"coatings" poems
*My dearest Grace;
take me anywhere you want to
just ask me anything
and my ways will give the answers to you
whatever it takes
I'll cross the boundaries,
I'll seek for the light.
Even if I slide through the slope
In cases, troubles are in sight.
This love has its sacrifices,
and it is taking it's toll.
but the sour flavours are covered with sweet coatings
of unwavering trust and unmatched joy.
And if I die tonight,
my soul will be still watching you.
I will still love you in eternity
looking on every actions you do.
I love you more than ever.
It grows with time as it ages.
you will always be my haven,
my home, my only sanctuary.
I was born and lived with the brutal facts,
you see you've raised me up.
my other half and partner
we will survive whatever life has to offer.
I love you with all my soul
more than everything you can think of in this world;
your kisses I long for,
heartfelt tomorrow's like an open door.
for every music I play,
is for your ears to hear.
my mission to give you joy
to be by my side, we'll erase the fear.*
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 3:22 AM UTC
Estranged, I am
shackled by steel
a secret bursting like fruit
behind my lips
they do not let me taste
the strawberries
I must gorge, fistful after fistful
until my chin turns red
the madness of hunger matching
the madness of me
tied, belly filled with lactose
capsule coatings
reality unravelling like a badly
sewed dress
the whisper of the world
reaching out to you
a spike in the black heart of
nothingness
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
Sweet as the pantries,
She basked herself in a fanciful coating of clothes and accessories,
Longing to find what she termed her "Identity" in her self-proclaimed journey of seeking Truth.
Basing herself upon these coatings,
The sweetness, the addictive tone of hanging on to the securities of being visually appealing had been the sole thought harnessed in her underutilized mind.
"What should I wear?" "Am I looking too ugly in this?".... undisclosed, subtle yet toxic cycle of thoughts kept protruding from the braincentre.
Things unkempt, bottles scattered over the floor, food wrappers uncleaned....she continued glorifying herself with her trance-like state of consciousness: Calling it "Nirvana" as she glanced over her new list of Boy-friends on Facebook.
While ignoring being a pejoratory display to others, she went on profusely with her self-consuming obssession on "Beautification"....with few occassions of gaining a few disapproving glints of nostalgia from her used-to-be down-to-earth mates.
****** Her work was disorganized, she was casted out from the team she used to collaborate with on a Science project, and became merely an alluring visual representation for pack of hungry alpha wolves.
Disintegration, down to the floor her teardrops were drained from her tearducts as she pushed every bottle of her exclusive make-up products away. "Useless, worthless...."the self-degenerating dictionary of vocabulary swarmed her psyche, attacking every single optimistic living cell in her.
Few days had passed when she found herself sleeping on the cold, hard, unrelenting floor. With a slow recovering stance, she gets up with the final thought of taking a chocolate bar for sugar.
Now she is a healthy, spiritual woman committed in empowering others to find their true identity
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
~
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin ******* excite at the touch, firming
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Chilly coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching behind delicate fingers guide, slowly
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sticky, sweet
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
My name, loudly called, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s perfect heat”
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
***Do you hear the snow,
did you feel the leaves twirling
sitting with a cuppa hot sensory perception
stirred by the wonderment of awe
sugar coatings in smoky essence of phantasm
spirit visions looming on the horizon
waiting to be plucked and invoked
playful muse dances within diffus'd vapors
catching the light of morning air
breathe in the crispness of anticipation
length & breadth of manifestations,
natures' spun revelations
spoken through inky passages
breaking of bread to be shared,
partake each slice and evoke humanity***
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
Paint splatter on my walls
There is nothing but the drips that fall
My mind races to see its colors
but there is nothing but the wet coatings
No trivial guess
or awesome gloating
can be found from my walls
only desperate wondering
and empty spots
needing to be filled
once its done
all I can do is
hope one day
that I can see the colors
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Watching dust motes swirl around in beams of light
The way droplets of rain slide along the windows of my car as I drive
The reflections of streetlights on wet pavement
When flowers grow up through cracks in the sidewalk
Sleeping in late and waking up feeling whole
Rocks in the middle of a stream that are just big enough to sit on
Watching sunsets over the wetlands on my way to class
Delicate coatings of snow over trees
The sound my boots make when I walk
When my cup of tea turns out just right
Candles that burn nice and slow
When my cat rests her head on my hand and looks up at me
The smell in the air when you know Spring is coming
Wearing big sweaters and hiding my hands in the sleeves
Philosophical graffiti artists
The smell of a campfire mingling with the the forest
Walking barefoot through grass
Listening to music with my eyes closed
Watching nature reclaim abandoned buildings
Walking through the woods in October
Being awake when everyone else is sleeping
Long, warm showers
When the birds come back after the winter
Taking naps during road trips
The way that the air feels different at night
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
Paint left, humidity purgatory,
Sticky but practically peeled off, while
Water and lime, the kind you hear about
On infomercials promising to rid
You of Built Up **** is trapped between the
Panes they said they replaced but I don’t know.
Clothes piled with invisible coatings of
Dust from the floor last swept ten years ago,
And sweat from leaving the AC off
(Because saving a few bucks is worth it),
And sweat in stained dresses when you touched me,
And sweat in damp briefs when I touched myself.
Paper stacks, three years, busy work
And scholastic articles I should
Have read, say I will, but won’t pick up,
And verses I wrote that go nowhere but
Here and to a real poet, happily
Trapped at an average liberal arts college.
So instead of dressing or cleaning I
Call you, naked, a fattened odalisque,
Silent for hours, my thin mouth, a suture.
A fit black girl cut across the dog park,
She saw my bare shoulders, sloped pudgy pale,
We gazed in the other’s faces, but now
I can’t think what she wore, and she knows
I’m just sad, still: a ghost in the windows.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
In twilight sounds of Louis Prima,
I blast the clouds of milky *****
Loosies falling through cracked plastic casings. The leather race.
The skin race. Mother Goose's shoes gave me a foot fetish for starving
Innocent women children- how I love
All. The lintels excisions' forgiven,
My libations intended for an astronaut of solemn jazz solos.
Puking narrative, out a gentle cough gives way.
To the colors of Mars candy bar caramel coatings. How we gloat.
Glowing of paradigms, distraught by the quiet ring of the cup & string.
Earned from an evening of perfervid pervert cacophonies
Often where I where the shoes with backs cut from shreds,
I know have uneven shreds. The Dead plastique of alligator cleats.
Ichbarken, lucifers *** drawings of Darwin, making alive the living Room shackles where I pack backpacks of narrow-minded princess Girlfriends, and I
Trespass reason for every hedonistic reason I please.
Whilst I onward huddle(belly out) guarding the Heraldic heretics of
Every disgruntled guilty Jewish mother- hands and toes I nibbled on.
My name is The Bill, and I am fasteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer than goblets of lye which decompose wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
What did I ever do
to deserve a world where
avocados are underripe while they're overripe,
pens cede before their ink is spent,
rivers run dry, aquifers deplete?
What choice do I have
but to opt out of the technocratic misery,
overlorded by the Slither Circle,
to make my sways of the sun replete?
My country has a Military Complex
that fought wars over bananas.
My country prints Monsters on Money,
a desecrated spell to spill nature's blood
and use it in every commodity:
the ink, the encasements, the coatings,
the stains, the sealants, the wrappers,
even the food and medicine.
What did I do?
I ate. I wrote. I used.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 9:39 AM UTC
Aug. 03, 2022 06:43am
Peconic Bay, Shelter Island
*Open my poetry bible to random page,
Whitman possibilities endless, his inspirations
of human essences distilled, a parfum of
sounds and smells, touched words, an airborne
mist of spray penetrating deep, tickling cells’ walls*.
*In Whitman, where all my journeys end, the luster
of all that presents to the half-dressed eye is restored
to its original color, a reverse osmosis where the coatings
of crusty salts that nightly accumulate, word-washed away.*
miracle!
*The restorer~forgers freshen original hues,
a creator’s helpers, workpeople tasked by
whom
matters not,
for even those
whose all senses impaired,
inhale new born air that informs
the body entire that the natural
shadings have been renewed.
as if
*a virginal placenta
of pure best has cracked open,
refilling the palette of the morning, colorists
of new dab pretending it’s a first time re-gifting,
an original vista, sanctifying all who welcome-willing,
finding new combinations words to etch and fetch what
is deliciously indescribable, what is given freely, but to whom?
To each.
To each of us.
within each
our own
leaves of grass.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 9:24 AM UTC
*The dark coatings
of our lives
serve as does
black paint
found on glass..
A mirror formed
seen on rising
facing our day..
As our mirror
convenes both
dark and light
Our greater Eye
convenes the same..
Now we see
our dark coatings
form the Mirror
for our Eye
to see…*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
the rain's melting glass
moulding our views
and moving intentions
to rooms where it started
in grey skies and days
gripping tightly as tea melts between
afternoon darkness
the city at evening
turned pines into curtains
drifting on branches
and in sudden still we walked out between them
in tunnels so soft words can't escape we
shook them together
the snow freezing down
between coatings inside the stitched cotton
we're both waiting there as cars drive below
the rain's melting glass
and scatters through streets
and cracks in the frame
are beginning to show
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
My love,
You wove words into wool;
A spider, you strung sentences into works of art;
While I, blind and blundering,
Tried to find solace in the stitching;
Thread webs into safety nets.
Yet there was perhaps a fatal flaw I forgot to mention:
I don’t know how to weave,
And I’m really ******* scared of spiders,
And time, and loss and love and you and me and most other things.
(But mostly spiders - like heart-stopping-body-spasming scared)
So, my pretty Baby blue,
I wish you and I, a doomed arachnophobe,
Could exist between the lines of love poems,
Could spend mornings in bed with tea from our favourite mugs,
Could spend nights walking home from our favourite pubs,
Could be everything I wished for us.
But life catches on and time catches up,
So for now I’ll dip my tongue in sugared coatings,
And try to lick your wounds clean.
I’ll etch your voice into vinyl, and put your track on repeat,
An album of day-to-day complaints;
Awkward stories; and the reasons you’re always right.
I’ll sit content, and sway to the rhythm of your tune,
And watch you, my friend, my baby blue,
Move, and bloom, to the unique beat of you.
And maybe you in turn, if you wouldn’t mind of course,
Could teach me not to run from spiders,
Like I always seem to do
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 8:45 AM UTC
I follow you by the love I've conceived
My ears and eyes follow your lips
Only pictures cure my loneliness when your gone
Your home, pick up the phone
I'm not obsessed
I hope I'm not clinging
I just walk around supported by ghost
No one is really near me
I guess I've hit my limit at the point of erosion
Couldn't you see the decay
Receiving many scoldings
They all say it's just a critic and a harsh opinion
Obviously it's true
no one like sugar coatings anymore
bitter, sour, and spicy seems to be what they want more
I want the sugar with a little bit of sour, a dash of something bitter,
And of course the spice
Yet I crave another simple item
It's you in my life
And the day I realize you and them can't be there or can without my notice
That's the day I'll still walk this road
Remaining at my loneliest
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
Menagerie…by Jessie 6/06
Too many days are all the same
The will has left, the inert pendulum silent, no longer marking time
Glass menagerie collecting dust
A ghost town of frail figurines
Lifeless the sheen, pail from coatings of yesterday
Not even the trace of a fingerprint to announce interest
Tawas a time, excitement from the prospect of a new-collected piece, while much deliberation was given to its placement
Diligently, maintenance provided, dusted and polished
Imagination carrying fantasies of amusing situations and images
Laughter recounted when viewed by innocent eyes
Now the foundations mirrors will not reflect what was or what is
Each days accumulation, another layer, each layer a little duller
Soon the only connection, a web, thin and translucent, linking one to the other
Paralyzed fragile pieces of glass, drowning in a sea of negligence
Your name whispered into a box of mementoes
Awaiting for renewed curiosity of another generation
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
run down, they once stuck to your roof top
sopping wet of sugary coatings that used to taste sweet in my mind but are
dry now and flaking around the boarders of crowned molds, gilded
and losing their shine behind
firmly locked soft gates, of an off-rose shade, that gently caressed
my unattached ear lobes that night in your car while you
slurred candied whispers above the incandescent small city,
with a view from a vacant parking lot.
too many times our silhouettes tangled together under shadows to
the same rhythm the background melodies hummed in the rush of
our second sentiment.
and the way your voice sounded — velvety, in that desirable sort of way —
tamed any quick beats of mine and aligned in a spiral with
my dying uneasiness.
but the flavour of your tone sat unpleasant on my tongue,
so I noticed the sugar was gone
'cause your words hung dry in the friday evening air.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
No man is as vulnerable as one who founded love, love is just a rare spark, it removes any bittersugar coatings, it exposes the true nature of a man.
The scarcity of this eminent toxicity keeps many with happy smiles, to some when it escapes it leaves them with broken bones and broken hearts
Those who find her once barely understands her, those who are graced enough to meet her again, keeps her burning in flames even to the cost of her neighbour death
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
Haunting, Fleeting, extraordinary, mild
Your images flow in the sea of my mind
How your body float gracefully from behind
A laugh comes out from your mouth,
Catching some air before swimmings towards me
You did love the water as you told me
My arms wrapped around your waist
And I kissed your pinkish lips to taste
My love, I'm sick from our memories
I could not anymore sleep,
Now my heart and mind are in deep,
Your image flashes as I shut my eyes completely
Darkness resembles your presence
Leaving me broken and oblivious lost its essence
Knowing tonight, you're with someone else
I'm turning the lights off
shrugging the thought of you off
call me a coward for not fighting for you, lover
But the moment when I saw you with one another,
I knew that it was over.
I guess I was in love with you swimming
Enjoying the rain while skinny dipping
You are now a memory I'm trying to perceive
I was not a loss for you, they say,
But I dodge a bullet for not letting toxicity to stay.
Good bye.
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
The morning comes at me in sideways, frenzied swirls; urging the heart to beat faster and the pace to quicken.
It’s energy dissipates into crystallized coatings of sugar and ice cream, covering a path that is the same yet treacherously deceiving; beckoning to run and frolic like a setter after a leaf.
The stride is low and measured with a bounce of flowing possibilities, somehow dismissing the bald, slick mountain orb that holds no one; that holds our existence like glue.
Patterns emerge under a delightful artist notion, layers upon layers, textures melding with form, colors yearning to find their own personality; creating itself from a falling idea.
Tendrils of fluid, wispy inquisitiveness seek to insert their purpose onto the canvas; like rivers of rolling acrylic from the oversaturated master brush. White and grayish drips making their way to an authentic resting place with delving curiosity and untethered adventure.
Cracks, shrieks of cold anguish across the water; or is it chortles of delight at the incessant rage of an unsatisfied bluster?
The force is at my back, not to push and mold me but to buffet the noise from the useless chatter; to comfort and warm like a soothing bundle of goose down without a floor.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC