"enwombed" poems
Marooned land-locked
on island earth
Born with an orphan’s
unknowable ache
Born with an empath heart
– always feeling too much –
mystic receptors wide awake
in a highly sensitive soul
It’s as if I've walked along
forever alone,
one step at a time,
lost in a restless nebula
from the earth to the moon
Consciously dreaming
to steal away,
bearing the weight of the sky,
upwards over the mountain,
away from these chains
that bind
The maelstroms echo
behind silenced, probing eyes
with an unsated thirst
to be wanted
dead or otherwise:
Never understanding
the reasons why,
spinning around in my head;
where "once upon a time"
was hidden,
buried alive
A lifetime spent trying
to unlearn the things
I wish I’d never
sought to know,
clinging to the love
I've touched in my life
evermore enwombed
in my heart
Passing milestones:
walking another barefoot mile
passing so many locked doors
without keyholes
– way outside the lines –
Choking on all
the latent words
lay fallow,
left unsaid
Always looking for
something dreamt
but seldom manifest
Growing so tired and weary
with no one standing by my side;
no one to lay down beside me
to take a rest for awhile
Just another chapter
in a timeless same old story;
another dark star
burned – out
– vanished –
into the utter obscurity
of a sky so close and yet
so far away...
Jesse Stillwater ... August 22, 2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
The zephyrs run rampant from the heavy
clouds, one that the balcony Beauty fully
embraces.
Clad in her yearning garments, a dress of
snow silk-satin with a thigh- high slit and
a frilled silk-hem.
Whose arms are raised towards
Winter's melody-
The zephyr's caress ever so gentle,
her dress flutters like a dove's wing in delight,
stroking her slim feet,
her flushing heels-
It makes briefly escaping being enwombed
by the shades of her room; the anti-chamber
of her heart's greatest desire,
where many tears are shed.
a maid born of the mild moon-
Kourê.
The Sun at its zenith pales in comparison to
her beauty.
Her face, sonnet sweet-
Her voice, heaven's hymn-
Her lashes, argent's flutter-
Her eyes, cerulean haunts-
Her body, fragrant; a slender willow-
Her hair, silver-aurorian blaze, held up
by a star-studded parrot's clip.
Snow bejewels her divine lids, down to those
rosette buds that make her lips.
Despite it all, melancholy has a grip her
features-
She is one who pays little to earthly riches,
for it provides comfort in slivers
Thoughts of flowers rest far from the altars
of her mind, for her mind is clouded by
the thoughts of him-
He who she hopes to see and hold once more.
As he gave her word that he would return
from his journey, leaving her in the palace;
his hand pulling the black gates.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
The underbelly of my ego;
limpid, wrinkled carpet
of scars, petty thoughts,
and fearful self-machination.
Cold as a mottled monologue;
Selfish and maudlin
as a sneaky sot,
stealing affection from strangers.
It lurks in the alley of mind;
sinuous and grim
with cynical ire,
waiting to devour my dreams.
Approaching Creativity;
sweet progenitor of
color, light, and lift,
it pounces with dull, fiery claw.
Dripping venom and phantasm;
slayer of fairy tales
barely enwombed,
heartless Avatar of failure.
This then is my secret battle;
to slay and triumph
and win clear the way,
so the children of my light survive.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
I Sleep ;
I Slip
In Doze, I Seep out into the Scenes ;
In Potions Deep
In Notions Cold and Preasuring
I Fit and Knit my Crown
I Coral
I Knot and Concrete a Frown
But though I Invite my Efforts
My Thoughting is Leaks and Tearing *
Over Whale but Underwater
I Recover Nothing Reassuring
Slowing to a Pale
In Ocean Cold
My Feedings are Slurring to a Drown
My Motions ; Enwombed and Collected
An Unfoetal, my Body Undertakes a Vulnerable Mould
Above
The Surface
The Ship Blinks, on Fire
And Gifts from the Broken Hold Sink to me
It's all a Wink Directed at me
A Humour
But I am become Prepared Still
For the Next Life
I Discard, Decending Still
A Treat Sunk Below
A Monsterous Breakfast
*note : as in, secreting saline, watery fluid
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
.
life lives with or without you ,..
*but what will become of
the unwritten psalms ,..
when the darkness will not sleep (?)!
that like the murmur in the shell,
its echo dwelleth and will dwell*
***like a black swan of loneliness
enwombed in a whiter shade of pale***
wilder blows the dark wind
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
Prickly morning sun strings up
the hair on her arms as she gazes,
watching the waves bobble and weave and listening
to their dead seashells and shellfish;
ricketing and momentarily floating.
For a moment, her heart is the ocean.
Always beating and providing life without
knowing why. She sighs and begins to forget she is lost--
The synthetic shores of everyday life at her backfoot,
the burning sand ridden with childhood memories.
She slowly allows it to dissapear
and recaptures a piece of her self
in return;
Belonging to this ocean as much she does the sky it reflects.
Calling, lamenting her name without a word, the ocean
lullabies her soothing sighs, falling rythmatically now--
Raindrops disinter the clouds and tickle the rythm
of her pulse. Soft, soft backing instrument to her final
calling. There is no need to look around again;
There is no guard in sight. The prickly sunshine fades
To ruthless cold air and she walks forward, mouth agape
and ready
For the ocean to swallow her and recapture her, entombed,
enwombed forever more.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 1:58 AM UTC
my spine grows further and further
up my neck it releases seeds of thought
upblooming in my very heavy head
weeds and flowers alike it drops
enwombed in my crescent head
the weeds grow right
the flowers grow left
each soil my mind with beauty and reason
the flowers they speak
of creating and love all other things ascetic
the weeds teach me logic, numbers, and phrases
they warn me of anything poetic
I am inclined to deny my bias for either
For such a balance they create
But as of late I am pruning my mind with deft
And find that I am of Ehud’s left.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
I’ll have every female ****** up with just my smile of my teeth
Till I’m eating you out with all of my welfare smile that I scored from EBT
I’ll have every female ****** up till enwombed married, then give all of you wrinkles
Like just sellin all my cd covers like we’re to marry at kinkos
I’ll have every female see that I’ve made it at battle heights
Till I’m searching through all of your phones for more women like I owned every satellite
I’ll have you overeating food like my soul was in marriage desperation
Have you thinkin wedding like every pound of my *** in ************
I’ll have every female ****** up collecting poetry like Irish things
To have you scared while I’m swinging my fist at your belly to all of you when pregnant when I’m smelling like Irish spring
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
Long for
Sweet chambers
Of this Palace
Water of violet of
its fountains
Flowed in peace
down its walls
Marble down its
chill halls
Moon glowed
Mirrored
No drought in its
Nocturnal embrace
And satin enwombed
Us
Into a sweet tomb
Brought
What ever & who ever
When bells call
Into its satin womb
Sweetly
We fall
Back
I am capable of doing
Impossible things
Inside of my crimson chamber
You know
As I travel
The marks on skin glow
& Songs have no shape
Songs have no shape
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 5:22 PM UTC
getting Lit with my Wives Overtaken every **** Life as if The Body was created of the Infinite of all beginnings light was body as rolled up to smoke of every cigarette to smoked to “sorrow” of this pride Ends to end;
Ashes to Ashes of every Ideals of every fantasy as if every magnitude of the body of time of space Murdered In Infancy in actuality had never happened that ends pretend;
Of every youth consumed of every mind every time had been lost is why of pain to actually Lived in Ideal fantasy been again;
To every pain in every moment of the Real: Enwombed; had every meeting Mends Amends,
The Infinite-Down Enters Presence-Existence of Every Woman Exit the wounds of Pain begins every man of Man rendered life as “let intent”;
Then again against all motions of all Universals of Time and Space as proof of being “Men-again”
What is this cycle of rather amends of Ends to what actuality pretends is proof of pain as life pretends death in “when”.
Such speech, Such Existence, of such Inferiority Limitations of what such: Being that life Enlivens Of What Omega…
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC