"enlarged" poems
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving*
*In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
The speaker in this case
is a middle-aged witch, me-
tangled on my two great arms,
my face in a book
and my mouth wide,
ready to tell you a story or two.
I have come to remind you,
all of you:
Alice, Samuel, Kurt, Eleanor,
Jane, Brian, Maryel,
all of you draw near.
Alice,
at fifty-six do you remember?
Do you remember when you
were read to as a child?
Samuel,
at twenty-two have you forgotten?
Forgotten the ten P.M. dreams
where the wicked king
went up in smoke?
Are you comatose?
Are you undersea?
Attention,
my dears,
let me present to you this boy.
He is sixteen and he wants some answers.
He is each of us.
I mean you.
I mean me.
It is not enough to read Hesse
and drink clam chowder
we must have the answers.
The boy has found a gold key
and he is looking for what it will open.
This boy!
Upon finding a string
he would look for a harp.
Therefore he holds the key tightly.
Its secrets whimper
like a dog in heat.
He turns the key.
Presto!
It opens this book of odd tales
which transform the Brothers Grimm.
Transform?
As if an enlarged paper clip
could be a piece of sculpture.
(And it could.)
4k
The patient has had no nausea,
vomiting or back pain. No chills,
fatigue, fever, decreased vision
or double vision. No ear drainage
or hearing loss, epistaxis or
runny nose. No sore throat, calf
pain, chest pain, cough or difficulty
breathing. No pedal edema,
palpitations, black stools, ******
stools or constipation. No diarrhea,
urinary frequency, laceration, skin
rash or depression. No dizziness,
headache, head injury, weakness
or enlarged lymph nodes. All
systems negative
and yet
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
invisible friends are gods, Christ in bed reading the news
& listening to Mary's magic ****** seems When Jesus
was asked about the standing recognition of the right
of her daughter's wall; simply talking ardently fell power
to meet **** & Satan forever on unknown ground
leaving it to a computer to maintain the angel prostitutes;
receive gifts, the smoke is full of alchemy, and the fat,
cut off in the field, it is not for the robot to understand
the point of madness; they turn their strippers into many
broken to pieces, rain all through the south & the lowlands,
& the wind guns, the sails & the rich man, on Bob into the ******
of the dog, who is not the kiss on the stripper's lips of a tree
to scratch the muses about the winds, he who is putting it up
at the last time the spirit of it was a monster, holding them
in a small amount of the size of the heart to change the mirror
of a gypsy; Mark & Bettie & the Chinese sense of how much
the light of the angle of the wall of the city, to think of the buried
sand & fled to lay down the knowledge, has set out how
the Christians of the world who are so, he loved the angels,
from its smell in front of the cleanliness of heart, producing
an end to gun fire, Einstein's bag, & the fire would have been
liberated from the dance movement in defiance of the State
for abductions; invisible friends are gods, Christ in bed,
reading the news and listening to Mary's magic posts,
was Jesus when he was asked about the standing enlarged
cheated death by a third just to the right of her daughter's wall;
Top simply talking ardent fell power to meet **** & Satan
forever unknown land is one of the PC of the angels to play
the harlot they are given and that the smoke of the alchemy,
the fat to cut off the fields did not produce the robot to
understand the point of madness they turn their stripper
in many broken to pieces, the rain & of the south,
the plains of the wind, the torments of the sails of
the rich man Bob in the sheath of a dog, who is not
the kiss of strippers is of a tree with the fingers of
the Muses of the winds, who laid down the wall of
the city to be; invisible friends are gods, Christ in bed,
reading the news and listening to Mary's magic posts
was Jesus when he was asked about the standing enlarged
by death through a third just to the right of her daughter
walls; Top simply talking ardent fell power to meet ****
& Satan for ever unknown to the soil from the PC
by the angels, there shall be no such fornication,
that these are from the smoke that is made in the alchemy
& the fat, that he may destroy out of the land of the fields
are not producing out of it the robot to understand the point
of madness they turn their stripper in many broken to pieces,
and storms of the south, the plains of the winds of the torments
of the sails of the rich man Bob into the sheath:
with the Muses, who has not denied the strippers is a tree
of a dog & put it on the wall of his fingers into his invisible
friends who are gods; Christ in bed, reading the news &
listening to Mary's magic posts of Jesus when he was asked
about the standing greatly enlarged, of a third just to the right
of her daughter's wall; Top simply talking ardent fell power
to meet Dick's century Satan and angels; Bob is rich
in its sails quickly with the Muses & denied the tree
strippers from the dog, put it on the wall with his fingers
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
I come to learn and respect at the same time that old boyfriends are kind of like your bad habits your mom and dad always told you to stop doing. Like Angelina, don't bite your nails: or Angelina, take your feet off the table, except the old boyfriend is like the habits we keep going back to. Why? Im questioning the same thing. Wish mom would have said "angelina' get your boyfriend out of the bed. Like all the other enlarged habits that come to mind:
But mom or dad never spoke that way. Being old fashioned Mexicali revolutionaries. They just let the happening go on as it was. Wish they would have kicked him out! Though a beautiful daughter came from such a mistake. It's only my daughter, who makes life a daily effort to continue.I love my little ballerina.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Celia looked at her reflection
In the back of the spoon;
Her face was blown outward
As if captured on some balloon.
It almost made her laugh;
The memory of it;
How she and her sister Sassy
Would do that as kids,
Before the dark days,
Before her death in a bath.
That drowning, that sad death.
Sassy’s husband had beaten her
Black and blue and green
And she’d hide herself away
So as not to be seen.
But she’d seen her,
Seen the bruises
Like smudged tattoos,
The closed eyes,
The swollen lips,
The hardly able to talk words
Pushing through the mouth
To say: he says he loves me still.
Celia stared at her reflection,
The way her own mouth was distorted,
Her lips blown up, her eyes enlarged,
Out of proportion.
She almost laughed,
But something about Sassy’s sad death
Made her stifle any guffaw
That may have broken free
From her distorted reflected jaw.
There was the time she’d seen her
********** for bed when she stayed
Because Sassy’s husband (the weird freak)
Was off on business, some big deal,
Needing to be pulled off,
And she saw the black and blueness
With tinges of green
Along her naked flesh,
The buttocks welted
Where he had belted.
Sassy had said nothing,
Had not noticed Celia looking,
Had not thought it unusual
To be unclothed as such
Away from other’s peering eyes.
Now Sassy was dead;
Found in the bath;
Drugged out, wrists slit,
Having drowned recorded.
But he had driven her over the edge;
He had bullied and beaten
Like some spoilt cruel child
An unwanted toy.
Celia turned the spoon over
And put it down.
No more desire to laugh,
Just fond memories of Sassy
Before her death in the bath.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 2:04 AM UTC
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater being wooed of time,
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present’st a pure unstainèd prime.
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days,
Either not assailed, or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged.
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
2.6k
1.Emotional obesity
Her enlarged ego, she proudly wore
as if it was an impregnable armor
what an observer could see was
an emotionally obese siren on the prowl.
her mate too was thoroughly
compatible to her,
when they danced, two enlarged
egos rubbed in a way really wrong.
2.Ego trouble
Every ego is different in shape, size and measure
but in essence all egos are capable of making troubles.
3.Killing ego
Killing ego isn't about blood and gore, it's good riddance,
that's the way to make light go euphoric, proliferate.
4.Ego goes in to a bag
Every individual ego soon finds on its own,
an equally capacious ego bag to carry it around.
5.System breaker
When an ego problem seeps in to a system,
it'd establish it's nuisance value; helps to easily sell it.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
AN ATTACK ON BARBERCRAFT
[Dedicated to George Cecil Jones]
At last an end of all I hoped and feared!
Muttered the hermit through his elfin beard.
Then what art thou? the evil whisper whirred.
I doubt me soerly if the hermit heard.
To all God's questions never a word he said,
But simply shook his venerable head.
God sent all plagues; he laughed and heeded not,
Till people certified him insane.
But somehow all his fellow-luntaics
Began to imitate his silly ticks.
And stranger still, their prospects so enlarged
That one by one the patients were discharged.
God asked him by what right he interfered;
He only laughed and into his elfin beard.
When God revealed Himself to mortal prayer
He gave a fatal opening to Voltaire.
Our Hermi had dispensed with Sinai's thunder,
But on the other hand he made no blunder;
He knew ( no doubt) that any axiom
Would furnish bricks to build some Donkeydom.
But!-all who urged that hermit to confess
Caught the infection of his happiness.
I would it were my fate to dree his weird;
I think that I will grow an elfin beard.
2.3k
The corner of the table in the garden,
it has been given to an upright man;
Einstein's town heated lion dance lights leather soccer,
Peter Daniel was enough to bring soil to face toward
the early women like a fur coat, the abstract
is contained in the embrace of the shadows of prostitutes;
fame went out concerning the impact of the fire
was seen at, as much as for the other party;
thou hast given to look to the waves to move out
of another man's; Seemed to be in Latin and known
as the state, and how it takes to read a new, hot sweat-BRAINED,
I am standing in the midst of the country,
where there is truth in these people dwelt; that,
either through the skin he was taken away;
a teenager in the garments of the goddess
is to start near the ulcer in the knees & in the return
of his book on the state of beatitude, football is right
for the chief men of the city; CIA,
dying, leave there a part of the lady in width,
pure, thin, Oh, the prince of the valley,
the shame of the course; in the middle
of the night I will take away the barriers
of the mind contrary to the spirit of the place
of the held tongue, enlarged by the Asian shore
of the clear deep knowledge impedes
to all these investors have already thirty-eve
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
(Hebrews, iv.2)
Israel in ancient days
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which thy saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,
Whose blood of matchless worth
Whould be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of His own.
The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our surety seem'd to say,
"Behold, I bear your sins away."
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of Thy grace,
The same in every age!
Oh, grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!
2.2k
The deceased was seventeen years old-
An enlarged heart, the coroner claims.
A basketball player on the court.
his team trailing in the game.
Their perfect season was at risk
when he shot and made a “Three”
He then collapsed upon the court
midst shouts of victory.
Hearts are unromantic things
That race and slow by turns.
They simply pump
While we run and jump
And prance about life’s stage.
We take for granted our own hearts
As we wander through our days.
Our faithful friend who never sleeps
So we can laugh and play
And when hearts fail we feel the pain
Of songs now left unsung.
That’s why we’re haunted by the tales
of Athletes dying young.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
1515
The Things that never can come back, are several—
Childhood—some forms of Hope—the Dead—
Though Joys—like Men—may sometimes make a Journey—
And still abide—
We do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor,
Their Routes are fair—
But think enlarged of all that they will tell us
Returning here—
“Here!” There are typic “Heres”—
Foretold Locations—
The Spirit does not stand—
Himself—at whatsoever Fathom
His Native Land—
2.1k
885
Our little Kinsmen—after Rain
In plenty may be seen,
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.
A needless life, it seemed to me
Until a little Bird
As to a Hospitality
Advanced and breakfasted.
As I of He, so God of Me
I pondered, may have judged,
And left the little Angle Worm
With Modesties enlarged.
2.1k
Freely accepted, constraints that bind
The senses can free the mind.
And so I knelt before her latitude.
Her choker became the horizon,
The light from her eyes a silent beatitude.
“What do you feel?” asked the voice of the wind.
I tried to answer, lips rapt and spellbound,
Eyes questing, but made no sound.
Enlarged by desire, encircled by pain,
I felt the fire and the rain.
I watched the walls of the room
Dissolve into clouds
As a crack in the sky beckoned,
Opening wide.
I was pulled upward into a swelling storm
And watched all around as I climbed
A mirror world form,
Like the universe rhymed.
Then calm. I found myself at a steely gate.
A sign read “The Labyrinth of Language.”
The path began straight
Then forked into uncountable branches.
Words took shape and tried to dance
But hung
Captive on my soundless tongue.
They have remained there ever since.
Free them, goddess,
Let these words find flight.
Take them from the shadow of my tongue.
Release them into your luminous night.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
There are parts of me I've hidden
from long, long ago —
There are parts I have treasured
and let the world know.
There are parts I have shunned
what I didn't want to show,
And there are parts I've enlarged,
magnified in my dreams - my ego!
Some have danced on the pages of journals,
some I have lived out, so —
Those that don't serve, I've exiled
to antipathy's limbo.
Intellect will soldier on in the face
that only trauma knows —
But somehow, the playful one
charms and warms me aglow.
Remember, I urge,
there's more in me than I know!
Don't be frightened.
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 11:16 PM UTC
*Bitter taste in my mouth
A metallic tangy taste
He shoved in his engorged enlarged shaft
as far as it'd go
He ***** & stole away my innocents
offering wine
I find this sacrilegious
more I guess like blasphemy
after all he is a Deacon
Preaching lies
more to me then our whole congregation
Sinners have to pay to get into heaven
Guess mines is my virginity
Age 10 going on 11
I'm now like *** the sacrificial wine***
I've been past round
Who'd want to go to heaven anyways
If this is the price to pay*
All I can remember is; Us surviving victim, get sour grapes
***I'm floating out of myself
as I think of them***
*I can see all that's happening
until I crash into myself
Back to my torturous reality
I wait until he pulls out
just enough to bite down hard
with all my strength........*
*Sour grapes like sour hearts,
but
So unlike sour hearts...
You can still make wine outta
Sour grapes*
Blood doesn't taste so sweet!
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N
1977-Present
All right reserved
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
Grimly smiling
At this leg of the race how'd you think I got it made
Done had me some power but never got paid
I volunteered my hours while being mentally slayed
Brain slashed so I lashed out by never sleeping though life always layed me out
Knocked down, ears ringing
Is this my calling?
To stand up taller, am I meant to be a crawler?
I'm not a zombie, I'm just hurt
That you'd think I can't escape the fate set on me, I don't live in hell but I feel burnt
I don't watch burnt movies on the disc though, wouldn't fit in at the disco
I stream em online, I want to get fit but I'm too busy waiting for the video to load
Then the **** thing lags, maybe it's a sign
To use my legs and get buffer
But I didn't brace myself to be cast in this role
Done capped my knees durability and out came my knee cap
Then people finally noticed that I was hurt, but it wasn't my limb they should've been concerned about
But I'm not here to pout, hell I'm getting help
I'm just here to say
When you're ready to give up
Life hits you even harder
To remind you that you're tougher than any doubt you've ever had
You can handle more than even a hurt body, brain, or mind
You ain't dead till you die
You ain't high till you fly
You ain't ahead until you try
It's a lot like rugby, even when the magic rug be out of reach
You can still be a-lad-in joy
There's something about dodging and taking hits that's enthralling
Chaos is beauty
If you don't just let it be but let yourself succeed
A little sweat and blood to get the lead
In the rain wet and loud, passions what I bleed
And obstacles are what my slightly enlarged heart pumps, what it beats
But sometimes I'm choking on led
My lungs are the weapon that gave me a shot, and onlookers say "You're rhymes have no pattern B, so the way you write things is awk, see?
How's this for an ox-c *****
I'm suffocating on oxygen
Asthma attack at nine months old didn't stop me, a close call they said
But more like a call received
Because looking back now I know my purpose
Is to breathe
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
eyes closed the city bus rocking you
to sleep like a baby boy
tho late afternoon sun
shines thru clear blue
ballads in my ears
i see yr heart and mine exposed
lilting and enlarged yet luminous
they pump us full
and it's not so
empty
or far away
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Native Agra,
Mi amour' I've not yet met,
For thou this soul is agnate to thy aura!!!
The garden of eve awaits me,
Makes me,
To seeketh thy own splendid marble's men call eyes!!!
From thine Lip's to thy mind,
Thou brama of time,
For today thou hast given me a smile...
As that I dont see often!!!!
Enwrap me in thy garden..
I promise I shalt not wander far,
For you've enlarged mine heart,
As our two spirit's I feel
Burning on wings!!!!
Mayeth I feel thy sting?
Native of douce...
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
It begins the same way it ends.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals,
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
These are my lights.
Gripping tightly to is base, holding it steady,
Peer through its open lense.
Record each and every moment.
This is my camera, so let it commence.
Take 1.
A mother wails as her baby rolls out.
Physicians stagger in, along with nurses.
NICU is now home to the baby girl who
Came 2 months before she was due.
02/01/1995 - the unforgettable date that
I changed my family’s lives.
Take 2.
Fast forward to when everyone else’s
Nightmare’s become my reality.
The thoughts took over my anatomy,
Constricting blood vessels in my brain
And with every heartbeat those enlarged
Vessels collided with my skull – throbbing.
A rainbow of pasty pills dissolved on my tongue,
Releasing their chemicals into my ocean-like blood stream.
Take 3.
Every waking day had not only become a
Physical struggle but in fact a psychological endeavor.
The thoughts hindered my perception of reality,
Just as cumulous clouds darken the suns light.
Back seat riding with my negativity leading
Me through a tunnel of self-destruction.
Take 4.
Addicted.
To the bottle, the drugs, and the razor blade.
Addicted.
The dullness of the liquor,
The euphoric journey the drugs took me on and,
The intoxicating aroma the blood gave off
As it poured down my wrist
Shaped my addictions to that of self-annihilation.
Those were my Actions.
It ends the same way it began.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
Now this is the end.
If my life was a Motion Picture;
I would go back and film it again,
But this time validating true happiness.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
*Glass missions shut down
Window panes panged by enlarged stones
Thrown away Creep away*
**The last feeling I will ever have
The last movement I will ever take
The last time I close my eyes**
The last breath will be my dying respire
*The last time I hold you in my arms
The last movement in the wrong direction
The last feeling that will ever be taken*
**The last course of action is to be broken
The last amendment to testify
The last strike I take will be my end
The last bout will place me on a cold ****** slab
The last words I utter under my gasp of air**
The last time I look onward over the land of mishap
*The last words I write for all to recite
The last bout with anyone will be taken at nightfall
The last strike I set forth with, I will go away quietly
The last amendment read at my funeral
The last course I set out upon*
**The last eye opener will be a tear jerker
The last recourse of time will be split into many pieces
The last steps I take will be down an avenue of misguided youth
The last judgment will be passed, declaring my insanity
The last pardon from anyone given to my every whim**
The last given right will strike me in a peculiar way
*The last pardon from any courtship round table
The last judgment will over rule my pride and prejudice
The last steps I take will be my first steps rerouted
The last recourse spread upon the land that holds me dear
The last eye opener will be shutting the light onto this empty life*
**The last time I throw stones at glass palaces to see if it will shatter
The last shattering moment was my first mistake unlearnt from
The last time I go off the deep end without a life jacket**
*Never tread the waters alone
Understand you are never alone
Trust those who fill your heart
Believe in you came into this alone, no reason to go out on your own*
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 6:26 AM UTC
These hands...
Cast of clay.
Had basked in the sun.
Deepened lines marked their faces
and enlarged cracks marred their backs.
Rough and matured.
They spoke the language of old
and hid the ancient ruins of the past.
Held together.
Side by side,
they clenched the fantastical ideals of today.
However,
uncertain and pulled apart...
The future just falls away - a ghost.
A mirage that eludes grasp and capture.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC