"enamels" poems
Oh hail toothbrush, haven’t seen you since last night
I’ve returned again to cleanse an overbite
Spread the paste thick and minty across your bristled skin
Over the lips and on the culprits, 007 of oral hygiene going in
**** it feels good-
Morning scrubs do away with yesterday’s store appetizer samples
Clinging and eroding the ceramic protection of my enamels
Its poor thin concealing of my porcelain I must protect
Just a little more push and pull- haven’t even eaten breakfast yet
Foaming at the mouth, rabid plague of plaque I’m getting rid of
What extra harm for today’s meals I should have considered
But it’s alright-
My dentist smiles and offers a primary root canal adjustment
But the filling he’s drilling in won’t do too much for my budget
One hand to my jaw could cause my little car to swerve
Unbearable agony from the glass casing encasing that vital nerve
One hole’s enough for today-
Make it home, disgusted jaw line of cotton by the mirror
Spit soaked clouds are temporary relief for bearer
Grab the blender, toss it up, eggs and bacon with my juice
It’s no use- my straw’s stuck with gunk and nothing’s coming loose.
But what about this canker sore?
© 2008
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
i.
the grey ghosts
water to the sky,
pond to the
breaking air,
the blues are
cloudy
islands and
stars, lily pad
gold-green
dream of monet-
light.
ii.
love drifts,
scurries over
the water like
a dragonfly,
her wings the light
flowing, melting
in its breathful
streams
falling
falling
in the delicate
colours of
spring with
its tide-like
ebb and flow.
iii.
i held you
close and you
were the
aching spring,
the bright
opals of the moon,
i held you close
and all i could see
where the blues of
the pond, the
snake-silver
stream of starlight
and flower,
you were the
aching bronzes
of the rivery
pools, the still
water's paradise
of blue and white.
iv.
capture me
in the cloudy
isles of
the bright
lilies,
i am the melting
light, the frail
bloom with its
zen-like peace,
church of quiet
air, hopeful stream
of ache and light.
v.
ghost-enamels
of impression,
silently, the sun
sinks and the golds
of spring blossom
like a spell.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
clouds without edges, white like
soft pillow cases,
the sky filled with the pale embers of dusk.
the day drifts away, striding, skirts swaying
floating in the ether, untamed and restful.
sunken like the stars, the
dark begins to ripple its black
pools, carves its statues of wood and moon.
i wait for you in this opal night,
my legs a song of longing
my breath a shiver of scattering
birds, flowers in my hair,
my kiss gold blossom
unlocked with a sigh.
i melt as you touch me
my eyes whispering silk,
blue enamels of sea,
my arms
gathering you to me,
my breast full of
dark songs.
i glow, my eyes bold shadows of night,
my lips pressing in to yours
gathering honey like a bee.
i am your girl of the wind,
a jar of stones,
your beautiful muse.
gather me to you,
hold me for ever
and i will learn to speak
of love like
a solitary red rose petal
falling to the floor.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
i chew on the shards
of my broken heart
wearing out my enamels
bleeding out my gums
devouring the pain
slitting down my throat
you tower over keenly
i craned my neck beaming
doubtful eyes swept over
discoloured lips
crimson stained teeth
but a smile is flattering
so please don't fret
you can trust me
i am fine i am okay
the pain no longer fazes me
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 6:57 AM UTC
If it would make you love me I would lie back
And bottle the secret, concealing it underneath my rib cage like a bottled ship, the twigs and scraps of fabric decomposing like the bones of leaves, dry and crumbling into different dusts
Actually, I wouldn’t even ask you to love me, and I would still position myself in some sparse pretty purgatory for you
Sitting in silence, on cold to touch hospital like bed sheets
There is colour slicked inside my chest, thick in parts as if it were chocolate applied with a brush inside a mould but for you I would keep the light out in some dull opaque haze
Flecks of my soul are rainbow enamels but if I could I would reduce them to dull metal powders for you
I would give up all others because they have no clean sails unlike you
I would allow you all those one syllable words
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
*
Buried in fact beneath censorious blame
Constrained intact by iniquitous chains
Surreptitiously lain in the shadows of shame
Dark honey drop-dripping down the throat
Enameled each enigma thought
Varnishing every mystery in doubt
*
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 10:16 PM UTC
.
Light
Enamels the naked
Trunks, cleansing
Sun strikes
The unraveled trees
Bolted to frozen ground
And the leaves
Mosaic,
As any temple
Floor, iconic,
Pray, tell stories
Of turned seasons.
In winter
Snows come merely
To raw, all unwashed
And drape purity,
White as truth
And sparse is song
From only the most
Devout birds
Who with Hymn,
In the piped choirs
Of icicles, drip
Drop to blessed waters,
Anointing the soiled
Sinner ground,
Waiting for spring
Eternal.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
You would mumble that I don’t
get to appreciate all your efforts,
little or big, because I tend to just
keep myself silent, even when happy,
and keep them for myself, like a thief
hiding gold in his secret treasure chest,
no words, no thoughts for traces
that anyone can backtrack to, and forth,
but believe me, little honey, everything
you have for me is kept inside my bones,
under my skin, within the extra layers
of fats, in every fragments of myself
that I have offered to you. You have your
name etched in every single *****
sliding through the intestines
that would get upset when you kiss me,
and the taste of your surprises lingering
under my tongue, within the gums,
hardening the teeth, like enamels.
Pictures of you, of your existence,
bygone memories, of nostalgia
all carefully placed inside my skull,
like a delicate dinner meticulously
prepped, for us to feast on, on days,
and nights when we feel like no one.
You are the air inside my lungs,
like cigarette burning, exhale,
all the toxins filling the bags,
slowing down time, slowly.
You are still the good things
the good news like in masses,
you are the preach I listen to,
with everything about you,
I wear, on my arms, on my ankle,
like wooden bracelets we get,
you are laced around my neck,
like a scapular, you are my religion,
and like paint brushes, you are
painted all over my skin,
traces of forevers, images,
running down my cheeks,
down my sleeves, coating me.
You are time, with numbers,
I always try to count, unending,
with moments after moments,
like ripples in events, not through
ticks but through nights of becoming.
You are a prayer, not a hope or wish,
I mutter your name, every time,
for you are my voice, your strands
hang at every low and high note,
as if I understand one, but I know
there is you in pieces of me,
at the unmade tissues, the broken bones,
the painful limbs, burnt skin,
at the density of tears, the
intensity of laughter, the words,
I hear you, you play in my ears,
like a marching band, I always stop
to listen to your music. You are
the silhouette when I am against the sun,
a shadow, the light that embers
a corner of my brain, you ignite,
rays passing through window glasses,
you crawl not under, but through
my skin, and baby, believe me,
when you open me out,
you would find names of you
written all over my innards,
and there, you will know,
how much I have kept the love
that you have made me know.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
Tis ironic yes?
These people with all the loot in their pockets
Spend thousands of dollars on new
Pearly white enamels....
Yet its the poor tribesman
In a faraway country
With no teeth....
That hast the most beautiful of smiles..
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
The mountain surrounds a limpid lake
Of a calm and captive silver-green
Like the waist of the wedded, a sylph
A besotted body, light, loved by the wind like the yew
Where are you escaping to, peaceful flow
In your fertile floor above which there is plenty of lives?
To the point of triggering the blue sea’s breeze jealousy
You hold, silent, Lamartine’s soul
He described you, lake, time’s metaphor
On your shiny waters, necklace of photophore
The sun beholds you, skimming your sides
Like the poet’s quill, your white bird.
What did he see in his prophetic century
Hurt by a soft and painful romanticism?
Holding you in his arm, his altar, in love with
Your richness, your serenity that the poet
Afflicted by time couldn’t feel
Save for his apostrophe, his eternal sigh
To you then, oh lake, the whisper of a scripture
That is known only by you, enigma in literature
Story with the man with words and scars
You contain in your dome, his most beautiful enamels.
Translated on August, 24 2015
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC