#churn
seethe ~ bubble up as a result of being boiled,
<>
sunrise was 714 am in nyc
this perfect fall day,
chilled to perfection,
a white wine of a day,
so imbibe,
only later does it
heat up up and onwards
to the temp where the
walkers/joggers/runner recite
hallelujahs and hosannas while
moving at their own chosen pace,
in a state of warm southern comfort,
never a racing
lest
the poems
now seething, boiling-burning
bubbling up inside
into the atmosphere explode!
all of these
early warming~warning inspirations,
now~expressed,
realized flickers of
original ex-impressions,
cannot be contained in
an open field unsupported,
these
breech babies each,
in a pediatric ICU,
demanding an
instantaneous airy concoction
to Earth’s atmospheric
literary intoxication
they use:
up hard, a dice roll,
who lives
who wilts,
that docs cannot but
obey
the fetus’s insistence,
many instructions,
push pull breathe,
must the. be given forthwith
through to our
servile waiting
uterine fingertips,
for we human are just be
~ings,
nurturers of
verbal artifacts
that never die
in
an~always~at~the~ready,
in service to
the great conceptual,
poetic in/justice
Oct 23, 2024
Oct 23, 2024 at 3:33 AM UTC
Too much algae in a lake
Or rotten leaves in a puddle
They keep me awake
Evertrapped in this bubble
Of worry and exhaustion
Loneliness and doubt
I swim and they churn
And I can't get out
I can't get out
I can't get out of the grave I'm in
Is this really how it's always been?
Doesn't matter now; I've nothing to do
Except claw at the leaves and hope I get through.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
the answers are not ready to be heard
questions from the ancients are still spinning
twisting, turning, swirling and churning
drifting in and out of the minds that maintain the stamina
having substantial durability throughout timeless echos
stories, of the stories, passed on with no conclusions
the answers are not ready to be heard
not yet
Brian Hill - 2020 # 104
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 9:58 AM UTC
Strike a match and I will burn
Becoming the fires that rage in Hell
With the molten ocean waves that churn.
My love is passion and I yearn
I must break free of this prison, this cell
Strike a match and I will burn.
Watch my heart as it begins to turn
I screamed and gasped as I fell
With the molten ocean waves that churn.
Maybe I will never learn
But what I've seen I will never tell
Strike a match and I will burn.
My heart claims it will not spurn
And that my feelings for you will not quell
With the molten ocean waves that churn.
These feelings I have worked to earn
I have finally cast my final spell.
Strike a match and I will burn,
With the molten ocean waves that churn.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC
Most sublime, the art of love is,
the inner worlds, it keeps churning.
At her I take a hard look; at once
I fully realize this,her lips tremble
like the fecund earth, awaiting seeds!
Eyes acquire a misty morn quality
that to her tell aloud "Look at him!
he is the one you had seen in a dream
and swooned, pained not knowing
where to find him,out side the dream"
That meta text's context quickly get
transferred, to my database of smells
warmth and endearing sounds,pout
of lips conveying multiple meanings;
my search runs exactly three seconds,
decides to cue her on the result,still not
open, an enigma it remains,but she gets it.
A twitch starts at that exact moment,
somewhere deep, that's all I can tell,
in us both it resonates, deep, till we shake
uncontrollably like two leaves in a blizzard!
Her feet wear, two shoes made of wind,
and mine try to match their frenzied speed,
in course, rush , collide in a mid air embrace.
Two pairs of hungry lips, now need no words,
to see what just spontaneously, did happen
at nature's own, sweet, free, will, ethereal!
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
My heart burns for you
My stomach churns for you
My body yearns for you
I will return for you, my love.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC