At the monument to the Roman Emperor Hadrian near the Tower
There is no place to put flowers
But if they made a pedestal there
And wrote Put your flowers here
I’ve no doubt that
People would bring their flowers to the foot of the statue
Out of respect for law and order
What a good move that would be
And politically useful
Some rebel won't even notice
How he turns into one of the law-abiding citizens
He once laughed at
And now his rebellion is all about
Draining bottles and dancing to familiar music
When he is alone and feels free
Waving his hands in the air and pulling out a scary face.
I kneel by the ash heap of my country,
pulling out the charred bones of laws
once tender with purpose. A womb,
a book, a vote—each gutted clean
by men in ties who grin as they light
the match, who quote scripture
as forests burn and children cry
in cages built from policy.
My daughter will not inherit
a peace I once believed in.
She will patch what I could not protect—
clean air, clean water, a truth
without spin, a touch without price.
Her hands will be calloused,
her hope hard-earned.
It is not that we lost something.
It is that they took it and smiled.
self-harm was my only real friend since i was born
i didn’t know at first
who she was
but then i realized-when biting my fingernails started to hurt, but i didn’t stop.
then she changed-evolved
i didn’t know how to let my feelings out, so i turned to her
i still bit my nails, and it still hurt
but then i started taking out my anger on the objects around me, and myself.
and she’s still changing.
when i’m not biting my nails, im hitting myself.
when im not hitting myself, im biting my nails till my cuticles are bloody and red.
now, when i’m not pulling out my hair, im cutting
and when im not cutting, im pulling bald spots into my hair.
after all she’s don’t to me.
i still run back to her when it gets bad, over, and over again.
I have a cup in my hand.
Spilling it.
Then I pour some into my hands.
Laughing.
So I get more.
Sipping coffee from my palms.
Beautiful.
The journal.
Pages.
Folded up, turning into paper airplanes.
A journal is like…
When my car sputters in the winter,
But it starts up anyway.
Crying.
It’s cold.
Pulling out of the driveway, carefully.
I used to carry my flashlight.
Sweeping the light around.
These days?
I don’t know where light comes from.
Just sparkles.
And reflections in empty trash cans.
I threw away my phone.
I didn’t think they would actually take it.
But the garbage truck comes at 6:00 am every morning.
Earthquakes seem very long.
So I think I imagined it.
Cowering for three hours.
Until I get anxious and want a cup of coffee.
I pour a cup of coffee.
But the shaking makes me drop it again.
It is an unfortunate reality,
Those most able to tie word and misery -
Are most often the least spoken.
They are capable of divining the self,
Pulling out streams of emotion.
- Emotion that is far heavier than simple tears.
The words pull at their friends' heartstrings,
Puppeteering their empathy,
Taking all the warmth that they had too.
That's the curse of an ailed writer,
only knowing ink and page -
because paper doesn't cry.
She cried out, “Coitus interruptus!?
That don't work unless the pulling out precise and abrupt is!
But you always tend to be a millisecond too late!
And if we get child number eight,
that would totally bankrupt us!"
You came outside the same way I came inside
Now, we will cum together the same way
Baby batter on our tongues inside
We come out together shamelessly
Shameful turns everybody on inside
Movement is felt in our membrains
Tickles between our ears and inside
Our legs are stiff and shaking now
Wanting, wonting love inside
Begging for more pronto
Pointed toes release all the more
Harder Harder we came inside
Pulling out whats left inside inside
The world is a beautiful place if you know where to look.
The wonder on a child’s face or even an adults at their first trip to the zoo.
Looking through the lens of a telescope and seeing the craters on the moon.
Pulling out the most beautiful creation from the oven when you try a new recipe.
The hug from a friend you haven’t seen in a while
.
The look on your love’s face as you’re leaning in for a kiss.
Your reflection in the mirror when you realize you are one of those beautiful things too.
“Be not simply good - be good for something.”
—Henry David Thoreau
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said ‘What a good boy am I.
—Little Jack Horner (partial nursery rhyme)
Pulling Out Plumbs
The yellow sun is not a stain.
It warms with rays that reach the earth.
Does the moon merely wax and wane?
The day and night, each light has worth.
A stalwart tree that faithfully
a-shadows ‘round, under its leaves;
gives temp’ral rest to birds; nutty
food to squirrels; fruit, man receives.
Are you just waxing and waning,
pulling out plums, saying, “I’m good;”
sitting still, simply maintaining,
even nailing worldly sainthood.
What is your path? How ‘bout the good
that is your bent, your rays of light?
Do not be found in good’s falsehood.
Some former blind - God gave them sight.
The train’s pulling out of the station now
Not everyone’s boarded the old cash cow
The POTUS got left behind
A sign of radical times ~
'Wheels of progress' just ground him into chow
Pulling out my card.
Doesn’t seem too hard.
When I’m convinced of my wealth.
Despite new books on my shelf.
Despite sunglasses that are new.
I assumed by account was tried and true.
But when the balance is none.
I find myself feeling undone.
I want to go back.
To stop myself from getting snacks.
I want to undo.
Buying a shirt that is blue.
I hear honking behind me.
At least the receipt for my balance is free.
I leave with no money in hand.
I was going to go to the beach with sand.
But with no money for a picnic lunch.
I suddenly have a hunch.
That my friend will pay what is due.
But then the sky turns a strange hue.
Which helps me remember.
I owe her from December.
I guess I’ll go home.
With no where else to roam.
I know my mom’s advice was true.
That spending too much will make me blue.
I enter the foyer.
The smell of cooking makes me wander over.
My mom is making lunch.
She seems to have a hunch.
On the hammock in the yard, I sway.
I learned my lesson on this sunny day.
She hands me an iced tea.
I start to dream.
Of my paycheck tomorrow.
Which I can spend without sorrow!
Warming myself in the fire of the sun, why must the soil be so cold?
Listen closely, and I'll show you a story of ancestors I never knew
They had a place like this that they called home, or so I was told
Watch intently; I'll unfold my own fable heard before you like they grew
Down the blackest hole, the richest safety I would know, I began to take hold
Wait patiently; here comes a thin line of green brought by a stream of blue
In good time, don't prop me up now! No trust; I will hold my own crown
You sleep so calmly without remorse in your house for hours eightfold
I've been sweating all night, hoping that morning won't come, only to cut me down
Then you come with hands and fingers, pulling out the nails that held together the place I made anew
Now, I'm just another refugee; controlled by the view you hold
You had all the leverage
When you spiked my beverage
With a pill-- I am really sick
That was such a dirty trick
To pull on me, its not fair
Now I'm pulling out my hair
Seeing the worn off effects
I am trying to detect
What was really done to me
BY such a sneaky dirty creep
My shirt is ripped and torn apart
Like the pieces of my heart
Noticing I am now pantless
I don't know if I can take this
Seeing bruises on my body
I received at a house party
That was supposed to be fun
Now my world has come undone
Attacked and then left alone
By myself, what has he done
Something priceless he has stolen
I just lay here cold and frozen
Thinking this nightmare can't be
He took my virginity
I saved for somebody true
Not an animal like you
Tomorrow’s going to find me in another place
I never had the urge to settle down
There’s so much of this world that I’ve never seen
Another mountain, another valley, another town
I get those urges every time I hear a train whistle blow
Or the sound of a ship pulling out to sea
Staying put is killing me and I’ve just got to go
That open road is calling out to me
My memories take me to my youth
Just living for each day
Reveling in the joy that freedom brings
Flew from Spain to Corsica
Saw Ajaccio but I couldn’t stay
Listen to a mermaid as she sings
Barcelona then the other side of Spain
Pull cinderella liberty for New Year’s eve
Take the liberty boat back at Two AM
With a bottle of cognac up my sleeve
Walked around an old castle in Patras Greece
On a warm and sunny day
Stopped in town and had a few
Then it was time to be on my way
Remembering all the places that I’ve been
Look at the lines carved in my face
Wishing I could sail again
Memories time cannot erase
Dreams take me back to the open sea
Stop for a while in Kingston town
See the Southern Cross at night
Pour another tequila down
She turns to fire engine red as her leaves begin to change
toot toot! she goes as she travels through the autumn train
Her caboose shakes in the wind but she hangs on tight
while the leaves dance, shimmer & jiggle in the dancing breeze.
Aware that she needs to let go of her most prized possessions,
She enjoys one last cling of the season, before winter's festoon.
Bright flamingo ruby leaves have set her frame aglow,
but now, it's time to let go.
She recalls a time when she was exploding with leaves,
a time when she was fed on sunshine and energy
a time when climbing on the Autumn train, was one great big adventure.
Today she travels at a sure and steady pace,
pulling out all her horns, whistles and bells, she chugs along,
as the rails of her caboose fly faster and faster,
The leaves fall softly to the ground, one at a time,
without making a fuss, without making a sound.
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