"condensate" poems
Now that February days leave sweat on a
glass
Weather mixes me up
Like a stiff drink
Let the ice melt
Let the ring on the table condensate
And condescend me
Plain as a paper towel
Just read in between the vowels
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
Birthed from perfect unknown void,
Crescendos of unific silence
And a ****** ear reflecting,
A Gift between Two Brothers discontent
Interweaves them now and evermore
In fraternal ******* to a nondual realm.
A lightning seed of thought between two darks,
One light enough to fade the cosmic frown,
To be reborn in strife eternal,
And set the Cycle hastening to a Muse.
His flickering strands dehiscing essence,
The perfect fracture in a faultless whole,
It brings to bear the Change supernal:
The Triple Sequence timely folding,
Unfolds the Rhapsody of Seasons:
Wind, Sea and Earth alighting
Origins of Fire churning dim:
Clear rippling of finality forgotten,
New pressing through into existence,
Her gaze a creature to its own illumination
Renewed, with steaming boundaries... ragged breath:
Living sparks to contemplate the Stars,
And Satyr forward lustful genesis.
The hidden sun plays throughout the wood
A fragant melody of Light held fast,
Of Shadow pregnant and yearning
Bursting forth in spray of life subdued,
Laid low by Rhythmic pulse
And Timeless sea of tempoed mystery.
The hoard takes form, enraged--
A battle-morning's thralling mist of
Early spirits condensate to cling...
That vast blank anticenter dares to mock
With bated fragile brandishings, the
Violent frame of peace-horizons
Stepping out of step, Undeath whining
For a loss of Truth continual. Yet
Hope is wheeling her neoteric self
Upon that sovereign evanescence
Web-like spinning still, a prior sense,
A transfinite faultline of life yet unborn,
Of death still unwrought and wrought again
In hues of growth, and dreams of change,
Waiting silently for Books of Song.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
Modern and Contemporary Poetry
takes up most of the passenger seat.
Pages' edges ruffled like the balled-up polo I'm wearing. *Tommy Hilfiger'd
be rolling in his millions.* Twenty minutes till work's screen door crashes on the frame twice before settling. Three salad plates, a skillet, and two jars of unsweetened tea condensate
on the metal counter. They soak dinner bills and paper towel coasters.
The front door vacuum seals behind sandal families reeking of Chlorine
and hairspray. Beachy look. Three more families crowd in behind them, taking turns sifting through the hostess desk peppermints for discarded toothpicks. Reservations for 7:00 come in at 6:50 and demand a table. They're just like the mints packed tightly
in the lobby, but there are a few patient ones at the bottom. They're the ones that inspire stanzas in Modern and Contemporary Poetry, the college textbook waiting on my passenger seat. Three more hours.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Pin up nurses in blue and
black,
automatic manual doors grow
and contract,
windows that mist and condensate,
bells that annoy for no apparent reason
other than to be late.
Hospital beds.
Child's dead.
The mother's dread.
Just fake a smile. Just fake a smile. Just fa-
-send forth the balloons, cards and grapes
in an attempt to sew the stitches of
one broken womb:
a womb where the roof was torn
by precision tools and an expert eye,
though the doctors said the kid would live,
I believe they lied-
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
Starving for meaning, an agnostic
bruising grey and white matter,
choking on maybes and half-truths,
finds indifference too easily. Never
pushing further through, cloudbursts
condensate but never conceive rainfall.
Something and always something
more gives pause, upon bathroom wall.
Scribbled as an epiphany lightening bolts
eye-opener, and its leakage capitalizes.
Each tagger finding more prophetic
words to denounce anything mystical
or godly. So, what's being fertilized
beyond the tinkling drain of insistence,
slumps downgrade to ebb of sewage
reaching sea. There amidst flotsam,
aeon's class of power perceived become
one with Supreme Being, an ocean.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC
This morning's dew point,
Lower than inside air,
Silver gray condensate,
Shades window glare.
Like a night beat cop
Patrolling lover's park,
Fogged windows beacon passions' pant,
Sync-ed heaves chug parallel tracks,
Engine-caboose lurch to subsiding sighs.
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 8:38 AM UTC
The frigid air catches between her shoulder blades
winding the wings of the key.
She begins to shiver to life as gears are set to motion.
The wooden bench shrinks,
her lips begin to part and let out
balmy breath of steam
a smog that fogs his glasses.
She’s wound and bound to kiss him.
He wants this, too.
His engine begins to putter
as he begins to pucker.
Their cold lips meet,
and while an explosion in her core smolders,
he feels like a machine,
running through the motions,
trying to produce magic,
but feeling artificial.
A bolt must be *******
a wire out of place,
something is jamming his gears,
a rhythm out of beat.
He should feel alive.
He should want this.
He should want this.
Its just animatronics.
Aren’t men built to love women?
He pushes her face off his.
Anxiety fills his pipes and dew begins to condensate,
while the fire in her eyes are put out by the black
like oil streaking her face.
He’s sorry.
He’s so sorry.
He hurt her.
He hurt a friend.
Wind so white fills the distance between them
His wet hands grab her red mittens,
but she flinches and protects them like tiny finches
and puts them back inside her cage,
safe in her black pocket,
and walks away, leaking,
busted and broken.
White erases her.
He’s left to be a Tin Man who wants to rust in the snow.
A dent has shattered his almost love,
and a first kiss he wished he missed.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
You gently pushed me
into a wall
with your frame on mine again.
A wall –
Painted so long ago you –
could no longer smell the volatile compounds
Acutely confined - my frame
between yours and its.
Palm frond muted light spilled
into imposing window
from New Orleans street lamp
Diffracted in dappled condensate orb.
Condensation drapes into pearls - collapsing
on themselves, and dropped
in unison
with – our - shifts.
Uneven wooden floor panels echo
our obsequious rhythm
of physical appreciation, settled
into their granular responsibility.
Your pulse
embodied in your palms and hips
lilts in soft gasps
as I drape my forearm over your shoulder –
sliding body forward - I dip
into the crook of your neck
finding your pulse on my nose.
I prop my chin into
your
Collar bone crook
glancing into
your deepening eyes,
and press my lips into the
grooves of your neck
as you arch - into
the delicate moment before reciprocation.
I do not wonder what it would be like if walls could talk;
I would love to see them show impressions
of those that have touched their surface –
revealed in smears of paint.
And feel
racing pulses echoed
within those who pressed
into these corridors --
listening to secrets of one another’s bodies.
Grind deeper,
the wall will record our pulse tonight,
and perhaps –
our next encounter
will entail
our bodies
in paint
telling stories we could never capture
in our eyes locked into one another.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
A Pox ! a Pox !
upon the man
that flogged my wife
this camper van,
and told her please don't
worry dear
that damp patch here
is nothing queer,
it's merely steam
and condensate
that's dripping on your
empty pate...
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
New ideas condensate
Around another
Attempt at a book
Pooling, pulling
The will to write
Gaining weight
Until critical mass
-Implosion-
Creates a black hole
An event horizon my free time will soon cross
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
imagine yourself here,
at the beginning
and end
of all things
where a mass of unthoughts points vaguely
to a blank center-->
^where desires converge^
and where a sovereign evanescence
wheels your neoteric self upon the world. silently;
steaming boundaries condensate
along that transfinite faultline
pressing through existence;
lightning summoned to our complacent
belief in peace.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
The pretty people do the drugs
The criminals will do the time
The homely people do the work
Inside,
They don't like what they find
They don't have you
The way I do
Your t-shirt's large but belongs right here
You think I'm hot in yesterday's get-up
You prefer me when I'm fresh from a morning
When we both have a twang of slight halitosis
You're gross
But you loved the smell of my hair
I know that it's wrong
To think of you and grin
To recall the definition of your chin
The freckles on your chest
You hated them, wanted them removed
And I'd shake my head
And press my nose against your neck
Remember when we used to dance?
Front and center, your locks of gold would gather
Corkscrew
And condensate
Salty, sweet times
I'll find them once again.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 9:15 AM UTC
Sprinkle some Happy
all over my Body
Silly times feel so fine
Squinty eyes and rosey cheeks
belly laughs and tiny leaks
A rolling Laugh so sizable
My state has changed
to Condensate
makes my frozen face feel
like a visage vice
oh how it pulls my skin
sooo tight
Doubled Over
Double back
Reach for me
My luscious Love
Let's find the floor
and Cuddle Up
Release at last...
the pressurized
gasps of groaning
Satisfaction.
God, how I love
the Wonder that
You bless me with
Today could be the rest
of forever...Together
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Today's sun was never bothered by any clouds
Counting the planes easily
My eyes can't accept anymore the gleam
The road change it's hue,
It seems to be white
The warmth I need is too much
I'm alone
Sitting beside a hill
Waiting under a finite shadow of a tree
Viewing the mermaid lion blows
Just burning the patience within
Let me evaporate along
Condensate me pure
So that tears can hide between sweat
Let the memories be recover
One year on the same summer
Still here
Just like before
Waiting
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Should we ***** those Skies to settle the Cream
And infuse Wicked Rhythms to your Fruit
Flowers of such Scents do pose by the Ream
And Mark this Herald-of-Excellence by June
Benign such Time - the Time of Merry-Month
Where Splashy Bonds condensate into Friends
A Dab on his Nose - Smiles bloom to the South
Apart from his Fly such Model amends
But to you dear Promise Rain your Career
Relieve Printed Points from Tweets inspire
Where Prime Sports Pop merge Belief in arrear
And place his Breath to your Mouth respire.
Oh, those Songs! How merry Sentiments sing
Naught, naught yet besought; Those Empowerments bring.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
You know nothing
Of what lies under
my frozen cheek
beneath me as we
condensate.
This is the truest thing
I’ve ever heard.
A warm rhythm,
That you
will never hum.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:06 PM UTC
The sunrise hasn’t spoken in quite some time,
And the world is dreary; snow-cold hearts
Beating on and beating down day by day.
There are cobwebs in the clockwork,
And there’s a difference in the shades,
The world has turned from black and white
To a constant gray.
Perhaps we were meant to meet on another day.
Where the world would have listened,
Instead of cursing us into the ground.
And where I didn’t have to cry into my pillow,
I could let the sound rebound.
Your heart beats like a hammer,
The nails into my hands.
Oh Jesus Christ, this hurts like hell,
Sandpaper on my supple soul.
I live for every drop of blood that curdles in the sky.
The clouds look like roses today.
I evaporate and condensate and rain down once again.
This mystery and sadness is all spinning in my head.
The time ticks on and I remain, a broken fence, alone.
The world can be an ugly place when your heart has no home.
My feet hurt from the gravel,
My eyes ache from the night,
And darling I am anxious,
For your next delightful bite.
This poem makes no sense, but neither do my thoughts.
Cold tile floor and sweaty sleep, nightmares and daydreams haunt me.
Your forehead kisses gone for good,
I’m just a little rain cloud lately,
Waiting to condensate,
And disappear.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
The past will always
evaporate
into the cool vapors
of an unsure tomorrow…
So take this moment
catch your breath
and try to smile!
I assure you
the experience
will be worth the while!
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 11:21 AM UTC
Hello,
Poetry.
I see the
fangs between your lines
snap shut to disguise
wrinkles revealing
traumatic speeches
scribbled without care
yet shouted so scared.
Words scarred and slashed with
swords of
insecurity,
blue and red bars slice
the tale you tried to
save for me,
bleeding out stories
through the tears in these
ruled pages,
pour them in the cups
of the audience
so they relate with.
I take just one sip.
I’m already drunk,
cut out my favorite lines,
pasting phrases to my life,
********** away my pain,
rejected in recycling,
cycling confessions,
crying on my recollections,
sponge away my sorrow tears
and squeeze it on the stages.
Claps of the people
start evaporation and
the sensation serves me
confidence to condensate
the ink off my dissertation.
Final salutation,
spotlights off and
goodbye,
Poetry.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
*Condensate trickling neath the noontime pines
Tis the very wine of creation
Returning to a famished earth
Soothing the parched , nourishing the ailing -
and the sylvan floor enfeebled
Winter blades cascading from hardwood canopies ,
of every configuration , texture and hue
Madrigalian forest of a thousandfold , songs of cardinal ,
thrasher , bluebird , peckerwood and robin
Hickory , beech and loblolly undulate along -
the carpeted valley in November's artistic implosion
Broomsage under breaths bidding , dancing red tip grasses
and muhly , wild onion and sage in sacred midday communion* ...
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 7:54 PM UTC
Slap slap slap
Bare feet upon the path of stones
Cool and smooth and grey
Ephemeral condensate footprints
Vanish within a heartbeat
Of each foot lifted
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
Sometimes
If I focus on the rain,
I can hear it whisper.
I can’t make out what it’s trying to tell me,
Or if it’s for me to hear at all.
I don’t want to be rude and interrupt,
So I’ll sit at the sill and admire at a distance,
and as the aftermath of the storm leaks from the gutters,
a million secrets trickle down my window pane,
Condensate,
Then disappear.
Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 1:23 PM UTC