"ahhing" poems
"unconditional love dinner-dance"
so names the advert for an evening of a
big shot, posh charitable event,
which the glossy Gatsby East Egg magazine implies,
if you fail to attend said soirée, you nobody, will have no way to claim truly understanding the composition of an
unconditional love dinner dance
laugh internally, swirling,
riffing on eat love pray,
this ditty is what I instantaneously say...
*what do these swells,
with their self-appointed importance,
know to probe/defame my claim,
to this poem's title?
these are the factors,
the stepping stones from
my minute to the minute next
love
am I not oathed, bound
unconditionally
by my very own name,
which life bestowed upon me at birth,
to compose of this love
in every etching lineage, signed verse kissed upon our faces,
then, as well, oh so well, so swell,
to kiss our babies
whose smooth skin has no familiarity with
time and all my love
all my love,
uncritically makes no distinction
dinner
she loves me through the silence
of my oohing and ahhing,
these sounds,
escaping willingly,
unconditionally,
as delight unconstrained at the delicate deliciousness her love
has implanted in the dishes she preps,
with which she
preserves us
dance
she love to dine upon
her laughter at
my akimbo'd imitation of
'so idiot, you think you can dance'
hip hop
begging me between crinkling boisterous hardy laughter,
please, not to hurt myself
she, a Martha Graham educated,
Argentine Tango ballet mistress,
a life long dancer whose genes forbid her
to pass by the sound of music
without breaking out, breaking into dance,
in perfect synchronicity
to whatever the composer calls upon her,
to present the music, to inform us,
in body graphic form,
unconditionally
what they intended us to
see within and between each note
I need no tuxedo,
no fancy dress,
no permissions to comprehend
the meaning, the actuality,
the unconditionally of
unconditional love dinner dance*
I dine and dance with love daily,
and yes, to be very sure,
unconditionally
for is there any other kind?
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
My poetry is an acquired taste,
So come, dear one,
Place your tongue in my mouth.
Pace yourself, there is so much,
Spoke and unwritten,
That fruitions only when spit-shared.
Flick your tongue-tip to mine,
Sealing bond, the salt caramel of my rhymes,
The iambic meter of my tamarind prose,
The buds, flowering, poems forming,
Watered by the admixture of joint, minted saliva.
My poetry, so very complicated,
Hints of currants and ash,
Soil volcanic, basaltic vowels, oh's and eyes,
Cursed verses that commence with I,
Nonetheless, despite soil inhospitable rued,
Compositions flourish, born wetland soluble.
Yours, for the taking,
Yours, for the tasting.
You place your fingers on my waist,
My body of work to contemplate,
My ditties, you spit out,
You want courses, not appetizers,
You want truths, not fluff, lies, menu tastings.
Columbus and Magellan, thy fingers named,
Trace the curvature of my ***
With tip and tipsy stroked caresses,
You laugh with the pleasure of all the sssssss's.
Hissing all the day your satisfaction,
Capturing my writs, by your tongue's duress,
Recipient-thief of my literary largesse.
I am dressed all in white,
Stripped bare to my native coloring,
Except for two brown nippled spots, you lick,
Imbibing milky thoughts from fountain-heads *****
Savoring, relishing, stanzas that praise love's flavor.
With every line, every word-painting accessioned,
You make my soft parts hard,
My hard parts soft, but my liquidity,
My tears, they, that, you drink straight,
Licking, liking, and oohing and ahhing,
You tongue curled, upside down arching,
The storage point of your seduced gatherings.
To drain me full, your incisors cut,
Straight lines, entry points for your *******
Taking, draining, leaving nothing,
Not even one aleph or bet escaping.
When you acquired my poetry, my verbosity,
Pillaging soul's hiding place, took and *****
Your acquired the best, breaking my nape,
Imprisoned on and by my island's seascape,
Blanched and pained, a blank tape,
I am tasteless, witless, mockingly, tongue-tied.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
A new day is dawning
Been waiting for weeks
Cashed in my pay cheques
To pay for the tweaks
Drawing, deciding,
Doubting my needs
Umming and ahhing
This lust i must feed
Booked the appointment
There's no turning back
Go under the knife
Would you look at that!
Followed the steps
and handled with care
The bigger the better
But same face and hair
Mid-chest attention
They all think I'm dumb
But not enough's changed
So I'll have my *** done
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
~
I requested peace
But instead became fabric
Bought from a store of madness
Those leathery hands touched the silk of my inner
Feeling the quality of my chaos.
I lay
Waiting
I am bought
Spread across a table
The scissors
Those scissors
Cut through me
Measuring me like haunted opinions.
I'm stuck with pins
Slicked with sweat from my creators fingers
Why?
Why are you doing this to me?
I want to cry
But I am nothing but fabric
Sewed into what others want me to be
To do
To see
I am all sewed up and priced up
I am bought again
Although I am something different
My new owner puts me on
Oohing and ahhing
I've heard the phrase
“Wear the clothes and don’t let the clothes wear you.”
I'm going to wear this human today
The fabric becomes skin
Because my ambition is stronger now
The details and lines are my veins
Those flowery designs....
That’s part of my heart
I am human art formed by earth
I refuse to be on anybody’s cutting table
Instead I am a canvas
My skin
My mind
My heart
My soul
…Is the very ink of creativity
The very fabric of who I am
No scissors and needle will affect me
I am liquid
The threaded revelation that manipulates form
I am a new world within
A fabric of understanding, learning and loving
I will not let those designs of my life fade
Like ancient cloth
I will constantly be refreshed
Like seasonal rain on grass and flowers
I will forever grow and shine
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
Fourth of July
Its Fourth of July, doesn't matter what year,
Friends heading over with coolers of beer.
Wife’s in the kitchen makes guacamole,
One look at her you think holy moly
God dang she’s hot; it’s just not fair,
My buddy walks up unfolds a lawn chair.
He sits down, and cracks a beer,
Hands me one, I said glad you're here.
His wife walks up, dessert in hand,
Radios playing, hey what’s that band.
He doesn't know, and it doesn't matter,
I crank it up, the wife hands me a platter.
It’s filled with chicken and shrimp with dill,
I look over charcoal's ready to grill.
Look down at the lake, kids are all swimming,
Splashing and smiling and jumping and grinning.
Washer pit is set up, ready to toss,
More friends arrive; I say what’s up hoss.
I look around, down the cove,
Neighbors getting ready for, a fireworks show.
His wife’s bikini, man it clashes,
Mix match top and bottom, but she's hot as new ashes
We’ll sit out, under the stars,
Oohing and ahhing over flashes and sparks.
When fireworks are over, we'll grab a drink,
Ice Cream and cobbler and try to think.
How this could get any better?
Friends wife walks up, I’m glad I met her.
She says its late, thanks for having them,
But she has a date, with my friend,
And when they get home,
It’s going to be their own, fireworks show.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC