"coppery" poems
For Max
O cruel, drunken soul, darling tigress,
Come to my heart, you lethargic beast!
I long for my trembling hands to caress
Your thick and glossy fleece.
In your petticoats filled with your scent
To bury my poor, aching head,
Inhaling your flowery fragrance;
The sweetness of love now dead.
I wish to sleep, to dream perchance
As sweetly as death’s embrace,
Without remorse, my tongue will dance
On your coppery body and face.
To bury my sobbing for hours
Nothing equals your bed’s abyss,
On your lips lies oblivion’s power
And Lethe flows in your kiss.
Like one resigned to meet his end,
I’ll face my fate delighted;
Docile martyr, innocent condemned,
Whose fervour with pain is ignited.
I shall **** to drown my malice,
With nepenthe and hemlock blessed;
Placing my lips upon the chalice
Of your pointed, heartless breast.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
I want to feed on your blood
I’m so blood thirsty
So gut angry
You stood me up and it was wrong
You broke my heart so you will pay
I’ll get my revenge on you, so pretty
I’m dead angry, full gone crazy
You stood me up and it was wrong
She’s so happy, she’s getting flirty
She makes me ******* sick
I’ll tear up you’re ugly face
Rip your throat, drain your blood
Satisfy my revengeful thirst
There’s blood on my once clean hands
I love the taste, the coppery sweetness
The taste of my revenge
I’m so blood thirsty, so gut angry
You stood me up and it was wrong
She’s so pretty, getting flirty
She makes me ******* sick
I’ll smother your new *****
Choke her with my love, my hate
All my ******* anger
My thoughts of you when you hit me
Are my reminders, they feed my anger
I feel sorry for your new girl
I’m dead angry, full gone crazy
You stood me up and it was wrong
She’s so pretty, getting flirty
She makes me ******* sick
You’re so sick, the way you touch her
Don’t look for me any where
I’m all alone, cause you hurt me
I’m dead angry, you fed my crazy
You think you’re strong
But I was stronger
She was pretty, so, so flirty
And her blood tastes good in my palms
You caused her death
So you’ve read my diary?
Full of sick confessions
Now turn around, baby
I’m in your room, you’re not alone
You *****
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 8:53 PM UTC
You are the sweetest of my torments.
You're the tangible torture of citrus
The bite followed by the ****
Fresh and unbearable in the same instance
You're the lemon zest scent;
Sultry, as I quarter fruit
In my hot summer kitchen.
You're the juice in the cut
As the knife knicks my thumb;
The sweetness meeting the wild coppery tang
of blood in my mouth.
You're in the twist in my chest
That exists somewhere between my heart and my stomach
Both organs being wrenched apart...
When I see your picture
And remember that we haven't spoken in months.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Above the forest of the parakeets,
A parakeet of parakeets prevails,
A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
(The rudiments of tropics are around,
Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind.)
His lids are white because his eyes are blind.
He is not paradise of parakeets,
Of his gold ether, golden alguazil,
Except because he broods there and is still.
Panache upon panache, his tails deploy
Upward and outward, in green-vented forms,
His tip a drop of water full of storms.
But though the turbulent tinges undulate
As his pure intellect applies its laws,
He moves not on his coppery, keen claws.
He munches a dry shell while he exerts
His will, yet never ceases, perfect ****
To flare, in the sun-pallor of his rock.
3.1k
Smile
I'm lost inside of my head
Smile
The clouds have gotten even heavier
Smile
I don't remember how I got in here
Smile
How long has it been since this happened?
Smile
I can barely feel my face anymore
Smile
I can barely hear my thoughts anymore
Smile
I can't even feel my heartbeat anymore
Smile
It hurts
Smile
It hurts
Smile
It hurts so much
Smile
My lips crack blood cascading down my chin
Smile
In rivulets
Smile
It goes down my neck pasting my shirt against my skin
Smile
Boarding up the way out like plaster
Smile
Coppery metal salt
Smile
My teeth start breaking into Glacial shards
Smile
I can feel my muscles screaming in agony
Smile
My fingernails crack
Smile
The bone crowning the split flesh
Smile
Just smile…
It all goes away
Smile…
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
God is in the shadows
deep in the pocket of that rose
an impossible color, beyond crimson, the epitome
of crimson, so crimson tears spring forth
This is where God, silent, drunk,
on vacation, slumbers
God is nowhere to be found
not in dead fathers
not in demented mothers
not in fading ex-lovers
not where spiders lurk
not in the boom & beat of adolescent children
It is the sorrow lodged somewhere between
breast bone and lung, sorrow the size and shape
of an island, a mountain,
the texture of wet sand
the weight of wet sand
It is this that snatches away my breath upon inhaling
A life-long sorrow, sealed to skin
as surely as metallic paint to a pan -
It hangs on with a cage fighter’s tenacity
locked in fierce embrace
sorrow coppery tasting
sorrow flaked in my hair and
Draped over the sofa, cat-like.
It just hangs around -
changing to heat, radiating at a dangerous level
nuclear, capricious, then, as time passes
just a presence one becomes accustomed to,
like an aging dog or webs above the bed
Its cousin, malevolence, its twin, melancholia
family to my family, blood to my blood –
dropping down from the shower head as I bathe
sorrow becoming holy, beyond flesh
It holds hands with the musician I’ve known all my life
and dines regularly with that other writer
We speak of transformation, you and I
of becoming other than ourselves,
as though we can unzip our flesh and find a whole
new identity underneath, throbbing, pink, blood-pumped
and with this, go forth into the same old world
that remembers transgression and forgives nothing
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Let us not talk philosophy, drop it, Jeanne.
So many words, so much paper, who can stand it.
I told you the truth about my distancing myself.
I've stopped worrying about my misshapen life.
It was no better and no worse than the usual human tragedies.
For over thirty years we have been waging our dispute
As we do now, on the island under the skies of the tropics.
We flee a downpour, in an instant the bright sun again,
And I grow dumb, dazzled by the emerald essence of the leaves.
We submerge in foam at the line of the surf,
We swim far, to where the horizon is a tangle of banana bush,
With little windmills of palms.
And I am under accusation: That I am not up to my oeuvre,
That I do not demand enough from myself,
As I could have learned from Karl Jaspers,
That my scorn for the opinions of this age grows slack.
I roll on a wave and look at white clouds.
You are right, Jeanne, I don't know how to care about the salvation of my soul.
Some are called, others manage as well as they can.
I accept it, what has befallen me is just.
I don't pretend to the dignity of a wise old age.
Untranslatable into words, I chose my home in what is now,
In things of this world, which exist and, for that reason, delight us:
Nakedness of women on the beach, coppery cones of their *******
Hibiscus, alamanda, a red lily, devouring
With my eyes, lips, tongue, the guava juice, the juice of la prune de Cythère,
*** with ice and syrup, lianas-orchids
In a rain forest, where trees stand on the stilts of their roots.
Death, you say, mine and yours, closer and closer,
We suffered and this poor earth was not enough.
The purple-black earth of vegetable gardens
Will be here, either looked at or not.
The sea, as today, will breathe from its depths.
Growing small, I disappear in the immense, more and more free.
2.7k
imagine a calloused doubt.
cracked, chipped, clicking
like warped wooden floorboards.
soft from overuse
but still overrides willpower
in one palpitating breath.
grimy yet illusive
like your teeth after a day’s work,
collecting gunk that sidles up
to calcium companions,
crunching down on things
that become
so bland in the end.
doubt is offbeat,
monstrous footsteps hidden deep
off beaten paths,
its thudding is clammy and hurried,
aligned to the discordant jazz of
your alarmed body.
it tastes like
coppery heartbeats,
rising bile,
salt and mucus in the back of your throat.
it is a truly uncomfortable thing.
it stacks sweetly like buttercream pancakes
but crumbles you
with such a sour taste on your tongue.
imagine an agony that loves you.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
I say it in a poem
because I can't say it out loud.
Because I won't.
Risk
the embarrassment of your
laughter
disapproval
rejection.
I like to be the one
doing the
Alienating.
I imagine the way
your eyebrows would
furrow together.
The way
you'd find an excuse
to leave.
The way
Regret
would feel.
Filling my mouth
with the coppery
taste of blood.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
and in it she stood
awash with crescented chrysanthemums
with honeysuckle skin and wisteria eyelashes
and with it i said
if nights were like coins
id spend them all on you
and twinkle them between my fingers
shaking them up and admiring
the glint and value of
the night and its stars
and the coppery, nickel-y dusk
that stains my hand with
the bouquet of metal and flowers
goldenrod warmth
from nights and coins
invariably spent
alongside only you
with a perfume of
evening
and pressing summer heat
and my whispers and promises
that tell you
that if nights were like coins
id spend them all on you
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 2:56 AM UTC
Alone in a snowy field,
Branches plead,
Moans lost in the wind
while flurries dance,
Heavy with fruit long since spoiled,
Mutinous apples cling,
Their coppery smirks
defy Persephone's call to plunge,
They hold tight,
Swelled with spongy pride,
Winter's swirling display fuels rebellion,
Their snowy caps worn with aplomb,
Parisian pommes de neige
usurp nature's order,
Flexing branches like Diana's bow,
A heart-shaped shadow in the wood,
Threatening to break,
While robins bide their time.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
At an angle of ninety degrees,
two trees share the same plot.
This one grazes the eaves,
seeking vain attention in the window glass.
The other, its grey ghost lazes
prostrate on the herb garden, reveling
in secrets of lemon balsm and thyme.
At night, the first becomes demonic,
obliterates the universe,
branches scraping the pane, scratching
like fingernails on slate,
its coppery leaves trying to get in.
Its partner slinks to earth,
seeking solace,
wringing conterminous roots till sunrise.
I've had my fill of these unrested moments
fighting the pillow, not settling.
There is no joy in seeking stolen stars.
My dilemma grows horns.
I half dream of ******
at least amputation.
But even the dimmest light shines in the dark -
I consider its tormented destiny.
At daybreak, like a ****** I scale its gnarled branches
ridiculously one-handed,
the other a keen-toothed weapon.
I am an agile goat shinning upwards
feeding on dreams of peace.
Lost in the sky, I become sap,
melt into its arms,
(a vertiginous release)
I become a curved branch.
(There's someone standing in my elbow!)
Leaves helix down, settling on autumn crocus.
“Look! Gold on gold!"
The grey ghost yawns, grows its shadow,
waves its arms demanding justice.
I wave back.
Suddenly terrified, I secrete an invisible scent.
The branches contract, tense as ligaments.
My heart plummets, rolls out recumbent,
presses heavily on the earth
listening to fleshy roots recede.
A few deft cuts......
Sun gutters through bereft spaces,
striking the window.
Both trees a shade lighter, a lighter shade.
Tonight I will dream under visible stars,
feel the moon's half-light slide over me.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2012
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
Your rose colored glasses make everything okay
Until the shades blend
and you're seeing red again
There will always be a point
where filters deliver their ***** backwash
and you're left with the mess the elephant made
in the corner of the room
and he's rubbing your nose in it
He's rubbing your nose in it
I know I am only beer goggle beautuful
A latex layer of desensitization
to try and make our crash last longer
And you see in hues
of rising shades of deadly
Miss my blushing
so you don't realize
how uncomfortable this is making me
But you're smelling roses
Feel the thorn's *****
but miss the blood on your hands
Wonder why the roses suddenly smell so coppery
Please let us learn how to peel back the layers
Flay me like a whale
on a boat-deck-cutting-board
Pull me out of my element
and peel back my skin
while I am still begging you not to
See me for who I am
while I am at my most vulnurable
writing poetry at 2 am
when I should be sleeping
A t-shirt over a lamp shade
because I am afraid to sleep alone in the dark
The door cracked so I can hear if my father falls again
Sometimes silence scares me
Sometimes it is all I want
Right now it is so quiet
There are no filters here
Your rose colored glasses make everything okay
Everything is not okay
Flay me
See me for who I am
without any filters
Then tell me you still love me
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:22 AM UTC
I
They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!"
They called aloud, "Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
II
They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
"O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
III
The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, "How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
IV
And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
"O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
V
They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry ****
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
VI
And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, "How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!"
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, "If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,?
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
1.8k
***POEM 101
Devouring You In Poetry**
I awake to tangerine,
red licorice skies
staring at me with
chocolate covered caramel eyes,
creating apple spiced flavored,
cotton candied words
that kaleidoscope
off my tongue,
down my chin
moving my finger tips
to drip
gooey marshmallow
and smiling butterscotch words
across your lavender scented,
sleeping rhythmically
cherry cream *******
~~~
With desirous morning sighs
your blueberry lips,
and open arms
invite me in;
into your humid jungle folds
to bathe in your gorges
and waterfalls,
unleashing my coppery nouns,
my amethyst adjectives
into your liquid opal synonyms,
devouring me in your rich tones
of ****** poetry.
~~~
With our metaphors
deliciously spent,
and a golden sun
rising toward the moon,
you nestle even closer
and whisper
in alive, wild poppy hues,
“tonight, my love, fill me with haiku,
as I come to you in sonnets.
Aztec Warrior 12.11.15*
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
my whole mouth tastes like metal,
copper pennies from before
The Great Zinc Switch
filling my warm wet mouth.
cigarette smoke hazing
my sinuses like a frat rush
and I'm desperately in need of an Advil.
let me place my coppery lips
on your bronzed skin,
Amman to Atlanta,
nails like knives and
The Book of Biology
teasing hormonal touches and hydration.
iron oxide keeps flaking off my
skin, eczema and psoriasis in rust, and
the guitars in my ears are ******* furious.
and still:
sweat and *** in the sheets, your love
lingering on my palate like a
too sour wine; you fermented and curdled
in my mouth, and
to taste you now
is agony.
time is dilating around me in ripples;
I cough until the gas in my stomach releases itself; crystal abrasive.
it's all drugs and
tinder matches these days,
****** kids...
total sunbeam, in my opinion
there's still enough for
a couple more
hits, it's still rolling,
words cloud around my head like
so much weedsmoke, Storm clouds
on the horizon of my parietal lobe
and I feel fine.
I am fine.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Trapped in the definition of his interior,
he had become an invisible thing.
In moods deeper than dark ebony
repetitive folding and unfolding of nefarious reasons
pushed him to step outside his restricted vision.
Lost perhaps?
Or provisionally eclipsed?
A luminous slash hinged his door,
the cicatrice between brooding paralysis and explicit dreams.
............
Here on the ledge,
teetering on the cusp of obscurity and mountains blinding peak,
his sight catches a net
streaming from an open window-
billowing freedom.
A metalic thread glitters through him,
its coppery tang branching across clenched fibres
igniting his fingers, his tongue.
A mute cloud disperses.
He stands in the presence of a revelation.
Through the smoke of his eyes
he steps off the threshold
plunging into burnished sun,
his head incandescent with foreign scents.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2012
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 6:35 AM UTC
The air has begun to adopt that
damp and coppery hint of decay,
every breath a syrupy drop of autumn.
Each morning
the chorus of birds that greet the rising sun thins,
its members gradually cashing in on their accrued vacation time
and jetting off to winter homes in Florida.
Tourists.
All birds are tourists.
They won't be here to see the snow
turn to viscera under the tread of our lesser travels.
No,
they'll be tanning by gated watering holes,
discussing the downward trend in early worm returns.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
We sit in a café
Ceramic mugs of
Seasonally appropriate beverages
Wrapped in our grips
Surrounded by folks who also have
Ceramic mugs of
Seasonally appropriate beverages
Wrapped in their grips
But we are not here
To chat on about the weather
Our significant others
Or careers; no
We certainly are not
You glance at me
In a nearly
Conversational manner
“So you had your heartbroken”
You say, a combination of an
Unsurprised sneer and a nostalgic frown
Upon your face
“So I had my heartbroken”
I repeat, my lips cracked and my mouth
Blistering slowly from the heat
Of my seasonally appropriate beverage
“Are you, like the good little kid you are,
Doing the things
That they tell good little kids
To do in order to recover from such an ordeal?”
“I am, like the good little kid I am,
Doing the things
That they tell good little kids
To do in order to recover from such an ordeal”
“I haven’t even given into that
Deep, gut wrenching temptation
To do something terribly
Terribly destructive”
I state this in a mockingly proud way
Before pinching my chapped lip between my teeth
And gnawing on it until a swell of blood
Dripped into my seasonally appropriate beverage
“But what I have found”
I say, slowly, licking my coppery lips
“Is that despite all these
‘Coping Mechanisms’”
Your expression is inquisitive
Brow raised, eyes lit up
Like storm clouds with lightning
Stirring somewhere behind them
“I suppose you’re wondering why…”
I state slowly, before sighing an a
Somewhat irritated manner
"I’ve thought this thought too many times before..."
“Because no matter what
My mind refuses to even ponder
The thought that I am meant
For anyone but her”
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
“How can I get you to go down on me,”
he asked, without preamble.
His voice, nervous,
laced with strength
hums through her form,
summoning
a tatting of ***
She moves her entire form
Across the room
pushing solar plexus
With index finger
The wingback chair collecting
His form – assuaging her intent.
Retreating nine steps
To gather
Her acumen in dripping her clothes off
Adroit pivot
portent gaze
locked
exteroception - engaged
His exhale
executed succinctly in shallow lung
puckered alveoli - clenched
resonates as her own.
Pearls scooped catatonic
atop lingering breast ascension - alone
Remain –
Summoning brine.
She tastes his pulse
Derma puckering sweat globules
Redolent aeriform vapor corpuscles
declaring his need.
Fingers supporting her upper weight
she glides - crawling
pressing half inch spurs into the carpet
Lackadaisical dactyl dance
Seizes
muscle calf to thigh
Invoking listless leg drape
Pausing
Warm breath – rendered
Upon knee cap parallel
Framing shoulders
Engorging - in aching silence
Pulse thick, wrought in shaft
Kneeling
Primed
Proud
She flicks the button
From slit fabric recess
Cupping palms under thigh,
She renders garment to puddle
half-in – half-out
whole
chthonic shaft to palette
Sliding exhale
to mound
lax jaw
focus
Iris entreats -
narrowed corneal withdrawal
Oblong lip array surrounds
Supping the creamy, coppery,
Smoky, saline inoculation.
Latent dribble invokes tongue
Furl about lip cusp
Absorbing globule
Into slaked smile.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I had a dream last night
That you found me again
All open arms and waiting
To forgive you.
But when I woke,
The coppery taste of blood on my tongue
I knew the dream
Was just a lie.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
silent as the moon
stalking the streets
we are the night
we are life - life incarnated
a family
a family who met just months before
a new identity
pain vanishes into pleasure
a euphoria like no other
sharing our life force
to become one
for eternity
it is an honor,
to give my blood to you
and you to me
we do not do this lightly
and only selectively
but the dangerous thrill
is still there
a game of dominance
and acceptance
I bite your neck,
my acrylic fangs
break your skin easily
I claw my nails down your back
and watch the blood drip
my tongue trails along the cuts
your taste is coppery with salt,
blade dancing kiss
our tongues
trustfully pass the razor
back and forth
I take the razor from between my teeth
and slowly dig it into my arm
watching the blood bubble up
offering it to you -
a perfect gentleman,
never breaking eye contact
you savor my essence
then holding my hand
you gently kiss my knuckles
***high on the
life blood of our existence***
***crux ansata,
the key of life***
*
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC