"wild" poems
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
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I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
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I am loud,
Demanding attention.
I know when I am being charming
Because I try.
I put on my impressing face
And do my impressing hair
And speak my impressing words.
I tell you my embarrassing drinking stories
And everything else about me
That you probably shouldn’t know.
I am not good at being quiet
Because that’s not who I am.
I am not the sweet girl
Who will leave you with a smile
And a touch
And a glance
Or a single word.
There is nothing of this fashion of romance
About me.
I am the girl who will point out your flaws,
And take you outside to see the stars,
And remind you how human you are,
And what a wonderful thing that is.
I am the girl who will talk about science,
And music and theology and history,
And point out constellations, laughing,
When you don’t know the big dipper’s name.
I am the girl who will make witty references,
To classic literature and science fiction,
And will tell you stories of how I once,
Made a gingerbread replica of a lighthouse.
I am the girl who will stand on a table,
And sing at the top of my lungs on the highway,
And act like a chicken or quail or velociraptor,
Or nuzzle your face like a lion to make a point.
I am the girl who takes too many shots
And then coaxes you to bed on a Russian liver,
And knows all the right places to bite, and tease,
And follows with exceptionally coherent pillow-talk.
I am not a thin silk scarf on the wind.
I am not a thing hard to capture.
You would not spend a perilous journey
Through a wild, perfumed jungle,
Searching for my slender garments
Hung beside a pool
As I wail to the breeze.
Rather, I am the bird who flies overhead
Making too much noise
Distracting from the trail ahead.
A bird whose plumage proves
What an interesting life it must be…
What a colorful life for me…
Perpetually strange
The lone comic relief.
I am many things.
But I am not quiet.
Of this I am sure.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 6:27 AM UTC
Brighter than the blinding flares of the sun, shimmering outward with power of thousands of stars
yet comforting
yet soft.
Filled with oceans crashing and wild, turning over ships, rushing under a powerful storm.
yet still
yet calm.
Filled with wonder and curiosity, yearning for the unknown, desperate for enlightenment
yet wise
yet content.
Eyes so wide, so deep, filled with delicate roses, the power of mighty warriors, elegant as the flowing dress of Venus, filled with souls of thousands, with passion, with yearning, with desire.
Filled with beauty
Filled with you.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 4:05 AM UTC
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
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Munting hiram na buhay, When will this rented
kelan pa yayaon? lifetime pass?
Pina-walang kabuluhan Time has taken
ang oras na lumipas. the sense of things.
Panahon na sinaksi I have witnessed
pawang di akin sarili. what is not mine.
Kelan ang katapusan? When will this end?
Sa oras ng pagtanggap In accepting
ng tinig mo? Irog, your voice? My dear,
ika'y aking kamatayan. you are my death.
Ano ang pinangakong Where is
payapa at galak, peace and joy
kung puso'y sumisikap if the heart still toils
sa inaasahang pangarap? towards it's endeavors?
Kelan mabubuksan When will I unlock
ang pagkakataon ng pangakong the promise
ligaya mula sa kamay mo? from your hands?
Di pa sapat ang pagsunod? Is compliance not enough?
Asan na ang hinanap pangarap na ligaya, Where is happiness
mula sa pawis, pagnanasa? sought with sweat and desire
Gawin ang lahat of risking all
sa anumang konsekwnsya? no matter what?
Sino ako? Taong Who am I? so presumptive
mapangahas sa sariling kalooban, of my own will,
ligaw sa ilang, lost in the wild,
lasing sa layaw, drunk for indulgence,
lulon sa kadiliman at kawalan. drowned into its depths.
ano ako sa Yo? what am i to You?
yapak. footprints.
alabok. dust.
pinag-duraang basura ng lansangan. garbage spit in the street.
Ginawa mo aking kapalaran, You made me thus,
palayok at pinggan. as a clay ***
Sa yong kagustuhan Transformed and used
tadhanang pupuntahan. for what you forge.
Aking tanggap I accept
kawalan ng karapatan, lost of rights,
pagsuko ng kalayaan, surrendered freedom,
layag sa kagustuhan, adrift from wants,
yaong kababaan. and lowly.
Paglisan ng sarili, bihag when i abandon myself, as Your
at lingkod mo, captive and servant
nawa'y malaya sa mundo. may i be free of this world.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
The Wild Iris
by Louise Gluck
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure sea water.
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A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.
A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.
The end.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
In That Moonlit Night Standing In The Abaft,
Watching The Towed Flaccid Wooden Raft,
I Thought That I Saw An Angel Resting,
Lying Exhausted There In That Craft.
I Call The Girl Out Unbeknownst Of Her Kind Name,
"Hey Young Lady!!" To Which She Didn't Much Respond,
She Looked Up Towards Me Once In Anguish & Collapsed,
I See Desperation In Her Amber Eyes & Resolve To Help Her.
The Crewmen Had Now Been Doing The Paddles After Resting,
I Summon My Captain & Ask, "Do You See That Girl In The Raft?"
The Senile Captain Smiles To Say, "Commodore, Better Get Married,"
I Look Just Clueless To Which He Simply Replies, "There Is No Girl."
True He Was As She Had Simply Disappeared,
I Started Thinking Of My Sleep Needs That Day,
I Looked Around Again In A Hope To Find The Girl,
I Had Compromised My Routine As The Commodore.
Then I Immediately Realized It Was My Wild Phantasm,
Now This Was Just A Plain Illusion Of A Tired Sailor's Mind,
No Mermaids Could Have Ever Existed In Reality & Were Fake,
I Turned Towards The Deck To Go Back To My Bunk For Sleeping.
As I Climbed Down The Stairs To Enter My Room Amazed & Dazed,
I Saw Her Standing And Waiting For Me By The Side Of My Bunk,
I Accepted That Delusion Of My Mind & Started To Lie Down,
She Said, "I'm As Real As Your Thoughts, Don't Fear Me."
She & I-Me & Her, Had The Best Time That Night,
In The Morning She Was Gone & Was Just Gone,
Disappeared Into Thin Air While I Was Asleep,
Each Day I So Dearly Long For Her To Return.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
she's young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pretty
wrists
o my god,
I thought it was all working,
and now it's her again,
every time she phones you go crazy,
you told me it was over
you told me it was finished,
listen, I've lived long enough to become a
good woman,
why do you need a bad woman?
you need to be tortured, don't you?
you think life is rotten if somebody treats you
rotten it all fits,
doesn't it?
tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a
piece of ****
and my son, my son was going to meet you.
I told my son
and I dropped all my lovers.
I stood up in a cafe and screamed
I'M IN LOVE,
and now you've made a fool of me. . .
I'm sorry, I said, I'm really sorry.
hold me, she said, will you please hold me?
I've never been in one of these things before, I said,
these triangles. . .
she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all
over.she paced up and down,wild and crazy.she had
a small body.her arms were thin,very thin and when
she screamed and started beating me I held her
wrists and then I got it through the eyes:hatred,
centuries deep and true.I was wrong and graceless and
sick.all the things I had learned had been wasted.
there was no creature living as foul as I
and all my poems were
false.
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All these wild thoughts
beautifully inspired by you.
The way you looked at me when you walked away,
got me feelin some type of way.
The way you wear those jeans,
got me wishin you would put me on.
The way you smilin, if you're an angel,
then there is something wrong.
got my thoughts wildin, vibes getting strong,
The way you lookin, I know you feel the bond.
Got my attention, the way you move those hips
now you really turning it on.
Your body language speaking loud and clear
It wasn’t a mistake, destiny is got us here
now let me take you there.
The vibes will never disappear.
Thoughts wildin with your lips in my ear.
I want to take you now and, right here.
I'll take you anywhere.
Time is precious
so lets not waste it here.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
She was only seventeen
In a town called Mexicali
Purple lipstick, hair dyed green
Wouldn't let her leave without me
And she liked things obscene
That I won't talk about here
But her **** you wouldn't believe,
So I had to keep her around...
**My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Her eyes lit up
When I lit up
My marijuana girl
My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Smoky dreams
and tequila screams...**
...My Marijuana Girl...
She was a wild thing indeed
Life carried by the wind
A little wink is all she needs
To drive a holy man to sin
My bloodshot eyes were hypnotized
My head started to spin
She can blow you up or calm your heart
Like nitroglycerine
**My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Her eyes lit up
When I lit up
My marijuana girl
My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Smoky dreams
and tequila screams...**
...My Marijuana Girl...
*Mi chica marijuana
My marijuana girl*
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:33 PM UTC
There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule- altar fungous and white.
To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
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After the DJ dimmed down the lights
One look at you
I can tell it's gonna be a long night
I don't know if you can take it
It's too big, I might break it
Little waist tight dress
Your body shakin
Eyes Looking at me
like your for the takin
The way our bodies groove
make our bodies move
like love is for the makin
Dancing like we naked
dancin close like its sacred
Reading your body language
Screaming my name
like i’m your favorite
I make your body do things
Making love until your ear rings
Screaming out loud, speaking nonsense
make you *** first until is past tense
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Sometimes the day smiles
shows me its colour.
No, then the wild blue yonder
doesn’t look to be far
I feel like I got the wings to fly.
But who would sway away
when the rose under the nose
floating on a sea of colour?
The luminary punter too
drops down from the sky.
Paints the broad daylight
as it sails down on its silky way.
Ah, the southern breeze
bends with the rose of the day
peeps in the colour before my eyes.
I could only see missing my butterfly.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:40 AM UTC
*My depraved soul's unearthed
By the Holy Ghost's breath
And given new birth
Out of spiritual death
This wretch is turned 'round
Fit with eyes to believe
A lost sheep is found
And her Shepherd received
My blots are each edited
Out in Christ's fount
His righteousness credited
To my bankrupt account
A prisoner's been pardoned
No debt left to pay
A heart which was hardened
Becomes pliable clay
My life's set apart
Now from worldly regression
Picked out from the start
Made for Christ's own possession
I'm purchased with blood
Shed on Golgotha's tree
A slave bought by God
And fully set free
My sins were all laid
On the head of a Scapegoat
Who carried their weight
To a desert remote
Once an object of wrath
And deserving hell's fire
But Jesus took my bath—
Conflagration of God's ire
So an enemy no more
I'm brought into God's fold
Carried through His door
And out of night's cold
He calls me His child
His heir and His bride
Though once an orphan wild
Now seated at Christ's side
And soon He'll return
When salvation's complete
When no longer I'll yearn
For His own face I'll meet!*
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
like cellophane wraps hard candy
like ink loves to dry
like hot sauce drenches noodles
like sunrise casts shadows
like band-aids sooth cut flesh
like irons crease linens
like origami folds paper
like water floats boats
like a tempest loves a teapot
like syrup and bananas drench waffles
like spoons love soup
like cats love fish
like french fries love ketchup
like wild girls dance
like a crow loves road ****
like eyes love beauty
like a circle loves a square
like buttered buns fit a bikini
like a kissed mouth hungers for wet lips
like moths love a flame
like dogs love ********
and like ******* hug butts
like howling ******* pulse hearts
like vampires love blood and castles
like dark grapes ferment in bubbling cauldrons
like madness loves a straight jacket
like a ***** loves a ****
and music gets you dancing
like suns fall through cobalt night all smashing diamonds
that's
how i love you
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Alright now, right brain,
you're being insane.
No, left brain! I'm just being alive.
You should try it---you might like it.
I worked hard to give him everything he cared about.
You were worried about the things that he was scared about.
I'm calm and collected when you act wild.
I am the adult, you are the child.
You think you're the right one every time!
You think you know everything, but you don't know anything
at all.
Half of his problems were s'posed to be mine!
But you wanted everything.
I hope that you're happy--- 'cause he's sure not.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Science says that there's a mathematical equation that explains everything in life.
But I say that not even physics bears an explanation for...the guidelines of attraction.
Our primal reactions are multiplied in...the highlights of passion.
These laws of love that linger like a lanterns lost illumination...
Like the campfire light on a clear night, leaves coals of culmination.
Sweat beads lead to bare threads and bare bodies.
And oh my, how bare bodies lead to imaginations running wild.
Cold winds inspire warm kisses and close skin.
Sincere actions aren't sins.
Bodies wound in union, formed by light and tightly bound.
Together, these twisted vines penetrate the hardest ground...
Together, harmonic souls produce passionate sounds.
Yet, still somehow, love gets lost more than love gets found.
This equation is unending...like numbers off lips that kiss the air.
Body language spoken...Our physical bonds parallel eternity and pi squared.
And you know that every moment that we share is nothing short of...molecular love for the masses...
Now held captive by gravity and magnetism...
See, the last full moon marked retrograde...and if the moon affects the tide of the ocean...and our bodies are roughly 75% water...can we assume that this is the only body powerful enough to keep ours apart?
This gravity...
This pull...
It's pulling me apart...so let me pull you closer, stop pushing me away!
Hold on tight, dont let these planets drift away into a dark rift of decay.
Let your love lap upon this solid stone like a river riffles smooth sandbars into hills of higher ground.
Because baby, without your water on my beach...
I'm nothing but a desert, dry and deserted.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 10:53 PM UTC
for leather accrues
The miracle of the streets
The scents & smogs &
pollens of existence
Shiny blackness
so totally naked she was
Totally un-hung-up
We looked around
lights now on
Top see our fellow travellers
~~~
I am troubled
Immeasurably
By your eyes
I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply
The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain
And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain
~~~
She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
just out of reach
A candle stranded on
a beach
While the sun sinks low
an H-bomb in reverse
~~~
Everything human
is leaving
her face
Soon she will disappear
into the calm
vegetable
morass
Stay!
My Wild Love!
~~~
I get my best ideas when the
telephone rings & rings. It’s no fun
To feel like a fool-when your
baby’s gone. A new ax to my head:
Possession. I create my own sword
of Damascus. I’ve done nothing w/time.
A little tot prancing the boards playing
w/Revolution. When out there the
World awaits & abounds w/heavy gangs
of murderers & real madmen. Hanging
from windows as if to say: I’m bold-
do you love me? Just for tonight.
A One Night Stand. A dog howls & whines
at the glass sliding door (why can’t I
be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine
revs & races against the grain- dry
rasping carbon protest. I put the book
down- & begin my own book.
Love for the fat girl.
When will SHE get here?
~~~
In the gloom
In the shady living room
where we lived & died
& laughed & cried
& the pride of our relationship
took hold that summer
What a trip
To hold your hand
& tell the cops
you’re not 16
no runaway
The wino left a little in
the old blue desert
bottle
Cattle skulls
the cliche of rats
who skim the trees
in search of fat
Hip children invade the grounds
& sleep in the wet grass
’til the dogs rush out
I’m going South!
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Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996.
"You, my love, are allowed to forget
about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house.
You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight
of all the years before,
like bad disco clothes.
Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover.
You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown
every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams.
You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth
and your most terrifying magic;
and dreaming is for the courageous.
You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar
and sing me idiot love songs
if you've lost your ability to speak.
Keep it down to two minutes.
You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die
and to live again,
more alive and incandescent than before.
You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television,
choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind.
**** **** **** **** the ************
before the song of zombiefied pain
and panic and malaise
and it's narrow right-winged vision
and it's cheap commercial gang ****
becomes the white noise of the world.
Turn about is fair play.
You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.
You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses
to those around you
and those up in heaven.
You, my love, are allowed to show your babies
how to dance full bodied,
starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.
You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor.
You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket
in the New York summertime
with the wonder of your own special gift.
You, my love, are allowed to receive praise.
You, my love, are allowed to have time.
You, my love, are allowed to understand.
You, my love, are allowed to love.
Woman, disobey,
when little men believe;
You, my love, are Rebellion."
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
Let's play pretend.
Let's pretend we don't know each other.
Let's pretend we were never lovers.
Let's start over.
You can teach me how to sing.
I can teach you how to dance.
You can teach me to play piano.
I can teach you how to love.
Let's start over.
Let's drink.
Let's drink to the good times, to the bad.
Let's get ****** up together and not remember how it ends.
Let's be young, wild, and free.
Let's start over.
Now let's remember.
Let's remember the past.
Let's remember how we used to be.
Let's remember all the fun we had when we pretended.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ----
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly **** out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness ----
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence
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