"convalesce" poems
Lucid, abusive
Tongue in cheek divine
Stupid, elusive
Lost soul of mine
A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator
Loveless, acquiesce
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
******* with perky *******
One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive
Visceral, peripheral
Dark raven hair
Liberal, scriptural
I couldn’t even care.
I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener
Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan
Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips.
"Nightingale", minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
Folktale female
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied
On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
How blest the land that counts among
Her sons so many good and wise,
To execute great feats of tongue
When troubles rise.
Behold them mounting every stump,
By speech our liberty to guard.
Observe their courage--see them jump,
And come down hard!
"Walk up, walk up!" each cries aloud,
"And learn from me what you must do
To turn aside the thunder cloud,
The earthquake too.
"Beware the wiles of yonder quack
Who stuffs the ears of all that pass.
I--I alone can show that black
Is white as grass."
They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as well.
They'd make--I wish they'd go and make--
Of Heaven a Hell.
A advocates free silver, B
Free trade and C free banking laws.
Free board, clothes, lodging would from me
Win wamr applause.
Lo, D lifts up his voice: "You see
The single tax on land would fall
On all alike." More evenly
No tax at all.
"With paper money," bellows E,
"We'll all be rich as lords." No doubt--
And richest of the lot will be
The chap without.
As many "cures" as addle-wits
Who know not what the ailment is!
Meanwhile the patient foams and spits
Like a gin fizz.
Alas, poor Body Politic,
Your fate is all too clearly read:
To be not altogether quick,
Nor very dead.
You take your exercise in squirms,
Your rest in fainting fits between.
'Tis plain that your disorder's worms--
Worms fat and lean.
Worm Capital, Worm Labor dwell
Within your maw and muscle's scope.
Their quarrels make your life a Hell,
Your death a hope.
God send you find not such an end
To ills however sharp and huge!
God send you convalesce! God send
You vermifuge.
2.1k
'The time has come,' the Preacher said,
'to speak of many things
Of talking snakes and ****** births
and golden angel wings
And why Perdition’s fire is hot
and whether Christ is King...'
'Hold on a sec' the poet said,
'Before we sort this mess
I think I need an hour or so
to chill and convalesce'
'Take your time' the preacher said,
'Tomorrow will be fine'
The poet thanked him kindly
and then poured a glass of wine
And then he poured another
and another and six more
But soon the flask was empty
and he stretched out on the floor
He looked up at the preacher
and in garbled words he said:
'I think I'd rather talk
about reality instead'
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
Wreaths of mist swirled up into the cold air
As I looked at my grave in despair.
It was in disrepair and could not be saved.
Am I such a depraved knave that
I was waived my rights for a better place of interment?
I can not get over the convalesce
that this will be my permanent address.
I played the saint.
A saint I'm ain't.
No one heard my plaints.
But I heard your complaints.
Gave you tainted words.
No wonder I am where I am.
Wreaths of mist swirled up into the cold air
as I said my prayers.
A foursquare refusal to yield
to this grave, to this field.
To life and all it's strife.
To death and it's last breath.
I blocked my ears to the whispers
and it did stop the fate spinners.
Leaving destiny
at my mercy.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
I long for her mesmerizing gratuities .. To convalesce within boundless arcadian charms , nestled within variegated hardwood thickets , visibly enraptured and in complete faculty of mind whilst thankfully secure in every emotion ..
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
English countryside rolls
by like butter on banana
pancakes. The heat of
history keeps me cringing
with a full stomach. Aches
softly convalesce veins
from head to toe,
concentrated in the solar
plexus as I become the weary, dreamy traveller with little left
to seek, hoping that every closed door will lead to you wrapped in a duvet taco shell. Every bed is half-empty, so I fill your gap with a warm pillow and whisper, "I love you, Amanda. It's a softer heart at the end of every highway."
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC
*brilliant transformations scare her*
*she doesn’t know what she’ll become or how they’ll react but she knows this is what she wants
this is what she’s been waiting for and even though they’ll stare*
*brilliant transformations scar her*
*but she will convalesce, she will blossom, and they will adjust
and she’ll finally be everything she wanted*
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
Love lies on a razor
shoots through the clouds
as a lazor.
Please don't let me down, I look up.
Blink at the raining blossoms.
I convalesce in my self-made imaginary infirmary,
a red sphere floating firm above
a Japanese blotched black ink dove.
Blink up at the raining roses
Squint up at the blinking blossoms.
Love built the cross,
it also built the atom bomb.
Roses rain down in flurries.
Blossoms blink down in a hurry.
It would be sin for us to scurry,
even as the love spoken previous
beams down from heaven, is impossible
for us to bury.
If this is my truth, let it be conjoined, to become our truth.
And,
with outstretched skinny fists protruding out from the clouds above.
I watch as the Rose petals float fluttering down in a
flurry.
I blink up at the rolling, bowling, balling, beautiful blossoms....falling.
As the the is dawning.
As the sun is dawning
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
Out on the track that fateful day
I had just turned to train a mile
When old man Finn, asked where I'd been
could he tag along for awhile
"Of course" I said, he turned his mare
we set out for the quarter pole
The leisured mile, we made in style
a two forty clip was the goal
Reaching the quarter then the half
we were on track to make the grade
Three quarters down, I turned around
to see Finn looked a bit afraid
His mare was at a full gallop
bitten by a horse fly I thought
Over the rail, with Finn in trail
their fates tied to the lessons taught
He'd been thrown over the withers
came down hard on the limestone track
Finn was old , but cut from the mold
of men who go forward not back
I pulled my horse up, turned around
hoping to help him if I could
He'd had a stroke, his hip was broke
he lie gasping against the wood
We then took up a collection
to help the old man convalesce
Each man knew, Finn's chances were few
as this made of his life a mess
Kind and charmed I knew him to be
five handsome young sons to his name
Sadly then, those who knew him when
said life would never be the same
I had saved a thousand dollars
a sizable sum for a lad
As I was young, my life unsung
I had given them all I had
My father threw a fit that night
"I can't believe you sometimes son
Hard as it is, in the horse biz
how can I look past what you've done"
Each of us knew the hardships then
we shared part and parcel the same
But as a boy, I took no joy
in most truths of that deadly game
I ran my horse four days later
The Finn's drove in every race
my mare in back, of the pack
that night circled the field in place
Each of them smiled as I rode by
hell they might just as well have waved
While each was as drunk, as a skunk
yet they were all so well behaved
From that night on they cared for me
I laughed as I knew I'd been played
Life was no chore, it gave back more
I was proud of the friends I’d made
Tate
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
She screams and cries
But there's nothing inside.
She won't find what she's looking for,
Because she says that she "just can't anymore".
Her eyes search the floor,
Just to keep her safe,
She wants to keep her distance far away.
She screams, she cries
The nostalgia is building inside.
The girl tries to convalesce from her saudade.
Sometimes she feels big,
But her presence is small.
She screams and cries
That she's burning inside
Only her imagination can put out the flame,
But this only reignites it all over again.
She screams, she cries
She's nothing inside.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
I am perched atop a golden hill,
With grey birds lighting the sky.
Alone, I’m thought of as ill,
But this illness I possess is mine.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Akin to good and evil.
Who am I to refuse to shoulder,
The sins of man, primeval?
Disown the fear of love,
Life has never been in vain.
The sky looks down from above,
It commands that no soul is insane.
And nature’s children all gather,
Above the glinting sea,
And of my life I am the master,
As human as I can be.
Apr 29, 2021
Apr 29, 2021 at 1:49 PM UTC
Brought to me by fate
All of the pain you endured
I will heal your scars
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
you
fluttered around
the tinsel
your silver wings
like stars
beating with
the tambourine
and your
confetti raining down
to give it all
to you
would
mend my heart
(like melted gold)
a potion
where I'm
bathing in
your
rose water
and you're
blooming
up the moon
a blow
of which
I'll never
convalesce
You're full of moon dust
Some things
are
better left
unsaid.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Fear me.
I fill all spaces.
I break all walls.
I convalesce in tight corners.
and piece all the pieces.
Such tiny things are goals.
Such a pitiful want is sleep.
Fear me for I fear nothing.
Run fast for I sprint forward toward the world,
And you are in my way.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
I wish I could expell
This wild beast from my chest,
This bottomless well,
Merciless tempest.
.
It roars and screams
For things it can't get:
Insubstantial dreams,
Uncollected debt.
.
And it isn't fair
That efforts mean naught;
When all is laid bare -
Love can't be bought.
.
I long and I ache,
At the mercy of fate,
Its give and take,
The cruelest bait.
.
The suffocating need
To not be alone,
Unrelenting greed,
Scathing to the bone.
.
It rakes its claws deep
Through my ribcage,
Makes me weep,
Helpless with rage.
.
Its loathsome fury,
Feral with want,
My judge and jury,
Inescapable haunt.
.
And it makes me think
That it's you I'm missing,
But it's really that link,
That has me reminiscing.
.
And I tried with such ardor
To find it once more,
But it's getting harder,
And my soul is sore.
.
Tired of hoping
And letdowns, in vain,
Tired of coping
With this constant pain.
.
If I were not godless
Surely I would pray
To finally convalesce,
To just get away.
.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 3:32 PM UTC
my blood plays in the dancing embrace of my bones
ribbons them with a gifted chaos
that the serenity of your lines subdue
and before your form-ethereal
i convalesce corporeal
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
Once the war was over,
and we stood on opposing sides,
waving white flags in the wreckage and the blood,
I took myself and the lingering ring of gunfire
to mourn my loss and grieve.
I focused on mending;
mending my heart and newly missed limbs,
immersing myself in new routines,
scrubbing away the debris left under my nails
the mechanical effort of breathing all day
leaving me exhausted each night in a bed for two,
curled around an empty space which grew sombre in the dark.
Eventually,
I could tuck you away in the back corner of the cupboard
in the box labelled 'before the war,'
and I could breathe just fine
but couldn't find my voice,
trapped in the fortified cocoon I'd built to convalesce.
These days though,
I am butterfly new,
uncertain and yet unfurled,
braving the winds outside the cocoon,
in hope they will catch the voice I'm finding.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:31 AM UTC
If I were to be cured,
I can only wonder if my personality would be
cured as well.
I disgust myself,
To think that all I am
Is this disease
That could someday evaporate
Like my happiness has for the past four years.
And I wonder,
Would I know happiness to find it?
Would I know the words to say,
In place of my melodic melancholy.
I don’t know.
I simply won’t know
For a very
long.
As I wait, to be cured,
Of a disease that swallows life like air,
Perhaps when they find the cure,
I will be dead already.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
sorcerer belish enslumber cracks three points
infine sound weave ebb under slumber access
Waves screech bedside calculations wither joints
Crashe Metre reaper birth soul convalesce
shore alive Golden egg ingress and egress
short comings awry pur-golden desert sand
Ogre transactions haunting Course sea and Land
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
Hold me close in your spindly arms
and beckon me into harms way
you know what I want and need.
I fear the dark and your caress
but in it I know nothingness,
my sweet dreams and darkened bliss
find a point on which to convalesce.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
Gentle dangers
in the dead of night
Speak pleasantly
till all's not right
Soothsaying beasts
of no taxonomic order
Ravage our dreams
at our weakest border
Try to hither and halt such a
nasty scheme
Allows doom to convalesce
as the demon's eyes gleam
Better to walk with the creature,
play with it in jest
Embrace its ghoulish features,
but never let it get the best
Alloy once turned to gold,
so lay Reason down to rest,
That an enemy becomes an ally
at the soul's behest.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 5:43 PM UTC