"articulates" poems
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.
None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.
I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.
Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Shyly curious you smile at me.
Tender, delicate I lightly stroke you,
friction ridges of long index finger
brushing fine hairs to attention.
A sensory meeting, pupils contracted,
I impress upon your pale skin
from the glenohumeral joint to your elbow,
Then our mouths align, entwined,
Soft lips parted, eyes closed and tasting;
Your worldly generous thighs slightly ajar
pressed apart by a firm hand, the sensitive
multifingered extremity searches out,
Reaching for where you’ve been waiting for years.
Beautiful, wide-spread in close proximity,
Touching and sizzled by that sweet odour
from your neck, pleasing the soul,
I do not ask for more delight
Upon slipping into your wet and woven silk.
But you suddenly unglue our lips and ease me
back with a firm hand,
Your voice articulates a silent pause.
There’s a fierce and undeniable attraction here,
Tempered as I sit back for a moment,
Excited, quiet and praying for nightfall.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
An outlet of articulates, is this solemn, surreal site.
Many minds, and many more, shall glow beneath its light.
Yet sadly for myself I've found, the holes within it all,
and now no longer does my heart, answer to its call.
Goodbye poetry, and thank you always; you deserve all you achieve-
Thank you for giving us a place
to share what we believe.
I will say hello to you, and glow with all again someday,
But for now I say goodbye- as I go on my own way.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
Being male, I wander
Mom dares not wonder
What kind of monsters she birthed
She brought her own equipment
I was aggressive but shy
Her womb is the most magnificent
Temple I’ve ever visited
There is nowhere else I want to be
Sister insisted
I stiffened then gave in
Children tease, squeal, scamper
Adults know unspeakable reality
Dizziness of first love
Mayhem, ******
Solemn whisper of infinity
After an uncertain age,
No one wants you anymore
Old women bond
Confer their anger
Old men tread alone
She knew from moment he laid eyes on her, she had him. She wore no make-up, anemic complexion, chin and jawline slightly broken out with red spots, cobalt blue irises, aquiline nose, hair dyed dark, fuzz-balled scarf, light blue fluffy sweater, big buttons, canvas shoulder bag, skinny jeans, leather boots, little boney black dog with ashen appointments. Instantly he fell in love. He confessed, “Your Chinese Crested pup stole my heart.”
In *********** position, neither lover sees other’s face. The top sees backside. The bottom sees what? He didn’t know.
She unlocks the door. He enters room. She tells him what to do, making demands. He follows her orders. She questions, “Why do we dance to these tunes?” He answers, “I want to smell your smells, **** drink your darkest juices.” She articulates, “Stay,” then kisses him goodbye. She wakes wearing his ring, around her neck. They are each other’s slaves. Ceiling leaks, floor creaks, light beams through window as they waltz arm in arm.
She demands, “I want roast rack of lamb, or thinly sliced Serrano ham on buttered toast for dinner. And then I want to go home alone. I need some down time, away from you. I don’t belong to you, ********* Deep in financial debt, he hands the waiter his debit card.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
I want to paint a picture with words
So you can see what I see.
Let you see all of the art work
That hides here inside me.
The darks and the lights that glisten
I want to share colors and shapes
And the music, so you can listen.
They make up my internal landscape.
My canvas is time, sight and sound
And the aromas of my world.
I want you to see the way the smoke
And all the clouds get curled.
The hills and the valleys have views
That make you want to be there.
The trees and the flowers delight;
All inside my memories somewhere.
The stories would keep you transfixed,
And the people, creatures of fascination
Would make you laugh or maybe cry
If you could only see my imagination.
I am using rhyme and meter to depict
As the artist in me articulates dismay
That these simple words must transmit
As I can only tell you about it this way.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 11:39 PM UTC
Meet the Whisperer....
(Oh, and you will want to, promise :)
1.
He can shape and mould
To aught pleasure he desires.
When he calls them at will
Supple compliance at his command.
Yes, they come like twitching magnets
Real easy beck and call.
Such happy slaves are they
Very few recalcitrant ones.
He twists and trims their sides
Makes them kneel before his want.
He will harness their might
Bend them sweetly to his gratifix.
Perchance, skittish on occasion
Yet they serve their master well.
They can spread to furthest capacity
Turning dried veracity into well-loved fable.
He whips them to submission
Insanely alive, they need birth certificates!
Yet tenderly, he caresses, explores
Renders dramatic echoes in outrageous lore.
2.
They melt like marvelous putty, toffee in deft hands
Makes them caress YOU sensuous, everywhere...
They reach deep, tap in and touch your core
Delight or thrill....or equally meet your mind.
Yes, they can stick you with bruising truth
Move you, or bring you to your knees....
They can furnish context with telling content
And with stunning detail, woo the sox off thee :-p
He articulates every brief encounter
With sage and timeless passion.
Molten liquid drips from his entrancing tip
In gilt carriages headed your way....
When the whisperer appears, best be ready
To receive what he may see fit to flay on you!
If that's too tall an order, it amounts to
Clipped wings, falling sadly short of flight.
Be willing to taste that mesmerising lilt
Indebted you'll be to the lack of crude reality.
Oh, reader...retire not spirit of droll mind
Revel eager in rich spark for riveting trips.
Yes, he is the one, your...
One and only word-whisperer.
(Enchante, cher lecteur :)
bows
Star Toucher, 28 March 2013
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
when he looked at a woman he searched for qualities that attracted him because he wanted to desire her yet this tendency created an imbalance or disadvantage he was rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealized self-realizing this propensity he looked away from women years of disappointment neglect changed him he became afraid of women gynophobic
when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness
he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about the future she looks at her face naked body in the mirror her stomach churns feels a sad sickening remembers a time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of the other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go
he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
We have a brownstone townhouse kind of love
The kind that we can cover with the murals of our madness
With the paint of our perfection
That's built on the floorboards of our expectations
The number always changes but the people never seem to
I would like our love
To not be measures in square feet,
But with the creeping doors and narrow staircases.
The closets stopped hiding the things we asked them to
And my skeletons lay sprawled
All hip bones
Vertebrae
and rib cages
What has become of me?
I asked myself
and your look said unfamiliarity
and an animosity
Which I never thought possible.
Your smile spelt out greed
And your vocal chords never articulates the syllables I wanted them to.
You used me.
An I fell for it.
Is love just muscle memory?
Are we all just reacting the same way we did the first time?
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 5:49 AM UTC
creates our universe
our gods
makes armies clash
defines our world
always again and new
names everything
we then can talk about
lets politicians sound as if
they were our saviors
lends voice to protests
also well-phrased obedience
articulates all complicated laws
and sometimes even makes them clear
makes us hate people
or fall crazily in love with them
more difficult, it seems,
is to find words for our hearts and souls
how to express your love
appropriate to the occasion
or to describe a painting by Degas,
Rubens, Kokoschka, Michelangelo,
the impact of a symphony
or a performance on the drama stage
to catch the words for what we feel
is much more difficult
than to imagine those for what we see
it is the poets’ challenge to give shape
to all the hopes, loves, fears, and phantasies
in our lives
so we can make the power of the word
the power of the world
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
evening alights, finding love
assailing poetry's tongue;
kissing parchment's fragility
fluent in dark of night, resonating
deep within her heart
and...
curlicues of light stream in
facets; shone upon her soul
as whispers beckon in song;
twining body and mind in things
unforgotten, eyes bedazzled
in poetic grace
fore...
love prevails in the wisp of
time; leaving heart to vibrate,
as he articulates to an open
heart, breathing her space;
tracing the poetic beauty of
her face
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
a faded picture
consumed by hopes
softly entrusted
to the wind
a music
far and slight
played by a record
scratched by dust
and time
as the weight of your naked body
over mine
it is now the oppression on my chest
for the lack of who
should touch it
as the beating of your heart
under my face
rubbed on your skin
rough and hot
it is now the arid ticking
of a clock
that relentlessly articulates
the minutes of our us
without you
as your scent
harsh and intense in my coilings
in my flesh
it is now the salty smell of my tears
impregnated into a pillow
cold and crushed
by the weight of my desolation
as the strength of your back
who supported my weakness
it is hard today
the regrets wall against which I slam
to escape from the fog
as your sweet whispers
slipped on my skin
in my hair
it is now icy and lonely
the breath of the night
that invests me with its petty hissing
as your soft caresses
that insinuated into my expectations
burned by your touch
it is now violent the hassle
of a crumpled sheet
that brushes me
wilted and warm
of an unknown heat
my eyes closed
I meander
lost and exiled
in thoughts imprisoned
in the pages of a diary
tattooed on my skin
until the penultimate page
and then again from the first
in a circle
vicious and delicious
of passion and love and obsession
who lives and relives
until the dawn of a sunset
that should never get
until a last page
deleted
don’t read the end
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC
Some may see
me as a writer;
a person who
spins words and
articulates emtotions.
But I'm not sure if
I see myself as
anything more than
a subtle manipulator.
I'll take a feeling
and it will become
a paragraph you can
see beyond farsightedness.
I'm not a seer, but God
help me if I've been
looking for my place
in the world. I'd like to
think that there is more
to my life than the
words I choose.
I've written dozens
of short stories,
and hundreds of poems.
Some say that there is
a novel within us all,
and I'm sure there is,
but that's not what I'm
after. What I'm looking
for is not a snap of the
fingers. Or a bulb
to flash. Not even a
seed to grow. What I
want is a teardrop
that falls in a lake
and creates a ripple
effect that slowly
spreads out. I want
a snowflake to hit
my tongue and not
dissolve from the heat.
Instead what I have
to give is a left hand
pushing a ball point
into paper, disrupting
the flow of the ink.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
In the silence of my heart I feel this flowering;
budding with every whisper against my soul,
calling; enwrapping me within his ambrosia
as each silken petal brushes against softness,
I bow demurely into his maleness.
Looking out upon the horizon; I glimpse our
silhouettes entwined in the midst of golden
rays, haloed as his lips partake in loves
sweetest nectar and his tongue articulates
in heated breaths, I linger in its aftertaste.
Adoring the twinkle in his eyes as they take
in the beauty of my flowering chasm, awaiting
its calyx approach; slowly impinging in its
fragrance, savoring; hovering and dipping as a
honeybee suckles nectar.
I tremble like a softly blown breeze in his wake;
as his hands glide upon my countenance,
teasing each contoured petal; placing me gently
upon our flowered bed of strewn petals;
languishing in his arms as each whisper hums,
delighting in passion's rose.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
From the bottom up;
Through the physical differences
That both separate us
And allow us to join;
And through that which marks
Where once we were joined with our Mother,
From which separation,
We shall know our anger;
And through that which beats
At intervals that parallel the cycles of the Universe,
And so makes us one;
Then through that which speaks,
And so, through renouncement, articulates
That which is known;
Unto that which beholds the image of God,
Or that which cannot be known:
Whereby this coiled up energy
Emerges through contemplation
Of all that we embrace, and
All that we release.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
A beautiful soul
who breathes compassion
and
articulates like Sylvia
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
every Love poem I write feels like a suicide note, as I let a part of me find another home.
love articulates a passionate soul caged in my ribs
wrestling with every beat to break free.
Some say if U love a flower don't pick it coz it will die, so I planted mine next to yours.
for the roots to meet beneath the Earth's surface.
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
The **** crowed once…
He enters my store
nervously, cautiously examining
the merchandise on the shelves.
At least two decades
stretch between style and his clothes—
His wife follows demurely,
her feed sack dress presents
hand stitching, beautifully done,
to even my unqualified eye.
And then he speaks:
Hi
followed by presentation of an item
clearly worthless to my trained eye.
We’d like to talk to someone
about selling this please?
Procedure grants
no empathy, just rejection.
Business is for profit, after all.
And softly, sadly as they leave,
he articulates their purpose:
We just needed something for groceries.
My chest tightens.
I did not grant them reprieve.
The **** crowed twice…
The lady approaches:
black skin, blue jeans
dingy
shirt and hair in disarray.
I look away.
Insistently she speaks,
Sir, can I help you
load those bags?
What's the angle?
A few dollars is all I ask.
I’m-sorry-the-task-
is-done,
(though clearly I’ve just begun)
My children wait in the car;
I can hear them playing,
when next she speaks:
My kids are hungry.
My heart skips at the quivering lips
before me.
She walks away unfulfilled.
I await the third sounding.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those *** pill
born south of the border pooped and ******
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle ******* ranked big hest
catch also including ***** prize,
as you correctly guessed.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
Somebody wrote for me
A brilliant work of art;
His poetry
The words came from his heart; blue abyss
Validation of greatness
Authentically cautious
Because he actually meant it
Then, now and When; was Sighted and Referenced
Epitome of a promise
His mind a weapon;
Logic
Look how I done him
His love is diamonds;
Ultimate
Articulates yet also shown
I will remain loyal to him and him alone.
Otherwise,
I'll stay a lifetime behind
my way
As he's forced to see me decay
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
~ just the short list.
Her words, her voice,
the way she articulates
her soul's depths.
Creativity, curiosity,
the things she needs to know.
Smiles and giggles,
a vivid sense of humor.
A mind that devours
what it needs to grow.
Jeans and T-shirts;
sundresses and sandals.
That she appreciates
what it means to be naked
and doesn't flinch.
The desire to touch
and to be touched, often.
The way she can
walk into any room
and fill it up with light.
The mystery of why
she chose me.
Her sense of possibility.
The way she is content
with just who she is.
~mce
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Quivering insecurities scuttle between her teeth
and a desire erupts
as each and every detail that articulates her life
flows through to him
and with this passage she receives a sense of belonging
a false guarantee that he will cherish
her flaws
and love her
endlessly.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
DIGESTION
When the temperature is raised
Particles gain kinetic energy
And collide at a greater frequency.
The more particles that collide
The chances of a reaction occurring increases.
How many times have elbows rubbed
In hallways, no matter how crowded
Yet nothing happens,
Nothing precipitates,
Not even a cough
Or a wandering shot
From the corner of their eyes.
People pass
By or away
And yet hallways are still full;
Full of thoughts of other people
Full of longing
Full of the people who are missing.
USE OF ELECTROLYTE
The addition of an electrolyte
Reduces the coulombic repulsion
Produced by a solution’s ionic atmosphere;
An electrolyte allows ions to interact more freely.
A full bus is void of tension.
A stranger who writes letters everyday,
But crumples the paper before finishing
Is completed by the person
Who eagerly awaits a text on their phone.
A person with a bouquet of flowers
Catches the eye of someone lost in thought.
So many people who compliment one another,
Or an other,
Sit idly on a moving bus
Separated only by people
Who, too, are separated from their second piece.
You meet such people everyday
Who could have been,
Yet are not.
CO-PRECIPITATION
Something that is generally avoided.
An impurity that co-precipitates with the product
Can cause an overestimation of analyte.
Impurities can be caught within
The crystal lattice structure of the compound
Or trapped inside a growing crystal.
It may be hard to understand
Such thoughts still seem foreign
But I, too, have things that I remember dearly.
They are wrapped up with
Lists of groceries, and formulas
About distance and its relation to
Speed and its change over time.
It is all just things that have
Come to pass.
Such memories are hard to keep
When there is only one who articulates them,
But I am sure
Perhaps years from now
You’ll catch yourself thinking
For a split second
And then go about your day.
PEPTIZATION
The breaking up of precipitate
Due the loss of electrolyte
Which strengthens the ionic atmosphere
Around the analyte.
In line at a bus stop
A glimpse is caught
Of the oncoming bus
And people shuffle
As the line moves up.
Never again
Can the same people
Line up the same way
For the same bus
We are too fragile
To construct ourselves in such a way
Where we can meet again.
Fate is too frail
Someone must leave
Leaves must fall
But someone always stays.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
In this world we come in contact with many people
But there are some
With the artistry of language
There is a kind of humor that only a wordsmith articulates
A kind of intimacy that only a metaphor can tell
A type of eroticism that the presence of its descriptors
Elicit transcendent flames
And the absence of its poetry leaves it ordinary
And there is something about those people who live instinctively
Knowing that their choice of words can
Capture an experience
Encompass an emotion
Bring it to life and let it fascinate
And those people are my starlight
My still night and moon
Those people are my sunlight
My energy and ocean
They breathe me
Feed me
Surge through me
And identify me
And I am drawn to them
By something bigger than myself, inevitably, we see into one another
Understanding the life within the bonding
Is wordless
But would not exist otherwise.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
Distance,
A wonderful craftsman indeed
Upon fate’s request,
Dutiful as always.
Articulates time,
By seconds he fixes hours,
By hours he polishes days,
By days he rewrites years.
For it’s own amusement?
Perhaps, fascinated of
Time’s spontaneous remedies
For the heartsick.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC
I hear a drum beat from afar
It articulates the things I can't explain
Pent up angst, a passive-rebellious heart
It keeps me from going insane
But i can still hear it
Does that mean I'm insane
And I now and I can see it
The musical quirk that launches my
Reign
I can hear the harmony
The joyous accompany my strain
The words seem to escape me
But they sing inside my brain
Cause I can still hear you
You scream for me to ignore the rain
I'm starting to fear you
Cos you might launch me to that plane
Oh why
Can't I let you free?
Because
This forgettable melody
Is the
Reason I pause between sleep
That hope
I'm scared I'll no longer keep
I can see it now
The things that ties me to this place
If I escape it, how
Will I ever look at my face
I don't want to hear you
You want me to follow my dreams
Unless they don't suit you
Cos it's all about you
I can't run from you
Please let me run from you
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC