Poetry Blogs (2018, metaphor)

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phantom
chains
psychic
pains
shrinking
sinking
magic potion
drinking
liquid
binge
unhinge
reversed
vision
indecision
delluded
polluted
fevered
thoughts
in a web
caught
beautiful
tragedy
solitude
grief
out of
reach
halting
screech
emotional
sieve
when ugly
gives
outrunning
shadows
facing
gallows
false
bravado
spiral...bounce
echo
songbird
unheard
sl...

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Tractors gaining traction

In and of my life

Never did I ever think 

That I would be a tractor's wife.

Implements and attachments

Belts and belts galore

Reapers, tillers, compostors

Who could ask for more?

Aerators and harvesters

Plows; for winter and for spring

Lots and lots and lots of tires

Damn near everything...

That someone would ever want

If they should...

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OPEN STAGE

outta my
way
seizing the
day
movin'
on
blink and
i'm gone
no time
to rest
on a
quest
won't
hide
the
inside
no back
slide
holy grail
in sight
coming up
on it fast
almost in
my grasp
know
it's near
hear
whispers in
my ear
could vanish
in a wink
quicker than
i think
gotta stay
steady
be at
the ready
shot in
the dark
leaving
my mark
pumped up
amped
...

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This isn't the last train. But the late train

has no quiet cars. If a baby squalls no conductor

shushes her. You must shush her yourself.

The late train has no dining car. So board

this train now, or pack a picnic, your own

tablecloth, napkins, napkin-rings, silver,

porcelain. The late train has no schedule.

Depends on how many girlfriends the brakeman

wants to vi...

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I am not a Harley Davidson,

but a moped.

I am the opposite of a fox 

I am a badger. 

I am not the cream at the top of the milk,

I am the last dribble you find when you’re making a cup of tea.

I am most unfortunately, unsexy in my sexual prime. 

Not adored, but ignored. 

But at least I've got a sense of humour!

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The idea for this poem was to have Metaphor itself tied to a chair and tortured with bad writing. I have a feeling the bad writing comes through, but the meta-metaphor and overall conceit for the poem may be lost. But I guess writing is, in a sense, experimental, even if it isn't falsifiable. So, whatever, here is the poem.

Tortured Metaphor

Every rendition begins with shackles,

And ...

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You can say that I'm a little out of touch
I fell down but I can't climb back up
None of my friends give a fuck
I guess I'm shit out of luck.

If I'm not feeling blue I dont feel much
I know they'll tell me to suck it up
Moving on is just hard as fuck
I'm tired of being down on my luck.

Its like holding in the clutch
I press the gas but just rev up
Going nowhere fast my motor is fucked
I...

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we all look for something to ease the pain
whether its being hungry with greed,
or taking a needle to the vein 
we all got something we feel we need,
so we don't drive ourselves insane
praying one day my mind is freed 
but when it thunders, it's gonna rain
just remember with the rain, there comes a growing seed

so just hold on till then - you can maintain
just slow down, get outta that ...

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I came across with a dead rose.

How impure and crooked it seemed.

Deteriorated without the life it once had.

I kept walking with it, holding it with my right hand.

How sad it was to see a rose like that.

Where once it was bright red,

now it’s only a brown looking thing with nothing left.

I kept walking with the dead rose,

a sad rose with no thorns.

Until the path ended i...

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Hope is like

A bird that

Perches in the soul.

Passes time

Yearning for adventure.

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to you,

i am nothing.

every memory

every laugh 

every smile

every tear

every mistake

every argument

every compliment

is nothing.

i could never compare

to weed

according to you.

i could never compare

to autism and down syndrome jokes

according to you.

my love for you

the fact that you're my best friend

the things you've help...

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I might make you laugh, but I might also make you cry,
I might give you answers or make you question why.
I can look so serious or sound really quite absurd
I am divine unseen pen pictures designed to be heard.
I will make comparisons to shine a light inside your heart
I’ll begin our stories with with an epilogue or end them near their start.
My language can be quite colourful, yes I have be...

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You are certainly not a metaphor,

But you may be sort of like a simile.

You are my rudder and sails on a turbulent sea.

You are like a force that guides and propels me.

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My hands are patterned by ambitions,

these lines on my skin are wishes,

palms marked like the sky after a shooting star

and shining when they interlace with your fingers,

your skin's wrinkles and crinkles.

The crevices of our skin do not match or meet

the way coloured paths on a map synchronise and intercross,

reaching destinations.

We are separate pieces of meat

but

...

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In the creases of a crumpled T-shirt,
the darkening orbit of an orange pasta stain,
the unhinged playfulness of bright and living eyes…
the golden curls like mazes of cornfields – no way out –
The type you just want to twist around your finger –
I noticed you.
In the unrestrained laughter,
I would recall each word that tumbled from your lips
And hang on them, swing from them,
like branche...

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We are not a metaphor. 

Although, we have met before

I was a shy girl with bright blue eyes and you were a brown haired boy who played guitar on the bus

We grew up and grew together, inseparable

Unaware of what to call what we were, what we had

This was back when childhood was innocent and we still weren't sure how to kiss

Lips, mouths, necks, hands

We figured t...

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Your skin like the yellow brick road,

and what is it that creates that rush of blush?

I’d love to shovel out your flesh or drill through your cheeks

to reach those autumn leaves,

that grow behind the golden weeds,

the red leaves that were never green.

No, never new, they never grew,

they stayed and they remained:

Dying, but never dead,

thriving, behind your face of ...

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This poem is an original piece using established names.  The names of all characters are taken from the Aztec religion, and all of the characters act in sympathy with their attributed and established forms.  The exception is the titular actor: Acamapichtli.  While Acamapichtli was the first ruler of the Aztecs, in this poem, he is not the same person, but only carries the same name.

The pi...

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I am nauseating from the coal biscuit bites of a hundred ashen hearts
I can't suck in the smell of death now, as I once sucked your damp petals
I shoo away some white rats into the black gutter everyday
I am failing today, failing miserably in my success of finding
the teenage girl's dawn in an old man's bench
I usually flicker out before bed time in my neighborhood, and 
I escape as the las...

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Have you seen her eyes?

Like searching grass stains

Reaching, reaching up the bark

Of her rough touch, rough hands.

Legs like hay, the hairs like needles,

Could lose thoughts in them, do you understand?

Oh, have you seen her eyes?!

Like dancing lily pads,

I once tried to catch them in the lake.

Silly mistake, oh big mistake

Because she can be a swamp,

Her pull like...

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A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor. 
Don't panic.
Stay calm, or you're headed straight for failure.
Trust yourself.
Confidence is key when you're at the helm.
Take charge.
Be sure to find peace in this realm. 

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I’m pretty sure there were tulips in her eyes,

I shouted “Fire! Fire!”,

She took off her sunglasses,

She saw sunrise.

Now I know it, there was a darling rose in her blush,

A honey dew in her stare

But they told me “beware, beware!”

“Have you not been warned of ‘primrose way’?”

Now I felt it, there were dandelions on her lips…

Make a wish, make a wish!

Daisy ...

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Tumbleweed

In a town called Tumbleweed

sound is deadened

so that every conversation

crawls like a gentle breeze

through cotton wool.

Beggars are kings,

politicians pariahs,

policemen thieves,

priests parasites.

Suzie is a victim.

The streets of Tumbleweed

host sinners, saints and surrogates

sneering into bibles

left to them

by agnostic pa...

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I'm going to give this context by starting off reading my old match and pof profile. This is genuinely real. 

It's always hard to know what to say on these things so I'm just going to fill my profile with exaggeration and nonsense.

I would describe myself as a cross between Brad Pitts character in fight club and a sensitive fireman who likes kittens. Overall I'm pretty awesome. Kind, in...

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Lips: like cliché cartoon roses.

Yes, red.

But open up my mouth,

Those lilies will  -   snap.   -   You.  -   Up.

Thorn in your side.

I think we used to fly with the bats,

The doves always ended up on our dinner table,

I told you it was chicken.

You choked me with Amen,

You squeezed me with your hand for grace,

For grace, from grace I fell

Down from the heaven...

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A young lad

Strained his neck

Seeing something shine

Caught in the leaves

Of an old oak tree.

A challenge indeed.

He advanced with care

Knowing the danger

Of a snapping branch,

Focused like a hawk.

His dad spoke

In his head,

"He made a killing that bloke.

Are ya gonna eat that?"

Then with a smile,

"Seen yer girlfriend today?"

Dad went quiet

As the...

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On your royal blue wings

lies a small yellow river

of golden sunshine

Your eyes open up

and see the whole world

for all of its beauty

Next to you

you see a tall flower

and you move towards it

You can only go so far

before your roots hold you still

and cause you to fall

down

down

down

As your roots are pulled up

you are pushed down

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Inside her closet are the remains of a broken umbrella with the materials in cinders.

Her skin cloak is draped over a spindley coat stand,

most people name it a spine,

most people's are strong,

straight.

They carry the puppet as if a master holding strings...

But sometimes autum's trees fall down

without reason

because nature is flawed.

Sometimes a stem ca...

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Another attempt at my paternal tongue.

Un altro tentativo di mia lingua paterna.

And though I beam with pride as I'm learning.

E anche se mi fascio con orgoglio, come sto imparando.

I'm aware that translated, the metre is wrong.

Sono consapevole del fatto che tradotto, lo strumento è sbagliato.

But this language pulsates to my yearning.

Ma questo linguaggio puls...

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