"breaching" poems
the count starts now (tired of tired)
I read your outcry at 3:00am
posted on Facebook
you are
tired of tired
sick of sick
the only question, will it ever end...
rise this day, start another way...
count your blessing
count against all odds
for there are more than merely one
use both hands
both hands chested to feel the heart thrusting,
for living is a wondrous blessing unique
an unbelievable to believe than so many beats,
born and borne,
by you, a strength unequaled,
you a richness possessed
count that one first.
count my hands holding your shoulders.
count that as two, one for me, one for you.
more? more.
mirror. find the tiny light in each eye against a yellow backdrop.
add two more. for they are a sparking confidence of confirming.
you felt the heart thrumming
go back, feel the breathing warmth breaching forth.
add another. for now known you can never ever be cold.
wash the face, wash away the caution that sleep leaves,
the coverlet of fear that fears you not to dare,
amazing that tap water plain is sacred when it
miracle breaks you out and anoints thy forehead with pure oil like the kings of yore, be a kingly human being.
go out. do not return
until one act of kind is performed and
count that as a thousand blessed, a sum recurring recounted
walk humble and the path will always appear.
walk contented for you can be both king and servant,
there is no difference - you must be both to be the other
one.
and if you still cannot raise the head,
call me.
that would be a blessing for me
and I will hear your blessings sounds mine merge,
dear friend and no more stranger,
that is the simplest definition of our learning to count to
infinity
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.
Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!
That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.
Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Inside the drainage basin
Bounding my soul
Fluid dynamics
Condense
Phases of water
Gather in the
Mountain towers
Over time
Gravity plus precipitation
Converts
Into snow pack
Come spring
That snow pack
Braids it's way down the mountain
Co-mingling with groundwater
Bubbling up in springs
Gathering momentum
In mountain streams
A constant conversion from
Potential to kinematic
Energy
Streams make their
Way into prairie rivers
Meandering along
Through riparian pockets
Of biodiversity
Reaching a levee
Then breaching
Local, national, and international boundaries
Are no match
As my soul
Finds it's way to base level
In the ocean of your love
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
The ocean becomes my temperament vicious and uncalculated
Breaching boundaries and flooding streets with emotions
Tidal wave's pull me under
But I still feel your light no matter how deep I delve
You became a new sun when my head convinced me my world had ended
And after all this time I've realized saving my self Is more important than saving grace so strike me down if I'm the devil in myself
Causing plague and disease in my own head .
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
The oceanic wind did not rescind but instead it found its form.
Gathering in strength and gaining much in length at the centre of the storm.
Building attitude it would not exclude from the frigate sailing true.
But with its destination now a defication the seas discarded with the crew.
Land-Ho, it came, did this hurricane bringing with it such a wave.
Like none had ever seen was this water screen that was bound to misbehave.
Throwing all aside like an unruly bride who was aiming to get her way.
And what lay ahead was a heap of dead as the big one came to play.
On its way inward it had done no good to the vessells on the sea.
Throwing craft around and causing men to drown it wasn't going to let them be.
Breaching many shores like unruly ****** the waves would spread there grisly pox.
From the nearest beach to the out of reach destination of inland docks.
Catastrophe - spelt with a capital C was the headlines in the news.
Every seaside place had a weary face that was filmed by camera crews.
People died that day many swept away as the nearest towns did flood.
Even tracks were failing with the trains derailing while water washed away the blood.
Many homes were wrecked as they did disconect and the oceans did divorce.
With those like you and me as they watched TV as the waters swam there course.
Many got up high and watched their fellows die on this day that would not be.
Forgotten very soon as before high noon we were dismantled by the sea.
It's all over now and we will somehow continue with our lives.
We'll bury our dead and we'll count the heads of our lost husbands and wives.
They'll be laid to rest and we'll then invest in the massive clear away.
But when that wind gets up it'll hit us in the gut but all we can do is pray.
The world cannot be tamed and does not feel ashamed when it strikes from out of the blue.
However we prepare nature doesn't care and will do what it must do.
We think we're in control but we're just on parole from what nature has to throw.
And we'll hope that day never comes our way but we can never really know.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
It is a quickened erosion of the spirit
culminated in bad habits
a crisscrossing lattice
over and under like a ferret
Its too small and quick to fight
this parrot is breaching thoughts with its well versed screech
Luring the cavalry into its cancerous reach
Benighted by several regiments of blight
Enticed by visions of a name spelled in the constellations
Do not forget you are a child of the stars
The strength within you contains quasars
A single mind, your mind, has the ability to illuminate a nation.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
Start my day up on the roof
There's nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We'll both be high, the help don't stare
They just walk by, they must don't care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Oh, real love
Close your eyes for what you can't imagine, we are the xany gnashing
Caddy smashing, bratty *** he mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the **** for batting practice, adamant and he thrashing
Purchasing ****** grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panicking, patch me up, Pappy done latch keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and mammy done had enough
Brash as **** breaching all these aqueducts; don't believe us
Treat us like we can't erupt, yup
We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
On the mud flats of Padma Delta
where the mighty Ganges slides
into the Bay of Bengal
ships come to die.
Rusting oil tankers,
container ships from Panama
passenger liners,
and cargo ships from Zanzibar
North Sea fishing boats
research vessels and mother ships
anything that floats
each one has made its final trip.
Steel Leviathans
low tide beached
oil-slick stuck.
Metal monoliths
****** deep
into black sand.
The people of Sitakunda
come marching, ants
across the slippery surface
of diesel sand
to pick the carcasses apart.
Barefoot, with only blow torches
hammers and brute strength
wrenching rivets, nuts and bolts
breaching beams and deck
splitting welded seams
until the hulls are gutted
ribbed struts broken down
and torn from the edges of shape
Bit by bit
they scour and empty
right down to the core.
Bit by bit
they carry *****
to the waiting shore.
Where melting pots are kept boiling
giant stock pots stewing goodness
in a broth
but metallic flavours and oily spiced stench
hang in the misty bleakness of the bay
Skeleton hulks shift and ride
lurching, lifting with the tide
rolling, dangerous still
collapsing, with groaning creak
to maim, to crush and ****
the daring, the slow and the weak.
© M.L.Emmett
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head
Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!
Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand
Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!
Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street
In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!
John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime
Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind
Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town
Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
a dusky walk
through the middle
of the park
clear of
the shadows
of branch
and leaf
at its edges
the only light
stretched out
but struggling
from distant
lamp posts
or the
yet more distant
halo of moon
breaching cloud
it is enough
to plot
a route by
but not
with confidence
a leather flapping
overhead
tells tale
of bats
in their erratic
yet assured flight
abhorred
by many
perhaps for
that very reason;
unpredictable
unflinching
not flying
the expected path
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 6:05 AM UTC
yes you can mention how cold it is
Though you can't expressly show the cold.
literally breaching my innocence
To capture your heart.
we don't count memories of love
much as they greatly shine in our lives
only the wonders of how its started
reflects its stages in flow.
Time developes it and so does it fade with it
worse than a burial
laying ....the dangers of s waterfall
tameable on probability
In
a nightmare of a swim on land.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
a liar once told me that i write good poetry
i laughed and continued drinking,
the sudden rush of despair, the wicked beast, the dry pages
the man had no credentials
but he persisted, declaring me an inspiration
like seeing a strand of hair attract a magnet
or amber jewels lolling in a dimly lit case
imagination is a felony, i wagered as i poured another
a combustion i know like the back of my hands
i told him i dreamt of a morgue where everyone i ever loved
sat upright as sunflowers, declaring their love for the sun
and of a newspaper rife with disease and the passion of a janitor
there is a raccoon near a river somewhere cleaning an apple
with a heart as big as an artist in drunken euphoria
taking better care of it than me when i sit down at a typewriter
it's wearing a cape just like edgar allen poe
and having better conversation with an oak tree than i've ever had at a party
about the sunday crossword puzzle he completed
yesterday i drank myself into a masquerade ball
arriving in a limousine being driven by a bearded mickey mantle
i was the guest of honor, sword fighting on table tops
and lecturing the guests about shakespeare through a garbage disposal
while a horse played backgammon with my father's brother
and there was a girl there behind the facade of an owl
who danced like the wind and everlasting light
and no one could stop her or look her in the eye
i am the only connection between my mind and the paper
merely a vessel, a john boat clearly breaching it's depth
either drowning like a fish in a sand dune or
being bounced like a baby on the knee of god
slavery, i call it, and hand him a glass of warm bourbon
as the splashing of my journal pages slap my crushed trachea
the typewriter is padlocked and painted over with cement
the metamorphosis trapped inside a bullet, boiling with sheer fury
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Friendships change like the flows of a river
consuming elegant banks
Some last a lifetime.
Some fly past in five minutes
In a moment of panicky crisis
Or a glimpse at what might have,
if you had just grabbed.
friendships are never what you expect.
Most expect too much
some expect very little.
Friendships can be silent for years,
then come alive with the cacophony of a Blue whale breaching
mid Atlantic,
where only the swallows cast an ear
Other friendships crumble like the chimneys
and the coal mines of a long gone age.
Leaving only rubble and shrapnel to sift through.
In a bomb site of broken friends.
Sifting you acquire a filthy broken dolls head
It reminds you of a childhood
when futures were eternal
and friends were too.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
there was a cemetery day
in the heat of july
when the shadow dreams called
and i fell in love with you.
there was a cemetery day
when i walked tight ropes
when we serenaded the birds instead
and made grass angels.
there was a cemetery day
when we threw stones in the quarry
thought seriously about diving in
and promised to one day.
there was a cemetery day
when the cicadas sang high
where silk flowers caressed the graves
and we danced like children often do.
there was a cemetery day
when we stood between our cars
anticipation under the haze of the streetlight
and you almost kissed me.
there was a cemetery day
when my head was reeling
realization breaching my skies
and i didn't want to go.
there was a cemetery day
when we drove until we couldn't
sunlight scattered in our quiet
and you thought about our fingers interlaced.
there was a cemetery day
when we lay out on the dock
the one that floats just off shore
and you caught me as i fell.
there was a cemetery day
in the heat of july
when the shadow dreams called
and you fell in love with me too...
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 7:14 AM UTC
in our time
we think we know
most animals of the world
from films and videos
yet
seeing
an echidna come out of the underbrush
about to cross the road
but then
looking at all the cameras
deciding to quietly go back home for a while
watching
a young humpback whale
launch her tons out of the sea
in the sheer joy of breaching
falling back in a white splash
that sends your boat rocking
feeling
the hard back of a wombat
under its thick coat of hair
the soft fur of a koala
the cool skin of a blue-tongued lizard
feeding
a wallaby whose sharp claws
tenderly hold your hand
so that the food
does not go away too soon
hearing
the swelling maniacal laughter
of a flock of kookaburras
a pied butcherbird‘s
unbelievably melodious call
you become aware
they are living beings
not just images on the screen
and the little hairs
on the back of your neck
rise
in shock and awe
of life‘s beauty
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
There is a certain art,
not the cliché form,
of such dalliance divine,
The forge of opening a woman,
Fully, to see the beautiful creation of Eden
It is not the opening of legs,
nor the parting of thighs,
such is just a middle,
a jumping point,
the truistic beginning
The delicious devouring starts
first at the mouth
where the ****** first builds
in salivating lip smacking nibbles
burning through the veins
opening the gate
breaching the uncertainty
of submitting to that wanting, always,
for someone to know
where to touch
where to lick
where to urge flesh alive
then it inches, in Picasso brushes
along the flesh,
(breast, waist, hips,)
where fingers and tongue find a certain rhythm
causing the body to sing, without thought
the song of origins
As it opens the strained passage, naturally,
wet with strange desire
curious, needing redemption
for all the lonely hours of denial
of wanting someone
to taste, smell, touch the ache away
And you will lick first the wounds;
the hurtful lashing of old lovers,
then you will be surprised
how easily she dissolves
fallen against your mouth
as you lick the silky wings
**** them between your lips
tongue the opening
getting inside enough to taste
the rouged flower, the Van Gogh surprise
bloomimg, simply, magnificently, against the lap of your tongue
only to feel, so wondrously,
her surrender, quivering,
warm against your mouth
And she will lay, breathless, trembling
moaning your name,
so grateful, so thankful
you took time with tongue and patience
to make her feel alive
To make her feel like a woman
To make her feel as if she were just birthed into this world
To be made exclusive by your worship of all she is....
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 6:29 AM UTC
"I am enough"
She said to the mirror,
Dull eyes gazing back
Her reflection recreating regal
expressions
That coming so naturally before, now were cracked
"I am beautiful"
She said, with silver tears
Brimming in her eyes
In the daytime she was Clepatra
Aching for affirmation, filled with ***** lies
Standing in her own presence
No lines so sweetly versed
No role to be rehearsed
Fists clenched, lips tightly pursed
Oh beautiful tragedy! you lost your identity...
the ache is stayed with the plunge of a blade
breaching the chasm which once held your heart
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 6:49 PM UTC
There's this feeling of irrepressible despair that I can no longer keep inside.
I need to know where you are, and where you've been, why do you hide?
I'm sitting here wondering why I told you to go.
Why I pushed you away, why we said no.
I see you through a screen full of lies and deception.
Depression's setting in, like screams of infections.
You were my protection, for the longest, the one I leaned on,
but by the selection of my words, you broke away clean, gone.
The pain I feel is surreal, I can't explain nor can I deal,
You were something of a thrill,
I needed you then, I need you still,
You're the only thing in life that ever seemed real,
but now I'm back to dreaming,
killing my mind to conceal.
Thoughts bleeding, mind breaching.
Heavy breathing.
Now all apart of my past,
I trap it all in a mask I wear,
my voice raspy,
I tear the wrist, bombing my heart,
Fear passed me.
Blood and bone, ******** on my own.
I found my home and another,
who loves me more than my mother,
I love you but I love her more and furthermore,
she's glorious, I'm never bored,
Notorious, but not a bore,
losing her I can't afford, so sorry baby here's the door...
Leave me be.
Can't you see?
Your memory is killing me.
At ease, I am calm,
Agreed I'm angry and I'm,
not really stable,
Turnt tables,
Look at me now,
Oh, you aren't able...
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
You've become the vine
that creeps
up
the side
of my brick encased dwelling,
breaching every
crack
and
imperfection
you've stumbled across,
managed to conceal them,
and make them presentable.
You've overtaken an entire wall;
teal
and lavender
petals,
like crayon shavings,
scattered
against their dark background,
bringing with them
the color
my house
so desperately needed.
Now,
when friends and onlookers
pass by,
they see this great green and brick
marvel,
covered in leaves,
and petals,
and vines
that stretch from every awning,
down to the cement blocks
of the basement.
We have all the neighbors
whispering about
how your greens
compliment my reds
and how bright your flowers
bloom,
even on the grayest
of mornings,
so that everyone
is in envy
of what they see.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
when you love,
you’re a country,
pierced by daily border
exchanged crossings,
to your closest neighbor
and though,
one rerun~returns home by night,
to your prior defining borderlines,
somehow
the externals of the container has
had its internality's modified
for the lines that prior defined
have altered
by passing the
point of prior,
now by thousands of
tiny holes breaching the
thickened protective lining,
by love punches ‘n kisses of
pinprick punctures
the resistance,
pulverized
<>
you are changed,
new language combos spoken,
embrace another with a
bilingual tonguing,
a real treat
to entreat each other and
that hyphen,
that little tiny
linear
~
punctuation mark is
reflecting your creativity of a
Singular Duality
it is mark that
speaks to a new
U~no individuality,
blended and connected
somehow a duo of
someone’s pulverized lines
forms a single stronger
chord
first a puncture
then a patching
finally
an adhesion pleasuring
and a new working word:
composite
the opposite
of
opposite*
Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
Consuming the uplifting beats
Produced by Killer Whales.
Casting lures in the Arctic Ocean,
Considering and contemplating.
Drinking a few cups of tea,
60 days without toxins,
Eating a few sparks of air,
Denying the soft memories
Guarding a sudden breeze
Exterminating the rancid conversation,
Painting blurry images of you
Harmonizing dead ends.
Undead thoughts breaching
The conclusions.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
A poet is daydreaming – contemplating,
Stale is his entire mind surpassed;
An accomplice confers his realization,
Neither to suffice the fool – disillusioned.
That poet daydreams, dismayed in trance,
‘A truce!’ he barters, on a fitted fray.
Frailty of his core seems definite in stance,
‘Tis anecdote… apparent of dismay.
The poet daydreams of the one he loves;
Severs the sympathy by egoism and contempt.
Scalar quantity of a breaching throb,
Under the tutelage of an infidel attempt.
The writer’s words are never dull, always honed;
Unyielding cutting edges fit for the crockery.
Elusive as emotions – tender as the blade of words sliced,
Thus cuts through the flesh, mind and soul like mockery.
Thus the poet’s mind can never be measured,
Nor does the ability of a man can overcome;
For both come from the Divine – Oh, highly favored!
Poetry of prose, so unique and unstrung.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Revelatory refractions held in the disco ***** reflection, glancing off the wall.
Dim-lit dreams tilt forward, spilt into a paper cup, bounced backward and sprinkled up.
******* synonyms from the cold, dead pages of the riddle’s mask.
Breaching spatial avenues left for those who understood the task.
Taking hits from a dry-lit flask, leaving windows closed to bask
Clapped the snap back bass kit as it turned Wallace snitch.
The Wire drawn and laid on lawns boundless in the ditch.
Deaf to congruencies of affection, brought about by an adolescent ********
Blind spot in the centre of view. Rhythmic dancing, oblivious to the pew
Unplugged mixing, interlocked twisting
Pulsing in tune with distorted computation
Dehydrated seizures next to the watering station
Molly Mary caught in the flashing lights, blinded by the car’s brights.
A necklace found, nothing else around.
Body grasped for fun, stuffed, mounted, late night pokes meticulously counted.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
as they
shuffled by
she told her friend
“i always look
forward to this
time of year
when the first
tinge of yellow
touches the leaves
with the contrast
between shade
and sunshine
a comparison
of polar opposites
where a gentle breeze
can chill
or relieve
one making you
appreciate the other
once it has gone”
i couldn’t help
but take note
of her poetic words
as i surveyed
those same trees
glad to see
swaying hues
of green against
shadow-dappled green
feeling fingers
of sunlight
still breaching
filigree tree-shadows
to warm the skin
of passers-by
while overhead
a pastel blue sky
mottled with only
staccato wisps
of gentle stratus
paint the vista
leaving thoughts
of the days to come
when this spectrum
will shift
and these colours
must change
Sep 24, 2022
Sep 24, 2022 at 7:42 AM UTC