"busts" poems
Those supernova eyes,
Outshine the galaxy in her freckles.
Her busts like mountains,
And curves like a river..
Hair radiating like sunrays,
Thighs like smooth iceberg..
Within her divine body, melts my universe.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Somebody is shooting at something in our town --
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?
It is you the knives are out for
At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon,
The **** of Elba on your short back,
And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery
Mass after mass, saying Shh!
Shh! These are chess people you play with,
Still figures of ivory.
The mud squirms with throats,
Stepping stones for French bootsoles.
The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off
In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds.
So the swarm ***** and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.
It thinks they are the voice of God
Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog
Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog,
Grinning over its bone of ivory
Like the pack, the pack, like everybody.
The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high!
Russia, Poland and Germany!
The mild hills, the same old magenta
Fields shrunk to a penny
Spun into a river, the river crossed.
The bees argue, in their black ball,
A flying hedgehog, all prickles.
The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb
Of their dream, the hived station
Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs,
Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country.
Pom! Pom! They fall
Dismembered, to a tod of ivy.
So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army!
A red tatter, Napoleon!
The last badge of victory.
The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat.
Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea!
The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals
Worming themselves into niches.
How instructive this is!
The dumb, banded bodies
Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery
Into a new mausoleum,
An ivory palace, a crotch pine.
The man with gray hands smiles --
The smile of a man of business, intensely practical.
They are not hands at all
But asbestos receptacles.
Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.'
Stings big as drawing pins!
It seems bees have a notion of honor,
A black intractable mind.
Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything.
O Europe! O ton of honey!
7.8k
When poets die
It's sad and true,
It matters not
What their bodies do,
The spirit flies
To Poet's Corner,
In Westminster Abbey.
You'll not see
Busts or inscriptions
For all the poets
Whose spirits linger
Alongside Chaucer, Browning, Spencer,
And a myriad of authors.
Dead Poet you have earned your share;
Dead Poet I will know you're there,
Composing in the Laureate's lair.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
ngayon ko lang napansin. sobrang dami ko palang isinulat para sa'yo. ngayon ko lang napansin na lahat sila galing sa mga katabi kong diksyonaryo at tesauro. malay ko ba kung ano ang ibig sabihin ng mga isinulat ko. lumalaki pa lamang ako. ngayon pa lang natututong makipagtalastasan, makipagbalagtasan, makipagsagutan, makipag-away. ngayon pa lang akong natututong maghintay at ngayon pa lang nasusugatan. ngayon ko lang nalaman ang tunay na ibig sabihin ng paniniwala. paniniwala sa pagkahulog, paniniwala sa kung anumang gusto kong paniwalaan. paniniwala na meron ka pang mapapaniwalaan dito sa mundo. kapit ka, subukan mo. ngayon pa lang akong nagtitiwalang muli. ngayon pa lang nagpapatawad. ngayon pa lang nakakapagsabi ng 'mahal kita', nang walang pagdududa at walang pagsisisi. mahal ko talaga sila. ngayon ko pa lang nararamdaman ang tunay na pag-ibig. ngayon ko pa lang nakikita kung paano magmahal ang isang taong nasasaktan. ngayon pa lang ako nakakita ng taong durog at winasak ng panahon — marahil dati puro sa teleserye ko lang ito napapanood. noong pumunta kami sa isang museo, napakaraming uri ng sining na maaari **** makita. may mga head busts, paintings, sculptures, pati mga ginamit ng mga pintador na brushes at pati na rin mga natuyong pintura nila. tinignan ko lahat iyon. umabot ng halos labindalawang oras ang pag-iikot ko. walang kain-kain. kinailangan kong makita lahat. ngunit ngayon ko lang napagtanto na iisa lang naman 'yung gusto ko talagang makita. ('yung spolarium.) ngayon lang ako nakarinig ng mga taong wala talagang kamuang-muang sa mundo. 'yung tipo ng taong nakaupo sa ginto ngunit talagang lumaking tanga. nakakaawa sila. ngayon ko pa lang pinapangaralan 'yung sarili ko. kanina nga lang ako nagsabi sa sarili na hindi na ako kakain ng fast food at processed food. (seryoso. nakakamatay talaga sila.) sa pagkamatay ng nakaraan, noon ko lang nasabi sa sarili ko na gusto ko pa talagang mabuhay. gusto ko pang makakita. gusto ko pang makaramdam.
ngayon pa lang ako natututong magsulat.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
Something lives below my skin,
It’s burrowed down, deep within
It burns my body, wearing me thin
And that ***** won’t ever give in
It scrabbles and rives, as I tear me apart
With nails like knives, so close to my heart
I claw at my limbs with fingers that seek
To split open my flesh, the tissue so weak
Blood busts forth as I tear at the itch
As I work hard to get rid of this *****
My nails dyed red, I can not stop now
The need so strong, to exorcise it somehow
Covered in scars, scabbing and sore
As I cry with the pain, limbs ragged and raw
I pause for a moment waiting to see
If it is no longer residing in me
Holding my breath, maybe its gone
If I can’t rid myself of this wrong
This dark demon will drive me insane
But it comes crawling again and again
Something lives below my skin,
It’s burrowed down, deep within
It burns my body, wearing me thin
And that ***** won’t ever give in
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Scattered around my body, lies the remains of a girl meant to be
Cascading over corpses,
Hope is a weathered, out-dated state of being
A serving, political and manner-driven
What's new?
New is the passion, the fight and the might
It matters not how much hope you have
Whether it busts through your seams and gleams in your eyes
It matters not how fast the blood rushes in your veins as you pray
Look at me, cold and vain
Eyes frozen, I begin again.
Pin point and plan
Sticks and stones and pots and pans.
Life is nothing but a learning curve
So I move on to new experiences and new lives,
A million eyes.
Never forget who you are.
Who you came from.
Where you were meant to be.
Fate is not a destiny
Life is made out of parentheses.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
391
A Visitor in Marl—
Who influences Flowers—
Till they are orderly as Busts—
And Elegant—as Glass—
Who visits in the Night—
And just before the Sun—
Concludes his glistening interview—
Caresses—and is gone—
But whom his fingers touched—
And where his feet have run—
And whatsoever Mouth be kissed—
Is as it had not been—
2.1k
This Tangerine Dream
is not what it seems.
Frolicking colors
turn to menacing screams.
The walls start to tear
bugs crawl in your hair
and the answers you seek
are not quite so clear.
Straight up your spine
and right down your back
sweat drops in beads
to the tip of your crack.
Is it all in your head or a heart attack? Oh
how I hope this ends soon
because I cannot take this spinning room
or this devilish goon
who told me that soon
my head would be higher than a hot air balloon.
When it's all over I sure do hope that
my body will be here with my head still intact.
If not for the better than then for the worse,
line up the cars behind my great shiny hearse.
And if in the end this scene busts at the seams
just tell them
it was a Tangerine Dream.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 9:21 PM UTC
media says you
obey the new curfew
the men in black suits
drooped there blues just to hit you
oath breakers lament at the days of justice
glad that there gone, joyous warrior busts sit
in place of the ten in court houses and school pits
correctional facilities a mural of magnanimity
fasad removed infirmary's
making monsters of men once just true to peace
that's why I must say don't just police the police
put in brief question everything
even the words I'm saying
if all this **** hits
any resistance will be terrorism
any act will be justifiable in the name of containment
and no injustice
no matter how grievous
will need anything more to be welcomed
as the flag "to stop the Ebola"
50% chance of death to all infected
100% chance to rule the world
1% chance to have a peace of the pie
99% chance to die
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
When people see me, they never see an ordinary man
A giant of man none the less
Those who have seen my heart sometimes ask this question more
And every time the whispers I give are oddly similar
I sometimes wonder if I had been on this Earth before
It would explain everything I understand
When people see what I have become
Out of the mess I was made
They always ask, "What's your Secret?"
I just tell them
My secret is that I never wonder
My secret lies in which I love
Everything I have seen in the past made me this way
In hoping to become something better
My secret is in the hearts I healed
Knowing that they still are able to beat
Truthfully I have no idea how deep this secret goes
I just know its the key to understanding all the rest
An old crush saw me at the park
With a baby girl by my side
She came up and said hello
She asked if the baby was mine
The baby was my sister, and we were out for a walk
She knew that there were a lot of young in my family
But just had to double check
Something about the way I acted, made me look like more of a father
She said she somehow knew that I would be a great dad
And asked,
"What's your Secret"
My secret is that I never wonder
My secret lies in which I love
Everything I have seen in the past made me this way
In hoping to become something better
My secret is in the hearts I healed
Knowing that they still are able to beat
Truthfully I have no idea how deep this secret goes
I just know its the key to understanding all the rest
Disbelief lies in those who have taken their first look
Ignorance in those of little minds
The smallest minds try to anger the beast inside
I can see the visions of the evil that has tried to boil
It tries to emerge to the surface
The claws grow from my fingertips,
Ready to peel their skin from their bones
But before the monster busts through its cage
A hand of grace caress its cheek
Sometimes its holder is living
Sometimes its holder is dead
Sometimes its holder has yet to experience either
No matter its holder, the effect is the same
The beast is slowly eased into a peaceful mind
Turning itself back to humanity
Those who have seen the beast know that its a power not to tamper
Become surprised of how quick I manage to recover
They ask,
"What's your Secret"
My secret is that I never wonder
My secret lies in which I love
Everything I have seen in the past made me this way
In hoping to become something better
My secret is in the hearts I healed
Knowing that they still are able to beat
Truthfully I have no idea how deep this secret goes
I just know its the key to understanding all the rest
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
He Crawls Deep, Deep, Ðeep in within your system
Blocks all thoughts and busts your ears
You cannot listen
Headless beast of nature with 100 vapours
That forces you to call upon skies for you great saviour
Yes, it is it is imported from a manger danger
You'll be praying "Hi Lord,I know I'm a stranger"
This is saying Peace
To all the human beings being still Patient
90's Kids Are taking over
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
From your neck
Crawling its way up to your head,
Like a river cutting across soft land
The pain follows upto your brow .
You squint your eyes
And shake your head,
The pain taps your mind.
This is the pain from hopelessness
There is no escape, feel it,
Embrace it.
Pray that it busts your head open
And your brain splashes across your bed.
Pray that you evaporate
That you disappear,
Leave back a stain
For that is what your life has been.
You lay on your back
Silence broken by the blood
Running around in your otherwise limp body,
And you hear a screech, a whisper
A mocking?
You turn your empty
But strangely heavy head,
You see the creature
whose children you killed that evening.
You had hunched over the broken egg,
Its insides now spilled outside,
And the other one still lay across.
You had nothing to do,
You wiped the goop that could be life
With a torn bit of paper ,
Haphazardly poured water
And wiped again.
Who would say
The floor had seen death today.
The other egg you rolled to the side,
You knew the creature would cry tonight.
You went about with your life.
The creature is swelled up again,
You noticed
Life would get a chance again,
That is how it works you wonder,
But she must be furious
You see her staring at you.
You are sorry you say.
That's all you had to say
Until today.
Today you are thinking of striking a deal with her
Today you will ask her
To spill your head open
The way you had spilled her egg.
You will ask her to give you peace,
To give you your awaited escape
And in return she can have her justice.
Tell her you can be killed,
All she has to do is drop you
From a height
The way you had dropped her egg
From her home, your rolled mattress.
The only difference you had no intention
Of taking away someone else's life
But your own.
So today ask her to correct your mistake.
My blood will be wiped
My stain will be removed
Someone else will take my place.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
Numbers spin like lottery ***** round and round inside
Always on a quest to see what secrets we can find
But this door won’t melt with torches or be broken by a drill
Because it taps into our mind and uses our free will
No bills wait in stacks behind its inner wall of steel
Just honesty about our lives and the emotions we all feel
Times we always remember and some we wish to forget
Those jackpots or busts everyone is guaranteed to hit
No clanging sounds or flashing lights to signal victory
Just thoughts of where we are and where we wish to be
Sometimes things don’t go our way and we throw in a losing hand
But , it’s not where the journey starts, its where you finally land
And even if your location stays the same
Pieces around you will change like a much-loved board game
New memories and friends come while old ones leave
Each taking a thread in the new life you weave
Experiences fresh and familiar shape what you become
And it doesn’t really matter from where the good times come
Hit or stay, spin that wheel, and let chance do the rest
Walk away with chips in hand and know you’ve done your best!
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
Please don't leave me.
I am crying,
Tears fall from my eyes,
Cause i am picturing that I'll never,
Never again be at your side,
This thought is crushing,
It cripples me,
Busts my heart open wide,
Shards on the floor that sparkle,
Sparkle in blood and tears,
Horrified by my overwhelming fear.
Please don't leave me.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
Like a celebrity of the slums
She moves from crackhead to ********** status
******* ***** for rocks
Armed with her glass and copper apparatus
Times come when she's broke
She's got no coke to smoke
So she has to make a selection
Pick a good vic with a thick wallet
and an ********
She spots her mark
He looks pretty easy
She struts over to his car lookin
cheap and ******
She gets in and he tells her what he wants her to do
They see a darkened alley and start to drive through
He hands her twenty bucks and she discretely hides it
then she grasps his zipper and slides it
down
She looks at his **** and starts to frown
She says "This is too big,it just wont fit"
He says ***** I gave you my money,now work for it!"
Then he's got her hair in his hands and he's forcin it
She feels a split in her lip
She tastes the blood drip
He busts his nut
****** **** he shouts
She wipes her mouth and quickly gets out
Sherie's back on the street and it herself
she blames
Her mascara runs as she stumbles in the rain
down the pull off lane
She tells herself," One more trick!"
Just more hit!
But the next car she climbs in
gets her throat slit.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
she begins to swing her hips
and flicks her bick to overload
her lips on fire with the words
her mind is a furnace comin unglued
see the images leaking out the seams
rivets slamming the walls
as the ***** busts a nut
she is full on now
aint no stopping
aint no slowin down
what are you crazy think you want her
spreadin roots in this state of mind
like unleashing a hailstorm in a paper cup
this version of the girl aint for bring home to momma
she swims out of her eyes
and bites the natural world
but she is an artwork on two fast feet
she is the cover of time pasted on a cereal box
eat that walter cronkite
any questions
his hand a tangled knot
in the handles of his life
and the he begins to bounce on his feet
as the tune rides up onstage
the crows parts to let the kid roll
they can tell this one is gonna burn the carpet
he calls out the things on his mind
the funky thing crawls down his mind
and out the dancing in his legs
heavy steps like rolling thunder
light ones like flashes of lightening
see the music speak with this
poor fools broken form bouncing
but see that ear to ear grin
that ain't painted there
its live and in person
cause this is living
when the music shakes to your soul
long into the night as the band onstage
plays through their list
plays all the favorite ones
and some for the silly little ones who think
its so cute to wear weekend Tye-dye
these two got the dance-floor sweating
these two stretching the flesh
and greeting the sky
one star at a time
people can you feel the heat
coming off her
shes gonna give birth to a lighting rod
and its gonna explode allover this dance-floor
all too soon the band is pulling out the encore
fare thee something
and her exhausted smile is filled with love
for every note she has made love to
this night
and his laugh is for the trails of mind light
that he has danced with and ran with
they wind it on down
they meet in the middle
and hold eachother
as the music finally fades
the rest of the world goes home to sleep
these two
will lay down to relive it in visions
for a lifetimes in a dream
goodnight prince of the river
goodnight princess of dreadlocks
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
Sitting in silent bliss,
absorbed in the Absolute,
that perfect smile
so at home
on your beautiful,
radiant face.
Regal as a queen, laughter
busts out of you
suddenly
like tropical rain.
A colorful flower opening
in time-lapse magic.
Hands of finest delicacy,
refined by teaching
the pathless path
to infinity.
A mind as clear and wise
as the heart is kind,
strong and loyal.
Infinite tenderness is
the Unity within you.
One early morning,
first of your birthdays
I was to celebrate,
watermelon juice whirred
to completion while I cut
two huge banana leaves
on which to place my gifts
before your door.
In the yogic flying hall,
just a little later,
there you were, transformed.
A Balinese angel wearing jade
green wings sat amongst us.
Soft dark hair swept up into a
sanyasi's top knot, and that
same eternal smile of bliss.
You were wearing the love I had
given you, making those giant leaves
into wings that would carry us into
decades of friendship, through
passages of loved ones, and
life's hardest challenges.
Unfathomably,
wherever we are on
Mother Earth,
we are always we,
even as you are you,
and I am always me.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
Thunder shakes its hide of rain.
Against the sky, rain retreats.
Rain makes some people lonely
but graces me like a scar.
Rain makes some people just wet.
Against your skin, rain bright-stars.
Rain drifts in deserted rooms
like a speaker suspended.
"Glisten, eyes, and rain freely."
At home flood-rain drowned my dog.
Shake your coat of rain, fly on.
Rain weaves weary paths like the
old Aurelian stone busts.
Forest rain drips, doesn't fall.
Rain runs down softly like a
colorful painted lasso.
Rain breathes on my window sill
like a loaded rifle. Rain
penetrates all skin and bone.
Rain is more serious than
a lover on his deathbed.
Rain can be pitiful like
glowing fire never dead.
Umbrellas familiar
with rain sit forgotten in
closets with old pairs of shoes.
Direwolves prance through rains with tails
held like a tarantula
in molting season beats drums.
Ashpalt puddles boil with rain.
Against the ground, rain retreats.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
Listless.
the psychology of a social construct so easily broken down.
cracks so exposed and well worn wedges do pleasures deeds.
electromagnetic synapses delving into the degree of damage.
Prose for ill minds comes in droves and withholds no force.
fates memory holds in high regard the lasting forgotten.
drowned stone fire pits lost within reflections craters
Tis so easily tapped through wayward degrading honesty
neither gasp nor exclaim as treacherous glare busts horizons
Proclaim righteousness for the still air of true possibilities
crushing microcosmos with known unfounded pestilence
Flare and stone berate the cold states of spectrum reach
Reminders on the dust tails of impact praise residing
well woven whispers dilute the hollow hold resonating
but of course destruction impact anguish abides
but of course destruction. sculptors require fire.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC
full title: ON THE PAINTING OF A MAN
BALANCING A HAT ON THE TIP OF A CIGAR
--from Cafe Le Quartier Libre
i can tell from the way he holds his body that
he's from Paris
as a child he spent his summers playing hide & seek
around the Eiffel Tower
he lost his virginity to a generous German ****
when he was eleven...a woman into Tarot and
palm reading
He smoked his first cigar with her
i can tell, i know
and it can be said that she was his one and only
true love
O people reading these lines
if only you could see him
Rodin would have loved him and would have devoted
decades on busts of him
O, if only you could see the way
he balances that hat on his cigar
still under her spell
~~
..circa 1978..Copyright 1981/2012 Spiros Zafiris
..from Midnight Magic (1981) ISBN:0-9690643-2-2
~~
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 4:07 AM UTC
My guru skinnydips in multi-colored waterbeds.
Listen!
A pop festival blows bubbles in free flashbacks.
Dig it, brother!
John Lennon overdoses on the agony of paisley bellbottoms.
Will the Grateful Dead give shotguns with laid back madness?
Eric Clapton quivers in Janis Joplin's windowpane.
Oh, how Timothy Leary plays lead with strung out drug busts!
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Rain weaves weary paths on the
old Aurelian stone busts
like lilting music in a
deserted ballroom.
Yellow cobblestones echo
underneath black soled shoes and
sickly noses sing.
Across the street, children laugh
like the breaking shaft of a
silverish door key in a
cold iron-clad lock.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 1:26 AM UTC