[x]

I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;
Mami promised that she would, but she's tired
and screamed when Maria reminded her senior prom
is tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover, and you've always
done a better job of highlighting the subtle graces
inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."

I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"

so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business, waving her nails
in my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.
She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures, and the last

Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams

Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”

You were cold insideYour lips tasted of
summer, of warm days and
cherry-flavoured ice,
relaxing by the
pool side and
smiling against the sun.

You should have been too hot,
too sticky, too humid.
You should have
overheated, should have
melted into your bones until
they turned to ashes, but
it never happened.

I suppose I should have
seen it coming, but
I was so moonstruck over
the way you said my name, so
in love with the idea
of love, that I
didn't notice the way
your eyes bled
winter.

7 - The Pet PoetI remember when Mommy bought you
a black-haired pet for your sweet sixteenth.
Its bronze collar said its name was "Poet."
You fed it noise from the out-of-tune piano,
intense moments involving flesh and razors,
and the occasional walk by the lake.

At first, he knew only the wolf's howl,
purging blood and flames onto the carpets.
Everywhere was a smell of extravagance --
like that woman's cheap perfume on the train to work.
But you cried a little less,
smiled a bit more.
And that was when Daddy stopped
trying to send it back to the shelter.

Soon, you even started watching T.V.
(and enjoyed food, dressed nice, made friends.)
But T

The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.
Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,
Listening to the grandfather clock?
Watching him ticking away?
Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?
And with every sound he makes
More maggots eat his wooden flesh.

Every grain that falls is an eternity!
In the firelight you can see the glass.
The dust that coats the cracking bulb,
Listening to the sand that trickles down.
Listening to the passing hours.
With every grain that filters through
Another man sleeps eternally.

The sundial stands defiant!
From my leather chair I see it!
It stands defiant in the plaza below me!
Standing in the moonlit night.
Standin

VIIEncore un peu de cendre
Au coin de tes lèvres
Parolescentes

J'épluche tes souhaits
Tu laves le ciel
En vain

Et dans ce vent chaud
Des milliers de pétales
De peau

nothing specialthey tell you not to give up
because you have potential--
and to the ones who simply enjoy
you're probably fantastic
but to those who do
you're simply mediocre,
nothing to bat an
eyelash at.

you're not quite bad enough
to quit, but you're not
great enough to be
remembered.

unrequitedyou make my words
gather at the hollows
of my throat
until i choke on them.

my fingers ache to
hold you--
but my eyes ache to
cry.

you're nothing but heart break
wrapped in a bow
of something beautiful,
like the dust of grace from
fallen angels.

i drink a little faster and
cry a little harder
because the way whiskey and tears
mingle on my lips
tastes suspiciously of love.

She's changedIf you looked at a little girl with big brown eyes and soft hair from the crown of her head
Her dreams would be big and her worries would be simple
And you’d say “She’ll be going places”

If you looked at a young girl with a toothy grin and a giddy laugh
Her pride would be strong and her conscience would be clear
And you’d say “She looks happy”

If you looked at a shy growing girl with her forehead covered and sleeves down to her fingertips
Her eyes would be distracted and her heart would be a drama queen
And you’d say “I don’t know who she is”

If you looked at a maturing girl

Thinking.Thinking without thought,
Not thinking about a lot.

Thinking about what it how it would be,
To have a thoughts as endless as the sea.

Thinking about the passing time,
About the mountains I have not climbed.

Thinking about a world gone by,
And about the big blue sky.

Thinking about love so sweet,
And of life crumbling at my feet.

To think about everything vast as it seems,
Would take as long as counting dreams.

So to think without a thought,
And not to think about a lot.

Would carry on an endless dream,
And let time unravel at it's seams.

SeppukuA blue sky greets me as I kneel to the ground.
I hear the rushing wind and the sacred water sound.
The cold, grey stone upon my knee,
As I prepare myself for eternity.

I take a solemn look at my silent crowd,
Those cruel, dark faces scream so loud.
They want me to do the final deed.
I'll plunge the tanto in. They'll see me bleed.

I look for a while at my full rice bowl,
And prepare for the next cycle of my soul.
What shall I be? A man or god?
Shall my next life be lived in the mud and sod?

I finish quickly so we don't delay.
By now the light is fading away.
I take up the pen and start to write,
To put brush to paper is one last delight.

"

Petit OiseauDon’t move a muscle
I’m not even drawing in breath
Through my heart
Oh, such a tiny, naïve little thing!
Will she let me approach, if I’m careful enough?

Or will wings divide my intentions
Widening gaps from the soil to the sky
Soil in my hands, and
Purple stars in her breath
I could never hurt you, little pixie
My winged Thumbelina

I don’t move a muscle
I’m focusing on not drawing breath
Lungs contract
She gives me a heartwarming stare
And oh, I am moments away!

But stop! Coarse laughter sings
Dark notes that may injure her
But the dancer still hops, unaware
Of the tears designing my chee

The Boy Who WaitsThe train rolls past the selfish boy,
The boy who stands and waits forever,
The boy who watches the girl fly past,
And wishes she would get off at his stop.

The boy stuck in circles,
The boy who always needs help,
The shy boy with the social prowess of a shattered rock.

He waits and waits,
And every time she flies past,
He hopes and hopes.

She talks to him often,
But sometimes not so much,
He feels like he’s walking straight when she speaks,
Her words make sense to his boggled mind.

The boy at the station,
With eyes wide in anticipation,
The selfish boy who wishes good things to happen,
The boy who takes things for granted,
Who thin

Left AloneYou want me to leave you alone? I'll leave you alone.

You want me to buy you a cake and a knife? Sure I'll do that.

So, what else do you need me to do? OK. That should be easy to do.

Here I go, walking to and fro, to unknown destination just so I can please you.

You hate my guts, huh? Well, to be honest, and I will not lie, I hate your guts too.

You see me and I see you, walking past each other each and everyday - We do not smile.

I often invision you surrounded by flames and you invision me drowning in the sea.

And here is my question to you: Why do you hate me so much?

You snarl as you echo my words: Why do YOU hate me so much?

No wordsI don't like to talk.
I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.
When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.
There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.

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For Mom:A Fire

I see from the spark in my
Mother's tired eyes, a thousand
advises all catching up to,
one by one, what she might feel
in those still blue pools.
They seem so sleepless after
79 years of burn.
All the autumn's that never
got their chance to cool:
Her prayer light about
a fire, the heavens, that she might
at one time have praised to be
better behaved because
the raisings of our blood
brought us down that way. I see
through all the blind
that got me here
and the let-loose shine
of her near brimstone beliefs that
sooner or later we must all think "abandon"
for mere sanity. A calm that we
choose not to see until

Body LanguageBody Language

Even the freedom
of the sparrow
will swing its tomorrow
prisoned fright
around this cracking reign.

Of the light scattered
in broken space, cobwebs
bat my flung love for brooms,

clearing this menacing filth because my paycheck
commands it.

Making CertainMaking Certain

Hands all scraped
with rake and raw of old
new flesh, you always
push to push when
pull has passed
and work like any
blue neck pays
you back in bone.
When food all
fresh with spoil
spills of blood
because blood
dips you back in
fat. Has some thing
down with oil.
Knuckles wrack skin
with age of
work with work.
Something inside flesh.
It makes us put
our lives together.
Flat hard hands
of soiled hearts
ungive up because
a top line has no bottom.
Makes us women
before our men appear.
Make certain, yes, quite
certain, bone spites nothing
in trust of something.

These poems are not to be taken and used

From BeyondEven Now
For John E. Potts Sr. (1890 - 1981)

I can see you stand there
even now

(tall and meatless)

with lips that grip
with a better warranty

than Craftsman

or Black and Decker.
Pressing against each

cigarette

like a prisoner
on death row,

you were strong

like a railroad
yet weak

like a rose.

Poem 2 - from BeyondThe River

where we fish
winds around for miles
like an uncoiled snake

it rattles as it rolls
and rolls as it rattles

it scales the stone road's edge
striking at the banks
along the way.

Poem 3 - from BeyondWhere The Time Goes

Time is such a treasured thing
A measured thing by days gone by
The breath of one unguaranteed
The sigh of one so silent

It hangs there ageless growing gray
Growing patient as it grieves
Timeless in its rightful place
Unsubtle in its waking

Its hands so clockwise gently move
In motion by the minute
It watches everything we do
Then flies as we begin it

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Submitted: November 3, 2012
Submitted with: Sta.sh Writer

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Roses For You Boy, for Breaker

by *low-kee--Poetry, Nov 3, 2012, 1:25:20 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I cannot give you life

Beyond this my old friend

But my love travels with you

Into the sure beyond

Of all of us. With this

I send you Roses,

A petal each tear in my heart

Feels is a piece of all

Of us. You were <nobr>strong</nobr>

Though I watched you grow

Weak in the night. You gave it

Your all.

With this I send these Roses,

Roses for you boy,

Roses for you.

o not take my writing and use it for your own:

Roses For You Boy, for Breakerby *low-kee--Poetry

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

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~DanielleMiner Nov 3, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

very nice poem

*low-kee--Poetry Nov 4, 2012 Professional Writer

thanks.

*Joe-Lynn-Design Nov 3, 2012

Awesome piece Doug!

*low-kee--Poetry Nov 3, 2012 Professional Writer

thanks buddy.

*Joe-Lynn-Design Nov 3, 2012

You're welcome

=NoraBlansett Nov 3, 2012 Professional General Artist

So beautiful Doug...

*low-kee--Poetry Nov 3, 2012 Professional Writer

thanks Nora.

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Roses For You Boy, for Breaker

Roses For You Boy, for Breakerby *low-kee--Poetry

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