"wingtips" poems
He dreamed he was loved.
A love guarded fiercely, with passion.
A love that was not unconditional.
Not the blank slate love of a child
or an animal so programmed by instinct.
This love was willful and earned.
Having glimpsed an injured brilliance
beneath the flab and sweat and stench she weaned it to health.
Making it stronger, and brighter,
and more prominent with each passing day; until it erupted.
And he was transformed.
to embody that brilliance.
And she protected that embodiment.
Letting nothing call it to question.
She cared for him as he never could for himself.
She soothed and softened
and loved the deep furrow from his brow.
And her passion overwhelmed him.
And he wanted for nothing.
And when he opened his eyes
To **** and filth
with only the kiss of concrete
and the banter of horns
and obscenities
and footsteps.
******* FOOTSTEPS.
Heels pittering purposefully to mask exhausted uncertainty
Brogues, and wingtips clicking; with a cocky juvenile illusion of importance.
Boots plodding heavily under the weight of duty,
to build, and fix, and secure for the others.
And through a fog laid thick and throbbing
by poisons chased dutifully the night before;
he felt her fierce love for a fleeting moment
Guarding, and loving his shining brilliance
until it erupted from him;
With bile and blood, **** and regret
coldly rejected by his concrete companion.
And she was gone once again.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
Watching a seagull floating lazily
Through an invisible blue ocean
Effortlessly soaring on invisible waves
Course dictated by winds currents
Piercing eyes watching, senses alert
Casting a moving shadow, cross the deep
Tracking a path none knows
Swooping, surfing ocean’s rollers
Wingtips gently kissing wave peaks.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
And so resounds the echo...
Sewn against your shadow,
handstitched destiny edges,
unraveled in the fire,
pulses rage
in heart-paced whispers,
collision of midnight panther
pelts, bleed into powder silk,
ravage the gentle merge,
your touch upon my awakening
sway me softly in your gaze
taste me with eyes that pierce
my soul from wingtips of butterflies
cast from the fire of your existence.
Unfold the unspoken words
dripping in the creases of this
throbbing...needing...wanting
heartbeat-slip-stitch,
suture seal the ache
of gossamer flesh
pressed against raven,
twin glances,
the bookmark,
fingertips
tracing the eyeprints
of your words upon me.
...so resounds the echo...
As echo wrecks the body
in a fever of words, purged
from the ****** night,
that devours_and devours_your lips,
my hands' gentle cradle, spread
its roots dark these russet
threads the gold, swept
wetly over hands, like nerves,
quickening and so laden
with tremors, these words echo echo
Slip knot tongues intertwine,
tangled tasting breathes, exhaled
in slow moans surging, purging
that drink_and crave_and need
m o r e
beneath hands that unleash
the fervor, lips pressed through
the flames, as gossamer falls
upon panther silk,
an exigent trespass,
beyond the touch
beyond the kiss,
educe the quake and the quiver
within this rapture.
...so resounds the echo echo...
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
and there i was.
all of 3 and a half,
draped in hopping silhouettes;
neck deep in swaying hips
and blaring tunes
tied to kick drums.
dramatic rim taps
and wingtips cluttered
cross the wooden floor.
surrounded by tall men with
tall women whose heels
unforgivingly grazed
the groaning floor boards.
their gowns thick
as kitchen curtains
that seemed to flutter
like butterflies in hurricanes.
i heard the summer whisper;
her hums sweetly floating
through grand windows
tall as ten of me;
tasting the rhythm
with her tongue,
she blew a cool sigh;
flooding the steaming stew
of old souls with young bones.
sunk real deep between
4 counts and hi hats
to twirl her way
into their step;
a type of swing
'cept it had a bounce to it
like steeple chasers.
those ladies with copper faces
and stone seasoned roots
with joints as old as time
played tag with the down beat.
those daddys dodging
in their tailoreds
like taxis in traffic;
toxic with a plague of ghouls
like the Count, King Cole
and Billie, Fitzgerald, Gillespie.
Then,
just as the summer silenced her hiss,
just as the sun
dug its heels into the dirt,
making its last ditch efforts
to remain present,
dusk untied its bows;
unwrapping a gift like glory.
and we were bathed in glory
that laughed like lovers
and kissed like dogs.
it drenched us in sloppy showers
glistening gold like sweat.
yet still,
we emerged refreshed.
so as the night
began its usual
chocking down of day
and good afternoons
cacooned into goodevenings,
i stood there;
all of 3 years old.
surrounded by silhouttes
that could only belong
to old souls with young bones
who belittled big bands
with their own vibrations;
those copper ladies
and skyscraper sized fathers
in tailored suits
who two stepped
to both sunsets and groove
grew into shadows.
and i stood in the midst of
those dimmed stars;
stamina riddled.
knowing that as
a summer day died,
a summer night
had only just begun.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Blackened bird upon my brow;
Corvus Christi on my crown:
Could there be, oh could there be
Balm, sweet Balm in Galilee
Wild Roses grown in Gilead
White Daffodils on Sharon's sea . . .
The shores, the shores of Sharon's sea:
wingtips lapping cedar beams
leave no trail of murrey'd deeds;
tapping shoulders with your blades
rustling in the hollow reeds,
among the Seals of Solomon
Two Lovers, lost in Lebanon,
rose, to where the Stars of David bloom --
She in gules and He in vert . . .
Sable Bird upon our brows;
Corvus Christi on our crowns.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Her eyelashes
turn into little shy rainbows
when the sunlight
kisses the windowpanes of her soul,
& the pots of gold
are the simple dimples
that nestle in the quiet hues of her cheek,
Like a cool evening breeze...
She is.
The wispy butterflies
that playfully flutter within my hollow chest acknowledge her presence,
their wingtips scraping my paper rib cage
& knocking loose the flickering light bulb
that calls itself my beating heart,
So set apart...
Is she,
that diamonds line the inside of her thighs
& i just happened to find
traces of gold
in the scars that saunter down her spine.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
I remember the tops of clouds,
Looking as far as I could see.
I don't know if the Pacific
Is a pretty place,
But at altitude,
At least it's sunny.
Under the cumulus blanket,
Man makes his own clouds,
Thick with metal and smoke,
All black and shrapnel,
And God help you
If one opens up around your wingtips.
I remember nosing down,
Gritted teeth and twisted belly,
Eyes flitting between instruments
And the little ship
Getting fatter and fatter
Through my prop.
You wait till the last second,
Drop your ordinance,
And pull your nose
Up and up and then
You push that little throttle bar
To the limit,
And then the **** black clouds
Start up all around you,
And when your big baby shakes,
You know something's wrong,
And you cry out
"Buck? Buck?"
Like I did.
And then you don't know
If your face is covered in tears
Or blood from you or Buck.
I remember landing on that carrier,
Big and metal and gray,
Like a big tombstone for your friend,
And your plane is the coffin.
**** it, I remember.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
8:30 A.M.
She wakes him up with breakfast
on the night stand.
Two eggs over-easy and lightly burnt
on the bottom so the yolks don't run,
two pieces of sourdough toast cut
diagonally, and a cup of coffee /
no sugar, no cream / brewed
at 8:15, two hours after
she got up to clean the house.
She mopped the floors twice,
tied the trash bags and set
them at the curb. She tested, dusted,
and retested the stagnant ceiling fans.
She vacuumed the rugs and wiped
down all wood, granite, and steel
surfaces.
She lemon Pledges allegiance to him.
While he's at work, she cleans his laundry.
She clean-presses his button-ups, making
sure to cut any stray threads and neatly
mend any loose seams. She irons a firm
crease in his pants and shines his all-black
wingtips. She doesn't use Kiwi. Something high-class
that I've never heard of.
When he comes home and sets his briefcase
near the furnace vent to sulk in his leather
chair, she consoles him. She pulls the lace hem
of her sundress to her waist and ***** his ****
until he comes to his senses.
*You look like a billion-dollar, gold-plated
monument feeding the world rosegold birdseed
from your immaculate palm binding my hair
like a Dutch Warmblood's tail, darling.*
She dabs the corners of her mouth trying
not to smudge her lipstick, straightens
her dress, and hurries off to wash
his car.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
Wings,
soft, feathery, downy,
wings,
made for flight,
Forged for a fight,
wings,
scarred, ****** broken,
Wings,
---
Wingtips press against the soil,
Earthen, Brown,
the power of the Earth,
shared to me,
Ritual, complete,
I feel it all,
rich power,
---
Graceful wingtips,
trailing crimson,
across innocent marble floors,
oh how imbued with guilt,
they drag,
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
I sat in a catatonic state
Looking forward to sate
my appetite
for coffee,
but unable
to move or enjoy the taste.
Frozen.
A mask of glazed eyes blinded
by a bright white light, reflected so much more
was I standing on the wrong train tracks,
had I died and waiting for my turn in line,
was this my karma as a deer in the headlights?
none of these had a chance to cross my mind.
a figure silouhetted poured from that light,
her features delicate and skin so pale, in an eerily
beautiful way, was that her hair or wingtips peering
draped gracefully over her shoulders, and she asked me
"would you like to try our new mocha and vanilla via?"
I saw spots of white, and said "I would if I could see ya,
please step closer but out of the light"
as she stepped out of the light and to my side,
I just realized this whole time I had been trapped by
a reflected beam of light from the sunshine outside,
that found a highly polished mall marble floor, next time,
and there will be a next time, I will wear sunglasses
so as to not be served, like fine wine, before my time.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Of the hospital
I sat clenching a leopard
filled with beads.
Father beside me
Tapping his chestnut wingtips against
the bloodless linoleum floors.
It was September. The heat oppressive,
Like the Moors toward foes
in the Iberian Peninsula.
Rays illuminated the woes of those ‘round me.
A barrier existed
emanating from within
Fleshed out by a zeal, to not be on one’s own
At the dinner table, as Father responded
to a **** addict’s violent implosion on Nile Street.
At Carmel-by-the-Sea building sand castles to be
--washed away by the tides
on the bay enrobed with fire
Fleshed out by a desire to be
dethroned.
Fulfillment flooded the lobby,
Father ceased his tapping,
A Florence Nightingale lead the way
past bland white doors,
past elderly covered in black crusted sores
past a priest who pours a libation.
In to the room of your entrance,
Nearest and dearest gathered ‘round
the blemished linoleum floor
Warm cries hollowed down
the halls, signifying your existence
Clenching a leopard
filled with beads. (Now in the attic)
Mother Rose freckled and content
Embraced you, as the world still spun
My eyes a maelstrom of red yellow and black,
seeped streams of grey streams of grey
for the loneliness fleeted that Autumn day.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
we fly
with lofty feathers
albeit shorn wingtips
we speak
but with pregnant minds
albeit engorged nibs
Oct 5, 2023
Oct 5, 2023 at 7:39 PM UTC
I was walking in
that old betrayer,
rain.
I was soaked to the gills,
and my wingtips were
sloshing on every
broken sidewalk.
The wind took my last
match, so smoking was out.
I'd give my liver for
a lighter and two
dimes to rub together.
I think I'll join the
carnival, get on that
tunnel of love and never
get off.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 7:54 AM UTC
I’ve got no right and of that I’m very well aware, that I should have a say in how you wear your hair. That I shouldn’t think it looks the nicest after you’ve showered, when it’s darker and the lines of your combs teeth leave neat rows in your styled way.
Or maybe that I love you when you’ve shaved, but also grizzly bear you reminds me it’s the weekend. When you're ruff, I know there are a few more precious hours in the Saturday and Sundays on the calendar.
I won’t ever tell you that your grey tee shirt is my favorite of your limited wardrobe, and that you in my favorite color—it’s blue if you were wondering, though I'm sure you already know— makes my head swoon for a bit. When you wear a button up, and leave it un-tucked, I think about the white vee neck beneath and how I can see it peeking out from beneath your collar.
I love the way your suit jacket makes you stand up straighter, and how your suit pants when you sit reveal those brown socks you always wear with your wingtips. I even love those blue jeans (I think they’re your only pair) that aren’t stylish, but soft and comfortable. And the brown belt with the cracking leather and brass buckle you always play with when you’re laying on the floor with me, watching nonsense tv at the end of a day. I love your sweatpants, and the way that when you lie on your side, your boxer band shows like a tease. I like the way you never fix it, but it fixates me.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
There's a reverie that still haunts me,
and the capability to be free from it makes me pay a fee,
I have a son and he is healthy,
I have a job, but not wealthy,
I have no wife, which makes me a bachelor with a bloodline,
I have no family, which makes me feel fine.
I am a rolling stone in the shallows of the sea,
I am the shudders of air on a the wingtips of a bee,
I am not expecting you to carry my load,
I'll play the queen then fold.
I miss my fiancé to no end,
she is the one that of whom letters should be send,
she will never speak to me again,
she is a lady who is, now and again, foreign.
I miss the mountains of a different land,
from a country of which I am a fan,
I will see you again Ha'aheo,
for I have, for you, a kaheo.
This is the end of my dream,
of which I explained and deem,
worthy of your critique,
for I am doing this to release and not to be unique.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
I wish for one thing only: wings
Why wings, you ask?
Well, they've so much to offer
I wish for wings to fly
To soar through the clouds
To dance circles around you
To fly closer to you
I wish for wings to embrace
To shelter myself when I'm lonely
To hold you closer when we hug
To shield our kisses from prying eyes
I wish for wings to love
To caress your cheeks with wingtips
To tickle friends with feather touches
To brush snow and leaves from your grave
I wish for wings to be strong
To help me flee those who hurt
To comfort myself with their presence
To remind people that angels do exist
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
A tiny tawny torso
With tiny tawny eyes.
In tiny tawny cautious flows
The tiny tawny flies.
A tiny tawny heartbeat
With tiny tawny pace;
A tiny tawny look upon
A tiny tawny face.
Tiny tawny feathers
Of tiny tawny brown.
Tiny tawny eyebrows make
A tiny tawny frown.
A tiny tawny tinted breast
So tiny tawny cute.
A tiny tawny voice to call
A tiny tawny hoot
Two tiny tawny wingtips
For tiny tawny flight
The tiny tender tawny owl
Takes off into the night.
ASJ
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
Whisk me away
At night
In the blue sky
In your bright yellow car
We will speed along the empty
Highway
Where stars and bright airplane wingtips
And shooting comets
Will decorate the heavens
And we will listen to
Random country music
While you talk
And you listen to me
And I will never come
Back
Never come back
Because you will take
Me home
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Sun beam, set upon your skin and balancing on the edge of your smile.
You're a sun beam. We've gone so many new places together, I've seen things I've always wanted to,
Held hands in moments I never thought I'd live.
Youve brought light to midnight walks in the stars. Made stars luminous.
You're courage, coursing through me.
You are lightning in my lungs when I need to be louder,
Thunder in my heart when my body can't move faster,
Each new adventure winds itself through mountain paths and forest trails,
Stepping over the limbs of giant oaks, lifting us up to the sun so that you might become radiance at the tree peaks.
Noni,
We may not spend every moment touching wingtips with cloud bursts.
We can't afford to take vacations every few months,
It'll be a long time before we get to start traveling the world together.
Yet somehow you've taken me so many places.
Let lips act as a full gas tank and taken me over the moon on just one breath.
You've made mountains crumble back into the molehills I made them out of.
I've seen the ridge above the clouds, the sun breaking down to reveal itself to the earth.
Ive seen lightning strike the mountain side and fire in the forest.
I've made runs down green flowing hills, grass moving like ocean waves with the cool rolling winds.
I've done all this from my bed, each trip a moment I'm stuck by your side
Giving kisses to the skin on your stomach,
Raising little hairs on your forearm as our hands slide past each other.
I've never known paradise, but I've known an oasis with you.
You're a Sunbeam, and in my tiny shriveled patch of dirt, you're the rain.
Here you've planted yourself and grown in me.
You're the new places I want to go, and the new places I'll never be.
Youve seen all the versions of me and somehow shine light on the best parts of each…
Sun beam, set upon my skin and the reason behind every one of my smiles.
Happy anniversary. It hasn't been the easiest 3 years...but the best part about you is that you didn't want easy. You wanted love. And you've taught me how stubborn you have to be to love someone with all your heart. To love someone so much that looking at them makes you feel brand new. Blessed. Lighter and faster and stronger and brave.
Happy anniversary. To my one and only. To the one I'll be stubborn for,
To the one I'll fall over for,
To the one I'll be here for.
I love you. My sun beam. My silly goose. My baby girl.
I love you, and there's no way I'll let another year pass without you by my side. Without you in my life.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
woman – it is when your hairbreadth laughter
spreads into the world, pressed low against the breast
of grass and skirts of flowers,
like a well-oiled lamp, you proceed with your
terse splendors, your sharp wingtips curved with gropes
of steel with what notion of a senseless blow but a smile
scrunched deep within the water?
rammed into the dry throat of the afternoon,
a hot flesh half-bitingly rippling, fondling into my throbbing
water – from the abrupt, sweet-smelling rise of tide
arrives what I am in pursuit as a man, smoothly writhing
the languor of tired believing the always, do you still cling
to me like harsh wind in Spring?
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
In seasons we sprout,
dressed to the nine
in compliments under
flocked skies of abandoned webs. The jaws of breeding
snapped shut
around the ankles of his inky blue wingtips
her glossy leopard skin high-heels.
Forgive us tree of knowledge, we have recreated you
fonder in the image of a concrete rose,
a bull freed from its matador,
a thorn on the vinyl to cycle the serenade.
Please listen--envy the blister silence,
it sweats in the mind of the innocent.
The days of milk and fruit are over.
We are ready to depart the branches of thee,
feel the glassy snow beneath our feet
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
~
Dusty leather laces
Knots of endless fraying
Caustic on the ribbons of a heart now in the shade
Promises are broken
Thin ice on the river
Postcards tossed into the trash so long ago displayed
Darkness finds the corner
Shadows hold the meaning
Does the world still spin when every other place is spared
Tight along the border
Guards embrace the fence line
Lost along the boundaries of love no longer shared
Knees are feeling weaker
Tears now find their falling
Puddles drench the wingtips neatly polished on the strand
There outside the window
Sunlight streams the valley
Teaching us the woman doesn’t always make the man
Sometimes she breaks the man…
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
~
Dusty leather laces
Knots of endless fraying
Caustic on the ribbons of a heart now in the shade
Promises are broken
Thin ice on the river
Postcards tossed into the trash so long ago displayed
Darkness finds the corner
Shadows hold the meaning
Does the world still spin when every other place is spared
Tight along the border
Guards embrace the fence line
Lost along the boundaries of love no longer shared
Knees are feeling weaker
Tears now find their falling
Puddles drench the wingtips neatly polished on the strand
There outside the window
Sunlight streams the valley
Teaching us the woman doesn’t always make the man
Sometimes she breaks the man…
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
-
This is my spot, just outside these green coffee house doors,
my piece of sidewalk, my place in this world
A small square of concrete where I try to bring smiles
to those in a hurry, hustling past, chasing their lives
Opening the case, I bring out my constant companion
I love her feel, smooth and perfect, she fits so nicely in my hands
Her neck like soft butter against my calloused fingers
A black Takemine cutaway, my favorite guitar, my best friend
There was a time when I would make eye contact,
cast a smile and a thank you at those who would stop and listen
But times have changed, people aren’t as friendly, smiles aren’t
what they used to be and the frowns just bring me down
Now from beneath my hat all I see are legs and shoes, it amazes me
all the different shoes, what they say about a person. Shiny shoes,
maybe a quarter, nice high heels a dollar or two, sneakers,
worn and tattered, my best customers, a five may fall when they pass
It’s not much, but it is a living at least for me and it’s not really a job
I don’t have to be here, I want to…playing music for strangers, for me
It’s kind of like writing poetry, only you listen instead of reading
and the coins and bills finding my case…comments, but better
I start today the same as every other day, with our song,
the one we sang together in school, the song we related too…funny
She was my heart, the one that got away…so what, I never got over her
It’s my deal not yours…I press the strings, fingers preparing to play
She was the love of my life, we were meant to be, at least I thought so
but after school we went in different directions, it happens I guess,
that was so many years back…I lost track of her long ago,
but my mind never did and I suppose my heart didn’t either…I play
A few coins trickle in…shiny shoes, wingtips…feeling sorry money,
but that’s okay with me, it’s food or few beers eventually
Then a ten spot hits the felt, gorgeous high heels, those with a red sole
I know my smile is growing as I arrive at the chorus
“And you fly away today, and you fly away tomorrow”
When I hear a melodic voice singing along with me, it is the high heels,
the harmony is perfect and beautiful and…sounds so **** familiar…
I lift my head up to see…it is her, after all of these years...it is her
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC