VERBALLISTICS:

Showing all posts tagged as submittal-collection:



Paper Face

here
is my unsubtle origami
all scrawled up
with the bent words
of feelings

incapable
of folding inward
a wide-winged, flapping
swan of sentiment

you are an envelope
of secrets
a private letter
inscribed to your own
insides

I am every postcard
ever written
a bold-faced book, left
flung open

my cover
so easily
catches fire


Towering Babble

unsuited
to quiet thoughts,
my mouth moves
even in sleep

spilling my secrets out,
uprising seawater
licking the sand’s toes
lapping myself like a dog

and, this night
found me
all tail wag and tongue
at the thought of you.

I stuffed my mouth
with a handful of snow,
hoping to ice
all this sweetness

hoping
to thicken my tastebuds
with cold,
but instead

it all melted
spilled
from my pink lips
to hit the cold brick

of your smile,
struck down
with impossible timing.
In retrospect,

I
should have taken
a bite
of your frigid heart -

known
I was foolish
to reach for the stars,
hoping

to pry open
the rapture of God,
wielding only
my own

stumbling
tongue,
my own mythical
etiology

this time,
I swear
I’ll cease sharing
nocturnal linguistics

I'll learn
to stop dreaming
nirvana
so loudly


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
floating
in a ray of Sunday,

My god -
how I've missed you
so

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

I still hold you
close,
enclosure of my heart
sequester
of my most beloved self

Still
catch your warm scent
coffee-roasted familiar

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

but
then
again
I have been
so nearsighted
in love


the help

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

libations

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.

Thinking
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.
Ignoring
the fact that this
lamassu was hewn
BY HAND...

From fucking granite,
no less.

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

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.

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

Still,
I'd like to think
we
are both fierce
and benevolent
creatures.


London

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.


magnolias (in haiku)

Love and trees both thrive
only with careful tending
and thought to their growth

These seedlings, planted
in loose soil, too long fallow
and without water

Will stretch their limbs high
to find their branches stunted,
withered brittle brown

Lest some concerned soul
reads the future in their leaves,
nurtures deeper roots.

We will bloom, in time.
This heart-scarred trunk grows patient,
spreads concentric rings,

lets loose hopeful seeds.

crackshot

One sawed-off shotgun
of a mouth, aimed to pop off
any second, now.

Candor (in tanka form)

(before)


You ask me to write
candidly, as spring rises
new growth bursting ground.
It’s too soon to speak plainly.
I love you. Words bide their time.


(after)


Your spring love ran dry
long before summer's drought wicked
the grass from these hills.
My seasoned heart - less green, now
only anticipates fall.