"drippings" poems
i want to be able to see my heart in word-form, all of its callouses and scars spelled out in strings of the alphabet
i want words to flow off of my fingertips like the drippings of water droplets into a sink from a faucet closed only half way
yet i've found that the four-letter word i've been feeling
can only be expressed as it is
numb
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
Old fellow old fellow
where for art thou old fellow
I'm in t'shed wi whippet and tin bath
his filthy from his walk on t'crags
you should ha seen him what a laugh
chasing through t'mud a plastic bag
Oh Fred you said it were too wet
to go a walking on t' pit top
your boots are caked in mud I'll bet
oh I bet thy breath sticks high of pop
Quiet woman can you not see
I'm as sober as a judge
so get yer back to makin t'tea
as I wash off me boots of sludge
She is the moan this northern lass
that makes me old heart flutter
but just one more word of disrespect
and I'll head in there and nut her
He is the pain makes me old heart ache
and the one that brings me t'laughter
but I'll **** him soon as look at him
if he don't respect that I'm a grafter
Teas on t'table drippings hot
there's fresh bread in the oven
by heck lass that there's real class
I love yer, yers a good un
So no Romeo nor Juliet
just honest homely folk
whom now the worth of mother earth
and the value of a joke
Let's leave em be in kitchen warm
wi the humblest of fayre
for Yorkshire folk are t'salt of earth
and I know coz I live there.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 6:20 AM UTC
the cherry blossom accord/equation
”perfumers use aromachemicals to recreate a cherry blossom accord...(an accord is a scent made up of individual aromachemicals, that when combined, create a harmonious blend where none of the individual ingredients are able to be detected on their own).”
the odor of our lustful eyes,
the sweat, a unique commingling,
a sheen of salted oils body bathing,
crushed green petals of peaches,
crumbled together with the softy fuzz shavings,
the sediment of aromatic fruit juices drippings
our blending bottled in our brains,
none other would recognize but we,
to too two smell each other through and over
floors, concourses, cities, disparate distances
our ingredients secreted (secret),
our flavors cell secreted (secreting)
the world’s silly tittering aroma inserted,
our sparking fingertips touching
add a bush burning burnt odiferous
we seat across from each other in an airport
plastic restaraunt and everyone asks out loudly,
what is that smell, feed me that, taste me that,
as we are irradiating the atmosphere,
as we renegotiate our cherry blossom accord,
fresh signatures, updated, harmony of harmonies, notarized
she smiles, I joke, winking,
we must continue
to meet like this,
the fireworks of we,
of us,
to-gather to-gether,
a getting of giving,
she answers:
*take me home and
bathe me in love,
give our bodies shelter
from the world outside,
beside a new spice
have I uncovered,
this will require some
discussion+exploration,
the quantity to be added,
the when, and the how!*
what is this new ingredient?
asking puzzled and aroused,
she laughs
(a spice already included),
why it’s called
only love poetry
8/23/19 4:55pm
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured
the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows green beans lentils
turnips & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots leak broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry soy sauce chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic salt and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts
in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance
in short
no need to **** a bird
* * *
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
the yearling roasted on the spit
its drippings crackled the fire
huddled in a smoky closed space
family with a neighbour, or two
bags packed, shoes on, ready to go
the meat carefully carved
its skeleton intact, unbroken
with endives rolled in flatbread
unleavened as we had no time
meal's remains destroyed in the fire
we're ready to leave at any moment
from where we're born and always lived
to a place known only from ancient tales
outside, shrieks and wails, of horror and utter terror
inside, goosebumped, hair standing, we waited, in silence
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 9:02 AM UTC
thoughtless drippings
fill the page
aries ripping
pisces rage
overflowing
not controlling
aphrodisiac
attacking
the undertow
far below
you're falling further than you know
you can't get hurt
without good cause
your foolishness
reaps its own claws
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 9:17 PM UTC
As a child, everything was free, real,
like early spring air.
Birds were infinite
and could fly to heaven.
Now air is stiff wood,
and birds only **** on cars.
I took out the dagger to take a stab.
I yawned.
They fawned over the shops on Bond Street.
I yawned
We drank Cristal Brut.
I yawned.
The lights of Times Square dazzled.
I yawned.
The toast crumbs were ******
I yawned.
The people prayed.
I yawned.
I asked God,
“How do I settle this?”
“Give me your sock,” God said.
So I did.
“Sever all your limbs.”
So I did, one by one.
God stuffed the legs, arms,
and drippings into my sock,
blood-soaking it.
And with that cocktail sock
God smacked me
and sat silent.
“Now what?”
God yawned.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 5:09 PM UTC
(AP) Chicago vicinity hit hard yesterday by fierce bracing winds approximating unmanned chainsaws violently cutting across streets sidewalks heavy lakefront blizzard icy snow resembling slivers of broken glass slashing stinging skin news alert of return of dreaded snow worms attacking women and children technically known as Kinorhynchan Oligochaetes Nemertines these deadly transparent parasitic creatures slither slightly ticklish creep inside boots preferring hairless legs of children slimy vipers dig between toes devouring traces of toe jam then gnawing toenails until they reach foot bed where they fester in bitter dark brown green milky juices crippling little boys and girls in shaven women the elongated legless carnivorous ice worms disguised as mere icicle drippings climb up calf knee thigh ****** ****** ovaries feasting on female eggs their favorite food many northern women choose not to shave during winter season so as not to fall victim to the snow worms
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 9:16 AM UTC
~
Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire
“I fear for I have no choice”
Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message
“I fear for I have no choice?”
Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free
“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
You surprised me
Roman Holiday, my favorite
We watched
Talked
Felt your lips pressed on mine
Messy tongues
Each movement gliding with ease
Fingertips flutter and slide
And across my cheeks
Eskimo kisses make me blush a lot
Tugging your shirt for fear of letting you go
Are we moving too fast?
Never.
Please don't leave yet.
I felt bad for the lonely, uneaten popcorn.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
Fade to blue
Fade to blue
In starlight drippings
The full moon sings
Hypnotic song
When turquoise tints
Horizon dreaming
Can sunrise wait
For very long
~
In lines of gold
And amber teasings
Of Jasmine breeze
Your scent does find
My heartbeat swirl
At last believing
I breathe a sigh
That you are mine
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
I try to explain the world--
the deeper meanings to my mumblings
all of it a frustrating mess,
an artist canvas splashed with too many colors--
that it becomes impossible to depict which is what.
Is that blue or is that aqua, I don't even know anymore.
When it comes to understanding my thoughts,
it becomes a psychotic break from reality--
where I imagine my fingernails scraping
chunks of flesh from my neck.
I plead for my hands to place themselves around my throat,
"Please suffocate yourself please just let me out"
Begging for someone to understand the mess,
that the khaki colored object actually means something.
Each splotch a representation of myself
every detail aligned to explain a greater idea.
As arguments end, they scribble deep within
a sketch book of sickening black ink;
Marks its place in the drippings of my thoughts,
making those colors lost in translation
so not even the painter knows how they feel.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
listening to Nirvana's "Something in the Way"
and i am -now- just realizing how ******* good this song is.
i mean, the mood cuts right to the bone:
*underneath the bridge
tarp has sprung a leak
and the animals I've trapped
have all become my pets
and I'm living off of grass
and the drippings from the ceiiiilinggg
it's ok to eat fish 'cause they don't have any feeeeeelingsssssss
something in the way
mmmmmmmm
something in the way (yeah)
mmmmmmmhmmm*
it's jus kurt on the geetar alone till the chorus, doing a simple chord,
and, thing is, he isn't so much singing as he is speaking in loose meter;
and it's almost as if between the words he is saying,
".. well how the **** could song survive this thing i am talking about
yuhknow? i am giving you my guts."
you finally get some lilt and rhyme that might be considered song
toward the end of the verse, but this is immediately undercut with,
of all things,
given what preceded it,
a joke ---- it's okay to eat fish 'cause they don't have any feelings
holyfuckingshitdoesthiscapturetheabsurdityofthings
and i don't mean a joke as in hahafunny but rather
what. else. can. i. do. but laugh, else i'll cry; and I can't cry anymore 'cause
i'm all outta tears. why??
because this abyss
called "existence" - that history, heh, tells us is imbued
with rational purpose or intent, or whatever -
bats its pretty little eyes at me like a big fuckyou..
i think
kurt is, suggesting, here:
laugh back.
it's like Camus' Sisyphus:
i
dare
you
to roll that same rock called "life" up the same hill everyday all day
and summon (somehow) a smile,
------ or at least a s m i R k
and watch as beauty bolts through your dead fecund heart
removing that
thing
in your way
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
CAN YOU HEAR ME
CAN YOU SEE IT ?
THE RISE IN THE DARK.
CAN YOU HEAR IT ?
THE SOUND SO DESIRABLE THAT CREATES A SPARK.
CAN YOU TASTE IT?
THE DRIPPINGS SO SLICK.
CAN YOU FEEL IT ?
THE RIPPING SO THICK.
SO YOU WANT ME ?
SO RED AND SO TENDER.
DO YOU NEED ME ?
THE FEEL OF MY GENDER.
DO YOU FEEL ME ?
THE SQUIRM OF MY FLEX.
DO YOU SEE ME ?
THE DESIRE FROM YOUR ***
DO YOU HEAR ME ?
SO WET AND COMPLETE.
WILL YOU FEEL ME ?
SO READY AND SO DEEP.
WILL YOU HEAR ME ?
SAY I NEED YOU TO WRAP INTO ME.
WILL YOU TASTE ME ?
SO DESIRED AND SO FREE.
WILL YOU WANT ME ?
WHEN I NEED YOU TO BE.
SO CAN YOU HEAR ME ?
WHEN YOUR INSIDE OF ME.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
every day i see your grinning face,
scowling back at you,
i push the inevitable away,
the extremist christian preacher,
trying to "save" the impressionably intellectual college crowd,
only doing it for the rise of drawing a riot,
on the concrete canvas,
illustrating muddy red abstractions of chaos,
bowing to overlording masters of extremity,
in hopes of burying **** faces,
in prismatic drippings of paint-slathered sand,
eating bland beatings of faint clippings,
yet you stand there,
emasculated in your chronic musings,
without one permeated prism,
embedded in your studded jacket,
is your acceptance of how you could be.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
Candy- cane killer
with a smirk and a stab.
Pull out
gravy drippings
and the warmest
apple pie smile.
The corner house dentist,
cheapest in town.
The root canal ******
the neighborhood clown.
Come skip to the jingle
and gather those nickels.
Bring the whole family
with a hoot and a whistle.
Round the bright colored lights –
anything you fancy,
just pay up in front
(in cash)
He’ll make sure
you leave happy.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 9:34 PM UTC
All of our memories now wasted away
Page break
My mother's voice downstairs
Stretched dawn
Tonight's drippings
Dreams of your torn mouth
Visions again of a failed birth
Glass and it's promised demise
Cancerous resonance
(slit)Flushed(slit)
(exit)Naked(exit)
(fail)This how I feel(fail)
Being driven away
White coats and tourniquets
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
~
Choices
Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire
“I fear for I have no choice”
Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message
“I fear for I have no choice?”
Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free
“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Wispy angel Children embedded with
Sparkling fibers of light
Danseuses blanched
Paper doll trails honeycomb drippings
Shedding casings
Hollow cast offs coiled gaunt carapace loom
Ominously floating in sea of shadows
Byproducts of incessant motion
growing thin
Fading away with the glow of dawning
until moon wakes from its perpetual sleep
Awash in an ocean of night
and luminous constellations of
Twilight gloaming
Elysium
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
My stomach's wallet breaks the pocket's seam.
I eat what I see,
I can't help with tasting everything.
The grapes and the burgers,
the peanuts and bananas.
I'm consuming as the wild beast does;
the vine grows empty and I will growl,
moving on to the next new field.
But the cheeses here are magnificent,
I'll keep coming back for just another slice of it.
These warm chocolate drippings
on mountains of cold cream
melt into gooey cookie crust;
Me and my flag stand ready for the adventure
right up and back down the mudslide.
But my buds are changing in a strange wind
and I am the wild dancer in this hurricane.
The strawberries are dipping into whipped cream
until the bowl grows empty,
refilling it with oats and milk.
My tongue lives forever in this moment,
leaping this way and that,
the day's cheetah is fast for its slab of chewy beef jerky
and afterward,
the night's panther is face forward in the wild fruits.
I pray for the day this dessert morsel is the last,
but alas,
my hunger ravages like a princess for her pony.
The king will no longer resist her screams for another stable
and I will ride this black mare forever.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
~
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin ******* excite at the touch, firming
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Chilly coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching behind delicate fingers guide, slowly
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sticky, sweet
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
My name, loudly called, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s perfect heat”
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
A full plate. Steak. Cow, one might say, but flavor it, steak.
Thick. Savory drippings bleeding into grilled shrimp from the great Gulf of Mexico, where thoughts of that endless expanse smells of sweet salt and colors the sound of swelling glow, leading into a bright light of warm day. I nibble, but do not taste. Too late, I'm reminded by the lines of Bukowski.
"There are worse things than being alone. But it often takes decades to realize this. And most often, when you do, it's too late. And there's nothing worse than too late." Too late.
I've tasted none and now fully aware.
Too late.
Cow removed. Shrimp shriveled. Taste, only a faint smell of hidden possibility.
Too late.
I've spent years, misunderstood. Or perhaps fully understood as people watched the food grow cold. Idiot. What a waste. It tastes the same, with or alone. Just eat.
Too late.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
I took a walk one day
And I guess I just forgot to go back
Where I started from wasn't that bad
I just got lost in the beauty
I began to get addicted to things
The further away I got
Things like words written by bukowski
And paint drippings by *******
The hotel Durante haunted by Dali
And Ezra pounds thoughts
Floating through St. Marks square
The bullet train carried me only one way
No I never returned from the sights
Or the sounds of a glacier losing a chunk
Of ice into the ocean
The magnificent blue of the glacier ice
Chilling the whiskey I sipped as I starred
I believe the artwork just ****** me in
I slowly became a word in the pages
A drop of paint in the masterpiece
Out there on that walk
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
~
Ensorcelled in effervescent lingerings
sifting through moonlit seams
Soft flavored drippings of ecstasy
melting slowly within the fever
dancing across my skin
as your fingers trace
the outline of my deepest secrets,
mysteries lodged in seductive breaths
*Your love my ****** addictive enchantment*
Stimulated senses heightened
Sundrenched moans, silver lined
adrift on satin sighs
Floating delirious within
hallucinogenic eyes,
seducing my mind in eternal desires
Trance infused emotions
cling to each nuance of mesmeric longings
Swirling smoke ringlets
penetrate whispering decolletage,
culminating in lustful motives
atop gilded sheets
drenched of our rapture,
etched in euphoria
Two silhouettes saturated
in this dream called passion
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
rub those
tears off
your full on
baked make-up
face,
wipe those mascara
drippings and
fix your lipstick
because i can
see you breaking
even if you hide it
get it together, barbie
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC