"emplaced" poems
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing,
as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness
surrenders very reluctantly,
full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use,
keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat -
a big difference
through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm,
my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken
and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed
whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence
and other such mental knottings
my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape,
coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot,
which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady
stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary
but atheist-acceptable to her
morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the
physical and physics theorems
funny how some prayers,
where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine,
uttered without any contemplation are yet
deep comforting for their inherency,
so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body,
well hid neath a summer coverlet,
wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission
I comfort her,
above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet,
till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot,
my praying reaches the end of its rope,
where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution
no longer needed,
but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping,
not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice
my comfort is her extra comforter,
an offering of coffee my reward,
for my daily work has begun,
and I have many more poems stillborn
that require coaxing stroking
to become
witnesses to living
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
first I smell myself.
the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings
then I smell herself.
sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure
then I smell our sharings.
lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh
then I smell our combinations.
the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem
it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite
Friday, March 29 2019
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
massive flooding data
with fingertip suggestions
authority assertions..
our longing rises
for calm correspondence
and peaceful correlation..
but splitting continues
with mounting pain..
new vessels we need
very desperate need
for patterns to shape
those complex splits..
when vessels emplaced
we stand guard
informing screaming data
now gather or go...
you might blame
Adam and Eve...!
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
A most difficult
and dark home life..
a small girl
carried her burdens
to kindergarten class
each saddened day..
There her emotions
were released in
explosive despair..
fears and sorrows
expressed in her
most anguished way..
The teacher in
a recalled moment
of quick inspiration
found a hat
a black hat in a
costume drawer..
The hat now named
the brave hat..
and when emplaced
the little girl found
some moments of peace..
Then her peace spread..
Wearing the hat
worked its spell
on each wearer in turn
including the teacher
whose day then most
surely improved..
Did the black hat
an identity assume
of those shadows
outside..
And become absorbed
in each inner sun...?
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
~for she who will know~
the Mother of Muses came to me
on bended knee
come for to confess
a lie so grand it boggled
the heart
*we bring you nothing more
than what you already possess,
the jewels of rose gold are emplaced
in your dual ventricles,
the veins stained with blue green sapphires to
feed the right and left hemispheres,
where the emerald heat and the yellow gold,
raw melt the alpha word-finery awaiting,
the pinpointed pinprick of an eyed glimpse
to release the oxidizing words atmospheric
we are not needed, just proceeders,
*** stirrers? no. *** watchers? oh yes.
all contained within,
this then, the art of the human heart,
where the external stains rest awaiting,
completing, complimenting, coming
to fruition in a reforged new birthing
see how the child looks with adoration,
perceiving the art of the mothers heart,
the spilling of time at the precise moment
when the exchange is as long as an eye wink
and as short as an entire lifetime
We the Muses, not teachers, nor inspirers,
just peddlers, collecting thimbles of words,
polished with hued syllables of tarnish,
experienced watchers discerning the exacting,
the interactive interactions of the cells,
the DNA concoctions of singers and sinners,
priests and the unforgivable, trying to tie
what deserves untying, which is an everlasting
poem that needs, laughing, an original act
of the art of the heart, yours, permission to say
The End*
11:14pm
nyc
Sept. 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
as we write..
first the whiteness
of blank paper
imagining a fullness
of joy and distress..
the white exudes
a nothingness
brimming with energy
awaiting a word
the word emplaced
seeks direction..
to join with others
to rise and return
or to decompose
to fall and spread
colored differences of
new creation..
the path of this
lone word
seems quite beyond
a writer's choice
who in surprise
learns the chosen direction
by discovery...
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
those daily excursions
travels so necessary
point A to point B
are there grooves
long before emplaced..?
then finding ourselves
in pleasant surprise
driver as passenger
awaking in dream..
finding new vision
this more en-lightened
Transport...
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:27 PM UTC
The dawn starts to reign.
And here she was, emplaced in vain.
She asked, "How can you sleep,
Without thinking of the cut that's so deep?"
Every single night,
Memories grip her neck so tight.
And here comes her mind,
Starting to whisper some things that aren't kind.
Tired eyes are still arguing,
With Mr. Brain who wants to keep going
In bringing up the past
On this little girl who wanted to sleep fast.
"Oh, my precious Mr. Sleepy,
When will you come unto me?
Embrace me in your loving arms,
And keep away the darkness that swarms."
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC