"breaches" poems
Into the wonderment of your autumnal mind.
Where the skin of your grief sheds its leaves.
Is the song of your sea bound into colourful light?
The Shepherd breaches the flock of your dreams,
And the pastures breathe a sigh of relief,
As your tears of morning dew
Glisten the parched landscape.
Does your bouquet of *****
Lay wistfully in the wilderness?
The skies of blue that reside in your eyes
Serenades the coming of the tide,
Harvesting the fruit of our labour of love.
Is this a wind of smile that turns into a voyage of valiancy?
A flock of thoughts liberated with a cry of exclamation
As your fears of autumn blue
Are exiled into the rapacious wind.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
*Inebriated blue cloud,
I know you well enough
libertine ways you have
make you a lover of
deep thunder and meek rainbow
and also a chit of a lark
that loses itself in a song
be it is in grief or mirth.
Strange is the ways of my heart,
how much I long to fall in love with you
and proclaim this to the world scheming
to disrupt the pleasures one seeks
without any reason at all
"Look! love has no limits, no reason even
the lovely cloud, softness personified
caresses my foliage with sensuous abandon
kisses me with her wispy lips of moisture"
I know you understand, though unmindful of
my unbridled passion
making breaches in the limits,
I have no illusion about our improbable union.
True, how can we live
happily ever after?
I envy your gift of wings
though you have none visible,
you borrow it from the wayward wind,
too willing to carry your sweet load around.
I stood on the hill top,
wistfully thinking
that you will come and
take me within your soft folds
though I am a tree with deep running roots
that has become a restraining thing.
Freedom without any limit
gets you inebriated every minute,
your love for love, makes you desirable
you live in the present, suspend thoughts on time to come
as it is hypothetical, you say.
You are in a hurry to roam
wherever lovers lead you one after the other
do you have an urge to dissolve and pour-
as water, without any remorse?
Do you know my penitence for your love
on this hilltop is a true sacrifice?
My love for you doesn't bring anything
except my wilting hour after hour.
Let me be on your blue breast for moments
when my boiling love will seek
your shining center that melts, melts
we'd freeze as one, how long my darling?
Time would simply stand still
to a distance, i'd be transported,
where tree or cloud means nothing
we are an incessant rain lasting for ever.*
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Running amok black bellies of hail-clouds
divest their hard cargo
on near-ready harvest and thunder claps
in spiteful applause.
Scudding sails of racing white galleons
arrive to the rescue
and change weather's position as quiet
breaches gale's disorder.
Setting the sun throws magenta feathers
across dark horizon
and to settle the issue parades jade tints
as the landscape transforms.
Waiting small boats plod homewards in
fish-laden formation
while wives run to stoke hot-kettled fires
of ready bath water.
Lighting a pathway half-moon winks as
heavier catches in
hauled nets silver the harbour and men
start night's final performance.
Sating hunger with coming and going
sow-and-reap women know
the meaning of sharing male labour in
scaling and salting chores.
Fisher-folks' world begins and ends
with the vagaries and quirks of weather.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
*Moment of sadness
Breaches tranquil peacefulness
Ends today's beauty*
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
So he threw all his chips on red
Thought only of what was in his head
Which turned out to be shots of dread
For his seeds planted in young women's garden bed
Without nary water or breaking bread
Or nary knowing the breaches of his and her homestead
So he rushed down stranger's alley shed
On a runaway, wrongheaded cocky sled
Through her banks, he crashed her spread
Like a raging, raging thoroughbred
Nary was a thought of a rubber glove on his dragonhead
For the buried absence of love was in his heart of lead
There's his wife at home tucking their kids in their bunkbed
While he flirted with the forbidden apple instead
It was this night that lives in infamy for others to read this dread
For the news broke of a married man impregnating a young coed
Accosting such teen to what now proves to be his deathbed
Yet if he unwinds his c(l)ock and placed his chips on black he wouldn't have bled
Petering out the ills in his marriage he would have been freed
Now he shrivels in a shameful battle of what went through his head
Logan Robertson
10/05/2018
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
A sparkling key shimmers in the haze beyond my nightmares,
A key to life made of light sets off a conquest,
Mirroring it is the key of the dark,
Which allows my red eyes of illusion,
to haunt someones death or life.
I have been looking for an answer,
Some truth that determines my paths, my ways,
While wandering about aimlessly,
I can sense the trillion elements
Getting entangled within my thoughts.
This silver city of my thoughts,
In in a chaotic state of order,
Spiritual pain breaches its walls,
Guilt and sorrow rain down, corroding the structures I so proudly built.
Where would I be, I wonder,
When this city finally falls?
Unknown, misunderstood,
Book of life, to which I hold the key,
What is the price of a soap bubble?
What is the cost of the first rain drop on the barren earth?
What is the joy in a newborn's smile?
Key to life,
These hands which are weapons which wield weapons,
Can you transmit my sorrow beyond the walls of my heart?
Unknown to life, ignorant of death,
Would you delude me with hope?
And then there is you.
With what reason do you smile,
with such gentle eyes,
Drawing me closer in the web of your love?
I think I can now unlock the door which was always locked.
Because you are the spirit I need,
The demon of pain encased within the angel of love,
You can provide my soul the element of pain and warmth,
Listen to my heart, o Goddess,
Transmutate what I was.
The hand of the Goddess echoes out,
Your love changing my past, present and future,
The burden of my sins replaced with joy,
Which key do I deserve to hold now,
Now that the heartbeat of destinies untold, beat within your womb.
The key to both life and death is slowly being born,
Growing its wings in the loving glow of your flesh.
Developing, as our bond reaches its peaks.
Key to life, I thank thee for this,
For invoking desire and passion in me/
Light and darkness consort eternally,
Angels flirting with demons,
The keys to both life and death hide now in the complex codes,
In the memory of DNA, surpassing time.
It is there sons of Adam and Eve, where my truth lies.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
I wanted to write a poem about the joys simple things. But I’ve lost the meaning of them since I’ve been away it seems. For many years I’ve served duty tours, it’s just the life that I have lived. So I write poems of war and of warriors and death; sometimes it’s all I have left to give.
I picked my brain for images of candlelight picnics on sandy beaches, but I opened the basket looking for ammo to load in my weapon breaches. Oiling my guns may not be romantic, or when I lace my boots up tight, but you can bet your **** it comes in handy when you’re caught in a fire fight.
I tried concentrating as hard as I could, trying to envision more peaceful things. Instead I was reminded of Black Hawks with M240-Bravos in weapon slings. It seems I can’t be normal or think like a normal human being, I’ve been battle hardened inside my soul and this is part of what it brings.
PTSD is what they call it, they say I need some aid, but it just feels like second nature, pulling the pins and throwing grenades. I’ll go home one day and I’ll look the same because my wife can’t see my scars, I’ve hid them all inside myself and that’s what makes this hard.
They tell me I’ve been lucky, I didn’t get a single injury. But the damage was done inside of me and that’s what they don’t see. So I’ll go home a “lucky one” and act like I am fine, and live my days pretending, while keeping this war trapped in my mind.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
Shall we pause to consider
the shudder of a butterfly's wings
that sets the hurricane spinning
or the descent of the final raindrop
that breaches the groaning levy?
Shall we ponder the moment before
a chorus of "maybe's" morphs
into the vain eloquence of history?
Roiling in the broth of chaos
a cluster of causes startles the surface -
unfurling a queue of effects
that dot the timescape
like rows of teetering dominoes.
Typhoons twist villages to ruins,
armies rise to victory or
succumb to the despair of defeat,
or a medical miracle is born
from the agile mind of a doctor
conceived in a Chevy's back seat.
So here we stand on the ridge of time
ourselves both caused and causing,
cradling the sphere of chaos in our hands -
uncertain what effect will be our being
after all our causes are enumerated.
Time will surely tell - as soon
as we tell time exactly what to say.
August, 2013
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
not the milk, you see, is too sweet,
thick, which will rhyme if i write,
for me.
thick like the wool that filled
breaches in the wall, saved the lives.
save some with shelter, needing shelter,
while others lean to watch the birds fly,
talk of the bell tower, and all the implications.
the man parked his car, tidily went to poundland,
bought cards.
sbm.
*notes verb
verb: condense; 3rd person present: condenses; past tense: condensed; past participle: condensed; gerund or present participle: condensing
1.
make (something) denser or more concentrated.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
darkness crept in
with his heavy feet on the floor
and his hot breath on my neck
mocking tone pierces
my vulnerable mind
and i crumble
a surface crack breaches
a sitting duck
for a gust of wind
blinded by the vision
of how things should be
and what will never happen
sitting at the fork
watching the boats pass
as i am unable to move
the light has faded
the sun has set
and i have waited hours for the dawn
but i keep my eyes to the east
and i will wait many more
for the sun to rise.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
Memories:
the back and forth trajectories
the internal out-of-sync in-sync directories
of treasured moments, of pleasantries
and the reviled relived accessories of treachery.
My memory is pitted with chasms like Swiss Cheese
the phantom dreams of being hit by a car in a winters bite
the realities of unconsciousness and brain spasms
the fathoms baffles in batches and waves of breaches
disfigured features like a frosted window caked in creatures
burrowed and riddled like a parasite in the spite of night.
By the time id got to hospital id forgotten my own name
fortunately I had a gas bill in my pocket which hadn't freed itself
while being violently hurled over the red car bonnet
and it became the one and only evidence that I even existed
even though the A & E nurse insisted and persisted on asking questions:
my address, date of birth, blood type, emergency contact -
like Id have it tattooed on my body like a scene from Memento
amid the voices in crescendo and brain-damage thumping techno.
That was a few years ago, or was it, I couldn't be sure now
but some days I forget what I did in the morning
so I just have to live for the moment somehow
the memories like Swiss Cheese constantly morphing
to the piped tune of the cerebral banshee
buzzing in my left ear like a perpetual honey bee
makes me wonder though;
I am lactose and diary free - the dominant dietary preponderant
some modernistic conglomerate causing ultimate lethargy.
Does this mean if recollections are like Swiss Cheese
I am intolerant to memories?
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Have not written much at all.
As work is always on the call.
I am prey to the poorly.
Always the sick.
Some self inflicted.
The ailing all want to steal my time.
And mine I'll give so willingly.
There is a passing passion to tenderly care.
My precious moments I shall share with the sick and the needy.
Tonight sadly, as well as stealing my pen my lovely patients shall steal my sleep.
After the shift of the shadows from daytime to night.
I shall fulfill my role as the lady of the light.
When daylight of Sunday breaches my eyes my much tired body will greet sleeps' surprise.
(c)LIVVI
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.
Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -
between the rocks that form his cage.
His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.
Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.
Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.
Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep
“Is this victory, or defeat?”
Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.
Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.
Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
look not beneath
scars
lest night scowl
for history
screamed
breaches unbidden
rivulets red streamed
as child song
failed
tendrils grasped
by savage gusts
discarded
to rise as scented spring
warmth
loosens coverlets
stirred
untied
waiting
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
I am a seamstress
stitching life together in harmony
creating beauty every place my needle breaches
You are the weaver
you dart in and out of lives
loosely dragging us along
to the knotted finish line
weaver and seamstress met
and you are persuasive
performing the drama
and I believed
seamstress and weaver could create
a masterpiece so fine
to last for all our days
and yet
you have taken your dagger through our greatest tapestry
destroyed what I had birthed
you laugh because you do not know
the seamstress's needle knows no bounds
and your eyes
always too far apart
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 5:48 PM UTC
lips upon swell of breast,
caresses like a dance in
bated breath; a cry of
hunger unclothed to
nakedness; mouth travels
south, seeking to quench
libidinous drought; tongue
glides, nibbling kisses;
silently I sigh, each taste
he gets thicker as I become
wickedly *****
scents of honeysuckle
permeates the air as
tongue teases hardened
strobe; I glow within his
nature and he whispers in
elated breaths; I arch against
masculinity in sultry
poses, smiling in blushed
tints, fore, he knows me
and tells of his wants
to satiate my needs like
a rose opens its petals to
a bee's need; to suckle its
sepal of sweet nectar's
honey, sipped in little nips
inebriating his wanton
longing, he breaches
my honeycomb in gentle
easements...flushed
he whispers against nape
of neck as hands control
movement of hip, tongue
glides against silken thigh;
in foolery baiting to entrap
me within his desirous
taunts of beggary...I sigh
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Don't tell me I couldn't survive without you
You do not know the battles already won
and the fears I've already outgrew
I've gotten stronger now... not so naive
And would only be my choice to grant you any reprieve
No passing security, no breaches, and no keys
There are only alarms and pass-codes you need
My guard stands at the ready on the outside of my heart
Dressed in camouflage with a black-belt in all the martial arts
I only have to ask guard of my heart shall I let him pass
With his awareness he knows when to do kung fu on that ***
My heart is now my most prized possession
and my guard rarely takes breaks or any vacation
The battle not always won but always suffers deprivation
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:56 PM UTC
Prelude,
Skin was scorching,
Prickling our naked ankles.
Whispers of passion—amounting to the indefinite.
Excitement overriding fear.
Your smirk—it was scorning my wit, but all the while I was spinning—
Trying to outdo you.
Challenging the norm of lovers before me, despite those many warnings.
And yet, here I am, brushing against your infamous lips,
Having more intentions than I care to share with you,
Because I will be the exception.
I, a determined revolutionist bent on transforming your philosophy.
The inevitable vulnerability, the alleged helplessness found by your touch—
You were all talk, and nothing I couldn’t handle.
_____________
Interlude,
Something encroaches now.
A force unplanned.
It violates me. It breaches the wall of my veins.
Slithering, swimming —
A parasitic force of which I was convinced I was immune.
Biology’s symbiotic model; forever tainted by our act.
For many a love was given in primal flesh, yet goes unrequited in spirit.
I believed I could break this cycle.
I, the revolutionist
Believed I could topple your deeply set pride.
I believed I could crack your shell and pull out the viscera,
Bleeding, pulsating in between my fingers, and let the mass slide from my hands
To fall upon your chest, floundering in plain view.
I imagined that your eyebrow would raise, your lips would part to form a
Contorted grin, you would sigh, and then admit,
“Nicely Done.”
I believed you would be impressed.
I believed you would be impressed…
______________
Epilogue,
Wit is waning.
Skin is cold, rotting… and wasting.
My beautiful body is rotting.
And I cannot admit that you were right,
Lest I would rot more quickly.
Still unyielding to your claims,
Only so you not think of me as fragile,
Not because I think I may win.
Clinging to the hope that you may someday learn to love
This broken, yearning body.
This fallen revolutionist—
All along a convenient satiation of flesh.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:07 PM UTC
In tranquility we sit,
effervescent beverages in hand as
the descant moves into the mix.
So mellifluous...
So promiscuous in whom it touches...
Hoping to stupefy the audience with its
flawless and free life.
Until our enjoyment is shortened
by the loud clomping from
outside our autonomous dwelling...
Something outside bonks into the ground
before a silhouette breaches our safety
and our eternity is threatened with...
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 10:00 PM UTC
Appears a ghostly vision, fog in from the sea.
As if sentient in movement, shrouds all in it's mystique.
With a cyclop eye, lighthouse lends a mournful wail.
While specters breath dampens all, your marrow the chill impales.
Out of sight, crashing waves, sound loud as if they crawl,
following the living mist as it breaches the seawall.
Seeping round panes and doors, into every crevice.
The very air liquefied, a grey oppressive presence.
Wood smoke blends it's flavor to the tang of the air.
In hopes the flames beat it back, keep tendrils from drawing near.
Slowly it tastes it's fill of wooden planks and blood.
It leaves a sodden salt strewn smell seeming to just dissolve.
Folding back on itself, returning to the brine.
Fog waits yet another morn to return to shore and dine.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
I
Why do I keep looking at you?
Today another photograph
pinned me to my notice board.
You, darling, dearest girl,
a woman so finely formed
by motherhood, I ache
to think I have lain beside you.
Nobody has your smile,
the sweep of your face
beneath hair that has become
my rest, my home.
II
I daren’t write about your voice
but I will, as it holds me to you down this phone.
I feel its formants rest on my shoulder
(like your hand)
and so compassed about with phrases
I am gathered to you in a shower of syllables.
So when you say *I don’t want this to end
our talk together* my body breaches
dolphin-like from a cold sea – in joy.
III
I realise in imagined talk with you
it is as though we are close in bed,
so close hardly a whisper’s spent,
barely a breath’s taken.
This is how it is when I walk alone
in the night-time park,
and then today in the shopping mall
I forced myself to enter, a short-cut
I said, but knew I’d regret the route.
How could I talk here to my love
when I have known you
under islands’ skies and soft air
kissing deeply at every gate
our hands unclaspable
steering our passion’s cargo
to home and harbour.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
a great whale breaches
"man-watching"
the pacific stirs
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 9:25 AM UTC
A heart waits
While sifting through the questions
piled high in a mountain of doubt,
reaching heights beyond belief
and scraping ceilings of torment
A heart waits…
Now tiring quickly, loosing strength,
finding the walk longer than you expected
Closing one eye to find the other does not see
and falling to dark corners of fear
A heart waits…
As volume amasses upon weakened shoulders,
and pain breaches the avenue
of store front sale signs
on locked door close outs
A heart waits…
When it all seems too much,
memos become lists of forever paper,
words scratched in blood ink
of empty pens spilling
A heart waits…
If you have found that point
where your mind says no more
and you feel that nothing will ever be enough,
please remember…
A heart waits…and that heart is mine
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC