"alee" poems
Hunger eyes stared down at the rod,
awaiting it's own ***** alee
Laid on the satin sheets, arms entangled
milky thighs spread apart
Hunger eyes too stared down at me
laying in inescapable, trembling bondages
A heat burning through our hearts - through us:
That was desire.
I love him like this -
where stars align;
Buttons undone. Eyes lit with a burning flame
waiting to engulf me whole.
Touching me here, there - everywhere
tracing the freckles on my skin that lay like speckled stars
to the lines on my palm. Memorising.
His mouth gilding across with a wicked purpose
as urns of a thousand suns pour blazing down my throat
Not us did the saint align and embrace our pure hearts
We were in the other's self the ruin
of purity's gentle caress
where my hand rests at
in between to ease the trembling core
our bodies lay in the dead of the night
both of us searching for more
to no one but him do I come to thee!
as a cry aches through the silence of the night
our souls connect - one of each
lit for each other
lost, weighed on each others palms;
This was our desire
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 1:57 AM UTC
The opalescent fish,
a predator
measured in unconscious patience,
chooses his path
without choosing.
A dip down beneath a bowed plant
to tune alee from the drift
and a sudden twist up
for a sharp gulp of bubble matter,
all without a wanting mind.
As I bend to indulge in no-time
with my friend, the fish,
I can only feel ashamed,
as my back and forths are
scaled to moment,
and wholly, unforgivingly
considered by desires.
If only to conduct the self like the fish,
unassuming of any space,
without a knowledge of this wish,
and unaware of natural grace.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Beware young and old alike
for the place that is a scary sight.
Its the Pirate's Cove
sure enough, by jove.
Protected by Sunset Reef,
raiders there will come to grief.
There amongst the shoals
many here have lost their souls.
Daring ones who venture
there by skiff,
often fail to spy their shack,
under the cliff.
The shack is there
though hard to see.
Tattered and weathered
and leaning alee.
Their fighting ship
is hard to seek,
for its hidden well up
the nearby creek.
Bloodthirsty pirates
ready to take your life,
to poke you or stab you
with their long, sharp knife.
In the early morning
they may be snoring,
after a wild night
of drinking and sporting.
Pray not wake them
or you risk your life,
by tasting the
bite of their trusty knife.
Seeking their chests
filled with gold
may land you down
in the depths so cold.
So lads and lasses
stay away
and live to see
another day.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
I'll tell you a tale
of our own Devil's Island
and the demonic crash
of the waves in a swell,
the smell and the taste
of the ball-breaking weather
the ghosts that deliver
poor sailors to Hell.
We were out in the water
amongst our Magdalens
the wind plucked the ropes
of our rigging at sea
we looked for a port
and saw many lights flashing
“that's old Devil's Island,”
said the skipper to me.
Ghosts began hurling
their fierce imprecations
to “come to the Island
safe landfall to thee”
but the skipper turned round
the ship with a vengeance
“that old Devil's Island
will never catch me.”
I thought he was mad
to be scared of a legend
it was my first time
in a storm on the sea
and two men washed over
to Davey Jone's Locker
“God bless 'em, they'll rest now”
the skip said to me.
Protesting the treatment
of two forlorn sailors
I said to the skipper
“It's not good to tell”
“It's better,” he said,
“that they're resting in Heaven
than entering into the portals of Hell.”
Winds lasted the night
then the voices did falter
the lights blinkered out
and I saw very well
so many rocks jagged
just waiting to smash us
The Devil's Isle gateways
await in the swell
If you're on a ship
and the voices of demons
come tell you it's safe
in their harbor alee
remember the shoreline
at old Devil's Island
then turn the ship seaward
and gracelessly flee.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 6:38 PM UTC
(Land that doth marry mother lode
of sublime earthen land and sea).
Age of exploration
ushered cruel fate
against “red” men living
in bliss by agents
patch of eden north
o Mason Dixon line
latitude: 39.64839
longitude: -75.95591 alee
perchance designed
by divine providence
with dyslexic humorous bents
Cecil county Maryland
lies like plump backward letter “e”
witnessed topographic erosion
pocked imprimatur marked
meteorological dents
thru inundation of
oceanographic propensities
melding coastline like Galilee
in particular by Chesapeake Bay,
that body of water
abutting like natural fence
first witnessed by captain
John Smith in 1608
mistaking himself tong tied
in sole of Italy
learned faux pas, when crossing paths
with Susquehannas hence,
offered tobacco sticks to natives
while recovering
from injured wounded knee
said other sundry tribes curiously eyed
then (I utilized poetic license)
took smoke from packet of Kents
which twist on actual
historical facts manipulated by me
but more truthful account awash
and replete with more
than interspersed nonsense
and incorporates tract situated
in so called Fertile Crescent – see
settled by Europeans of English stock,
who emigrated with nary a pence
“taming” shrew like “noble savages”
plied Leviathan sized ukuleles
whose might exploited for felling forests,
which timber built cabins with vents.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
There's this guy I call my best friend,
He is sweet and sound.
Yes, we complete each other's sentences.
Calling him just a 'friend' would be a disgrace.
He is more of a diary for me.
Deliberately, he listens to my pointless thoughts
with his stillness, softly pardoning me,
connecting the dots,
he smoothly stirs my soul with indulgence.
letting our smiles exchange their scents.
Yes, I know he does his job too perfectly.
You would say he is just a fantasy,
right?
But trust me, he holds true.
There's this guy I call my best friend,
My constant companion,
he helps me untangle my obstructions,
just the way you untwine your hair,
and let it spare.
He is like coffee,
in the mornings that aren't glee.
His eyes proclaiming that it's a good day alee,
as that smile reaches his ears,
letting my heart sing a happy song,
all day long.
There's this guy I call my best friend,
Some of you may think, this is again someone friend zoned.
But no, this is someone I have owned.
He is more of a family to me,
who never lets down to me.
He touches like a happy pill,
he is the Jack to my Jill.
He is more than just a poem to me.
I hope, together we blaze,
forever and always.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 5:59 AM UTC
asea,
tangled web
of complexity
raging rapids
hasten
mortality
albatross
lingers
over me
stiffen bones
death's
rigidity
spare the
beacon's search
for me
alas
my life may
no longer be
battered and
bruised I
was left alee
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 8:32 AM UTC
I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,
poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me
self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye
might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavil - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy
toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee
ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who **** squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key
underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee
v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate
to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC