Author: SamT.Gutierrez

My name is Sam and I love art. I sometimes do podcast, I sometimes stream videogames.
Poetry · Writing

a lot

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after you’ve lost your job and the world is crashing

what will you have;

when the night is swerving down the highway with a half empty glass

what will you have;

fresh off the books heading down the tunnel toward a chair and a needl

what will you have;

remembering those few days rowing down to the river with the kids

kids with a pole and some bait late in the evening with a catch

catch a memory the size of a tuna under moon before the long night

night, that night- we had it all

Poetry · Writing

tango

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tomorrow isn’t soon enough

the days grow long

and the nights extend past peak

and i am weak

sick of the weeks and the days

the hours taunt me from their straight arms dancing around in circles

frequent buzz and bling

and another thing

when tomorrow

finally decides to grace the dance floor

upon your heavenly earth

i’ll be your first dance

Poetry · Writing

late night massage

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you’re hands are a blessing;

washing away the fear

tracing your fingers along my worries

pushing your thumbs deep into my anxiety

flowing away-

falling asleep in your grasp

an angel pulling a bow back back deep into my heart

chop chop and depression won’t raise his hands to you

never lay a hand on my honey

all over my back, warmed

holding the arrow

asleep with your hands

Poetry · Writing

gravey man

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it’s done

fixed at the source, small knife

puddle gravey between my toes

and a smile peaking through the shadows

can hear a laugh a few blocks down

harrowing; sirens closing in but it’s the laugh

feet turn to glue on every pebble skating across cold bricks and the sound of tires shredding in a closing distance

and that laugh; closer and it echoes through my ears like the gravey man’s scream-

i(whose laughing at my pain)i

drop the knife and down to your knees

and they’re laughing

the women two stories up with her baby are laughing

and the man, two blocks down is standing there

with a knife

and my belly spills of gravey

and he laughs

laughs

la-

Poetry · Writing

channel island;

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isn’t she love ly

one of a kind;

never strayed to far

free to change the day as a star

fruit from a tree

war has tied and the one will never flee

ripe with sight

vision of the night-

night for the dreams dreams for the morrow morrow of the world

and the world is yours