
One breeze
Bent me to one wind
And I found you
Little bird
POETRY, RANDOM THOUGHTS AND STUFF LIKE THAT….
One breeze
Bent me to one wind
And I found you
Little bird
I waited
While I live inside this twisted place
My fish died but I’m still alive
That is unquenchable
And breathing became difficult
Attitude
And green with envy
I’ve been left by the wayside
I smile and I curse
Made time against me
And turned me hungry
You catch me
All along was really ME
Such a painful death
Thru my heart
Where pain will be no more
Mourning was well on its way
You will stay with me and you’ll stay until the very end
Free me from this rag
It was only just a dream
***
Painting by Edward William Cooke, Venice, A November Evening in the Lagoon (1859)
I waited
She said this was the safest place
It was 1800 hours and I felt the sadness engulf me
As I looked on past the sunset
Blank with guilt
I waited
And I waited
And I waited for her
Days came
And they went
The sun shifted
And it bent
I talked to the gods
Bowed my head hopeful this would be rectified if I repent
But the water
Froze still
And the quiet consumed me
And I knew
She was gone
But
…
I waited
Closed in a world of what’s to be
Can’t you see it’s me in the distance
Blank with resistance
Hard to tame
Sensations knows my name from past games
Nowhere to hide
Pain is greedy and the heart is needy
Beauty is all over me
Social anxiety
Thoughts lie to me
The truth and its reality
Pain shared is pain lessened
Living in the lesson
Trapped in my mind
Hiding from my own behind
Because it’s time that searches for me
I allowed the dark to creep into my rain
Because I can’t sustain without at least a little pain
My fish died but I’m still alive
Darkness melted into my pain
One eye open to the sun
And my back to the moon
The earth whispers a calm
Casualties roam freely in wounded pastures
Graze memory
Seeds grow thick
And heavy
Till tears grew branches
And wrapped themselves
Into open wounds
And breathing
Became difficult
Mathematical division
Aptitude
Hard for me to cum
Attitude
Not so ready for this lust
Fully bloom
Petty arguments high alert
Misconstrued
Need to put some distance between this forest
Latitude
Dialogue not complex enough
Platitudes
Feel all alone in this room
Solitude
Costume not heavy enough
Magnitude
Tryna’ find some happy
Gratitude
So I move silently through this turmoil
Lets conclude
Mathematical division
Aptitude
Hard for me to cum
Attitude
The night was lost
Drowning in this noise
Aiming to lose this fight
Lost in the dark of sight
Can’t make out what’s wrong with the right
I passed Sally from 21st and 7th Ave.
There was nothing funny in this world can’t muster up a laugh
Henry and Veronica moved pass me slow and tried to graze my eyes
So I kept walking and talking to the ground
Somebody’s daughter was lost never to be found
Buried in these streets
The hustle and bustle of New York night left me blank in thought
I can’t hear my thoughts
But they whispers to me bad words
And beat me in my dreams
And reminds me what’s wrong with this night
That I’m mangled with these streets can’t win this fight
And I can’t keep sharing my whiskey with Henry and Veronica only makes things risky for a drought
And I howl mamma’s favorite 70’s song to the wind and tell New York traffic my woes
I give pedestrians the blues just for show
I can’t wake myself
Fallen
This life takes too long
And reminds me
I’ve been left by the wayside
https://dversepoets.com/2022/10/04/poetics-allen-ginsberg-and-the-beat-generation/
He had hands like magnets on my skin
Sending pulsations tunneled imagination was a combination
That serenaded my porcelain
There was something in his gaze
And not even a short paraphrase could describe this mans hands
They weren’t like typing hands but sexy chiseled
His energy was so powerful it turned my storm into a drizzle
I’m telling you this man had hands like magnets
Sending sensations in me so deep they left fragments
I know it sounds crazy
But
You didn’t feel his hands!
There was something that oooozzzed from him like a man
Evidence by the incense flowing from his sweat glands
And every drop had the purest destination it would land
He entered with a whisper and gently transitioned to a command
He spoke in arabic and taught me the language so that I could understand
Funny thing…
I gathered all this information even before I felt his hands
‘Cause that’s what women do
Investigative reporters
So much better than Nancy Drew
We’ll be home cooking dinner and at the same time watching you
His hands were so powerful they split Adams and made me two
Its been three weeks now and I’m still collecting his residue
I go to church on Sunday to praise God for making not only one hand
But 2
I know it sounds crazy
But
You didn’t feel his hands!
This mans hands came already framed
He had hair so beautiful every lock had its own name
If I were blind his hands would have felt me a story
He took me on this journey
From 19 to 40
From disgrace to glory
From a dark night to a bright morning
There is power in a touch
From the second he graced that room
I swear I felt his rush
There is power in a touch
I know it means nothing to you
But to me it meant much
So I ran home after the poetry slam and listened to the best of Kem
And naturally I wrote a poem about him
This man had hands like magnets that rotated themselves on my blades
He was like a glade plug-in that lingers
Leaves imprints but never fades
It was his prolonged rhyme
And his clock like broken hand
But still made time against me
Made time against me
Made time against me
Made time against me
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