Tag Archives: I am

I am more

I am more than the cells
divided into the subsequent
recesses of mental fortitude
and fingers plying upon the
electronic boards of time
I am more than the color
soaked into the fibers of
tapestry laid out over bone
and sinew hardened by
time and aging
I am more than the constant
sounds of forgetful memory
lingering for a moment
and disappearing with each
celebrated year I breath
I am more
I am more than what you see
I am more than what they claim
I am more than the tv advertisements
played on the screen for half a world
to gawk at and find lacking
I am more than the words of angry men
more than the worlds of ancient pens
I am more than reflection of imperfections
gray hair growing
ache bending knee creaking
breast sagging toward the crone
I am so much more
I am earth birthing brilliance
I am sky gleaming cloud white summer storm
I am river ocean spilling out into
fire making islands dreaming
I am the veil canopy of night
poked with holes of experiences
stars and scars of a life living
I am the planets circling bravely
I am the comet passing silently
tail trailing with knowledge and
iced regrets and success- es
I am the milk and the way
I am Jupiter’s moons and
Saturn’s rings
I am distant song of seven sisters
merrily making light across a
thousand light years of melody
I am the universe in a sea of
universes born out of spark and element
blasting from the base ingredients of
Gods we no longer have names for
and falling back to Terra longingly
past rain drops and spheres
past every moment of doubt and fear
past every seed that ever dreamed of
reaching past the horizon and reaching
for heaven
past the words unwritten and
ink yet to dry
I am
and that is all I need to be.

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I am a poet

I am a poet – born of fire and hatred – my world not fluttered with flower, filigree and faithful naivety but instead from affections and afflictions of hearts loved and lost, I found words my comfort and rhyme my resourceful foundation.

I am a poet – born of quicksand and waste – my world not cluttered with smooth, solid, or soluble sainthood but instead secured with impromptus and fill in the blanks of souls built and asunder’d, I found words my truth and meter my unbreakable bond.

I. am. a. poet.

I am a poet – born of hurricane and anguish – my world not covered with blanket, barrier and barren courage but instead by withstand and tenacity of wills hammered and hewn, I found words my armor and tempo my double edged sward.

I am a poet – born of tsunami and fear – my world not worn with newness, name-brand, and never used possibilities but instead from bought-back and additions of hands calloused and bruised, I found words my conviction and rhyme my faithful companion.

Carving Board

I am not

your carving board

I. am. not. your carving board!

I am not the place to hold your

hatred when it’s dull edge

needs to feel souls bleed!

no

I am not your carving board!

I am not

your punching bag

I. am. not. your punching bag!

I am not skin holding your

worthlessness when i’s frayed image

needs to feel like it has knuckled teeth

no

I am NOT your punching bag!

I am not

your garbage bin

I. am. not. your GARBAGE BIN!

I am not the bone structure waiting

for the deragatory spit you spew

when language has your fill

no

I am NOT your garbage bin

I am not your sale

I am not your deal

I am not your break up

slide down

lay back and un-feel

while you thrill

I am not your undo

your untrue

your reason to forget

I am not your sin

your stick up fed up

get luck – y dirty

clothes pin

holding up the laundry

you refues to hang out

to dry

neither am I your

false pride

I am not your shadow lying

your peeping eye prying

your dogma flaunting

hatred signing

standing on the corner

mocking mourners

I am not your breaking

nor your entering

nor your black and blue

swinging

no.  nO. NO!

I AM courage

though you strike me

I AM bravery

though you cut

I AM authentic

though you disparage

I AM me

though you think I’m not

.

.

.

so no

I am not your cutting board

I AM

Cerulean peace

mascarading verimuei of

persian plum bing

echoing in mind’s sky

like a gypsy moth

motorcycle gang,

looking for lightswitch

raves and hued

tinboxes of marmalade

memory

speaking with

coquelicot tails of truth

and shipwrecked words

hung on springtail

shiz ogg ony’s

orange weighted thoughts.

I am stones set against the hills

Aztec black

achromatic

pirate motorcades

worming through

otherworld roads

pillaging ghost hall verbiage

turbid mocking bird calls

in the hopes electric violet

dreams

glow brighter there.

There were my Oak tall darker

self waits patiently plotting

to feast on the Elder silver sung

failures

of a golden aluminum mind.

Mint mingled with meaning

tangled

forks pushing straw braiding

creepping vines of

mental loops retracting and

reacting to the envolope

of time marching backwards

and spell crafted lines.

I am rythem

I am rhyme

I am london calling

Bell tower mourning

the loss of porcelian

knowledge

book covered middles

and shoes sole mustered glory

I am walking low

and hiding uninvisible

fae almanac verses

I am color me chrystal

tranglewreck borders

laughing at the horders

of words in head

that bears a sign

flashing Red

open for business

but I

I having nothing to sell.

I am sour pill bitten

snakeless tooth smitten

electric force cork drumming

mental note strumbingover

Moroccan pyrogen

seducing ubiquitously

like a neruotoxin

in silky perfection

a glue tin ation

verilent in

the prusuit of

faith

and calling the mice of fortunate

ransom to

stationary spilled out on

earthen green tables

laid to rest and memorialized

on sombre ink and ivory paper.