"engorges" poems
My poem illuminates the night like a golden moon,
like fireflies on the trees, and the love I ever owned;
constructed feelings, somehow are still unexplained,
like bubbles of morning air, how it kissed my skin.
It's not how our hearts intertwined all of the sudden,
but how our language diverged; beautifully spoken,
and when my mind engorges reality, so slow, so slow,
that's when I write those lovely words only for you.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 5:27 AM UTC
I’ll trace the lines of a love poem
With the tip of my generous tongue
I’ll bend you over a sonnet
pounding your heart with verse
Until you come
Closer to the slippery edge
Of the highest haiku peak
Pulsing cranes shoot from
Sky following deep swallows
Cascading heat wing
The beat of the sextet
Engorges the plump plum with tantalizing taste
As the surging wind tickles swirling grass meadows
A pirates plunder
unbridled womanly chaste
Riding my large prose with feminine pleasure
Until both writhing bodies are drenched in chicken broth rain
I will slather you in brilliant color
As you vacantly stare ecstatic
Groaning through the augustan age
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
oh, the fire with its dancing beams
welcomes each morning with hues so bright,
engorges as the globe circumnavigates,
fading, dissolving, with approaching night.
the clouds play tag with the ball of gas:
covering, as curtains - some thin, others thick.
mighty Cumulonimbus precedes the drops;
delicate Cirrus wisps are the sky’s speckled pick.
the forests serve as shadows for all the horizon:
redwood to palm, soaking up a meal
from the glowing radiations that branch out;
the rooted ground is theirs to steal.
the species of the world adapt to its clock.
majestic elephants roam while the glows remain,
and owls wait for the blackness to settle;
everything in its path is cured of their pain.
Oct 23, 2022
Oct 23, 2022 at 8:13 AM UTC
She moves like poetry in the mornings.
Soft pink and gold kisses her all over
to wakefulness, to dream.
soft turns and breath music
enough to release me
from these moonbeam eyes
in a trance
the feel of her breath on my skin
hands undulate
beneath feather sheets
the feel of warm silk
on my own-
glorious.
Stirrings, small circles on my chest
the feel of her lips smiling
beneath closed eyes.
I cannot resist
running my finger down her spine
as the mad scent of her
engorges my brain.
I can watch her like this
for all eternity.
Butterflies flutter open
at the sound of my name.
The faintest trace of whirlwinds
at her fingertips
tracing my lips.
One kiss.
One smile.
And she is forever out of my life.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
early morn (5:00am) scanning, scrolling,
unrehearsed searching and the question
appears in a “loves that got away” column,
*(why do all these descriptors start eith S,
I think I know!)*
and off on another self-effacing, investigative determination, a mental biopsy of another hopeless cause,
that results in poems too long
though the body and mind are rested,
with six hours of uninterrupted sleep,
and volumes of dreams,
the quest bags a burr in the bed,
(yes, rhymes with head)
but n o t h i n g pops in with a grin,
and a bell ring, stating presumptuously,
why that’s me
and the fault failure fear
in me
engorges
this really distresses,
with & in a deep sense of awful,
how can I not recall this momentous
illustrative precious precision
proof of why life is worth living,
and worser still,
don’t I get to choose,
isn't this an interrogatory,
suitable for a pre-provided
Multiple Choice Answer?
a pause to collect myself from a
falling into a hole of nefarious negativity spiraling,
*suddenly
recalling so many
kind and gentle touching brushes
of your comments re my poetry,
which provoked warm tears*
^***and one more tine,
poetry has saved
a life***^
5:37am Saturday 2-15-25
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 5:47 AM UTC
Hot on the tail of that wily, elusive beast
named ‘inspiration’, I travelled north.
North, where colours mute
and transformative shadow
bends in darklight,
revealing the world as it really is,
as it once was.
Hundreds of years pass,
rolling back time, boiling clouds
rushing over peaks in reverse,
a tiny tornado ***** in on itself,
and hundreds become thousands.
Rain blackens the babies of volcanoes,
engorges forces with greater purpose
and cleanses every shred of vision
from my grasping, desperate mind.
Thousands become millions
And I am stripped of incentive to try.
There is no ruination, here.
No furious nor frantic need
to imagine past lives
in this manicured, managed place.
High-vis’d toilers scuttle on mountainsides
carefully placing and re-placing rocks,
funnelling feet and discovery
on a prescribed and sensible path.
Only the rain
wreathing a secretive misted ribbon,
creeping in glacial cut-throughs,
is possessed of fanciful virtue.
Nothing shatters but the slate
and the landscape does not turn inward
to eat itself
in gnawing, atavistic need.
It says more about me,
than it does of the Lake District
that I would wrench out and offer
my super-heated heart
to see the mountains fall.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Tears burning my eyes
Sadness I am dwelling in
Pathetic self pity engorges my hollow trunk
Pain burns through my veins
Blistering heat needs a release
Mascara streaming down my face
No longer feeling it’s intertwining grip
No more feelings
I start to fret
Am I nothing left to this world
Memories come flooding back
Nostalgia chills me to my core
Do you are my pain
Is their a correlation
Reaching for the only constant in my dwelling on this earth
My lovely
Crimson stained with blood of yesterday
A razor blade can only relieve the pain
I wish I could find a better way
But the devil grasps me In his fiery claws
Demons chanting in my ears
Scratching through my skin
Blood seeping down my delicate bindings
Weight lifted off my soul
Sapphire greater than gold
It swirls down my skin
What a beautiful sight
If only it would happen just for tonight
The demons will crawl back through biting and clawing
Demanding my hopeless heart
Wandering through the dark
Soon they find me
And repeat this beautiful sickening story again
-mjq
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
The Monster Inside Me
It engorges, it devours
My sadness it makes me forget
The Monster Inside Me
It toasts, it drinks
My tears it makes me forget
Not all monsters are bad
Some are simply benign
Nurture good monsters I do
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC