#arm
I like the way she holds my arm when walking…
up high, under the shoulder,
firm grasp on muscle, feeling
the blood beat acoustically, in joy,
sensually sensing a thrumming
thrombosis messaging, this is a
full bodied animation, liquid life,
“strong to drink”
“strength to break
off pieces and keep,”
a supporting mutuel
pillar column post,
given, taken, entrapped,
enwrapped, ensnared,
and
enshrined, mighty fine
feeling
“indeed”
pieces to mine,
pieces of mine
her taking is acceptable
my taking reciprocal
for her needs fulfill,
I,
walk taller, straighter,
in fuller strides, and when
she stumbles in the obstacle
course of nyc crack-ed sidewalkslop,
her whoosh of breath expelled
when saved by the arm firmament,
goes unremarked, for this is my
purposed occupation and the
occlusion of our skin cells
in tight bandwidth is certification
that our love is so much more than
mere skin deep,
or as she so oft summarizes, life is,
“indeed,” or in deed.
olp
Mar 22, 2024
Mar 22, 2024 at 11:21 PM UTC
There once was a ponderous piper Peter,
Whose arm burned off in a heater.
It's now hard to fit pipe,
But he doesn't gripe.
He's got one arm, a mouth, and his peter.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 12:59 AM UTC
the dog ate some flesh
off my arm then killed the bear
okay i agree
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 10:06 PM UTC
A faint tiny tear
Can feel like a replacement arm
Leg or eye
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
for instance, I felt the yearn to feel love
an arm surrounds an unclear path of blue,
rejuvenating it is; I’m above,
yet unanswered questions linger; seek clue,
art thou afraid to love like juliet?
hands unclasped; bent knees and silent prayers.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 5:43 AM UTC
I wish to twist your brutal arm
like you twisted my tender heart;
spilling the blood and spitting upon it.
unfortunately,
a broken arm would hurt less
than the damage you caused my core.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:52 PM UTC
my eyes are laughing strolling arm in arm
cracking the pavement brimming of vibrations
stories of contentment, despondency
a feeling of being summoned urgently by an invite
gracious and acute
in the company of gods and goddesses
on a patch of green grass
i admit to being without admonition exceedingly happy
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 5:59 PM UTC
Vera Pavlova: English Translations of Russian Poems by Vera Pavlova
Shattered
I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seasons
Winter―a beast.
Spring―a bud.
Summer―a bug.
Autumn―a bird.
The rest of the time I'm a woman.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pygmalion
Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Scales
Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is the weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Muse
A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stone Wall
You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fluttering
Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Flight
I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Three versions of Vera Pavlova's "tightrope" poem:
I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I test the tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translations, epigrams, woman, female, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 2:37 AM UTC
ten minutes ago
i was talking to a woman
whose background i'm
aware of
this woman was pretty and she looked
at me with ****** interest
however: i moved my left arm in
a way that is related to my background as
a fatherless boy
rejection in her eyes the consequence
BUT:
i will never stop to move my arms as i learned moving them
–– precisely this way –– in my childhood
nobody –– male female animal or object –– is able to change this:
i do not need anybody trying.
feel me. that's how i am.
self-acceptance. self-love. courage.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 11:18 AM UTC
Fifty-one lines exactly,
Counted on my arm,
As always.
Kind of ironic,
Since I was clean.
For fifty-fucking-one days.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 7:10 AM UTC
Want to save a leg?
It’s gonna cost you an arm!
Want to save an arm?
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
constantly confessing sins
never knowing forgiveness
like a man with a book
but unable to read
or a fool hoarding gold
and dying from hunger
enslaved to the pride of life
the measure of men
of winning and success
compelled to boast
the works of one's arms
flaunting wit, or foolishness
but oblivious to the exposure
of their nakedness and vulgarity
of pain and confusion
of faith in their strength and wit
of the Mark of Man
on their arms and foreheads
believing by strength of will
what is given and not by works
the soul betraying the flesh
in double mindedness and hypocrisy
seduced by free will
but enslaved to another's will
but the further apart,
the more fervent
to execute the command
to impose commands
on their neighbours
when the only command is love
by the measure they measure
they are measured
for they have become
the enemy they condemned
and judgement is just
for evil judges evil
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 6:59 AM UTC
Dear Mr. Carl Sandburg,
Once, you wrote:
*"The lucid and endless wrinkles"
Draw in, lapse and withdraw.
Wavelets crumble and white spent bubbles
Wash on the floor of the beach."*
Having observed often, the exact phenomenon you reference
in the words above, the undulating action upon a sand white beach, patient waiting the greetings of the all-day wavelets, which reminded you, which reminded me, of the lucid and endless wrinkles sea worn upon our faces, it is my happy duty incumbent to inform your spirit, that we have yet in this the 21st century, to invent, a machine that does it better than you man, hu-man, connecting our aged faces to the timeless stroking of the Earth by the water that sustains life.
Yours truly,
Mr. Smoke Scribe
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
A fire abloom
Deep within my heart
Even a match
Couldn't start the flare
You blaze so brightly
Without having to burn
Away from the field of roses
In my arms
You don't see how much you mean
With or without
A blazing mark
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
My hand writes when it is sleepy,
Though my pin prickled pal pays me no tithe,
The static sound feel of my arm,
Removes itself from me,
Granting formerly unprecedented agency,
Between my brain and my limb,
With me left the unhappy spectator
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 11:29 PM UTC
I'll wait for the day
When I have you
In my arms and
Hear my favorite song
In your chest again.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
Naeratus su silmades,
Suunurgad paitamas kõrvu
On päike minu tedretähnidele
Sa vaikselt avad oma suu
Poetad hingetõmbe
Nii su mõtted juba mu kõrvuni jõudnud
Ilma,et oleksid midagi õelnud
Kas see tunne ongi
See ihatuim
Sest mina ihkan seda veel
Ja kui polegi nii
Vaid neil mõttes mõlgub muu
Siis siiski minul ei
Mõlgu
Midagi muud
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 6:10 AM UTC
A deep breath escapes his sinking ribs,
A quiet captivating abandon
Under a crisp cool cloak,
His deep veined arm stretches over my shoulder
Wrapping my figure,
An inert force flexed under my cupped palm
Effortlessly pulling and pinning me,
His assets kept safe under silent supervision.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
I'm drowning
Each time I go under the waves,
it becomes harder to surface.
At which point will I become lost?
I'm bleeding
Crimson red from my heart, my arm
a sacrifice to you or me.
Is it for love or selfishness?
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
Two lines, visible on your right arm;
I kiss them every time I see you.
Not much else can be said about
two little lines, but I need to say more.
Two tiny lines that'll scar and fade away
leaving only a memory of why you
ripped open your arm because you felt
completely and utterly alone
because your own brother couldn't
do anything.
or say anything.
or stop you.
Even when he saw you create
those two bleeding lines.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
reaching deep down in
grime between your nails, between your fingers
trying to reach all the way down but
your arm doesnt reach/ your arm doesnt reach/ your arm doesnt–
but you still reach
because there has to be something within your reach
instead, something reaches you
your arm is no longer there
a jagged toothed thing took it away
…
you reach in with your other arm
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC