Category Archives: Poems

Skin Hunger

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The Strangest Poem to Date

It’s an impulse
that asks for the solo
A desire
who auditions for the lead
I shank Them with control’s shiv
and bolt Them down as a safe

It flashes through my mind—
the whisper of hallucination
Touch-starved and touch-sensitive am I
to pet, to caress, to rake and lay claim
to you, your freckles, and the crinkles of your smile

 

I want the blind person’s sight

 

It’s a made-up thrill coursing in me
Vivid words ghosting my senses
Quench these feelings and tranq the excitement

Over and over
It’s maddening
Let me grasp and envelop
holding on past suffocation

Give me contact to sink these Titanics
A lustful Horseman fondles my core

 

“Take.

Take.

Take—
the nailtips under your surface
and swallow the sensations whole
breathe in the chick fuzz of the ears”

 

I want to drown in body heat
and overwhelm my surface

It evolves to obsession
A chronic disease that should have me hospitalized

Vice-grip me with your legs
Pinch my cheeks with your lashes
Affectionate me in nuzzles
Muss my hair
Drive me wild and cup my shoulder

 

It’s not just you
It will never be just you
The greed will always want his hair and her face to have your fingers kissing mine
but my lips nosing the girl from across the sidewalk’s neck and me sucking
Eskimo-like to the boy with the crooked eye and languid wave in your bio class

 

I want to whore myself to your best friend
Who gives life drugs in hugs
And my roommate
Who could smother me in tongues

So lonely am I
So devoid of food
I am a maelstrom at wit’s end
and subzero chaos

Touch me and die

Shakespeare knew a thing or two

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frolic round widdershins they go
songs a siren’s call
for the enchanted never noticing
the shadows dancing promises
terribly awesome tales all have one truth
take not a chance and run
horrid wonders await
in the realm of make-believe
chiming deceit give life to winged-ones
and unless on does believe
there is no belief
in between and middle ground
they reside often
fantastic marvels created
pathways to theirs
caution for stagnant doesn’t exist

Where Your Name is Written in the Sand, but Your Goodbye is on My Skin

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Joy. It was in the vibrancy of the colors on her skin; in the way the sun kisses the horizon
every day with love made of reds, greens, pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows
The process was strenuous–taking life onto a living canvas and keeping it art
with only the carving of needle pricks

It was the only reminder she could keep; the wild flora had long lost their scents and
the striking vividness of freedom would soon fade from the stilled birds’ feathers
The only paradise with blue smiles and bronzed happiness that felt like sand
between her toes and white enthrallment

Someday she’d return to finger-traces and salt air
for more than her Birds of Paradise for company

NOTHING but a devotee

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A poem for Karla Jannette
 

If only you knew that I was here, and what I could do
for you—I exist—of the moments we could share,
the could-bes of our treasured memories. I could be your sinew,
but to you, I’m just a nameless face in a sea, and I have this single prayer.

Take my hand and step away from those blinding lights,
please let me call you: ‘my dear’.
Hordes of voices, countries, and flights
become blurs for you, but my vision remains clear.

It hurts when your smiles are fake,
but I know how to make them real.
You can ditch it all, you can take a break,
you can be you, and you can be allowed to feel.

We’d have the breeze card its fingers through our hair
while we lie on a blanket among the rolling green hills, with the sun
kissing our faces and watching the clouds without your usual fanfare
following you about. No more worries of what to say or having to run.

Horrible Child I am

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Horrible Child I am

One the first day, you went blind and I
with my heart in my throat,
drove.
Never have I ever
been glad to have such an every day skill as that.
My hands never stopped shaking.

Day two came and passed.
At night, without you home and during the day,
driving on schedule.
My sympathy ran high.
We took over your daily life.
I was scared.

Third day and the ICU
was all too familiar for comfort.
Faces started to develop names.
Good news came as a room change and I
found myself hoping
you’d stayed longer.

Home finally felt like home
without you.
There was peace and I could finally be me.
Four days of entertaining you constant needs
and my patience wore thin.

Getting you home was
a chore and I did not want
to dote on you.
I had no sympathy after day five.
Acting is an invaluable skill.

Weeks turned and I found myself
resentful towards you
and your lack of speedy recovery.
I wanted to push you off
the wheelchair you didn’t need.

And it has been months!
of constant nagging from you
about me, when I had a chance to leave
you again, but toxicity is natural now.

Compassion does not exist for me.
I envy that she can do nothing
but wait on you.
I find I have nothing but aggravation
and I wish you could be
someone else’s problem.

Horrible child I am
because I liked it better when you weren’t there.

Calaveras

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With the Celtic new year (or All Hallow’s Eve, or All Saint’s Day, or of course, Samhaim) around the corner–read, a month away–I decided to post a little something to fit the theme.

Calaveras

 

Happiness dances the streets in a gloried blaze. Rainbows glide with music and 

Masked mortals celebrate the Honored guest–La Catrina, Lady Death. Laughter mingles 

and flirts as Saints are praised. Past loved ones will return. Grieving can wait.

 

It blurs. Sound becomes a distant murmur as the main streets disappear. Here,

in the cold, quiet where Candles look like stars, low melancholic voices pray. Here, 

in dim light, Altars to memories are built. A smile is faded with age.

 

Steam contrasts a white-gray in the inky blue-black and slowly the music of 

sound gradually crescendos. A tentative bell rings, soon followed by more. Here,

in the City of Skeletons, toys elicit fondness in the living. The Angels play.

 

Marigolds paint slabbed homes. The elders toast to the once 

joy and once loved. Wishes and Paper Stories and Skulls and Dead Man’s Bread 

all offerings to the Souls that visit. An annual reunion and a timed promise to reunite. 

 

She watches over with mischievous air. Waiting to extend 

bone fingers and journey on. Sincere gratitude lulls the festivities and Respect follows

Her message. It is merely a cycle, a process–but do not despair for life is everywhere.

Untitled

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This is another poem I found when I first started writing poetry. It also received the Editor’s Choice Award, but  back in June of 2006, a month before “My Demise”, from poetry.com. It made me a semi-finalist in their International  Open Poetry Contest as well, and was published in Immortal Verses, too along with “My Demise”. Or so they say.
It remains untitled.

Untitled

Let me fall
Fall into pieces
No one will know
No one will care
I thought you would see
See me fall
But you don’t dare
Say no words, Just watch me fall
Don’t even try to catch me
Fall into pieces
Fall out of place
No one will know
A fake smile on my face cause I’m tortured inside
No one will care
Let me fall
No one to catch me
I cry as I die
Fall through the air and falling into pieces
But You didn’t even notice

My Demise

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This is a poem I found when I first started writing poetry. It’s actually one of the first ones I’ve ever submitted and received the Editor’s Choice Award back in July of 2006 from poetry.com. It made me a semi-finalist in their International  Open Poetry Contest and was published in Immortal Verses. Or so they say. 

My Demise

Fall into the abyss
Where your soul is to be taken and not missed
Drown in the darkness
Where you won’t be seen
Die in the flames of eternity
Forever in peace is where I won’t be
Just seeing myself like this . . .
This isn’t me
Burn in your eyes, burn into the flames that will eat me
alive
Taking my soul, taking my life
No one ever suspected, that I would be the one to die
Die from their secret cries and lies
I’ll throw away everything I’ve worked for
Cause I know it’ll all be gone . . .
It’ll all disappear like me
My dreams will be shattered, my heart will be scattered
I will not die,
don’t
Let me burn by the look in your eyes
Don’t let me cry, just because I’ll die

It Gnaws

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I’m scared
Can you tell?

I’m scared
That I fell

I’m scared
of you, the Male

The fear is
too deep;

it burns inside me

The fear is
too real;

it’s been gathering heat

Its fire burns
as it turns

Its ugly face towards me

Its words scorn,

they’re all that can be seen

I’m scared
Does it show?
I’m scared

That it won’t be slow

I’m scared
of Its glimmering glow

The pain is
long lived;

It never leaves

The pain is
crushing;

digging deep ’til there’s no room to breathe

I’m scared

And I refuse to go back

Scribe

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“Scribe”

I don’t want to write.

Publishing and script
Delirious nights with
horrendous thoughts, accosting
me. Mornings wasted in waking

Evergreens, why is there no change?
Silly words dance in tunes,
gratifying.
Yesterday I thought of losing.
Victory is uplifting, but now
kneel before your victor.

I didn’t write.