"wavy" poems
I want to feel you.
Scraping against me.
I want to taste the,
Mango in your kiss.
Drag from your chest to your neck.
to claw from your ribs down to your hip.
I want to feel you on me.
And taste the citrus on your lips.
Starving for the touch of,
Hoping for your grip.
Trying not to think too much.
About your blackberry bliss.
Distracted by your hammer hits.
The water against the ship.
The boat begins to tip.
Spilling fruit into the wavy rift.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
You
the one with messy brown hair
brown eyes
with you birthmark over the left side of your face.
You who left me crying.
You who made me believe in love for the first time.
You who stole my first kiss
first time
first.
You
with your straight blonde hair
blue eyes
and that stupid smirk
You who left me broken
You who showed me a new way of living
You who left me being second choice
second best
second.
You
with your dark blonde hair
hazel eyes
you with your beautiful hands
You who left me angry
You who showed me a different way of love
You who went with me on my third concert
third love
third.
You
with your curly brown hair
hazel eyes
with your cute braces you never liked
You who left me questioning
You who showed how hard love can be
You who decided I wasn´t worth it
You never happend
We never did.
I
with wavy dark brown hair
hazel eyes
with freckles on my face
I who loved everyone of you
but still couldnt forget you,
number two
I who loved everyone of you
but you left me wanting more,
number four
I who loved everyone of you
was being loved.
but not anymore.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
i had a thought.
i ran out of my room,
down the hallway,
and into the bathroom.
i wriggled out of my worn down, tie dye shirt.
hopping up and down as i pull off my
high-waisted jeans, pulling my pant leg with my foot as i
trample the dark denim to the ground.
i stand there naked, in front of the
harsh, full length mirror.
combing my fingers through my natural, wavy hair.
i contort my face in disgust, cocking
my head slightly to the side.
i close my eyes, and take one deep breath in.
when i open my eyes,
the reflection staring back at me is a thin, natural
beauty.
Her smooth ivory skin glows in the
silvery reflective glass.
Her stomach is flat and toned.
Her ******* lay on Her chest in perfect
proportion to the rest of her petite frame.
i run my fingers down the sides of my body.
my palms trailing along, dipping and
rising with the mounds beneath my skin.
i close my eyes and open them again,
this time taking my reflection for
what it really is.
i am fat.
my skin is pink and spotted with freckles the
colour of blood.
my stomach hangs low, covering the part
a man should see when i'm naked.
my ******* are big.
but not in the way you'd like them to be.
they lay there, sort of lop-sided.
hanging just above my ribs. Another place for
fat to take over.
the cuts on my thighs are hardly noticable
next to
all
that
fat
i can see tears in the eyes of the reflection staring back at me,
but i am numb.
i thought correctly. i am
fat. i am ugly.
Nobody in their right mind would want to
love me.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 6:18 PM UTC
They drove me across the country,
from the busy city where we departed
to intimate villages where they recessed,
and spent a star filled, moonlit night
singing songs,
their bodies casting long, wavy shadows
from campfires they huddled around.
Just as I got too cold and my wheels
couldn't turn anymore
did they finally turn the spark plugs,
revving and igniting my despair and sensitivity
producing heat.
Sometimes they pushed
until I shoved
and scraped my rubber
on asphalt,
on rocks,
on sand,
on boulders big and small,
and I hit a flat-line;
the air I could hold in
no longer.
They rode me into a forest
whose undergrowth was as thick
as a bears' fur during the winter,
and redwood that spanned the horizon
you thought it could pat the constellations.
A forest teeming with life that
one would react like Wendy from Peter Pan--
never wanting to leave Neverland.
And I could see it in their
soft faces and squinting eyes,
bright and lit up with joy,
every detail apparent
as if I burst my headlights into high-beam,
directly on them.
It was there I ran out
of gas and my engines
parched for oil,
from the endless adventure
that was exhilarating and memorable.
One could, as a result,
easily forget responsibilities.
There was no service or refill station nearby,
so I was abandoned where I parked,
flat tires, rusty hood, broken chassis,
dilapidated suspension.
I've proved my worth
from when I was brought in
and over time
it wasn't enough.
Only repairing, never maintaining.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
I like the feeling of liking you
it makes me cringe in happy thoughts
keeps me awake at nights
lights me up in the dark
make me feel like the only star at the sky
your long dark wavy hair
falls like a wave of delight
yet your smiles what make me fight,
fight to see it every night
fight to make it shine
fight to make it mine
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
Drop of red,
Large orb in the sky of orange,
Sour yellow,
Soft lushes green,
Body's of wavy blue,
Romantic flowers of fake purple,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
Sweet red stripe,
Juicy orange fruit in my hand,
Bright Yellow petals,
Long green branches,
Silky blue scarf,
Deep purple bucket of hope,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
Red lace on a white dress,
Orange skinny swirls on a white dress,
Yellow collar on a white dress,
Green bow on the red lace,
Blue stripes on the green bow,
Purple string keep the whole outfit as one,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
My Rainbow is natural.
My Rainbow is the things I hold.
My Rainbow is my dress.
My Rainbow is me, is you, is everyone,
A Rainbow has bloomed over you.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
His Grandparents were Romany people from his maternal side
In Countries of Eastern Europe they travelled far and wide
But the most basic human right their right to life of them even denied
In Belzec Concentration camp where a million people died.
I never knew my maternal Grandparents with sadness he recall
Due to circumstance of birth and their way of life misfortune them did befall
My gift of music such a marvellous gift to them I feel I owe
In Belzec Concentration Camp they were murdered decades ago.
A tall and handsome man in his early thirties with wavy raven hair
With the marvellous gift of music a great accordion player
In silence we sat and drank our beer as we listened to him play
The beautiful old gipsy tunes from Countries far away.
That all things do come to an end in some cases a lie
In Belzec Concentration camp the gipsy music did not die
But that the gift of music does live on should not come as a surprise
Something that those who commit crimes against humanity seem to fail to realize.
He played at the pub on passing through him I never more may see
But the beauty of his music will live in my memory
His maternal Grandparents who died at Belzec their lives were not in vain
Their music in their Grandchild has come to life again.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
A new start,
something fresh.
Friends look at you
with wide eyes
erasing all the previous
times you had met
with this new time,
all from something simple.
Something fresh.
A haircut.
Although going from
long flowing wavy
strawberry blond hair
to dark pixie short
brunette colored hair
is quite the difference...
but it's something fresh.
Something new.
Something great.
Exhilarating.
Exciting.
Wonderful.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
What is beauty?
Growing up I was told
lighter skin, bigger eyes, smaller nose thinner lips, straight black hair
thin body, smaller frame
smaller shoe size
There was no embracing of
my brown skin, almond-shaped eyes
longer nose, fuller lips, wavy voluminous hair thick thighs, larger frame
not size 6 shoes
No celebration of my own beauty what forms and defines me
until now.
I choose to not be the subject of another’s judgement of what is considered beautiful or not
to be molded into what is acceptable and approved by my culture, my society, people around me
I choose myself
my uniqueness and my acceptance of myself just as I am
is true beauty.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 12:04 AM UTC
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
A supine position
upon my bed
and a slow turning
of my head
I look out through my window
and by chance
LISTEN!!
Hearing the howling
and chilling desultory gusts
of wind
Noticing seemingly deceptive
immutable muffled
grey-white
low hanging clouds
enveloping everything
in its heavenly path
with coinciding
feelings
of being enclosed,
a slight hint,
the oncoming winter
A sunless sky also
matches the early November mood
as virtually motionless
elongated pearl-grey-clouds
having distinct
wind-kissed
topsy-turvy-wavy-ruffled bottoms
that travel and permeate
onward
across the heavens
These eerie vapors
s t r e t c h
from north to south
east to west
casting Buddism's
grey colored shadows
upon the earth below
while not permitting
any sky blue
to peek through
A distant howl and barking
of
a dog,
my inner volcano snuffed out,
the tranquilization of Hercules...
Time seemingly
stops altogether
and hangs...
... heated feelings
dissipate
into
cool nothingness...
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole—
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks—
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the ****** of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree—
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes—
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.
7.2k
Her body resembles the ocean,
Her hair is as wavy as the ocean's waves,
Her eyes as bright as the moon's reflection on the ocean,
Her kiss as cold as the ocean's water,
Her skin as soft as the beach's sand,
But she is deadly,
Be sure not to swim off into that body of hers,
If you drown you'll see whats inside,
You'll see her inner beauty,
Be sure not to fall in love with her inner beauty,
Because if you do,
You'll never want to leave,
But to her you'll just be another one of her victims.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Thinking of your hair,
Silky, black, smooth, loose, wavy
Perfect elegance.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
White, Yellow, and Brown
Different shapes, sizes, and textures
Curly, straight, and wavy
You look at your reflection and do not see it
You're brown
You’re slim, light, and skinny
Your body does not resemble what it means to be a woman in your culture
A Latina woman has curves
A Latina woman's skin glistens underneath the sun
She contains an inner glow that resembles the strength she holds.
A Latina women speaks fluent English and Spanish
The purr that rolls off her tongue when she rolls her “R’s”
Her accent is what blows men away
Her accent is seen as exotic and from another world
But yours is different
You look at your reflection and do not see it
There is no purr because you can't roll the “R’s” off your tongue
Your slight accent is what worries you
Afraid your accent is going to get you a stare instead of a wink.
Afraid to speak you stay quiet and become discrete
You look at your reflection and see
brown sugar that’s sweet and fine
Your skin contains different specks of color which makes you different
The sun captures the qualities that you contain within.
You look at your reflection and see
A woman that speaks the language of romance
The language that distinguishes you from the crowd
The language that brings you strength and courage
The accent you once feared would bring you shame is the same one you have come to love.
You look at your reflection and see
A woman that has grown internally to love herself for the way she is
you contain the inner glow that resembles the strength and knowledge you have attained.
The eclipse has finally passed the sun and your time to shine has arrived.
White, Yellow, and Brown
Different shapes, sizes, and textures
Curly, straight, and wavy
You look at your reflection and see
A Latina woman.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:13 AM UTC
Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
And let there glide by many a pearly car
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half-discovered wings, and glances keen.
The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending!
'Tis not content so soon to be alone.
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Long wavy brown hair
Freckles against otherwise creamy smooth skin
Long eyelashes and dark brown puppy eyes
Loud laughter and big smiles
Confidence boosting and adventure inducing
Long summer nights filled with new experiences
Long talks about things that hurt
Longer talk about things that don’t
Fun and mischief laced into every step
Every heartbeat being worth it
Absolutely breathtakingly perfection
Everything I’ve ever wanted
And for a while
I’ve finally got it
And you make everything so extraordinary
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
Oh beloved princess,
I'm just a commoner,
I just drink cannabis,
Lime & shank I have.
You are daughter of the king,
I lack any maids or servants,
You are protected by shawls,
I lack even a blanket or rug..
Get married to a moneylender,
Marry a lucky man...
I have pieces of purity,
But I'm just a commoner,
I just drink cannabis,
Lime & shank I have.
You live in the palaces,
I roam the wilderness,
You are not used to it,
I am used to roaming.
Get married to a rich man,
Marry a lucky man.
I just have purity in me,
Yes, I'm a commoner,
I just drink cannabis,
Lime & shank is all I have.
I carry on my austerity in incense,
I drink a slurry of cinders,
I tame hundreds of snakes on my neck,
I will scare you off my saturnalia.
You need a man with wavy hair,
A man with wavy hair.
My hair is dishevelled,
I am a commoner,
And I drink cannabis,
All I have is a lime & shank.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I've had
****
Not ***
Not **********
Not consensually.
I've been
******
*****
abused.
taken advantage of.
whatever it is you want to call it
I've had it done.
I've been kissed
Fingered
choked
hit
spit on
spit in
I've been held,
hostage
with knives against my throat
guns to my head,
in my mouth
drugs down my throat
barely conscious I've been
******
I've been in love
I've been heartbroken
I've been touched
consensually,
let me tell you about the consensually.
I've been kissed in the bathroom, lifting
her
up against the wall
laughing when our teeth brushed against
one another's
hands fumbling up a skirt
around a throat
fingers tangled in wavy hair.
I've been touched sitting in her lap
outside on a hot day
wearing her hoodie
around children
freshmen year.
I've been touched
multiple times
by him
in band rooms, away from prying eyes
secrets to be kept and wooed over
laying in a dress
during a concert event
head in the lap of my best friend
underwear brushed to the side
fingers thrusting in
and yes, this was consentually.
I've been touched
in the school hallways
every day after school or in between classes
tasted and tasted
he tasted me
I tasted myself.
And in the living room of our best friend's house
even though I told him no
I told him the safe word
he continued.
I say it was consensual because in the end,
I said I loved it.
Don't argue about it.
I wanted it.
and I've been touched
in her pool
heated ever so lovingly
LED lights danced us into the temptation
as did the alcohol on my part
with her lips against my chest
desperate to mark, yet not to show
i mean, hey, my step-dad's homophobic
though I'd love nothing more than to show who I belong to.
We switched a lot, but ultimately I landed in her lap
water licking up my sides,
sending chills to *******
goosebumps
and her fingers hesitating
not daring to touch.
"i'm going to need a yes."
finally.
Finally asked.
I nodded eagerly
and she treated me like a piano
perfect notes
though brief I know that I was
drenched in all ways
the chlorine water yes
and of course the obvious.
you see, we were going to do something that night
we had the chance to
I wanted to
she wanted to
In the end,
she took something for her headache
though it was a sort of
similar thing to Nyquil
We were going to.
But we laid in bed
and we molded against each other
and sailed asleep.
I've slept with one person.
Her
Sydney
My Muse.
But Still, A ******
am I
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 5:31 AM UTC
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making way to their front row seats
****** in nose
hanky in hand
and all colorfully draped
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties
*now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?*
Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:
*don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?*
These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
as members of the congregation look on with envy
*pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!*
Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in
for governance
It’s a bewildered state
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"
Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
A mother whispers into the fire of Night
I hold a match
I hold Yarn
I Am Wool
Shrinking to the formation
The intricate designs of your rib cage
of your brother's belly
of your Grandfather's waist
Am I simply a fool?
And Who
Doth I ask This question too?
A Torn book
A tattered sonnet of Man's sore feet
blistered eyes that are Green
That are Brown
That are Blue
I Lay with myself Tonight
I am Awake
I am Loud
In your Night
I Am the Janitor beneath the hardwood floors
of your Dream
I am the
Poorly Waged Electrician
With Shoes that resemble an old dog
I Light Your Highway
Your Street
Your Morning coffee
your
cigarette
Am I The Child?
I fall in love with women I see on the streets
Their Wavy hair
like a French sea
Her pale complexion
the Brown Glimmer in her eyes
And I paint on her on Tombstones
On Coffee Mugs and on carpets rolled up for the Dumpster
At Nights
I prefer to dream awake
and sit with a BathTub of words
of stories that melt like cheese
that stiffen like Ginsberg ****
that Shriek and Strum like Tom Waits stomach when he starves on backroad streets
And when I cannot
reproduce
I make love to a woman
And a poem is made
and I kiss her
and my lips say 5 am
and I wish her not to go
But the Dog
is waken by Robins
by the Pigeons
by the digestion of night to day
by the Greek Gods and Goddess' Light
That Falls down
like long hair of woman you have so longed for
and you kiss her chest
And there is no Death
There is no Sleep
or ****** addicts or gasoline or paved roads or shaved faces or mothers or Dostoevsky or Beethoven
There is just her
and you run your fingers across her skin
through her hair
She is the bottom of the Ocean
You are a homeless crab
a Shellless Clam
falling down
down
down
to the bed of the great ocean
and there she lays
With a reflection of Youth and Beauty
And her complex simplicity makes me think of
me as a boy
running behind brick collapsed business buildings
Kissing a girl behind church
Buying Icecream with Josh in Winter
That's what a woman does
She erases Death
from the palms of your hands
and your thoughts
and you sink
to the bottom
and you watch the Coral
The other fish
swimming along
and you laugh
Because you do not know Death
And Death does not know you.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
There are worse places to be
There are better
Avenues of everything I’ve ever dreamt of
Stretch out before me like a baby’s crumpled arms
Rugs pave the broken road
Soothing the wavy maze of souks and bazaars
Covered in blemishes
Riddled with secret treasures
Untameable animals scour the pathways
Searching for forgotten scraps
Shadows live in contrast to the midday sun
Hiding fallen beggars
Lying twisted on the ground
Juxtaposition of beauty and pain unfolds
Poised in the blameless blue sky
A tower rises over the horizon
Desperation pours out of every cracked brick
And a prayer floats out to the market
It is perfection, of a kind.
The streets are not innocent
They have seen and heard and felt
Every wrong in the world
Afternoon heat of the square suffocates me
I’m lost in an array of people and materials
Drowning in the swirling language
Eyes stinging amongst the dusty chaos
Rain
Eats away the market’s life,
Dampening red-hot brick walls.
Corrupted skies cry.
There are worse places to be
There are better
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
I. you don't even know who you are yet, but you still have to stand on top of buildings and scream what you stand for. people won't hear your values unless you write it on their skin and tattoo it into their minds, so that’s what you’ll do.
II. you aren't vain or stupid for idolizing singers with blonde hair and blue eyes, because they look like you, and yet they’re strong and beautiful. it’s okay when you connect to their music then you connect to your favorite boy band. they’ll teach you how your resident ******* means nothing compared to you. they’ll teach you how to winged eyeliner, and how to put your hair in a messy bun. they’ll teach you a new love for songwriting and you’ll probably want to start playing guitar, but the biggest thing is that you relate to them and they give you confidence.
III. wear your ******* choker and straighten your hair (or leave it wavy if you’d rather). wear your dark eyeliner and cover your eyelashes with mascara. if you want to wear blue knee high socks, please do. keep your hipster shoes untied if you want. ignore the ******* who thinks you look nice but not in the right way, and go buy that dark lipstick you've been wanting for weeks.
IV. don’t trust the people that tell you Taylor Swift has too many boyfriends, and that Beyonce dances too ****** they are the people that will criticize you for wearing a crop top and ripped jeans. they’ll pull you out of math class to change out of your short shorts, and you’ll be forced to watch as the boys you were ‘distracting’ succeed in class while you’re crying in the middle of the night trying to catch up.
V. take more pictures of the scenery. those pink clouds you thought were pretty deserve to be photographed, so do it. they won’t always be around and you have to follow your instincts sometimes. stop taking so many pictures at concerts. they don’t really mean anything to you, and it’s more important to listen to the music that helps you breathe. cry when they sing your favorite song, and feel your dreams expanding as you watch.
VI. please take care of yourself. when you need help, ask for help, or everything will spiral out of control too quickly. get enough sleep and stick up for yourself when you’re being pushed down. stop caring what other people think, because you’re really the only one that matters. when you’re sad go do what makes you happy, because even if it doesn't make you grin from ear to ear it will help. always remember to love yourself before you let someone else love you.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole—
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks—
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the ****** of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree—
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes—
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.
4.5k