"bevel" poems
Caught -- the bubble
in the spirit level,
a creature divided;
and the compass needle
wobbling and wavering,
undecided.
Freed -- the broken
thermometer's mercury
running away;
and the rainbow-bird
from the narrow bevel
of the empty mirror,
flying wherever
it feels like, gay!
6.7k
Out across the distance,
they'll be knotting up loose ends
and taking names from strangers
like suggestions, fading into
sunrise friendships
Waiting room.
A dreary day.
Silence couched
in thumb-smeared detail
What they found
was fresh enough
to stop the gap
between smudged-out Fridays
To remove their ceilings.
To rip off old, dead scabs.
Listen, now, I'm not angry,
I only need some air.
I've bloodied hands against these walls
and I'm done doing all of my dying here
So pick me up at 9.
Let me leak into the night
and help me saw through my tethering lines.
Here in this apartment,
sit and simmer in the dark
and bevel out the edges
of a batch of nights 'til this one's
dulled out, hand-safe.
Waiting room.
An Autumn night
swiftly rose
beyond these four walls.
All I've got
are window panes
to lean my arms
and glance out at rainfall.
As it falls asleep and
snow flakes drop like old scabs
Listen, pal, I'm just hungry;
d'ya wanna grab a beer?
I've made fast friends with these four walls
but I'm done doing all of my dying here
Let me out into the night,
where the weather can't decide--
--between cold rain
and lazy, half-assed snow.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
’Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
Not by our feeling, but by others’ seeing.
For why should others’ false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own.
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel.
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown,
Unless this general evil they maintain:
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
1.6k
A most deceiving mask
A coiled contemplation
A look of despair and woe
The grimace of pain
The coming of rain
The stubbing of a toe
My sweet love
I am ready to confess to every sin
The rumbling of the gut
The raising of the ****
The flatulence's raucous din
But lo!
This is not a measly prairie wind
That passes lazily through the tall grass
This is a grinning of the devil
A demon's carefully constructed bevel
A hell fire that rips from your ***
From what I thought was my own fault
To cause you such a look
Twas' a stalk of broccoli
A sprout of Brussels
A miscalculation by the cook
So white knuckle my dear
Hold tight for life
As your intestines come trembling out
Whatever you ate
My succulent date
Is making your **** shout
But bless the heavens
And all that is eternal
That this has come to pass
What I thought was the end
The loss of my friend
Was just a spot of gas.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
Thoughts never left unfelt;
words never left unthought,
torturing the mind they cannot escape.
Illusive, yet demanding to be spoken.
Breaking, hiding, running at impossible speed
in fear of the coming storm.
The syllables are sprinting
while utterances bevel behind boarded windows
The mind turned against itself;
feelings turned against their maker,
while the dark rains, drowning rains, are pouring.
The intracranial hurricane forces itself through the ruins.
Treacherous, turbulent storm a’brewing
Discolored and tornadoing
through the mind’s hills and valleys.
Unorganized and unrelenting.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
Ice arcs through the air
like solid lightning.
The large bolts strike with a rumble
and clatter to rest
where they gleam with bravado
at the dispirited winter sun.
The small bolts explode
with a skittering hiss
and trickle down between the bricks,
prodigal drops returning to the watertable.
Cast out from its plastic host,
the ice bears grooved testimony to their symbiosis,
but this testimony concedes to the crafting thaw
a bevel smoother than a human hand could fashion.
Some ice lies clustered on the brick paving
like terra incognita wrought on a vellum map
by the feverish imagination of an Olde World explorer.
Some lies scattered among the purple and white alyssum
in imitation of a Tyrolean spring.
As a breeze releases
the olfactory history of myriad fridge dwellers,
a cloth rings over a wire tray
in a crude arpeggio which segues into
the basso profundo of the resurrection hum.
The cycle begins anew.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
there is good in all,
woman and man to a fault,
(the only bad came the result of a fall from grace)
being a woman does
not disqualify you from
a man's work,
men take note,
say with me by rote,
'I must stop being a ****
(chauvinisima)
take my love to the next level
measure it against the bevel of the Platonic
lust is a bust, then there is love, gimme agape
every time after a time,
and after a while you might under-
stand beauty...real beauty...really understand,
take as much time as you need,
you need this time...to understand the sublime.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Structure is build on structure
measured feet on how we eat
what we hear should leave no doubt
air, and time, are running out
if we would free words from their prison
we must first smash this capitalism.
Make it New! Renew! Remove the muck of ages!
This can not be done in stages
Everyone lives in a pretty now town
Where stairs go up as well as down
And warp, corkscrew, and bevel,
and lead us to another level.
“Lead?!” without a doubt,
but something else could lead you out!
To be ******
Reading poetry
Eating bulger
Planting trees
Loving one another
And changing bulbs
Is not the way to stop
The world from getting hot.
The need for exploitation
decides the limits of the law -
the structure’s built, and truth:
you can’t declaw a tiger claw by claw.
Since the banishment since
We lost the battle for apples
(appropriated from HIS tree)
Food comes first, then
Shelter,
Later love,
And poetry.
Before food there’s
drink, before
drink, breathing;
before surplus and
production, verse.
Good bye, you’re getting worse...
I’m glad. Sea Ewe on the barricades of sequence the barracudas of non-sequiters the band-aids of sequins and glitter -- a dozen Molotov cocktails -- please!
Appropriation, making language strange,
eschewing polemics, being deranged,
fine for academics with tenured chairs of lead
and nothing clear left in their heads.
Structure is built on
on structure, and
can be re-built
on on sand.
I hear the wingèd chariot,
and must go organize
the proletariat.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
they don't ask questions
they act there and then
guns on the streets
randomly blasting away
ever poised to cut short a life
with a ruling spray
guns misdirected
not utilized with forethought
causing the Afro American community to feel
like it registers a naught
the leveling bevel
of justice not seen
control is in the hands of cops
with bullets so keen
on the streets a disquiet grows
black youths given little of no chance
by the men in uniform
who call the dance
they mow them down
they take lives away
which leaves on the streets
a saddening tear to stay
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
carving arches
twist my gaze
winding sight slides
down
her waist
pooling -
caught
rivers does she drain
by trickles
drips
insidious
a thousand ships!
those hips
those hips
piston-packed fire!
crank shaft
twist
bevel beating
consciousness
vision slips
will-o-the-wisps
"Eat me" "Drink me"
second-hand miss
and then she's gone
no last fix
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Anna encrusted dust suite luster
All of the bevel the ocean could muster.
Trust, the comfort found here at the shore
Sands to revel in all you adore.
Further, floors elude the light for placation
As roots are harboured, an act of vocation.
This tree gleans no place of rest
But chosen as berth, the hold for a nest.
An expression of palace and that of place
A digression to speed and not of haste.
But throats grow dry as if necks could curd
As we depart to our homes again like the bird.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
You’re just a messenger?
So is the devil
And now we see
You’ve stooped to his level
Instances of which I speak
Are more than several
Connected as it were
Just like a bevel
You’re just a messenger?
What’s the message
Old time racism
At it’s last vestige
Now you’re asking for
Protesters to be arrested
For causing the ciaos
In which you’ve invested
You’re just a messenger?
Or so you say
Causing more mischief
Almost everyday
And you won’t let morality
Get in your way
Cuz you always must
Have the last say
You’re just a messenger?
One would assume
That you’re committed to
Causing our doom
You’re a bomb thrower
Waiting for the boom
For the good it will do you
Inside of your tomb
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester,
Why are they at war with science
Especially when it calls for our compliance
They’d rather go by their gut’s reliance
Then to acquiesce so they remain defiant
Global e warming isn’t surreal
It’s fact-based not just how we feel
The moneyed interests know the deal
They just hope the science lacks mass appeal
The snowcaps are melting every day
And soon where will the grizzly bears stay
But as long as they can hold the truth at bay
They won’t let the evidence get in their way
Clearly it’s all about dollars and cents
And the public be ****** it’s at our expense
Some day it will all come out in the rinse
But until then we’ll remain in suspense
It’s for sure that our usage of fossil fuel
Will cause us all to drown in their polluted pool
Although ******** baffles brains as a general rule
I have to ask who are they trying to fool
It’s as if they don’t think we have eyes to see
And that we must be blind, or is that just me
You can fool some people that well may be
But they’re gonna see the light eventually
Florida is four feet above sea level
And that can be measured without a bevel
But it’s going down rapidly yet they’re not troubled
So their effort to obfuscate just gets doubled
They can say that the jury is still out
Guess they missed the verdict’s but there is no doubt
So they can continue to scream and shout
Though the truth of the matter they’ll never tout
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
If only I could express my love to you on another level,
For you to feel every word I carve with a diamond’s bevel..
My ways are seen as a riddle or a puzzle,
but it’s only a muzzle,
On me,
You can’t stand my creativity,
You call it smothering..
I mean no harm,
I just crave you,
and your reciprocation too..
I can’t obey when expressing is my only way,
Pushing to get through
to the one and only YOU!
I need your touch,
doesn’t take much,
let me synch with your heartbeat
we could be in harmony
you would complete me...
as I lie in bed off tune and defeated,
I wait until the next day for my notes to be repeated...
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC
There’s still remnants of my true soul,
But an end to where this started.
I have the toughest time with letting go,
but man this life is marvelous.
The soul will know,
the mind can grow,
reflection of your true self.
There’s no weather you can’t weather,
but knowledge is the real wealth.
The hardest part is getting by,
because spiritually I’m everywhere.
Your reaction to me is physical
but spiritually, I’ve really gotta feel, you.
I soar above the clouds, I fly.
inner-g alive once more,
present on a level,
cold as ice, get a bevel.
Not many really seem to, get here,
not many really seem to maintain,
on this level.
It’s mental what we go through,
work, let me show you,
showing you, I’m using me,
electric kind of energy.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
Velvet shrouds my chest,
or silver binds my neck
Either servant like the rest,
Or one who holds them at his beck,
Either a King at his best,
Or he who shines his deck.
I admire the feel of velvet cloth,
The esteem of shining silver,
The markers of a life eased in sloth,
Or one fought for on a sliver.
A life survived on measly broth,
Or foods only chefs can deliver,
Either one will tell you,
Which one binds them tightest,
On the silver will they sell you,
But it bears on them the lightest,
King or servant will do,
Struggling with the slightest.
The only weight worse than the gavel,
Is that of the satin,
For news of it will travel,
Even to the heights of Manhattan,
For the silver will not bevel,
Nor will it read you the Latin,
the velvet will force you to level,
With the weights you’ve tried to flatten.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
Who knows what a whispering wind is on a stormy road and a bevel. What is the inverse level? The bell door rings at the entrance, In your dream like an angry rebel.
The pain is the one that moves us into faith and live,If it does not break us, it strengthens us.
Pain, like a carousel, believe. Devil has a thousand faces, but only one aim. Do not be craven. Fear is just an illusion. Everything becomes an indication.
The heat of fusion creates evolution, find the right solution, What creates your passion, stimulates your spirit level, be your rebel.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC