Post by Jase on Nov 19, 2013 19:57:22 GMT -8
I need a place to keep my poetry that I can access from remote locations, so I'll just be putting it all here. A running compilation.
no title yet.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby -
an accident back last spring.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby.
A parent without a child, there ain’t no sadder thing.
My baby, my baby, my baby –
my cup don’t runneth over now.
Even though, my baby, my baby, my baby,
You are wearing that golden crown.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby –
no solace did autumn bring.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby.
I’ve lost the will to sing.
My baby, my baby, my baby
rocked that rock and roll stage.
And now my baby, my baby, my baby
ain’t nothing but rocks under the grave.
prose poem: crooked umbrella
A crooked umbrella. A crooked umbrella and an expanse of sand - that was all that remained. We built our castle in the morning, just as dawn was breaking. The side was low, just barely daring to come forth to taste the shoreline. Us kids had all the time in the world, maybe even more, we thought. We broke into teams, miniatures architects and carpenters ready to come together to make their adult-sized dreams become a reality. Some of us piled up sand, others trudged up and down, up and down, heaving pales filled with the briny water of the sea up to the location of our future fortress. At one moment, my sister dropped her bucket, and the water exploded at her feet like shattered glass, and she broke into a laugh of ringing sleigh bells. And we just kept going, even as the sun rose overhead and our white skin began to flush a tender pink. Even as the waves just beyond us started to pick up in pace. We went on, just as we were, until finally our castle was done. And it was the most marvelous thing any of us had ever seen, at least until the next time we got together. And when I came back here, years later, all physical evidence of our castle had been erased. All that was there was a leaning umbrella, and the empty sand. But I wrinkled my toes in the silted sand, and heard in the salted breeze, the faint sound of bells.
A Rapist’s Lament
I am sorry. You
can’t understand that I am a Man, but it is time you
learned just what a Man can do,
Why do you
look so scared?
I am your Protector -
My little gem, I used to make you
shine. You don’t shine anymore.
Listen now, listen.
Do you hear that, little mouse?
You are breathing so heavily.
That sound is my heart beating for you,
throbbing for you. You aren’t listening.
Always so selfish.
I feel your skin. I
caress your face. You pull away. I
growl as you ruin the romance.
Be proud of my
restraint, sweetie. It is for you. It is my
apology.
You open your mouth to speak to me.
I stop you with a fist. I
am sorry, but you got yourself into this.
I feel you b r e a k around me;
The fabric of your womanhood tears at my
will. This rush of heat envelopes my
power. This is it.
This is it.
Don’t you feel it?
This utter instinct.
You squeal, I
grunt. And then I
laugh in between the friction.
We are in the heat. I
can control myself no longer.
You kick me,
But you know I am
stronger. You thought you could
quietly creep away,
but I’ve caught you by the cunt.
Don’t think that I
am doing this because you are beautiful.
You are a gray wash cloth
And I have a stain.
You bite me
as I ravish you.
It is fiery,
And I roar with ecstasy.
You pull my mane.
I just love our little games.
“Please,
Please,
Please,”
You scream into the void..
Oh,
how I love it when you beg
for more.
Don’t you dare
give me that look of blame when
you are the one who holds
the shame. You
are a filthy whore.
I held my
temper too many
times. I am sorry. I
should have taught you your place
sooner. How else would you
learn?
I am breathing.
This is strength.
I am breathing.
Do you feel that?
In,
out,
in,
out
of consciousness you go. I
am sorry you can’t experience this heat.
Your heat.
But
I can. And I do.
I breathe,
breathe
breathe!
It is getting faster. So fast. Oh, God!
You want this at last.
You’re screaming my name.
Too late,
Too late…
You have come to,
and so have I.
I am thirsty. You must be too.
So here, drink what is left from the faucet,
and don’t say I do nothing for you.
I am sorry, I say
one final time, with a smile.
Stand up, sweetie, wipe up the blood.
Now will you please just forgive me, my dear?
sestina: the village
You come to me as a stranger with a smile.
A friend, really. And you are as beautiful as the dreaming night,
with stars that dance an alluring dance. You cover
me with a sense of comfort. It feels strong, like gravity.
I give you my trust, in my naivety, for you to keep or to tear
apart. I trust you, and I touch your skin, soft as cloth.
You pull me into your clothes
and I am lured by your smile.
I am young, and you offer greatness. Nothing can tear
me away. I feel like the day, you feel like a knight.
I feel weightless as I follow you blindly. Gravity…
I hardly remember such a thing. I don’t need it. You have me covered.
Things shift under the covers,
But I am no longer clothed.
I am naked, and the gravity
of you still pulls me in. At your crooked smile,
I falter. What is this, that has occurred in the night?
I force back a tear.
My eyes strip away your tiers;
The luxurious wool that had you once covered
has been sheered away in the heat of the night.
You were was a wolf in sheep’s clothing
That I had indulged myself in. Fangs hide in your smile.
And now the gravity
of the situation sets in. A gravity
that knocks me off my feet and into tears,
and into your coaxing smile.
I feel vomit in my throat. You were undercover,
and oh, how I was blinded by your magnificent clothes.
You are beautiful. But you are a nightmare.
And so I break into the night,
feeling dirty; fighting the pulls of gravity,
breaking free of your swaddling cloth.
I am used, and I feel the mud on my boots. Tears,
I can feel the tears. There is nothing to cover
me from your façade, from your deceit, except a smile.
And so when the night ends and I tear
away, I still feel the gravity. But I know the book by its cover.
I am misplaced, but not lost. So I put on my clothes and I smile.
read
in light of old promises and
arbitrary beliefs, I still am
drawn to you.
I am drawn out on
paper, a book for you to
take off the shelf and read;
fold the corners of my pages;
underline my most important
moments;
come back to me
for comfort
when you
need it.
I am so fortunate that
you love to
read.
no title yet.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby -
an accident back last spring.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby.
A parent without a child, there ain’t no sadder thing.
My baby, my baby, my baby –
my cup don’t runneth over now.
Even though, my baby, my baby, my baby,
You are wearing that golden crown.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby –
no solace did autumn bring.
I lost my baby, my baby, my baby.
I’ve lost the will to sing.
My baby, my baby, my baby
rocked that rock and roll stage.
And now my baby, my baby, my baby
ain’t nothing but rocks under the grave.
prose poem: crooked umbrella
A crooked umbrella. A crooked umbrella and an expanse of sand - that was all that remained. We built our castle in the morning, just as dawn was breaking. The side was low, just barely daring to come forth to taste the shoreline. Us kids had all the time in the world, maybe even more, we thought. We broke into teams, miniatures architects and carpenters ready to come together to make their adult-sized dreams become a reality. Some of us piled up sand, others trudged up and down, up and down, heaving pales filled with the briny water of the sea up to the location of our future fortress. At one moment, my sister dropped her bucket, and the water exploded at her feet like shattered glass, and she broke into a laugh of ringing sleigh bells. And we just kept going, even as the sun rose overhead and our white skin began to flush a tender pink. Even as the waves just beyond us started to pick up in pace. We went on, just as we were, until finally our castle was done. And it was the most marvelous thing any of us had ever seen, at least until the next time we got together. And when I came back here, years later, all physical evidence of our castle had been erased. All that was there was a leaning umbrella, and the empty sand. But I wrinkled my toes in the silted sand, and heard in the salted breeze, the faint sound of bells.
A Rapist’s Lament
I am sorry. You
can’t understand that I am a Man, but it is time you
learned just what a Man can do,
Why do you
look so scared?
I am your Protector -
My little gem, I used to make you
shine. You don’t shine anymore.
Listen now, listen.
Do you hear that, little mouse?
You are breathing so heavily.
That sound is my heart beating for you,
throbbing for you. You aren’t listening.
Always so selfish.
I feel your skin. I
caress your face. You pull away. I
growl as you ruin the romance.
Be proud of my
restraint, sweetie. It is for you. It is my
apology.
You open your mouth to speak to me.
I stop you with a fist. I
am sorry, but you got yourself into this.
I feel you b r e a k around me;
The fabric of your womanhood tears at my
will. This rush of heat envelopes my
power. This is it.
This is it.
Don’t you feel it?
This utter instinct.
You squeal, I
grunt. And then I
laugh in between the friction.
We are in the heat. I
can control myself no longer.
You kick me,
But you know I am
stronger. You thought you could
quietly creep away,
but I’ve caught you by the cunt.
Don’t think that I
am doing this because you are beautiful.
You are a gray wash cloth
And I have a stain.
You bite me
as I ravish you.
It is fiery,
And I roar with ecstasy.
You pull my mane.
I just love our little games.
“Please,
Please,
Please,”
You scream into the void..
Oh,
how I love it when you beg
for more.
Don’t you dare
give me that look of blame when
you are the one who holds
the shame. You
are a filthy whore.
I held my
temper too many
times. I am sorry. I
should have taught you your place
sooner. How else would you
learn?
I am breathing.
This is strength.
I am breathing.
Do you feel that?
In,
out,
in,
out
of consciousness you go. I
am sorry you can’t experience this heat.
Your heat.
But
I can. And I do.
I breathe,
breathe
breathe!
It is getting faster. So fast. Oh, God!
You want this at last.
You’re screaming my name.
Too late,
Too late…
You have come to,
and so have I.
I am thirsty. You must be too.
So here, drink what is left from the faucet,
and don’t say I do nothing for you.
I am sorry, I say
one final time, with a smile.
Stand up, sweetie, wipe up the blood.
Now will you please just forgive me, my dear?
sestina: the village
You come to me as a stranger with a smile.
A friend, really. And you are as beautiful as the dreaming night,
with stars that dance an alluring dance. You cover
me with a sense of comfort. It feels strong, like gravity.
I give you my trust, in my naivety, for you to keep or to tear
apart. I trust you, and I touch your skin, soft as cloth.
You pull me into your clothes
and I am lured by your smile.
I am young, and you offer greatness. Nothing can tear
me away. I feel like the day, you feel like a knight.
I feel weightless as I follow you blindly. Gravity…
I hardly remember such a thing. I don’t need it. You have me covered.
Things shift under the covers,
But I am no longer clothed.
I am naked, and the gravity
of you still pulls me in. At your crooked smile,
I falter. What is this, that has occurred in the night?
I force back a tear.
My eyes strip away your tiers;
The luxurious wool that had you once covered
has been sheered away in the heat of the night.
You were was a wolf in sheep’s clothing
That I had indulged myself in. Fangs hide in your smile.
And now the gravity
of the situation sets in. A gravity
that knocks me off my feet and into tears,
and into your coaxing smile.
I feel vomit in my throat. You were undercover,
and oh, how I was blinded by your magnificent clothes.
You are beautiful. But you are a nightmare.
And so I break into the night,
feeling dirty; fighting the pulls of gravity,
breaking free of your swaddling cloth.
I am used, and I feel the mud on my boots. Tears,
I can feel the tears. There is nothing to cover
me from your façade, from your deceit, except a smile.
And so when the night ends and I tear
away, I still feel the gravity. But I know the book by its cover.
I am misplaced, but not lost. So I put on my clothes and I smile.
read
in light of old promises and
arbitrary beliefs, I still am
drawn to you.
I am drawn out on
paper, a book for you to
take off the shelf and read;
fold the corners of my pages;
underline my most important
moments;
come back to me
for comfort
when you
need it.
I am so fortunate that
you love to
read.
