Tag Archives: beauty

Tiger

prose or poems.

o’holy find love!

move toward a goal.

what was that she said?

stop now.

maybe not.

continue.

rejoice.

drugs. drugs. drugs.

stop now.

what did I say to you?

I miss the mother and son who sat behind me, my seatmate, the comfort.

No one makes noise from Roc to Cuse. The Lady who took my seat eats

crackers quietly and rubs her finger tips in the aisle. She flips vanity fair reading

the ads and plows another cracker into her beaked face.

15 minutes till noon, when I’ll allow myself to start drinking the booze I brought along in my bag.

9-10 more hours until Boston. I bought the ticket, I’ll take the ride.

she refuses to

hold conversation. I hope

they sell bottled wine.

All stops went quick, hoping to get into Boston early. Slept from Albany to  Schenectady.

Too many hits of tequila in the bathroom. Just left Springfield, headed toward Wooster.

Had noodles and coffee to burn off some liquor. Both were terrible.

Dinner lady, forty something, black and from Chicago.

Hope to find a sandwich shop in Portsmouth and a good coffee and maybe flowers.

I want time to sit and enjoy a Marlboro.

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Filed under sangretti

Flower Girl

A daisy among flowers, a sapphire among gems

So ambient so alone yet so liberating to the eyes, nose and ears

A smell, a glance, a sound, so distinct and resonating deep within the bowels of my being

A woman, not just any woman either the one that contrasts to all others

The x factor, the right stuff, an energy that is warm yet so reclusive

A star that shoots in the bright atmosphere, while all others are in complacent stare

Gravity itself to me has no bottom, cosmic yet so instant without reason or rhyme

My soul floats when it’s around you, so featherlike and boundless it seems when you endear my axis

I’m completely off balanced, time stricken, and perplexed

But with every night, comes morning and every step, comes direction

Mysteries unravel and words are spoken through our mouths and through our minds

Pour out raw unadulterated emotion that I cannot control

But I must, otherwise the joy will dissipate

Good things can die with even the smallest of whispers

I therefore will shutter myself for the sake of beauty itself

And hold it to the sacred vessel my being

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Filed under J.L.Wanderer

This is She

Freedom tastes like cigarette smoke and reeks of booze.

Freedom is a fine woman who has fallen prey to society’s constant change.

Freedom is not the same as how it use to be.

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Filed under cireryohei

Refrigerator Magnet Poems: 2

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8 Comments

by | February 20, 2013 · 1:35 pm

Sparrow: Three

“I love the sound of the engine,

coursing its path through the night.

and with the sights of the w0rld all around us,

I can’t seem to believe it’s all chance”

said the Hawk,

“the journey of the road,

chasing the sun,

forgiving the moon.”

Up a little too late,

with a little too much wine in his stomach

and having smoked a little too much of his bag.

“But when I see such simple beauty,

a child on a swing,

a girl walking with purpose,

I notice the patterns in watching for reas0n.

It’s getting hard to live.”

“It’s not enough to notice and enjoy,”

said the Sparrow,

“but you must also take part and be destroyed.”

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Filed under sangretti

Tanka: 17

Cold sweat, hidden here,

I’m not sure I’ll make it there.

But with the sun bright,

and with the wind at my back,

I think I’ll take to the road.

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Filed under sangretti

Her

Maybe it was all of those eloquent and intricately designed tattoos on her slender body.
Maybe it was the way she wore her amber hair;
Barely styled, half of it pulled up, half of it flowing elegantly down to the small of her back; right above that fine ass of hers.
It could have been the way she spoke;
Vocabulary as if she were a Stanford graduate, yet there was that splash of vulgarity that was somehow so damn attractive.
Her style was her own, simple as that.
Sneakers, but she had those nice pair of brown boots hidden in her closet, too.
She just didn’t try too hard to impress, unlike the majority of these bimbos that prance around this tiresome town.
She didn’t wear sunglasses when it was dark.
She was true. She was her.
The level of admiration for her was out of this world.
I wouldn’t expect a single person to understand these thoughts.
But I just wanted to light one up right there.
Mosey outside and watch her slowly follow me, just to catch a buzz.
And so it begins.
I admire her.

2 Comments

Filed under Willow Hutton