"calve" poems
You live on the canal,
by the little swan
that whittles the sun.
A sudden rush of clouds,
a clatter of sandals -
caprice of Dublin.
I knew of Dublin
and its grand canal
from old books tan as sandals.
I read Yeats for a swan,
Joyce for castle clouds
that yielded little sun.
But you, you were the sun!
You lit green Dublin
from within. Clouds
fled from the canals
of your eye. "Swansies."
And summer's far sandals
were today's sandals:
time shifted in the sun,
took flight like the night swan
through ancient Dublin.
You sent letters from the canal,
letters that divided clouds,
only to calve new clouds.
I've never worn sandals,
not ever, but when the canal
danced in my dreams, the sun
pierced my foot in Dublin.
You were my swan,
my elegant swansie,
killer of cloud,
conquistador of Dublin
in gladiatorial sandal,
herald and avatar of sun,
romantic of the grand canal.
Let me taste unclouded sun -
let sandals upend the canal -
send swans by the dozen into Dublin.
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
Don't try to move
Just Be still
You must prove
It"s your will
Just be,
Quietly
Silently
Chill
No technology
No phones
No emails
No fax
Mythology
Bones
Trails
Relax
Thoughts flow through my head
like streams upon the riverbed
Constantly haunting me
Is it a plague or am I free
Wondering what it is I truly do seek
On this Hedonistic journey for pleasure
Once I finally reach the highest peak
Will I even care if there isn't any treasure
And even if there was, how much is really ever enough?
No matter how much was there I would still feel rough
The journey is over, but at least you can buy more stuff
Many toys to play with but your hands are tightly cuffed
Look a brand new thing to crave
How much money did you save?
I"ll take that secret to my grave
As a true consumer ridden slave
Everyone wants what they just can't have
Eyeing your neighbor"s prize like a vulture
Euphemise it veal instead of saying calve
Euthanized a deal, our throw away culture
I want more more more, that's mine not yours
So blessed to have our choice of each amenity
We"ve bore ourselves into consumer ******
So stressed when all we should seek is serenity
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.
Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.
Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with greet girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the ****
Nor the outspoken grave.
If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away not crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the ***** and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.
This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.
And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his ***
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.
And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.
2.2k
Eve convinced Adam
to eat forbidden fruit
in the Garden of Eden
Helen of Troy's face
launch'd a thousand ships,
her lips instigating warfare
Sumptuous curvatures of
women's hips and bossom
lure honorable men to disgrace
How dare that trollop
where a pair of trousers
accentuating her buttocks!
The micro-hemline
corralled a wandering eye
to the elegant calve muscle
The female figure is
warmth and seduction,
yet devilish and misleading
History and myth
reaffirming sweet satisfaction,
but reeking of disaster
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
I watch her as she cries
and as she sinks to the floor
she sobs herself to sleep
reminds me, shes so much like me
of course she is,
she is my mother
But mother's love,
and care
and don't abuse their daughters
i wonder why she does
why she does just that
because she knows i hate the pain
inflicted on my calve
We are so much alike
i just noticed that
both childhoods ruined by eachother
when she was seventeen
she had me
now Im 13
pain crashing through my body
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
In and old abandoned corn shed
Where men calve lumps of stone
Sitting in some old abandoned corner
Young Johnny sits all alone
See Johnny's wife, she left him
For some Sacramento stud
Now his tears they hit the corn shed floor
While the stones wash in his blood
In a down town whisky bar
Where the drinks will bring you down
Make you feel like you've won the fight
But there's no one else around
Sit's a beautiful woman who has no place to go
But a thousand down town men that want to take her home
But a village by the name of Palmetto
Where the lanes are named the same
Lived beautiful young Louisa
Who made my heart beat lame
And for all the worlds riches now seem worthless
Like nothing could ever rise above this
But when she stands there waiting with those shot-gun lips
My eyes they travel from her jawbone to her hips
She asks me to come in and make a sacrifice
Leave my heart on the doorstep to paradise
Soft kisses in the night, softly and with such despair in those eyes
whispers stay here with me tonight, stay with me at least until sunrise
So i carry the cross of David
For all those worshipers tonight
For all the children with no food to share
or those who've just lost sight
As we walk up those stairs i made a promise to keep her safe
Now i'm covered in her beauty but simply lost in all of her faith
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
The dude wore
a desert-cammie boonie,
cut-off cargos
& chain-smoked Camels.
He was a walking billboard, too.
On his right calve,
an inked rattler
lay coiling,
buzzing,
"Don't Tread On Me"
& on his left
was etched
the middle finger,
spewing,
**** Iraq!"
God, I loved him.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
i can't fathom the depths of the ocean
and i don't know if that's a cliche or a pun or both
but being with him made me want to watch glaciers calve
and count droplets in waterfalls
and wonder at the wonderful
but things on pedestals do what things on pedestals do
now i could throw myself off the side of a cliff on principle alone
and laugh at the bottom
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
I splashed onto your crown,
slid through your gorgeous hair,
rolled down over your beautiful shoulder
& scrumptious blade
to your lower slender-spine,
where I pooled for a second,
before quickly disappearing
over into your sweet crack
touching your soft-petals,
cascaded to your inner thigh
& onto your muscular calve,
moved alongside your ankle
to the short distance
between your toes,
where I fell,
swirled into the drain.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
The beauty of Audrey Hepburn would appear to have no parallel,
With luscious eyes and soft white skin as smooth as caramel,
From the class, and the elegance, that so few have,
Combined with the innocence of a newborn calve,
La femme parfaite,
society may say.
Although she does not make me laugh, love and stand above,
Because Audrey pales in comparison to my love.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
I wonder to world with her board
To calve out songs that smell vile
She would bite my ears as a cord
But the love was dead as death is alter
My love can't be sold for real, she knew
Never loved me never never and ever
Living inside the white garment to ******
She pretends to admire her desire
Her heart flew in the dew with few crook.
Cup in her scent of my handsome look
Lover boy glower son of one woman
Love me when am down and drown
Not when I fly and high cloud in the sky
Call me name to tame my sway baby
Jan 4, 2022
Jan 4, 2022 at 2:59 AM UTC
the creature has noticed me. it has thousands of broken legs on its face and keeps tabs, never wasting an hour without checking in, watching my home grow bigger in the corner. i am a long bodied cellar spider, suspended, inverted beneath the guitar case, just right of the bed frame. food is scarce, but i sense we share this hunger in the humid subterranean habitat. it takes on thinness, shakes at times, makes day into night, flips pages, tele-spells, turns night into day again.
micro-fibrous dust settles on my spinnerets, a twitchy sneeze draws attention, the cruelest of details. while unraveling undaunted one pseudo-day sort of night, a pulse was released comma intent to **** it came like resolute qualia, something my eight eyes can’t see. the plastic cave, the broken allegory, all ghastly and converging. as soon as the web gets jostled, a switch will summon my stunning epileptic display. i am ready to give it a leg, but only from the calve. it has never come this close.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 5:56 PM UTC
Seeking asylum behind the wall and
if Jerusalem should fall
we'll head off to a desert isle.
I'm going to
file that away for a rainy day which
may be tomorrow,
who knows.
Down here in Le Havre
watching ferries calve cars
it all seems like madness to dream
for a while of soft sand and an isle
when the desert is here
within me.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC