"wraparound" poems - Hello Poetry

"wraparound" poems

a commune back home not hippie buy 300, no 500 acres great land in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon built great big house wraparound porch beset by rocking chair by the sea yet in the woods at end of road all brown dirt growing gardens, herb and vegetable pulling weeds but keeping good green **** brewing beer by own hand group work but not always group think friends lovers writers growers givers all come to stay making great pots of stew and strange brews awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run at night over bottles on beaches by fires we worry these are funeral pyres for our great little social experiment fear of leaving loving womb of isolated salt fish by sea commune real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair where here instead guitars, ukes silly screaming little buddhas recite poems by gleaming eye fireside

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Aug 20, 2014

Aug 20, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC

WhereDoIGoFromHereDorothy

gleaming eye fireside buddhas

a commune back home not hippie buy 300, no 500 acres great land in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon built great big house wraparound porch beset by rocking chair by the sea yet in the woods at end of road all brown dirt growing gardens, herb and vegetable pulling weeds but keeping good green **** brewing beer by own hand group work but not always group think friends lovers writers growers givers all come to stay making great pots of stew and strange brews awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run at night over bottles on beaches by fires we worry these are funeral pyres for our great little social experiment fear of leaving loving womb of isolated salt fish by sea commune real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair where here instead guitars, ukes silly screaming little buddhas recite poems by gleaming eye fireside

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A kiss takes a moment while hugs keep giving wraparound comfort and room to weep in your sleep when spooning as a means to keep skin to skin tenderness in the state of undress exposing vunerableness sighing long and deep and long and deep with contented peace whispering sweet somethings and never having to release and to kiss goodbye.

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Jul 13, 2016

Jul 13, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC

Hugs unstructured

A kiss takes a moment while hugs keep giving wraparound comfort and room to weep in your sleep when spooning as a means to keep skin to skin tenderness in the state of undress exposing vunerableness sighing long and deep and long and deep with contented peace whispering sweet somethings and never having to release and to kiss goodbye.

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(A Song to Me) Write your love inside your eyelids, cast verses on Sweet violets. I have drawn for you a map Of story and of song. Point your feet toward the sea, take it with you when you’ve gone. Each hand will carve the other. For this is all there is to know of love; Two beings carving one another. Presented as a present, all wrapped and tucked and clean, Tied with dandelion string, Clothed in cream-colored linen, walking near the ocean, The taste of a faraway notion, this Is all there is to know of love. A room of books, a room of birds, A line to hang your dresses and your sheets, Brass bowls of tangerines, Willow-bark dreams. Inside, even the snow is sweet. This is all there is to know of love. Sad selves sold soft to willing souls, we are Only a little drunk, not like last time, Or the time before. We are milk and we are honey, we are coffee in the morning, Our soil is rich and never rocky, The sky is clear and often sunny, Good rains fall each year, and the weather changes slow So our gardens always grow. We eat tomatoes from the vines, Read our fortunes in the lines On palms that have been calloused by our years Of digging through the dirt in our past loves’ chests, darling, someday you will rest. Each love will be a map for the you that is to come, Each loss will be a song. This is all there is to know of love. You will walk a thousand sunshines, let your hair grow long, until Someday, Hands stained red with beets, you’ll be laughing in a kitchen with your lover, You will sleep in tangled sheets. You’ll have smile lines, clear eyes, and freckles on your arms. Someday, a wraparound porch, A trickling stream, The sound of little feet. Smiling, always smiling, you are everything that beats. You are everything that sings. This is all there is to know of love.

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Jan 22, 2014

Jan 22, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC

(A Song to Me) Write your love inside your eyelids, cast verses on Sweet violets. I have drawn for you a map Of story and of song. Point your feet toward the sea, take it with you when you’ve gone. Each hand will carve the other. For this is all there is to know of love; Two beings carving one another. Presented as a present, all wrapped and tucked and clean, Tied with dandelion string, Clothed in cream-colored linen, walking near the ocean, The taste of a faraway notion, this Is all there is to know of love. A room of books, a room of birds, A line to hang your dresses and your sheets, Brass bowls of tangerines, Willow-bark dreams. Inside, even the snow is sweet. This is all there is to know of love. Sad selves sold soft to willing souls, we are Only a little drunk, not like last time, Or the time before. We are milk and we are honey, we are coffee in the morning, Our soil is rich and never rocky, The sky is clear and often sunny, Good rains fall each year, and the weather changes slow So our gardens always grow. We eat tomatoes from the vines, Read our fortunes in the lines On palms that have been calloused by our years Of digging through the dirt in our past loves’ chests, darling, someday you will rest. Each love will be a map for the you that is to come, Each loss will be a song. This is all there is to know of love. You will walk a thousand sunshines, let your hair grow long, until Someday, Hands stained red with beets, you’ll be laughing in a kitchen with your lover, You will sleep in tangled sheets. You’ll have smile lines, clear eyes, and freckles on your arms. Someday, a wraparound porch, A trickling stream, The sound of little feet. Smiling, always smiling, you are everything that beats. You are everything that sings. This is all there is to know of love.

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An airgonaut, verily she is, Hovering in time, healing Mine mind; O'er the luminaries, stationary, Freely emissaries, of The water of life on- Which we liveth. We shalt famigerate the copybook of god; Sprinkling seed's, O'er the demonic breed's, Stomping out the hatred, anger, a lightning bolt of peace to overcometh the ghost's of bad nature, with Jane's sceptering rod. Virtuous applause, as a wraparound stairway, leadeth us to the Almighty; thundering awe. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated

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Jan 25, 2016

Jan 25, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC

An airgonaut, verily she is, Hovering in time, healing Mine mind; O'er the luminaries, stationary, Freely emissaries, of The water of life on- Which we liveth. We shalt famigerate the copybook of god; Sprinkling seed's, O'er the demonic breed's, Stomping out the hatred, anger, a lightning bolt of peace to overcometh the ghost's of bad nature, with Jane's sceptering rod. Virtuous applause, as a wraparound stairway, leadeth us to the Almighty; thundering awe. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated

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Sniffin’ my cologne Hair full of da gel In like Flynn tonight For my homies aren’t that bad Their just a little ******* mad Playing with sharp knives, oh no What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed They'll be floating through later Maybe laying down, little white lines I be a chillin’, by about half past nine I’ll be a jiggin’ sum girl on da sofa recline Yeah, your ever so kind and real kinda dope What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed Maybe it’s from da ***** that don’t know any better Why no one tell him, she was my date She done dead now, for **** sake Thoughts about what we do and where to take Like how now is she gunna be undiscovered Authorities and her family, smell a whiff of her on my coat Like sum dead wraparound ******* fox So now I’m on the Popo’s radar Everything I do now, even taking my mama to church Hope she prayed extra hard I need to teach those ****** who to cut and who to trust Like I'm a god forsaken ******* preacher I lost da last girl I feel ****** and torn What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed Not again...

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Jan 17, 2020

Jan 17, 2020 at 7:44 AM UTC

Sniffin’ my cologne Hair full of da gel In like Flynn tonight For my homies aren’t that bad Their just a little ******* mad Playing with sharp knives, oh no What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed They'll be floating through later Maybe laying down, little white lines I be a chillin’, by about half past nine I’ll be a jiggin’ sum girl on da sofa recline Yeah, your ever so kind and real kinda dope What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed Maybe it’s from da ***** that don’t know any better Why no one tell him, she was my date She done dead now, for **** sake Thoughts about what we do and where to take Like how now is she gunna be undiscovered Authorities and her family, smell a whiff of her on my coat Like sum dead wraparound ******* fox So now I’m on the Popo’s radar Everything I do now, even taking my mama to church Hope she prayed extra hard I need to teach those ****** who to cut and who to trust Like I'm a god forsaken ******* preacher I lost da last girl I feel ****** and torn What’s making ya bleed What’s making ya bleed Not again...

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A kiss takes a moment While hugs keep giving Wraparound comfort And room to weep Cheek to cheek As a means to keep Skin to skin tenderness Even in distress Exposing vunerableness As we caress Sighing long and deep And long and deep With contented peace Whispering sweet somethings And never having to release and to kiss goodbye.

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Nov 17, 2016

Nov 17, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC

A kiss takes a moment While hugs keep giving Wraparound comfort And room to weep Cheek to cheek As a means to keep Skin to skin tenderness Even in distress Exposing vunerableness As we caress Sighing long and deep And long and deep With contented peace Whispering sweet somethings And never having to release and to kiss goodbye.

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I am motherless. She sits on the hutch in our dining room, in a ceramic urn. Watching her fall has made me rise I will be her polar opposite. Her failure is my success. I was numb to her death, Like watching through one-way glass, My heart feeling no pain, no loss. Just relief. I am safe now. I am a muzzle. I keep my feelings and frustrations to myself, Bottled like colored sand and shells. They rest on the tip of my tongue sometimes, Rehearsed words to finally say what I mean. But every time I talk myself down, And push the words back down, Fingers thrusting cork underwater. From time to time I wish to shed a skin of attentiveness, To take the words for what they are, rather than how they’re said. I am a dream drawer With broad strokes of man-made nostalgia I paint A colonial home, On a tree lined street, A square front yard, A big oak tree, Green grass and a wraparound porch. Inside, There are varnished floors, Built-in bookcases, An Ikea kitchen, And a Pottery Barn living room. The kids wear Abercrombie, The school bus stops at our front door, and I am a mother for my children and for myself. I am a street photographer. Windows are my viewfinders, showing a moment of life inside of a house. Click. I am fascinated by the insides of a home. I wish I could stop time and walk inside, To see what’s behind that glass photograph. I am a poet. My dreams and desires, My feelings and frustrations, Are not spoken, but written. I cannot just “turn on” my poetry, I need something to speak to me, Like my toes in a backyard pool during twilight, Or a restless night. They whisper at me, Cast me meaningful glances. I am a miner, Searching for diamonds in a harmony, Where I just have to close my eyes, Smile, and be swallowed by the whale of melody and drums. I am Jonah, Wrapped in a musical hurricane, I am surrounded and forced to forget Everything but what I’m hearing.

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Jun 26, 2010

Jun 26, 2010 at 10:43 PM UTC

I am motherless. She sits on the hutch in our dining room, in a ceramic urn. Watching her fall has made me rise I will be her polar opposite. Her failure is my success. I was numb to her death, Like watching through one-way glass, My heart feeling no pain, no loss. Just relief. I am safe now. I am a muzzle. I keep my feelings and frustrations to myself, Bottled like colored sand and shells. They rest on the tip of my tongue sometimes, Rehearsed words to finally say what I mean. But every time I talk myself down, And push the words back down, Fingers thrusting cork underwater. From time to time I wish to shed a skin of attentiveness, To take the words for what they are, rather than how they’re said. I am a dream drawer With broad strokes of man-made nostalgia I paint A colonial home, On a tree lined street, A square front yard, A big oak tree, Green grass and a wraparound porch. Inside, There are varnished floors, Built-in bookcases, An Ikea kitchen, And a Pottery Barn living room. The kids wear Abercrombie, The school bus stops at our front door, and I am a mother for my children and for myself. I am a street photographer. Windows are my viewfinders, showing a moment of life inside of a house. Click. I am fascinated by the insides of a home. I wish I could stop time and walk inside, To see what’s behind that glass photograph. I am a poet. My dreams and desires, My feelings and frustrations, Are not spoken, but written. I cannot just “turn on” my poetry, I need something to speak to me, Like my toes in a backyard pool during twilight, Or a restless night. They whisper at me, Cast me meaningful glances. I am a miner, Searching for diamonds in a harmony, Where I just have to close my eyes, Smile, and be swallowed by the whale of melody and drums. I am Jonah, Wrapped in a musical hurricane, I am surrounded and forced to forget Everything but what I’m hearing.

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To the opera house the happy youths went Two pretties, each strolled with a handsome gent Four friends with every good intent Of having a grand old time Fair Marjorie dressed in sapphire blue Her Alfred was wearing the same color, too While Charles and Francine matched a crimson-y hue The ambiance was feeling sublime The lights of the theater were bright, but romantic A large chandelier straight above made the ladies feel frantic Violins started tuning, like strange waves of Atlantic The grandeur of curtains opened, as the stage was undressed But what humored the bunch was the old lady in peplum skirt Two seats over from Alfred with birds embroidered on her shirt She was peculiar, came alone and looked hardly alert As the actors took position, she yawned, unimpressed The old lady's antics continued for over an hour She snorted at the singing, with boisterous power By intermission her nose-blowing had turned each love scene sour Our four were straining, containing their laughter And during the intermission everyone got up, bought a drink But the old lady just sat there, like she wanted to think Beginning to stroke the dark fur of her wraparound mink She nodded, falling asleep shortly after Charles saw it first--"the old girl's dozed right off!" Alfred chuckled and Francine, beginning to scoff Proposed they prank the lady, but Marjorie coughed Saying, "shame on you, wicked child!" So they all sat back down and awaited the second unveiling Two seats over from Alfred, the gray one's slumber unfailing Act two and act three ended, the hero prevailing At the final bow, the audience was wild Everyone clapped and cheered loudly, some whistled or threw roses Everyone but the one in the third seat over, under all the guests noses Who slept though each applause and the actor's last poses The theater was clearing out quickly Four waited--Alfred, Marjorie, Charles and Francine To see if she would wake and depart from the scene The last five in the balcony, the gray one serene The fun was over and they decided to help her get up When Charles tapped her shoulder, they all finally knew How tonight's show had smothered a moment so true The old lady was found dead in the presence of those few Still in the same seat, they never helped her get up

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Feb 20, 2017

Feb 20, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC

night at the opera

To the opera house the happy youths went Two pretties, each strolled with a handsome gent Four friends with every good intent Of having a grand old time Fair Marjorie dressed in sapphire blue Her Alfred was wearing the same color, too While Charles and Francine matched a crimson-y hue The ambiance was feeling sublime The lights of the theater were bright, but romantic A large chandelier straight above made the ladies feel frantic Violins started tuning, like strange waves of Atlantic The grandeur of curtains opened, as the stage was undressed But what humored the bunch was the old lady in peplum skirt Two seats over from Alfred with birds embroidered on her shirt She was peculiar, came alone and looked hardly alert As the actors took position, she yawned, unimpressed The old lady's antics continued for over an hour She snorted at the singing, with boisterous power By intermission her nose-blowing had turned each love scene sour Our four were straining, containing their laughter And during the intermission everyone got up, bought a drink But the old lady just sat there, like she wanted to think Beginning to stroke the dark fur of her wraparound mink She nodded, falling asleep shortly after Charles saw it first--"the old girl's dozed right off!" Alfred chuckled and Francine, beginning to scoff Proposed they prank the lady, but Marjorie coughed Saying, "shame on you, wicked child!" So they all sat back down and awaited the second unveiling Two seats over from Alfred, the gray one's slumber unfailing Act two and act three ended, the hero prevailing At the final bow, the audience was wild Everyone clapped and cheered loudly, some whistled or threw roses Everyone but the one in the third seat over, under all the guests noses Who slept though each applause and the actor's last poses The theater was clearing out quickly Four waited--Alfred, Marjorie, Charles and Francine To see if she would wake and depart from the scene The last five in the balcony, the gray one serene The fun was over and they decided to help her get up When Charles tapped her shoulder, they all finally knew How tonight's show had smothered a moment so true The old lady was found dead in the presence of those few Still in the same seat, they never helped her get up

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Quickfeet like fairy flight and butterfly wings, chipper sounds from hollowed woodwinds, and notes lifted through particles of pollen. Hither,thither, away, and below, the swing on the porch creaks, with the push of sundresses and bare dirt feet. Petals dance in whirlwind, touch delicately in the way of courtship, under the gaze of the parental sun. All these are warm as blanket grass tanned over, left as the picnics finest venue. All these are lovely like the pipers giggle , muffled into a shoulder or tried by a kiss. There I am wrapped, in waters twinkle, earths brass, fires blaze, and the winds ultimate silence. This I felt on the wraparound porch hoisted to spring.

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May 9, 2012

May 9, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC

Quickfeet like fairy flight and butterfly wings, chipper sounds from hollowed woodwinds, and notes lifted through particles of pollen. Hither,thither, away, and below, the swing on the porch creaks, with the push of sundresses and bare dirt feet. Petals dance in whirlwind, touch delicately in the way of courtship, under the gaze of the parental sun. All these are warm as blanket grass tanned over, left as the picnics finest venue. All these are lovely like the pipers giggle , muffled into a shoulder or tried by a kiss. There I am wrapped, in waters twinkle, earths brass, fires blaze, and the winds ultimate silence. This I felt on the wraparound porch hoisted to spring.

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A wraparound escalier Rosette's to wrap ourn Dud's Rebels to society Low and high class thugs Epicurean phenomenon!!!! A Cosmo's to macroism's Plasma to holy force Phatom's of ourn own opera As yen to take its course Homage to ourn own castle!!! Excretion to bare ourn name Wild gluttons Barbarian untamed Spelling eachother's name In hieroglyphic memorandum!!! We shalt travel beyond old Egypt We shalt gun the pagodas We shalt peep the shrines of gosha As in giants we shalt become!!! A convent well maketh many babies Basilica's of the angels Seraph's of treaties Shalt we sign ourn admiration in blood? Tis Yes Tis Love!!! Kirks to keep ourn reme mberance Friary's to be attentive As the mutuality Shalt be sweet mine aimer!!!! No distance shalt be to far No rancor to blow ourn hearts No hot mustard to stain out tarts As Madrid shalt wrap us between acacia posie's!!!!

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Jun 7, 2015

Jun 7, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC

ακακία τυλιγμένο (Acatia wrapped) greek tongue

A wraparound escalier Rosette's to wrap ourn Dud's Rebels to society Low and high class thugs Epicurean phenomenon!!!! A Cosmo's to macroism's Plasma to holy force Phatom's of ourn own opera As yen to take its course Homage to ourn own castle!!! Excretion to bare ourn name Wild gluttons Barbarian untamed Spelling eachother's name In hieroglyphic memorandum!!! We shalt travel beyond old Egypt We shalt gun the pagodas We shalt peep the shrines of gosha As in giants we shalt become!!! A convent well maketh many babies Basilica's of the angels Seraph's of treaties Shalt we sign ourn admiration in blood? Tis Yes Tis Love!!! Kirks to keep ourn reme mberance Friary's to be attentive As the mutuality Shalt be sweet mine aimer!!!! No distance shalt be to far No rancor to blow ourn hearts No hot mustard to stain out tarts As Madrid shalt wrap us between acacia posie's!!!!

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Lessons that’d keep coming throw me against rocks and stars Vacuum the space of stories I cherished the bibliography of another misunderstood wanderer Fresh is today, yet dusty is mind’s wraparound Begging the soul to hold on to the noose to paint the portrait with wounds’ blood Dissonance thrives Yet roots are growing Flurried, awaiting the washaway from someone lovingly reaching out, understanding, acknowledging giving nothing more but a smile of compassion The dance awaits for dissolution of sown death No future will come for the waiting ones I’ll sculpt all within and without that I can I’ll keep on refusing to stop at the mask I’ll strengthen what needs to become stronger and tear down all which was never meant to be In the end there’s only one direction

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Mar 3, 2017

Mar 3, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC

Lessons that’d keep coming throw me against rocks and stars Vacuum the space of stories I cherished the bibliography of another misunderstood wanderer Fresh is today, yet dusty is mind’s wraparound Begging the soul to hold on to the noose to paint the portrait with wounds’ blood Dissonance thrives Yet roots are growing Flurried, awaiting the washaway from someone lovingly reaching out, understanding, acknowledging giving nothing more but a smile of compassion The dance awaits for dissolution of sown death No future will come for the waiting ones I’ll sculpt all within and without that I can I’ll keep on refusing to stop at the mask I’ll strengthen what needs to become stronger and tear down all which was never meant to be In the end there’s only one direction

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Awaiting first whispers of winter, wanting to know the winner who won with a splinter, a thorn in the side. Hardly noticed the leaves fall or you leave. You left, right? Flaked on plans made, snowflakes made higher than when the trees shed but on the same path. Routes like a spiral, Roots like a spiral. Viral downward motions, contagious and cold. Dorothy told Alice they weren't in Wonderland anymore because that ruby tapping woke them up. Haunting grins lingering. "What, Toto?" We did. It's all done. Around again doth winter come. Never spoke we of the sun.

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Sep 3, 2013

Sep 3, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC

Wraparound winter

Awaiting first whispers of winter, wanting to know the winner who won with a splinter, a thorn in the side. Hardly noticed the leaves fall or you leave. You left, right? Flaked on plans made, snowflakes made higher than when the trees shed but on the same path. Routes like a spiral, Roots like a spiral. Viral downward motions, contagious and cold. Dorothy told Alice they weren't in Wonderland anymore because that ruby tapping woke them up. Haunting grins lingering. "What, Toto?" We did. It's all done. Around again doth winter come. Never spoke we of the sun.

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In a language unknown, in words truthful and opaque, in dully shining rusted tones he spins a tale of love and loss that you lean forward to hear and strain with all your being to understand, because in his twists and corners you find you will Know. Winding and vaguely present, with wraparound phrases and a heart that fathoms and unravels the trickiest of souls. He Knows.

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Nov 5, 2013

Nov 5, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC

In a language unknown, in words truthful and opaque, in dully shining rusted tones he spins a tale of love and loss that you lean forward to hear and strain with all your being to understand, because in his twists and corners you find you will Know. Winding and vaguely present, with wraparound phrases and a heart that fathoms and unravels the trickiest of souls. He Knows.

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Part I – 10039 330th Street West I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: Creaking staircase, Crumbling basement walls, Dark side door, Thin white curtain in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. When I lived in the haunted house I was a little girl, and I didn’t move until I started high school. I hated my room, I hated the dining room, I hated the basement. I never used the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Growling at night from the dining room, Singing in the morning from the basement, Tapping on the porch window at midday in the playroom. Nobody checked if there was activity in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. I know that the house was haunted Because someone was always with me when these things happened. My stepbrother who also heard the growling, My stepsister who also heard the singing, And all of us who heard the tapping. I know that these happened Because the house was haunted. Part II – 13947 Gates Avenue I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: My bad report cards in the recycling, The constant panic in my stomach, Piles of tissues on my bedroom floor, My bedroom itself, where I constantly hid away. When I lived in the haunted house I was a teenager, and I didn’t move until after starting college. I hated the living room, I hated the kitchen, I hated the hallway. Most of all I hated my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Whistling by the window at night from the wraparound porch, Screaming outside during the day from the yard, Voices whispering my name constantly from anywhere. I was only safe in my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. I can’t know that the house was haunted Because nobody was with me when these things happened. I was alone with the whistling, I was alone with the screaming, I was alone with the whispering. I can’t know these happened Because it’s my head that’s haunted.

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Sep 28, 2018

Sep 28, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC

Part I – 10039 330th Street West I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: Creaking staircase, Crumbling basement walls, Dark side door, Thin white curtain in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. When I lived in the haunted house I was a little girl, and I didn’t move until I started high school. I hated my room, I hated the dining room, I hated the basement. I never used the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Growling at night from the dining room, Singing in the morning from the basement, Tapping on the porch window at midday in the playroom. Nobody checked if there was activity in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. I know that the house was haunted Because someone was always with me when these things happened. My stepbrother who also heard the growling, My stepsister who also heard the singing, And all of us who heard the tapping. I know that these happened Because the house was haunted. Part II – 13947 Gates Avenue I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: My bad report cards in the recycling, The constant panic in my stomach, Piles of tissues on my bedroom floor, My bedroom itself, where I constantly hid away. When I lived in the haunted house I was a teenager, and I didn’t move until after starting college. I hated the living room, I hated the kitchen, I hated the hallway. Most of all I hated my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Whistling by the window at night from the wraparound porch, Screaming outside during the day from the yard, Voices whispering my name constantly from anywhere. I was only safe in my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. I can’t know that the house was haunted Because nobody was with me when these things happened. I was alone with the whistling, I was alone with the screaming, I was alone with the whispering. I can’t know these happened Because it’s my head that’s haunted.

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Be mine? Never Never in a million years Years from now you'll see me Me, a changed person Person you'll regret Regret not taking Taking forever away Away and on your own forever Forever and always Always missing Missing out

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Oct 2, 2011

Oct 2, 2011 at 11:43 AM UTC

Be mine? Never Never in a million years Years from now you'll see me Me, a changed person Person you'll regret Regret not taking Taking forever away Away and on your own forever Forever and always Always missing Missing out

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Young Jim Wraparound Thought he knew it all Trophies in the dining room Medals on the wall Never missed a day of school First in every test Trust Jim Wraparound He knows best Big Jim Wraparound Often on the phone Clincher of the contract Sentiment of stone Psychopathic tendencies Lacking in remorse Dodge Jim Wraparound Switch your course Mean Jim Wraparound Withering in age Pinching from the pensions Stifling the rage Shouting at the family Beating on the wife Wrong Jim Wraparound Change your life Old Jim Wraparound Jagged at the edge Blinking at the vortex Leaning on the ledge Murdered for his legacy Karma often hurts Dead Jim Wraparound Just desserts

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Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC

Young Jim Wraparound Thought he knew it all Trophies in the dining room Medals on the wall Never missed a day of school First in every test Trust Jim Wraparound He knows best Big Jim Wraparound Often on the phone Clincher of the contract Sentiment of stone Psychopathic tendencies Lacking in remorse Dodge Jim Wraparound Switch your course Mean Jim Wraparound Withering in age Pinching from the pensions Stifling the rage Shouting at the family Beating on the wife Wrong Jim Wraparound Change your life Old Jim Wraparound Jagged at the edge Blinking at the vortex Leaning on the ledge Murdered for his legacy Karma often hurts Dead Jim Wraparound Just desserts

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I want you. And me. And a house by the sea. I want quiet mornings, full of whispers & leftover dishes. I want the saltwater to preserve your smiles, like saltwater kisses. I want you. And me. And a house by the sea. I want a wraparound hug. With a creaky porch swing & a worn old coffee mug. I want you. And me. And a house by the sea. I want warm hoodies & hands to hold mine tight. I want a walk by the water, on a warm, cloudless night. But for right now, I'll happily settle for saying goodnight.

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Dec 15, 2015

Dec 15, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC

I want you 11/17/15

I want you. And me. And a house by the sea. I want quiet mornings, full of whispers & leftover dishes. I want the saltwater to preserve your smiles, like saltwater kisses. I want you. And me. And a house by the sea. I want a wraparound hug. With a creaky porch swing & a worn old coffee mug. I want you. And me. And a house by the sea. I want warm hoodies & hands to hold mine tight. I want a walk by the water, on a warm, cloudless night. But for right now, I'll happily settle for saying goodnight.

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'T'was a real feisty morning and the cold wind lashed my heart From a distance I saw a colourful dress flapping in the wind like a lyrical flag And my poor heart spun like a crazy top The basket sat firmly atop her country head and the chiffon she wore matched the blue of the sky The smile in her eyes gave truth to the age-old adage about the heart being like the seed of a wild tree that grows and flourishes where it will, come what may She went down on her knees, supple and graceful and spread her tie and dye wraparound on the ground Then her heart called out to me in a profound lyric even as she offered me her hand whose musical bangles wove into the chorus of sounds from the cicadas and doves My heart sang an acceptance speech in her honour She of the hip-long locks of jet-black hair and hypnotic eyes Enthralled, I wanted to drink from her candid eyes Happily, she smashed the doubts I had had in days gone by For I was the lucky man for whom all this was enacted With a smile like the radiant rays of the rising sun and a face from which a rainbow could rise she gave me what she had walked miles to deliver: a home-made round loaf from purest wheat off her field She bade me eat and I did eat of this gift from the heart

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Sep 23, 2015

Sep 23, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC

Gift from her heart

'T'was a real feisty morning and the cold wind lashed my heart From a distance I saw a colourful dress flapping in the wind like a lyrical flag And my poor heart spun like a crazy top The basket sat firmly atop her country head and the chiffon she wore matched the blue of the sky The smile in her eyes gave truth to the age-old adage about the heart being like the seed of a wild tree that grows and flourishes where it will, come what may She went down on her knees, supple and graceful and spread her tie and dye wraparound on the ground Then her heart called out to me in a profound lyric even as she offered me her hand whose musical bangles wove into the chorus of sounds from the cicadas and doves My heart sang an acceptance speech in her honour She of the hip-long locks of jet-black hair and hypnotic eyes Enthralled, I wanted to drink from her candid eyes Happily, she smashed the doubts I had had in days gone by For I was the lucky man for whom all this was enacted With a smile like the radiant rays of the rising sun and a face from which a rainbow could rise she gave me what she had walked miles to deliver: a home-made round loaf from purest wheat off her field She bade me eat and I did eat of this gift from the heart

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"You seem happier. You're practically glowing with happiness." "Am I?" "Aren't you?" You've always asked me wraparound questions, turning them back against me. I'm never sure how to respond to them and once I have, I never know if it's sufficient. But this one didn't faze me -- I suppose I am glowing with happiness. I've found love in the shadows of life. Having her is something I will forever thank God for. It's... mystifying. Me, a person incapable of opening my heart with ease, has taken a hammer and shattered it wide open. Oh, I'm glad I did. She's made a home there. She's opened up the dusty curtains that covered the windows. She's let the light of hope shine through. I'm glad you've noticed. It would've been odd for me to just say, **"I love her so much."** But I didn't have to. You saw it. And to think I used to call you 'oblivious'.

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Jul 2, 2014

Jul 2, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC

"You seem happier. You're practically glowing with happiness." "Am I?" "Aren't you?" You've always asked me wraparound questions, turning them back against me. I'm never sure how to respond to them and once I have, I never know if it's sufficient. But this one didn't faze me -- I suppose I am glowing with happiness. I've found love in the shadows of life. Having her is something I will forever thank God for. It's... mystifying. Me, a person incapable of opening my heart with ease, has taken a hammer and shattered it wide open. Oh, I'm glad I did. She's made a home there. She's opened up the dusty curtains that covered the windows. She's let the light of hope shine through. I'm glad you've noticed. It would've been odd for me to just say, **"I love her so much."** But I didn't have to. You saw it. And to think I used to call you 'oblivious'.

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there's a fire in this madhouse of Venus where unattainable romance gives birth to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers to obsessions of strange mental constructs something about blood and tears birthing black ******* and vampires with vermillion mouths shaped in circles that gorge themselves on violent thrusting ***** and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs just asking for it a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes and tongues snake into esophageal swoon revivals of glorious deliverance flashing souls flit like street lights and flames of wraith hair she begs to be strangled with a black chord and kissed till her brain blurs fizz she dances wigwam wiggle and clutches like a sliding oyster licking my ******* **** ***** and ruby ***** gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root falling into submission for her dark ******* god Faustian thing a little doll with mythic eyes a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged ***** with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice will you **** me with your **** sir a dark hunger gnaws deep within so bleed me merciless like a gushing artery make me red dead in love in bed butter **** and properly spread pound me like a hell ***** ****** in a burning five alarm emergency suicide **** - i corkscrew her into a writhing murderous wreckage as she dissolves under me like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood christened by a magic wand that forces her round belly up and down like a toilet plunger her ***** drools like runny yolks a deep homework the shamanic decent an illusive weighing of the heart the sweet meat priestess who resuscitates abandoned legends making my ***** click like castanets a Mr. Winkey party spewing Icelandic yogurt her teeth rattle as her brains and one eyeball hang off my **** like pig trough slobber her face smiles and vomits peaches there's moon glitter in your beautiful hair my darling God save the kink

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Apr 6, 2021

Apr 6, 2021 at 2:35 PM UTC

Mad House Venus

there's a fire in this madhouse of Venus where unattainable romance gives birth to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers to obsessions of strange mental constructs something about blood and tears birthing black ******* and vampires with vermillion mouths shaped in circles that gorge themselves on violent thrusting ***** and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs just asking for it a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes and tongues snake into esophageal swoon revivals of glorious deliverance flashing souls flit like street lights and flames of wraith hair she begs to be strangled with a black chord and kissed till her brain blurs fizz she dances wigwam wiggle and clutches like a sliding oyster licking my ******* **** ***** and ruby ***** gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root falling into submission for her dark ******* god Faustian thing a little doll with mythic eyes a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged ***** with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice will you **** me with your **** sir a dark hunger gnaws deep within so bleed me merciless like a gushing artery make me red dead in love in bed butter **** and properly spread pound me like a hell ***** ****** in a burning five alarm emergency suicide **** - i corkscrew her into a writhing murderous wreckage as she dissolves under me like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood christened by a magic wand that forces her round belly up and down like a toilet plunger her ***** drools like runny yolks a deep homework the shamanic decent an illusive weighing of the heart the sweet meat priestess who resuscitates abandoned legends making my ***** click like castanets a Mr. Winkey party spewing Icelandic yogurt her teeth rattle as her brains and one eyeball hang off my **** like pig trough slobber her face smiles and vomits peaches there's moon glitter in your beautiful hair my darling God save the kink

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