"cactuses" poems
Sometimes my eyes
Are the skies
Of the desert
Dry as the lies
That they told us
Sandy brown
On the ground
Parched particles
Pointy patches
Of cactuses
Insects and mole rats
Little lizards that run fast
And you may ask
Where is the metaphor
Well, everything is a
Metaphor for everything else
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
first line lips are false as a beach next mcarthur’s in chicago next the big blond takes the elevator down next pearl on the lip next shalimar stirs the canine **** all right I like that let’s start a new one do it what what do you have don’t **** up wheres the apostrophe ******* you’re cruel now back now whack it again whack it again I want it to go back whack it press it whack it okay new line
i want elevator i want uh i want don’t ask the bellboy for the time just take the elevator to what? to notions? to the lingerie shop? ah **** you grandma new line
all right one more time okay **** the gin-socked tongue that’s “soaked” period once again the elevator down paint the pretty tie (cough cough) thai next big buick big *** like fish put a ? after fish take it back take it back you ***** okay that’s not bad you do all right ah **** song of india in the desert at night put “” marks around song of india & desert song in capital letters hit shalimar then cadillac red lips then **** like a seashell with a gin-soaked tongue start new line
all right does mcarthur stick his socks in the bathtune at night that’s bathtub the dog howls at the moon buries it in the backyard snakes lose their skin cocoa butter slick water on the brain of the big dark blond song of india **** **** **** big fish *** big v8 you ***** keep up with me painted rocks like a pretty tie fast car long legs and a broken heel now dead no not dead yet um estee lauder goes down on price-waterhouse in a swedish bath bellboy watching this is his reflection in the mirror no silver one-sided next line
big blond trampled by elephants with wrinkled knees starch is not chic all gone shalimar stirs the k-9 **** sequined *** in the moonlight cadillac red lips hungry dog eats tail becomes himself bad dog play dead okay what do you suggest bad doggie bad comma bad comma hungry dog go for the tongue you dumb ***** keep going new line
what do cactuses(i) have??? fronds fur what are their things called new line
dog hates gin go for the breast stupid ***** good dog dry dog poor dog pour blond water of life **** yellow a thai like painted rocks period next
i want head down legs up i want sequined *** only ****** level damp dampened dampest ***** panorama **** **** **** blue blue down there feminine azure with clouds too got it odalisque in blue period have mercy on me no no new ******* line what are you filling that thing up with okay stop it for now
4.6k
Miles and miles of sand
with no horizon in view,
the caravan moves on -
in search of an oasis.
The heat is treacherous,
the sand is scorching,
the camels are tired
and so are the herdsmen.
The journey is long,
the day will almost be gone
and darkness will reign again
until another day dawns.
The desert’s dreadful distances,
the weather’s vicious whims,
the camels’ callous restlessness
all add to the herdsmen’s hardship.
Roadless tracks
of sand and rocks
where tall, wild cactuses abound
with many sand dunes around.
The Sahara -
a natural oven -
bakes humans and camels alike
leaving scattered mortal remains.
A sandy landscape
in shades of light fawn
with deceptive mirages
inviting thirst again.
The journey is long
with no sign of an oasis.
But the caravan must move on…
Inshallah – until we meet again.
Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 3:15 pm
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 1:58 AM UTC
Skyscrapers and green fields
The opposite of what I had pictured it to be
No dry grass or cactuses
But suddenly a tornado struck Dallas
And we were stuck at the hotel
We were like "oh well!"
No complains, just smiles
Didn't tip the valet guys
Sorry fellas, we're not used to your system yet
The next time we won't forget!
Stopped at Dairy Queen for a banana split
It's too late anyway to try to stay fit
They played the Banjo song from Deliverance
and some gentlemen with Cowboy hats started to dance
Finally I got to see the stereotypes
in the land with the stars and stripes
We missed our turkey but saw some coyotes instead
On every road armadillos lay dead
Waved good bye at the border of New Mexico
Hated to see us leave but loved to watch us go
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
You spit out
a dry laugh
to try to hide
the death
in your eyes.
The desert
you call a soul
is so full
of memories
that *****
your mind
like cactuses
drawing pieces
of your happiness
like blood.
You try
to wash away
the reflection
in the mirror
with the salty rivers
pouring through
your tear ducts,
but that only blurs
your view
of reality.
You use your blade
to paint a more beautiful life
on your thighs
with crimson hopes
that someone will notice.
The happiness
of the life
you once had known
is buried deep
in the graveyard
of your thoughts
but the skeletons
you keep
in your closet
are in full view.
You dress them
in armor
and they fight off
the love of the ones
who care for you
like an elite force
of warriors determined
on destroying
the foreign feeling
of compassion.
You try to replace
the feeling of love
with the lust
of boys who's tongues
whip you with lies.
You plead with
every God
you have
ever heard of
every single night
to save you
from the darkness
but the doubt
in your heart
snuffs out their light.
Every day
you **** off
another piece
of your self
with the sword
of depression
leaving an
empty shell
of a person
in your place.
When are you going
to realize that
you're my reflection
and I'm trying
to shatter the mirror?
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
Helium halos fade,
So often I'm awake in my coffin,
Coughing out a blackened soul,
A stop sign nailed on chest,
This is the crossroads,
To an unknown wasteland,
Where the angels are hung from cactuses,
A fire struck the marker holder in the chalkboard sky,
And there lit a billion, brilliant stellar matches,
Now where do I go,
Away from this desperation,
Away from the smiles,
Of fertilized desecration,
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
Not one for sunshine, she preferred the shade. Understandable. Arizona can be a real ***** if you know what I mean. Even the cactuses are dried stiff and developed sun-callouses. She was tired of drinking sand in her water, sand in her air, lungs grity like dentist tooth paste. She was also blind, never saw the yellow of the sun but knew of the light, its brightness its harsh ways. She was aware of the prickly green cactuses, the rattle snakes with their innards cooking during lunch time. This woman wanted to live with trees now. Desert had been a past time to dream about during her youth, she heard of the bitter dirts and dry airs and miles of flat land broken by large mounds of mountain (that she never saw but trusted existed). Her nephew was a grown *** man, coming over every now and again to keep her some company while her company slowly reduced her hours, told her to lay off working, her bones were getting brittle, would snap, a hip would pop, and really the way she stared without seeing into their eyes was just a little unnerving. She hated her job. Hated her nephew, who even without seeing his face could tell he was a large, sweaty pastey guy who constantly wiped his face with a towel. She wasn't sad or unpleasant, just real, honest with herself and others in ways people couldn't quite appreciate just yet, not yet. Not until one day they realize all isn't peachy and fine, and that everything is insane, and then they realize the insanity is what makes everything worth living for anyway. She could see this. With no sight, she could see and she would smile, then frown because she could feel the curiousity of onlookers trying to figure her out. People weren't for figuring out, they were for watching and moving along as if nothing had ever happend. And in this way, she moved.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
Listen
to these green plants
pleading
beseeching
you would think
they'd be used to it by now
but every year the same old thing
look the rain is finished folks
you're on your own now
nine months before the next shower
this is how leaves suffocate
see the gray dust clogging their pores
hear them choking
under a wind thrown blanket
this is how they drown
brittle and crackling the grasses
soon the weight
of a starving grasshopper
will be enough to snap
them
shrubs will dump
their curled up castoffs
earthwards
scribbled twigs alone
will remain
from now on
only the thieving airplants
will thrive
viral invaders
******* sap from reluctant hosts
who can ill afford
to accommodate them
now patient rocks
are emerging from cover
each a palette of vivid lichens
sundecks for snakes and lizards
now that the clamouring grass
is gone
the land lies baking
withdrawn
curling
into herself
even the air
sighs
slumps
soon fire will come
to cannibalise
the undergrowth
play chasey
through the dry grass
send ants scurrying
downstairs
flip a nod
to the big old cactuses
tickle the toes
of the mesquites-
who will stand stoic
observing the pillage
around their hot feet
and shrug
resigned
seen it all before
they are above it all really
fire
will play homage
to their indifference
lay down
a black velvet carpet
wind
will whistle up
tiny tornadoes of ash
to pirouette
and perish
everyone
will accept the inevitable
eventually
and just knuckle down
to wait it out
in a state of trance
floating
on a dream
of rain
Tricia Lambert
Mexico
Nov 2010
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 10:07 AM UTC
When thoughts of drunken absurdity
Rambles through your brain
And the stain upon your pearl lapel
Can no longer repel the miser's giggle
Make sure you have a life vest
Make sure you have a nights rest
For the morning tide is rising and soon to come
When no one knows your name except the mirror
And He even shows sign of struggle in thought
Admit no defeat until the last bullet has been fired
We are tired but not lost, this dear country
We are spent but not trampled, this dear country
We are taken but not took quite yet, this dear country
Attention to the clouds, for that is where the victory lies
When the caverns of time have finally collapsed
And where we came from is truly lost
See at last that the crystal chandeliers were all for show
Split Titanic a symbol for man's adamant push of dreams
Seen to accept death for progress, watch the melting snow
It comes, it goes, it comes again until the first rain
And again we see life and death in such extreme simplicity
When the running rivers finally hit the dam
Do not **** man, for we need our restrictions to stay sane
Only a chosen few can look into the Melville void
And scream with spear in hand, "Fight for Eternity!"
The echo cannot be heard, only the memory of a fight
We were young when we danced unseen and painted in the night
When the love of the desert finally blows its final wind
The cactuses shrivel then within themselves
And passing Emily and Emilee brush their hair one last time
The stars blink, shutter, and freeze like water to ice
Hold your heart in your right pocket, your soul in your left
The markets are all stocked but feel every door is locked
When the phrases have all ended
And the money is all gone
Seek no shelter but the comfort of death
Of an unforgiving World
Created from the chaos to futile to fight
See that we are that and everything is us
Hold thy' brother and sister - we have no father's or mother
We were born together
And do no despise or be afraid
Of dying at last together
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
another day in the woods. on Strawberry ridge
looking out over undulating green hills to
the next great wall ridge of mountains. the last
morning clouds left from last night's storm
hanging in the valley mistily. the sun eventually
burns them away.
the respect between old Paul Karlsen and I continues
to exist. even though he's a Mormon and I'm a fallen
New Yorker. the work is comparatively easy, lifting
hundred pound bags, so you can just imagine what
we do other days. in fact, it's fun, especially for
young Bates. we get all white (and our lungs dusty).
on the way to and from the work site I read
in Silent Spring, the chapter against herbicides, gathering
inspiration for the upcoming controversy. in the end
perhaps I'll be fired for refusing to lay down Tordon
beads. realizing this, as I drive with Bates,
I see the dark green conifers and begin to miss them.
Rocks and rattlesnakes, bluebells
and mountain daisies, grasses and cactuses, mahogany
bush, lodgepole pine and quaking aspen, lush forest
and dry sun-tortured mountainside, wind and seed
carried by wind, ants, streams, hummingbird
and hawk, deer, badger, ground squirrel, wolverine.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
If I ever have children
I’ll teach them about god
On
Family road trips
In a mini-van
With a candy wrapper carpet
And warm melted crayons
In the seats grand canyons
As the Arizona sun sets
Over the Copper State
Where you could almost swear
It was the red dusted desert
Painting the sky
Rain-less-bows of color
With broken butte brush stroke
Across the restless desert
As you twist around in your seat-belted
Body of eight years old
To the rearview window
Of an AC blasted
Softly singing stereo
Escaping out gaping windows
Leaving nothing behind
But a heatwave
Trying to settle down
Tire teased dust
For the evening stretch ahead
That you think might never end
As if god was using the road as a string
He had tied tightly to the family car
Carving the way though
Salty cactuses drinking licks of sand left by
Dirt devils dancing across the graves of
Lizards
Who pretended they didn't exist
But couldn’t fool the hawks
Who watched and waited
For more than just a lost tail
Or a forgotten story
But something clay
Concretely carved in to caves and caverns
With rock and bone
Something solid to hold on to
But my children need to know
That an existence is a slippery thing
Like the color from the buttes
As it slowly drips off the sky
And back into the sand
Leaving speckles of white
Freckling the blackness
Swirled with little
Tizzles of light
As homage to the desert moon
Whose crying stars for
Coyotes
Howling in time
To the crickets metronomic harmonies
Singing the desert back from its camouflage
Life bursting breath though
The earth cast shadows
Breathing heart beats across the land
That's just been
Brought back to living
And if I ever have children
I'll teach them
That this road will never end
At least not where we expect it to
Because god
Isn’t who
We make him to be
He
Doesn’t string us along a road
But he holds the world on a string
The End.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
It's the vast desert you see.
And there is just one bee.
Only sand and sand.
No noise like a band.
A cold breeze blows on your face.
You walk in a slow pace.
Soon the sun will set.
But you will never become wet.
In the sandy desert there is no rain.
And you will feel faint.
Prickly cactuses grow.
You have no boat to row.
There is no water it is really dry.
You will always wonder why?
Because there is a sun and it's hot.
It's not easy to even find a ***
It's rare to find an oasis.
When you see one you feel like your life is saved.
Your heart has smiles.
But a fear to see no oasis again after this one for a thousand miles.
You can hear a sound of a wind chime.
And there is no use of a dime.
This is the story to the sands of time
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
We took a drive down to Arizona last summer -
I know, it was a terrible season to do it, but
We didn’t have enough time off while
She was in school, and I had just gotten
My vacation, so summer it had to be.
We were cruising down the road through the desert,
(And I know people say that deserts are full of cactuses,
But really they aren’t, I mean, I only saw like
Seven the whole trip and that was really disappointing
Because I was only really in it for the cactuses;
Oh, but I’m rambling) and she asked me
Why there even are roads in the middle of
What is basically an enormous sand dune,
So I said I guess there must be towns out here
In this enormous sand dune, places that need
Getting-to. She looked up at the empty shallow-water
Blue of the sky and said, well why would there be
Towns out here? Between the heat and the salt flats
And the lack of cacti (which she said for my benefit)
I don’t see why anyone would visit a desert,
Much less live in it. Which was something to think on,
So I did, and after considering the question, I said,
The pilgrims came to a land of harsh winters
And savage peoples (or so they thought) and
Hated the place, but hated it less than their home,
So they stayed. She seemed in wonder and a little
Sad, pondered this new information for a moment
And said, what they were running from must have been
Bad, and now it’s got them stuck out here
Even when it’s dead they can’t go back.
I knew she meant more than villages in the sand,
But I just said yeah and dipped my head.
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 1:20 PM UTC
I think the truth is that I never wanted something easy to begin with.
I've always wanted to dance with the devil and squeeze cactuses between my fingers because oh god how beautiful pain makes me feel.
I wanted broken glass beneath my feet and volcanoes erupting in my heart every time your fingers traced my bleeding lips.
If I am being completely honest, I loved watching you walk out the door just so that sparks of adrenaline would eat me alive while I ran after you,
barefoot on the scorching tar because **** -
your love was so worth it.
I am difficult to love - that I know. I am both fire and ice. I am a breathing paradox of everything you want and everything you hate.
I am a tornado of light in an ocean of darkness - together we are ******* invincible.
Anyone who comes after will sink into the ashes I leave behind me wherever I go.
I hope you know that our souls chose each other because everyone else will drown in our depth.
Our love was constructed by the earth even though our love too is a paradox.
Our love is gentle and kind but at the same time it is vicious and thirsty - always wanting more.
I always want more.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
Roses are Red.
Violets are Blue.
No I will not **** you.
Roses are Red.
Cactuses are Green.
I want to rip out your ******* spleen.
Roses are Red.
Some are white
I hope you choke and die tonight.
Roses are Red.
Thorns are thick.
I want to casterate your two inch ****
Roses are red.
Your blood is too.
Because I just ******* killed you.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
frying plantains in Tanzania
with rice - so much rice
ageing postmen with bus passes and metal knees
carrying keisters of it
a thousand different ways
slow walkers
married, always
frittering away chances or just
connected,
with the mortal coils of the market?
big coat on in the Kalahari
your scorpions absent from the guest list,
exiled.
the brown bears caged, but should things have
really.
come to this?
fierce heat.
fizzing geysers rumpled by grey fluorescent lights and
plagued,
by the speeding steam trains of their past that took them to
SO MANY GREAT PLACES but they only recall the
endings.
the crashing off the tracks,
the unexpected landslides
revolve
navigate the ridge and don’t funk from looking down.
it is better this way.
stamp the scorpions in.
£5 on the door.
take the free round and dance around their nimbus because even though you WILL NEVER
know them,
you would NOT
BE HERE.
without them.
your corner patch
a feral patch given over to woodworms and weeds
but a patch without chains,
shaded by roses suffering a kind of pressure you will never understand.
the naan breads arrived 40 minutes early and ruined your bath but
WHAT
A
PRIZE.
to exist in a rainforest where naan breads are possible.
and ferns unfurl,
then hang,
and rise again.
frying plantains in Tanzania
slow married women bearing grain
carry your cactuses out into the sun.
feed them.
watch them.
be naked with your scorpions and really feel the
football finals
the canal gates
the shooting stars, zooming by
through the windows of the train.
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
Tonight, I'm talking to the moon:
'You haven't wept enough?
I'm thirsting for your tears.'
Stars, I cannot bear
seeing you shiver in the distance.
How many are the dawns
where I plucked
gossamer dew on grass-tips!
The cactuses,
they've grown tall this summer.
Prisons and palaces I have seen -
Plenitude, loneliness,
riding in my *****
as you hold me in your arms,
onward, past joys and despair
Señora, there is yet
a thawing desire for the spring.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
Fences enclose sweaty trees
of palms, apricots and figs,
while dried-up roses suffer
heat, next to stubborn hortensia
striving, to blossom despite
anomalous murderous drought.
An infant baobab travelled
all the way from Dakar to be
planted in a *** in Rome, while
the fragile bonsai changes
place everyday victim,
of my indecision fearing
a premature death.
Parsley, basil, oregano and thyme
On rosemary’s opposite side,
Emanate odours of culinary
Makings, as a lonely herb grows
In a corner, unfolding potential
Of future rewards, paid in smoke.
Aloe and cactuses evergreen
Surrounded, by dead leaves
Stranded, along the hedge covering
Fertile soil suffocating, possibilities
For emerald grass to raise as I mow
The lawn picking them up to set
cadavers free.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
imagine waking up next to the girl of your dreams at 11 AM in the morning after a long night of reading books and drinking coffee while you were also writing poems about the way her brown eyes light up when she talks about how beautiful the stars and how interesting galaxies are. you remember where you first met her and you saw her beautiful presence hiding behind a pile of books at the book shop and she was wearing the cutest polka-dot skirt you've had ever seen and you swear that on that exact moment you started counting the freckles on her rosy cheeks that she fell for the way you looked at her with all your sympathy and you two connected and you both knew this was going to last forever. and a few months later when you were at ikea buying furniture for the appartment you now live in and she was looking at the fake cactuses and you saw how her sleeve revealed little red lines all over her tiny wrists you knew that you shouldn't buy cactuses, not even those made of plastic. because sometimes you'd wish she was made from plastic too, so she wouldn't have to feel all of these things she's feeling right now. and you were enjoying the moment where you just woke up next to her and you saw how she was sleeping with the most beautiful smile on her face and you knew it was because of you, because she told you the night before that when she wanted to buy those cactuses she saw you looking at her and she saw how much it must've hurt you and she never did again. because she didn't want you to feel the same way as she did back then.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
This is madness, magic, heaven, hell, sins galores a virtue,
This is more than just a burden or a curse but I extort you,
This Is optimus and megatron fighting in the city,
This is shia going bat **** crazy speaking fluidity,
This is a just do it moment when you can't leap off the bungee,
This a world overran with smart talking apes and monkeys,
This is a crane kick to the heart to make your soul out in space,
This is a love for her but he just wants *** in a public place,
This is a game of throwing stuffed animals at live cactuses
This is a distorted view that you got wrong but you asked for this,
This is more than just a game of life we play for the hell of it,
This settings nice so don't you mess this up or regret this.
This was a misunderstanding between friends that provoked love,
This is a corrupted society plague by the gov,
This is the devil knowing all you lust for and thinking of,
What would it be like without expectancy and living above.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:18 AM UTC
In your name my emotions are cactuses
Immortal and unchanged
The many forms you take ignites a fiery concoction
Breeding the spikes of my lost words
The suffering you inflict from the core of your existence
splurges from my heart
Fighting in your name against you
Does that make me hard?
Mystique
The many forms you take has me in awe
I've been searching in every nook and cranny
and every open door
Is what you are really on the other side?
The more I try to stop searching, the more I feel obliged
****
Down like the Fall I try to turn a new leaf
A new song with the same tune, Mystique you've had me deceived.
Mystique
My spikes are softening and I'm starting to bloom
Let me see your beautiful features, not your face of gloom
Mystique
One more question, before you let me be
Has anyone ever saw your true form
Or just what you want them to see?
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
Scars I wish upon my knee
rather wounds across my memories
so prays my soul to god Almighty
know not where or how might it be
Days flowing like those waterstreams
except that they're boundless;
kept me staring at the black dull leaves
so like that Rodin's sculpture so pious
gazing as always ov'r those low highs
but with something startling this time;
whirling up the sky so becoming and full.
a Kaleidoscope so divine and beautiful
" Go find the love " told
my nerve so calm and cold
uprising my soul to set forth
over the cactuses that seem gore.
Singing and swinging she flew high
to the light that clouds cant hide
with the colors more than I feel
like a new life so cool and free.
Apart from its fellas
she drifted calmly towards the attic
Whereby I stood with my eyes forecast
warning her of sudden drizzles that grew quick;
memories faded, those very few of my awful past
making this being a soul-less cynic
forever again till last.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
You cultivate my being in a meadow filled with worms
A fortress of affection
Flimsily dancing with a turbulence
And a haze of power
Sample of distress and dominance
Planting tubes of lies inside nostrils
Often rejected
Spewed truth
******* up by a few contractions
A provocation leading to derision
Kneading with hands of bricks
The extremities are erected in straight lines
The corners rotten angles
I am spinning around in a square of loneliness
The world is flourishing in a sense of prosperity
Preventing a state of realization
Plunging in the shadows of cactuses
They drank my blood and water I drank too
Inhaling peace surrendering
Plate of bitumen layers of silica
Heaviness forms clumps of crow eggs
On the tip of my eyelashes
In the hollows of my memory
I still follow the movement of your shoes
with a sight and clattering rhythm
Your tracks will not be lost
Or covered by a skin of dust
Leaving abandonment
Destruction
In the tranquility of putrefaction
Under one of your footprints
Where ants stand on crutches
And dirt-scraping sugar cubes
Cover all the rubble
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 6:34 AM UTC
Its the vast desert you see
There's just one bee
only sand and sand
no noise like a band
A cold breeze blows on your face
you walk in a slow pace
soon the sun will set
but you will never become wet in the desert
Because there is no rain
you will feel faint
prickly cactuses grow
you have no boat to row
There is no water its really dry
you will always wonder why?
because there is a sun and it is hot
its not easy to find a ***
you can hear the sound of the wind chime
there is no use of a dime
this is the story of the sands of time
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC