"cooed" poems
"While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.
"How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the tree of death.
"Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.
"I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another,
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover;--
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?--
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!"
Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.
The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station;
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;
The kind hart's tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.
Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and ******
His tongue out with its fork.
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I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.
The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand
And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand
In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.
Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four foot box, a foot for every year.
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I held you tightly in my heart before I knew your name.
I wondered what you'd be like and if we would be the same.
I held you in my stomach as I lay in bed at night.
I felt for every kick and move and smiled in sheer delight!
I held you as you cooed and cried before you learned to crawl.
I held you when you had a bump or took a nasty fall.
I held you as we rocked at night and sang our many songs.
I held you as you walked to me the first time 3 steps long!
I held you when you'd had a fight or when someone was mean.
I held you after you'd been spanked for making quite a scene.
I held you as I prayed for you when you were feeling low.
I held you when you were mad at me because I had said no.
I held you when you let me – as you were growing tall.
I held you less with my arms back then than I had when you were small.
But I always held you in my heart, and on my lips in prayer.
That no matter where you moved or lived, I had you covered there.
When adult friends hurt your feelings I'd want to hold you then
I never saw you grown up – or just as another friend.
But you were always my little child – someone for me to guide
Someone to protect from this vicious world – within my arms to hide.
But something happened the other day that felt like quite a blow
The Lord told me my job was done and that I could let go.
That I could still pray daily for all your hearts to soar
And I could love you from afar and each day love you more.
But the holding on just has to stop – you have your own lives (this I know).
And so with love I write this to you – to tell you I'm letting go.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 4:28 AM UTC
she held me close and cooed and preened me
and held me safe from the night
from the large and troubling world
that my tiny brain could not comprehend.
those ancient hands
had seen many decades,
the raging waters sought the
liverspotted skin like a flame
seeks a moth to burn
by shining so **** bright.
She gave me dinosaurs
and quarters and
nickels and dimes,
she told me stories
and memories and
the dusty images of long abandoned time.
I sat and sat and listened and sat and
retreated into the shelter of
those far too weathered hands.
though the world was
largely storm clouds
and the incessant shouting of the thunder,
she held me closer,
covered me in her mass and
held me quickly against the oncoming storm of time.
those ancient
weathered hands
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
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When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
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The Little Bird came a hopping up
And flew into his arms.
She cooed and chirped and occasionally burped
As she snuggled from all harms.
Her eyes so blue and so inquisitive
She searched his face for a smile.
Then saw what she was waiting for...
Spread across a country mile.
Her feathers so fine and very blond
Flew around when she did move.
As the music began to play and sway
Her body began to groove.
Her love of music, things so fine
Came naturally to her.
When Papa played his old guitar
It caused her feet to stir.
She laid her head upon his chest
And let out a great big sigh.
All was well in little bird land
That, you could not deny.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her feathers a muss
The face of an angel shone.
Asleep in the arms of her grandpa
Little Bird and him, alone.
Good night Little Lucy Bird. Sleep tight Princess.
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 12:39 PM UTC
my wife went to town
on a dark
cold and windy
night
she drove
slow at first
then faster
as the wheels
squeaked
louder
as she came
to a bend in the road
and another
and another
she kept her foot
on the pedal
and eyes ahead
as a tall oak
came
into view
basking like
under an entranced moon
then
as a torrent of rain
squaws danced
wheels squeaking louder
she reached town
somewhat exhilarated
and looking back
the entranced moon smiled
and cooed
LR-4/23/17
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
I'm so proud of you,
she said to herself.
A mother and father
laughed in the distance,
embracing a young woman.
School books laid all around her,
but the only friendly face in sight
was her own.
The happy family entered the house,
raving about a show they saw that night.
We're so proud of you, cooed the mother.
The father beamed with pride.
She crept down the stairs,
and met the happy family
in the kitchen.
The family stared back at her,
as if she did not belong.
Tests and papers with high marks lined
every cabinet, the table, and the refrigerator.
Theater medals and trophies had a glass showcase of their own.
She sighed heavily and went back to her room,
littered with thick books and journals.
I'm so proud of you,
she said to herself,
because no one else would.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
"Do not judge them,"
She whispered softly,
"You may be old,
But you have yet to live as well."
And they stared at her,
For the first time in decades,
With eyes wide with wonder.
"But I have seen so many things,
I am certain I know more."
"No,"
Smiled the crone,
Orange eyes twinkling like starlight.
"You know what you know for yourself,
And yourself alone. Your wisdom is yours."
"Shouldn't I make my wisdom theirs as well?"
Cried the playwright.
"They're making too many mistakes, I have to fix it."
And still, the crone continued to smile.
"Their mistakes are theirs to make."
She reached out and placed a hand upon the playwrights' paper.
"Just as your wisdom is yours, their experiences are theirs, and just as valid as yours."
She took the quill from the playwright, and tucked the crow's feather in her hair.
"Allow them to grow without your bias."
"But I don't approve--"
The crone gave the playwright a bright smile,
Though her eyes were dark,
Which ultimately shut them up.
"Your place is not to judge. It is to nurture. It is to guide."
She said softly, though her tone was much more assertive.
"Then let me guide,"
The playwright began.
"There is a vast divide between guidance and control."
The vision of her shimmered, and she took a step back.
"I don't understand."
The playwright held their head in their hands, knuckles white while gripped onto curls.
"And you will not understand until you yourself live."
The old crone cooed, before her image blew away in soft red wind.
And there the playwright was left,
A half written letter filled with judgment and smudged ink,
And no quill to finish it with.
They fell back into their chair,
Glaring at their writing desk.
Whether or not the crone was right or wrong,
They still didn't get their quill back.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Alas, Mr. Seagull was more than enjoying his meal
each sweet bite, each tender morsel
He was in what they call "Food Heaven"
When along came a a Raven in a black dress
At his breakfast table, she smiled
Then softly cooed, "May I have a bite?"
Mr. Seagull never responded to her charms,
And so with a daring plan she waited
until Mr. Seagull took another big bite
Then quickly before Mr. Seagull could blink
Raven left with food in beak, away she flew
Into the far yonder's wild, wild blue
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
I marked where lovely Venus and her court
With song and dance and merry laugh went by;
Weightless, their wingless feet seemed made to fly,
Bound from the ground and in mid air to sport.
Left far behind I heard the dolphins snort,
Tracking their goddess with a wistful eye,
Around whose head white doves rose, wheeling high
Or low, and cooed after their tender sort.
All this I saw in spring. Through summer heat
I saw the lovely Queen of Love no more.
But when flushed autumn through the woodlands went
I spied sweet Venus walk amid the wheat:
Whom seeing, every harvester gave o'er
His toil, and laughed and hoped and was content.
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She looked at me and said,
"You should **** me
before you love me."
And so I did.
Her hands covered her *******
and she said,
"I want you to guess which breast
my father touched first."
And so I did.
The bones in her hands shifted
as she fixed her hair into a ponytail.
"You're going to promise me that
you're not going to try to fix me.
You're going to promise me, okay?"
And so I did.
Her lips would start bleeding
because when she lied
she chewed her lips.
She said, "I think today
will be the last day I live."
And I asked her for one more.
Dry blood sat on her inner lips
as she kissed me good morning.
Her voice softly cooed,
"I hope that isn't the last time
I kiss you."
And I asked her for one more.
She bled,
"All you write about are girls.
You never write about me.
All you write about are faces
without souls. What about my soul?
Are you going to
******* write about my soul?
Are you going to write another poem?"
And I asked her for one more.
Looking at me,
she ran her fingers
down her hips,
across scars,
and said,
"Too many men look at me
and see what they want to.
They look at me and see
broken picture frames
that they can repair
and put our faces into."
Our hands met
and our fingers grasped
at the pieces of ourselves
that were deeper than faces.
But it was only me
as she whispered,
"Stop,"
licked my cheek
to my ear,
finishing,
"Don't fall in love
with what you
think you see.
Just **** me."
And so I did.
And so I asked her for one more.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Sunrise floods through
vertical blinds strong enough to
bleed through thick fingers of my aloe.
Mold grows from soil-top deep into
the root.
I
stretch my arms, wipe
crust from my eyes
just to find
you.
God,
anybody but
you.
Eyes red. You
didn't sleep.
It's been days since you
slept. Your
pile of cups, stained from old coffee, mingling
with cheap liquor
bottles. Lying on the floor like the bodies
in Normandy.
The first thing you
say to me, your
catch phrase, prodding me with bony
fingers, the scars across your
arms like scales.
Shallow pools under your
eyes lingering, you
say "you will not last today."
I
tried to spring to my feet, you
held me down.
"Sleep," you
cooed as my eyelids buckled
I
believed it best I just
lie
down.
"Spend the day in bed," you
said. "It'll be nice," you
say "let me have just one more day."
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Aphrodite - Queen *****
Slouching.
Elbows resting on glass countertop -
Go **** yourself.
All you are -
Is beautiful.
All you are -
Is perfection.
Can't touch you baby,
No, not again.
Smiled and cooed,
Then playing the role of dog in heat,
Snapped and snarled -
Like I was the crazy one.
You asked for it.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
"I really wish I could love you."
"Don't cry. I'll be okay."
Her cold hands blanketed my cheeks, as warm tears repelled from finger to finger.
I looked at her, as her eyes changed from blue to green to blue again. "I don't want you to die, Reno."
"Dying can't **** me, Josh. I thought you knew better." Her eyes were green again, as her iris exploded into a wave of grey. She blinked and they were blue again, changing the room to an eggshell white. We sat on a naked mattress, in the middle of an empty room, my face resting on her soft shoulder. Only orange, dancing pill bottles kept us company. They'd tip their caps, like a hat, at the end of each song.
We swam in a teal sea, inside of four brick walls. Our mouths didn't move, but our voices travelled through air bubbles.
Doing an underwater backflip, the bubbles broke, "When did you first fall in love?"
Kicking off the floor, towards her, "I was twenty."
"How'd you know?"
"She gave me a cupcake and was trying to light the candle, but couldn't. She kept trying and trying. At that moment, I knew I loved her."
She swam towards me, her legs like ribbons waving at the surface.
"His name was Lee," she cooed as she started to drown, "I was seventeen and he open hand slapped me. I thought that was love. Then, eventually, he started to close his hand and then I knew that it wasn't. It didn't stop me from loving him with everything I had, though."
I reached for her as her legs were being pulled up to the surface. She opened her mouth, "You'll be okay. I promise."
My pillow was soaked by sweat as I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The other side of the bed was empty. I turned my head to see the bathroom light peeking behind an indecisive door. Getting up, I walked around the foot of the bed and over the blanket dying on the floor. As I grew closer to the bathroom, the sound of retching clawed at my eardrums.
My hand pushed the door until the bronze **** kissed the wall. An alabaster body was on the floor. Reno's face appeared as she wiped her mouth. She flushed the toilet. I walked towards her, kneeled beside her, and hugged her as the sound of suction and spinning water drowned the air.
I whispered in her ear. She picked up head, out of my arms, and smiled, blue eyes and all.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
As he lay waste her bed , her
Body, body-bed, bed-body
As he lay waste her cushions and
a saree unfurled
As he lay waste in a haste
To **** the marrow out of her
Lay waste her blankets,
And entered the bed which
Wasn’t one of Matrimony
But a bed raised in pursuit of mammon
To sort things , the easy way out
He entered a bed and she too ,
Was entered
Body-bed , bed-body,
As voices cooed and quivered
As flesh writhed and squirmed
Tamed flesh
As pleasure heaved itself
And guilt oozed out
Somewhere, unwary children shouted
Finally, oh finally , passions routed
And people fled , a temptress left
In the temptress’ lair
And though the bed still lay waste
The pillows had a lot to boast,
A reward for the magnanimous host
Young tongues savoured dead flesh
On the largesse of a bed lain waste
In a temple of flesh.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
Sunrise floods through
vertical blinds strong enough to
bleed through thick fingers of my aloe.
Mold grows from soil-top deep into
the root.
I
stretch my arms, wipe
crust from my eyes
just to find
you.
God,
anybody but
you.
Eyes red. You
didn't sleep.
It's been days since you
slept. Your
pile of cups, stained from old coffee, mingling
with cheap liquor
bottles. Lying on the floor like the bodies
in Normandy.
The first thing you
say to me, your
catch phrase, prodding me with bony
fingers, the scars across your
arms like scales.
Shallow pools under your
eyes lingering, you
say "you will not last today."
I
tried to spring to my feet, you
held me down.
"Sleep," you
cooed as my eyelids buckled
I
believed it best I just
lie
down.
"Spend the day in bed," you
said. "It'll be nice," you
say "let me have just one more day."
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.
"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."
"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."
Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.
"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.
"She's a cutie."
"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."
"Sure, sure. Sounds good."
Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.
"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."
"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, I can drink it warm."
"How about some ice cubes?"
"That works too."
Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.
Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.
They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.
When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.
The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.
"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."
Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,
"So, tell me more about your husband."
Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
Two and sixty days ago —
Two months, or so I'm told —
I wandered, wistful, without cause,
Through a memory of old.
A hall of walls I wandered, tall,
As tall as tales I could weave,
But none as tall as this regale,
A story that you won't believe.
I walked near endless hours,
My only friends the cobblestones,
Ringing in my steps the sin
That only time atones,
When upon that pallid plaster
I did spy a shocking sight:
Upon that place's rocky face,
The wall had turned to light.
"Curious," I cooed and questioned,
Calm as I could never be,
"Perhaps it might be that this light
Is rightly mine, I see?"
And as I pondered that hall I wandered,
A chilling change I never chose arose:
That light so rife with delight and fright
Began to open, and I froze,
For that particular portcullis I pondered
Put me in a vice.
I nary noticed that walls in focus
Had changed into a hall of lights.
Transfixed, the light engulfed me so,
As slow as my bewildered head
Could comprehend the candid land
I planned my final stand in dead.
I whizzed through spaces, unknown places,
In stasis from the faceless force
When finally I fell, the frenzied light
Still tight from an unseemly source.
All at once, those two months
Became a fraction of a wink;
The frost was lost as I was tossed
Among the lights of what I think.
And where else would I find myself
But in this courtyard we call love?
My journey never left my head,
Nor bed's unconscious dreamland hub.
Two and sixty days ago,
I heard these words so true,
And in the dark they were my light:
You told me "I love you."
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
THIS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCHL9b6nBXA
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCII)
Watch Paul McCartney's erm, debut of thence
That soulful number "Yesterday." and they'll
What, eh? If's not the song itself t'avail,
How 'bout John Lennon's snide remark for sense
To Ringo, was't? As if there was fr'intents
This rivalry which could not in betrayl
Be satisfied to have Paul up (sans bail?)
Alone on stage where all the girls cooed hence.
As if they did not cry for John in tour,
And that by name, he must begrudge it too?
I'm just a child in sheer compare as twere,
Yet "all grown-up" now to effect, see through
Their boyish ways and fall in love, though's poor.
While "Yesterday's" notes never fail to woo.
22Mar19b
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 9:50 PM UTC
Moon-bird alike, my life, I can't fathom
Against age ..wings flapped..under anthelia
Red knots flew west, yet... a suffer
Yarning a long journey east, here's a fairy
A blue-eyed dove cooed away angina
Made wrecks stand...florets re-blossom!
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
is that what grass is? i said in awe,
a child once again, wide-eyed with desire--
to explore, to roll and tumble over vastness
crest and trough of hillsides breathing in the sun,
then nap among the cows, pet their broadness
blinking there in ease above the buzzing vale.
am i a child still? i cooed into the wind,
watched it stroke and flicker bright the woven green
atop the next, and felt it in my breast.
am i akin to you? i squinted closer still
at gaze of bovine wakefulness to my refrain--
uncurling there against the matted fresh
with yawning tongues and udder slosh,
bounce of calf, frolic laps, then bullish
mimic make in sport away from watchful eye
.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
i refuse to believe you.
i refuse to believe that you have laid your hands upon someone elses skin.
i refuse to believe that the treads that touch your skin have also touched hers.
i refuse to believe that your pillow soft lips have made hers fall apart into a melting *** of love.
i refuse to believe that your gentle voice has cooed her to sleep.
i refuse to believe you, for if i did
i fear i would go mad
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 8:51 AM UTC