"cerise" poems
Tell me you love me,
As you gaze into my eyes,
Leaving kisses for all to see,
In violet, yellow and cerise.
Show me your fiery passion,
As you scream out my name,
Expletives a mere expression,
Of feelings that drive you insane.
Make me feel your adoration,
With your bruising touch,
With the heart of a nation,
To make me love you as such.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
ABOVE THE FUCHSIA COLORED CITY
IS A FRENCH ROSE COLORED SKY,
COLORED AS ANOTHER NAME
OTHER THAN THE CLOUDS OF WHITE
SALT AND BONES.
THE CITY'S AIR SMELL OF GREY
ELEPHANT'S BREATH AND POETRY.
I BLAME THE LEMONADE COLORED
RAIN THAT DIDN'T FALL TODAY
FOR THIS CONUNDRUM.
MAYBE THE RAIN IS PROBABLY
SOMEWHERE SITTING STILL
IN THE HOT SEAT OR MAYBE IN
HEAVEN'S COLORLESS TIGHTLY
CLOSED LAP.
SITTING
THERE
THINKING
WHAT
COLORS
GO
BEST
WITH
WILD
EMOTIONS?
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:34 PM UTC
Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone
past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.
A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots
Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past
the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while
Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.
The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and
deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I had a dream that my thoughts were
sifted out of my head into a bowl, they
were grains, a million dahlia beads that
surfaced on a cerise reef, split from top to
bottom, I didn't mind so much, to be
honest
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:48 AM UTC
Love on my toes, love in the cabinet, love jumps off balconies
it is an eighteen year old succubus offering spinal taps.
Bring the gentlemen their evening numbness before next
morning’s nightmare and ******** are scheduled on God’s map –
he just steps out for a moment, settles his sleeping mask on.
God is so unhappy: he understands nothing of love.
Get this recipe recited so we shall feed them pink and blue pills
which knobs can sting boys in the *** a fleabite or bow
soon our leather heels chime through their ears like hooves.
The master may question their nutrition so hold out a paper cup
sloshing in female nectar, our vaguely cerise saliva
sustenance that comes from between slits carved for such –
these acids are love, love, love. Love from cavities, love pearls
knotted in the roots of a mother clam, fallopian love tubes.
Every shoebox offers warmth, complementary wakeup calls
a petite blonde to peel him out of his pajamas, too –
lay your husbands down into the doll-case if he has no love
as God is not watching here. Oh, how happy our gentlemen are.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
To write of Love, of Heaven, and of God,
Hills of joy, o'er which Angel pursued
Of that Boy, a sublime hippie shepherd,
Who in Heart the wisdom of Heaven had,
My pen, it labours, I give sweat and blood,
To paint world in cerise, a sweet red flood:
Or Prussian blue, depending on the scene,
Let Poets tell true folk from chess piece Kings,
Feign benevolence, when they are mean,
Who strut and rule above, superior things,
Who on the carcass of the suffering wean,
Drunk on power, Almighty sovereigns.
To write of Love, Heaven, apart from days,
Spent in drudgery at whim of Lords,
Who sit engorged by gold, wealth as they graze,
Upon the fruits yield by the mass, that horde,
As mass toil deep 'neath sun's sweltering rays,
To give and barter time they can't afford.
But they will be the ones in Heaven crowned,
As all time vindicates the plight of souls,
Who in port, or wine, have never drowned,
Rich gluttony the faithful mind abhors,
Upon which Saints and angels incensed frown,
So to tyrant's whims take pious war.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
A Odessa je suis morte un matin d’octobre
Si je devais revivre je voudrais être psychopathe et brûler des maisons
Non, surtout pas ça
C’est effroyable de savoir écrire, même juste un peu.
…/…
Marcher
Errer
Déambuler
Fermer les yeux
Ne plus penser
Mourir demain
Il faudrait que je meure demain
Mais vraiment, je veux dire
Me pendre au cerisier
M'étouffer avec le noyau d'une cerise
N'importe quoi
Trouver un truc
Mais mourir demain
Pour justifier ma raison d’être
Simplement poser mon stylo
Sur cette jolie place ensoleillée je vous ai regardé
Vous lisiez les yeux fermés
ALORS CHUT !
Pour justifier ma raison d’écrire
Simplement m’envoler
Ne plus avoir à me justifier
Etre juste un peu plus simple
Partir
Continuer l’errance à Odessa
Devenir transparente
La peau sur les os
Rêver
Pourquoi elle
Pourquoi moi
Dans le fond
Je ne suis pas bien différente de vous
Je n'avais rien à écrire
Je n'ai rien à te dire
De ma vie tu ne sais rien
Et si je dois mourir demain
Tu découvriras alors peut-être
Je dis bien peut-être
Et si tu lis ces lignes demain
Tu comprendras alors peut-être
Je dis bien peut-être
A Odessa cet après-midi
Je n'ai fait que vous regarder
Peut-être aurais-je dû m'y poser
Je travaille pour survivre
Je vis pour écrire
J’écris comme je respire
Le souffle coupé
Je tombe.
Puisque je dois mourir demain
Juste fermer les yeux
M’éclater la tête contre le radiateur
A Odessa cet après-midi
Je n'ai fait que vous regarder
Un jeu dangereux qui se joue uniquement à la première personne.
A Odessa cet après-midi
Nous avions rendez-vous
Tu n'aurais jamais dû venir, maman.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
I will rise again
Though I'm buried
In the the depths of hell
Alone and rejected
Lonley and isolated
My heart is broken
And mind is heavy
I may have lost
Buy I'm not yet defeated
.
But I will rise again
I'm wandering these streets
Keeping my head down
My cerise eyes can't stare
And I want to run
Far away from here
To live a soulful life
.
I will rise again
Like I always do
There's a fire in my heart
That won't burn out
My storm is still wild
No one can calm it down
I will fail again
And I will rise again
I will rise again
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
Pulsing obsidian liquid pushes through cerise veins
Excruciatingly painful, yet never ending
Dark coils wrap around your stomach
Clenching in merciless vexation for unknown reasons
Ruthless needles sew an inferno in your heart
Blazing fire consisting of flames which jump
And ice. Pure cold solid ice
Is glided over you
So that your whole frame crumbles with shivers.
And all your mind can do
Is beg. Beg for this moment to be over with a single tear.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
There is fire in the dance. The head of a candle burning and flickering in time to the dancer’s movement. The flame sways to and fro, responding to the dancer’s energy. Then the candle disappears.
Blisters begin to bubble up upon the dancer’s skin; then fully formed explode with liquid fire. Screams of agony reverberate across her tortured flesh. Her cries go silent as the pain slowly fades. The dancer becomes a living flame.
So, she dances. Each step scorching the soft ground, leaving little fires in their wake. Her legs ascend at an angle and descend in a spin. Hands clasped and rising upwards as her feet return to the earth. The fire trailing her movements like living echoes. Enflamed arms opening and closing with billows of smoke expanding around them. The ground burns beneath her feet as she leans her head back slowly.
Her face consumed by the flames fury; she attempts to howl. Instead of sound, rivers of crimson liquid explode from her lips. Jets of blood red water congeal into shiny flesh. First, impressions of a face form in the flat flowing puddle of scarlet goo. Then, a neck, next something akin to limbs takes shape.
The red rawness is evident but not painful, as she spews the last bits of the red liquid. Drips of crimson drops from the newly formed figure fall on the flaming dancer. The droplets sounding a soft beat and sizzle in rhythmic fashion like a drum snare; T sss T sss T sss T sss. The flaming dancer shudders in pleasure. The flames, encouraged by the dark moisture, recede then rise, as rouge vapors smoke off its’ figure. The fluid form expands further forming sinuous strands of cerise liquid hair.
Pirouetting in a whirlwind fashion the dancer continues her ballet. Her leg rises again as she leans back. Her head, inches from the ground, drops liquid fire. Then she straightens her tiny flaming frame. Behind her the red watery body slides its hands across the ground, calming the flames, and leaving only scorched and sticky earth in its wake.
So it goes with each movement the dancer lights the earth afire, and behind her the flames are doused. Each minute passing the fire weakens and shrinks as does the scarlet body. Until at last they embrace. The dancer’s arms rest upon her sides as the crimson liquid figure envelopes her.
One more red stroke across the canvass and the figures blend perfectly. One color fading and bleeding into the next in perfect abstraction. The month long dance finally finished. The brush is rinsed then ceremoniously placed in its spot. The artist sighs, there is a slight sense of relief, for this dance is finished, but an echo of sorrow remains for this dance is finished.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
I coloured my world today
my hands smeared in pastels
canary yellows
ripe peaches and cardinal ochres
pink from a flamingo sunrise
a passionate cerise
Splashed
an array of feisty blues
a flamboyant turquoise
a topaz tango
a twinkling periwinkle
Streaked it with
beams of gold
contoured lilac smudges
lavender tipped edges
in custard pineapple floats
Splattered emeralds, toned pistachio
fern greens with swift finger strokes.
Tempered it with
muddy crusty earthy browns
rock coloured sandy mounds
reined in royal purple
the sensual blaze of a flaming sunset
the dark indigo of a gloaming sky
agate drops a few
a silver sliver of a crescent new
I coloured my world
with my eyes
my fingers, my hands
my hues
....just the way I wanted to
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
vibrant colors effervescent arrays
energetically on show for the eye's window
gardens ebullient with vivacious displays
front and backyards brilliantly aglow
hues of a rainbow a springtime glory
energetically on show for the eye's window
a paint box of shades telling the story
streets and avenues resplendent of decoration
hues of a rainbow a springtime story
our towns and villages so bright in elation
they bring a gaiety after winter's drear
streets and avenues resplendent of decoration
it does gladden the heart when they appear
the floral tones of cerise purple and orange bloom
they bring a gaiety after winter's drear
spring displacing the cold season's gloom
the floral tones of cerise purple and orange bloom
vibrant colors effervescent arrays
gardens ebullient with vivacious displays
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
Marble black bark grow bed sheets of parchment attached by
strings. Spillage of pink arises from the abdomen. Fused clothing fibers substitute layers of bark.........
The vivid aroma of rot and feasting maggots harmonize...............
A cadaver drilled by burrowing insects. Beetles, flies, pismires, and parallels. A carcass crammed with 200 seeds. Bulbous seeds in the nose. Deposited bulbs rooted in brain tissue. Thick specks of white nuzzle into flesh emerge. Squirm out of the cubicles. Insects feasting simultaneously............
A figure emerges from the edge of perception. Routinely gorging the cadavers vital delicacies. Amid spouts of fainting spells.......................
Grabbing lumps of brain matter. Shoveling it towards his gaping hole. Ravenously consuming the bland ashen chunks. Gripping the cranium and sipping the diluted ***
Sliding two slippery marbles into his gullet. Then suddenly publicizing his medals amid his fangs. Deteriorating into slush immediately........
Piercing the stationary ticker with talons. Shortly guzzling the dense scarlet metallic droplets. Promptly the sticky liquid cerise matter slithered into his craw. Hurling the white speckled rims simultaneously in glee. Than consuming the exterior synthetic.........
The corpse is convulsing..wheezing..........chest withering in pain. Man devours his own living corpse, neglecting to swallow his toes. A daily phenomenon……to devour yourself.
What of the toes? Looted by a motivated businessman the next day. “Oh the painstaking horror of humanities hunger,” the motivated businessman then asserted into thin air.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo
arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove
wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too.
harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle
swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew
and tantamount to its feral cavities
thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split
news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter
infiltrates the **** cavernous walls
This inner ear and greater sound
knew to find sanctuary here.
Lends its awesome craft to the next
And next, and next, and next;
beautiful unboxed melodies
new unused sweet single-reeds
threading that 20s centrifuge.
Saxophone. Incantations unfolding
Aloof in its ***** it unwraps
The veil of green, a costume of black coffees
Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet
Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke
At the heap of its glorious song
Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate
Bliss. Intrinsic and purple
An irrational knot of Portuguese drum
Met over by African toms and rattles
A glue imbued into those unmistakable
Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed
Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves
These are the weapons of our new key strokes.
And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew
Where death greeted me to intervene a place
Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes
Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking
At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring
Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils
Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace
Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves
Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next,
And the next.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
the cheer of lemon petals
radiates from cerise centers
and floats on summer breezes
that carry meadowlark melodies;
music written by the soul of nature
for the open hearts that hear her love
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 10:08 AM UTC
I coloured my world today
my hands smeared in pastels
canary yellows
ripe peaches and cardinal ochres
pink from a flamingo sunrise
a passionate cerise
Splashed
an array of feisty blues
a flamboyant turquoise
a topaz tango
a twinkling periwinkle
Streaked it with
beams of gold
contoured lilac smudges
lavender tipped edges
in custard pineapple floats
Splattered emeralds, toned pistachio
fern greens with swift finger strokes.
Tempered it with
muddy crusty earthy browns
rock coloured sandy mounds
reined in royal purple
the sensual blaze of a flaming sunset
the dark indigo of a gloaming sky
agate drops a few
a silver sliver of a crescent new
I coloured my world
with my eyes
my words
my fingers, hands
my hues
....just the way I wanted to
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 11:17 AM UTC
Sliding from the silky, satin sheets
Slowly she saunters to the terrace
And scans the sparkling, star-sprinkled sky
As slender arms loosely clasp her svelte, ******** swathed silhouette
So too her thoughts encircle her sweetheart
She smiles as she recalls their tryst...
*His strong embrace holding her safe and secure
Lips that tease with nearness
At last bestowing passion-soaked kisses
Whilst hands slide up to her soft, supple breast
And trace circles around her sensitive, cerise *******
She is lost now
Caught in the exquisite snare of sinfully-sweet reminiscences
Of two lovers seeking to please
And thirsting to be satisfied...
*Slow, tantalizing caresses gracefully ****** their souls
Hearts, minds and bodies of two lovers now aroused
Suspended over the precipice
Oh, yes, such blissful anticipation
And then … surrender
Surrender to sweet, sweet ecstasy!*
As she stands now on the circumference of sensual abyss
She sways slightly
A soft breeze strokes her sun-kissed skin
It whispers to her spirit and begins to sing a song
A song so enticing
So stirring
That small goosebumps rise and glisten
So once more she slips betwixt silky, satin sheets
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 9:21 PM UTC
A thousand waterfalls, or more,
towering layers, feeding one another.
Turbid and deep in the ancient slough.
Across a soak of violet moss,
an algae rinse surveying silent
the ardor of springtime blossom.
Fuschia kelp hewn from amethyst;
the lilacs died and their graves grew moss.
With these sugilite sculptures, the falls were imbrued,
and soon were given unto the same cerise hue.
These tiered creeks, so like a staircase, fell in love
with the bryphophite wash.
And like a pond filled with plums,
the lake birthed from the falls
proved to be dyed the most purple of all.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
The smell of cherries,
Rich, tangy, sweet,
Like syrup dripping down through my water,
Leaving my lungs filled with nauseatingly, gorgeous pink,
Outside the window’s damp metallic screen.
It pulls my eyes out,
Leaving across the city,
Dark and screaming as it is.
Screaming to be worth something,
To be known,
And all we are is above, in the clouds.
Pink, suffocatingly high,
All around us the air sings,
And I am choking,
Colliding with the atmosphere,
The heart envelops the mind,
I am here again,
All metal.
Waking nightmare,
The smell of cherries.
May 2, 2021
May 2, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC
Picture me suckling on her elbows, lips enveloping that round lump, teeth scraping up past the skins’ v-fold, you might even want to dress that elbow in dotted pale cerise cotton ******* picture me lapping at her neck, tongue thwapping, spit running down to the corners of the mouth, bright nose pressed firm into the temple, my salacious grin in the wee pit of her eyes,
Yes I am there.
Picture me pawing, growling, climbing up her thin skinny young legs, my junk clambering its way into her grove garden cemetery of Hearse boxes and heart suitcases, where by death nothing grows anymore. Picture heavy, weighty, fleshy flesh tearing to shreds those photos you’ve been keeping of changing diapers in the back of your mind, those pictures on the top of your Steinway, picture me in your picture frames. Picture me I am the perfect imbecilic interstices to incise your pristine sweethearts’ heart, picture me, for I am the beast trammeling your restful sleep. Picture me while I take what I please, picture me as I take and I cleave, fueled by rancor and grief, I am your concerted antithesis of pleas and no’s and pleadings. I am but her best friend till the end. Picture me, woof woof. Picture me.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
If I were pink
What would you think?
If I were blue
Would you be too?
If I were green
Would you be mean?
If I were yellow
Would we still be mellow?
If I were black
Would you attack?
If I were brown
Would you turn me down?
If I were beige
Would we still engage?
If I were heliotrope
Could we go elope?
If I were vermillion
Could we go to a cotillion?
If I were maroon
Would you buy me macaroons?
If I were aubergine
Could we go to Dairy Queen?
And if I were cerise
Would your affection cease?
Brent Kincaid
4/7/2015
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC