"weighting" poems
For life is continuous as long as they wait to be read
these inked paths opening into the future, page after page,
every book Its own receding horizon. And I hold them, one in each hand,
a curious ballast weighting me here to the earth.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
A Milestone
Should not be a millstone,
Weighting your Spirit.
Rather, a stepping stone
Buoyed in the water of life.
Used to keep you
Above water
As you bridge the gap.
Milestones should not
Be millstones.
Rather, paver stones
Used to mark your path.
Where you've been.
Where you're going.
Forming a pleasing pattern
In the Earth to gaze upon.
To excitedly anticipate.
Milestones should not
Be millstones.
To grind you down
While you continue to grow.
Rather, gem stones
That glitter with the light
Marking the Blessings
Along your path.
Milestones are not millstones.
Unless you see them that way.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
The horizons ring me like *******
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.
There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.
The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their ***** wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.
I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.
3.3k
The horizons ring me like *******
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.
There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.
The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their ***** wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.
I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.
2.9k
Analytical Critique of Unconscious Thought
acting out without conscious thought
like those silly shorts that you just bought
the gaudy plaid in a stripped world
capacity bottom-up weighting rule
convergence conclusion you silly fool
uncalled for diatribes that you unfurled
magical spiral of unspoken words
formed by hand into painted sherds
genius clown keeps lips tightly curled
Gomer LePoet....
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
The pills taunt me from beside my bed
as I lay here, tortured within by each
painful heartbeat burning within my
chest and weighting my back to the lumped brick
of springs and polyester fiber.
Those blue beauties sleeping silently in their
sun fire home, why can't I sleep too?
One, two, five, ten, my throat counts
my way to freedom
Ironic, how we all have different definitions of
salvation. I adopted these babies to
"save myself," so the doctors think
Tonight it's Judgement Day.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
Theres a circle cycle of sides to the self of me
Standing in the middle surveying my surroundings
Noting each application and the consequences that apply
Maybe I'm simply a hedonist
Weighting for worn out pleasure centers to take a flame
Or an optimistic pessimist
Citing my self for the blame
My humanistic approach has lost appeal
Defying my superego
And hierarchy of needs reel
Stuck in Erickson stages
A psychodynamic underground war rages
There's a linear graph
Self sided to me
Maybe I'm projecting all my insecurities
And taking my abnormalities
Out on maladaptive poetry
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
Church bells ring of voices silenced
a darkened Moon is hanging low
crickets stop to hear the empty
as loving waters overflow
As angels call in voices singing
notify my heart goodbye
as deafened ears are opened up
no more tears are left to cry
Dying leaves, a crimson carpet
indigo ink at levied banks
waters flood my aching heartbeat
raising hands to you in thanks
Cloaking eyes, I'm in the shadows
petitioning you another dance
whispering the coming reaper
if only I could have a chance
Softly come draped in darkness
ebony casts a ghostly glow
lovely bones in alabaster
putting on a secret show
Taking off the heavy waiting
holding down my paper heart
a poets voice cannot be silenced
by ticking hands you pushed apart
Silver tears they fall in quiet
in rivers taken right or wrong
releasing me & painful weighting
and sing me as I come along
Violins they speak so mellow
calling me as I go home
morning comes a glowing ember
left for you an Earthly loam
As the leaves outside are falling
and thickened air bids me farewell
whispering of my departure
& secrets I may never tell
although in this...
you mustn't dwell
Waving you off
in slow motion
blinking lashes bid adieu
darkened cloakroom,
veiling... hiding
memories of loving you
the only love
I really wanted
the one I never... really knew.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Tap Thud Crunch Swish
an endless, fruitless search for that one word
the perfect onomatopoeia
to express the sound of footfalls on a mountain trail
But perhaps that is right
it is not a sound
it is a sound, a feeling, a smell, a thought
indistinguishable
United
United by lightness
Rapid sound of trainers touching earth
Feeling of strength, speed
Smell of sweat and crushed pine needles
Thought of invincibility, thought of lightness
Gone
The legs don't beat
they plod
muscles play games, giving a taste of lightness
just to show what you're missing
then pain. sick and slowly building
ball and chain
slowing
weighting
Stop.
But I need the lightness
need it more than air
more than water
more than food
more than food
Maybe, if they had less weight to carry
The legs would work again?
But who am I kidding
They'll never work
they don't deserve the fuel
the food
can't control the muscles
can't control the pain
can't regain the lightness
Need to find the lightness
won't eat until I do
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
She was drown in the shadows of a past she dare not escape.
Bound by an invisable chain, anchored, and weighting her down.
In a painful comfort of dysfunction, this chain rubbed raw places in her mind.
Like an addict in her ways, kindness and happiness slipped through her open grasp, so she could wade into the familiar waters once again wrapped in her sadness.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
The Birth Of Gaia
"The changes themselves are already under way for quite some time. They are energetic changes, not so much on a physical 3D level. The Hunab Ku wave signal, on its way to Earth aka Gaia, will open a Stargate. The wavefront will get here by the end of 2012.
In physical terms Hunab Ku (Hunab Ku aka Perseus aka Ouroboros, the Milky Way Serpent who swallows its own tail) is a quasar radio source, also known as Sagittarius A, 'weighting' about 4 million suns and so 40 million kilometers (or 2 light minutes) across and about 25,627 lightyears distant from the core of the Earth.
The changes will result via energy Matrix changing not the planet itself. Gaia's ascension is interdimensional, not physical.
Changing the rotation and inertia of Earth (geographic pole shifts,..etc) could easily destroy the planet. The higher dimensional envelope is changing (subtly seen in environmental changes).
Energy shift is slowly displacing the old Matrix - this is the ascension. By 2013 it will complete the reconfiguration. Old humanity will be "forced" to either adapt or go crazy. The less "dense" reconfiguration will enable the ET (extra terrestrial ) contact by then. Until that time, ET will only be seen as plasma (white light, orbs..shadows of 4D).
There will be a pole shift....but at the center of the Earth. Its a dimensional 'Opening' or Rupture of spacetime itself as a 'SelfIntersection', of geometry. The wave signal will than bounce back and begin transmitting all the gathered data from Noospehre aka Akashic Records aka... to the entire universe."
THE COUNCIL OF THUBAN
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
There's something like fire in me,
something like dense wind and fierce waves,
something in the way of a bold moon.
Light shines in on me through my scar tissue, hits something deep.
The light seeps
and drips
and weeps.
I weep with fear of being overcome,
with the bitter taste of false expectations
and a burnt heart.
My skin has peeled away and like ash blown into nothingness,
baring me for what I am:
a child ashamed of her tears.
a fruit fallen before ripeness.
a sapling wishing for the wisdom of a tree.
Wishes weighting my sunken soul further down,
and I seek to be set free.
To break out of my body and become the universe,
to fill my soul with her stars and plant love with my steps
and weave golden threads of light from my once-heavy fear.
Fear.
Fear is my vast, heavy ocean.
Fear erupts within me, an angry volcano
and envelopes me.
Fear is my darkness. The darkness is too much for me.
I want to be inside myself and live in my heart,
the girl of golden threads with a voice like lightning,
who knows her mind and speaks her heart and exists
as a pure expression of love.
Like grass sprouting up from charred ground.
In darkness and stillness, I light fire to my barren body
in hopes of new growth.
For love and only love.
For everything was only ever an expression of love,
and I can accept that next time around.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
The Serpent’s Meat
“…and dust shall be the serpent’s meat…”
Isaiah 65:25
An expanse broken only
by the small wooden house
with a chimney
and surrounded by
a reddish thick soupy dust
clogging the air and dampening
the senses:
seeping in the cracks in the wood on the walls,
flavoring our cereal in the morning and
musty kisses exchanged under a creaking ceiling fan at night.
Waking, we find a dusty film and salt flats
weighting our faces and bodies-
wherever the sticky-sweet was leftover
from the night before
when our bodies had arched; hip-bone mountain ranges
rising and falling while
the sun rose and set, scorching every minute
into nothing, and yet
there is something.
There is something
about the dust sparkling on the ends
of your eyelashes, the way it
mixes on my tongue
I spread your thighs,
and I come
away mud-faced,
and you come
away panting.
The dust, mixed with your wetness,
red like war paint-
evidence of my conquering
the landscape,
which is your body.
The valley which rests between the hills
nestled against the expanse of the desert, all
leading to the muddy forest
which is buried between the crevices.
The salt of your earth,
I cannot escape it.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
She was such a sweet thing.
Barely seventeen,
To my barely sixteen.
Steam was rising from the blacktop,
She was wearing a baby blue tube top
With shorts to match.
A little on the chubby side,
You know I like that,
Before I could think to kiss her
She kissed me.
Like a viper strike she was on me.
Fierce and deep.
Backed up in an alley,
I didn't have to dilly dally with my belt,
I left it on the balcony at Scramble's house.
She had her shorts down before I could blink.
Sunk down...no, she slinked,
like my pants that pooled around my ankles
Standing I entered,
She pulled me in deeper,
Leapt up, wrapping her legs around me
And I held her up against the wall
And I drove my hammer home,
Each ****** a moan.
Rapidly increasing speed,
Infinite fulfillment of need,
You can call it greed,
The way she took my seed.
In that alley we hid and smoked ****
My first child was conceived.
That day I knew she'd be my wife,
Kas came 9 months later,
A little pink beauty with crystal blue eyes.
I can't disguise the love I have for you,
It's true, there were many girls I had had before you,
You were the first one to make me wanna stay.
I lovd you,
This will be true long after the worms have their way with me.
I'll be weighting, for them to come mold cerulean seas
For the flag to be unfurled,
For your face and chest to be pearled,
For the end of the world,
By your side.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
Glory came early as did fame,
to Gary Speed there on the pitch.
Cheers he heard from adoring crowds
among the elite he found his niche.
With time’s passage he lost a step
even if he felt the same
but as he ran he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
He coached to stay around the game.
After the cheers for him had faded
A friendly face, a familiar name
but as he coached he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
For many, Gary was an icon,
a living legend of the game.
They failed to see the mortal man
with silence weighting on his frame
As he tied the rope he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s gam
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 7:32 AM UTC
Did you know they pay people to study here,
to stay here after studying? It’s the human
capital flight of the tech-smart who type faster
than an entire room of secretaries in cardigans and pearls.
But the bigger question is, if all the brains
are draining out like spiders in a shower, then who is still here
weighting the state lines down with stones
if not zombies? Brainless bodies hungry, crabby, and without
an appropriate sense of boundaries.
They lure you in
with home values and cheap houses—the tired ones
who are getting old for their age, who don’t run as fast or as often
and want an easy life with chubby children and a yard,
or those who are sick of being felt up ‘accidentally’ on the 22 Fillmore bus.
This is how they get you.
And you stay because it grows on you
the way everything grows in Indiana, effortlessly and way too fast.
Plus, let’s face it, you’ve gotten lazy and don’t
make enough money to one day move away
with the kids and the yard and all.
So the zombies win.
But being Indiana,
the neo-conservatists would swoop in to save the day
against the zombies who hate us for our freedoms
and the liberation of our women. And sometime after
the "Mission Accomplished" banner is broadcast
to all 50 states from a ship safely tucked away
on Lake Michigan,
the zombies will regroup again
and pick us off like old ladies at the bus station.
Then with even more determination and hatred of the living
they’ll get fat on intellect until they’ve eaten the last,
and the un-dead of Indiana will die of starvation.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 9:55 AM UTC
Glory came early as did fame.
to Gary Speed there on the pitch.
Cheers he heard from adoring crowds
among the elite he found his niche.
With time’s passage he lost a step
even if he felt the same
but as he ran he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
He coached to stay around the game.
After the cheers for him had faded
A friendly face, a familiar name
but as he coached he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
For many, Gary was an icon,
a living legend of the game.
They failed to see the mortal man
with silence weighting on his frame
As he tied the rope he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
A Rich man laid trapped in an evil desert obis.
Meanwhile a bounty hunter searched for a disabled elder a miss.
He heard the screams desperate deep and blurted.
He ignored his senses, weighting risk like none had heard it.
His body walked on but his nose smelt loot.
He risked his life and clawed him out honey to scoop.
Boosted on shoulders the triumph tasted lick on sweet!
A statue I will make in your honor for your courageous feet!
“No need I’m just happy your safe no need for honor!”
But deep in the invisible dark silence he brood for his daughter.
Then a stench of half eaten carcass ransomed the moment gross and misplaced.
Staring in disgust they agreed “What a pitiful disgrace!
The day before walked the elder man whom was blind and mute.
He heard a cry from the soil and searched in earnest for the root
He clapped his hands and stomped his feet
Risking his very life in blind eyes deceit
Grabbing at the wind, tired broken in vain.
The rich man heard his noisy attempts and cursed his name.
That didn't stop the blind and mute man from trying.
Instead a jagged stone gashed open his leg leaving him bleeding and dying.
The grains of the dessert soaked the earth and cried for his rest.
As the coyotes fought over his wounded flesh....
The rich man claimed “my life I swear will be in your place!!”
With his last bit of life the old man wished the man in the pit would be safe................................
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
I still don't see
the point
of the daily foulness
maybe it gauges inside me
deeper and deeper
so I can afterwards fill it
with wonders
love
each time making a larger hole
and each time finding ways
for me to fill it
Love can do that sometimes
slowly changing.
what once was happiness
soon becomes sand
weighting on your chest
more and more
until you can't breathe
until you don't want to
breathe.
some loves can make you
not want to love again .
But it's not important.
No matter how fragile I am and if
my drowning kills me
I will rise again
Here I am , I am standing
and again I reach
for someone's sleeve of a jacket
again, willingly
again
with a rapid pounding of my heart
I
again
Live.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
I sit looking at them.
Their names stare at me with blank expressions.
In a mood of unabbreviated luck, I choose one
but only one.
This curious anchor weighting me
now sinks to the bottom of the lapping tongues of water.
Once an idea of adventure, turned into an anchor of responsibility.
This beacon of skyline, no longer looming
defeated by its own receding horizon.
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
I remember you tall.
Running marathons with ease as the
Portland breeze was my only relief as I
Staggered behind to a crawl, you – you
You turned back,
Picked me up and said the blisters on my
Feet showed a need to push harder – to attack and I –
I wanted to keep going. To fight through tears and blisters
Sitting in the corner of your office.
Small firm accounting. Where I had my first
Toffee, you excelled at numbers, serving rich and crass
You smilled, sipped your coffe, flipped through pages fast
One day, you went to the store. You
came back empty-handed, like a child forgetting a chore, you
you looked confised, but your wrinkled smile didn’t fade.
At least, not until you
At least, not until you – you
You
Forgot my name.
A life is a collection of memories
And hopes
And for you – for you
-for you that was
Fading
My fear wasn’t as loud as
The “nope” I was saying
Like all
My well wishes could stop
The slope you were slipping
Like – like
Like I could have the audacity
To force you into
Into staying
Your gray beard, your
Coffee staining your shirts and
Your jackets
Weighing heavy
The tracks
My
Tears were laying when your
Your last word to me was “hey”
Trying to stop
Stop my crying in vain
Now
These jackets weighing
Weighting too heavy on grandma, she
She put them on my shoulders
The soft leather
Felt more like a
Boulder, my
My
My arms
Slipped through the sleeves,
Sleeves crawled at the wrist
Funny, I remembered you
tall
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
seconds
ticking
tick-tick
flip-flop
ti-
tick-
ticking.
poking at me,
c o a x i n g me
to move:
stand up, get out, be, hear, see, do,
everything's right in front of you!
those two
idle hands
should be crafting a cat's cradle of cathartic creation…
but easy comfort
in apathetic
nothing,
in slowly
being e n v e l o p e d
cuddled back into, back into, back into my bed of
blank…
slate, blank mind, blank hands.
blankets covering a blank stare at a blank ceiling.
smothering the murmurs
of the matador
in
my
chest,
I s l i d e into a hazy half-dream.
the light slips past,
going home with the sun
and listening to
lunar lullabies,
I
sigh & hum
slinking
into yawns
excusing myself for d r a g g i n g
tiredness
pulling on my strings.
sinking,
sinking
into sulking.
staying
to sit
in sadness,
sinking.
ticking
ticking
t i c k i n g
TOCK
the blocking of
my eyes,
ears,
hands,
feet,
heart
stymied by my own will.
and it will
continue
for
e t e r n i t i e s
of absolutely
arbitrary
nothing.
expect for cookies.
I will pledge my honor to soak up all sweetness so that my bones might
rot
faster,
sinking,
weighting,
wearing,
tearing,
s
i
n
k
i
n
g
.
spiraling out faster,
sinking
into another
sinkhole
black void of destruction
*******
the color
the dimension
of
me
into the next bed
dungeon
for sleep,
dreaming of
sinking:
plummeting past plumes of poisoned plum trees
plop perched atop an immobile glass-sealed sea
yet,
I
sink
in –
apathy.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Laying low and waiting
in the grass, see the sky.
Light above is grating,
caught, perfect, in your eye.
How the moon guides you by
its untroubled movements.
Pristine, untouched, how thy
hand makes no improvements.
With the spear you’re weighting,
once again you will try
in the dirt translating
(caught, perfect, in your eye)
that unbroken line. Lie
that your own amusements
could hold that light. Each sly
hand makes no improvements.
While you stand hesitating,
I place your hand on mine.
“Look,” I say, “duplicating,
caught. Perfect, in your eye,
the moon reflected, spy.
Despite the light’s influence,
to your beauty, his high
hand makes no improvements.”
In vain we satisfy
our heart with our reply.
All of us are truants--
all of nature’s students.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 2:54 PM UTC
The anchor weighs down the boat like a weary and uncertain heart. Aching and rusted, these chains increasingly weak as each roaring wave strains it more and more. The wooden sides of the boat are at maximum capacity, the mast already torn from the storm’s massive winds. Tears of god flood the deck as the storm grows nearer.
From inside the cabin sits a wise man upon an uncomfortable rusted chair. He no longer looks outside for signs of damage to the boat, as the boat is all he has left and he cannot handle worrying about it any longer. The cabin floor sways out to the open sea from the undertow, almost as if a magnet is pulling it away from the safety of the shore.
In just a few hours, the strongest force of the storm will be here. In anticipation, the man simply sits and waits in the vessel, fully prepared to go down with it, still clinging on to a clouded hope that his home will withstand its toughest test.
The man asks himself just one thing as he waits … “Will my heavy heart stay grounded through the toughest of times, or will the winds pull me drifting into the lonely sea? Time will tell. ”
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
Eyes full of blood not knowing if I'm gonna make it but **** I gotta try bones broke but I won't stop I have to make it to the top even though I have nothing I work so hard just to see it all fall apart should've known from the start I aint no rapper or a **** but I can end your life with this gun one shoot it stops no more pain dont take this life in vain start doing good be who you should make a better life before you end up dead I know I'm sick in the head but you don't know what I do you have no clue let me make it clear I'll hit you with my truck and treat you like a dead deer all I want is a nice life something I want to wake up to but because *** holes sit home liven off the government to you a bullet I sent and say the next one comes faster you bastered I got this pain in my soul and dark side that wants to make them all die and no matter how I try he's gonna take you and make you pay take back what you say ***** or end up on my hit list weighting this I'm getting ****** cause all you thing think I'm wack so you better watch your back I'm coming and no force can take me just wait and see
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC