Kmak Words

Poems and feelings and stuff. Let me know what you think!

[kmakwords]

What happened to your poetry?

still write it, just not using tumblr much these days. 😅 i also don't post anything i write for people without their permission, so most of everything i write is probably lost in a phone or email.

but i'm playing music and writing songs now and i'm active on Instagram if you'd like. this ask kinda inspired me to put more poems there from now on. ☺️

but you can follow @FaTBartleby on Instagram, or @thehavnauts on Instagram where i'm active and hear and see what i'm doing. 🌸💕

[kmakwords]

The Pain of Birth, Lighter Borne

Roots grappling for sustenance

off the decorative historic plate on in the kitchen table,

with love baked secondhand into every bite.

Smiles like puddles after the storm,

a normalcy, a greenery, a burton-esque scene,

placed for aesthetics and comfort.

Crunches and teeth all that’s heard in a quiet room.

Hey,

Thanks for the cookies.

[kmakwords]

Cartharsis

Crackled face,

up and across the Stormfather’s beard,

his light makes soft edges hard

across gleaming metal and short breaths.

Lungs pump to match the beats of arms,

swinging close, hydrophobic,

daring to fight the sky for a chance to see.

Interim antics making tears in my eyes,

Joanna singing sounds

playing coos of birds, to match the beat of hooves

clouding skies since 1908.

(Heavy breathing,

Zen,

Heavy breathing.)

At this rate

I won’t even have time to ask Mnemosyne

for her daughter’s hands in marriage.

[kmakwords]

Event Horizon (Alarm Clocks)

An edge of reality,

blending colors and shapes,

blending hands, skin touched by curves,

the horizon, the daybreak of morning glow on skin,

our earth entwined,

blankets tossed aside in the night.

Daybreak, the subtle nudge of reality,

reminders of the birds outside,

and the clocks ticking.

Remembering the bells that seem to stir

the mix of fingers clutching,

and dreams shaking eyelids

under pale glow of light through your curtains.

Your heat blurs my vision,

your touch further away,

as I fall into the time of day.

[kmakwords]

Pillow Talk

Fawning over pixels, 

exorbitant amounts of pressure 

exerted to make a scene in my own mind,

to deal with this tossing and turning 

keeping me from sleep I need to function, 

worrisome thoughts that build a train, 

that hammer the spikes, 

that stoke the engine, 

moving around in circles to shake the feeling. 

My skin itches.

I wish time would collapse, 

just to see what would happen. 

Would pictures still sit on the shelf, 

could they wait for my eyes to glance at them like this? 

Would my thoughts keep moving? 

The web is too tangled, 

space time conventions culture space time, 

the analog circuits of my brain can’t hum in tune, 

my fan is on high in the heatwave, 

yet not trying to process these bytes means no forward motion, 

wherever forward really is. 

I guess I’m just worried if a drop in an infinite sea can still raise the water level.

I guess I’m just worried that my actions come too late.

I guess I’m just worried if a condom will make me go flaccid.

I’m tired of guessing, but not enough to sleep.

[kmakwords]

Sorry

I haven’t posted in a while. 

I have some stuff planned, so I should be posting like I used to (but still not regularly or on a schedule.) 

Thanks for hanging in there guys! I love you all! 

[kmakwords]

The Tricky Thing About Love

I want to kill you slowly,

With every meal we share,

our time a poison to enjoy.

I want your words to languish in the air,

after hours of song and debate,

our heartbeats steady with every conversation.

I want to watch you trade your smiles,

a migi’s gift of time spent, but none gained,

ticking clocks and chiming bells sounding in time

with our footsteps on hard dirt,

the sound of your voice and mine,

mixed in conversation.

I want to kill you slowly,

the same way I know you’re killing me.

[kmakwords]

WHAT A RUCKUS

Today someone died,

and today something broke in the streets.

People gathered,

the news reported

and showed it to the town

through little waves of light and magic boxes.

Some people didn’t understand.

Some people cried,

and someone

made a mean post on the internet.

Then a lot of people made means posts on the internet.

Too many people in fact.

They all looked like me,

sitting in their houses,

fingers pressed against phone screens

and keyboards,

looking to put their own meaning

on something that they

have no part disrupting,

so they don’t have to feel bad.

But a human died today.

And the masks that certain people wore

were shattered

as blood hit the ground.

Who gives a fuk

about you feeling icky.

[kmakwords]

Work in progress

Oh I see those rambling hands,

grasping for concepts they can understand.

I’ve noticed for too long,

your wrists flicking through empty air,

catching sparks from your lips,

churning this fire into something

much bigger than our company can handle.

Fan the flames with your hands.

My patience burns along with it.

[kmakwords]

In the other room

a turntable rotates

with the needle skipping

at the end of its twenty minutes played.

A beat strikes in time, every few seconds,

rupturing the calm of the air,

little pulses reminding me

of sounds

that were only just lingering in the air.

I breath out in time.

I...

[kmakwords]

Around 33 BPM (Breaths Per Minute)

In the other room

a turntable rotates

with the needle skipping

at the end of its twenty minutes played.

A beat strikes in time, every few seconds,

rupturing the calm of the air,

little pulses reminding me

of sounds

that were only just lingering in the air.

I breath out in time.

I remember the crackled tones,

sounds I might have been ignoring.

Sounds, compulsively placed,

made to create a landscape,

busy with rhythm and melodies

to distract me from my thoughts,

and from your words.

Sounds that fear 

that when they hit the floor,

they won’t have as much meaning

as when they left your lips.

I sweep them up after you’ve gone,  

and breath in time to the record,

repeating it’s tangible beat

for however long it takes

to convince myself

you’re still in the other room.

[kmakwords]

The Things You Put In Walls To Hold Other Things

More to lose than gain,

more Toulouse Lautrec,

these walls are plastered with musings

and words

that came to rest on them.

Able-bodied spirits

carving little pieces

of color and drywall away

to find a place to rest their heads,

to find a place where sonic functions

can linger just a bit longer.

To find a place

where the tones can make

their standing ovation.

They grasp and shudder,

jubilant at these audible protrusions,

collecting them like hermit crabs

to decorate their insulation.

An “I love you” in the doorway.

The clink of cereal bowls

and microwaves in the mornings,

some you stayed up to greet.

Arguments, slaps, moans, gasps, and laughter.

All collected by the the walls they slammed into.

Held tightly, so when you walked in the room,

the weight of the collection comes to greet you. 

And It will sit there, 

holding tightly, 

until the paint roller comes to knock them away. 

[kmakwords]

I Could Walk Into Charlotte's Web And Still Wonder

I wake to the sound of spooling thread,

one eye hanging open,

my limbs limp,

and my sex strong,

and I am wrapped,

entangled, by a line of yarn,

golden and red,

keeping me clinging to your body.

I scry upon these bed sheets,

look close for the signs of what may come,

of lips pressed against lips,

pressed against skin, wreathed in salt.

I look for the motions, in my open eye,

that will tangle our forms, our threads.

But even as I gaze upon your lips in morning light,

I find, as you wake, that i am just a spoon left behind

in your hurried morning wake.

[kmakwords]

An Internet Love Story

I find it embedded in walls of invisible numbers,

and I bask in the wake of flames,

the smashing blows of my intellect

that thrash about tormented and disdainful,

meaty pressure points clumsily pressed against

angular plastic, and its satisfying give,

electricity translated to light,

to information, all in order to transcribe

the rush I felt when I saw your face.

I sit in the quiet, wondering if there is a code,

a ritual with bones and smoke,

that could let me take the first step to being close.

So I sit here, like pond scum baking in the sunlight,

for want of nothing more than a drink,

to quench my thirst.

[kmakwords]

Sonnet 16: Thoughts Linger Like Ghosts

A moon to leave me breathless, here within

this house, the creeping of the chill to skin

ignites the pilot light, ignites warm flame,

and thoughts that dance around so temptingly,

of hands, so warm to hold, so soft to touch,

of breath, felt on the neck, the hot air’s kiss,

felt right before lips struck the chord, caress.

And how your form would dance under my touch.

But “would” brings with it knives, the chill of night,

to know that what I seek is nowhere near,

if hands for holding hands is what excites,

then hands go on to starve, alone, austere.

Pain, wanting of your smile must depart.  

I know you’ll never let me hold your heart.

[kmakwords]

So

I started doing this thing where people give me a number and a noun and I try to make a poem out of them. I think I'm gonna post them here now if people let me, because I usually don't post things I write for people. This is also why I go through long "droughts" on here like this beeteedubs. =) 

Also, if you want me to do this, just ask me!! 

[kmakwords]

Man-Made Dissatisfaction, Real Dissonance

Tumbled and tumultuous, with eyes of fire, sparks that grasp at the kindling needed to burn, still flames muffled by the rain, these muted flames, made still, muffled, by the night's haze. Placed squarely in a frame, my expectations, my lingering kiss, my straw hat burned to ash, to be taken in wind or left on cheek, such blood torn out of heart to give to hand, the place where I guess these finer feelings hide so meek, collapsing into folds, chilling touch that's yet to be warmed. So now, all I can think about, is the smile I'm not seeing, as the last thing before bed.