"disinter" poems
Can I explain this to you? Your eyes
are entrances the mouths of caves
I issue from wonderful interiors
upon a blessed sea and a fine day,
from inside these caves I look and dream.
Your hair explicable as a waterfall
in some black liquid cooled by legend
fell across my thought in a moment
became a garment I am naked without
lines drawn across through morning and evening.
And in your body each minute I died
moving your thigh could disinter me
from a grave in a distant city:
your ******* deserted by cloth, clothed in twilight
filled me with tears, sweet cups of flesh.
Yes, to touch two fingers made us worlds
stars, waters, promontories, chaos
swooning in elements without form or time
come down through long seas among sea marvels
embracing like survivors in our islands.
This I think happened to us together
though now no shadow of it flickers in your hands
your eyes look down on ordinary streets
If I talk to you I might be a bird
with a message, a dead man, a photograph.
5.4k
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;
Things thought too long can be no longer thought,
For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth,
And ancient lineaments are blotted out.
Irrational streams of blood are staining earth;
Empedocles has thrown all things about;
Hector is dead and there's a light in Troy;
We that look on but laugh in tragic joy.
What matter though numb nightmare ride on top,
And blood and mire the sensitive body stain?
What matter? Heave no sigh, let no tear drop,
A-greater, a more gracious time has gone;
For painted forms or boxes of make-up
In ancient tombs I sighed, but not again;
What matter? Out of cavern comes a voice,
And all it knows is that one word "Rejoice!'
Conduct and work grow coarse, and coarse the soul,
What matter? Those that Rocky Face holds dear,
Lovers of horses and of women, shall,
From marble of a broken sepulchre,
Or dark betwixt the polecat and the owl,
Or any rich, dark nothing disinter
The workman, noble and saint, and all things run
On that unfashionable gyre again.
2.6k
String vests with spittle trailing
Budvar to invariably show independence,
they snare the spectacles of the respectable evenings sheen,
later calling the night ***** and kicking hoardings
as if they had wanted to disinter the dammed.
The former love of parakeets,
by once fine people,
also released Yellow to this New World
matching the jaundiced jab
of a hooligan denying his head
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
So you lost your innocence
in a darkened cemetery in Fallujah,
do you go looking for it
on a grassy, sun-drenched hilltop in Arlington just because the
light is better? No, not you.
You return to that dark place and break every marker, leave no stone unturned, disinter all ghosts tossing them to the wind and shout
"Want more?".
Marching upright/quick-step/head high
back home to Bethesda to find your peace.
r ~ 15Feb14
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Prickly morning sun strings up
the hair on her arms as she gazes,
watching the waves bobble and weave and listening
to their dead seashells and shellfish;
ricketing and momentarily floating.
For a moment, her heart is the ocean.
Always beating and providing life without
knowing why. She sighs and begins to forget she is lost--
The synthetic shores of everyday life at her backfoot,
the burning sand ridden with childhood memories.
She slowly allows it to dissapear
and recaptures a piece of her self
in return;
Belonging to this ocean as much she does the sky it reflects.
Calling, lamenting her name without a word, the ocean
lullabies her soothing sighs, falling rythmatically now--
Raindrops disinter the clouds and tickle the rythm
of her pulse. Soft, soft backing instrument to her final
calling. There is no need to look around again;
There is no guard in sight. The prickly sunshine fades
To ruthless cold air and she walks forward, mouth agape
and ready
For the ocean to swallow her and recapture her, entombed,
enwombed forever more.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 1:58 AM UTC
I was a fool
To think that you were a clue
To disinter the happiness that hides inside of me
Because whenever you smiled, I turned into a child
For I let my curiosity take over me
Yet I wasnt wrong when I thought it would be long
Til I would find the key to finally set free the happiness that hides inside of me
I thought you were the one that Id love with all my heart
You were, everytime I held your hand I felt like a marching band
When our hands embraced against each other, music flew through my body like water in a river, making me feel like no other
Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti went the piano key, singing to my ears as I went down in tears
Every single night I would bring the moon closer to Earth just so that you could have a better view
And every single morning, I wrote poems and letters just to make your day brighter
For the light that went through your window, the sunrays slithering through the blinds, was just not enough
I did all this just to hear the words "I love you" come out of your mouth
You see, I didn't care if I never tasted your lips
It didn't matter if my skin never laid against yours
And it was of no importance if our bodies were never covered by the same sheet of warmth
Because I all I wanted was for you to love me
It hurts most not that you went with someone else but that you said I LOVE YOU and didn't mean it.
You see these words have a greater significance than the three syllables that compile them
They ARE a compromise, for that person will be number 1 thing on your TO DO LIST because they will always stand before anything else.
They ARE signs of affection, for not only do they mean that you like their pretty faces, but they mean that you just adore the way they are.
They ARE a promise. It is a seal of unity that is never broken because you promise to "keep only unto eachother for as long as you both shall live"
You, you broke that promise.
And to think, that you were the one that would disclose the happiness that hides inside of me.
I was a fool.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
The bells ring boldly
they've sold me on
Sunday
what japes
men in capes
giving sermons to the sinners
*** luck, *** roast
I'm as warm as toast
heading off to hell with
a handcart for that old ****
old Nick.
Did you pick your nose?
could have picked a better one
( another joke that creaks)
but not as much as this place reeks
of sulphur, sufferings
and empty promises
of better things.
Giving him a benefit of
any doubts about that
other place
where angels play all day
I sink away and very slowly,
become the fabric from which
new dreams are made
Sunday and one more motorcade
through the crossroads
and fade into our history
until the powers that be decide to
disinter you as if that would change
what happened to you
they've sold me on Sunday
but I can blame the bells
what's your excuse of choice
delivered in a sonorous voice to
an audience of Lincoln lookalikes
If
and if only or only if I pass away
I'll take my chances with the ones
that play
harps.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Tomorrow
when and if it comes.
I am of late
disposed
to
compose.
Whether it's me
in poetry or
poetry in me
each line I loose
sets free
one more
and late is not
a state
for which I'm known.
Once
when my wings had grown
shown how to fly
I flew,
then forgetful of the night
and naked flame,
circling the storm below
I dared to go
into that fretful light
such are
the might have beens
of emperors and
queens.
Blistered and the worse for wear
I'm still torn between the
devils,
but the deep I know and
share with careworn
philosophers.
It is as always this way
this day
that may be true
once
I flew
I won't forget.
These castles
where we keep
our memories
are few,
true
but
possessions though they
may be
we disinter and
set them free
a bit like poetry
really.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC