"copiously" poems
skimming the feed of poetry
reading the works of poets
liking here and there
without ever a care
some of us rather copiously
we all have our favorites
but the poem is just the beginning
of the start with a spark
if you never look at the activity
you are missing the best part
it's the jam that turns me on
in comments short or long
continuing the song
so don't be offended
of the flame that's ignited
its all rather splendid
to fire the wordplay excited
it's not really a contest
but more of a sinuous ebb and flow
hoping for a laugh or looking to decompress
when you have a day that blows
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
We crossed over
into the hinterlands,
burned trails
to unnamed
watering holes,
those dingy places,
where we
lifted our hands
backwards,
tilted our heads upwards
to the gods
& drank copiously.
There was no law,
only disorder, but
nobody ever got in our way,
so we continued with impunity
to play wildly.
In altered states,
we mated
with unknown devils
who ****** us dry,
left us crying as
broken down dogs,
barking at the moon
& swearing oaths,
promises of silence,
what happens
south of the border,
stayed south of the border.
And it did.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Breeze bellows,
leaves echo in
quivering psithurism,
dithering like
unbroken smoke,
this approaching omen goads.
Dozing crows
slumbering in rows,
droves of locusts'
silenced drone,
almost comatose in repose;
nighttime overtones
choir of toads'
raspy croaks
answered by alto
of crickets' orchestral strokes.
Gust encroaches;
robed boughs
cloven open,
bring into
scope and focus
me juxtaposed,
suspended apropos.
Although motionless
and petrified in stone,
provoked by zephyr
coaxing to and fro;
swaying pendulous
and no longer frozen,
locus gently thrown.
Death rattle moan
evoked from throat,
reflex can't say no
to rigor rigidly posed,
final sigh in silence,
awoken vocal,
expelled and disposed.
Smote by
morose emotion,
gun loaded then exploded
by neurosis,
now bloated
necrosis decomposes
into gross ochre.
This trophy
and this ode
both an opus to
my inability to cope;
romanced i proposed,
eloped and betrothed to
my own
inappropriate composure.
Pocket full of posies
plucked when luck bestowed
and tears in a cup, a toast;
crying copiously,
tempest runneth overflowed,
eyes swollen and soaked.
Dipped my toes
in the coast
of this ocean's
amorphous folds,
gripped by undertow
holding control of my soul;
swiftly shipwrecked in
shallow shoal,
an old atoll.
On sandy floor,
water burrows roads;
digging, carving, roams
through unmarrowed
silica and sandstone
eroding into a cove.
A host for
opal geode trove,
enclosing a
technicolor rose,
from the depths
a glowing mosaic shone
Unopened lotus floats
on foam
of lapping waves,
a boat;
prone to no
grandiose notion
or motive,
adrift as wind stokes.
I suppose
this only shows
the total corrosion
into which I dove,
the only foes to oppose
are those of burdens, so
only weightless can I atone-
I must let go.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
*Freezing cold, a strange night of rain and thunder,
it got registred deep in his consciousness,
as a squiggling liquid presence;
an abstract painting, taken in, with layers of meaning,
a deluge, the result of injustices heaped against the female principle.
The rain lashed out, in the flashes of lightning
in between, through the window sills
when the curtains where swept aside
by a subversive wind, painful face
of a frightened girl was visible,
at the window of a highrise building,
shameful secrets kept concealed peeped out
yelling out "HELP"in the shocking words of silence.
That night was difficult for an exile from life like him to endure,
subconscious echoed terror filled cries;
sewer water flowed, towards oblivion,
carrying embryos, not fully formed from terminated pregnancies,
he heared tree toads speaking in strange tongues,
like jilted women seeking vengeance,
coyotes hunting in packs with blood thirst howled in delight.
In his nightmare, blood dripped from wet trees,
"who will rescue our bloodied orphaned planet?"
his heart with a collective guilt , beyond words wailed.
From denuded mountain slopes, muddy red water
copiously gushed downhill, nature's menstrual flow
out of cycle, devastated hillsides cleaving gashes,
like scorned woman's fury baring long sharp fangs-
landslides opened gaping wounds.
Liquid's rule took over the space of night,
lying awake on his bed,
he became conscious of the burden of women,
who moved around with invisible bridles
pretending free, nervously smiling.
Swimming in the amniotic fluid of the past
he is forced to recount the past sins,
nature and women have endured and ask
for forgiveness seeking salvation.*
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
eventually,
i will eagerly experience
all your fifty-four flavours
but in this moment
i'm only in the mood
for neapolitan
every inch of surface
melting with the graze
of my tantalized tongue
guided by the tempting taste
of your vanilla-scented skin
i candidly drizzle
chocolaty syrup
onto your milky mounds
before i suckle the center
and tease the cherry ****
tenderly between my teeth
but i'm in the highest hopes
for the strawberry flavors
especially after the fruit
has been sufficiently savored
by your luscious lips
(both pairs of them)
and covered copiously
in carnally-compelled cream
finger-whipped
by a duo of digits
or maybe three
until you sensually scream
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC
I'm nervously staring at a blank page
I can not concentrate
Why can I not explain how deranged
These thoughts will range before I engage with another
Leaving everything getting to me beneath the surface
While asking after others
Internal whispers hint on my actions
Each infraction gains traction
As I fail to supplement the latter with a fraction of a rebuttle
All the while huddling in a corner and never subtle
Like a mortar ready to explode yet I self-implode each time
Because I refuse to unload
It makes my mind the victim within this fight
The fact that I will not attack but rather act and pretend
Like this suspension will defend me or better yet transcend me
Is another cover until exactly when?
Otherwise pending
How selfishly imposed is my level of deceit
Not a second of relief for I am a liar and a thief
To expose copiously my own hopeless struggle crumbling me
But if I don't take this venom that's coursing through me
If I don't choose lemons over poison
That's it, I'm done C'est la vie, ***** me
I'll write out each and every buffer
For this montage of self-sabotage isn't quite enough
To make me suffer
No.
It seems I need to be hit with lightning nineteen times while struck from behind and intertwined in the jaws of a great white shark before anything productive happens or anything creative sparks. Before I utilize the clandestine confines of this mind to do or say or think of something smart. Just another day to start another chapter in the story of my life. I've come so far and fought so hard to stay away from that knife. Known recognition through prepositions giving meaning to my trifles and tremblings, be they lucid dreams or presently vivid memories...
And never feigning, only straining harder each day
Contemplating carefully
The words that I say
The thoughts that I convey
The everyday reality that's now so far away
What can I do to replace the voices haunting me?
Flaunting their perfect prisms
And what I'll never be
Its never enough
And that's just too much..
Stealing my serene
Leaving me unclean
And never free
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
*I remember the first ingredients
to our lover's brew -
desire & passion
was the basics ingredients,
He already had the spice of
"want" & a dash of "need"
copiously he trailed rainfalls of kisses
down my body.
Until he reached my valley of milk & honey,
He opened me slowly, meticulously so- placing one finger inside as his tongue danced across my ********
Causing me to reach my hands down pulling his hair, trying to pull his head closer deeper as my body melted to him.
Contumaciously
He rejected my urgency...
reaching my hands he held both with just one of his own keeping me in place as he administered his lustful assault on my person, my mind froze as my body ****** hips first before he let go my hands then wrapping both hands around my thighs.
Holding me tightly while making me cry out his name over & over...
He knew I was ready, wet & sleek.
He's hard solid & ready but I rush to taste him he only allows me to for a second then he bends me over my *** facing his **** he doesn't enter me- he once more licks & ***** my ******** then my tongues my ***
Causing a new sensations...
right before my body explodes he slams into me swiftly, my moan dies as my cries of more rant the morning air.
He's moving so vigorously- blending sensual amounts of harmonic tones of his own moans and whimpers in my ear as he ****** harder but oh so gentle like he was a drummer & his throbbing **** a solid 10" hard hitting drum is now beating in & out of me,
He was so energetic without rules or reasoning to pleasuring me so immensely he never noticed the door bell ringed..
Oh well, my legs began to shake as he holds my hips he moves in- pushing deeper,
retracting slowly then again- he slams inside of me...
from behind me he pulls my hair while his other hands is placed on the small of my back, I'm convulsing like I'm having an epileptic reaction- my ******** rapture causes me to fall in a heap upon our bed.
These are the ingredients to our
Lover's Brew!
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®*
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 2:25 PM UTC
In the East, the sun luminously gleamed
And bid the nebulous vapors fly
Changing the gloom into radiant blaze
Cheering the languid drowsy sky
Lying in bed, I looked around,
Saw my room so cozily set
With things just enough to make it fit
For a sweet haven for me to rest
Each little thing in it began to muse
In a language discernible for me to grasp
Of the secret of success so elusive to man
Which striving to catch, oft slips off his clasp
The clock ticking away at the wall
Alerted in a tone of rhythmic resonance
That ‘each minute is precious and dear’
And not to waste it in trifling appurtenance
While the ceiling fan, spiraling above
Discreetly hummed, “Be cool and do not fret”
The open window, to me did urge
To ‘look out far and watch the world in beat’
The mirror neatly fitted on my bureau
With a gleaming countenance beckoned me
Asking me to ‘reflect’, ere venturing into anything
That from fatal fallacies, I shall ever be free
The calendar hanging inside the room
Reminded me not to lag or put off things
But keep my assignments and learning up to date
That to great heights, I can soar on wings
And the woolly carpet gently mused;
“Bend your knees and kneel down to pray
With a heart copiously filled in gratitude
Before a God who didn’t leave you aimless to stray"
With such counsel, silent and salient
Got out of my bed with resolutions profound
To greet the morning and start the day
In greater zest with a mind, saner and sound
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
A fleeting face to face,
serendipitous,
on a humid tropical evening,
was the first time;
it felt like a shower.
But our probing eyes
must have known better,
they curtly demanded
one more quick look
as we passed
each other;
we were obedience personified!
Then eyes met eyes
many times by chance.
Two birds of passage
found themselves
preening feathers
on the branches of the same tree
chosen in an impulse,
proved so right!
You sit with your crowd
on the side of a long step
one on the flight to the cinema
a favourite spot I learn, later.
The arrow from your eyes
hit it's gleaming point where it should
with such sweet force
as I come down the steps
and I become a falling feather.
At the shadow of the book shelf
I find you , a pigeon soft
sitting at the table across me,
making our lonely hearts
speak in the eloquence
of loud thumps
in enforced silence.
But the true meeting
did happen in between--
in that expanding space
of sweet, sweet silence
within us blowing trumpets!
Your eyes were the keys
to open the door to that chamber,
through the keyhole of my heart,
love bled copiously from that impact,
like nectar, which I was
tasting for the first time ever.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
It is pleasant and tasty.
It is bright and cheerful,
The children are blameless.
for the reason that they drink it.
Because their world is virtuous,
Ever since it was green and polite,
It is bright and blue.
So, the morning is flawless.
For sure, today's weather is good.
because the children are drinking "Koko."
And they eat so copiously of Kosai,
Their mouths feel the sweetest,
Their ears stood up straight.
Their bodies are boogying,
They dance well, twirling.
Because of the tasty taste of Koko,
And this was boiled so freshly,
In Safana's Poetry Kitchen,
For children, drink it hot.
It is really good.
It is really tasty.
Children, remember spring,
The millet is harvested.
Children, remember summer,
The corn is harvested.
Go to the farm and cut the crop.
It is a good thing in the morning,
for grannies to mix a porridge
A corn and millet porridge
and is an aroma in a pleasant atmosphere.
Children, let's dance and dance,
Because Koko is delicious,
And Kosai is also delicious.
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 9:59 AM UTC
She caught me cleaning the countertops
in the kitchen,
coffee stains and crumbs of
corn chex
needing removal and
crunchy disposal.
she came unexpected.
off to shower, she had said.
she watched silently,
then wept copiously,
bawling as if it were the first time,
tears and copious were married.
what! what did I do?
you cleaned the countertops,
reminding me why
I love you.
I lent her my paper towel,
for surely she needed it now
more than those countertops.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
The sound of flesh tones
takes me back to you,
somehow.
The flavor of your words,
the smell of snow
sending your skin crawling;
windows pain and
suffer in ice.
We perch precariously
hardly inside my car,
bleed into night
breathing delicacies
into the hollow air,
our hands full of each others'.
If this poem had melody,
it would sound alarms.
Sickly sweet thumps from
drums dripping discord
hard lines
lead down
lead down
lead down
Keys to carry our
lock-boxed thoughts
overseas, we
are just unaccustomed
to these breeds
of attuning, intoning,
singing serenades
in shameless shades
like ghosts of each other
found only here,
some haunted isle.
I hear your breath in the fog
See your body like a moment
Taste you bitter in recital
like some copiously black coffee
which your tongue taught me to love.
You burn my hands,
my lips,
my lungs.
You burn.
Syncopate and center,
taking this legal pad
for some sort of joy ride
to break all the rules with.
Warm now beneath tips
of pen and ink and finger,
blues bleeding;
You stay, still
stuck in my mind,
impervious to scrawls,
and immune to memory,
yet found in songs of
another's composition.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
*On the far horizon of my mind, suddenly it appears
on the black and white wings of silence
more as a sweep of colors, mixed and dabbed
to create a rhapsody, resonance, unintentional,
nothing other than cajoling out a feeling, so tender
vaguely in the making in my psyche.
the seeds are mysteriously sown, so deep
from a sight, a sound, a feeling or an emotion that touched,
this heart is a lyre; love, longing, desire or separation
makes me weak, strongly feel about,weep my heart out or yell
heart yearns to sing on every experience, for which I owe
to this world, some times green with pristine life
often dry like falling leaves, making everything including future look ****
I am the canvas, experience, heart break felt, the poem is all about me,
what you fill and drink is the cup full of tears, here see my blood-
copiously flowing from the wound, inflicted by my merciless life.*
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
lassitude lassoed her
she let her tripod hide in her hatchback
and woke not her camera
from its long nap
instead, she sat, a bowl of popcorn
in her lap, watched reruns of Madmen
and ogled a multitude of mushy moons
on Facebook's finicky feed
some were orange, some ivory
some gibbous, some round, all purporting
to be profound
this rare occurrence, captured copiously
in 2D, for all to see, and wonder, why shadows
on rocks rub us right, while myriad stars collapse every night,
and planets thought to be elegantly aligned,
are but bobbing bubbles
in an infinite sea
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
There is a gaping crater in your heart,
my haunting dark moon, i see it there,
torrents of words, like a cloak of mist swirls across,
you spin a beautiful web with that,
I got trapped and fell; so glad!
my moon bitten heart is falling apart,
and i am simmering in thoughts-
day and night.
your wandering thoughts, you hope
would cover your crater for ever,
but wouldn't; i know for sure.
a crater my love, has its demonic powers,
i can feel the tremors from afar,
in an evil hour, every night
i wander in a trance, copiously shedding tears,
**it would run in to a gushing river
and fill in your crater--
but how would i ever reach out to you there?**
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 8:22 PM UTC
I open my mouth to your tongue
and it forces its way in
slurping past my incisors
and licking the crevices between my molars
like a snake about to strike
at a mongoose's ********
oh my god but your halitosis
is enough to make me boke
copiously on my new hush puppies.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Amber Ambrosia
Precipitates Pyrolytically
Condensates Copiously
Onto Open
Minds Melting
Barriers Building
Connections Creating
Decadent Daydreams
With Wild
Living Landscapes
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Viscid fruit I chafe soo copiously,
Atrociously as a lion,
A prey I desire to strike these exasperated relics....
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
The wound
though old
and hence
looked closed,
the pain
it caused
was quite
obtrusive,
even after
all those
years, were
somehow
left behind,
oblivious of
the misery
it created.
Couldn't leave
it like that,
insistent pain
made to decide at last,
when it was
opened again
memories
sprayed out
copiously, like
dark, coagulated blood,
never before seen.
Then, fresh blood
started to ooze
as if reluctant
to close the wound,
unable to forget
emotions that are
made to sleep
anesthetized.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
cracks me up
this erroneous error message,
looks at me and states authoritatively
nuh-uh, buddy, “it ain’t you you babe,
it ain’t you we looking for babe”
makes me crazy crying
copiously betw snorting fits of
eloquent derision
why oh why
is it daily savings time prematurely
(immaturely) aging me,
be it advancing decrepitude
or just the AI’s sullen attitude?
be it a secret messaging that my
mother’s slow descent into
senility, loss of speech is now me-
visible to the all seeing eyes on
a dollar bill, & or the iPhone genie?
this erroneous messaging appears
with an irregularity regular, just
enough to make me think that
this
is
not
accidental
come to nyC,
come me to see,
need an independent
judgement summary
please
before the winter pale overcomes my
poetic resistance and they park me
in the backyard, where I can sit yet,
studying for multiple hours
the river-fed bay on its way
to the vastness of the Atlantic
Ocean, where the water will combine.
all cells of each of our selected
those chosen body’s of water,
bodies now interring,
while populating
intermingling
taking stingling diatoms from
of each, they will kiss, greet, each other,
with the clarity of recognition that our
poetry has already bonded us in ways that are irrefutable, been coming long time
geological formations new and old,
still forces unstoppable foreseeing
every, every ever
Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 6:46 AM UTC
I was trying to write about sex.
it’s not like I was planning to be there.
I had a cotton ball in my hand; I walked out.
a bird circled high.
I could hear my garage door surrender itself, flatly,
to a low heaven.
I was sad not to have the work of my arms behind me.
sad god would not once be startled by an animal.
the leg of my pants drooped from the mouth of my mailbox.
gentle cloud, and I quote
I thought of you in uniform and was copiously delivered.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
when, requisite pains reside
in the heart of the poet.
awaiting release by the gaoloring, racontuer or racontuese reclining, scornfully, within.
it is then, it happens so,
upon the granting of the id's manumission.
memories, maudlin or immeritous
are rescinded from the bitter, saltfaced mine,
of personal history..
when such are finally granted jubilation,
given proprietary parole,
on, the nib of a pen.
they then, take time,
as of now,
as in the present tense,
to, relieve themselves, copiously, onto to paper....
leaving only an inkstained
jumble of letters,
for you,(those left to toil)
to decipher, as you may.
before on the run for freedom's wind
they go....
like..... lemmings off a cliff.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
My dear followers
I seek what you seek
Come share my shadow world
And love me at my least
I will sing a sad, sad songs
In the key of sore heart break
I'll be sure to keep my rhyme
And riddles copiously vague
.....................................
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 10:57 AM UTC
We were both writers.
You with a fountain pen and moleskin notebook
I with anything I could scrawl on -tears always just at the edges of me
and in this way we began to author our life together.
We put pen to paper that first night
drunk on gas station liquor and on not feeling so alone.
Our hungry bodies filled page after page
with what I would come to believe
would be my magnum opus.
In your wedding vows you said that we would
“work together to fill the pages with
conflict, desire, pain and all that makes life real
so that we can appreciate all that makes life good”
You were not much of a co-author though
preferring instead to write alone at night while I slept
How many times did I revisit a previous chapter
only to find that you had introduced a new character
or a dark and bizarre plot twist without my knowledge?
Eventually these discoveries would become as predictable
as the indignant denials
eventual apologies
and promises that would always follow them
lather, rinse, repeat
Over years these edits and additions
would knock the air from my lungs
completely shaking my confidence as a writer.
With cramping hands I would try to rewrite the bad parts
though my scribble marks did little to mask the words beneath.
Words that once had flowed as easily and copiously as I had for you
now came only in fits and starts
each new chapter torn from the bones of my bones.
How many times did the ten eyes we wrote in
watch as writers block turned to writers rage
producing furious missives that would tear holes in pages without warning?
Still even as my teeth-torn hands turned arthritic
I couldn’t seem to just put down the ******* pen
Because it was our story
and because I loved it
and because I loved us
and because I loved you.
I ended our story with a semicolon
Its already faded form staring up from my ring finger
a reminder that I could have chosen to end my story but didn’t.
You once told me that a good author always employs irony
and I have always been a better writer than you’ve given me credit
;
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
The night's deep darkness wore a cloak of evil,
The time, just ripe for the poison to spread even,
The ghosts went on preening wings with pleasure,
All those bit the dust, hit by bullets anr on the streets,
Dancing to the crazy movements of their phantom limbs!
An out the world music filled the air, evoking trance
"The water level rises far above the danger mark"
The evening news rings alarm bells, but already
We are in deep waters and at a point of no return!
"The hurricane hit the coast very badly, beware
All the escape routes are blocked by vehecles"
"Yes, yes, things are all in pretty bad shape, let's admit it"
But the girl is still practising her lines, leasurely
For the blast she has hardly an hour away, if it happens!
The dogs bark aloud alarmingly in the back streets,
Someone, it seems has broken in to the house
Through the weak door, from behind.
"What do you suggest us to do?"
In panic someone in the phone yells.
There is stunned silence for a long while when
We could hear the darkness heavily breath and pant.
Then evil laughs like hell from that fierce night.
The stars once bright blink and go blind one by one!
The cadaverous moon bleeds blue blood, copiously.
I can't wait anymore to see you sweet heart,
As the night gets more and more turgid,
Could you make it..?.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 6:09 AM UTC