"coarse" poems
Dancing,
Thrashing,
Cascading
Down the barren stone tower,
Through the craggy, coarse cliffs
Refining, polishing the necessary features
And streaming for the duration of my adventure,
One might wonder: Why?
Why! Oh what a question—
To purify what will soon be soiled in a moment’s time,
And yet, unremittingly,
Over, ad nauseam, again.
I cannot die.
No agony or desolation can destroy me.
Amaranthine, ceaseless, everlasting!
I hold steadfast, staunch, unrelenting.
I am a waterfall.
Nought can destroy me.
I am forever...
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
*A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.
Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*
Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Eyes sliver open languidly, feel out the corners
Stretched, palms pressed against white walls
Pull the covers high above my head
Building courage to greet the day
Lungs fill with a familiar scent
Smile, reach and caress a glowing cheek
Next to me, he turns, all elbows and sighs
Find him in a second with tingling toes and fingertips
Untangle the limbs and sheets
Firm and nut-brown, coarse in the right places
Soft in the best places, he's flawless
Dare to disturb the rhythmic breathing
Wake up, I whisper
Coffee, he groans
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel beautiful
(not Vanity Fair beautiful)
of coarse
but beautiful enough to make you smile
while other times
I feel so far from beautiful
that I dare not look into the silver liar
and on those days I thank you
for that smile that helped me
feel beautiful again
and in my smile
I give back to you
the truth, that you
are beautiful too!
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
My father is black and my mother is white
And though we live in a new generation I still find myself having to give explainations on how all of this works
The ignorance of race really hurts
No this is not good hair
No you can't touch it keep your ******* hands to yourself
No I'm not Mexican or Puerto Rican
Stop guessing above all else
I'm black like you
And I'm white like her
I'm flesh and blood not claws and fur
But see you don't want to accept me
Of course unless I'm president Obama or Halle Berry
Did you know they were mixed?
Or were you so deep in the lime light you don't care
Because on the streets I'm not considered black no matter how coarse my hair
I use relaxers too
I've had my hair braided
I've been called ******
I've been followed in stores
I've been sent to the end of the line for no reason
Denied friendship for seasons
And wouldn't you know
(Being black was the reason)
But its just not enough to gain any trust
I don't look anything like white people so I dont even try
Only hope for full acceptance from the other side
And yet still I'm left feeling quite empty inside
Where the hell do I fit in?
Who's on my side?
Since claiming black or white is considered a crime
This was when I decided to become an advocate of self
I found who I was
Didn't need any help
I don't let my race define who I am
But I embrace both my colors
They work well with each other
And that's something society just will not understand
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise
Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses
Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag
Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care
Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears
Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks
I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light
Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient
Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly
I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart
You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence
I see you, monster...
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Blowing in the wind,
Smells of salt; a hazy mist,
Sands of time run through sands so fine,
Damp with the tide that crashed like a fist,
The sun on the horizon starts to fade.
Cold and crisp, we sift through the waves,
Capped ice; a foaming delight,
They fill the air with sounds so fair,
Our toes fall through the water like an anchor,
The light falls and the night reigns.
Fingers upon fingers, playing on their own,
We fall through the air; cutting the sky,
My back to the earth, yours to the moon,
Our gaze locks like lovers leading light between us,
The sounds of the world come alive.
A gentle caress against skin so soft,
A kindled embrace, rolling against sand so coarse,
Passions flair in the darkness, the night breathes heavy,
As the ocean kisses the sands, so too our lips,
Whispers and sighs cut through the crashing flood.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
My scars don't look like
Anyone else's-
They're more careful,
Organized, precise and
Exact.
Not light, but
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough.
People always ask why
I do such pretty patterns:
Because this is the only thing in life
That I can really control
Control
Control,
And I find it so beautiful-
Though, not so much tragic.
My scars are not chaotic like a
Car-wreck,
They are consistent like a
Coma-
Proof that I was awake
The whole time I was sleeping,
And I could feel everything
Even though I could tell no one.
No one.
That this
Unconscious obsessive compulsion
Demands order
**Order
Order,** it
Insists by instinct,
An intricate simplicity.
Still, I will 'ever envy
Those stitched gashes, once
Gushing
Gushing
Gushing with surrender and
Serenity...
Each raised and rough coarse collagen fiber
To form a white flag
Forever etched in flesh;
To tell the world
They, were a slave to freedom-
I am only a slave
To myself.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
Forget the days we shared
Forget the smiles, the tears, the words too coarse to bear.
Forget the blooms in Spring dancing through the air
Forget the garden we abandoned there
Leave thorns of plenty, and roses rare
Forget the voice of a sweet melody
Forget the buzzing bees tending to honey
Forget the notion of you and me
Forget the spices in recipes spoilt
The taste is a bitter sweet result
Forget what weather we braved together
Forget the cliche that everything gets better
Forget what you want to remember
Forget what should be and what doesn't matter
Revoke your thoughts, the hypocrisy they flatter.
Forget waking up in warming arms,
Seducing me with your charms
Forget whatever you gave me, though it wasn't much
A breath, A kiss, A touch.
Enough!
Forget all that I've said
These thoughts turning in my head
Filling me with dread
The words I've written and you have read
Forget it!
Those days are over my mind is set
Forget we ever met.
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
The human soul was threshed out like maize
in the endless
granary of defeated actions,
of mean things that happened,
to the very edge of endurance, and beyond,
and not only death, but many deaths,
came to each one:
each day a tiny death, dust, worm, a light
flicked off in the mud at the city's edge,
a tiny death with coarse wings
pierced into each man like a short lance
and the man was besieged by the bread or by the knife,
the cattle-dealer: the child of sea-harbours,
or the dark captain of the plough,
or the rag-picker of snarled streets:
everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death,
the short death of every day:
and the grinding bad luck of every day was
like a black cup that they drank,
with their hands shaking.
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Thin, white wrists.
Bone white
Like china
And just as brittle.
They make that coarse, scraping sound when they touch one another.
The kind of sound that delicate, expensive teacups make when stacked
The wrong way.
It makes me cringe.
Little blue veins kiss the surface of them,
Hissing and sizzling when the air gets
Too close
Like tiny snakes.
These wrists
Have made promises.
They have
Borne loads.
These wrists have snapped like twigs
Under the weight of a heavy,
Punishing love.
But, pressed back together the way they'd been,
They hardened oncemore
Like stone
And the cracks and fissures
Sank inside again
And smooth, unmarred, delicate white skin emerged
To begin the process over.
At night the snakes whisper and murmur against my cheek in their sleep
And sometimes, quite suddenly,
They sink in their fangs
And I awaken with a start,
A sharp pain radiating out to my fingertips
Like a shock.
Last night I felt their strikes by the hour
One,
Two,
Three, more.
And this morning a strange... fullness
Began in my wrists
And seeped out
Up along my arms
Through my collarbones and down
Into my heart.
Perhaps it was the venom
Working
But where it spread I
Settled
Like an old stone wall.
Like the halls of a castle
That has seen too much death
And too many kings.
I sank into myself
For the first time
And the ground felt heavily solid
And I felt
Only the hollow hiss
Of little blue and green serpents
Dreaming inside me
And that
Was something like certainty,
Although of what
I still don't
Know.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
i have a right to speak ALOUD
ALLOWED to give my two CENTS
SENSE of freedom in opinions TOLD
TOLLED by thoughts that i dispense
i have a right to let them KNOW
NO others have walked my COURSE
COARSE visions from my own EYE
I write in blood from the source
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
Observing Raven feather-full,
A gleam of blue on black.
The beady eye could look at me
And widen every crack.
Mocking with
Hollow call.
Watch! Don’t let that feather fall.
Promises it’s not hole.
The Raven whispers thoughts of doubt,
Insides sobbing “let me out!"
A thought indeed bizarre
But one can only think that...
“Maybe these birds are?"
A glooming sense of winged wisdom,
Although black and beady eyed,
It would not come as a shock
That their little birds, they never cried!
One cannot help but wonder
If they can see indoors?
Of course it may not seem so
but they always come in fours!
Look out the window frame,
Take a peek!
Observe the Raven’s coarse black beak.
*Just mind he doesn’t watch you back,
Or he will widen every crack.*
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
Brown maple sugar,
Cinnamon toast complexion.
Hershey chocolate chip.
Carmel Hazel brown eyes,
Red sugarcane lips.
Your curvy curvaceous thighs.
With enough melanin color blended so perfectly together, bronzing the brownish shade of your muscles.
Natural ethnic hair.
Thick, coarse or silky.
It is perfectly acceptable by me.
***** so big it needs to have its own legs to stand on.
Your blackness is ****
And it **** sure is beatiful.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
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Show me where to start,
Show me where to begin.
I'm only moments away,
From cashing in.
The road ahead isn't always straight and narrow,
It sometimes struggles to stay on course.
This of things to lead away,
And make me feel so coarse.
The ironed irony of this simple truth,
Of hated things in faded youth.
Can no longer wait in this waiting room,
Tired, scared, and lonely here.
As today is gone too soon.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the ***** sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining **** among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a *****
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no ***** to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
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How to cook carrot salad
carrot wash and clean. Grate the carrots on a coarse grater. Apple wash and grate.
apple, honey and the juice of red currants. Also add the chopped parsley and crushed nuts. All well and carefully
mix. Sitemap salad.
sprinkle with citric acid and mix. Vegetables lay heaped sprinkle with grated cheese and chopped herbs
parsley. Sitemap salad.
Heck, Cook the fish and carrots. Fish and carrots on toast to cut pieces. Cleaned fish and carrots to put in
salad bowl. In a salad bowl add the peas. In add grated horseradish mayonnaise and season with the Sitemap sauce salad.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
*I Was Hoping Today It Would Be Fine,
That The Mayan Prophesy Was Divine,
That We Would Be Saved By A Glowing Light,
I Was Stirring In My Blankets All Night,
For Curiosity Bubbled Inside,
To Bathe The Spirit In Which I Confide,
Yet The Road To Redemption Is Still Coarse,
Screaming For Wanted Change; My Voice Is Hoarse,
We Still Hold The Bottle To Our Stained Lips,
Holding On To Hope But Losing My Grip,
Today I Wish Humanity Is Healed,
But The Atmosphere Is Starting To Peal,
Why Should I Hate When All I Feel Is Love,
Yet All The Owls Are Killing My Doves*
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
Have you ever been angry?
So angry you've scared yourself.
Because for a second you saw that face staring back from within.
An immense depth fast approaching.
So absent of light the only reason you caught a glimpse was those eyes.
Beaming back at you with illumination so frightening your core began to shudder and rumble.
Crumbled down and watched this beast claw its way out.
Over rock and mortar. Through coarse cage of steel.
Those cold eyes staring down - helplessly watching.
This beast was once kept sealed.
Who gave it this key to destruction.
This shapeless fluid in motion soulless tragedy.
Black velvet drape dipped in fiery energy.
Pure hate which had been compressed for eternity.
Now concentrated and intent on wreaking havoc.
I sent my armies. I sent them all.
Countless deaths and yet I sent more.
Quick slaughter - not the painless type.
This beast they could not stall.
Thrashes of bodies. Clawed and torn.
Festering flesh flying from fallen.
Axe, Sword and Mace soaked,
dripping in warm fresh blood-pounding hate.
Shatters of armor and unrecognizable corpses.
What do I do?
It seeks me as a vessel - to be worn.
I can feel the hate changing me.
Quickly now or I'll soon deform.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Early morning
I heard a dew drop
opening its white wings ;
each crack parted
a turning wave
a frost bubbling over.
Within its eyes
the world was moving
in a daze.
About to explode
holding out to the sky
it coughed out life
a moist lick
on a coarse dry leaf.
© Malintha Perera
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
Paths have been laid
far and short
narrow and wide
coarse and moist
brown from dirt
gray with asphalt.
Spiders lurk and creep about
legs poised and fangs ready
craving another injection
to feast just a little
further, just a little
longer.
We are the prey they seek
stuck in their strands
reaching everywhere we walk
catching us as we tumble and fall
not for comfort nor salvation
just the cold strings of wrapture
before the color of blood
the color of life
is taken from us.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Western Sources
Mist, rain and snowmelt gather
And soak the Montana crests.
A trio of rivulets carves the slopes,
Grow to rivers that braid into a single course
And the Missouri is born at Three Forks.
Shoshone and Hidatsu rest from the hunt,
Kneel and cup their hands
To raise life giving liquid to their lips
While horses bow beside them
Bellies filled with the refreshing waters.
The river flows north dividing the tall grasslands,
Plunges over the cataracts at Great Falls,
Churns on the rocks below
And drives inexorably toward the sea.
Mandan and Sioux
Soft flute sounds drift from the Mandan village
Intertwining with the riffling music of the river.
By its banks a coarse French trapper roasts a rabbit
To share with his Shoshone child-bride.
Sacagawea sings softly beside him -
Charboneau's son stirring in her womb.
Sioux warriors on horseback
Stand guard by the shores.
How many travelers have passed?
How many are yet to come?
Beyond the rolling hills
A buffalo stumbles and falls
Pierced by Lakota arrows and spears.
Boats in the Water
At River du Bois where the Missouri
Collides with the Mississippi,
Forty men slip into boats and take to the oars
To interpret Jefferson’s continental dream -
Their keelboat laden with sustenance,
Herbs, weapons and powder.
They carry trinkets to dazzle the natives
And cast bronze medals to give them
Bearing images of their "Father in Washington"
That none had asked to have.
May, 2004
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
To deck our girls for gay delights!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.
Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Drooped heavy o’er our early dead,
And homely garments, coarse and gray,
For orphans that must earn their bread!
Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
That poured delight from other lands!
Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:
The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
And ye that wage the war of words
With mystic fame and subtle power,
Go, chatter to the idle birds,
Or teach the lesson of the hour!
Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
Be all your offices combined!
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
The destiny of human kind.
And if that destiny could fail,
The sun should darken in the sky,
The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!
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