Showing all posts tagged as poetry:

In a Poem About My Father

the image of a horse leaning over the water
may be more than a horse leaning over the water.

One must be aware
of all of the possible connotations

of the word father. A complete knowledge
is impossible but the desire towards it, admirable.

The words "I love you" may be out of place,
the way a backpack left in an airport is also out of place.

A poem about my father may require further reading,
a Biblical scholar, whole cities of interpreters.

It is perhaps better done in a painting
or in the language that a fire speaks.

Certainly the image of a man reading to his son is safe?
Father, mother, brother, and sisó

in a poem about my father,
I have fallen from a horse leaning over the water.

(by David Nielsen)

Just graduate me, for fucksake (a haiku)

I sell poetry.
If that doesn’t demonstrate
business skills, what does?

hyperopic regression

Up close,
your eyebrows are a forest
of slim, graceful trees
and you smell something
like cedar

like the closet
I used to hide in
as a child,
something touched
with wild abandon
dusted with the musk
of adventure
or musty dust mote
in a ray of Sunday,

My god -
how I've missed you

I've memorized all
the details
of your absence
each empty click
of the clock's arms
to embrace the minutiae
of the day

I still hold you
enclosure of my heart
of my most beloved self

catch your warm scent
coffee-roasted familiar

Still regard you
with limerance,
limelight lover
bright center of my epic

I have been
so nearsighted
in love

In what place do you rest your head? - m4w

favorite this post In what place do you rest your head? - m4w (where I long to be) hide this posting

zodiac: ♓ pisces

In what city do you tonight rest

with vacant walls? vacant hearts? or is it just the cold of Winter

I know, I know, It isn't the last farewell

but how heavy my heart at the moment of parting

how will I find you, or you me?

even if I know for certain you will return

a sad wind shifts in the direction of your departure

Time passes slowly behind these lonely eyes

the rain patters delicately on the roof

not so the tears that fall to the floor

A calendar page drops and waits, hesitantly

a road reaches as far as the ocean and the distant hill

I could call your name a thousand times, there'll be nothing

but the sound of leaves falling to the streets

even if I knew you thought of me

my heart could not stop longing

post id: 6083461166


If you would only look....closer - m4w

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My love,

From here I see the waving green grass of the sea,

O, to meet you here at the edge of my life,

and over there, you


shrouded in mist

holding my heart

post id: 6082464139



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I just want to sleep

close my eyes

relax with abandon

then wake up in the sweat

of the dreams

from the embrace of

your arms swinging across

my shoulder and pulling

me close and

taking the only leverage I had

post id: 6077473202

the help

Never invited
to the party; I clean up
after the others.


Wine for a mellow night
tequila for a melee
whiskey for a melody
and bourbon for a story

Coffee for morning sunlight
and tea for nighttime coughs
fresh juices to lend countenance
and kvass to flush the dross

Floats for a whimsical moment
and cider for cravings of warmth
champagne for news and good tidings
your mouth for a nightful of mirth.

Nimrud colossal

Notice, first
his stone face is frozen
into good-natured features.
Carved to guard
one royal heart
and the afterlife's spoils.

Now, they say
you can't take it with you
But they believed otherwise,
and I'm envying
the ease of their demise,
one million days, hence.

burial in a pile of belongings
far better than renting
another storage unit.

I'm feeling quite sorry
for myself,
lamenting the plight
of the modern-day Bedouin.
the fact that this
lamassu was hewn

From fucking granite,
no less.

into detailed perfection
and lasted an aeon
just to be ogled
by overgrown teenagers
boggled by their own

Some days,
I think I've got it rough.
Some days,
its hard to remember
artistry is all that's needed
to turn plain stone
to masterpiece.

I'm shouldering the boulder
of a gray perspective
my own carved burden;
my own stony features.

I'd like to think
are both fierce
and benevolent


You are just one more tittering fool
with a manicured garden
masking a slack mouth with polite palm -
pushing fifty-pence words
into tired conference
dodging the sky, in favor of fair weather.

Everyone here spends their nine to five
pounding time into cartoon pictures of the Queen,
quoting Churchill loudly
while they hush his British Gulag -
it's no wonder Darwin's heart
just couldn't take the strain.

The constant drain of gray clouds
paints a grim portrait of marble faces
mossed into composure -
a Dorian Gray of stock brick rows,
soldiered toe to toe
in unmappable streets,

Shuffling feet bearing hearts
bound in tropes
and I'm amazed at the juxtaposition
of castle and cobblestone,
tomb to tome of thought

everything lost, here
and everything found.