"curios" poems
Here Kitty, Kitty,, called aloud the man~relaxing in his Lounge chair~while sipping a Slightly-Sugared Iced tea. Here Kitty, Kitty,,He continued to call~wondering where the curious cat~might have have made off to~THIS TIME.. Perhaps to the New neighbors~where boxes of all shapes and colors~were carefully~Disarrayed in the back yard~Just waiting for the curious... Not getting any response from Kitty~the Man decided to PEER over ~the Neighborhood Alignment Fence~and Sure enough~There was Kitty! Kitty was Springing~Up and Down~Like a YO-YO and Jumping from Box to Box. Curiosity is an Amazing thing~Isn't it? The Man seemed to be caught in a Trance~As he watched Kitty~continue to jump and YO-YO ! What could be in those boxes?~that held such fascination? Was it a Creepy-crawler~a Slimy-Slitherer~a Wise-Wiggler~a Dashing-Dancer~an Awful-Awesome~a Yelping-Yeoman~an Energized-Egrit~an Ugly-Duckling~a Fast Frog~a Gorgeous-Gargantula~a Social Secret~a Horrible-hulk'a Raspy-Rascal~an Insensitive-Iguana~a Jumping-Jackal ? OR , was it simply the color of the Boxes ? Look at that Curios Kitty~Jumping and Jumping and Jumping ! SUDDENLY___the Man~Totally overcome by ~Lady Curiosity~Bounded over the Alignment Fence~Dashed Promptly to the Boxes~Scattering them all over the Yard~Trying to Discover ~ "THE SOURCE" .. Only ONE box remained ~after opening~All the Others! NOW he would find the ANSWER! He carefully approached the LAST BOX~Gently pulled it closer~looking for a way to Open~------- Lifting Lid carefully~Slowly~KITTY~came Bounding out~All claws~digging and clinging to His chest~Was that FEAR_~~__HE SAW in KITTY'S eyes?___ "AS His ALARM-CLOCK ,, Screamed out to Him___"AWAKEN______
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 4:15 AM UTC
I only have one photo of Grandad
from his years of service in the Great War,
and in it he’s wearing a leopard-skin leotard.
My paternal grandfather, Grandad,
was brought up in Brockley, South-East London
In his teens he was conscripted
and became a gunner sergeant in the Royal Field Artillery.
I still have his stirrups and his French/English phrase book
which includes useful words, like dysentery,
(think of the movie, ‘War Horse’, and you’re almost there).
He fought in the mud in France and put a lot of horses out of their misery.
Apparently, he enjoyed the stage – a song and a dance,
and almost went professional after a string
of successful nights at the local Roxy,
all of which makes me want to have known him better,
but he died in my teens.
He laughed a lot, loved his vegetable garden
and had a collection of handy-sized, hard-back books
giving details of how various circuits and wiring worked.
I recall his bear of an armchair
and how it was in easy reach
of a slim stack of shallow drawers
from which he would take slender tools or small curios
and sit and explain their significance to my bemused child self.
I have the brown photo somewhere -
it’s not one I’d like to frame as it raises too many questions for me.
Like – is that bloke next to grandad meant to be Robinson Crusoe?
Like – what prompted grandad to ‘black up’ from head to toe – is he Man Friday?
And now, I stare at the photo handed to me by my friend of his grandfather, complete with rifle and medals,
and again I silently ask my grandad – why?
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 3:11 PM UTC
A-Artifacts of long ago they're ever searching out
R-Relics in the Earth's soil layers interred deep
C-Curios from cultures past they're excavating out
H-History is alive in the things buried so deep
A-Abroad and at home their trowels seeking out
E-Enlightening the world with fragments of the deep
O-Open our eyes to the objects they shovel out
L-Lasting stories of past societies entombed down deep
O-Ongoing discoveries made with what they dig out
G-Great civilizations lie in quietness beneath the deep
I-Interesting journals and facts these specialists put out
S-Saving the ken of ancestries which are lodged deep
T-Times way back in eons past to-day bought out
S-Surfacing from the ground out of a sleep most deep
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
ha ha!
a ha ha ha ha ha ha!
sorry... i sometimes
get the giggles...
you know that jeffrey dahmer
biopic?
ha ha ha ha!
i'm laughing,
because i'm authentically just curios...
who was the inspiration
for the film,
Napoleon Dynamite?
who?!
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
are, you, sure,
that Jeffrey Dahmer wasn't the muse
are you, sure?!
ha ha ha ha!
doubt it...
seriously doubt it...
NA(H)PO(H)LEO(N)
DYNAMITE...
what a "vague" similarity...
with a Jeffrey Dahmer...
**** it... let's go full **** -
DJ REBEL & MAHOMBI
ft. SHAGGY...
but... ha ha ha!
i love the fact that Napoleon
Dynamite was borrowed
from... ha ha!
ah ha ha ha!
the Milwaukee cannibal!
please tell me
when Albert Fish pops up...
esp. with the scene of
injecting needles
into his groin
before sitting on the electric chair:
i'm guessing for the added
O in gasping for...
anything but air.
it's still sinking in...
it's nighttime and i'm...
seriously trying to avert laughing
out-loud...
how there's connection...
reciprocal points
of
vested interest culminating in
pristine Abel...
and his shadow, Cain...
now...
if Jeffrey Dahmer wasn't the inspiration
for Napoleon Dynamite?
then Pinocchio elongating nose...
wasn't the basis for a *****
i must always be wrong,
it would seem.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
Not many tensions,
nor any excitement
Life has ever been
a placidly flowing river!
Single and free!
Over differences,
never been any disputes
never had to consult,
nor seek consent
Single and free!
but doesn’t his house
with its cold, mildewed air
reflect his heart?
A house so full of things:
a hoard of well stacked books,
exquisitely carved Victorian furniture,
antique collection of curios,
ornate drapery
Yet so full of nothing!
The prim order of the house
never disturbed by naughty hands
nor shuffled by dusty feet
dirtying the Persian carpets
or smudging the glistening floor
The well laid bed covers
never get creased
by the body’s desire
and Love’s tight embrace
and never, they bear
the fragrance of female scent!
Sometimes he would shake
from foot to crown
at a question hurled by
an unknown voice;
“Did you squander away your life?”
Then he recognizes….
he has been a lone traveler
ever walking through
a one way lane
that will wind off
with a few more steps!
If, by chance somewhere
a new track
branches out
he would no more be
a solitary *****
There would be a companion
to hold hands!
Now it is too late!
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
The adolescent Currawong
not exactly stumbling or tripping
is parrot-like as a junior, a
hopper and stepper in
the art of stalking and hunting
In a series of quick-steps and bounces
she moves sideways, most emphatic as
a survival enthusiast
She gazes, investigates and gathers the curios,
insects, rich dark worms
one gesture at a time
She is vigilant and persistent
through the dust
the soil, the grass
with instinct and practise
through her teachers
she thrives
MChallis © 2015
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Kept in a box
Back of the closet
Remnants of time
Curios of place
Before she was
Someone's mother
London Bridge
Houseboat
Out on the water
Fun with inner tube
Pink lipstick
Little black bikini
Games afoot
Cocktail in hand
Sunny smile
Saucy wink
Natural grace
Hair let down
Playful air
Provocative pose
Naked as a Jaybird
Happy as a Lark
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 2:49 PM UTC
In the dining room, on the wall
were pictures of times past-
Of aunts and uncles, and some curios-
memories, that will, forever last-
One item hung in silence-
a product of those olden days-
Called into service-
when respect for others-often went astray
I remember what my father said
when I asked what 'that' was for-
and a slight grin crossed his face-
"Ahh, yes, I recall it, that's for sure!"
"That's a leather strop", he said -
"to hone a razor, when we shaved-
It was also a "learning tool"-
when we, as kids, misbehaved."
My dad was from the "old school"
when "respect" was being taught
Not by others, but by our parents
else our purpose..........
"Went for naught!"
richard riddle: 11.10.2015
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
i shattered his stone coat
snug around his idle core
by my fist of strong will and liberty
behind it bearing the beat of a newborn
simple and soft
radiating and revealed
to fruitful camaraderie
bionic boy bound by his brothers
craving delights they say a man should
thundering still with lust's vehemence
piercing through cyan lenses
i sliced it open
tore it out.
denied him at birth.
****** love
it's not enough.
it will die without saying so.
gathering stones
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
I've found a sharp rock
Would you like to see me
Sheer away the nerve endings
I saw a thousand scars upon your wrist
Your hesitation is unbecoming
Much too shallow to hit the main line
And finally find your way home
I collect no pain
I keep it in a jar
Sterilized
and I
lay upon your shoulders
My hide in one piece
Camoflauge to rob the bank
With my face over yours
You may
Enter hell as a king
Or enter heaven as a sore filled Lazarus
Look at me
In the eyes
They are naked
A heart beats in my thorax
But you shine a torch down my throat
Just be sure
So tell me the secret stories of your heart now
I am curios of the dark recesses of your soul
I have torn mine
Root and all from its placement
With it I was rebuilt
Brand new
Taj Mahal
Look upon my architecture
Quite spinal?
Gaze long upon it
Do not forget
**** thoughts
Intricate in placement
Poetry
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Welcome to gorilla garden.
King Lions roam like lone wolves,
Some wolves are crowned like the head of their pride.
Few bears are curios, like your common cat.
Some giant killer kats are kind,
Some giant kats aren't killers.
A bear can sound like a dog barking, a cat purring, or you might barely hear a crow craw before you're mauled for being far to close to the cubs.
There's ants the size of pizza pockets.
And garfield hates lasanga because he got his name from never leaving the
feild he was born in; such a stubborn
Gar; born in a pond in the middle of a field, refusing to be carried to freshwaters in America.
Welcome to Gorilla Garden.
In here, family is king.
Not pride, not packs, not flocks no colonies.
Snakes are welcome, as long as they don't cause twinge.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
It was just like Christmas,
A sunny star - far in the corner of the sky
Hiding as a small child, curled in a ball all tucked up and warm.
The hills were decorated with evergreen eyelashes
and the pounding red screen of eyelids.
It was just like a schoolgirl's daydream
to fling open the car door and grasp your sunny face like the jaws of life,
- you know I'd been growing out my nails ? -
to feel your porcelain skin beating - to rub the delicate china scenes
under my fingertips, and feel the silk robes of time gone by.
Some things are breakable.
I didn't know you were one.
I was young when I conjured you up,
when I mixed equal parts bone-running shivers,
and raised eyebrows.
I shimmied across my living room
and out of my nightgown,
like flipping a switch, I lit up your eyes.
You got me lipstick for Christmas that year.
I wrapped up tired metaphors, and said - I wish I could stay.
Sometimes I lie.
We started out as a quiet superstition, but I forgot to water our roots.
I wanted to give you goosebumps, but I forgot they leave scars,
and tiny webs married to my villainous fingertips.
You were angry - red like your tie
And I hid as a small child growing younger through the years:
The curious case of an anemic soul hiding in the curios cabinet -
you'll have seen it in theaters.
Too bad we weren't a cactus.
there are too many tricks I know.
I didn't realize the voice in my head could talk back.
Like I said,
I was young.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
True story used to cause me to remember,
Christmas coming to mean the story told,
I first got the story from a family Bible, yep.
We had one, and my mom must have read it,
because, when I was no older than six,
I asked her where the story of Christmas
came from, and she opened that Bible,
to the very story.
The Good News, surely was then, had been,
since. And now I think I may recall
that child like faith, in a seed
planted as true as can be,
the story came from the tellers of the story.
Why? Curios addiction, pineal primitive will
to know what works and what kills.
Men of letters, let us make up our minds,
in the realm of words, lust is not a factor.
Any vital juices spilt trigger art' official guilt,
mea culpa, my one 8.2 billionth
of all breathers, I caused hope to fail…
falsification
of this sapience capacity- projected
light where Plato had shade,
of course you may now remove earbeans
with no other one the wiser.
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 5:41 PM UTC
i've noticed, recently
Some sort of energy, light
Call it as you wish
It leads you or pushing you
Toward something unknown
But yet familiar
Someone might call it destiny
But i think it's Universe in charge.
If you observe attentively
You will see traits of Its hand
All over your life..
i was ignorant, blind
Couldn't see them then
Would dismiss as coincidence
Or simply wouldn't notice
You came into my life
Talking about so many
Different, fascinating, strange, new things
You made me curios, i've start to wonder
Explore them, intellectually and spiritually
Things i told, wrote you,
Were not merely words
They are reflection of my insights
You are the Universe
Now i see It.
Now i feel It.
Now i love.....
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Your body is a sea I want to get lost in
Your eyes are a path that's too curios not to follow
Your hair is a silky blanket I can't help but to touch
Your voice is a sweet song I can't stop listening to
You're a bad habit I just can't quit.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
Chapters in dust, olden days don'ts
we done on a whim from a song I never hear, but I think
that song is one
of those lies people pretend is true.
It's the glue, I'll be there,
and love you,
until the twelfth of never and make you feel included,
like you were one of those then,
listening to the cities on the radio,
insisting we don't listen to country,
no KAAA, local gay DJ, easy rock,
no, gimme KOMA fi'ty thousand watts,
rockin' top forty across the plains,
skipped up the staked plain and looped
plumb straight down in a radio metric chaos function,
ley line like, on the most ancient trail we know,
to the navel of the world, it went from there to Chaco,
-- sing any eliyaheyliyah hai hai awatha, tonka go on
you know, it's a cricket solo, such a time, your song
in the dream, you flew, you know you did, and did not fall,
but landed lightly on your feet, not the least bit,
curios as to why now… my feet walked that extra mile,
my time stretched by about that amount, on many given days.
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 10:45 PM UTC
Sugar cubes get drenched by the rain--
again.
Bedraggled but careless,
You continue to watch them
As if curios in the antique store on a trance lane.
Aggravation makes a chamber in your veins,
What shall the tea be served with?
An insect awake from its slumber watching you,
Pacing back and forth from grass to gravel
Be wary, I'd say--
Keep your wits up-close and within grasp!
You always had the finesse.
The guests won't come until noon, thus,
Go posthaste where they sell butter and Shanghai noodle,
I'll wait for you,
On the doorstep.
The cubes have melting away.
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
Bang the bell
start the tellin of a story 'bout a man name…
Yo, t'was a wombed man, ennui is no excuse
onus is on you. vive la differ-ents.
True, t'tell, she was an upgrade. Mito-mom.
First ol' Ish said, it sounded like,
"Wow, ishi mine? How'dyoudothat?"
so for a while ishi was her name.
Was I sleeping and now a wake, or
are we past all that?
The garden walks meeting all we met, with names,
knowns, all named
The I in Ish knew names of every man-named thing,
but Adom 2.0,
she was something else. Ish could hardly think
something so beautiful is made of me?
Why, Ish wondered, but didn't say aloud.
Is she curiouser than me?
Is that what's different? No, there's more,
but that's a lot, curiouser and curiouser,
Here come the servants forming to inform,
curios come,
kachinas from the west.
This night we all learned the dance the angels do,
on the point of no return.
Too beautiful for words and then,
past the point of no return,
Ish take her and she is mother of all living,
Eve for short. Mom.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
Fulcrum hidden,
Gold tumbling from inside.
Knowledge unfathomable,
To those who only hear.
His cries ring out,
Every year, every hour.
His ticking,
Perpetually, counting down the world.
Into many homes he has been,
He lurks from a corner.
Pleading with his captors.
To put his time to rest.
Plainly through the class,
You can see the old man's face.
Curios children and weary men,
All look at him the same.
Pendulum swinging,
To The pulse of the world.
Can the old man stand the test of time?
Or will his ticking slow?
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
In this elastic world,
everyone gives up on this
curse undone.
some are tired looking for their
regular stone and mud.
While some tell the stories
of their possible lives
but, in the end,its all the same
desire that cries.
oh yea, you're born of love,
born of a sea,of thousand miles.
oh the stark truth, the tiny splotch,
the undone curse.
oh when it comes,
i wanna know, when does it rehearse.
The shining faces of a million reflections,
The Lacerations of the minds not so free,
peeking from below, the city.
The song from the tree, has distracted her,
of a curios form of life,
has made its presence known.
oh she craves to look,
for that song unknown.
oh yea, you're born of love,
born of a sea,of thousand miles.
oh the stark truth, the tiny splotch,
the undone curse.
oh when it comes,
i wanna know, when does it rehearse.
The tiny raindrops that falls
over the city, will bring
a valentine ,and make everything fine.
oh, this is love,
a feel thats all divine
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
My heart tenses,
I look down,
the blackness is pouring out of me.
I am dying,
like I have many times before,
I wonder what I will be born at this time.
My face flinches,
this hurts.
I look up at fleeting stars,
I breathe in the light cold breeze,
I bid adieu to the black trees
and smile at the curios cat peering at me.
I leave,
not knowing much,
just knowing the fact that I will surely meet the ever-encompassing,
BLACK!
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 8:23 AM UTC
You spot the skirt of a violet dress
fervently draped of black lace
You feel a tug on your chest
You must see her face
The dance floor is a river of crashes
You force your legs to swim in
As her bodice comes into view
Her blown glass figure promises sin
You find violent black curls at her pearl shoulder
As you tread through sway, you strain for her
The music rises as you bid her to turn
While billowing skirts and fluttering tails hide her
You are about to drown and lose her
Before you see a trench formed of people
You reach and gasp as you pull through
She's real. You see the purple
Anticipation. You touch her shoulder
Her grace. She turns and catches your breath
Cranberry red lips reach for rosy cheeks
Midnight lace shadows her eyes like death
She offers her hand to you, waiting
You are entranced in her seductive lips
As you fly her to the river
You thrash into waves with her hips
You try to look through the black to see
She strains her neck from you
“No one sees my soul” she says
Disappointed, you only caught the hue
You feel her melted on your lips
Her skin a valley of nocturnal silk
Your curios hands run down her arms
Liquid. Your fingers feel warm milk
You bring your hand up to see
You look at her wrists emitting scarlet
Blood oozes up her arm, drips down her dress
The skirt flows with wine red wet
The room is empty, hazed by shadow
She drops, you hold her arms from giving
She is a crimson vortex, drowning herself
“Let me. You forget and keep on living.”
Voice of reason and acceptance
But static of pleading and reaching
She doesn’t want to die, you think.
You ease her out, the blood draining.
And now, there you two sit, painted in red
You bandage her in momentary peace
You decide to lift the heavy lace
The cosmos stare back at you in release
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
This is no box of tricks
rather an ottoman swollen
with some daft curios
that you know little about
and I can’t control
like the tide leaking in
Here’s a sack
of silly cravings
boiling over
as a *** of hot coffee
feel the discomfiture
bloom inside my cheeks
Dreams glazed
in electric colour
hooked on fiction
every night
wishing for the lights
to blaze upon whoever you are
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
A solar sunflower danced on her dashboard
and the lei on the rearview hit me like a snakebite.
Scented trees beneath my feet smelled like a flower shop
fire. Her seatbelt was knotted like her shoelaces
and her lemon lips kept me coming back.
Between us on the highway were CD cases and enough
loose change for a sweet tea. We turned off the radio
and listened to the roar of the wind through her cracked
windows. Her dress' hem flattened on her thighs
like the moon. Four hours to a truck stop with curios
and 75 cent ****** machines in the bathrooms.
Her doors creaked on their hinges as we danced
our way to the concrete.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
Boredom, as a form of torture is welcome
Brutalize us into eager lust for curiosity.
Emptiness saturates us without wonder. It's taboo to seek ideals outside of the curriculum.
However it's much more fulfilling.
The straight jacket we are in-prisoned in cripples exploration and reaching ideals that oppose your own.
Stay deaf to those that don't practice what they preach. Or those that sow hatred.
This Devine gift we are hardly deserving of must be appreciated. Gained during adolescence we neglect it.
Formal operational thought is an ability we are taught to be repulsed by. Ironic due to that ideology being repugnant and wasteful.
I've come to tears after realizing our ability to think abstractly is frowned upon by peers and society. Not only in interests of intellect.
If you speak of trying to understand real love. Especially around teen spirit. Your a *** A ***** A "freak". Of course these are untrue and you feel no propulsion to disprove them.
Why?
Because you're not insecure about your beliefs and feelings. You know your strong for that. You also feel confidence in your compulsion to coitus with whatever person you find attractive no matter their gender. As for being a freak, you know your peers haven't slowed down from partying and ******* long enough to ponder what an emotional drain their lewdness is. Besides their physical and mental exhaustion they complain about everyday. Their remedy is to repeat the cycle. Party, **** die. High school is an **** for everyone who's "popular".
It is gross to see such a majority of the population waste their psychological ability no other species owns. But through reflection and learning you need to be tolerant. You see it's futile to tell others what to do or be condescending toward them. It would drain you and them due to the repulsive nature of those acts.
Offer help and love, empathy and understanding. And stay curious.
Intellect
Great-fullness
Peacefulness
Generosity
Love
Stay curios and learn 5 more lessons on your path of personal growth.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:12 AM UTC