"cushiony" poems
My words don’t have arms big enough to hold these great and growing feelings.
They stay in my insides
Crowding out
Grinding down the subtleties
That reside near the edges in the used to be,
that cushiony soft berm.
It was comfortable in here once
The Room for Interpretation,
now lost,
now over-full,
balloon-bright and tumbling one voice and many into and out of supremacy.
These great and growing feelings
and my insufficient words
that fall from me one-by-one into place,
the thudding truth in basic blue.
Sep 26, 2021
Sep 26, 2021 at 9:38 PM UTC
attention...
smear neon lipstick
all over my cushiony lips
I'll eat it like Crayola crayons
pose whorishly for the camera
be saccharinely
tell you I love you
when I know it's a lie
why?
for attention
always want to be the center of it
I'm a fiend
for
ATTENTION
give it to me I'll eat it up
and love every bite of it
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:24 PM UTC
Teacher, you freed me.
Bit by bit I became willing to talk about I,
Myself, perched on a toilet seat pushing the soft
cushiony fabric into a tight oval to
commemorate the virgins of the midwest.
I can only hope the tenants won't mind.
I am not familiar with their particulars.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
I am autumn
I am the changing colors
The chilly weather attracting sweaters
I am the dying flowers, closing up till another spring that life welcomes
I am autumn
I am crunchy cushiony pile of fun
I am the pumkins baking in the oven for Thanksgiving
And the decoration for Hallows eve
I am Autumn
Sometimes more beautiful than Spring
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Her voice resonated through my mind, cushiony like cotton.
oh if only I hadn’t forgotten.
Her words would ruthlessly tare through my flesh like a dagger.
I try to tip-toe, but inconveniently stagger.
When will she become too perfidious for her throne?
if she were to atone for her sins, how would I know she had grown?
I will sedate.
my emotions for you will try and dissipate.
Now because of you I will never follow fate.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
*Boasting coffins thick and cushiony as wombs,
Pay last respects; their waxen image so
Still, reprimands against motion – their tombs.
Pirouette darkly against the moon, on we go.*
Penny Leavitt, 2013
She walked and talked the boards – a gravelly
Voice chasing the arts among the vagaries of
Melody and meter and the colors of balloons.
Penelope Marguerite – seven syllables to sway
The boldest of characters in the most honored
Stories to be seen and heard on stage.
The little Shorewood house – known to groups,
Nay herds of neighborhood critters and their
Off-spring – where Penny dwells.
“I hear the pulse of you,” she wrote, “solemn-
Sweet pipes of the ***** – and abruptly shook
Herself up and got on with it.
That unmistakable pony-tail in strands of gray
Marched with precision through grocery aisles –
Cat food in cart and lottery ticket in hand.
In the class notebook, she penned with care
The tales of a teenaged temptress, “sauntering
Sexily, swinging svelte lissome *****
Co-poets often thought her lost – she travelling
Unannounced to Montreal or Chicago – but
She bore the title of grandmother proudly.
Penny gave her heart to whoever needed it –
Not that she lost it – as snippets of amazement
And humility took their places elsewhere.
“This is what grandmas hope for," she wished
For the face of nature to reveal its magical
qualities to her grandson.
Age and its surprises were not immune to
Penny’s pen; she was an uncanny student of
The human story.
“We pass those who have gone before us;”
She wrote. “We become the lassoed souls
Of a younger, more agile dream.”
Pope said to act well our parts; there all the
Honour lies – Penny did so, and then some –
“We hold our faltering shadows high.”
There once was a poet named Benny,
Who could write a limerick like any.
It might have a word,
Unique or absurd,
But could not match those of our Penny!
© Lewis Bosworth, April 2017
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 11:27 AM UTC
I know it's early
(early as in 4:10 am and early as in our relationship)
but we have many factors playing against us:
well, we have many hormones in our 17 year old bodies
A little more than a month
is hardly enough
for "love" to blossom
but I don't know how else to describe the power with which
my emotions knock me breathless
(with an iron fist, I stand back up to look around
disoriented, blew a fuse
when I see you)
I've tasted purity in between your teeth
like a snack you save it for when you need it the most
when my train becomes derailed
you input spokes you help me coast
and we **** like wild horses- or ***** teenagers
I love every second of awkward silence
thank heavens I pursued through preconceived notions
of your white picket fence
walked along the path of time
opened the option
climbed over the hedges
to you
you're as soft as cotton and smell better than any fresh laundry
I will never know if you love me like I love you because
we all know which head teenage boys think with
but something in my stomach tells me you're solid
solid, armchair solid
solid, hold me steady when I need a cushiony fall solid
solid I look up and see you seeing me solid
I'm scared stiff solid you're realize
how ******* psychotic I am
and run faster than a gazelle
but I'm disgustingly insecure
I suppose we'll get used to that
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
My double bed is bigger than normal tonight.
Cushiony expanses of miles, the stretching white,
Like the miles I’ll remember in tomorrow’s light.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Truth is the word
That we’ve always
embroidered
Onto my pillow
But instead
It’s that I’ve never had
Enough knowhow
To sew my
Secrets anywhere
Except the
Soft, pin-cushiony
Pink of my lips
It is always you
With truth shears in
The hand you’re always
Extending
That sets them
Free
To fly and
Find light
Your work on
Our tapestry
With little fingers
And quiet tenderness
That many
Will never
Feel
Your vision
Of our bigger picture
Unravels before me
Making more sense
With Every stitch
When I leave my
Heart
In places so
Cold
You help me
Pull strings
To drag me back
To myself
You remind me
That my fabric is
Fragile and
Precious,
But never to fear
Cutting away
What no longer
Fits
Being Raggedy Ann
Always comes with
Its share
Of loose threads
And I’m forever
Thankful
That you
Tie them,
Hands un-judging
In knots
As intricate
And beautiful
As your soul.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
or themes were them or I don't even remember
anymore the drunken high wavering feelings dizzying
exact places nor time, of where I was on that date or whom I might
have said to a flirt or grabbed a thigh bravely or slapped a cushiony
cue ball banking the eight ball with skill winning
a hundred dollar bill buying the whole ******* bar a drink
and
a blow job,
just know that was me when, then. I had less problems younger
stouter energetic time left on my tab,
a deadly eye a smirk of confidence, that youthly
obsession with being tough. I banked the eight ball last week while breaking and still am aching a week later. Now.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 4:10 AM UTC
My brain is a wondrous thing. It's calm ocean waves drifting sparkles of valuable shells to the shore and tsunami storms crashing down houses and flooding eyes, soft cushiony fabric to dig your face into and sharp daggers to bleed from, a rocking cot and a resting graveyard. I am neither happy or sad. I can neither have pain or pleasure as a tattoo upon my undecieding soul. I do not live by what I feel but where those feelings take me. Moments are fleeting and identities are scarce. I am confused in a beautiful way, scattered in a gifted way, like colourful stained marbles across tile floors. I am the rage of light at day and the blooming darkening shine at night. But black and white I cannot be. My colours lie as a mess in the middle, my canvas life, my pallet the directions, my paintbrush the weapon, the creator. Many masks slip off, labels start to peel, and face paint washes away in the rain dance that is life. That is me. I am a wonder. I am unfitting jigsaws of all the things that make me think, and alive, waiting to be discovered and reborn, reshaped once again. Stardust and black holes consume my thoughts and both fill and drain my heart dry, but empty I can never be. For my soul is the universe, most unexplored, but never ending. I am a masterpiece.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
They surround me,
Them those dark demons.
Smothering me in fear,
Covering me in dread.
As the button switches,
The golden sword swiftly glides toward them.
The demons scatter out of its way,
Hope as I will the power will stay.
The electrical surge,
The sword goes black.
The demons return,
With feel of evil in place.
I hide within the cushiony shield,
Then rest till the demons do die.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
drove down to the cemetery
hitting potholes head on
down gravel roads
praying a hole six feet deep
filled by a cushiony bed
would welcome me with open arms
and a sermon to bless my slumber
drove up to the grange
tires skidding and kicking dust
up in the dirt parking lot
wishing upon an American flag
stars torn up by the wind
that those gusts would lift me up
and give me a ride to heaven
driving up and down this hill
over and over
when i should've driven to the airport
and left the world for good
Aug 23, 2024
Aug 23, 2024 at 8:04 PM UTC
The sun resting on the cushiony cloud;
The flowers on trees calling spring out aloud;
The lush green grass by the road side;
The flocks of geese flying above with pride;
The big fat squirrels just sneaking around;
These were the sights i saw today home bound;
Such profound beauties are Poetry - they say;
With them around, do we need a World Poetry Day?!
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
I wish I were a bird
On the top of the world
Flickering my wings
Funding cushiony twigs
I wish I were a butterfly
On the sweetest petals I lie
******* the nectar
As I freely chatter
I wish I were a fish
Pedalling my fins
With fresh bubbles
And immortal fervour
I wish I were that innocuous kid
Rampageosly messing up barefeet
Denying distinctions via poor and rich
Indicating candid camaraderie
Towards his pals in poverty
Life would be pretty on the upswing...
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
the way the light brushes the white of a wall
at mid day when the sun is highest
and the smell of your home most familiar
the way he accepts my palm unyielding
stiff backed, and expectant
not wavering or wincing backward
soft furr tousled, and shiny grey in the
fingers of light through the window
the way your pillows feel in the morning
arms escapsule the cushiony fluff
and the scent of last nights smiles
the silence of your own space
serenity in the quiet against the warmth of your own skin
reminiscing along with swirling cloud like
memories while you watch your cat snooze
serenly on a windowsill..
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
aye savor the faire genetic blueprint
extant unique to each of us
with this quite alimentary aire
including (that almighty,
bottom, cushiony, dimpled,
excretory functioning Gluteus Maximus
i.e. the ***** when bare
with subtle difference sans,
both halves at first blush,
but tucks upon closer scrutiny
obvious inexactness crystal clear
as a bell jar, asper each body electric,
whence deserved of en dear
ments despite however much junk in the trunk
behind the private
no trespassing (non verbalized)
signs posted everywhere
off limits only to a select few like this bard
attired as if from the Renaissance Faire
whose unconditional acceptance
unlike the majority hoo gawk and glare
if bipedal hominid dealt
chromosomal traits say with excessive hair
which mane of tangled strands,
could be problematic and interfere
with coaxing, finagling,
or inducing friendship with an initial jeer
from him or her averse
toward such imperfection to boot
huff lawed physical human specimen
such as this ole coot
(who haint really that old),
can upon command execute
a feigned display
and appealing as fresh field picked fruit
at this stage of ma life
donut give a rats *** nor an owlish hoot
what other may decry about me,
cuz self acceptance doth agree
buzzing with greater confidence, esteem,
and general weaknesses such
as lack of physiognomy incongruent cee,
which asymmetry of this primate feel free
er than his pre/post pubescent
corporeal essence he
near put himself in the hand
of that grim reaper, a key
poor of lifeless beings,
and well nigh got hold da mee
when in the throes up
(vis a vis not bulimia) on Swiss side prithee
and as a solitary mwm gives no re
guard no matter others may find fault
in the stars at my lack of sim mutt tree
gnome hatter judgements made
I accept mice elf warts and all – yippee!
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
Doing cushiony cushy jobs. Sharing best practices. Dreaming of finding a decent travel agency. Having dreams of mushroom clouds rising above dumpsters. Showing the V sign with both legs upwards. Leaving office feet first. Staying in office feet first. Letting things slide to hell, while remaining unseen through the thin veneer of incompetence.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 6:26 AM UTC
(i only dream of imps)
sweaty, high-handed, they reek of brandy
although i know what they desire i bury my fists in stiff pockets
all the simple things i believe to be made up of are really technicolor and abstruse
(i only dream of this)
every night they spit viruses down my throat
bite jibes in my deepest cushiony parts
chew gold rings like stale cheerios
swathing me
in sticky mud-like paint
thin and sour
(i only dream of hell)
grafted unholiness in pits of ink
tumultuous
sore heat seething from flowery bits
greedy imp hands handling soft pillow bodies
acid breath inflating pink fleshy lungs like round dollar store balloons
(i rarely dream of clouds)
when i do they are rotting clumps of loose soil
left untended by my perverse imps
holding petals to their fever pitted cores
redressing me in noxious defamation
(i'll dream again soon)
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
In some point of your life,
Which has been pain of your living.
It can be at any point of your life...
A sudden refresh of all yoursef,
Pops up as a regular coincidence.
Suddenly, all the weight of painful
Memories, thoughts, feelings are gone.
As well as potent satistafaction,
Becomes the field of your experience.
You feel like you are returned to
First home of humans, Garden of Eden.
Even you are looking to the
Boringly plains of detesting
White walls of your home
Or in the middle of the tedious lesson.
You feel like you are in the heaven.
Vast skies of azure,
Vast plains of shamrock.
Or the forest of complex Red pine...
Between the leaves a light ball shines.
It feels like a dream,
But concentration to atmosphere is
So high that it is
More factual than a dream.
Purple azure skies,
Candy red sun sets as a single god,
In rainbow of oranges and yellows.
Or you may be in the space,
Gazing thousands of
Little glittering color
In the vast darkness.
A nearby yellow star shines
As well as reveals thousands of
Spheres in vast colors,
Each of them an infinite heaven
With infinite liveliness.
Than you realize that all pain is gone.
You are refreshed, calm, in pleasure
In the highest forms.
Than you also realize that,
All of these is just a dream.
Imagined stuff being creation of you.
Even you attempt to leave
Beacuse of its fakeness,
You find the hardship in leaving.
Because it is the music
You are dying for hearing it.
Know that it doesn't come form
Your cushiony headphones.
Remember, that's the thing
You are striving for.
The complete well being of
All yourself, all your senses!
But the case is
We have big flows of energy
In our complex pathways of
Neural circuits and spiritual fields,
Avoiding the strenght of good
To hold us in good.
Because we laboured ourselves to
Live painful and weak lives
Just sake of survival.
So our brains are more able to
Suffer than satistfy,
More capable to experience and be
Bad rather than good.
What's avoiding this is the
Unconditional stabilization of
The experience of the good.
Owingly,
Even when the whole world is hellish;
You are the shine of the heaven,
Refreshing heights of elegance, content
Than you ask, how to do this.
I say; become that wholly,
Unconditionally,
Without any negative and bad.
If you still ask the same question,
Follow me! Just follow me!
Continuously, unconditionally!
This is all you need.
As the result, you will feel the
Depths of positive flow of love,
Heights of infinite continuous pleasure,
Taste of sweetest sweet without sweet.
In all of your life, unconditionally.
Even when everything is
Going painfully, badly, wrongly.
I call it the nectar!
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 2:39 AM UTC
Are we grateful for our bubble?
The constant flow of comfort? The solidified love? The cushiony warmth of meaningful kisses? The lack of peril? The apparent feeling?
No. We lust after more agency.
We dart for the furthest ends of the edge. And when we fall off with a weak ‘pop’
We crave out beginnings in that gooey bubble.
Lacking in the nest’s feathers we don’t have the means to craft wings to fly us home.
In an attempt to cry out, lacking in belonging we are too far gone to even find our voice.
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
honey tangy nectar.
coat-your-mouth
gives crunch drip
oblique emerald tears
firmy cushiony give
speckled red, burnished orange
creviced crimson deep
garish grooves
bite-jarring grind
acrobatic twirling
diplomatic fingers
whittled down
to the core.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:06 AM UTC
Soft, cuddly, cushiony here is where I am. Clear of clutter, problems, working, organizing, fixing.
Here.
I am safe. Away from everything and everyone. I am here.
Blissful, peaceful, resting nest. Wherever I am, I am here.
Tomorrow is so far away and yesterday is sleeping. Even today is on vacation while I am here.
I just don't want to go there.
Can't I stay here?
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 7:21 AM UTC
Snoring wildly on the emerald carpets
With lush and frantic hue
Cushiony petals are dancing puppets
Destination never has gone through
Crops bearing golden yields
Threshed with ardent love and devotion
There.. farmer's friends crawling deep
Displacing under fine fragmentation
Endless barriers..Endless notes
Endless beauty...Endless codes..
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC