"derma" poems
O Buddha, the gold vein of thy sermon of mercy ran through gloom-gorged, rocky hearts, and illumined their darkness.
Thou loftiest soarer of renunciation's skies, beneath thy God-lifted eyes, the kingdom of sense-comfort, the rivers of gross greed, the vast and lust-scorched deserts of desire, the tall trees of temporal ambition, the cactus plants of prickly world-worries—all melt into invisible smallness.
Buddha, the arc-light of thy sympathy sought to melt the hardness of cruel hearts. Once thou didst save a lamb by offering thyself in its stead.
Thy solemn thoughts still silently roam through the ether of minds, searching for ecstasy-tuned hearts. Seated beneath the banyan bodhi tree, thou didst make a solemn tryst with the Spirit:
"Beneath the banyan bough,
On the sacred seat I take this vow:
Let derma, bones, and fleeting flesh dissolve;
Until the mysteries of life I solve,
And receive the all-coveted Priceless Lore,
From this place I shall stir, never, nevermore."
Thou symbol of sympathy, incarnation of mercy, give us thy determination, that we may seek truth as doggedly as thou didst. Bless us, that we may be awakened, like thee, to seek remedy for the sorrow-throbs of others as we seek it for ourselves.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
4.8k
“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 taste your pulse
derma puckering sweat globules
aeriform vapor corpuscles
declaring your need
embellishing sacral curvature
in mellowed diaspora
I glide closer upon the sheets drapes
fingers supporting my upper weight
pressing half inch spurs into the mattress
dragging my whole self towards you
for a kiss
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
“Swallowing Pearls and Lace”
“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 ***
I moved my entire form
Across the room
Pushing his solar plexus
With index finger
The wingback chair collecting
His form – assuaging my intent.
Retreating nine steps
To gather
my acumen in dripping my clothes off
Adroit pivot
portent gaze
locked
exteroception - engaged
His exhale
executed succinctly in shallow lung
puckered alveoli –
Clenched -
resonates as my own.
Pearls scooped catatonic
atop lingering breast ascension - alone
Remain –
Summoning brine.
I taste his pulse
Derma puckering sweat
Redolent vapor
Knotting between each pore – skin taut
declaring his need.
Fingers supporting my upper weight
I glide - 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
I flick the button
From slit fabric recess
Cupping palms under thigh,
rendering garment to puddle
half-in – half-out
whole
chthonic shaft to palette
Sliding exhale
to mound
lax jaw
focus
His iris entreats -
narrowed corneal withdrawal
Oblong lip array surrounds
Supping the creamy, coppery,
Smoky, saline
Latent dribble invokes my tongue
Furl about lip cusp
Absorbing globule
Into slaked smile.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
It's so cold out.
The wind blows like a kiss from the North.
All of the leaves are already dead now, along with my only hope for joy.
The kids rush along the sidewalks, bundled up in coats and what not.
Skin becomes dry and achy;
a relation forms between the layers of derma and a dehydrated human in the Sahara.
Both reach for something that's not there.
Survival is only attainable with certain steps and choices.
One mistake, and you're sure to end up lost.
Rain begins to fall more frequently now, and I can't help but fall in sync with every drop as I feel the ones beneath my cheeks.
It's Winter, and I've given up.
(j.a.r.)
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
it’s the sensations
that are most satisfying
an almost painful pressurized dance
between throat and chest
the way the process is felt
in the finite muscles and glands
that take their own actions
about the mouth and
interplay between the desmosome & basal
layers just beneath the eyes
yet the single most intriguing
part of the process
is the temperature of the fluid
and how it caresses each topical segment
of derma on it’s own path to the earth
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
neither you
nor me
never knew
remained unseen
the day i found those words
i picked them put them in my pocket
the one that's been seamed to moa derma
punctuated into my soul
those words i will never let go
neither you
nor me
before you back
i may leave
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 7:41 AM UTC
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
Blue cheese chunks
Peanut butter chest pains
Name a food right now
I'll promise to ruin it for you
6 cups of coffee past your limit
Your heart ripped itself out of your
Ribcage an hour ago and is running
Sloppy joe laps around the park trying to ground itself
Angel hair pasta before you break it
Into boiling water but it still has chills
Spoiled milk in lucky charms,
Sugar sticking to the side of the bowl
Pulling at your skin like Colby jack strings
Picking at derma like an orange
But you aren't sweet or refreshing
You're wilting like that salad you bought
And let rot for a month
Because THIS was the last time
You'd start over your lifestyle
Almond bark emotions
And candy cane apologies
Name a food and I promise
Anxiety will ruin it for you
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
four
facecloths
swamped
with
blood
I
really
hope
you're
happy
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
Under bright light, there they are again, close
up upon my desktop, two stark reminders
of my long ago-departed grandfather's hands,
that now I have reluctantly inherited. Stiff and
painful just as his must have been while nearing
his own inevitable end.
Hard used-weathered and bony, liver spotted
with nearly transparent skin, vains clearly
visible, wrinkled derma like aged yellowing
parchment paper. Fingers having grown
untrustworthy of dexterity and strength, not
my hands I recall from even ten years ago.
I loved my Granddads hands, they fit
his other features; gentle, comforting and
reassuring. I knew them and him no other way.
Now my hands and face viewed up close are
becoming bitter daily reminders of my own
precious and fleeting time.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
Untouched, pure and translucent derma that I long to touch.
Let me trace the freckles on your cheeks, felt tip pen colors fade into your porcelain skin. The stars can't shine together with you, they're too afraid. They know they're fake, but you, you are the purest in nighttime.
Even when I say this, you complain how you're too pale, but baby, barbie dolls are dying to be you. Although i know you don't want to be compared with barbie dolls, let's just laugh at that sad reality everyone seems to be facing. Don't be one of them.
Kiss yourself, praise yourself for the unholy and sinful wanting of mine for you.
Want to touch you, mark you - felt tip pen colors melting into your white, white, white but flawed skin. Want to trace constellations on your cheeks, on the back of your hand - let me hold you.
"I'm not beautiful," porcelain skinned boy with insecurities measured bigger than his fading faith in humanity - i love you.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
Itches itch and scratches scratch.
You would still relieve that urge without questioning that, right?
Well that's how I feel about my scalp.
My brain the main domaine that carries me through my days.
I don't pull my hair or wash my feet three times a day anymore.
The meds help with that.
But something I can't shake is scratching my skull.
Short fingernails because I am a lesbian.
But also has made it easier to attack my soft skin.
Blood and scabs and sore spots.
I have derma linked completely to my scalp.
Hats and beanies can only do so much.
My fingers always find a way to slip there and pick the day away.
Invisible illnesses still make you sick.
You can still fall in love with the one you didn't pick.
I am a heathen and I am an angel.
I give and I take, and I take and I breathe.
Goodnight.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
A friend I call Sister Shawie silently sobs
And all of her children’s hearts’ knobs
are plugged with mics noise-cancelling
and bluetooth earphones desensitizing.
Old mixed emos - can’t relate, how brute
- worse than real deaf or numb or mute.
Their sympathetic eye implants blue night
and smiling chrysanthemums yellow bright
selectively blind. Their once flawless derma
now pock-marked with socmed anesthesia.
Beneath the optical cables of glass sublime,
the umbilical cords are cremated in time
as the much sought wifi signals reach prime.
The cyber world defies ethics and all logic . . .
A mother’s milk is replaced just like magic.
Sep 9, 2024
Sep 9, 2024 at 9:41 PM UTC