Tightening Poems

Masks and Boundaries

Eighth grade brought a boy, a spark,
A clumsy light in the growing dark.
His gaze would stray, and so would hers,
A quiet game without the words.

Not for hunger, just the role,
A mask to shield a restless soul.
Months entwined until the day
He crossed the line, she turned away.

Faith in hand, the rules were clear,
Church’s voice loud in her ear.
“I’m not that way,” her laughter lied,
Though girls still pulled at something inside.

He whispered soft, I think you are,
Each syllable a hidden scar.
For years they spun in a tightening snare,
Her truth locked down, gasping for air.

She clung too hard to prove them wrong,
But felt it slipping all along.

Depression and Me

Depression. 
Can be flung away. 
Can stick to any surface. 
And me. 

Depression. 
Could be crammed in. 
Stammering and tightening. 
Tearing feelings. 

Depression. 
Can sit on the porch for weeks. 
So you don’t leave for weeks. 
The groceries dwindle. 

Depression. 
The gold metal I carry. 
Gets rusty. 
I can hear it. 

Depression. 
Could be crammed in any surface. 
Rusty on the porch. 
Sticking feelings.

Depression.
There are many ways. 
The groceries dwindle. 
No matter what.

And So You Write Poetry

Poetry is the one place
where people can speak
their original human mind.
-  Allen Ginsberg.
        ..........................

You can get lost sometimes
in the mind's obsessions,
its need for order, to gather in
what spills out
from the ruptured sides of certainty,
the comfortable surrounds 
of routine -
and so you write poetry.

Then there are those moments 
when all descends into panic,
when you lose control 
and the world spirals inward,
winding itself up into an ever
tightening catastrophe -
and so you write poetry.

And when something
in this world or beyond 
wants to speak and finds
in you an ear in which 
to whisper and you 
are gifted a tiny spark
of the sublime -
you write poetry.

And even when the cogs
and levers of your life click
into place and run like clockwork,
and yet leave a fear 
that the ticking sound
you hear is the countdown 
to a final detonation - 
you write poetry.

aquamarine

I dreamt of a siren 
with crystal skin and quaint braided hair. 

her eyes, slow swirls of undying azure,
coiled around, her salt-sweet chorus 
tightening at my throat

The alluring notes 
pierce through my rasp scream—

In cold sweats I
wake up nauseous—
My vocal cords enfolded in her skin.

Was my home built above the endless abyss

Was my home built above the endless abyss,
Why do I feel beneath my steps the corpses of ancestors whispering in silence,
Like invisible strings tightening around my neck, reminding me,
Mocking the memory that I am merely an echo of them, a speck of dust.
The place I cherished as a sanctuary was just a cemetery of regrets,
Why do the walls still resonate with rebellion and rage, forgotten flames,
Taunting me with fires that burn unseen in every corner of my being,
Telling me I am just a thread in the hem of an old tapestry.
Do not fight fate, the wind whispers through cracks and time,
For every step I take is a dance with shadows, with the past,
A game of light and darkness, where each memory hurts,
But in the depths, it is just a story that needs to be told, heard, accepted.

Thoughts are Things

Thoughts are things,

Little balloons on strings.

Floating through the mind.

Hoping to find a place to land,

To attach and Implement their plan.

Silently doing what they can,

plotting your direction,

Changing your perception,

To be the first of your selection.

Bobbing and bouncing along,

Quietly playing its song.

Just waiting to be chosen,

To be the one that was spoken.

Slowly gaining power,

Hoping to devour,

Your attention.

Filling those you mention,

With physical dimensions.

Now Feeling it's pull,

You try fighting,

The grasp is tightening,

Too frightened to let go.

Gaining the control,

They become the show.

Adding to the whole,

Things are taking a toll,

Their shadow,

Over running the soul.

Now floating with no direction,

Until you let them go.

Ways from home

Hands tightening, my neck is broken 

From the front to the back his batons a choken

Fear in my body for my posture is a slopen 

Cheer in the voices from the violence of hate 

Screaming death to us all, it must be our fate

Hollering for mama to open the gate.

See you later they said, just you wait.

Get on home boys, he said and don’t be late.

No where to run,

I guess they were having fun,

I got you now boy, they said it was a gun.

Sincerely, from the grave,  your loving little son

Thoughts are Things

My brain is swirling,

Sounds are Twirling.

Thoughts are things,

Little balloons on strings.

Floating through the mind,

Hoping to find,

a place to land,

And attach,

To implement their plan.

Silently doing what they can,

Plotting the direction.

Changing your perception,

To be the first of your selection.

Bobbing and bouncing along,

They keep playing their song.

So you keep grasping,

Hanging on to a Ring of things.

All waiting to be Chosen,

Spoken.

Gaining power,

Hour after Hour,

Waiting to devour your attention.

Filling the ones you mention,

Giving them a new dimension.

Now feeling their pull,

You start fighting.

Your grasp is tightening,

To frightened to let go.

They gain the control,

And become the whole show.

Things are taking a toll,

A shadow over running the Soul,

Floating with no direction,

Until you let GO.

No This Without That, Eh

    No drama without moods
      No parties without food

    No dark alleys without crime
      No ninjas without slime

    No fudge without calories
       No Picassos without galleries

    No thunder without lightning
       No saving without belt-tightening

    No end to these meaningless rhymes
       No stopping ‘til the end of time

    Then again, murder today is without remorse
       Proving that civility has run its course

Quiet Storm

Morning seeps in,
thin light slicing through the weight I carry.
Yesterday lingers,
clinging like damp clothes against my skin,
its shadow tightening around my ribs.

The world scrapes against my edges,
each breath a quiet rebellion.
I wear my flaws like battle scars,
a story etched in lines too jagged to smooth.

This heaviness is coarse, unforgiving,
but grit lives in the fractures.
Life sprouts where the ground splits,
wild and unrelenting.

Even broken soil can grow roots.
Even a storm can taste like clean air.
I stand here, unpolished, whole,
a light fierce enough to burn through anything.

Suffering

Suffering wounds deep inside/
Felt like I been/
Sliced up by a switchblade/
Chopped to pieces/
Mind, heart and soul/
They keep beating/
On a scale of life support/
Suffering wounds, never ending/
Never to be fully restored/
Each day that goes by/
Just makes it hurt more/
The invisible switchblade/
On the inside/
Feels like Edward Scissorhand/
Soul is screaming to be tended to/
The mind is in a wreck/
Like jigsaw blades/
Heart is in a fight/
For it's life/
With restricting bands/
Tightening a person/
Spinning the wrench for more pain/
Causing life long suffering/
For a crime/
I never committed/

Jolted by Twilight

Behind me, I hear,
 The receding roar of years.
  It sends chills down my spine.
   For me, no more springing steps,
    But a fast- withering torso,
     So awkward and unsure. 
      I look on to the track ahead,
        As the race winds down
         And the final turn in sight.
          I am jolted by the twilight seeping into my life.

          Once my life has been a round of cheer.
         But no more can I cling onto those days so dear.
        I am an autumn leaf turned red, 
       And about to shed.
      As the world goes wheeling through,
     Somehow, I am pushing through,
    Waiting for that tightening grip,
   Of an unknown caller’s powerful fist!
  With the sunset, after the twilight fades
 Will I be able to rise up in crimson glory?

Our Loving

 The moon's glow a pale 
champagne color 
As our lips glisten from 
loving each other
Curves blend together taste
of sweet nature's lust
How your touch thawed my 
heart giving you my trust
Sipping on you tasting of  
honey so sweet
Slither up your body until 
our lips meet

Your touch reminds me how 
you, I’ve missed 
Hands on my curves feeling 
like I’m nature kissed 
Like the wind takes a leaf 
gently to the ground 
You my love lay my sizzling 
flesh down 
Covering us in misty fog 
nerve endings on edge 
Awaiting with anticipation 
as if I’m on a ledge 

Fistful of hair tangled in 
your fingers
Bodies feel like lightening 
vibrating as they linger 
Flesh catching fire is 
almost frightening 
With an electric lust has 
our bodies tightening 

Becoming more charged 
like the wind
our beings produce an 
erotic whirlwind
When the heaven's releases
 it's downpour 
we become soaked as 
our nerve ends soar 
Bodies shudder like 
leaves in the trees
Laying wet and shuffled 
as we lay there pleased

Rhythm of heart

I waited and waited..
to be free from the grip
 of despair's darkened hands, 
to step away from its shadow.  
All I longed for was a plain land to rest,
 a break from the endless drama, 
to listen to the soft melody of the quiet breeze...  
At last, I found my refuge.
Far from the choking darkness,
 where I could truly be myself, 
where my eyes could behold
 the world's vibrant colors.  
I called it my home...  
But it was just a sweet dream, 
a place I could only visit for a little while.  
For it found me again—grip tightening, 
blood flowing from an open wound,
 dragging me back into the shadowed keep.  
The heart that once stirred to life began to falter,
 its rhythm fading slowly... to nothingness."

Putting it into words

Another drop of wine, 
it’ll mask my recent crime 
To find peace in the smoke 
helps replace the things I’ve broke 
To enter into his bed 
paves an exit from my head 

A mirror on the wall, 
highlighting the tragedy of it all
The tightening grip,
running down to my hips 
The water from my eyes 
birthed from the darkest of skies 

Whispers in the night that you never forget 
like the sun at its rise and at its set 
Feet on the ground but you’re not really here 
and who’ll be there at the return to hold you, dear?

Conversations with people I never even knew 
they give you their reasons, yet none ring true 
Who's to say you’ve tried your best
if it’s only you with the keys to your secret treasure chest?

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