"coverings" poems
TRIGGER WARNING
They met at a dance recital.
His eerie blue eyes watched her, stalked her,
riveted by sinewy skin and the way her legs stretched and parted
skillfully, seductively: she knew how to captivate her audience.
They had mutual friends.
Her curiosity thirsted for more, for she had been taken
over by an empty lust, broken by another, but the way he spoke:
she felt as pretty as his charms sounded.
They went on a date.
He kissed her, pinched her, and spread those legs
that comprised his fantasies, not caring about the bruises he left
when he took off her lacey coverings, pinning her to the floor.
They learned more about each other.
She saw the empty, carnal look in his eyes, but her pleas
and shoves were not enough to lessen the weight of him, to push
his hands or his hips away, as he broke her over and over again.
They ended the night with a kiss.
He grabbed her face like a starving man grabs his first meal,
forcing an intimacy she could never get back, but he said,
“You liked it, didn’t you.”
They kept in touch.
She tried blocking his calls, his messages, asking her if she’d
come over to his place. Like the continuous force he prodded her with,
the pounding in her head beat out a thumping heart-line of no’s.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Poetry is a mask in reverse
created from just a mere spark
bringing to light
who we really are
out of the depths of the dark
Despite ourselves
we try to hide
in the realms of our daily lives
and then poetry's
visceral therapy
weaves magic spells
from our fingers
right out
of our minds
Suddenly, there is no choice
but to allow those masks
to be dropped
like a sudden change of fancy
at a medieval ball:
Naked eyes for coverings
are swapped
Yes…the command is given
ornate masks slip
with a splat upon
the floor
Suddenly, all dancers look
upon each other's faces
discovering treasures
they knew not before
Pregnant silence reigns
and only then
does the true dance begin
in bransles' or corantos' countered moves,
a new quiet
drowns out the din
Let it commence!
in festive air,
all attempts to hide
are in vain
Subtextual glances
and heady music
create sensual tension
profane
The wine is flowing
smiles glowing
and soon release will
bear fruit
as the dance is danced
without inhibition
and all pretenses
start to uproot
And so it is
in poetry…
All those masks
are thrown down
the words just
trip
from beyond our lips
making magic
from adjectives and nouns
Now, our words drip upon the paper
revealing the secrets divine
our souls are coaxed out from the layers
melting your
sparkling poets' hearts
into mine
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
[[ ****
blood pooling around her
there she lay sprawled
eyes glazed,motionless with no stir
she is another victim to succumb
to this heinous inhuman act
the mission is accomplished
the criminal thinks
freely he walks
head and shoulder held high
among mortals he laugh
life goes on ,another life gone
my sister,mum and aunt
the daughters of eve are endangered
my brother,dad and i
the all sons of adam
are the perpetrators
fear exists among our female species
they fear to be stripped off their
coverings
they live in a nightmare of being
stripped off their dignity
unwillingly be disrobed and be
robbed
they fear being deflowered and
defiled
out of her will she was forced
naked and spreadeagled
vitruvian man style she lay
her case was a repetition of a biblical
story
dinah and the sons of shechem
blood freely trickled between her
open pelvic
life seeped out of her misused shell
did she really deserve this???
who will end this atrocity?
who will fight for the girl child?
toddlers and grannies
shamelessly chauvinist male defiles
them
its against the word
its against the unwritten codes
it's unafrican
it's evil
my anger is frothing
like a volcano the lava is heating up
my pen is crying for the female child
i will shout this from rooftops
on the skyline i will write it
this battle is ours and we have to
fight
protection we've to offer
[[the chronicles of the dumb speaker]]
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
I am a stone.
Long ago my mother gave me birth.
From her molten womb in the cooling rain I took shape.
Wind and water gently washed me
And smoothed my hard edges.
Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me,
And the gray mist wove me mossy coverings.
Day after day I listened to the wind in the heather
And the cry of sea birds wheeling overhead.
Men found me on the mountainside,
Stripped me of my mossy cloak
And hauled me away on a cart of wood,
To be used for the glory of God.
With sharp tools and hammer blows they fashioned me
And gave me hard edges.
They stacked me high on top of other stones,
Fitted me snug and sealed me in.
Through narrow windows the bright sun colored the floor below,
And in the darkness voices rose with scented smoke,
Singing of the glory of God.
Men warred with other men, took each other’s lives,
And threw down what they had raised up.
Scorched by angry flames, I fell
From that high place to lie broken in the ashes.
Wind and water gently washed me
And smoothed my hard edges.
Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me,
And the gray mist wove me mossy coverings.
Day after day I listened to the wind in the ruins
And the cry of sea birds wheeling overhead.
A shepherd found me in the grass
And carried me away in his arms.
He nestled me alongside other stones
To keep wandering sheep away from deadly cliffs.
Though riven clouds the bright sun warms us,
And the gray mist weaves us mossy coverings.
Day after day we listen to the wind in the heather
And the cry of sea birds wheeling overhead.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you, that now 'tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with that wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow;
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Received by men; thou angel bring'st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet's paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ***** cast in men's views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally, as to a midwife, show
Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
Here is no penance, much less innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first, why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
2.2k
I want glyphs inked into my skin
A needle to caress and stab
Crying stains as an apology for the pain
Leaving behind a mark
But not a scar
Never a scar
A reminder, a promise, proclamation
All the sigils that ever were
Etched into our coverings
Leeching into bone
Changing and reminding
I want something permanent
Even if I change
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
He’d been able, after some gentle persistence,
To wheedle his way into the place
(He’d been vaguely recognized by the caretaker,
A certain affable familiarity his stock in trade, after all)
And he had been decidedly deliberate in his search for the shoes,
Though he’d been quite certain where he’d left them,
Simply hoping to drink this all in just one more time
But though the rooms were ostensibly unchanged
(He'd noted the odd knick-knack and piece of bric-a-brac
Had been secreted out, to be preserved or pawned)
They held no fascination for him now,
Simply concoctions of hardwood flooring,
Decorative wall coverings, staid pieces of furniture
(Indeed, the paterfamilias of this whole mélange
Increasingly beyond his recall-- he could hearken back
To a certain hail-fellow-well-met in his demeanor,
And he'd had an affecting smile,
But he was unable to conjure any further details
From the recesses of his memory)
And with nothing else to moor him to these silent rooms,
He'd slipped on the ostensible reasons he'd come in the first place
(Their uppers maintaining their whiteness
Through any number of bleachings,
The soles worn to a near smoothness)
And, nodding perfunctorily to the mansion's steward,
He slipped away, heading to some other party
Carrying on in more or less perpetuity,
The battered bottoms of his shoes
Leaving just the faintest marks as he crossed the dunes,
Soon to be buffed away altogether by the breeze.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
Dying animals trapped in barbed wire
Man-made men all flailing to conspire
To cross the sea of destiny for hope
to design their own form of misanthrope
Building fences of ignorance and tears
for the respect of their own group of peers
Creating borders to destroy their own wealth
to hasten the decline of their own health
Living animals limitless and free
with untold abundance and scarcity
Roaming the planet to frolic and breed
to the farthest reaches spreading their seed
Happy with total harmony and peace
with no concept of coverings or fleece
Communicating only by their senses
unless of course they start building fences
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
Antiquity was waiting to breathe
And awaiting the moisture of lungs.
A hole, eyeball wide, offered just a peek;
Along with an ancient mote,
Which flew from eternity into sight.
Remarkable things were seen!
In the heat the buzz was slight.
As was the bite. But, ultimately,
The fevers started burning in the night
(For after all, the cobra had eaten the yellow canary).
How your coverings and remains sparkled like the sun!
Thousands of years of hiding suddenly undone.
But, we all rot together, eventually eaten.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Nature's contributions cascade along the steep trail.
Numerous white patches and yellow splotches
set on a blanket of green
amid immense coverings
so blue that it seems parts of the sky have fallen.
Pinks protrude like boulders in a creek
while reds try to hide around rocks and crevasses.
Faded petals,
past announcements of spring
now reside alongside signs of birth,
buds seeking an identity.
Arrays of mature blossoms parade full and ripe
along a path of short lives and slow deaths.
Fallen relics, grey and mossy
display across the emerald carpet,
a memory of another time.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
i think cavemen were beautiful
with their primitive actions to
sculpt bare rocks and minerals
into tools to reach out to hearts.
they had their own language,
like countries i've never been to
or tribes i wish to witness
because even the minimum
was pure and enough
to keep their thoughts racing,
to push them to feel life
through fingertips and dancing.
i think this earth used to be
beautiful, with gallons of
salt water surrounding
one entity, we were once
all connected before
we were able to take our
first gasp of oxygen,
before we could communicate
how the earth was not flat
and circulated to
let the light take over the
heavy and forget what
heat is during the
ice coverings for 90
shaded days.
i think we forgot how to
really let our blood
strengthen our bodies,
using complex chemicals
to ease reality because
we know we are wrong at times
and right when we can't turn
back centuries.
we breathe to taste our
own ignorance,
when really we should be
breathing to feel alive,
but the numbers don't
change and we tend to
only care for ourselves.
cavemen gave and gave and gave
until they couldn't breathe in the
light anymore and the energy
moved on to the next,
like how ionic bonds
result in a positive
or negative charge.
sometimes our structures
aren't so step by step,
but our feet can take over
for that.
it is our time to take over and
****** our ideas out for the taking,
but i'm nervous we won't make it.
i'm scared that everything we've known
will fall down to the mantle of our
beautiful planet because
my generation
was too worried
about the little
things.
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 6:30 PM UTC
awakened cows chewing
a mountain pass
dawn warms their massive eyelash rows
clinging drops of dew
spark in rhythm with the cud
darkness rumbles distant now
clouds dispersed to other nights
while metaphoric bull unhinged resounds
the cosmic rut
must i hide my love for this
unweave my judgment from my sight?
what in me defies all sacred holiness forever sung?
bees will ravish even newly opened buds
who am i to battle with the lightning's surge?
presumtuous coverings
can net me willing lustful
stars i see a field i open fertile
ecstaticly unblessed enough
lost heroic i had thought to know
pretends a second thrum
i see in random eyes the breaking sky
and lightning branches over snaking crevices
a sound of faultlines folding free
tectonic sexplay deep
in lava belly
far behind the summit mount--
there i see the sun a base as well
earthen seedbeds heating heights of life
space is cracked!
vast width enwombs the narrowness i preen
in nervure's shine,
a sponge mycelial with soak of raining
carbon underground
the drumming hoofbeats shake and settle
days dehiscing spinning sun
to somber eve in active rest
dreaming pasture real
within a trailing effort's ease
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
dust of the aching parts
of your heart and let
yourself fall down
reach inside and untie
knots, replace them with ribbon
and tie pretty bows around your lungs
remind yourself breathing is apart of living
remind yourself as long as your two feet touch the ground
the ribbons cannot come undone
shed off ***** plastic coverings
replace them with silk
treat it like you sleep in it
because you do
dust the dirt off your shoulders
and let yourself smile
reach inside and clean out memories
you no longer need to cherish
replace them with a good book
remind yourself laughing is apart of living
remind yourself as long as long as you wake up in the morning
the story will still continue
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
In the cool night of childhood
I saw the heavenly glass
Through flecks in the dusty sky
Wandered in the vast, wild wood
Climbing in the walnut tree
Lolling on the dawn's dew grass
Cloud coverings shifting by
Prayer budding from out of me
I dozed unanswerable and free
Weary, glad, and wholly good.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
See me.
More than the imagined in your mind,
more than the prescription from their lies,
do not let them create me without your vision.
See me.
My body stripped bare of its coverings,
my body stripped down to the simplest from,
let me be sculpted so in your thoughts.
See me.
And do not fear my vulnerability,
and do not shut me out of your mind,
for fear of my passion and your calm.
Understand me.
Through your eyes gazing without fail,
through your eyes I will fear no evil,
only hear the softest sigh of love and sight.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 1:45 AM UTC
A new species still being studied-
They have a compulsive obsession with mutilating their bodies
They yank out hairs in the place on their face made for expression
Daily they scrape off natural hairs from their limbs
And from under them, considering the act as simple hygiene practice
Some will even lay in a chamber of radiation to cook skin browner
And smear a smelly cream to make the skin look slimy shiny and 'sexy'
They scorch their head hair to change the texture for a day
And they draw on their faces with crayons made from wax and oils
They prioritize displaying of the body shape over movement
With their tight denim body coverings and waist clinchers
They wear coverings of their feet with a stick replacing the heel
To look physically attractive, despite the injuries and lesions
They're expected to keep a casing over their chest tissues in public
They hide their pheromones with alcohol and fake smell of plants
They keep private and hidden that they perform excretory acts
And they're never content with the meat casing they're trapped inside
Only (almost) satisfied looking at their reflection and seeing a lie
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
If you crave
discovering the pit
of fire,
shower the floor
with your coverings
and summon lust
under white linen
while my hungry
eyes make a
meal of you.
Or, if you
fantasize of glowing
gates drenched in
golden glory,
keep silent
prayers tucked under
your tongue,
and don’t let
God hear you
say my name.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
strange professions and true confessions from a lockdown town (4/17/20)
————————————————————————————-————-
not a great idea,
in the not-yet-dawn,
to write
a poem entitled
strange professions,
true confessions
dried stains of prior leakings
upon old ‘n yellowed linoleum,
no need for more friends,
for sure, for sure,
that’s the smart play
you see! right there
I’m professing age
old wisdom,
confessing my sorry face is
well acquainted with
floor coverings,
where even the
soles of my shoes
won’t admit they been polluted,
having stepped in rooms
of low and ill repute,
those them there,
right in here
poetry writing sites
where there ain’t no
guideposts, reminding
what’s in the heart
pretend stays in Vegas,
but what the heck,
since I’m here already,
might as well,
ready go and spill,
things you don’t
need to know but...
help the time pass
in this lockdown town,
where total silence is
the loudest sound around
wine, empty beery bottles,
bad rhymes give me up,
just before I start a hey look!
it’s a brand new
sunny rain afternoon
the governor pronounced
we all gotta be masked,
24/7 inside and out,
the women complain that it
musses hair, the men say,
who me? nah, got
nothing to say about that,
We, don’t make no con-cessions...
when you can’t see
my lips moving, or my
one good eye be winking,
means it’s likely that I’m lying
they say, I’m going
stir crazy,
not me says he,
unlike some guy who
wanted to blow up the
Alice-in Wonderland statue in
Central Park, hell,
u could look it up!
guess I coulda call this
here epistle, official “Lockdown Blues,”
but I jes heard gotta stay inside
till June Seventeen
that’s the good news,
plenty o’time to set
my affairs in order,
burn the poems nobody
needs seeing, those them
there with weirdness galore,
say no more,
you can whine, it’s fine,
no caring, no hearing,
past way the point,
where running or returning
is an option viable for nut jobs
them, with strange professions
and true confessions...
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 4:56 PM UTC
The path's deviation a lifetime's privation
Some degradation.
Like the spinning of yarns
Like spiders in barns
Like old men and soldiers I am tied to the boulders
Like Marley and chains
Like toothache and pains and loss with no gains
Here come the rains.
Like I'm ticked off with this
Like no Woman no kiss and no one to miss.
Like snakes that go hiss I crawl and I writhe
I tell terrible lies like I'm a prince not a pauper
Like I've two sons not a daughter.
It’s like I'm not to blame
There’s something wrong with my brain
Like I'm mad or insane.
Like a slow moving train or a triangular mangle
An obtuse acute angle.
Like I've done this before and put out like a *****
Like the clothes that I wore
Like my teeth again sore.
I am a transient being I don’t like what I'm seeing
In the mirror I look and like the words in a book
Which crackle and shackle my feet to the ground
I hear the witches cackle but I can’t make a sound.
Like a flute that’s gone mute or a trombone with no tone
I dangle my hope I don’t think I can cope.
Like the suns shining rays
Like I've burnt out my days so now I sit and I laze
Remembering faces and place coverings and carapaces.
Hiding in shells
Hiding from yells.
Like I'm missing life out but then it gives me a shout
And says come and stand in the light
Like get out of your night and walk into the dawning
Now is your morning.
Dance and be part of the beat of your heart
Like you were weak but be strong
Like you'll not wait for long
For your plate to be filled.
The earth in your soil tilled and what will grow there
Is a whole crop of care and a piece of the part
Of the birth of your start.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Early to bed
Never to rise,
Circling around a thought
That keeps me paralyzed;
Here,
In the womby-tomby
Safety of my coverings
I begin to realize;
I don't want to remain unborn.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
open your mouth --- wider
there, those are bones
roots known by the flesh
look at your fingertips
they too bear the bone
scrim ***** coverings, ten of them
the scar on your skin
observe it
harm came to you
visited you - did you
re
member
it?
or did you
bottle it
and set it to
the dark green
murk beneath?
is it a part of you
that you shun? embarrassed
by its inarticulate language
curling and lunging
discolored other?
animal, listen
your mouth noises: mere symbol
your thoughts:
brief shimmer o' the surface
this is black
you are but blue
that is all
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
The leaking beauty such as rebirthed life
And of the muddy earth slowly reclaimed
Persephone’s return, a dance of strife
Returning vividness, again, unmaimed
Escaping the monochromatic cell
By return of green, such luscious pigment
By Flora’s grace and by the Shepherd's bell
Revive events long free of merriment
The songbirds relearn their forgotten tunes
The bees prepare to collect flowered boons
Hibernation ending, returns routine
With warmth radiating, freely flowing
Crawling from thy shallow cave, sunlight seen
Flecked through dewdrops caught in Spider’s sewing
A land of new dawns, forgiving thieves
The fruit yet unblossomed, life is still ripe
The tree naked, still missing its leaves
Coverings absent before the first gripe
The animals hunger to end their fast
Humans hunger to remember the past
Come, serenity destroying pigment
Rend the ebony earth delicately
Spread your lovely, inebriating scent
And thus, set every fashion of life free
Free from that immaculate white prison
Free to frolic in fresh fields, unrestrained
The sun, in more wakefulness, risen
To maintain, nature’s mischievous work reined
In preparation for the coming time
The time of heat, growth, and color sublime
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
we drove for over an hour yesterday to
reach mother nature's home,
a playground for adults,
we only wanted to reach a destination
that held sincere afterthoughts and
the smell of moss covering our sight.
it was off the grid, only the locals
could direct you to the tree coverings
and caves that whales could sleep in,
but my brother and i decided it
was only right to keep looking on
our own, we have stubbornness
engraved on our foreheads.
not short of three hours into the
wilderness, wearing out our shoes
and losing energy in our joints,
we found panther caves parallel
to where my brother and
his roommate from iraq
dragged on cigarettes for answers
to show them the way to go.
they were magnificent with majestic
slabs of sediments that had stories
dating from the 1800's,
graffiti painted in fluorescent shades
and charcoal from the last fire,
presented on the highest cliff
as if the last person had something
to prove.
we climbed and angled our bodies
like contortionists, we
were nothing short from nature -
our existence was made here,
within the grains of sand and
the tangled roots from trees
growing on the embankments.
i wanted that to be reality.
when we found our boundaries
and landed back into the car,
we drove away in silence because
our eyes were heavy and our hands
could tell facts of frustration,
senselessness, livelihood, and something
words cannot measure up to.
that world could be my gateway drug,
the ignorant bliss from social networking,
the war with no apparent reasoning (with the
amount of debt we are in),
the pressure on myself.
i felt so simple when everything else
has been so complex.
i now know i want to be an architect
of the woods, to preserve
the chiseled names of strangers
who felt alive, who had nowhere
else to be at that moment.
i want to be a navigator,
the one who could tell you what
the markings on the bark meant.
i want to fall into a love so deep,
only the leaves could catch me.
i think i found home.
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 6:32 AM UTC
The bells tolled in silent air, no mummers
Where uttered in haste as white cloth over
Black draped upon their figures.
On the desecrated reminisce of ash petals
That grow in this place each is picked with
Elegance so not to fracture there fragility.
A new one Is found to replace those that
Unveiled their voices on solemn oaths to words
Never to be uttered, they surrendered it t air.
Voices of blood echoed on the floor, a chastity
Forsaken and white cloth drank upon the wine
Till it had its fill, then voiced its intent in puddles.
The shaded leaf was gently dissected between fingers
And where lips blessed word, the ash sealed them with
The twine of dead embers, and they screamed silently.
Silken coverings where bestowed on the vacant realms
Of purities, in the convent of silence where the dead
Don't speak and muteness is a sound only heard.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC