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History of KimPoetry|
Maybe someday I'll look at my words and call them poetry, but by then I'll probably be too dead to make the call. - Kim This page is mostly of poetry I (KimEspinoza) wrote during or before college... For later poems, you'll have to go to KimPoetryTwo. There's a lot of stuff there. My life is like a potato chip (bad poetry from the Orientation Talent Show, 1998) My life is like a potato chip. With every shock to the bag of life, I crumble. Old and forgotten, My love grows stale. Who is there that can appreciate My flavor, my simplicity? Who is there that can savor Every calorie of my soul? Born from the ground I emerge to become Cool Ranch, Barbeque, Mesquite, Sour Cream. But in the end I shall only be discarded In the waste can of despair. when i pierce your skin with my nails when i pierce your skin with my nails i dirty my hands on the rotting flesh of man for as i kiss your face you shed your mask like the leaves of a sickly tree. i could forget that you are already dead as if i didn't finish the job but when i run my fingers across your mouth and taste your blood, laughing at the face of death, i squeeze your arm and limp little hand and delight at its cold quiet palm. just try and breathe, my little man, all you will swallow is my song. motion by motion spending day by day and motion by motion plodding through the gray of subtle devotion i came to know fantastic emotions spreading through the haze, sweet volatile potions. silent brown with my caress, your tears slowed, your breathing eased, and i absorbed your sorrow. with our embrace, your warm loneliness gently began to blind me. that familiar, subtle, electric hopelessness which always left me weak eased its way through me. our surroundings melted into a silent brown as i felt your soft, sweet lips and long, timid kiss. you were so fragile, so weak and i was careful not to hurt you. i am sure it will please you to hear how i fell when i found i was wrong. and while you stole my senses through pity and through love, deliberately fading through the shadows, i can see you now, not so gentle and not so caring. when the world told me i was wrong, i defended you, but now i see that i was just another vessel in which to release your pain; for i had no need for sorrow until you shared with me despair. you're the worst kind of person the worst kind of liar the worst kind of anything i ever did desire you're the worst kind of lover the worst kind of friend the worst kind of anything i ever did defend you're the worst kind of monster the worst kind of man the worst kind of anything that ever held my hand you shouldn't be confused by this it's really all quite clear you're the worst kind of anything i didn't know to fear trainspotting peace laughs while righteous wings scratch the comfort in the labyrinth of the mind whose shattered glass mocks a smile while dust can only deceive what happy tears sorrow. engines scream, steam hollers. drones mimic petals senseless petals whose broken glass misshapen becomes the crystal leaf of the sun and its angry silver shower. ebony spirit soft with light walks through the heavy sky to be embraced throughout the night by life before she dies mahogony flesh strong with lust extends a gentle hand to be the one to gain her trust and kiss the fading sand Insanity I've got my grip on insanity and the stoic smile of a manatee you're mocking me and trying me another vision I can't believe there's a word called pride that you see in me only hiding my fatality but you've not seen the last of me I won't run with eternity I'm simply hiding for a while. I too live in a furnished soul (see FurnishedSoul) I too live in a furnished soul I am that which I loathe my steps are only soft when I make them spiteful of sprightful and so. I too have random passions for random fashions such simple thoughts and simple actions quite quietly altruistic attractions spiteful of sprightful and so. I too like to think I see the world as she stands on her own two clean and dirty hands secretly screaming while living and dreaming spitefully sprightful and so. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. I've got it all. I've got a spring in my step and summer in my fall. I've got nothing to regret, and I'm driving up the wall. Not afraid of getting older, not afraid of what's at hand. Got that chip off my shoulder and the world at my command. And then again I awoke Four AM in morning smoke I took a chance and looked around Another glance then towards the ground And there you were Which might explain That pain In my back And the fact That my clothes were not quite fully on. And the grass grew Around My cold wet body As I shivered softly Soaking in its sweet bitter nectar It is better, my friend, to pick a rose than a daisy. A rose has beauty strength and grace. A daisy -- simply sweet disgrace, cannot bring pleasure to your place with such aroma soft as lace -- As luscious rose from waist to face while you're dissolved in sweet embrace and waiting for another taste -- Of luscious rose from face to waist. A daisy -- simply sweet disgrace, does not want pleasure from your place And lacks the strength for your embrace. When you look into my face, you see a rose with strength and grace, but if you left a little space you'd see my self -- in sweet disgrace. The scarecrow A scarecrow is a scary sight when you are flying through the night. And I the crow would like to say it's also scary in the day. So if you're flying through the air please watch out and do beware for there's no telling who can bare, what lurks behind that cold blank stare. Politics Democrats are like flowers, Republicans like weeds; sure, they may run rampant, but who really wants them? My Chemistry Paper (warning...this is a chemistry paper gone wrong) the little Iron Can sits and stands, peering eerily and silently toward the children of his land the little lads who run unclad and dance about the land like mad shout out to the little law which runs the land and forces lovers hand in hand while the little Iron Can can only sit, and sometimes stand, in sand and bless the water in his land which lead to the corrosion of such Can the little ones play in the sand, such awkward holds in such small hands and never do they understand that just behind them is the little Iron Can as he erodes away into the land The Mulberry Tree the tame wind gently caresses my hair and i find comfort in its touch. a warm world of color whispers a familiar song-- but then is gone. the air begins to demand my attention-- and i give it with due respect-- as i am pulled slowly, irreversibly by an unseen hand. torn from a harmonic world, branches embrace my being. slender, long wooden arms violently tear my flesh as i am unwillingly lead into the heart of the mulberry tree. struggling, i cry out to a deaf world, entangled by screaming colors. the angry hue of pain steals from me my soul and leaves me breathless as it has done to others countless times before-- feeding on the dreams of the innocent. it devours my essence and at last releases its relentless claws and then i am free-- but devoid of the peace and soul of my person-- and alone Untitled sunkist waters whisper the soft sillohette of cold eyes and warm palms the feather rose falls into the shallows and sings the quiet shatter of ice in boiling sea water steams cool valleys spirits fall as tears descend then dawn removes her shadows as the depths become the sun and the waters become the wind Untitled Every tear i cry for you is a tear of blood, the river to my heart and through my soul. red mountains, black valleys resound in your name. as tears fall i reach out for you only to embrace the wind and while its kiss may be warm and gentle it is not alive |
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All of KimEspinoza's poetry can now be found on her web page: http://www-scf.usc.edu/~kespinoz. Thank you. |