"denude" poems
My easel, has been asleep
for a while, like a whale
on the lost deep seas
finding a prey
to victimise
to sate the belly full.
Your easel, sees in my eyes
the robbers on the blink
of an unruly end
finding recognition
in social media
to favor ego
to sate the belly full.
Your easel, is a mellow fine lens
Hands in line holding a gun
set a trigger, to silence the crowds
the doom in the public cruise
trollers and vipers with wipers
to sate the belly full
What have we come to dear friend?
we seek fame and lose our self
to the shadows of the masses
who denude our dignity
to gain their sanity
to sate the belly full
What have we come to dear friend?
in the spaces of the contours between
dehumanised by the social media
the medium of the century voice
the armageddon of currency
that sate to fill it's belly
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
What smouldering senses in death’s sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady’s lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch,—a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,—
A spirit when her spirit looked through me,—
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love’s emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
9.2k
*death:
an abnormality—
deep prints left by
heavy boots filled with water
and washed away by
summer’s end.
grief:
a metal
sensation denude of
coldness—swelled up again
and again from life’s ***** driving
deeply.*
I suppose you couldn’t
help but steal away.
you (now endangered
ghost) left your
trace fossils moted,
gray and cold.
our memories of you
divorced from the
mountain’s path—
a wound raised
higher and higher
to a crystal peak
where your soul
was plucked cleanly out.
we built cairns to
mark your going
and stories to signal your
inevitable re-arrival.
we welcomed the heavy contact
of fire felt in the
middle of the chest
and watered
arches cut beneath
the eyelids.
we felt the frigidness of
lit feet gliding
above mountain frost
and set forth your
eternal journey
to the solar eclipse.
but somehow
we lost your trace fossils
frozen in the rock.
*where did you go?
who found you?
why?*
these are the questions
of extinction of the
physical body
but the soul is
unmatched in
its uncertainty.
if it exists, it leaves
upon time of death
and reenters when looked
at through shielded glass.
*soul:
a mountain
view, black and polished
by an unfurled moon. its
brother sun not far
behind.*
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
i hope, i try to hope
--to believe--
believe me, i try
to trust in trust i think i feel, or think or know
there isn't any code that satisfies
though maybe there's an uber-uber-ultra-meta code beyond what even codes can mean?
meh.
i enjoy the hypothetical,
Paris in a bottle, fairness for all sentient beings, faith in nothing comprehensible,
an English teapot circles Jove from afar
or all that's uncontrollable, for some all-purpose good to decorate the brackish, ocean truth.
and uncertain science is another case,
mistrusting all, testing daring thoughts with razor sight,
to sharpen speech and challenge all
to flex the truth into a fitness ground on which to stand, objective stern
and method doubt to peer and scan the detail bare, denude minutiae
into ever smaller parts, expanse of raw and empty space attuned,
to vibrant nothingness rebound
muons, gluons, tauons, quarks and bosons --Higgs the boon for popular appeal,
to bridge or monumentalize the science-mystic gap
appall the ghosts that Galileo keeps for company
i enjoy the fantasy,
dragons in a flask, perfect love for all, dancing in the dark in joy regardless of the shutter thicken dust
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
you enter my dreams with such audacious curiousity;
examined the void with intellect- deprived precision,
inspected every crevice painted in colour.
you left the blue for last because you say
the amphetamine matches my eyes.
you sample every syllable ever borne from my mouth,
denude the metaphors to their unchaste nakedness,
reach inside for unfleshly meaning.
you say all my filthy secrets implode into
ugly saliva bubbles on the brim of my tongue
and that is why you bite it off.
you make the drain spin out water. you make reverse hurricanes.
you euthanise my suffering mind with vulgarity and sliver-veined chalks.
i like it when the moon is yellow and not white.
spread me across your bones, you make me cold
**** in flesh. you wear me on your head as you would a stubborn fever.
you lick the lily, burn away its petals and
then you use the ashes in your next drag.
there are ghosts in your hair, they want idiosyncratic judgments.
they want anatomised angels and amputated wings.
they want ribs, signals, vessels and chlorine and aileron segments.
and electric ***
i am thinking of lexemes and lycoris, the vulnerability of artlessness,
prosthetic fingers and cigarettes, the umbrella under metal rain.
i only remember realities when they are expired.
the ribbon between cognition and the ventriloquist.
the psychology in undesired sentences.
this is the only immortality you and i may share; amongst ourselves
like teenagers filching answers before algebra, like dealers exchanging
eight-balls, pipes and profanity, like animals in chemical heat.
this vanilla immortality that we no longer need.
i'm watching the end of the world
from underneath your clothes.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:42 AM UTC
*(this poem don't matter much
unless you balk with ***** to essay upon,
thyself, thy valentine failures,
children and ex's who have ex'd you out,
sad love songs
one more time,
even joyous ones,
foolishness human,
then this intro source code,
is an unnecessary winter weather advisory)*
a phrase, song~played, scratches,
brain self-commands
via electric synapse
To: the current in-resident body
extrude denude private places
riff,
get to thy work,
decompose on them words:
in the private places
play with the lowly lowest ranking,
private, who by nature, sees
finer the dirtiest,
privy to the privy,
privilege them
to the most personal,
spit/spill/weep/deep
some or none of it all,
cause the scratch is the
poetic salvation to that
bitch~itch, write
the best you get,
dispossess the beastie best
in the pvt. places,
ain't much/no difference
tween beastie and all the crapper rest
draw from the private places,
cast up to light,
revelations devaluations sensations
impolite,
well kept secrets
if you can say it good,
then draw it up from the well
where the private places
were|where sent to drown,
and if you can't,
no bother brother,
after this exculpation excavation,
I'll go back with you
to adding a rock to the
bottom of the pile,
the mountain of superficial crap
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
*Lavished; I endow many creatures
Trenchant and keen they denude as weepers
As we are harsh while we wangle
Deviser’s enriched are all riotous tamers
Crowns en-dowering among the fittest
Bounteous of all wades in telluric mist
Unscathed by deft spry
Admitting your mordant’s are never lies*
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
To be classifiable, she nervously applies the cake to her nostrils
While splinters stick in her fingertips. 30. To be a woman she
Harvests necrotic insects and dances in Warhol underpants.
I explain how gravity loves the catalogue of your unique hollywood
Romances. Each train takes a new storyline through the ****** treetops
And counterfeit addictions she poises herself in to seem attractive to
Each magazine under her daddy's workbench.
Being a woman is more than big ***** and paint for brains. Some skins Cling to the reels of the love language sprinting through historical Venetian street settings. I smoke ***** with wizards.
For the first time I witness the acatalepsy of the Irish, but narrowly
Passing the beguiling succor that renders the whim of persons
In the acronychal hours.
I'm telling you your hands are my new exoskeleton. I take to you
With the excitement of gravity. New denude photographs of pallor
Fleshes upstay the human trials we are blessed to share in this open sky,
Where I warn the blues of the sky to be jealous of these sciophilous Women who experience the unyielding pressure to feel the pleasures
Our confabulations offer acushla.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
Everlasting
sentinel of forever
keeper of time
lie with me
in the forest sometime
let the droplets
of memory
**** the nerves
of my consciousness
along with the many
summer songs and
midnight rains therein
everlasting
lover of infinity
timeless and prime
sigh with me
in a melodic mime
dampen my senses
denude my mind
free me from
the utopian paradise
of realistic sham
everlasting
master of moments
endless and divine
eternal
immortal
celestial
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 12:23 AM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Deep beneath a pillowed sky, there
A restful restlessness abides
Nestled in a perennial hill
Whose sentinel trees raised their hands,
White with subtle deference,
They do not usher the world flowing ‘hind,
But show me an islet high above time.
I sat there in ponderance at the stagnation of clouds
Holding on one end a gold string of a kite
My thoughts tethered to those ghosts,
Those wights, sitting amongst me, those by-gone eras
And down, on me, some vague horror weighted
To them it was the Stones that made them feel dated
I thought I could feel slippage, some loss of traction
They? They bore a whole lifetime without
Satisfaction.
The breeze smells of gossip and Jaeger on their lips;
Everything is on point: dances, romances, localist quips.
Whoever would have guessed
Memories ablur could be the most vivid?
Such, I suppose, is an art form insipid.
I had to step away from this field of time
It had overtaken, that shadow of mine
All the trees now, bow and they bend
Prostrate, like a weeping willow.
When they step out into the world,
A bath of gold in the dusk of their lives
Shall fall before their feet, denude from their shadows
To run on ahead.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:20 AM UTC
I denude the skin off your
peach
To reveal the ripe
Hidden underneath.
I realize now that I've,
after that first touch
Of soul and mind,
Become a hedonist
For your lips.
A ****** for that special bliss
That makes you taste
So.
****
Sweet.
Somehow you set me free
And bind me
Simultaneously.
My mind unbound ever since
I discovered new appetence
For the taste of your saccharine.
But I'm anchored into you
Cause this sensation occurs
Only when I'm with,
When I give in to urge
And appease my senses,
When I partake,
And I taste
That Milky Way
That is
You.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
We are all demagogues in a world controlled by despots,
A world where we have grown afraid to denude the powerful
And sequester the impoverished under the sheets,
A fear to stick it to the man rather stick with the man.
Although it begins with one life, it ends with countless casualties.
For our definition of what we believe is right, differs from what we believe is good.
The foundation of good, for it is no universal language rather a universal dictum.
With lessons unknown to all, simply comprehended by some.
For only a handful selected by God occupy the hole the devil burned through.
Leaving the delicious gift of persuasion on earth, awaiting the tasting intentions whether good or evil.
Convinced by all with set beliefs while thy axioms remain unknown.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
you are a
mystery
and
i couldn't help myself
from wanting to know
every single thing about you
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
I am what I am
What I’m not, I want
What I don’t have, I dream of
My thoughts are my Universe
My emotions are my Nature
I am Animal and heart of a Man
I am love of the Earth and Death of a body
I am begging of you and end of your lover
My hair is your bed
My bones are your children’s nourishment
I come and go as I wish
I give you haven and I denude you
I drink of you and you admire me
My sun is your chest
My satellites are your eyes
I sit in your lap
I move in your lap
I am transparent being in your lap
Master that you’ll serve
Servant that will adore you
I am all of your gods
I am all of your loves
I am a world you dive in
You, free at last
You, fallen kingdom
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
a gentle flame on
frayed wick
casts
animal projections on
denude walls like
celluloid wildfire
of raccoons who gaze upon
owls assembling in parliament to convict
magpies who ****** while
herring skip school to watch
coyotes in cover bands,
monkeys in droves of carloads meet
wolves en route, and make a pact with
lions standing proud over
mice who cause mischief
a menagerie dancing in flickered beckons,
converging towards epic denouement
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Here I stand,
naked as the moon.
Denude of childish tendencies to protect the ego's fragile skin.
Palms turned towards the continuum of space to expose the souls purity,
eradicate insecurities.
The sky steeps me in a soothing womb of chamomile and honey,
abloom of sweet, scattered opalescence as freckles upon her face
interlaced with familiarities.
Extending conceptualized singularity to experience eons of unified grace.
Anahata awaken, caress of winds breath
frolics across the topography of my being,
releasing the god-essence.
Activated through remembrance
that which is, was, and always will be.
Instilled in every cell, attune harmony.
Conduit, co-existing as student, teacher, observer, conductor,
cleanse.
Wash away layers of the veil to reveal.
Acknowledge, accept, expand, contract.
Embodiment of cyclic sacredness.
Wholeness.
She and I mirrored images,
reflected consciousness,
alchemical catalyst catapaulting immense distances inside an instant.
Elder, mother, kin, within.
Ammorea flame ablaze, raise sensory vibrations to these
potent mysteries.
Project positivity,
what is given is received, this is my prayer.
My offering.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
I’d love to have a magic wand
Then all Republicans would be gone.
I’d wave my wand once again
And fill their chairs with honest men
And women who could serve
Without trying to get filthy rich
And could manage to see through
Any hateful racist political pitch.
I think we should fire them all
Take their wealth as restitution
For the attempted ****** of
The United States Constitution.
Put them into a prison where
They do their time breaking rocks
And teach them some education;
A twenty year school of hard knocks.
We can do it by arresting them all
For abrogating their office vows.
They don’t understand honesty
So we should teach them how.
We’ll take every word they said
And print up an itemized sheet
And fine them for every false word
Wouldn’t that be totally sweet?
We could denude them of the riches
They gathered while on the job
And turn them loose on prison gangs.
Let them lie to that angry mob.
And part of their punishment could be
Digging ditches down at the dump.
And joy, oh joy, they might luck out
And work beside Donald John Trump.
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
Image of a man denude
from the thorns of morals & virtues.
I hate myself more than I hate humanity.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
slumberous thoroughfare
panning by--
the
weather
boldn
dry--
the day languorous
all
forgotten--
passing the
pawpaw
denude
of
fruit--
&
bluebells
blemished
by
winters barren
lossless
brew
see the
passage--
a few
steps--
through
palisade
unlatched--
eyes
reticent in
windows--
watching
pass
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
Sometimes I wish I had
the raging verse and the naked word
to summarize what is going on
with people, with my mind, with the world
Sometimes I wish I had
the confidence to trust someone else
to let him or her read my letters
and try to figure out all this mess
I don't plead for mercy
nor cleanance for this mess
I don't plead for reason
I just want to have the raging verse
I don't plead for silence
nor pent claps inside halls
I don't plead for voices
I just want more ears to hear me more
I disown the rules of poetry
And recognize only a single language
around the world
That sings about love, beauty
suffering, power,
history and more
I hear it and I hope you hear it too
I try to sing along | I hope you try it too
Because I don't want to be alone
Singing among a crowd in a pent hall
Quiet, deaf and silent
Yes, sometimes I wish I had
the raging verse and the naked word
to make people rage and denude their souls
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
*
*sound of wilderness
has come to pass
machines of men
have come to age
children no longer
go outside
it is not safe to
breathe
the traffic is
too much
and streets
are all crowded
old buses are filled
with people who do
not have time to live
there are no
stars in the sky
the sun is masked
by the tall buildings
water is no
longer free
fire is now
expensive
the night is
never dark
pierced by the
screams of a thousand
lights
without hope
or the warm sun
tired and
weary
people watch the
tall buildings
stare them
down
watch the
neon signs
street lights
cars, trees
and music
pass them
by
one by
one
they are
forgotten
placed inside
decaying
old crowded
buses
one by
one
they become
so many
a town
a city
a slum
that speaks of
nothing
not a word
only silence and
more silence
and the silence
becomes so heavy
crushing dreams
of every new born
until the silence
begets a scream
begets a machine
with a hammer
that knocks
on their feeble
doors
flatten their
denude walls
for opulent men living in
the silver clouds
in tall buildings with
neon signs
men who
own
hope
the sun
the buildings
the mountains
expensive cars
diamond rings
salaries
army
old crowded
buses
traffic and
winter smog
birds chirping
by the windows
voices talking
in the room
people tired
and bothered
hunch over in
their despair
coiled up in
corners
waiting for
the batteries
to run out
suffering in
silence
telling their
fractured stories
that speak of
nothing
not a word
only silence and
more silence
until the silence
becomes so heavy
that speaks of
nothing
not a word
only silence
until the silence
begets a scream
begets a machine
with a hammer
that knocks on
feeble doors
flatten the
rustic walls
to mine the rubble
and mint more sky for
opulent men living in
the silver clouds
men who
own
hope
the sun
the river
the moon
the mountain
summer
spring
golden sunsets
expensive cars
exquisite laughter
each worth more
than a lifetime
of impoverished
daughters and their
sons
angry fathers and
women they beat
mothers and
****** and
beggars and
millions upon
millions
without hope
or the bright sun
silent as
a scream
silent as
a whisper
silent as
violence
and it speaks
of nothing
not a word
only silence and
more silence
passed down
impoverished
malnutritioned
millions upon
millions
such is the
world
without hope
or the bright sun
each laugh as expensive
as an entire lifetime
suffering in
silence.*
*
Mar 17, 2023
Mar 17, 2023 at 9:47 AM UTC