"coagulates" poems
Have you heard of the
gardens clandestines grow?
The neighbors have, although
until today the gardens were usual, not a
pastime no one would seriously guess.
The flowers are conceptual homonyms
bordered by Boxwood africans
no breadwinning cardinal would bless
with its roost.
Grass beneath a golden ninebark
is slightly depressed where some pistol was.
For the past few years the neighbors have wondered daily What the hell is it this guy does?
What, with him always vaguely mumbling "...lots of business trips." It's dark
now, blood spatter coagulates on the picket fence.
Four tire streaks on the road,
the responding policemen kept it hushed, speaking in code
to disembodied voices on a radio. Not much more than a glance
and shrug at the neighbors' concerned inquiries.
One consensus formed: he was deep
in consequences from promises he couldn't keep.
This was speculative, of course.
The palm trees
rustled above their heads. "Maybe he was a clandestine,"
one of the neighbors remarked
as another dismissively barked,
"Ridiculous! He kept a garden!"
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
bitterness of iron:
remove the milk
in bate of oxen blood spills
a bovine scent coagulates --
two membranes,
five and nine in aluminium
warp the boiling point --
two hundred, ninety degrees Celsius,
left standing, half a day:
cardboard instruction sets carbon constriction
imprinting
burnt hair, burnt hooves --
the taste of not eating
a liver, raw --
Where is the nameless face
carrying cups of coffee, bought
on a journey
somewhere, and nowhere et al . . .
kindreds, wrapped in the smell of decay:
the uncured hide around his hips,
or was it his wrists, never touching?
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
Holiday: a man backstrokes
oh so gently in the hotel pool.
It’s breakfast time. Bean juice
coagulates on my plate.
I watch the man’s languid, enchanting
backstroke and, for some reason,
it inflates my heart with sentimental joy.
This semi-corpulent middle-aged man,
is, right now,
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth:
His arcing limbs do not slap or thrash,
but plop into the drink like skipping stones.
He is a babbling brook. A water feature.
The splish-splosh trickle-truckle of a spa waiting room.
And what’s more, this forty-something baldy
gliding through the water
fills me with love for all humanity,
because he seems blithely rapt
in absolute peace
(despite the room rates at this place).
But then, I realise, all of this might be
free association of the mind
linking this moment to a scene in
the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump;
when a legless Lieutenant Dan
makes peace with God (for taking his legs),
and backstrokes with the same carefree beauty
into a pink and orange sunrise
(funny how the mind does that).
And suddenly the bubble of beauty is burst.
The portly swimmer becomes just that
(FYI: legs intact),
and my wife returns from the buffet
with a plate of vibrant fruit segments; Cheshire melon
and the greenest kiwi I’ve ever seen.
Lo! Only now have I tasted true kiwi.
And I remember: I’m on honeymoon!
And my wife, in this moment, and forever more,
shall be the only human to be known as:
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth.
Similar to the way Forrest felt about Jenny,
in the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 5:26 PM UTC
That ***** of yours that rules your life
has stabbed and torn my
flesh, spirit, mind, heart
apart.
Are you blind to the carnage
in plain view?
My warm blood that you say you hold so dear
puddles and pools
coagulates and cools
in front of you.
I see your footprints walking away
leaving a trail of maroon to dry
to a dusty brown.
I am empty of
hope, trust, will, want.
You have taken all of me
my tears
my safety
my health
my self-respect
my desire
my dignity.
You have it all already.
What more could you possibly want?
I am a void
and you want more....?
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Cheerful glee at what was persuaded with marshmallow
Eyes plucked upon a branch and then roasted with what
Could be seen, as shock set in shaking like a piñata
Hot sauce marinated and then these emerald whites toasted
Just right, Chewing on the gate way to their inner self. I always
Found them chewy like calamari, I wonder if they see it all.
Taking fingers on their throat, I check for a pulse, then I jump
A mile in another's shoes as there hand clenching on mine.
"Help me,
"Please,
"I heard them leave?
Cheerful thoughts persist on a serrated edge, like a donkey
Chasing a stringed carrot I heed their words,
"Who did this to you,
"Are they still near,
"I'll get help wait here,
Running in to the woods circling around I skip In jestful glee,
I walk back and scream in terrified murmurs.
"No please I wont tell I promis......,
Screams echo like rainbows through the trees, but no one
Will hear them, no *** of gold at the end of this echo, maybe
Pie, this work is hungry. Cherrie I eat as I watch them squirm.
I see the milk of life ebbing out of them feeding the earth like
Crimson cornflower it coagulates. I have a primordial urge
To taste upon the hunt, I have tasted before, succulent like chicken.
But I look around such beauty chestnut trees remind me of youth
So much has changed but stayed the same. I look at what is passed
And like the past all things end, whispering in ears hushed thoughts.
"Nothing personal its just that time of the month,
"I need to do this I don't know you, but I needed your eyes,
"You see i don't, but with each one i consume i see a little more,
"You will not gaze again but i will thanks to the feed,
I hate seeing this part as i lift a branch and close
The other gate way, not much force is needed just
A sturdy branch.
They gyrate for a moment then silence and I see my misgivings
But they gave me their gift now i see and next time I will use
A little less hot sauce as my sight burns a little to much.
Well see you all again and thankyou for looking through
My eyes did you like what you saw what was seen.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
The rain calls softly from beyond the window
Fingers tapping on glass, persistent
Undaunted at the prospect of rejection
Saxophones serenade and trumpets sound
A color wheel exploding in my mind's eye
The rain was jazz for a moment
White lights create an art in their geometry
With shapes that don't exist
Except in the mind of the beholder
Smoke billows from between my lips
And this world of mine coagulates
It feels so right it almost stings.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
God, put me back into time
I just wanted to be part of the atmosphere
I forgot what bleeding felt like
I have never been this human
I have never hit quite this hard, despite the ground being miles below me
I'm hanging on to nothing
I'm bleeding water through the palms of my hands
Trying to find something to drown in
God, put me back into time
I've said something with an echo that's still ringing
And it hurts, as if mistakes were nails in my coffin sixty years too soon
God, I don't believe but I was praying on the gym floor the other day
It was the only free second I had, the only thought which had any traction
And I just needed something to grip
I got lost in shouting girls and locker rooms and the same path days in and out
I prayed that I could disintegrate
That I had finally worked hard enough, that if I kept running in the same circles, I would eventually evaporate
Vapour rises until it melts into the atmosphere and coagulates into rain
I forgot what bleeding felt like
Always looking both ways before crossing the same street at the same intersection
Always saying I love you before I leave the house
Broken, like a record, like an old glass window and a misplaced baseball, like a teddy bear who learned what too much love is
Always
Always
Always
God,
Put me back into time
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
My mind fumbles for control
In a feeble attempt to assuage
The war drums that are beating inside my heart
Lightning arcs through my back
As I lash out around me
Reason is left beaten and humbled
Allowing my emotions to run rampant
Anger, fear, and hopeless arise from the maelstrom
That most would call their souls
My eyes bleed sadness
It coagulates on my cheeks
The fire that filled my inner furnace
Slowly dies down
Until not a single ember remains.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
Everywhere I let my eyes wander
All the faces I dare to glance upon
They're all the same
It's all water
Placid as glass
Every detail coagulates
Into one blank page
A diary of lost souls
I feel pulled under
By the cascading heights
Of my insecurities
Constantly wondering;
Does anyone else see this?
If the world is invisible to us all
Where do we aim our eyes:
To the clouds?
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
as i walk upon this ground—
your ground,
i suddenly miss you,
my native brothers.
the oak trees twist and turn
signaling the return of my soul
and the loss of yours
on behalf of my kind, i truly apologize
we stole your land
and murdered you all
your statement was right—
no one can own the Earth.
we have tried,
and look where it brought us.
now we are burning up
at the expense of prosperity
and sacrificing longevity
native american blood
flows deeper, beyond fossil fuels
underneath the fracking
there’s truth buried somewhere
i can feel it, i definitely can
i wish i could scream to everyone,
“they were right!”
i wish i could scream to everyone
i wish i could bleed myself
to show them what we have lost...
to show them who you have lost.
native american blood
dries and coagulates accordingly
to our war rules
native american blood
flows no longer
stagnant in our marginalized hearts
native american truth
was our last hope
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 11:50 PM UTC
It's November and I am thinking of your
rough hands reaching up my sweater
because PA is so cold and
you are so entitled.
It's the kind of cold that coagulates
in your bone marrow and forces
its way into the fibers
of your clothes.
You are white-hot now and I
am pulsing in your palms--
dry lips choke me like smoke rings.
Between love and loose fingers, I ******
The stray dark curls falling
from your forehead. I collapse
into the brassy green light
of your stained-glass eyes.
And I should have known
by the shape of your handwriting
that you would leave me,
but I'll let your love
destroy me anyway.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
I can't live with these thoughts
Take them from me permanently
Or ready my pine box
All life's cheap shots
I've never found a remedy
All pleasantry coagulates or clots
Vast planes of sparse lots
Riddle my memory so little to no memory
Only empty, inflammatory subpar plots
My past leaches off my future as it rots
Leaving mostly nothing left for me
Subsequently having less than the have nots
©2024
May 22, 2024
May 22, 2024 at 7:49 PM UTC
There is nothing out there to fear
the fear sits inside you
the fear is in here and here's
where your breath dies, out there
a universe of silicone housing a thought coagulates,
out there
a blinding Sun is born and a galaxy fries,
but here
where oxygenation starves us anyway
we should fear,
where the day is so short and the night
is so near
we should fear.
The unknown is behind the curtain
undraw your last breath and paint
on it a death and then pull the
curtain aside
step in here and tell me of fear
here
is where it's at.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
Deep in the nightmare forest
where only the brave or foolhardy would enter
is the hut of that crazy man Ivan
the horror child of a dementor
The walls seep with blood that coagulates
dripping slowly to the floor
making a deep crimson carpet
that makes a crunching sound
Human bones are the spine to his door
screams of his victims resound in echos
he sits on a pile of dead bodies
and there sharpens his knife
The smell of death is everywhere
skulls outside his home warn all to be aware
he glances out of his cobwebbed window
knowing soon the moon will appear
Then he will leave the forest
and head to the nearest village
to grab another unsuspecting victim
another night of death and pillage
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
The bubbling smugness that coagulates
in the core of my psyche is unstoppable.
It's a blob.
It justifies and frees,
it separates for days at a time
and then meets again
with calculated oomph.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Tryouts starring musical prodigies
and/or an attendant conductor
attempt to approach ambient chorus
divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork
heavenly invoking kapellmeister's
magnificent nonchalant outlook
piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking
unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity
engineered from groundswell harmony
juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin,
manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording
transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world.
Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote
bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations
formulating fractal glinting highlighting
ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling,
la la land legerdemain lifting logic
lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.
Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily
heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures
nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera
quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme
teetering upended venerated wise with acumen
arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot
chasing far-fetched ideas
lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically
resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably
vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderfully
wrapt yawning youngsters
warfare written wrought
yanking zestfully crushing environmental family
granting Herculean instant karma
malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement
quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage
yikyaks apemen cleft Earth.
*************************************************
Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression
zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue
flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON
killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
Someone
swears
"We'll
never see
the likes of this
again"
The day
withdraws
exquisitely...
Charisma,
only evening has,
coagulates
in orange bloods..
dancing by the castle turrets-
scarlet mixing fuchsia pinks
sinking into psyche ...
How joyously
we raised our arms
raised our arms and sang,
sang deep into the starlit mirth
of everything we ever were
and ever dared to be...
Jul 30, 2022
Jul 30, 2022 at 4:14 AM UTC
Observing the uncanny sea waves
wrestling with each other
proclaim rivalry
as they roar through the buffeting gales
is no less than watching a war.
They rise like jeweled swords
hypnotized by moon lit sky,
pouncing preferably,
piercing through the enemy -bleeding avarice which
coagulates and transforms the silver swaying sheets to smug ridden breath choking dark blankets.
Rhapsodic survivors continue the slaughter
cajoled by dark brown ghosts of the shore
glinting occasionally with gravitated silver shafts,
looking like an enticing bejeweled throne during twilight, mere boulders
anxious to receive its new master and feeling maudlin
for the ones fallen in battle, dead.
Some are left behind and some
reach the destination at last,
forfeiting,
once a powerful individuality
to infinite, anonymous dots
evaporating only to form the clouds of incessant covet
waiting patiently for the seasons to change its course, again.
Makes me wonder, we inspire them or vice versa
-Pallavi
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
In the evening the dunes are flat
and swampy, watery grey
bushes darken with dashes
of red and blue
Everything loses solidity
land looks like sea and sea seems to be land
in thin waves of twilight
water coagulates to shades of sand
Clouds resemble a massif
and moonless, mountains
seem to be a night-black sky
in which there are no stars
Ideas are lifelike
shapes do pass
Know what you attach to
then you are free
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 3:40 AM UTC
The sun and its veil drags along the humdrum path, like an old dog’s broken tooth, lodging itself into a decrepit chair. Right up its **** where it belongs and longs to be loved. It suffocates, coagulates, and discombobulates the bowery citizens within the pearl atolls. By the rims of the gates, Moses receives ******** while a sojourning sheik blasts the radio. Meanwhile, the teats of Atlas are duly pounded as the mortals are aroused and grounded. Never beholden to ecumenist beauty, life lives on, defying questions. It festoons its lexicon of self-defeat and the synonyms that we waste sun on; A halcyon is redacted before long. I am left at the teeth of a sycophant and a broad-shouldered man who I adore in dangerous elan. Epigrams foist themselves upon the masts, the masts that sail us o’er the soot of the ocean, and land us flippantly onto the crystalline concentration line which is a-gaping wide.
The orifice of a primordial awaits us.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
The house of commerce commercializes my vignette of nostalgia through various panes. As I am lost to the neon coast of degradation, a forward conquistador berates me for my due impertinence. This migraine doesn’t match my previous excursions, as it is lethargic and fat in deep feeling. My raincoat is a bed that remains a typewriter, that which I reject. I hate it with precision. “This is not an observation, and you are a boisterous fool that rests on the laurels of institution!” But lo’, I am not that impish man! My pen is renewable, unlike my reserves of happiness. If the Quotidian Cycle remains so mundane, then who am I to adhere to the seers of ingenuity? Planets ingest the polygons that compose my mind to the sound of Igor Stravinsky. The definitions of words coalesce into a redundant gestalt, threatening to escape my clammy grasp. Brats and weasels complain of their jeans and fur, soaked in brandy and tar. I live like a dissident; this vagrant is cold to the sickening nods of animals. God, don’t let me remain an anthropomorphic beast. The suffering is daily, the void is lonesome and lays my spine on stone. Melatonin is a pensive friend, a foolhardy palliative to the disease within a footstep. I’ve no footsteps. Not any of note or worth.
Not a single thread to pride myself in. Conversations and dime trades happen around me at generous speeds while I remain a stranger. Christ, I despise my face. I’ve dug my heels into depravity, the exile from woman’s hold is a wrench in my innards. O, to even think is a crime! Who could love the mind deloused, the small and prudent mouse (but little did they know, he facilitates a disease between him and the universe). Intoxicated, my love knows no bounds, but my lust is rendered sterile and sullen. Who can hold me? Who can hold me? Who can hold me? God god god god could hold me. He is not strong, is he? Somebody hold me, now.
Oh, I know yes I need to indulge in the incessant whispers, for my status of a guileless ***** will have to suffice. A cigarette leaps out at my cursed visage, a container of maroon liquid coagulates in mine eyes. There, voices. Cyclic conversations, cyclic conversations, hep! Help! Take me! Take. Take. Take. Me! I belong in the boon, mister fowler. Take me! I don’t hold weight in this world! So take. Sedate me. Please, almighty, nullify me.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 6:26 PM UTC