"alliterated" poems
there was no poem neath my pillow
no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch
nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises,
only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue,
the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child
two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect,
the overlap is love stars crossing,
impatience weaponized to make
momma aware her companions refreshed status,
a needy for love’s suckling,
embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces
thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words,
the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them
*the only and only true authentic authorship,
mother and child, their owned unique
duality of singularity*
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
*reality abruptly removed the veil
realization mercifully provided the light
a binary being seeking his own level
attempting to rise to the surface of himself
if peaceful existence is based on choice
then personal dogma tablets need chiseling
if afterlife is fashioned from belief systems
then intimate mysteries need conceiving
dialogue of a dress rehearsal for an actual life
faithlessly hidden within lines of complexity
alliterated ambiguously, expressed equivocally
setting the stage for reincarnation's passion play*
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
I once fell for a poetess
A lyricist of songs
She alliterated everywhere
With such cracking shaped diphthongs!
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
I hate the night and it's untimely creations.
The avalanche of loose words
doused on closed eyes,
begging to be assembled
into flowing images or
melodic alliterated sentences.
Adjectives lurk under sealed eyelids.
Verbs implore the body to respond.
Mocking my stillness they urge
limbs to act out in their name.
Verses arrange and rearrange
of their own accord.
They ebb and flow.
I'm too tired to grab them all.
Why now, when I crave nothing but sleep?
Why can't I conjure this brainstorm
in waking hours.
I grab a pen to write; semi-conscious.
It all jumbles into nonsense.
The dream state draws me back
to act out unconscious intentions.
I hate the night and all its promises;
Its lyrical musings
behind twitching eyelids.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
his life lies at the bottom of the bottle
a glass body entrapping his soul
one by one, his giggling, gaudy girls
grow up into graceful adults
clinking glasses full of candid celebration
toasting their tranquility into theater walls
as he stands up to take a shaky step
toward the door, toward his girls,
the glass bottle drags him back under
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
I am busy chasing serpentines,
figures of eight loiter
at first hesitant then alliterated
before a snarl shakes
off the dew from a Renaissance figurine.
The opposite of azure skies
will proclaim Da Vinci's motivation
But his David is no hero
he presides as resolute
as ecclesial stone.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC
kiss me with your words
touch me with your soul
brush against me, tightly
lose your self control
brand me with haiku's
flay me with short spiked whips
crisscross the marks on my body
alliterated under a lunar eclipse
trace the edge of my demons
as they crawl beneath my skin
flick them from my opalescence
denying their claim of original sin
Oh, how I adore you!
you embrace a pattern of acceptance
for the road that I crawl upon
darkness is a cloak I wear heavily
and all I have is you, to depend on
In the house I set up on the corner
of Bitterness St and Lonely Rd
You never saw me as a mourner
just one who shared your old zip code
oh, how I adore you
you totally relate, so unrehearsed
you stroke a fever with a feathered cane
crisscrossing old scars on a new body
dancing along the same orbital plane
oh, how I adore you
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
Bubbles blosoming bellow,
Wretched, wrenching roses.
Thorns outstretched,
the darkness drawing
Blood from wounds long sealed.
Who could sleep
On this bed of brambles
When the pain
Comes from
Within.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
With each breath,
the words we left erupt into contingency
clever quips afford an inference sold, stark in it's consistency.
If ever I was taught a thrift aligning threads along a canvas.
Head to toe, snake oil or poison, chalking up life's mysteries
The needle treads along indifferent rhythms
often missed in lieu of lecture
lifted structure, painted fracture
vivid summer, lazy *******
lay the meaning on at will along alliterated thrill
fulfill the seam content to spill
to drill the point in that much faster.
tears of sadness
tears of laughter
so..
______________________________________________________
Why does it work
to levy silence or flirt
to learn a line of some actress
or divide up the earth
assert a picture infatuated with prying for worth
when it ain't there.
"I don't care,
I ain't tryna get hurt."
Have a word, agg a bird on, classic
campaign
who's drinking champagne,
who's getting turned on
Choose a new frame for the tragic.
Are we laying the groove
or are we playing in traffic.
No spoilers.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 6:58 PM UTC
Back of the room, wallflower, seeing all desires.
A longing look, no, a platonic peek,
an alliterated sonnet generalised as a hello,
pining in clasped hands to avoid burning crimson.
Possibly unrequited, is one totally conceded?
Adolescent secrets in academic stature, controversy is afoot;
Never yours, always mine, promises drawn in the sand.
A rejected invitation, too scared to speak out;
Escapes, unequivocally, with flaming purples ebbing on electric blues.
Tells you no, I’m fine, though there is a fine line
between silently pleading and inwardly bleeding.
How can one be a listener when white noise is the focal?
The walls scream ****** ****** the tiles ooze secrets,
what happens between the first and last, well that is the question,
lay the roses and fly the flag, for he was not to blame.
Starting to break through, or so we thought;
Dazzling disorders glamorized wholly through the eyes of misconception.
The poor boy, they say, he should have known better,
Than to play with fire when he was already scarred,
So much affection with so little comeuppance.
Late nights with no calls,
Strangers turning into dust.
He wondered how he could look okay,
The one he once so dearly loved,
Crying his name in the dark of the night.
Not tonight my love, I have a date with the stars.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
As I stay here,
I speculate
In the frontier of thought,
I contemplate
What I brought to the world,
I concentrate
On what I unfurled and now display,
I consummate
What I portray and feel,
I dominate
What I reveal,
I denominate
What is real,
But still,
I nominate
What is surreal,
I oscillate
I change what is ideal for me,
I isolate myself
In the highest degrees,
I desolate
With the finest move of the pen,
What I create.
I state again
With each day I improve,
My lexicon
I dilate,
I’m commenting on
What I approve,
I’m obsessing on
What I want to disprove,
I’m expressing
What I need removed,
I’m blessing
The words I reuse,
I’m addressing
What I deduce.
Words are:
Complicated,
Herds
Of verses,
Cursed,
Voiceless,
Surds and sonants,
Dramatized,
Emoted,
Intoxicated,
Reiterated,
Literal and figurative,
Alliterated,
Raided and stripped naked,
Related,
Equipped,
Gripped,
Awakened,
Jaded,
Created,
And to create.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC
A beginning
a middle
an end
then again.
Formulaic throughout
to the bitter end.
Try something new
don't let it end
with you repeating
the same old thing again.
Structured perfectly
a copy cat's excuse
studying rhymes
he could never write
even if given
'til the end of time.
It's not because it's telling
it's just telling of you
thinking in another man's cursive
hiding that you have none
and would never know what to do.
Where's the message
your meaning is lacking
just alliterated sonnets
hiding an absence of depth
in you.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC