I am a story of now
Without apathy of indecision.
I am a garden in blossom,
Peak of the trail,
Midnight and stardust,
Lover yet exhausted.
My pages are wrinkling
Which I’m slowly flipping,
My saddle worn upon
A horse well ridden,
Dog companion,
And my decision.
Tag: story
The Ruin (day 1742)
Empty pill bottles slammed into the rusty cages of my heart
Leading my hopelessness on a two part story,
Part 1: The Ruin
Part 2: The End.
I’m sympathetic to wasps that buzz around my head as I divert my pure thoughts,
Only had I known their tapping of my consciousness could harness heaven,
For I was scrubbing furiously with a wire brush
To scrape every last bit of rust from my hopes.
Mended Arrows (day 1667)
I’ve left out all my wiles
For a holiday in heaven,
A turn upon the road
To reach where my heart is still as still can be.
You, you were always forgiveness,
You were the mended arrow
A light beyond my vision
But illuminating my walk.
And how come I’ve been dreaming
Of a memory I’m believing
When I’ve got all of my stories
In a rucksack on my back.
There were twenty one good reasons
To hold onto the heathens
As they quickly walked on past
All in excitement and pure jubilee.
But you, you are plenty appealing
You hold me in good standing
And have brought me all my planning
That’s been brought out in the end.
So darling, reach out your good hand,
A wand of my believing,
To make my heart forever bleeding
As an arrow for your sweet light.
Traces (day 1581)
Stunning,
So I didn’t walk home alone.
A long song
To which I moved along.
Movement was the story I wrote
With my fountain tipped pen
Of legs
Of limbs
Of your traces left upon my skin.
My Poem for You (day 1552)
My poem for you:
I lay with my hands held tight, pretending the story hasn’t been written. I make flasks of mine own elixir that I spill onto your skin so I can lick it up, drop by drop. I run my eyes into a dizzy frenzy knowing the confines of your nape as I do, remembering the past moments as I do, holding the abound bits of magical love between my thighs so tight I know the feeling of urge so deep I gasp uncontrolled at last. Then, upon my calmed finger I begin to gently prowl the exposed portions of your skin so I can know again the feeling of indulge.
Long Road (day 1501)
I feel I’m suffering alone.
I feel my eyes are closing off.
I think that there’s no way
I’ll live
To tell all of my stories
From this very long, long road.
Because it is a long, long road.
I had a hand in my own truth.
I had desire cutting deep.
I feel there was a moment
When all
I had to do was dream
Enter in this long, long road.
Because it is a long, long road.
I have never let go of emptiness.
I have held out my heart to sing out loud.
I had the chance to make
A life
With everything I dreamt
Along this very long, long road.
Because it is a long, long road.
I needed one too many paths.
I needed to let go of this I knew.
I have always believed
We are
Passionate indeed.
So we’re all a long, long road.
Because it is a long, long road.
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My Illument Back (day 1158)
Should you have rolled me into that pixie white gown?
I laughed with the mariners first touch of ground.
Fire is a gentle nature and this is my bed,
Candles sing songs lingering on into eve.
You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.
My delicate folding showed my illument back,
Stark in this darkness which I escaped into dreams.
Your seaman’s hoarseness upon my plumped, splayed curls,
Changing hands with a thousand dusting fairies.
You are the nature and I am the dreamer,
I am the weaver and you are my story.
And this morning dew and fog brings adieu,
Seaman cold thunderstorm, restless I blow the wind.
Boots go away knocking: your only whispers I can hear.
Untying knots and a lover’s foreign spices.
Lout (day 1139)
Don’t panic
We’ve got the hizy-hizzy heazy
Flushing down these knees
Lay it low
Like a mother-fucking flow
And come
With me
A while
Now the story here
Is about a lout
A grease so green
A log so dense
A steam to cream
The dogs always howl
The moon always cries
The birds and the bees
Are all lost in the trees
You see, the grease is a man
That scares all the dimes
A long overdue
21 gun salute
An ulcer in my throat
A never ending torrent
Dead grass wilting my boat
But I’m an undercover agent
A toonie-two balcony
Who takes the first initiative
To catch the best of them
So I’ve found the skeezy
With my mother-fucking prerogative
I built a nice and cozy
6 foot comforter
An uncles intelligence
And my pure brilliance
To take this fucker
This leach of an innocent
To that: a rat
To nibble on the little
Toes of
The mother-fucking rest of him
The lout, the host
Is in the grave.
The Fifth (day 841)
There were five impressions there that day
Two belonged to the Emperor King
Child though he was, vast was his arm
One belonged to the lady tea dealer
Powdered face and blood red kimono
Shimada and the Golden Lotus
Black trim like a bleeding matchbox
The fourth belonged to the fat man Hojiju
Business tycoon but despicable patron
Beard so long it caught fallen crumbs
A neck so indulged it sweat on its own
A stomach sized so large it was custom made
His breath so grotesque nearby flowers wilted
And the fifth, sigh.. the fifth
Well, the fifth is a story
Designed for only respectable ears
Those ears entirely ready to be cured
To be enlightened upon a new journey
Through and over finer paths in life
Along shallow waters edge
Where the spring tips of sakura blood
Flutter in the wind to float on away
The fifth is a story of love and then lost
A heart that danced so lightly on lilies
In the sweet summers pond, so lively with life
A story of silent bicycles rolling through
Low hanging lanes of public parks
Along delightful gardens intricately cared for
Dazzling with brilliant colors
Like a van Gogh day lit dream
And when love effects them
When love finds it’s sacred ground amongst
Great boulder rocks and tiny bonsai
When love settles the folds of a deep blue kimono
Flushing the face free of all blood
With tender thoughts of a young brides countenance
Then, at that moment is when the fifth enters
Along with its strong jawed suitor
In new business formal
But it wasn’t there that the fifth stopped its journey
A sleek rickshaw and a sturdy set of legs
Cobbly streets and dimly lit alleys
Hushed movements behind closed rice paper dividers
And sandals displayed in all sorts of hurry
Emotions rolling down the window like raindrops in the night
Comforting morning departures, comforting silence
Comforting ebb and flow, engagement
Rolling through like smoke
From a freshly extinguished candle
Escaping out through ill-fitting woodwork
Of ancient architecture
And passing through the heart of a lamenting maiden
Deep amongst the last haiku
Beside tokens with memories
Beneath bamboo thatched covers
Protected by fine silken layers
Here lies the fifth
Forbidden from all eyes but two
Forbidden from all hearts but one
Forbidden from all souls but one
Forbidden and almost forgotten
But sacred, and coveted
And lost
Phillip Gustaminsky (day 675)
Ahem, psst.
Psst.
You there
Yes, it is me
The alligator that talks
It is I
I have something to tell you
Yes indeed it is true
But
You must come closer
So I can tell you my story…
Phillip can be purchased here.