"consummate" poems
We first sexed in a tumbling, fumbling manner;
The time had come, it seemed to us,
To consummate our ****** lust.
The Valley was shakin' to The Rocks,
A popular Irish band;
We'd had our fill,
I sparked the engine,
And parked my bike on Techumseh Hill.
The summit was dew damp;
We spread wide our pants,
Not knowing who should go for whom,
So we relented to the crescent moon;
I acquiesced to the shooting stars
When my eyes
Diverse moons have filled my nights,
Long since the grassy knoll,
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC
Wussup, professional Latina?
Diversity been good 2 U?
Water warm enough 4 U?
Shaking down enuf rich gringos
to fund your Non-Profit?
(*speak against capitalismo here*)
Got time for la Revolución after your pedicure today?
(mention the border here)
still watching Oprah, Abuela?
heard from your third ex-husband recently?
Wussup consummate professional.
(*turn on NPR here*)
Got nail polish? Got car waxed? Got investments?
(take a networking business lunch here)
Have you streaked your hair enuf?
(mention indigenismo here)
I hope you are caring well for all the nietos
and still have time to be a tiburona
(insert italicized Spanish word here)
How are all your gente ?
(*mention mujeres fuertes here*)
Hey Latina - when did you move out of the barrio ?
(*mention La Raza here*)
Mujer Latina—wussup.
how is Gringolandia workin' out 4 U ?
(turn off Univision here)
'cause if the oppression gets too bad
you could always move back
to Venezuela
or Chihuahua
or San Juan, or...
(*mention Trump here*)
...Miami?
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
Desolated in the biting winter
Bitter frost masking gnarling wood
In the morning when the sun kisses our heads
Gone are the icicles with a thousand facets
Fragile emotions only whisper
Sorrows and regrets to keep you company
In your consummate solitude
All of which juxtapose your worth
b.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
Eating mushrooms, to her is yet another art
she loves to perfect, in my ear she whispers
with such visible pleasure,"I want to be a connoisseur in this"
Her studio smelled herbs and wild flowers of inner forest,
brought me back to the cardamom and cinnamon garden
I played in my days of boyhood; spices build a bridge for us.
More of a herbalist than a paint smelling artist, she seems,
mounted on the wall on irregular fashion were the mushrooms
she painted with a passion rare, and a precision mirroring life;
the paintings brought her past in to the studio, only trained eyes
would discern the cryptic symbolism, a consummate artist she certainly is!
The woman who smoked cigars in succession and untiringly danced,
she said was her favorite, along the lake front we took a long walk
comparing notes; there were parallels that met, we found soon enough.
"You too knew her so well, I am aware", she said. A room filled with smoke
where we dance, make love, grow tired, fall down and sleep, wasn't it our life?
No one can miss the signature smell of her dense cigar smoke on my dress!"
I loved the smell of cloves she exhaled while eating mushrooms.
though detachment she pretended, eating mushrooms never was that!
I kept looking down at her eyes, a sailor about to sight the land,
any panting moment that rushes with a monsoon song for me and her.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Fatima Latima
I had wished I had no gift of sight
That the worst I could endure is hear you speak
And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation
You may not be a thief
Nor **** daughter of the dayspring
But definitely my heart you stole
I speak of the daughter of Arabia
Aesthetically, she rocks
The queen of the pilgrim sands
And aeonian desert stones
Beyond the hijab
Artistically knead with consummate craft
Like the relics of Mecca
Blest by the prophet’s bones
The blessed
I see torches
Beaming with intelligence
Within those mascaras
Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant
A lulu class botany
She fixes a searching gaze
As she saunters close
And the stride and tread
Beats a drum entrancing
Soothed in her solacing spell
I give in, to her lullaby
She halts her perambulation
Stands magniloquent and stupefy
Like some pop diva magazine pose
Or Victorian secret shot
A tactical derangement of her gluteals
As she rests her palm in its cleft
I feel contractions, my dartos muscles
The blew of summertime
Gently beats her exceptional form
Her belt submerge her thigh crevice
Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat
Built by the dainties and delicacies
Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef
As her silken dress slithers and gowns
Under the breeze bulging and blooming
Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore
As she bends down
To assuage the burlesque
The sun specula lilts her sensational
Her smile apologetic bids me stillness
I am caught staring
Guzzling down her scent and
Feasting on empty imaginations
Of What If that accentuate the mind and
Speed a hormone
And I pray I sin no more
Next time we meet and I see her again
For I am but a writer
Learning to use my pen and paper
And hope you but forgive
My linguistic impotence
When I make my confession
Employing too plain a language
When I say thus;
Her smile is classical
Her walk magical
Her beauty celestial
Her stride sensational
Her religion ethical
Her character spotless
And that leaves me breathless
And forgive if I step on broken toe
And try speak of the unspoken
Her ****** is sacred
Her being a type that dresses up
In the milliards of brutes dressing down
And shamelessly style it fashion
I must see a priest
One confession I ought to utter
And even vociferate abroad
For once I had fallen in love
With an Arabian Beautie
A ****** of Mecca.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
1724
How dare the robins sing,
When men and women hear
Who since they went to their account
Have settled with the year!—
Paid all that life had earned
In one consummate bill,
And now, what life or death can do
Is immaterial.
Insulting is the sun
To him whose mortal light
Beguiled of immortality
Bequeaths him to the night.
Extinct be every hum
In deference to him
Whose garden wrestles with the dew,
At daybreak overcome!
5.9k
Forth flashed the serpent streak of steel,
Consummate crown of man's device;
Down crashed upon an immobile
And brainless barrier of ice.
Courage!
The grey gods shoot a laughing lip: -
Let not faith founder with the ship!
We reel before the blows of fate;
Our stout souls stagger at the shock.
Oh! there is Something ultimate
Fixed faster than the living rock.
Courage!
Catastrophe beyond belief
Harden our hearts to fear and grief!
The gods upon the Titans shower
Their high intolerable scorn;
But no god knoweth in what hour
A new Prometheus may be born.
Courage!
Man to his doom goes driving down;
A crown of thorns is still a crown!
No power of nature shall withstand
At last the spirit of mankind:
It is not built upon the sand;
It is not wastrel to the wind.
Courage!
Disaster and destruction tend
To taller triumph in the end.
5.9k
1295
Two Lengths has every Day—
Its absolute extent
And Area superior
By Hope or Horror lent—
Eternity will be
Velocity or Pause
At Fundamental Signals
From Fundamental Laws.
To die is not to go—
On Doom’s consummate Chart
No Territory new is staked—
Remain thou as thou art.
4.3k
1738
Softened by Time’s consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood’s citadel
And undermined the years.
Bisected now, by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood’s realm,
So easy to repair.
4.3k
The hour which might have been yet might not be,
Which man’s and woman’s heart conceived and bore
Yet whereof life was barren,—on what shore
Bides it the breaking of Time’s weary sea?
Bondchild of all consummate joys set free,
It somewhere sighs and serves, and mute before
The house of Love, hears through the echoing door
His hours elect in choral consonancy.
But lo! what wedded souls now hand in hand
Together tread at last the immortal strand
With eyes where burning memory lights love home?
Lo! how the little outcast hour has turned
And leaped to them and in their faces yearned: —
‘I am your child: O parents, ye have come!’
4k
It was early fall,
the leaves were vibrant
when I crawled to the bar,
catch myself a weekend buzz.
Fred’s drinks were pure trouble,
more jet fuel than mixer.
I mean you could torch your breath
after just one sip.
Rock blared there like a live concert,
loud enough to make you a deaf mute
after just one drink.
The dark walls swirled,
moved in & out, carnival-like,
I purred-down
Jack-elixirs.
I first saw her shining
from across the Mahogany bar.
She was hidden in the shadows,
a real good looker.
Her amber hair was crazy,
blowing everywhere
like the bride of the stitched-man,
electrode-neck.
She might have been a ******
or a nose-candy queen,
but after what the bartender gave me,
it really didn’t matter,
life was played hard on the edge
in them days.
I was enthalled with her,
captivated by her lady-vibes,
she was the perfect last call.
We sang rock and roll songs
in my 455 rocket, crawled
the back roads,
looped
all the way
to my country-place.
We were on auto-pilot,
dropped our guards,
fell into each other’s embrace.
She smelled like salty-patchouli,
had a killer innocent-face,
kissed me with fire,
such strong desire,
a beautiful-wantonness.
Her eyes were so red & green,
indeed she was
the consummate,
the prettiest,
late-night dream girl.
She was bathed in bright ink,
the sun, the moon, the stars,
vividly scrawled on her back
along with a frowning-tiger.
Above her privacy, I spied
a smiling-gnome
with outstretched arms
screaming, “I Wuv You.”
I obliged him,
there was no fighting
her ***** to the wall demeanor.
We shook the planet,
frolicked way past the wee hours,
deep into the noon hour.
When the earth-shattering stopped,
I was hung over on her & the jp4.
We crashed still trashed,
I still don’t know
how I ever got her home.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
From the streets
Of the windy city
In a cold world that
Showed him no pity
He used his gift of gab
To sell their kitty
And it wasn’t done
By committee
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He had no shame
Or second thoughts
He was true to the game
Followed the dots
He ducked the law
Sidestepped their plots
Paid his dues
And carried knots
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
Iceberg Slim was
A legend
True to the game
And his profession
Handled his business
With discretion
Then wrote a book
A true confession
He tired of the **** life
In the end
He couldn’t go through the motions
And just pretend
He started feeling like
He might have been condemned
And he didn’t like
What that might portend
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
He hit the canvass
cold last night;
that impressive frame
and charismatic soul
father, son
and consummate brother
went down for
the proverbial
10 count;
complete with iron band
and Iroquois
tap out pipes
and that fashionable
Frank Smith vein
there was no grudge
in this match
no condemning contest
or mad cap bout
just mano a mano
with the dark apparition
and it played out
precisely
(despite the bills
and pressing deadlines
and calls from Christ)
it came with tears
and fear
in that decisive
and surrealistic
voice from the ridge
they all arrived;
on plains
and trains
valiants
and fat boys
from across seas
and remote hills
bringing tales
and sorrow
angels,
laborers
and mourners
in mass
with eagle wreathes
and adorning pine
it was cited
as natural
but there ain’t
nothing natural
about The Heater
going down
nothing natural
for the
mauy thai bossman
with black leather gloves
and golden heart
the giver of hope
to those blue
collar dreamers
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
An immigrant from County Clare
brought to this harsher clime-
Phoebe Prince, an Irish lass,
a gentle heart and mind.
First used, and then discarded
by one boy, then another.-
Object of the mean girl’s scorn
the consummate "outsider"
On her last day alive
They hounded her from school.
The girl they called the “Irish ****
disgraced and played the fool.
Her sister, Lauren, found her body
hanging lifeless in the hall.
Befriended by nobody
Phoebe chose to end it all
And on the day they held her wake
Those monsters held their dance
A debutante cotillion
for a troop of soulless tramps.
She’s buried here in County Clare
because the Ocean's waves
protect her from the harpies
who drove her to her grave
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
A perfect Mommy, a perfect Daddy
A perfect daughter, a perfect life,
A perfect world to exist in, eclipsed by consummate sight.
She was my sun, a seraphic voice
bathing me in warm light,
And he was my moon, watchful eyes
protecting me from the darkness of night.
Two halves of my whole heart, their blood flowing through
my spirited veins.
Two halves of my whole mind, their thoughts crashing through
my synthetic brain.
Perfection is their sweetest lie, proclaimed by selfish mouths uttering
vain whispers after bedtime.
"I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I know we can survive this."
But survival is intangible against an affliction of the soul.
Imperfection is my harshest truth, comprehended by grieving eyes seeing raw memories before sleep.
"I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I know you can survive this."
But even a human's profound devotion can be turned away by their Creator,
just as a pleading child can be deserted by their mother and father.
And that is the largest betrayal of them all.
But to remain, to endure against hate's control, against fate, would be an immediate death.
To try and withstand their sickness and deterioration would be suicide.
And I have realized that I do not want to die.
Loss is my most unbearable pain, undeniably clouded by her beautiful smile and his comforting resemblance.
She used to sing her child to sleep, and now, she is singing to her one last time. At the door, he is watching and keeping them both safe.
They will both leave and never come back, but the memories will remain. The happiness will always be there for recollection.
But for now, it is time to sleep and forget.
She caresses her child's hair and kisses her forehead lovingly, getting up and walking to join him at the doorway.
The silhouettes of their mournful faces seem like a cryptic dream.
"Goodnight, Gigi. We love you very much."
"Mom? Dad?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I can live without you. You can leave me. I know I can survive this."
"We know."
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
In foreign land of towering pines
And hammocks, mangrove-torn
A dark-filled night reluctantly
Bequeaths a pale dawn
Upon one battered cypress perched,
Amidst the morning haze,
Bright eyes stare out from part-cocked head
With piscicultural gaze.
Intently focussed on the brook,
That glides beneath the tree
Alive to every shadow’s sound
Yet never truly free.
For choicelessly these eyes are drawn,
As waters break below
And like a flash a head snaps back
And rippled muscles flow.
Within the slightest moment’s breath,
Two mighty wings released,
Two claws full-stretched, two legs reach out
The sinews, strained, unleashed.
The beaten air the only sound,
As time itself stands still
And, tracer-like, on charted course
The osprey meets its ****
With consummate and practiced ease
The painless end begins
The single deadly blow is dealt
As sharpened claws sink in.
Then up away into the dawn
And time resumes its course
Two final beats – then disappeared
Is this magnetic force.
The cypress perch and well-filled brook
As silent witness stay
And as they settle – calm again
The sun declares the day.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
1427
To earn it by disdaining it
Is Fame’s consummate Fee—
He loves what spurns him—
Look behind—He is pursuing thee.
So let us gather—every Day—
The Aggregate of
Life’s Bouquet
Be Honor and not shame—
2.3k
*En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.
The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.
Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.
Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.
Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.*
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
I remember her distinctly,
she wore green flannel & cargo shorts,
Che cap & a stuck sunflower,
her braids exploded from under it.
She was proud of her antler-handled side knife
& jump boots, traipsed around
like she was on the nature boardwalk,
I heard she stalked Sasquatch once.
That girl was
the consummate outdoors woman,
she knew all about trapping,
skinning & first aid,
could make water
spring from the ground.
Her grin was infectious,
a true aura of love hung
like dander around her,
her sensuality screamed
silently from her twinkling eyes,
the color of azure.
I was with her for one summer,
then I moved out of her sacred-valley.
Every time I look at the stars,
I remember her campfires
& the times we spent
at Moondipper
in each others arms
tasting marshmallows.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
Ah, summer!
Summertime is ever my favourite, indeed;
with charms t'at are inadequate,
with promises not rich enough,
for my love is even wealthier t'an which!
Oh! But still, a summer garden
is a warming delight to my sights;
it is a living soul to me,
it pats my shoulder and smiles at me,
it sings to me and write me-
a delicate night-time lullaby!
Ah, so sweet and enigmatic
is our beloved summertime,
as it for ever always is;
With leaves t'at canst talk,
flowers t'at canst think,
and clever blossoms
that canst charm
and sway about so prettily
Back and forth,
Beneath and behind me;
O, and perhaps lips
t'at canst promise
Some surge of happiness;
Yes, happiness-vacant happiness,
Happiness t'at is our abode,
and for us only-to dwell in;
Though whose self is still beyond thought
and canst be delicately seen
only from a thousand miles away
from 'ere; o, dear happiness!
Wherefore be thou-come 'ere!
Come 'ere-o, light of my dim light,
fire of my shy fire!
Come 'ere, o dearest!
Flirt with and tease me;
touch and taunt me;
'Till I am but immersed
in thy evil charm, thy evil charm;
Whilst soaked in thy greedy eyes,
Consummate and make me whole,
delude and corrupt me,
but make me forget not
my very own intimate voice;
With a love that I want to kiss,
within a glory I should rejoice.
Stab and ****** me!
Make things blissful a tragedy;
but a glossy tragedy-as thy soul may be;
And be I, the happiest ghost in th' world;
roses are my tongue, lilies are my mouth;
cherries my breath, berries my death;
But on top of all, my dear,
Their blooms my satiation,
Frivolous, ye' stupendous as it is,
Ah, my salvation, health, and incarnation!
And comest to me once more;
Love me and care for me
Like never before;
just like I hath cared and be cared for,
make my feelings sure,
find a cure to my foul longing,
And be my sole angel of bliss
Like when I am lost again today;
Tend to me with thy singing so sweet-
As when I love; as I hath ever dreamed.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
and so life makes life.
the strange beauty
of pollination.
flowers allowing insects
to mediate, relegate, perpetrate
and consummate their ancient ritual,
their sacred act of reproduction.
A third party multispecies **** of sorts.
But the bees never get off.
still,
truly takes the task a touch further
than the innumerable sea animals
who mate in mass,
whole schools of fish
releasing egg and *****
anonymously
in a surging swarm of ***
generating the next generation.
and so life makes life.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 5:27 AM UTC
Blessed rice on rivers of love
confetti danced into the ocean
salt preserved the truth with consummate glory
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
The night reveals more than just the stars
And moons and worlds and Milky Way bars
For the dark matter as a backdrop to the cosmos
Will one day rip its space-time fleece
But when and where, you’ll never know
Stars are like flowers and warrant no rebirth
From the gaseous remnants light years from Earth
For accretion pulls me in like your nebula cries
At the event horizon of a black hole *****
That gladly consumes my coy little lies
Watch them all burn and fail, once fiery *****
And consummate a lifespan for no reason at all
Churning in a chaotic standstill of time
Those supernova dreams and aspirations
Ultimately useless, but in all ways, sublime
Why do they exist and makes them die?
From the quantum quarks to the red giant eyes
I am searching for answers in an ignorant space
On a planet revolving on separate realities
Revolving on a path with a polluted trace
We sit in circles round an astral plane
Without questioning logic and something to gain
But like a star’s supernova, I’m ready to burst
Return from space and find our sun mid-stellar explosion
Eager to stand up and feel it first
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Come away with me, I know the perfect place.
A starless night where I can't see your face.
Surrounded by the death and decay of centuries past,
A place where I can bury us at last.
We'll consummate our hatred on consecrated ground
An epitaph, screamed into the void of the night is the only sound.
We'll shatter the peace of the dead as our bodies clash
Our hearts, kindling, our flesh, the flint, we'll strike together and burn it to ash.
Open yourself to me, time for one last round.
Look into my eyes while I pound you into the ground.
Scream my name while I use your body to misbehave.
I'm going to hate-fuck this love, straight to the grave.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
W. S. Rendra translations
Willibrordus Surendra Broto Rendra (1935-2009), better known as W. S. Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian dramatist and poet. He said, “I learned meditation and the disciplines of the traditional Javanese poet from my mother, who was a palace dancer. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation.” The press gave him the nickname Burung Merak (“The Peacock”) for his flamboyant poetry readings and stage performances.
SONNET
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Best wishes for an impending deflowering.
Yes, I understand: you will never be mine.
I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
I contemplate
irrational numbers―complex & undefined.
And yet I wish love might ... ameliorate ...
such negative numbers, dark and unsigned.
But at least I can’t be held responsible
for disappointing you. No cause to elate.
Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
The gods have spoken. I can relate.
How can this be, when all it makes no sense?
I was born too soon―such was my fate.
You must choose another, not half of who I AM.
Be happy with him when you consummate.
THE WORLD'S FIRST FACE
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill―
both of them naked,
both consisting of nothing but themselves.
As in all beginnings
the world is naked,
empty, free of deception,
dark with unspoken explanations―
a silence that extends
to the limits of time.
Then comes light,
life, the animals and man.
As in all beginnings
everything is naked,
empty, open.
They're both young,
yet both have already come a long way,
passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns,
of skies illuminated by hope,
of rivers intimating contentment.
They have experienced the sun's warmth,
drenched in each other's sweat.
Here, standing by barren reefs,
they watch evening fall
bringing strange dreams
to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces.
They lift their heads to view
trillions of stars arrayed in the sky.
The universe is their inheritance:
stars upon stars upon stars,
more than could ever be extinguished.
Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill―
both of them naked,
to recreate the world's first face.
Keywords/Tags: Rendra, Indonesian, Javanese, translation, love, fate, god, gods, goddess, groom, bride, world, time, life, sun, hill, hills, moon, moonlight, stars, life, animals , international, travel, voyage, wedding, relationship, mrbtran
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 5:36 AM UTC