"enunciates" poems
Mother bear in a waterfall
With bigger thoughts than blonde harlots
Eating porridge,
Fallen starlets with outer space in their hair.
Just you wait;
I'll be the happiest little sonofabitch
You've ever seen.
Some small consolation, if any.
That weekend we spent with our
Necks perpendicular to our spines,
Of course I still remember the films we watched.
I condition my hair with split infinitives
And live off the poisoned dew that settles
Every morning in my closet.
Turn your little black dress inside-out,
I've got this magic idea for a recipe
But we're going to need some ants
And that crazy Harryhausen dream you've got up in your attic.
Ten or twelve little blond kids up
On the cliff, each ten or twelve years old
And dancing with a flame-Buddha called "Home".
Let's spend this week underwater,
I'd much rather give up my weight and my due
If it ensured me any small hour
With you. Oh, god how I love you anymore.
I may have told you this a while ago,
But did you know the first Pledge of Allegiance
Put us some good height above God?
Sometimes I find the sugar in my gas tank
Makes for a rough start in the morning,
Not that I particularly want to go anywhere,
But it's what I've thought that counts.
He's a bit upset that I skipped movie last night:
But I can't play horizontal baseball
With my violent, violent imaginary friend.
The Rubik's cube beats deep in my chest
Without a hand to cheat and rearrange the stickers.
Claude enunciates something queer into my ear
And turns off the lamp with a snap.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:19 AM UTC
Fingers do a resolute tap, tap
on leather sofa arm.
Eyes shift upwards as
she enunciates each word
“I should have screamed
more.”
No longer does she live
like furniture
in a summer home,
hidden and covered
except when needed.
Newborn screams pierce
her coverings
and erupt, signaling
an end to her pretense.
Weary of repairing
other’s battered armor,
she hammers out
her own dents.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
God made the country,
Unbeknowst to hope are we all as
Great oaks from little acorns grow;
So many countries gilt,
So many cultures, alack
unblemished feathers of eternal service
Scabbard in sheaths quilling Gods glossary
And man made the town, pilgrimiges and suffrages;
A foredoomed geniture of the Evil Ones chaology
Hewn to bell the cat.
The worst of Heavens vengeful justice is not
Always rightous as in faithfullnesses eschewal.
The Heirophants pen a tolling knell
Without any hope; least said
Heaven twice, soon mended-
As words in mode of passion are
Material manifestations and
Manners make the man whilst the
Hand that rocks the cradle cannot
Put brains into statues; but,
Yet, rule the bilge when the
Angels doxology enunciates war on
The world as the Devil espies all
And God ensconces but the few!
ELEETE J MUIR
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
The recognition was incomprehensible and I thought of my face in the mirror
the look and the sight of the white line cigarette pinched narrow and thoughtfully between his very first finger and his thumb. It was the pose of vocabulary. An expression of the understanding of words and the pauses that build them. A sigh for the sighs that frame them. He was an only. You don't look and forget.
I lean over throw my shoulders right in front of you towards the far corner of the room. A deep breath and my skin fills my dress. This is the physical of release, and the fabric falls. You fall into the light laid out on the floor your face follows up to me while it turns into a question. Adhere to vertices and hide the lift of your lash.
You want to know which way I'm going you mean by that which line of verse enunciates me next. I understand but you don't. In tiny things we find enough to let go. To demolish wholes, flood systems, blink. In tiny things we are commanded to go on. You’d known, but I - I had not yet walked home of solitude since we had spoken to each other without interrupting with another.
Open your Bible to show the empty room static that with more knowledge comes more sorrow you are very sad. You’re on the cross of tired and hungry because man does not live on bread alone and can we ever be sure of what God meant by that - especially when he conceived of distance. When you read the red letters give your eyes to the sky and keep a hand on either side of my face.
Deep underneath my eyes I think of you (I think you see me thinking you) and see you trying to write into crossing paths with poetry itself, specifically, the ****** embodiment when your words expand beyond yourself and with a turn envelop to evoke another. I open my mouth slightly, shut it and lift a hand to you to say: it walks in with it's own grace, beyond force. wait, love Everything, you try to create into it is only taking - only sit and wait. Until you stop taking, nothing. but you had known, the wait, I had not yet not known
the pause was helpless but the silence was becoming. There was no choice, we kept going
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 9:12 PM UTC
In the dying heat of a Spanish September
Wrought iron gates guard the bar's flagged patio.
Plastic flowers defy the night and sit up stiffly in their baskets on the concrete wall.
No horses tethered here among the motor scooters.
Inside
An imposing counter guards the rooms beyond.
As brightly lit as a dental surgery and amply served by whirling ceiling fans.
The chiselled features of Native American Braves look down from the faded paintings that line magnolia walls,
Their steely gaze perplexed.
No pale faces here among the white man,
Just white hair
Or burnished copper shimmering like the painted desert.
Here the white woman wears the war paint.
Piped music circa 1960 jingles just Out of earshot
And a queue for bingo forms as a quiz is finishing.
Everyone has cheated,
Mouthing answers with a mixture of pride and cameraderie
Not too much of either,
Tepid
Luke warm
Like the night outside.
'Two little Ducks'.
No answering claim
'Old Ireland;17'
'No 3. Gone for a pee.'
'House!'
Then silence.
The plain matron reading out the numbers enunciates carefully into her microphone,
'And the next house is for the jackpot.'
Silence.
The queue slowly forms again. Banal lyrics from the teenage tunes fill in the gaps in stilted conversation
Long dead warriors watch, bewildered
And the night wears on.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
The power of a human being, the thought is beyond many experiences I believe that every human soul is at any time capable of anything but what catches some ones eye wether a male or female; there is a passionate love that enunciates from one person it's natural , pure beauty of non violent words but sweet and just right someone who adores your lips because of how you rephrase your words or how eloquently you may speak to others , appreciate it all, be kind, sweet but stand your ground on what you believe in just as much as the other
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
The eloquence of something obtainable
when all you have is this dissociated, distorted reality
where you can't even see past your fingertips
He enters in
Makes you open your eyes
appreciate the freckles on your knuckles
The way your thighs feel
wrapped tightly around his waist
Enunciates how perfect it is to just be not make excuses or apologize
He slows the time
holds you down,
lifts you out
Let's you fall
Stopping when you start to drown.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
There's something so eloquent
About the first time
You hear a song
You focus
You listen
To every word
Your mind does not falter
You remain attentive
Throughout
A duration
Up to 4 minutes perhaps
240 seconds
And you remain still
Soaking in every word she sings
Every chorus
You concentrate on
You reflect on each line
Every pronunciation
Of each word
You feel her pain
You surrender to the hurt
Inside your heart
And you allow her to tend
To your wounds that
You tried to weave back
Her graceful words
Tear open your sore wound
She snips apart those perfect stitches
That took you so long to weave into your tender skin...
And you open your soul to her words
Her words embrace your heart
And you allow yourself to delve into the forgotten pain
That allows itself to reminisce
In your heart
You think of every word he uttered
Every possible thing that ever made you smile...
And then you embrace the pain...
'Now, baby, how can I forget your love?'
Every word
She enunciates
Is so profound
As she leaves
Her lyrics
Braded around your heart
Carefully sketched as part of your soul
And you remember
That first time
You allowed her
Musical breeze
To touch your wounds...
Every word.
Every musical sound.
A mantra left within.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC