"bergs" poems
maple-cured, smoked, rawhide hands,
tarantula hands bulldozing rice onto
tines like an icebreaker ramming through
glacial bergs, Holly
Golightly on the tv, on
mute, and oh those hips,
that figure, in that black dress,
banana hands cracking Alaskan king
crablegs and ******* the juice and eating
the meat, legs spindly and hairy
and soaked in butter, dripping,
liver cooking, roasting, sloshed on gin,
cribbage board patinaed
in dust, he eats his liver, downs
another gin, cracks another leg, crab
hair caught in his teeth, Holly talking about
getting the mean reds but he can’t
hear it, his luck run out,
his luck a prize from a box of ******* Jack,
and the snarling throb in his head,
cinderblock face, cinderblock house,
3-day-stubble, has he had enough (to drink)?
not by the stubble of his
chinny-chin-chin,
liver is gone, crab is gone,
so he eats the eyes,
dowsing his ******* Jacks
in gin, yesterday wine-in-a-box
and Cheez-Whiz, sprayed right into his
unbrushed maw, a one-person wine-
and-cheese fête classy as it gets,
he’s Mister High Society,
Cheez-Whiz crust in his stubble,
and a cinderblock CRASHES to the floor and it’s
lights out, and Holly, still no one
to hear her, saying
she’ll never let anyone put her in a cage.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Lucid dreaming, I sit
in a downtown lounge,
swirling ice in my drink, listening
to tiny 'bergs creaking and cracking.
I raise the glass to my lips and
imagine the taste of Shackleton's whisky, after those
100 years in Antarctic ice, assimilating a tinge of penguin, a pinch of
blubber, the turbulence of the sea, the still of the frozen mountains across the tundra, the desolation, the tenacity of survival, the bitter numbing cold, mixed in with
the warm peaty oaken goodness of Scotland at the other end
of the world.
Through the soles of my boots I sense the
thin surface tension keeping my body, the table and chairs
from plunging into the frozen deep that
lurks somewhere beneath the Lower East Side, black and still,
waiting
waiting.
The band starts up in the
next room.
A curtain parts and a blast of brass escapes, a great honking
sound that
reverberates in a molar,
before
a female voice lifts me from my chair, drawing me toward
the source.
Pushing across the floor like Nureyev on ice, I slide deftly between amorous
couples, skirt the co-ed queue at the toilets, dodge the woman at the curtain collecting the cover charge, nod at my pal the bouncer returning to his post and finally
glide/float/fly through the velvet drapery,
focused on the rising soprano.
It's just a dream, I think. Why pay cover?
*Ode to the Living Room
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
The sea's grown calm,
Just two days out,
Finally,
The ice is in our wake,
We're thinking of a
Run ashore,
We've earned it,
Six days through
The sea smoke,
Fog,
Ice bergs,
Bergy bits,
Growlers,
All the usual debris
Of travel in these parts,
Now the only debris,
Pods of whales,
Folks pay to see them,
We get paid to see 'em,
Sort of,
It's been a long cruise,
But still,
We are getting paid,
In the morning,
We'll give the ship
A bath,
And get ready for
A real reward,
There's got to be
Some reward,
For vigilance,
And boredom
All across the pond,
And there is a reward,
There'll be Newfie merchants
On the jetty,
Bringing to us,
Barrels of...
Lobsters,
They don't have much,
In Newfie Land,
But lobsters they've got,
An over supply,
We'll bring 'em home,
Steamed and frozen,
Ready to eat,
And while we're here,
Perhaps a little beer,
A reward for not hitting
A single whale,
Let's keep the Navigator sober,
Insurance that he miss
Sable Island,
On the next leg south,
After all,
It's the last leg home.
And so,
St. John's,
Not a garden spot,
But good enough,
To be the last stop.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 10:36 PM UTC
i sit still at the Streaks of light that pass above my eyefull head through the atmosphere at the poles where the radium lit aurora meanders through the crystal clear sky(cloudless) sometimes as when the sun sinks in behind the skimmed cream ice bergs or when the moon puts on its armour of silver.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
The moon hangs above me
beclouded
A pupil behind a milky cataract
He knows night's words
When he tells me them my
eyes roll to whites
My succubus drapes herself
over me
Her snakehair is such a mess
They tell me love's words while
biting at her *******
That woman is there in the
window again
black backlit cutout
by yellow light so nicely framed
She dances without moving
I throw a rock at her window,
and she stays motionless
I flee terrified
The winter forest draws snug
its blanket
snow unspoiled by track or trail
My breath is smoke on the air
The wastelands burn about me
bergs of ***** bone
They tell me of secret grottos
in cool underground
wherein water
drip
drip
drips
onto tombstones forever muted
My longing lips crack and bleed
My sunblind eyes drift skyward
I scream for the vulture
my friend
to fly me down there
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
I'll sway and I'll swim in the sea of your heart.
Then dive deep into that dark hidden part.
Where the treasures have gathered over the years.
Your passion and desire stored under your fears.
This sea held the terrors and struggles you faced in your days.
Then drowned them under piles of rough waves.
Keeping your world in the storm on the sea.
You protect your waters with ice bergs and the navy.
But I swayed with your current and came in with the tide.
Rested on your shore then took on your stride.
The sea in your heart cleansed my soul free.
I held my breath but your sea allowed me to breath.
Under the raging waters I saw the life that you hid.
It was beautiful and precious but to others you forbid.
Slowly the storms cleared and the sun began to shine.
I belonged in your sea and your sea was all mine.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
Dawn echos
baby blue to eternity.
Brilliant white bergs of foamy mist....
....pulled in an invisible current..
Drifting in as one and out as another...
In a brisk, cool wave of sweeping freshness.
Up in my left periphial view a semi circle of gray...
dissipates into powder blue.
Simontaniously a vision...
over my right sholder,
a magnificant orb of intense illuminousness...
peeks up and over the horizon,
reaching and accending. Casting rays of clarity
and perfection. And radiating warmth that catches
in the breeze and softly lands upon my skin.
It says to me,"Good Morning!"
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Morning twilight beams up high
with package of promises
Breaks through black bergs of the sky without fatigue or recesses
Fresh and young green nature's life
an energetic living
Stands ***** purple loosestrife
menthol hypnotic giving
Sparkling dews of diamonds dance
on buds and flower-petals
Emerald spread in lawn o' romance
continuing chronicles
Birds in their own charming voice
Rings in my ears a tune
They do sing in a chirping noise
A dream not to leave soon
I breathe in deep the soft cool air,
That cools me in, as it goes.
Feel like fulfilled The Lord's Prayer
And what and what, who knows?
The grass filled with morning dews
Sparkling diamonds on ground,
Touches my feet livens me anew,
happiness and joy unbound.
Oh dear nature! Lovely and nice!
For all you render, there's no price.
Full of patterns of joy and glory.
Keep dawning in our lives, with your new story.
S. A. Marshal
30.12.2007
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 10:44 PM UTC
I remember when this world was formed.
I danced with the sun and you danced with the moon
and the stars danced around this newborn
celebrating her beauty and magnificence.
The sun glowed through my skin
projecting streams onto the Himalayas.
The red became blue and pure
as the dusty water creeped
through granite ledges and Crushed ice-bergs.
Our hair soaked with dew glided with the wind
and planted into the earth spreading our life
your beauty and my strength.
The song you sang made beings rise from clay to hear your wonder.
I remember your sorrow when the killing began,
my rage was a desease infecting them with blood lust.
That terrified time your cancer formed from thier smoke,
their hatred, their hardness.
Were the tears for them for me too?
The offspring I tainted with sorrow?
Tommorow I will burn them with vengeance for my guilt,
I will ******* them and remove thier sustainence!
Stay my hand my love,
I still love my broken children.
Soothe me with your music
may we be happy once again.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
Trailers don't give away the entire plot.
I've been watching for years
As an active actor
In various melodramas.
The good guy is clean shaven
Beneath the lather,
Emotes empathy,
And never snickers.
A straight shooter.
The other guy needs a blade
As cutting as sarcasm,
And aims when you turn.
Then there's re-runs
Whose endings never change.
The prophet gets arrested.
Tara burns. Ice bergs floe.
I am under Lowry's volcanoe,
Or leaving Las Vegas.
28 Days is only two hours
Of wine and roses.
The trailers just reveal enough
To give me hope.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
One frigid day
when I was finally feeling warm
on this side of the dreaded Capricorn..
I invoked the paintbrush of manifest
painting the skies blue from east to west…
Taking the hammer of eternal unknowns
I chipped away the cold winds blown…
Pick axed the frozen bergs distractions
salted my path for better traction..
Let the spring come early this year!
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 8:33 AM UTC
Pitch of morning agony and music of blue evolution
passing day blowing up against dam before lunch my love, ha!
feed me that
in that hour and i’ll be ready-
for every onslaught to slop its remains
on my face as it disappears
give me just that one lunch where i can
get ****** on by london by straight and complex water
and feel at home, and we’ll have no hell with
my small life, i’ll connect my eyes with yours
and listen to everyone of your beats, even though
i prefer to be dancing chin dug into collar
striking, its all good-
gimme your hand and we’ll chance it my dear, wheels
and quiet road gripping, and we walk fast home
as it storms and shines and the worlds smile private to us
sliding away up on still elevator with all the imaginations of advertisements not important-
we’re drenched and it’s good
a thousand hawks come and it’s good
and who ever made those walls was a genius, he knew
that in time there would be people painting and ******* them
down
we’re canvases warped
brought forward
by those before us who used their own flesh
to threaten the darkness
and that shape is perfect if you’re lucky
and the coyotes dance disobediently
when you try and stop them
we’re shaped by the face we sleep beside
know it inside its bleeding parts
know it so thoroughly that it kills you whilst living
bleeding into the rest giving life
And that
one
will not be your name or what you know
ice bergs grow covering every motor part for miles
unable to lick under their own white grills
forgetting
that we’re all on fire-
and the meteorites will do the same
and play the kind of deadly songs
that bring us close.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
With everything how it is, as it is
Now it is how you wanted it to be
I'm at a loss as to what my choices are
A creation of unnessasary confusion
Over an unimportant arguement
With nowhere to go, neither forward
Nor backwards is the right way to go
A broken relation, deflated elation
My shattered hope, crushed beneath
Your petty ego, with your spiteful persona
Keep it up you deceptive wicked witch
You won't get very far, with sizable anger
I'll scream in your face, till blue rains down
Everything is ruined, you still wear your rusted crown
It will fall and so will you, neither king nor queen
By your side, hateful glares force me away
Outside the wind blows cold, colder than
Your frozen, frosted heart, icy mists drift
A sharp nail, with a tear and rip, red flows
Freely I breathe, but only now does it count
Our now fragmented family, lies in ruins
A small hammer is all that it'll take
To fix this broken phase, an opposite
Not doing its job, breaking down the walls
Rubble underfoot, crushed harshly like
Icy dry wastes, with cracked bergs
And freezing lies, cold winds blow
No protection from your frozen fury
Nothing to do now but cease and desist
Honest to god, nothing is worth it anymore
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
On the I C,
I C,
I C Bergs.
Their splendour
Leaves me
Lost for wergs.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
Strangled by darkness.
It's eating us up.
Like a huge tooth monster.
The enamel on it's teeth are glowing at them.
In tones of bright red.
Scarlet maybe.
Wages of sin are death and they're dying.
It's Wednesday.
There are no sparkles.
Flat lights and flood lights.
Walking on water, cruising the pitch.
Only ice bergs we see.
We see them, they're melting.
They're wasting away.
The blades they are sharper.
Switch blades that flip.
A ripping yarn in the outhouses and barns.
Garden sheds and hoes.
Pretty maids, standing in rows, as if in nursery rhymes.
Melting ice bergs.
A sign of the times.
(c)Livvi
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
i still preferred Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kije Romance piece.
i get those nights, drink and write very little,
make it all haiku, enjoy songs and recite
the shrinking of ice cubes in a glass akin to bergs,
and i'm innocent once more
peering into your eyes not bothering to note
something down, and that's when i get my life
back, as i'd like to have imagined it,
i mean it, i get my life back,
i'm not reduced to these caterpillar
and cockroach quirks
readied for a blank stare
of the random passer-by,
i'm there, in the bed, with you,
staring right into you,
not some random on the pavement
watching for fame as if looking
for a photo-booth opportunity
with that inverse leash and dog-collar
of the selfie stick - i.e. walk the dog
spot a celebrity, sounds about the same,
and then there's me in a drunk tag-along tango
prancing past pedestrians on the millennium bridge
from tate modern to st. paul's
with a can of beer in public...
ashen hive and the honey just drips from the eyes
of strangers for the lost chance of a fifteen minute
interlude of shared coffee and
hobnobs, then past the east end and
into taboo territory of essex lasses:
ménage à trois oranges.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
You,
Your my favorite part of the day,
The way your hair falls down your face
Like oceans flowing across ice bergs
Your smile,
Beautiful like the crescent moon in the sky,
Bringing brightness to my soul as
I gaze upon your beauty.
Too bad,
You stabbed me in the chest
With your words of hate, and deceit
For you,
You were so beautiful
That crescent moon in the sky,
Has disappeared
And all i see,
Is dark
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
Stepping on carpet
(climbing onto rock)
We stare at screen
(I cast my spell...)
I CAN conquer man's demise.
Touchdowns
convert to gazing into the scripts of our souls.
Stagnant and somber,
you are inches away
I am in floating in space
I sit on couch
(or sitting on active volcano?)
and stare at blank walls
(or cotton candy sunsets?)
And I grab your hand
and we float out the window
(much like Peter Pan and Wendy)
and we are Icelandic campers
we are North African monkeys grooming each other
we are Alaskan sibling salmon, swimming to the exact spot our eggs once resided
always against current
teasing the brown bear
we are slipping penguins
the sea lions watch our transition
from awkward wobbling
to graceful gliding
figure eighting
between icebergs
We have so much energy that the gulls
might bet on us melting the bergs
we are gas and light and air and water and mother moon
we are so much more than this cancerous room
I know it. You know it.
Instead we groan at fumbles
and pile plates high with lays potato chips
layered grief stuck between tongue and cheek
Goodbye my dear friend.
I know you heard me.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
In one year,
I've wandered around like the seasons,
in search of a place to let my scars
turn golden.
My blood has freezed, and now
I'm carrying ice-bergs in my tired veins.
I am a product of fog and dust,
slowly becoming invisible
and unsettling.
Not even the moon could reach out to me
anymore,
for I've sunk so deep into darkness,
its light would die here.
There's a different king of living in this land,
all marked by agony and madness,
and grim laughs that terrorize human souls,
whispers that play with their minds.
I've reached the end,
the cruel end,
and now,
there's nowhere to go.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
Brighter than the stars at night
Nature is colour, the vastness of space,
The roll of the thunder, the streams gentle waves.
Goodbye fellow being, be gone to the lost.
Cut down by life, we are still counting the cost,
And we may never know what we could have had together,
But as I stare into the Heaven’s, all I can think about is the weather
And the seas that rise and the ice bergs that fall.
Goodbye fellow being; goodbye to you all.
Man has been here and left his footprint forever.
Forever changed is this land, crushed beneath tire like a feather,
That no longer flies on the wings of a dove.
Goodbye fellow being.
Goodbye to the love.
Goodbye to this place that we like to call ours.
Goodbye to the planet and hello to the stars.
I am waving a little early, but there is no past.
It is all gone. This little light is lost, to being out last.
Along pavements and roads to nowhere, I have walked with them all;
That is why I can only stare at the floor
And hope to see through, but this city gives me no view.
Just architecture, nature, Circle of Life has a puncture.
And we are at a junction…Do we choose right?
I can no longer see the stars through the city lights...
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 2:10 PM UTC
Cold was the night
As I sit by the floor.
Thinking of Love
In every living soul.
The floors were cracked
The walls were faded
And the ceiling was..
It was crumbling.
The crippled night
Of darkness and fog.
The ember rays
Shone by the ignited light.
Is it the same with
Love?
Isn't love the sweetest
Laughter of the one
You cherish the most?
Isn't it the girl
You stare at discreetly
Wishing to be
A part of her very soul?
Isn't love cruel?
Cruel enough to
Make you feel awful
Make you feel betrayed
Bewildered!
Make you feel afraid
And even make you
Feel the worst feeling..
The feeling of being
Left behind... ALONE.
Is it me? Or is it her?
Those moments
Happiness...
Sadness..
Success..
Confusion.. All that
Spent with her.
Were tossed aside
CRUMPLED
like a sheet of paper
Drawn with
a beautiful flower
But discarded
Because of
one
Simple
FLAW.
It weathered.
Was it because
Both of us grew cold
Of each other?
Like the polar
Ice caps
Melting
Making several floating
Ice bergs.
I found it
Nostalgic.
But the view of
A clear blue
Sky
A scenery I
Can't, reluctantly,
Ignore.
No matter how cold
Or hot the fiery city
Filled with passion
That I
Myself thought
Is worth taking the risk.
Love? Since when
Did I encountered
Such word?
It was probably,
A long
Time ago.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Bibliophiles have there libraries
***** feeders have there dens
Vincent had his paint brushes
while authors feed their pens
Churches have there story tellers
To them it's about good and bad
Asylums holding straight jackets
For people who are totally mad
The armies train people to ****
politicians yearn to become a Lord
Tower of London has it guards
My chess set has lost its board.
Doctor Jekyll needed mr Hyde
While ice bergs feel the cold
My poor old grandad needed a wig
Cause he was completly bald
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
we're alike, in many features, they said
but only the two of us understood that
we're standing in different bergs of ice
we enjoy paddling closer to each other
but sometimes the ice water feels so cold
and seeing other stops
weakens another
in the end
we both frozen
and it hurts
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC