Did we really dabble daily?
You must be hyper-delirious!
Is it the posit in my eyes;
the recent rosy surprises?
Honeymooners might silkily slide
and slip sleepily into such dreams,
remembered. Still
such thoughts bring to mind
those early reclines of young love.
I can picture you in your red threads,
unveiling of slim
and vainglorious muscles,
the hustle of prowess.
Our steamy windows,
the firsts, the thirsts,
the pinpoint of lusty eyes,
the thrust of vigor.
Do we dabble daily
in linking love,
hand in hand;
the saxophone hums.
Together we slide
through the love tunnel
in the dark,
dangerously drifting
toward the eternal waterfall;
the climax.
My grandma hid her feelings
So by looking at her face,
You couldn’t pinpoint anger
Or if something was off-base.
If she were hurt or worried
Or perturbed, you couldn’t tell,
For her emotions she kept
Tucked inside so very well.
Though I am quite the opposite,
Since all I feel’s unfurled
And plastered on my face
So anybody in the world
Could take one look and wonder
Why I’m ticked off as can be.
I wish my grandma’s genes
Had gotten passed along to me.
The two most dominant baseball pitchers of their eras
On the mound, neither was cute or clever
Each reared back and fired
No matter if they were dead-tired
Sandy Koufax and Nolan Ryan
Most batters gave up even tryin’
The great Yogi Berra once said
I understand how Koufax won 25 games last year”
But how he lost five games just isn’t clear”
Koufax deemed Ryan’s lack of pinpoint control his secret weapon
He labeled Ryan a wild bombardier
Who won games because his wayward 100 mph pitches instilled fear
the turkey was exquisitely browned to perfection
we saw her take it out of an oven marked convection
what is your secret? we asked the baker of the year
I can’t pinpoint it, she said, this grandmother dear
another old lady was irritated with grandma’s win.
She urged me over so the gossiping could begin.
It’s not even cooked, it is raw inside, she reported.
She painted it with acrylics, she deserves to be deported.
Hate you for causing me pain, for being a fraud, for being a fake, for being a liar, and all the ways you are unloving and unkind.
Hate you for harming me, for causing me pain that can never be fixed, like a glass that breaks, the pieces of my life are broken and all over the place.
Hate comes in many forms, some hide and cause you pain with their vile words, some use force and cause damage, and others use ways that are hard to pinpoint.
Jesus told us to forgive, for they know not what they do, making us remember that some are lost in a hateful atmosphere.
God told us to love and to be respectful in all we do and follow the Ten Commandments, and that in the end justice will prevail, and we have no worries God is always near.
The feeling of hate can sit on us, placed on us by those that seek to harm us, and we can carry these all through our life, like a heavy weight that is tied around our waist.
So, move carefully and be aware not all are good, and some want to only harm.
May God remove all the hate from our lives and make our lives a living dream.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Halogen, on horizon shine.
Pinpoint the effect.
Lampshade, made from what we dine?
Ask and you'll get wrecked.
Courtyard of the vizier?
Not quite a good place.
Axeman, getting busier?
Damned is a disgrace.
Yatalite, thy bluish streaks.
Meteoric blast?
Oh, it's been a matter of weeks.
Statue, plaster, cast.
Best of luck, O yammerer.
Blowing at the hole.
Coin toss, then, O stammerer?
Hammerer, dole, pole.
Wicked is the world these days?
Gods, yes, sir. You bet.
Maze, thy path is lost in haze?
Grey is what they'll get.
Rickshaw, running river, reel.
Show them how we feel!
Tornado, spin! Sage, reveal!
Portal, sign the seal!
Golem, gold. Groundhog, billfold.
Windfall, young or old?
Both, O poet. Oversold?
Muse, light, sparks, meld, mold!
Yardarm, keelhauling. Salting!
Sad to hear them sing!
Hornet, wasp, succor with sting?
Drown the ding-a-ling...
You can find me
Hidden in plain sight
Through the ebbs and flows of life
Through the cracks and veins
Of the Acropolis’ stones
You can run into me
In the most shadowy corners
Of suburban alleys
Skating fluidly on metal bars
Impervious to any scratches and scars
You can spot me
At the first bolt of sunrise
Skimming over the water
Until the twilight fall
You can come across me
During your rest at that cozy inn
At the end of the downhill road
Or
During your usual antics in that rowdy tavern
Lit by endless stained-glass lamps
Whilst drinking from a bulky glass of beer
Enjoying the company of your peers
Who am I?
Perhaps
The reflection of the light
The darkest shadow of the night
Wandering freely before your eyes
It is me, right?
The one you claim
To be hard to find
To identify
To pinpoint in space and time
Well
I am all over the world
I am the elephant in the room
Boldy and gracefully stepping outside
At all hours of the day and night
For I
Am the essence of life
Always hidden in plain sight
a labyrinth of emotions
parading in and out and all about
no one can pinpoint just one at a time
if they say they can, they are lying
feelings cannot be pulled apart like monkey bread
I can have ten different feelings at a family reunion
depending upon who is walking toward me
and who is walking away
It is irrational to think we can choose only one at a time
I can feel excited, tired, happy, sad, angry and mad simultaneously
can’t you?
Why is it more comfortable
To have more blankets on but the window open
Than it is to sleep with just the duvet
And the window shut?
Because it is cosier, snugglier,
But what exactly makes it so?
Why is it pleasant to be dry, not so nice to be wet?
Well, wet is often cold, why’s it not fun to be cold?
What is fun?
Also, what used to go on in our minds
Before wet, cold and fun were words to us?
If you’re wet, you are not always cold.
Being soaked isn’t so bad
On scorching sands.
But is that only because you’ll quickly dry off
And because you know that?
Can anyone pinpoint
What is so unpleasant
About sand stuck to your skin?
Why is it so good to get it off in a warm, bubbly tub?
It is a relief, but why?
Relief can be defined by relaxation,
But what exactly is that?
Well, it’s the freedom from anxiety, from tension.
But then relief isn’t exactly relaxation.
After relief, it’s back to whatever came before
What needed to be relieved.
Perhaps I see what I want to see.
Maybe something is beautiful because I deemed it so.
Or rather, I cannot pinpoint what stands out.
But why is it up to me for that decision?
How cruel.
Eyes fixated, hair shining through dazzling sunlight.
A pink dress tinged with white flowers,
sewn into patterns of sticks and branches.
Lipstick of red hues, or maybe, it was licorice black.
Too many choices to keep track of.
I don’t like to list options.
I speak of memories and experiences.
Brunettes, redheads, I can’t bear another thought.
A drawing board of dreams and fantasies,
I cannot stop thinking through obsessed observations.
Why must they all be so beautiful,
How can I convince myself that I am worthy?
Worthy of such intelligence, dignity, and affection.
I’m nothing more than a petty jester, a fool.
And yet they,
They are extraordinary.
Night after night, I write on my eyelids poems that no longer fit in my soul,
White, unrhymed verses that bow to your tumultuous god,
Screaming without tact, curses that bring no delight, only echo,
Remaining as empty ornaments, forever, a gift to my unmatched souls.
May you spend repeatable youth singing on lyres of solar rays,
The stories of our lives, future deaths, in passing lights' blaze,
Monstrous seconds, filled with nothing, giving time a rhythm to climb,
Like a universe spun by stars, a unique egg, a perpetual tic-tac, a sublime chime.
The cry for help now drowns in the yolk of a sleepwalker,
The embryo of an unfulfilled nightmare seeking no comforting harbor,
Abandoning its verse, transforming from egg to chick, whispering to life:
Lullaby! A nap stripped of NOs, a dream departing on the strife.
And when it takes flight to the pinpoint west, leaving only violet dusk,
An invisible day, random, like in feeble theories, a complete blue night husk,
Devoid of the fleshly perfection of our past love’s bay,
In a violet dusk, only the memory of a tumultuous past will stay.
Went searching for good enough and discovered it can only come from within myself
So I went back to the future in a DeLorean to try to pinpoint when things began to veer off track so I could alter time to put them back
It took a few trips after realizing I couldn’t quickly flip the script
Started by slowly chipping away to release the image I was trying to portray
Then pivoted to rewiring my circuits to help wrangle my inner circus
The process pivoted me from my head to my heart which granted me a fresh start
But it was only after I made the choice that I was able to hear a new inner voice
It started as a whisper but turned into a roar that I could no longer ignore
To wash over me to say what had been so tough, that I can relax and rest easy now since I am good enough
In the ebonic afterglow, I hope for your return…
—by poet
Echo a Desperate Plea
Anxious calling across a mountain ravine.
Breathless in frigid heights, plummeting d
Callousness of the deaf-defying beast. e
Desperate to penetrate distance; pinpoint. g
Echo of eeriness returns to me thrice. r
e
e
s.
Continents collide against one another
The tatonic plates are now emerged
Pesisides manipulate earth
but still we breath the air
vlcanoes erupt and sobdue us
the langlaeers are the Mcabees only fear
Genocide is a brainless way to indulge in a fight
so i end racism like all my friends
Lakes are made by men
so what can we not do
the energy of the sun is that comparable to the tides and waves
so current so vast and still they pinpoint the lighting strikes
as drones fly through the universe
stars shine untill the last dying light
xrays candle blue vVanderbuilt a song for the flute
liverpool is a life at stake
then send a troop
I can’t change, and you can’t change. We are two separate people with two separate hearts. When did this road shred apart? I can’t force this love anymore; I am lost in deep thought. Emotional pain hurts, but when you add mental games and a teaspoon of lies, it becomes as ugly as a newborn crying for help.
This broken heart lingers, and I am tired of trying to piece this love-hate relationship together. It’s so torn into pieces that I can’t pinpoint the location. We are too far apart now; longitude and latitude can’t place us together.
Broken hearts, frustrating tears—now it’s two separate lines going in different directions. Do you see my reflection? It reflects off this glass mirror. Now, look at my torn face as sweat falls off my skin, tears in my eyes, like a whale swimming in despair. It’s frustrating to find an answer.
At first, I couldn’t sleep; lonely nights became very dark. But now, mornings start to feel like my best sunshine.
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