"chorusing" poems
For Susan on her birthday
At a distance they appear
so unexpectedly red,
a vivid vermillion strip
in a growing green field.
We walked up the farm track
to view a few stragglers
lost on their way to their
Red-Together meeting.
They were intensely red
with liquorice-black centres,
free from that dustiness
of poppies in swathes.
Alone,
and too red to be real,
their stalks too tall
ungainly, anorexic even.
En masse,
nodding variously,
a thousand-strong Red Army choir
chorusing their hearts out.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
We are tired after a hot day; its separate frustrations,
expectations and disappointments they weigh down on us
Separately, separately.
We come to bed, we do not hold each other, even briefly.
We do not read, the heat says no, best not.
We sleep: despite the endless turmoil of traffic
Endless, endless
On the Finchley Road.
At 4.0am I wake.
There is this spell of quiet to allow those mid-summer birds
Their due chorusing for an hour.
I lie still, so conscious, so conscious
Of the exquisite fall of your right breast on the cotton sheet,
The rich curve of your upper leg and bottom,
Of the almost-pout of your dear lips
As you burrow into the pillow.
I can’t begin to imagine what you dream:
As for me if dreams have been, they have vanished
With the sight of your naked self I so adore, I so adore.
And lest my desire gets the better of me.
my hand reaches out to stroke that layer of air
Floating above your quiet form.
I fan this passion’s fire until it
Slowly dies, slowly dies.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
as twilight set in
crickets began chorusing
a sameness of song
in their nature its innate
to be well synchronized
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 4:10 AM UTC
Alley ways and alley cats all allies in the darkest nights.
Unsleeping children call to their mother's closest hand.
The alley cats are chorusing, looking for a lover.
Their kittens come their kittens go, in and out their pussycat minds.
The infant in the cradle cries out for mother's love.
A life long attachment borne.
Forever days and never nights, the lights go out the queen cat cries.
Another litter of kittens wanted so that queen cat yowls.
The husband laying in his bed, gets angry as he lays his head, calling cats and screaming kids, prevent the closing of his lids.
The child calls out as only he can, mother moved to sort him out, as only mother can.
(C) LIVVI
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
Death walked up to me one night,
Slipped me a cigarette
We sat beneath the stars beneath my dorm room window,
Death said, “I haven’t touched you yet”
The next day I heard the church bells toll,
My colleague from theater, swung free of her bonds
The whole campus chorusing, their Kyrie Eleison
Who could’ve known? Who could’ve known?
I knew, Death walked in her just as it did me,
I watched Death take her aside and haunt her as she desperately tried
To find an anchor, to find solace, well hers and mine became the theater
When I saw Death with her I envied her the company,
Our morbid fixations sought through our scripts, both of us cast
The same character,
Both of us popping pills carefully hidden in little soap boxes,
Boxed up with wine and razors in care packages from the same lover
Death sat with me the other night,
Held a bandage to my wrist and lay me to bed
He lifted his hood, wiped the tears from my eyes,
Begged me to dance again, on ankles slit,
Caressing me as Elisabeth
Now I’ve been kissed,
Kyrie Eleison,
We shared the same stage, once,
Tell me what's waiting there for me
Beyond the mist of Chapel Hill
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
This Evening
Your Words
Falling
Falling
Flirtations of
Echoing Heartbeat
Graved
By Another Time
Drifting Downward Now
So Sunderland
As To Merge
In Still Waters
Lights Shooting Star
Blossoming
Moonlit Waters
Forever
Forever
Chorusing
Sweetened
Waters
Of The
Mind
Poured
Free
Spirit
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
no more morning glory
the cells want to refuse,
purported pseudo-deniers
of the man's compulsion
not yet six am,
the old house,
the summering congregation of birds,
correspond with each other,
their words unintelligible to the man-ear,
no doubt talking about the interlopers,
the come-and-go humans,
or perhaps,
just the lousy weather
the sunroom's lace curtains,
a patterned flower filtering viewer,
another impediment to what is out of sight,
for the fog surrounds but can't suppress,
the exterior & interior
combo of noises,
birds uttering their morning prayers,
accompanied by the sabbath choir of chorusing
groans from the untrodden, creaky floorboards,
complaining of aged back pains
from forty years
of desert wandering
and over use
they confirm the man is not alone,
and perhaps, even,
among the living
the bay's water's color,
a small hint now comes visible,
colored from the same paint can
as the surround-sound from which the
fog's discoloration was morning-drawn,
wider brush strokes cover this,
the man's small world
the brains complains, not again!
how many times will you compose,
drawing from the molecules of
this view,
no one cares,
but composition compulsion,
****** for what makes
the man breathe,
denies the deniers,
praying in the loudest thought voices,
to the principle that best defines
the moment,
(him?)
human, give thanks,
on this, the seventh day,
for the feast of life provided,
(even the reasoning atheists go respectful, humble silent)
as the man-poet acknowledges here the
*One,
who remembers,
is faithful to,
fulfills the covenant and promise,
by making fresh daily,
the works of creation*
Silver Beach,
Shelter Island
5:30am,
June 4th, 2016
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
there comes the wave in the rainbow
then they're gone into beautiful life
as it was loosing binocular
...
you spell the world clearly up of your tone
and you are getting awake
you are shading out of blue
you are getting out of town
out of this vivid universe...
and spinning the time
and make sounds
like a train that cross the hills of quiet
but covered by thunder field on high
you're chorusing all the songs of grave
the grave of mind in the cave of life
and then it come over
and you are changing the name of silence
....
life is up in the darkest blue
and how you brake yourself into some colors of your life
once more you let me down
and see, see what I've become indeed
you cross the wall
then see what I've been through
...
There comes waves into the night
then they're gone into shade of life
and I am Loosing binocular
I am Loosing Binocular
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
for Dennis Lee
By the river
at night
burned stubble
of sugar cane
feathers the air with a lick of caramel
a quiet earth underscores
crocus and chorusing cricket
as curlew weep their distant sonorous calls
********* the stillness
we pluck a string of starlight
to pull a gentle breeze closer
we tug on orbiting moons
in the darkness of deep
we become motionless
intent to watch worlds
and enter the symphony
MChallis @ 2015
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
the rain outside sounds like paper being crumpled,
the winds similar to pages of a book being turned.
descending planes become the way one strums a guitar;
all of the strings vibrate loudly,
and sl o w l y l o s e t h e i r v o i c e s.
i hear the stars singing,
their lonely songs echo through the darkness that is space.
empty space,
full of distant planets,
lonesome, chorusing stars,
lost meteors,
and long forgotten space debris.
at last, the rain and winds have ceased.
silence.
i have never considered silence as an absence of noise,
because silence itself is something you hear.
i often hear silence as a siren.
someone, somewhere, somehow,
is asking for me,
begging for my help.
someone is wishing for their desperate pleas to be heard.
i hope they know that they are not alone.
sometimes i think about how divided people are.
but darling, this world is compressed in more ways than one.
the only things that divide us are thin plaster walls,
thousands of footsteps,
and clothing.
do not forget that.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
This Evening
Your Words
Falling
Falling
Flirtations of
Echoing Heartbeat
Graved
By Another Time
Drifting Downward Now
So Sunderland
As To Merge
In Still Waters
Lights Shooting Star
Blossoming
Moonlit Waters
Forever
Forever
Chorusing
Sweetened
Waters
Of The
Mind
Poured
Free
Spirit
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 4:59 AM UTC
Air stained in a bitter salt hovered through a mist grasping the calming shore. My eyes squinting at the light spray of sea and wind curled as you, the figure fading in the mist, took to hollow steps as the sands, grey and moist, softened at my feet. The waves pounded as beats ragged, like drums chorusing behind my ribs. You the phantom, the girl lost at my company and forgotten within my reach was feet away. The sky a mass of gray and storm tore at my clinging feet. Footing gave way to pristine silence as I began to take to heaving steps clothed in a metal cloth.
Feet away you the ghost, shimmering in paling skin and flowing hair, halted as my steps grew. My sand cloaked hand flew toward your image begging you to succeed to move, to walk from the shadows and dimming mist. Your paper face reveled within the erupting mist, like a frightened child trapped at safety’s door. The shadowing waves grew ravaged fangs at the tip, and bristles at the turn.
Refreshing mist choked out the sky like a blizzard smothered in ash. Our cries reverberated within a starling chaos, trialing as your eyes grew blue, and my heart dripped black. Our arms met like birds lost at storm and sea, as echoes ravaged between you and me. Arms shielded backs as hands gripped shoulders. Our faces buried within each other’s skin, as death’s silhouette sailed through the flowing mass of black sea and pale sand. Your frantic skin shook at death’s chilling touch, his hand wrapped at your shoulder was still as the moon gapping in the sky. His form moved as the mist and his lips whispered silence into your perking ear as the rain. Nerves softened as arms withdrew and, like a phantom heading in the mist, death left me and took you.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:03 AM UTC
concrete castles, brick battlements,
chimneys billowing black smoke.
sky, leaden and forever dull;
this is the city of the guls.
perched upon red brick walls
and slated rooftops
they unleash their cries of battle
and dive, strafing as they fly;
gutting wheelie-bins, squabbling
over human trash and muck.
this is treasure to the guls,
their feathers diseased and their
necks sporting plastic trophies.
they ****** from grubby human hands
and swallow all they can;
their gullets hold no guilt or shame
for the human filth called 'man.'
the guls know their city: every cranny
and every nook. they have always ruled
from their royal perches:
ruthless, ***** and proud. they look
upon human men with beady eyes
as they leave humble offerings,
and they cackle
chorusing with their high-pitched
squawks. for humans are
mere pests
among those mighty guls.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 6:54 AM UTC
I crave you in the most innocent of ways.
You're like my morning refreshment,
that pulls me awake in a single thought of what's to come.
However, you're also my nighttime procrastination,
attempting to not think of time spent before drifting into slumber.
I indulge in the memory in the bright morning,
when I imagine that it is your sleepy smile pressed against mine,
instead of the lipstick stained rim to my coffee mug.
I imagine that it is your breath I am breathing in,
instead of the steam rising from my small cup.
And as I prepare myself for the day ahead,
I envision your arms wrapped meticulously around my hips,
instead of the sweater you always loved to see me wear.
I envision that it is the warmth I used to feel radiate through my inner body whilst watching the slight curve to your smile as you would greet me every daybreak,
instead of my car heater, striving to produce comfort in the early Texas winter.
I envision that it is your voice chorusing along as you strum an assiduously memorized Hallelujah on your guitar
instead of Jeff Buckley emerging through my worn out speakers.
And yet, I spoil myself with the memory of you as I yawn through my afternoon work;
I compromise: just one cup of coffee will keep me mindful.
But I also begin to deplore these sedulously laid out fabrications and daydreams when it's 3 in the morning, and the sun is still asleep and I've just brewed my second cup of you're sweet quality for the day.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Past the time of day ,
when modern things are put away,
when the forest of the night,
swallows whole the waking forests light
with an exulting mass of chorusing wishes
a delicate hush of silent kisses;
Plays gentle on the ears of sin,
and rejoices in the gentle din,
of mother natures flowing wings
If you could only hear
the wistful natter
the softly tread patter
of charming creations, their tiny beams,
that carefully waltz the verge of dreams
you would understand the peaceful throng
of dusky crawlers, their gentle song
their deafening cry, your soothing balm
as nature hold you in her palm
So stand, gentle brother
soft and calm
hold loving near the peace and charm
and wander now
the streets of dark
and let her dreams
engulf your heart.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
A gossamer pyramid of dark tainted leaves
suspended into boiling baptismal water,
releases in a cathartic outburst-
golden whirls of deep, resonant colour;
Transformation begins from within.
Water chooses stubbornly to adhere to its form,
but the vigorous leaves retaliate and
gloriously rise upwards in merrymaking,
chorusing in unity as they are
momentously
drowned out with a splash of cold milk. In the
heated silence of a compacted moment,
a cup of tea is pushed forward into her cold palms.
she sips-
pursed honey stung lips
part with a curious subtlety as
Robust reverberations:
notes of strong black tea, tickle
dormant spheres of her tongue, waking them up
to celebrate the song of new life.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
the bright sunny morn
induced birds into loud singing
the bright sunny morn
their chorusing rousing of horn
as if they were message ringing
a day replete in much shining
the bright sunny morn
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
Was this your farewell to me, my friend?
You had crossed my mind today while driving
the counterclockwise road,
that you were leaving (had left)
this world.
The Hospice place we knew
was hid behind the hillock.
And over its sign across my path just then
came a raven flying, caress cut the air
in a long glide.
In morning sunlight--there was green,
shimmered across its back and wings,
as if to announce eternal verdant springtime
and you -- as if you were chorusing to me,
hey **
waving good-bye.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC