"zippers" poems
Hands shaking as they clumsily undo
Buttons, zippers, clasps
Articles of clothing discarded
Every word that passes between us
Hangs suspended in the air
Like dust motes
Only larger, more distinct
Each facet perfectly discernible
By its own beholder's eye
This was wrong
I could feel it
As my synapses fired
Unconsciously guiding my hands down his back
Arching mine
It feels wrong
But mostly it feels
So
right
Now.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 10:36 AM UTC
You stand in the corner of the room,
light radiating off of your silver body.
Your head is held up high
so you can face the light bulb that
hangs by your side.
She smirks at me,
knowing you will never shine at me
the way you shine for her.
But let me tell you something.
You brighten up my world
more than that hideous light bulb
brightens up yours.
you have a special glow,
and every time you open up,
it makes me shine within as well.
you're filled with sweetness,
sugar-coating my fabric.
you’re always there for comfort,
providing words of reassurance.
but one day,
your heart will shatter
as you watch that light bulb die out.
and as the light fades away,
you'll fall apart,
shards of ice spilling out of you.
and when that happens,
give your heart to me.
i'll hold it close to mine,
hugging the parts back together as
zippers enclose our hearts-
the intricate design of complicated love.
but until then,
with all my problems held inside,
with my heart torn and worn from being unheld,
i’ll be waiting
for the day to call you mine.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 4:03 AM UTC
That unexpected surge of passion
who knows from whence it came
But we just had to have each other
over and again
Barely time to make it through the door
before clothing it got shed
no time to waste on buttons
things just got ripped off instead
fumbled for a light switch
staggered 'long the hall
moonlight through the windows
as family photo's started to fall
dining table cleared
in a single one armed sweep
who cares about the noise
it's too late to be discrete
skirts lifted to save time
******* just pulled to one side
belts undone, zippers ripped open
so suddenly inside
a display so animal in nature
as your nails dug in my back
groans of passion fill the air
patience was all we lacked
Eventually its over
****** acheived, ****** shared
panting in the moonlight
bodies naked, passions bared
This doesn't happen every day
and maybe never will again
That unexpected surge of passion
who knows from whence it came
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 10:26 AM UTC
Nostalgia
is a poor excuse
for ignorance
yet it pervades
with a tenacity
stemming from fabricated desire
for the smell of ****
we're told
is roses
and it's blasphemous
to question potential "isms"
lurking behind the veil
of Saturday morning cartoons
and black and white family sitcoms.
Yet by the time the sonic *** organs
have lain into us with repressed emotion,
the holy spirit has spilled its ***** in the dirt
to traverse onward floating apparition
out of the room and down the hall
closer towards progress.
and we are left reeling
stumbling into the hallway
buttoning our blouses
and yanking at our zippers
wondering what could cause
such great haste
and we follow blindly
in the wake of the first high
or we turn backwards
and plunge into fading bricolage
as a means to cope
with the rapid and fleeting ***********
of the electric eye
in its shape-shifting pylons and appendages
getting smaller in the naked eye
and gargantuan in the mind.
Clutching our *******
in great amorous heaves
of lust
or donning our father's clothes
in a mask of artifice
and enlightened cultural pretension.
Moaning for the days of youth a week ago,
the epoch squeezed in the space between thumbs,
looking for treasures in the trash
craving something tangible
in an increasingly intangible world.
The semblance of touch lost on a generation
who knows only of emotion through hieroglyphics
and never through direct sensation.
So we dig through the toy boxes
and leave Generation X puzzled
as we dig into their records
in Guns n Roses T-shirts
and high waisted jeans.
We're just looking for an immaculate conception of something palpable.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
not since nor silk.
Mother's milk for the generations.. yes she was .
Greeted Lindbergh on touchdown.
Society clone. Rich ************* could not leave her alone. Tall tale teller.Paperback
construct. Stepping into the ball with no invitation and stopped the music and conversation.
Pale skinned poser.
Gettin over.
Her daddy was a man of means.
Hired by the Majesties to count jellybeans.
He loved the local **** to the tune of
Poppa was a rollin stone.
The magistrates and potentates in the republic of bananas. Pinkys up tea sippers .
Could not get hold of collective zippers.
Faded portrait. long dead poser.ball buster. Pretty as crystal.Tough as pig iron.
She was high flying flapper. Cutting a rug. Charleston,Jitterbug. Short skirt flirt. Grandma ?
Smokin hot and smokin when women did not dare. C.O.P.D. and a hacking cough came the pipers toll. The Wages.
Just keeping it real.
Slip sliding away.
Drove a Jalopy.
Aiee Pahpi chulo. Bestin May West with a smaller life jacket.
Turn the century.
Trench warfare.
Over the top.The war to end all ? shiiiit. Great Grandma
was a show stopper. To the very end.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Our coats are almost the same
They keep us comfortable, colored
Safely there, yes?
Different zippers, different things
Holding each of us together
And similar but distinct
Colors, more red in mine and
Blue in yours, but
Our coats are almost the same
Pockets for thoughts you don't want to
Open until later
Hoods for hiding, sleeves for hiding
Insecurities
Mine has a hole, and as far as I know
Yours does not
Our coats are not the same
And that's good
Reservations at a fancy table in an
Alright restaurant play out our words
And the jackets remain on our chairs as we
Leave, preoccupied with conversation
May 12, 2011
May 12, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
buttons were undone
zippers were sliding down
clothes were falling to the floor
eyes shining with desire
breaths coming out harshly
hearts fluttering
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
Our hands together
Tangled finger find their place
lacing like zippers
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
eggplant skies and zippers,
this collect call counted.
My buttons were tacky,
and you had the liberty to
push them;
you unraveled them instead,
as i was pushing the ones
of your house phone -
i spent quarters of my time
on you.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
I wanted to see you where the years were kind,
inescapably etched and displayed like
smooth stones spread out on velvet;
but I wouldn't ask. I rummaged through zippers
and heavy things.
On a cool summer night we heard a hiss of
broken stars across the desert sky
and looked up in time to see one pass over head
like a science fiction rocket ship.
It was a moment with you I will never forget.
It's funny how things are settled or settling
and divided by extremes,
jealousy - anger - hurt - houses -
etched stones - broken stars,
stuff you can't find words for,
stuff you wish you'd written down,
words that end up on gravestones.
So leave me with my imagination and your beauty,
maybe some nostalgia as my muse, add one more thing
for sure, make my children our children
not half - me - half - devil - children
and maybe I wouldn't have to run,
wouldn't have to start a war.
Maybe I could be happy without
your etched stones.
Maybe all I really need is a broken star.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
Sunshine, spice and spades.
Butterfly's, beards and bread.
Yellow, yearbooks and yodeling.
Paint, pizza and platinum.
Music, melons and magic.
Zoos, zippers and zillions.
Apples, analysis and art.
Waiting, wagons and wafflers.
Give me a beer with friends any day.
Life's more fun that way.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
My home has never constituted a building,
never been about where I lay my head at night
Since I can remember I have been alone
I have never found solace in my broken family
from broken zippers to burnt out cigarettes
I have never stopped searching for
the feeling of home
You walked in and I couldn’t help but stare
I had no clue who you were but as soon as I saw you,
I felt warm for the first time in months
I saw fire in your eyes
and I wanted to suffocate in the smoke
I lied when I told you it’s hard for me to catch feelings
I lied to you when I said I was unsure
You stared into the sunlight sitting in that Mcdonald’s booth this morning
as I watched you I knew it was over
Maybe it was the way the glowing silk blanket of sun laid over the windowsill
Or the way your eyes no longer laid into mine
but somehow I knew it was over
I see only the best in people and am blind to anything else
I try as hard as I can to push people away so I do not get hurt, I believe you call this defense mechanism my attitude
your words trapped between my heart and soul
i fall silent
i sleep on your shoulder as we drive home
embarrassment already digging its nails into my throat
tears spread across my cheeks
as you hold me
I was silently begging you to never leave me alone again
no one had to tell us we were better together we already knew
my guy pretty like a girl
electric soul, gentle touch
velvet skin, unfinished lunch
violets grow in the valleys of his ribcage
forget-me-nots blossom on her skin
every night,
the places on her skin where his fingers last fell
when the sun was alive
sunflowers hiding in her short blonde hair
daisies intertwined in moments shared
the boy wants to predict the weather
but in this garden of wild flowers and
wild thoughts
it never rains
the flowers keep on growing
occupying the holes in her chest where there once was pain
his words as sweet as honeysuckle,
the soil
her blood as red as roses,
the rain
he spoke of our wedding by the second date and after the third he announced our funeral
i think we are worth trying
i know i make you feel warm too
and i believe the feeling of home
feels a lot like you.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
As a child in primary school
curled beneath a black coat
with neon-pink and -yellow zippers, empty pockets
holding my chest
beside two gray recess doors.
I’d pretend it was my living room,
with no visitors.
Watched t.v., mainly, and not talk on the phone.
Drank apple-juice beer from my concocted fridge
on my green recliner chair
until the doors opened and my building fell
apart.
I moved to an apartment
on a busy city street-- no green
recliner:
no beer, no t.v.
Stealing internet from Burmese-jungle refugees
to read about food shortages, and indiscriminate mass killings.
Beside the doors with
zipped zippers, and isolated goosebumps--
Monkey bar plucking, screaming
running and jumping-- trip and fall
in love, dancing haphazardly-- well
until the sound of a bell.
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC
Amor,
Affection,
Beautiful,
Body,
Contours,
Curves,
Devilish,
Delightful,
Enormous
Epiphanies,
☺☺☺☺
Feel,
Gratitude,
Great,
Home,
Hot,
Illumination,
Idolism,
Jealous,
Jiggly :),
Kind,
Kisses,
Lovely,
Laborless,
Me,
Moving,
Night,
New,
Over,
Opulence,
Pretty,
Precious,
Queen,
Quirk,
Revel,
Repeat,
Sensitive,
Succubus,
Ticklish,
Time,
Under,
Undressed,
View,
Veins,
Wonderful,
Winter,
X is a bad letter,
Yonder,
You,
Zealous,
Zippers.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
Pizza just before bed
reminds me of you
And it makes me miss your couch
So comfy
And brown
Which is my favorite color if I haven’t told you that yet
I saved my sleep dust between your cushions
Trapped some memories just behind the zippers
Tried to wear my shape into it
So that it would not forget how to hold me
I lay so still
Like a wheat field without wind
Listening for the sound of settling
Didn’t even breathe
Pizza before bed
Reminds me of you
And your couch
And that one time
I had no way of thanking you
for everything
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 6:55 AM UTC
I have pockets full of suffering
Stuffed to the brim with doubt
Enough tears to fill an ocean
But enough love to dry it out
I’ve walked a thousand miles with many pairs of shoes
Worn out all my zippers and learned to sing the blues
I’ve seen the tops of mountains
Watched rainbows kiss the sky
Felt the snap of a lightning crack
And earned all my patches too
I’ve held locks of lovers’ hair
Carried shame and pity too
Crossed the spaces on a map
Though on paper they were just an inch or two
I’ve listened to your whispers
Your admiration and your pride
How you can love every part of me
Even those I try to hide
You love my worn out zippers
My pockets full of fears
My heart held on with shoe strings
And the dirt earned over years
You told me I was beautiful
For all the things I’d seen
I told you, you were crazy
But keep talking anyways
I know I’ll settle down one day
When the world feels not so new
My threads will be much thinner then
And I’ll need some patching too
But I hope you’ll still think me beautiful
For all the things I’ve seen with you
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
There is no need for zippers in the future.
We only use buttons.
Easier to undo,
they require only one swift motion
while zippers require two.
some say we digress,
but we simply resort to practicality.
a zipper can get caught,
a button just falls off.
a zipper can lose teeth,
a button just falls off.
a zipper eventually rusts,
a button just falls off.
But we can always just sew the button back on.
That is why we choose buttons in the future.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
My brain clicks on and off
in sync with my ballpoint pen
My lungs have inflated
to twice the size of my brain
I'm finding it hard to think straight
when three of my glass ribs have
shattered into splinters
that slice their way through my heart
Startled by
the bitter stains on the white carpet
I'm sick of inhaling fumes
that don't belong in this house
that scratch at my ****** flesh like
forced zippers
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
She told me it was endearing
The way I move my hands
Never mind that I was drunk
Again
Never mind that if hands could stutter
Mine were half loaded cannons
Threatening to hit anyone who got too close
So I showed her the sign for
“I love you”
And
“Beautiful”
And because it’s my favorite
“Dream”
With her back to my chest I told her a story with my hands and her body
She told me that she never realized hands could say so much
Forget that they feel like zippers sometimes
The way they clasp into love
Forget about the days
When fists were held in the air
You acted surprised when so many people looked like superman and solidarity
Forget that mine tremble with no sign of stopping
From the chemo
And the fear that anyone I love will someday leave me
When we hold hands you can feel it
And I’m always asked if I’m cold
I show her the sign for
“Butterfly”
And
“Stubborn”
And explain my second favorite sign is
“Believe”
Because you’re really telling people that you are married to your thoughts
I jokingly sign
“Marry”
And
“Heartache”
But I tell her it means that I am trying to keep my heart trapped in my body
Like it might try and escape
These hands
They will bake you a cake on your birthday
And they will rub your shoulders when you need to relax
They will squeeze you like they were trying to remember what you feel like
These hands
They can do so much
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 8:44 AM UTC
You are fading jeans again
Try ripping them to shreds by skinning your knees
Try to squeeze blood out of stone-wash
You just crumple and fall on me love
Tired and trapped in denim
Too many buckles and buttons and zippers
But in freedom you do nothing more than drape over the sofa
Love in compasses you, freshly laundered.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
orange smoke fills the air, like mist
goons and traitors occupy all tables
a small bar, downtown, silent quarter
whole ones and racks, bagged, airtight
the zippers of the bottega shine golden
24 k, 24/7, creatures of the night who
are made of struggle, gore and greed
deception and loyalty: the brotherhood
hour of the thieves, year of white marble
350 million a year, a neeeedy enterprise
sick profit, blank sheets floating loosely
shark collar and tattoos, loaded ********
sounds of the past in an air breeze, secretly
old butch is swallowing a paper message
leave no traces, mind dem ears and eyes
wild roses and escalades, the night glows
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 2:40 AM UTC
horse aligned coil/roll of wave.
the bearded heat of sun unto birds, land **
poseidon’s son was a bird,
out there/
/there was a molten breach in the fissures deep.
it breathed an ooze of mother blood orange and hissing.
the coral lords photosynthesize cities from out of reef material.
where tree the family of fish, diverse and good people.
good dancers of the primordial dip.
tri-tipped dip of chips.
trident tugged zippers.
wetsuit squishy skin released.
the violent stories of men and ships.
the men and lumber treading dawn with prawns and lime.
island boys, as
big show trapeze lovers flung,
no,
as trapped monsters singing jingles
in jungles
in june.
or july.
the theory of hopeless elements is crushing/
water: or currents unending.
all above.
all below.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
Have you ever seen someone go commando,
or O' natural underneath the clothing they wear?
When they bend over or squat down,
you see the crack of there *** all covered with hair.
And whether they buy there jeans with zippers,
or purchase them with a button fly.
If they ever forget to close the front,
it will give everyone a cry.
Now if you like to people watch,
the way I sometimes do.
Then this can be quite funny,
if it doesn't happen to you.
It can also be hysterical,
wherever you may go.
And when I saw it happen,
I laughed so hard that tears began to flow.
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 6:39 AM UTC
It sounded like whispers, you know?
The life dripping from your eyes.
It corroded like zippers, wet,
from years of spilling rain
onto an inconsistent raincoat.
Sometimes I remember, do you?
The amount of time found,
spent and all but lost.
We were children, then,
with nothing but nap times,
play times, and Lego shrines.
Second hands dressed up
as hours; and minutes, well,
they just didn’t matter.
Splatter paint was a
way of life and life
was just a way to live.
The simple times
always flew faster
than the last.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
Mother knits scarves in soft wool.
Daddy creates suits in steel.
Auntie makes a mess of strings.
Played with a bow, a twiddle, a fiddle a serious riddle.
Uncle strums his guitar, while he's coughing catarrh.
From the **** he smokes.
While playing with kippers and older men's zippers.
Pretensions of kindness, while fetching their slippers.
Money hunting, baby bunting, wrapped in boas of stripy snakes that choke, crush and strangle, dangling lust on a string, it's his sort of thing.
Uncle carbuncle, peril to both pusillanimous child and men of great age.
Daddy knows and he's so enraged, steel suits beat the outrage of misuse and abuse, through the family and mummy knits more scarves in soft fluffy wool. ****** old fool, never does anything by halves, it's all covered up by soft fluffy wool scarves.
(C) LIVVI
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC