the trees their skin and long limbs,
as they stretch and protect the creatures that frolic and play.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
I could only see from beneath her wanderous eye
Even from afar she’s still in sight
I long for her breeze and warm light
Clashing like fire and ice
Too much for me to grasp
I feel a ripple and hear your sound
Like one of a paradiddle all around
Approaching softly
Out of her ken until again
She lost me.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC
Bored
I was so bored
so I floored
the horrid board
I was so bored
So I called upon the lord
who with drew his sword
And gored me to the ends of the world
I was so bored
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
that’s a wild animal.
He doesn’t care that you think it’s cute.
Don’t touch him.
He is on fire in hot
pursuit
of suitor, taming
of the tamer
of cold sharp breaths
of air
of the polluter’s diluted self, aware
And, so, where are you when I am scared
or (alone)
((skeletal))
(((in need of repair)))?
lacking in tenderness while half-listening—doe-eyed—wanderous—confidently—
“Despair is a feral thing”
You set it
to the choral whispers of rotting,
on a golden-forest bedful of debris.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 1:45 AM UTC