Squeezes Poems | Examples

Younger Me

We walk hand in hand
Me and who I used to be
Sometimes I feel like I failed her
Sometimes I feel like i could do better
Like I dissappointed her
Tears stain my face 
As she squeezes my hand
Reassuring me
That we are in this together.

The arc of imagination

There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.

Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It carves deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.

Imagination lends us its safe wings,
So we can soar toward futures we choose,
To fill our life with hopes and precious things;
Though striking gold is never a mere cruise,
Nor are the lily-livered crowned as kings.

Sweat would streak our face and our skin would bruise,
Our legs may throb and swell with insects' stings;
It's for our future that we pay the dues —
We'll patch our hurts with plasters, cloth, and slings,
On great hopes, our imagination clings.

It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when reason reigns supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet sometimes birth false hopes no truth redeems.
And dreams may fade like echoes in a stream.

Beauty of imaginations

There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.

Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It digs deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.

It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when sane minds reign supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet still give false hopes life may not redeem.

the winter blues

the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight 
   Its icy tentacles wrap around me and squeezes
   freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite 

   staving off the cold is a battle, an endless fight
   it brings forth an assortment of nasty diseases
   The winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight

   these grey days cloud over the sun, having no light
   as the icy chill roam wherever it does pleases 
   freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite 

   my blood flows like a frozen berg of ice
   and into my bones the air seeps, then freezes
   the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight 

   frozen raindrops form like dripping stalagmite
   and the wind blows hard, never letting up or eases
   freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite 

   thunder roars. then the dark sky ignites 
   distant are the summer days of warm breezes  
   The winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight 
   freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite

Three Rings Entice a Perfect Fit

Each ring alone
too big to fit,
slips on finger,
disclosing its excess.

Too tight the hold,
the urge to control.
Too much the hope 
to fill the void, 
the more it squeezes,
the embrace to yield.

But, when entwined and combined,
the three rings loop and interface
to make a perfect fit for finger.
A trinity in harmony.

my eyes tried to tell you

my eyes tried to tell you

golden and round the setting sun peeks
over sloping mountaintops
while cobalt shadows inch into the rust-brown crevices
like a silent blanket smothering the light of day

the moon will be full
or so they say on the six o’clock weather report
there is no sign of rain until the clouds reappear
and the ring around the moon squeezes harder

you wanted to see the rising moon after sunset
and i laid both at your feet
while watching your wide-eyed innocence
as if the circus tent was filled with elephants

it was the only show in town
until i hugged you just before you cried
and we talked all through the rising of the moon
about old songs and dead poets

i searched for words to comfort you
but it was darker than the moon could illumine
and my words were thin as tin foil
though my eyes tried to tell you

tolbert

Super Satisfying Sunrise Stroll

"It is quite possible to leave your home for a walk in the early morning air and return a different person - beguiled, enchanted."
                                 ~ Mary Ellen Chase

We enjoy the whistling wind as we walk, 
The cool morning breeze calms and charms us, 
A peacock is perched on a peepal tree, 
Its fine feathers flowing fascinatingly, 
Its sound of squawking seems sophisticated, 
Like mystical music to its magnificent mate;
The butterscotch-orange ball blooms in the blue, 
A snake slithers silently in the sewer nearby, 
Songbirds tweet tantalizingly in the tall trees, 
Vehicles plying on the highway are a vision to view, 
Blushing bougainvilleas have blossomed in bunches, 
Numerous neem trees line the narrow footpath, 
A squirrel squeezes through a small, square hole, 
And we uncover God's wonders as He unveils a new day.

Silence

Has anyone ever told you the truth about isolation? 
No, not the tranquil kind. 
The one with a physical presence. 
The one that coils around you and squeezes until you implode. 
Where you’re alone, but you’re not really alone, 
surrounded by a tangible darkness, 
suddenly hyper-aware of every single thought that flickers through your consciousness. 
Suffer in silence, they say. 
Celebrate in silence, they forget to add. 
It’s like a one-man circus,
Orchestrating impossible feats alone. 
And when they laugh, I’m crestfallen.
“Don’t rain on my parade” 
I sob, 
standing at the bottom of the lake.

Wounds won't heal

I'm  lying here tonight
All alone in this bed
My memories of you
Dance through my head.

They cause my tears
To fall down like rain
Why do your memories
Have to come with pain?

My favorite memory of us
It hurts me most of all
It's the one that will
Always make me bawl.

It squeezes my heart
With all it can strain
And laughs as I fall down
Unable to endure the pain.

The tears keep falling
And the pain to build
But my love for you
Refuses to ever yield.

Though this heartbreak
I continue to love you still
Only when I stop loving you
Will these wounds ever heal.

Ambergris

lists      of things I crave about city       

the one in particular

smells reaching for all directions

greedy       fruit smoothies in a blender      

I can tell     that one’s got strawberry 

with a hint of ambergris 


I said to a woman in particular

Donna Karen Cashmere Mist      

she looked surprised that I knew      

keep walking     what have I done to be made to suffocate       

in a bliss bin soaked fat with years of you      

collected on the scarf you wear this time of year


all these things happening      but 

your hand squeezes mine and I don’t need to look 

to see that you’re smiling

My War With Myself

I can feel the life, 
That flows through my viens,
But each beat of my heart,
Just brings me pains, 

There's nothing wrong,
as far as you can see, 
But I can't stop the want, 
To claw the life out of me, 

My heart squeezes tight, 
And my lungs feel stiff,
My insides so hollow, 
My mind in a dark drift, 

I am so very lucky,
My life is so full 
I have three little blessings, 
That should make me feel whole,

There's nothing you can say, 
That I haven't already said,
You see, I already know,
It's all in my head,

But that never stops the ache,
Or the urge to end it all,
Every day I war with myself, 
Praying, in this battle I don't fall.

death grip

morning
glories wrap
beautiful flowers
climbs, squeezes, chokes their stalk, limbs
so like some humans who climb, squeeze, choke until

Shared Torch Lake

I rock in this outdoor cheap chair
Its cushion foam like ice cream
Half-eaten by the winter mice in storage
I don’t mind

Don’t need a full seat to see before me

The drop off on Torch Lake
Its fine line drawn between sky and space
So turquoise on one side black and blue on the other
Top to bottomless cliff
A mere step to reach one side from the other

If I dare walk on water

Wind carves the lake into slices of pie
Pulpy blueberry squeezes out the sides

Dragonflies bob in lilac updrafts
Broke open moments ago from their crawling lakeshore nymphs
Split open on the rocks

Their brittle wings snap in the wind
Snacks uncrinkling to a Kingfisher’s snatches

Fate born that way is hard to take
Of course many of these spindles escape to the flowers and meadows
But not all

I stand up

Boy to Dad to Grandpa

When did this happen? To survive this long?
To still hunger these many wonders?
To grow to know I am no more important

Then this oozing lake
Divided
And Memorial Day wind colliding with dragonflies and Kingfishers.

The Storm Swept Through

I often write about the ocean. I went to see a museum exhibit, yesterday, “Dutch Art in a Global Age.” The paintings of sailboats on the sea caught my attention. Breathtaking and romantic, admired them up closely, then from the center of the room. One artist was Ludolf Bakhuizen and his painting was “Ships in a Gale on the IJ before the City of Amsterdam.”

THE STORM SWEPT THROUGH

the storm swept
through
sails white & gray

  clouds
    competing

ebb & flow
of catawampus rain

the heave-ho
of the hulls
crashing
         on
malevolent waves

the sky falls
squeezes out
thunderous soak

cantankerous whitecaps
        like
moon craters
              rise & fall

cerulean hope
bleeds through
  as
the sun bruises the
    hullabaloo

lightning shows
             off
a couple more
  times
than its lullaby
hushes

and the boats
gently rock

as if the infant
is sound asleep

the sea is smooth
it is a smooth operator
a breathing body
of fickle water

His Name is Not Superman

   He jumps into his pants
     gulps down an espresso 
   Fairly flies out the door
     caught up in the flow  

  Sprints to the corner
     squeezes onto the bus
  His name is not ‘Superman’
     ~ He’s just one of us

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