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A few poems...

beebox

beebox

Bluelighter
Joined
Aug 3, 2017
Messages
119
I've been urged to share my work, so here goes. Just a few more recent ones. I've been writing since I was 7-8 years old. It's the love of my life.

-----------------

votre petite bombe atomique
Tuesday,May 30, 2017
11:43PM
the upward pendulum
swings as a metronome
within my ribcage -
a timekeeper, an apprentice -
i could be the destroyer of worlds.

mushroom clouds born from
my palms - I create life then
I create death - I'll bring
the end of days straight
to your mouth.

I will dissolve the sky,
digesting thunder and
birthing a hurricane -
this is my design -
complete chaos.

the time of my undoing is nigh -
post-haste, I dare not wait;
watch as I unravel across
the sea,
watch as I engender the night.

***

l'autre femme
Tuesday,May 30, 2017
6:14PM
I am wax,
melted and misshapen,
my golden hue dimming,
my dreams, forgotten.

I tried mightily
to climb into her skin,
absorb her fibrils,
digest in her bowels.

I can disappear as the night -
bang my heart until it is her heart,
my mind, her mind -

a walking persona of she you loved so well.

***

claque, aveugles
Monday,July 24, 2017
12:53AM
Remember that little freight train?

He took me by the arm, whispering
"let mefind it, let me find it" and
his ocean blues became magnetic --
a spotlight birthing life into
my turquoise veins.

Purple hues and black stars form
as a tree of life blooming on my skin --
I slammed you and you hit me and
it felt likeI was full of sound and kissing
god for the first,
the last time.
 
vous ne devez pas prendre l'avion pour être libre
Saturday,April 23, 2016
6:04 PM
She sang, “and from my window
I could only see a piece of sky.”
This has always resonated with me,
as it is all that I, too, have ever seen.

I’ve spent my springtime days
with tear-filled eyes,
watching the birds,
covetous of their everlasting freedom.

Tiny specs of sky fusing blue and gray,
roaring storms take over my life,
and there’s not much I can do but hide,
hide and wait and hope to be blown away.

And like the ticking of time, these storms
do pass, and so I continue my
unending search for a way out,
a great escape.

I venture my body through panes of glass,
remnants and dregs within my skin,
the heavy and substantial bloodlets bother me not,
nor does the pain.

I am amongst the air now,
making love to redwoods,
feeding rabbits and deer,
feeling the hot sun drape the nape of my neck.

But where are my wings?
Myking, my king, where are my wings?
How am I to nurse from the succulent breast of freedom without them?
My face, cupped gently, “you don’t need to fly to be free.”

I’ve written it everywhere:
“you don’t need to fly to be free.”
So I remove my heart, offering it to the wind –
it bursts brilliant beams of light –

I don’t need to fly to be free.
 
Last edited:
"I am amongst the air now,
making love to redwoods,
feeding rabbits and deer,
feeling the hot sun drape the nape of my neck."

- Sounds like freedom. Beautiful mate. <3
 
Don't mention it, wouldn't say it if your poems weren't good :)
 
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