I think we all know
Hurt is bricks and sticks and stones
Sorrow is ash or powdered bones
Love is honey; sweet and tacky
Boredom lives in threads of khaki
Anger's a flood of blood and guts
Regrets are scattered cigarette butts
One more: and this one we all know;
Lonely is a bank of endless snow.
I think all emotions would be water--you can form water to be anything you want. You can make it hot, you can make it cold; you can make it clear, you can make it colored; you can let it flow or you can make it solid, or you can just turn it into a vapor and watch it wisp away.
I filter blueberries through my fingers
visions of bruising, crushing
staining of psyche
robbing of youth and passion
Stroking satin skin of bananas
velvety walls encasing lust
green silk leaves sway in breeze
swatting the insidious flies
that take a quick bite
Rolling sun baked apples in my palms
warning that a serpent lurks
poisoned thoughts permeating
beneath that energetic growth
masked disguise of martyrs
blanketed quilt pillowing peaches
round voluptuous hips
warm and earthy
sensuous to the touch
begging to be disrobed
fertile strawberries offering their wares
fruit of the gods
juice of mangoes running down my lips
oozing on tongue
tangy as taste of a kiss
perfumed on its hot spots
appealing to liquid senses
curling my fingers around melons
plump maidens ready to be opened
succulence without words
betrothed in juicy pledges
spent rinds left at dawn
peeling the clothing of the grape
angry and dark, yet
sweet at the center
warmth and passion
in sun-baked wine
Moody blues and sensuality of fruit
nectar of pleasure
When the Curbside Pined for You
Do you think
of the pavement with each
graceful prance, each careless
step a mocking pressure
upon its squalid face?
If it paused
in its hopelessness
to take stock of
infatuation and take
offense at your naive
(note: sidewalks, to my knowledge
do not, as a rule
love, think, or bear grudges, still)
it would rear
and skin your
even as it daydreams
fondly of that night two
months ago when you, inebriated,
besotted, clung to it
for dear life
your numerous sorrows
as it caressed and soothed
your flushed cheek.
Anger is a new sharp knife,
while Pain is the dullness of war and strife.
Sadness is the pouring of rain on a gloomy day
and Happiness is nothing but a sunny ray.
Love is the cackling of a fire,
warming you up like fries in a fryer.
Jealousy is your teenage bully,
and Depression is nothing wooly.
Joy is the bright Christmas tree,
while Shame is a useless plea.
Trust is a loving hug,
Fear is a murderous thug.
Anxiousness is a consuming pressure,
Calmness is no new refresher.
Being Lonely is nothing fun,
Braveness is like standing in the sun.
Fire is hatred
Ice is aloofness
Mud is confusion
Air is encouragement
Water is love
Your love was like falling down.
I fell hard, never once made a sound.
Your heart was like an endless maze.
The beginning of the never ending phase.
Loving you was like a light.
One I grew closer to by day, by night.
Your pain was like my bruised knees.
Something that I couldn't ease.
Your anger became a raging fire.
One that I tried hard to tire.
Your pride was a bitter cold.
One that aged me; made me old.
Your remorse seemed a rarity.
Turned me into a parody.
Your distance was an endless winter.
A darkness, an emptiness, and endless splinter.
Your sorrow was the end of a day.
Black, and white, and in the way.
Your confusion grew to a thousand pins.
Needle in a haystack, the needle never wins.
Your addiction was an endless fight.
Bloody massacre, ruined my life.
Your weakness was like a newborn child.
Uncontrollable, sweet, and wild.
Your fear was like an endless sea.
We tried to swim with endless plea.
Your surrender was a diving fall.
A rope to prove the point of it all.
Your death is just the end of me.
Complete, obsolete, and too dark to see.
But your love.. is like the gift that keeps giving.
I remember it's truth, and gain reason for living.
A Recipe for Love
That's what you're really asking me, isn't it? A pinch of this and a sprinkle of that to comprise the complex blend of human emotions that we call love. Let me see, what would a standard recipe be comprised of?
To start, perhaps a generous glass or two of deep red burgundy for all of the intense emotions that boil beneath the thin, pale pastry dough baked and dried to the consistency of sand and salt, the dry, almost lifeless sense of longing and despair and loss, broken easily into crumbling bits.
But the filling? Ah, that would be full-on cream, thick and smooth and sweet as it hides behind all the others. For that precious and rare commodity, all the emotions that attempt to disguise the sweet taste and bury it deep within the pastry only to have it overflow into and onto everything until it must be licked slowly and with relish and enjoyed to the extreme. For that short, delicious time, almost anything is given and after it ends, almost everything is given to get it back and savor it once more. That flavor, that all-encompassing desire, steams up and swirls around the mind in tendrils of warm aroma
teasing the senses with tastes, touches, and scents of love, that indefinable substance that can take on any form as long as it is pleasurable in the human experience.
You keep on Paving Street for Us
The concrete road
Of your unending
You try to lure me back
To our old familiar
And leave us
Pulverized and raw...
You gotta let me
String of roads
I'm finally ready
To move on!...
...My heart is on
You've kept on paving
Street for us,
While the daytime
...I don't see an end
To flashing lights...
...I must lay down
Love is a dancing flame.
Happiness is an endless grassy field.
Calm is a flowing river of quiet.
Sadness is a thunderstorm.
Hate is a tornado, hurricane and tsunami all in one.
Fear is a never-ending earthquake.
Anger is both thunder and lightning.
Envy is a sandstorm.
Jealousy is a wild monster.
Pain is a trail of deep crimson and salty pearls.
Loneliness is the moon.