"windchime" poems
If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime;
the song too frozen to melt on her tongue.
I am scared of all her moving on.
The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight.
I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here.
The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane.
I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her. That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes.
I am scared that I am being overdramatic.
I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars.
Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother.
I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees.
Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt. Like dive bars miss blues music.
When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
dust has collected in this once filled room of my mine
it's floated and settled on the last few things left behind
spellbind
windchime
now i can say this empty space is all mine
8 years of pacing this room
8 years of shouting at the moon
8 years of sleeping til noon
just to ignore the fact I meant nothing to you
so much anger has made home in my bones
the way you used to speak about me felt like being casted with stones
I used to try and drown out your tasteless, colorless tone
you type "she's dramatic" in a text on your phone
I expected this feeling of indifference to feel free with no stop lights
yet this empty space
and this empty mind
coincide
with what I've known this whole time
that all too familiar feeling of restlessness has come to an end
and even though there are still memories burned into my head
I don't believe I have anything else left unsaid
I envied your callousness
I despised your self-righteousness
and i ached at your lack of consequence
what caught your eye was never my elegance
but rather my callowness
as the ice in your drink swirls and melts
and you're blaming me besides everyone else
as your anger starts to swell
just remember it was me who wasn't treated well
we can keep our heads down while our eyes meet on the street
while you pretend I don't resemble meadowsweet
and that we never danced in my kitchen with me on your feet
but
to be honest
in the end
we were always offbeat
when you chose to secede
I found you to not be an aesthete
if you could agree
to be without me
this story is begging to no longer be told
so maybe I'll revisit this time of my life when I've seen how my life will unfold
til then my king is fallen on this chess board
my feelings are buried far past the sea's shore
and I've finally
stopped keeping score
Feb 25, 2022
Feb 25, 2022 at 2:02 PM UTC
I lay awake last night
listening to the windchime
I knew for sure
it was telling tales
singing songs
and some poems too.
At times loud
at times soft
it talked and talked.
will the windchime be ringing
tonight, again?
Maybe I should be dressed
to join windchime and her friend!
Ah, yes I will listen
for the howling sound,
the first gusts of wind
and rush out
when it joins its friend.
On lonely nights
wind chime is my friend.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
I can't imagine how this looks
Me, face of clay
Silent windchime mouth
Aquariam glass eyeballs
Snowglobe life
Swimming in glitter
Tsunami at your hands
Plastic toes stuck
Until I lunge
Eyes flare heat
Stove top face
Coiled brain
Orange is the color I saw in you
Finger painted pianos
Mole rat grass
You took my monocle
Smashed glass in the garden
Next to tulip bulbs
That will grow in as your teeth
Fingers on mice
Like your genes
Granola girls take paths
I am glued, plastic feet
You walk around me
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
i sit here and overdose in my imagination for the fifth time today
too poor to **** myself with a pharmaceutical fantasy no pain just sleep
it's a matter of time before i'm found swinging in my basement necrotic windchime
i'm not so much a poet as a sad kid rambling who can only write inebriated
this one time life thing is getting me sick and i just don't..
**** me i thought i was stronger than this yet years with a **** job
no girl and 5 weeks a night of left hand ************ while i choke down
another bottle bottle bottled my emotions in a seven dollar anesthetic
i've been romanticizing a wished for **** addiction at least that would be an
excuse for why i'm a wasted wasting waste of life doomed to insecurity
i can't even remember half the words i learned in school
you're probably sick of my self loathing and every poem i write is
just another narcissistic cry for help because i'm to proud to ball up and cry
don't even bother this time i don't want your reason for why i can't top myself
kick my bucket, burn my farm, pluck out my eyes and puke till i die
i'm ******* done i'm just too tired to try
to all those girls i never kissed - i love you
to all those ******** i never hit - i love you
to that boy that i might have found myself with - i love you
to my best best best friends the few that i have - i love you
i was never comfortable in my skin
maybe i'll be comfortable in my grave
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
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Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Your laugh
Isn't a windchime
It's
The
Whole
*******
Symphony
Your smile
Lines up the notes
Oh
So
Perf
ect
ly
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with solid ground,
There's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound emits.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To breath life back into you.
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
And left you entangled in the remains.
The valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
You're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has deserted you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
Constantly rain,
But you you're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates,
And you quite like the taste,
Of self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
That you paint on,
Why you defile
Your skin,
This terror your living in,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
Inside of your mind,
Leaves a carcus, a morsel,
Of yourself behind.
Your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Where your bones should be,
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
By red marks where you've sliced open your skin,
In at attempt to be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
There's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And tying knots the further down you slip,
As you sip,
Another shot of courage.
But there's only so long,
One can hold on for,
And believe me I've been down
To the depths of hell and danced with the devil
On many occasions,
And the sheer frustration,
Of the attempts to be patient,
Are wearing thin,
Like the warm skin, that stretches,
Over your protruding bones.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
Solarium seashells trickle
Down the mountain brook
Through the java fern
Dancing with the salmon
And the freshwater eel
Gently coming together
Like a liquid windchime
How lovely could this be?
Not much more
Than it is
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
I love my dear,
Her name is Emilia.
Gazing at her from far away,
Just makes my day.
Jet-black silky flowing locks,
like the Milky Way which never stops.
Bursting with the scent of a quaint flower,
Most undoubtedly from a morning shower.
Mere curtains but, those are,
To the cutesy face with eyes ajar.
Her skin, infinitely youthful, flawless and luminous,
In comparison, even cherubs appear longevous.
Prismatic obsidian orbs suspended in opal,
Whisks you someplace else⸻a portal.
Thin clear lenses in a sleek black frame,
Masks wild vivacious eyes to look tame.
Hereunder lies a dainty nose,
With a soft hue like a pink rose.
Cherry lips so full and round,
Even a light kiss will be sure to astound.
A euphonious voice reberverates,
through every heart it penetrates.
Resonant, crisp, and fine,
Pleasant, like a ring of a windchime.
Slender and tender,
Are her hands and fingers.
Deft and skillful is her fingerwork,
Weaving melodies as bright as firework.
If the world was a blossoming garden,
Sunflowers would represent this maiden.
Her presence unquestionably amazes,
blooming wide smiles on countless faces.
A brilliant joyous yellow lustre,
Is the aura that defines her.
She's a dazzling ray of light,
So bid all your worries good night!
Magnetic is her personality,
And attractive is her positivity.
Loved and respected by all is she,
friendly and cheery as all should be.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 2:36 AM UTC
brittle leaves swing with windchime thrills
scattering minature fairy hats northwards
bristle tops of seeded whimsy
light strokes branches of resilience
revealing notches and furrows filled with courage
warmed and hazelnut tones of sap and towering elegance
in the end flourishing into taffeta skirts of green
plumes, plums and sour-apple caterpillars
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
Glass renders it silent,
its movements make sweet music.
Its song remains unshared
until someone, the window, opens.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 6:59 AM UTC
When a tree waves its green leafy hand,
Most don't notice, but I understand;
The swaying of a flower, the buzz of a bee . . .
That's how my garden beckons to me
The little blades of grass gently nod
As a worm pokes his head through the sod;
Cast blame if you will on my vanity,
But I'm certain he's looking for me
Now the wind wants to join in the game --
Spying a windchime, it takes careful aim;
Soon the air fills with a soft melody,
And I smile, knowing it's playing for me
I watch as the sun sweeps clouds away,
Showing off with such gaudy display;
But I must admit, the sun's victory
Causes the flowers to dance with glee
And I stand in awe amidst this scene
Of peace and beauty. If I were a Queen
What nobler entitlement could there be
Than these treasures unfurled before me?
A warble suddenly hushes life's din,
And soon more feathered minstrels join in;
But such incidents are no mystery . . .
That's just my garden calling to me
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 4:08 PM UTC
Summertime windchime song
I hear its brevity
In your laughter
Like bitter cold rain on my tongue
Moments
We danced through puddles
To that summer song
Stuck in my head
Like your picturesque hello
And how it seems so long ago
A wink of times blind eye
And there we are
Street signs in tow
My head in your lap
Counting sunroof stars
Like sparklers
Streaming to meet our dust
On back roads
We race to beat our adrenaline home
Now let months go
Walking to meet the street
Laying a blanket at our feet
We talked to coax the stars away
Reeled in a shy shy sunlit sky
Like kids Christmas morn peeking
To see the tree wear its halo glow
And bask in memories as they grow
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
If butterflies were piano keys, when played they would create a sound so faint and beautiful that it would resonate within your eardrums for a thousand years.
The music fabricated from the monarchs would take you back, way back to the years where your grandmothers windchime that hung from her old rickety porch pinged and chinged playfully in the wind.
The music from the Swallowtails would sound like the rustic countryside plains, filled with rustling waves of weeds that you call flowers because they are just to pretty to be called weeds.
The music played from this piano is not just beautiful however.
These tunes come with a cost.
For each key pressed on the mosaic of keys that symmetrically flow down the keyboard takes the life of the butterfly used to bring forth the sound and the memory.
Not only do you hear the song, the memory, you hear the crunch of nature’s thorax.
The crushed and crumbling thoraxes play a song too.
Not beautiful, but melancholy.
Like the whisper of a flower that will never bloom for the morning sun again.
A faint light that leads unto eternal darkness and into a world where no butterflies soar through the sky.
All because you played the piano who’s keys were made of butterfly wings.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
Opening the channel from there to here
Opportunity for a song
Comfort from the heavens
With breath it moves along
And dangles by his front porch swing
Your chair so very near
Death may claim the warmth of one
But not the music that you'll hear
For love endures all things they say
Even loneliness and pain
A simple windchime reminder
Until you find him once again.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
This barren street at night
Dust storms
Picking up the Autumn leaves
In cyclones
Decorations lingering
Halloween ghost
Hanging from a tree
The sensation of a witch
Being born at every
Hit of my cigarette
Wondering why more
Other lost souls
Are not outside smoking
Cigarettes shaking in hoodies
That are too large
For them
Trying to solve this universe
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Sometimes I go for a walk without myself
not really alone but beyond the self
I let the fresh air fill my lungs
at the same time the windchime rung
Connected to the sound
I felt my heart pound
I noticed the crickets chants
as the trees started to dance
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
Sea salt hair with windchime charms
Fireworks in my chest the solar system in my hip pocket flap
Tobacoo coat stained green with stones from my throat
A daughter of the North with toothpick heels
Sunken ships and bruised lips as I curse your name
Scar you with my thoughts
Regurgitate our indifferences in this Melancholy sea
Stardust loveless and lost
I weaponize your words
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC
"There's a whole new world here,
and you're trying to debate who God is
Ignoring all the growing plants
And animals feeding on them
Turning a blind eye to the hunters, gatherers, and civilizations.
Look at the tadpoles
Watch how the blades of grass bend to the windchime lullaby through mountains like passengers on the T in
Boston
Witness detail before you try to figure out some black and white
yes and no answer.
Try empathy.
Discuss common ground
on where the rivers are,
which spiders are poisonous
which sliders just look that way.
Don't ever decide who gets to name
god.
Decide who gets to name the blades of
grass.
Agree on who names the spider.
You can name the trees.
I'll name the oceans
before you know it
this new world
has a place for both of us
and isn't that world more beautiful?"
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
One hot and sultry summer night,
While the trees outside stood dark and still,
I tried to get my checkbook right,
At the desk beside my window sill.
One thing moved in the heat and damp,
The whispering of a hundred moths,
Trapped around the backyard lamp.
In pity, I went and turned it off.
They flew away and left me there,
Wishing that something, likewise, might
Free me from the musty air
That gathered around my dim desk light.
My old brass wind-harp, long un-tongued,
Gave forth a single, clarion chime,
From where it had, untroubled, hung.
A neighbor’s porch gave answering rhyme.
I turned to see the heat-lights leap
Between the towering thunderheads,
Which had gathered in the upper deep,
While I nodded, working, half asleep.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
*It was the day before you left
I remember the breakfast
then the walk.
The floral gardens are so lovely
in the early summer.
Focused perfectly
you framed in roses
within the arch
of the climbing rose arbor
Somewhere a windchime
was lilting.
Looking now
at the last photograph
I would take of you.
They say the clicking camera
tells no lies
Your ashen loveless face
Was saying the goodbye
I heard this morning.*
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 6:53 AM UTC