"aerated" poems
My lover saves his words,
he tucks them under his tongue
I chew on his serifs,
Aerated, punctuated, hyphenated
His desires, they get caught in my teeth
the boldness of them wearing on my enamel
And then,
his smile melts onto my tongue
I push it behind my cheek, our own
little secret, sweetheart
Now I’m smiling too
And he hasn’t said a word.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Sinuses, you have won today,
but the night shall be mine,
for down my throat
I have poured the elixir of wonder
and shoved the grenade
of mucus dismemberment
and I have aerated my nostrils
with the flow of nase.
I may be pass through the night unknowingly,
but at least I know that you will not hinder me any longer.
No more will my brain try to escape its confounds,
no more shall my glasses feel like they are crushing my nose as a grape.
I shall sleep as you are conquered.
Yes, you may have won the day,
but I, I will have the night.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Colors shift and light dampens
I sit and watch the sun go down
the snow is aerated all around
I see pinks and oranges and yellows
the sunset here is unfeasible to describe
and yet here I am trying to explain
the colors that infuse together so well
almost dreamy in a fantasy kind of way
once it is gone it will never be the same
so I watch in awe as nature's beauty is revealed.
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 2:20 PM UTC
Pointed
green breaking
ground, with no noise,
A blade
disguised as a leaf
commands choic-
est rays, from the February sun,
the chill is
colder inside these walls,
than on the streets.
Bubble wrap
only does so much,
for the dreams enclosed
for their own protection,
but the grass the gardener aerated
flowered from bulbs long fogotten
and he mowed them down
unsure if flowers,
that bloom in February, grow enough to own,
space and purchase their hold,
for Spring to bring summer's fall.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
I am a black foot angel, wingless and forgotten,
tasting immortal memories with stronger passion.
I will grab this bottle and toss eons of romance away
because the angel I loved broke my dark sky heart.
I sit underwater with the trees that sway upside down,
taking breaths of nitrogen mixed in with my tears.
All rocks unturned in the current that is never quenched,
darkened skin from the lava I bathe to heat my tranquility.
Cooled down in the rainforests that hide my dreams,
underneath the diseased soil for my incompetence.
I irrigate the lands I’ve sown in my lust to grow another day,
yet no fruition from my most fertile feelings from drought.
I follow the clouds that flood my misery in these valleys
and cry with the sun as it descends the haven of eyes,
speak with the moon that tells of lone lit stars and lovers
just to wait until it lullabies a quiet lunar night once more.
For the angels I knew that burst open my aerated wounds,
to caress the worry of mortal lives given to all sinners,
uneasy paths that fly upward as the rivers I sent unto my coasts
disgraced when I nail my hopeless love to the omnipotent cross.
Now I gently slip away into the kempt trunks of friends hidden,
an incredible place of secrecy and all-knowing substance,
only to leave again into the horizon that cuts me whole
from the pictures meant to make us all suffer internally.
I rest in the cradle of reality, born on a vine of trust,
this gracious corridor inside me is laden with unfamiliar doors.
My hope sparkles falsely under apprehension, which ruined the walls,
I point the finger, but can only blame the lost fool I see in my mirror.
I ponder my possibilities for flying back into that angel’s heart,
since I lay here in my bed, comatose to my clockwork feelings,
A newborn to a lovelorn life has grown feeble in understanding.
I await inanimate, inside as I cast my vessel into a new dedication of failure.
© 2004
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
I am a novel waiting for writing.
I am shiny, as a Christmas bauble,
So sparkly,
I am waiting to be displayed,
I am a dumb mute,
I am waiting to speak,
I am never quiet
I am an appeal waiting to be made,
I am the contents of a treasure chest,
The stifled lid lifts slowly,
so slowly,
Awaiting the coming changes,
self made,
a manipulation of myself,
the stagnant waters,
well,
they are running free now,
aerated and breathing,
Clear and fresh.
As the rickety rackety wheel turns,
I can feel the classic turning over.
Coffee tainted pages in my hapless history,
now it's all about me,me,me!
(C) Livvi
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Yesterday, the tears woke again, thoughts of a curious passerby a land in which time forgets
On and on into this reality, this is a world of simplistic imperfection calling you within
Used for dedicated love, the seeds are never hated amongst the plenty, for it’s a cause of death
Gained by the dualities that exists and separate in the sanctity of our own neglectful hearts
Advanced your gentle mind into a world you don’t see, a love you don’t have, in the nothingness of hope
Ventured into her heart, her closed door should remain sealed, not for prying eyes
Enervated by thoughts held back, but the confusion brought to own the disease of life
Measured by the heart full, not by the rules and distance for an monthly god-stopper
Educate me in the rules you still don’t understand, but heed for pointless reasons
Abound to the psychopathic qualities in your haven, a joy for pain to relish in spite of loving
Bless a sweet taste left in your mouth, you’ve done so much for this, but the deserving must be
In desperation, to see the fruits of the vile tree, and eat thy fill until curiosity gains best
Trickling down faces, the red juice of pain, the immortal emotion for all to feel
Truth flows from droplets, craved by the disturbed dirt of aimless requisitions
Enter, and taste the end of all things to come and the beginning of all things to end
Reverbs of happiness appeal not, unspoken of your tongue, sacred blasphemy unto your skin
To idolize the principle in life unlike all others, the survival of the fleeting revolution
Aerated thoughts that drops your mind into pools of relaxed torture, kiss the calming hate
Sleep with the sins of life and become born again into a breed unknown of humanity
Torn and scattered within themselves, a hell that kills to love one another in anguish
End eternity spent with the fruits, as it leaves a bitter taste on your lips… a romance to spark us all.
© 2005
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
Full Sun
Into delicate aerated soil
an age-old seed was planted,
an eye destined for greatness.
With the slightest spillage of
amendment an adventitious
spore awoke.
A tuber started to grow;
a thriller spreading into the
beautiful composition of
a bicolourous family.
Pollination is a pest known
to most every gardener,
but propagation shall subside.
Mulch to conserve is a heavy
yolk to bear, but,
with determination,
pistil too shall become weary.
O, Biennial,
how I beg thee for more time.
Clench thy inflorescent fist,
a catkin do not become.
Thou hast spread thou roots
into my being as an epiphyte.
Lo! Single flower, wear thy crown
and top-dress with pride
- thou art everblooming!
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
*Dig a quarter acre pond , keep it filled with clean , aerated water
and small fish will appear on their own before three summers have passed , I kid you not* ....
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
And as you look to the bedside table, you see a grapefruit. The juices flowing down the sides vulnerably from the soft pale flesh. Ripped apart. Sweet, honeyed liquid; insatiable. How you wished for his teeth to pierce that soft dimpled skin, to bite through the bitterness of the pith and spit the seeds back out.
One by one.
Instead, he lifts the fruit to his mouth and laughs when the juices fall down his face, laughs as the saccharine debris make a mess of him. You pray for him to have the moment of madness that you have been anticipating. For him to become sick to the stomach of your sorry words and finally stuff the fruit in your mouth, to let the bulbous waxy sphere lodge in your throat in the way you deserve. Suffocating. At least then you would be able to breathe your last breath with your fingers interlocked in his, his thumb tracing the sharp knuckle of your thumb in unconscious, weary circles.
Then, at least you would be able to die in your own home.
That was me back then. I sat back, I watched him, lying with one eye to him and one eye to the ceiling. Hoping that, somehow, my eyesight would penetrate the peeling grey ceiling; the sky; the thick clouds that loomed over me.
Whoever told us that clouds were fluffy, soft, aerated and belonging on the fronts of children’s books
The clouds are what keep us on earth. We see them changing colour, shape, forming the outline of a cat or dog the sky which gives us the impression that they’re innocent. They aren’t. They’re what give us a false sense of completion. I was happy, Then. Being trapped on earth with those omnipresent soft grey pillows. But now I’d rather dance on top of them
away, away, away from him, me, myself, this.
I am not the woman I was then. The sweet words that dripped from mouth, he lapped up. But he lapped them up and left me dry. Squeezed senseless, I can’t find it in myself to spill sugar words. I am a shell. I am a corpse. I am free of the soft substance that was easy to swallow. But should I be cast aside? Left to rot? Once the saccharine taste is gone? All that’s left of me is pith, seeds, skin. The bitterness would go past your taste buds, the seeds would sink low, low, low into your stomach.
If only you took a bite.
The skin. Soft to the touch, peachy. Soft to the eye, dimpled. It would leave a bitter taste if your mouth. It would give you a stomach ache for hours, send you vomiting, crying, in pain, ruining the day for you and leaving you with regret.
If only you cared to swallow it, the thing, that fruitful thing, me
Whole.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
the tap turns towards free flow
spewing sounds of fluorinated spit
aerated aqua, so far from Caribbean blue.
baking soda toothpaste holds high aims to hammer
ergonomic plastic lays plush within my grasp
upper left molars first, always upper left molars
gyroscopic suds bubble and sludge
as the image of I projects into my eyes
but it has been too long and now i see you too
astral projection misplaced my mind and body
my soul was now with you as we cleaned our teeth
i see your titled head reflected in the mirror
and my eyes cannot believe
that it has been so long.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
All these demons fiending for some redemption
But I'm thinking they just want some attention
That won't cut it so I cut it up on the dance floor
Cut it up cut it up snow white runs out the door
Been up a day, no we've been up for days
From suns first ray until stars escape the skies
Feels like its all overrated but its just all overdue who knew
Hearts aerated fillin gaps with the same old but act like its new
Someone asked me for the time so I gave them the time of their lives
Fancy umbrellas witha side of lime lets drink to our many vices
For us there is no boring ending to all this partying
Just a constant tightrope walking and death defying
Aug 14, 2023
Aug 14, 2023 at 5:44 PM UTC