"chippings" poems
Walking past the stupefied wall
its chippings tells a different story;
who was the graffitist and perhaps the eventual liberator,
rolled up into that cumulative presiding chisel
that took it to the ledge.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I see the way you look at me.
Its like you're chipping away
the air around me.
Finding all the things Im not.
I dont want to be chiseled down...
reduced
I want to keep adding to who I am.
If you want to understand me,
you should keep adding too.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
It has proven its point.
The barrier between you and I.
While the ceramic tile presses
against my feet. In a distance,
there the plastic siding hugs
the brick foundation. As shrubbery
is not yet green nor my pockets.
Inside, the heat sweats the yellow
stained-sheet rock. Into the pit
of my stomach, causing a burning
sensation. This is a four by four.
As my legs walk around in a circle.
I think... Where found, wood chippings
and bread crumbs that hover over
a Persian rug. The pattern of sunflowers.
Like the ones on out-dated place mats.
And I sat, rubbing away the goo from
underneath each one. While the air
thickened, regal like a stiff neck. I wait
for a sign to say when. Most of the cheap
clothing has been packed. They are ready
to move. They are dancing. Across the floor
of sunflower dreams.
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
traffic trodden crab apples
and choke cherries
sluice the sidewalk
not one wasp observed
the wasps this year are found
not around human food or trash cans
( sugar drunk, bat angry or absurd )
this year they thrive around cut grass
and chippings from outdoor furniture finishing
with this appetite
what are they prepping for ?
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 9:44 PM UTC
The winter trees stand unclothed,
branches reaching for each other with woody empathy
craving their lovers touch, naked bodies of passion,
their children lie red and amber,
setting ablaze the verdigris blades,
that hold them kindly,
when their mothers can no longer carry them,
the embrace breaks them down,
allowing their earthy scent to creep to the nostrils of those who come to think a while,
enjoying the fleeting sun on their backs for a time,
on this frosty winter day,
The traffic seems obsolete,
if the whispering birds can learn,
to ignore the engine rumbles as can I,
the obsidian asphalt path carves delicately through this city sanctuary,
like an old english dance,
where courters would not touch their partner,
but embrace the sweet proximity,
and cherish the fire in their beloved's eyes,
and soul.
Water lies abandoned in the path,
reflecting the eternal blue of the afternoon sky,
an embodiment of tranquility,
a connection that can never be consummated,
a longing to be together again,
the water envies the whisp of cloud that has retained the skies clinch,
a ripple destroys the perfect portrayal,
but to give way to two Blue ****
absorbing its love,
and releasing it to one another,
as they speak to each other,
and elope toward the emerging pearl moon.
I brush my feet amongst the wood chip beds,
mere remnants of once great trees,
still huddling together in solidarity,
as though trying to reform what once was,
it makes me ponder of soul mates lost,
clutching at the memories that once were,
and pursuing to reforge a love that refuses to be broken,
adoration manifest as young sapplings reach upward,
sprouting from the shallow chippings,
ready to blossom with memories once more.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Waking up to chainsaws -
Morning the spluttering
engine of mourning. It's
in the name of truer
trees. Slicing the butter
trunks, dropping the chippings;
garnishing with finesse
my olive tree below.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
—Salty oceans
of tragedy and memory
roll waves that pick and
toss you about,
like sand and shingle
And down-tread all
who saw these things,
these
Cedar-gripping hands and waving eyes,
strike above due caution, once you drank
and receded to sock-grey humour
to hide these things
And down-tread all
who saw these things,
these
Chippings were distracting. But I am just one,
here and now. So I always wondered,
When the others disappeared to—
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
I tried to kiss your mind, in the way of inimical words I’d heard:
how a boy should begin.
With everything I thought you’d be, bubbling in convoluted thought, caught in the fresh oxygenated current
It’s real love and it shouldn’t go wrong.
I floundered, and you weren’t to
swim down from your opaline blue altitude.
Since you existed as a perfect reflection of your face, I
imagined the rest of you lost in the prism’s traces; let your mind’s eye
photo-reply a dappled understanding,
whilst we stretch out to grey misty conjecture above -
ever luminous rising depths,
to a love touched on
It’s real and it shouldn’t go wrong;
but if only for jewel chippings, I liked to kiss your mind;
to feel your arms round my heart one more time
© Copyright David Bosworth June 2023
Jun 20, 2023
Jun 20, 2023 at 5:48 PM UTC
i woke, heard it, yet also saw the yellow moon.
shining through.
rain is noisy on the roof at huws gray,
where we buy slate chippings and talk
of log stores for the winter.
it is made of metal.
at the ironmongers we chat, buy bulbs,
notice the chip shop is for sale, now.
they sell night lights singly, at 20 p each.
it rained on and off all day, while I worked,
then,
it rained in the night.
sbm.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
I've a thing with darkness
It holds me in its grasp
Reaching out to touch me deep
Cutting chippings from the rasp
Whittling to its root
Healthy stem is left to shoot
Raw edges growing into hedges
A border
Leading
to
the
dawn
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC