"explorations" poems
**1.Language
Dissolved in a kiss
their eyes created
a new language.
2.Symbol
there was an eloquent
black mole
under her lower lip
3.Silence
The unruly crowd
fell silent
in her profound presence
4.Delusion
Her lover, an anthropologist,
suspected her as a new species!
5.Take bath now, not for cleanliness
Her bathing him wasn't
about cleanliness;
amorous explorations aren't.**
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
The sounding alarm starts the frenzy
I hurry myself to shower and dress
Slowing just for a moment
To strategically place fragrant surprises
For later explorations.
Accelerating with all urgency
I weave through the blockade of traffic
Risking it all to preserve
Each second, each minute, every moment of time
For my waiting infatuation
Flushes of excitement consume me
As I near my destination
I am overwhelmed with pulsating urges
As I search for a way to impress you
Show advanced appreciation
Welcomed with a sensual eagerness
Each of us knowing and wanting
I ask "Can I play you a tune?"
A Love song plays to a faintness
As you bring me to satisfaction
Then,
Ascending to kiss me softly
You wish me a good day at work.
Wiping excess from your chin
You smile and say "See you tomorrow."
© Tina Thompson
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
For so many reasons;
When the wow creativity
Of the young, new baby poets,
Bursts all over me,
Making me question
My egotistical perception,
Not a slap, but a belly laugh!
At the old fool, who once thought
Ever so secondary briefly, momentarily,
Unofficially, of his own esteemed self-worth,
Only to be reminded, deaf~dumb & blind~sided
By the fresh air, the aggravating sight of new insight
The delicious!delight of reading the whole of all night
The explorations, the baby hallucinations, the trembling,
Insights of the explorers of the old, not re!newed, but, but.
Made anew, re~viewed with perspectives boldly unknown,
With crazy wisdom to expound, here, you! right here, right now,
I leave you and return to delight, taste, new extra languages, that
I must
learn not to speak
but to peak, even to
Cry, Laugh even Smile
In all my new native tongues
Friday, July 18
5:39 AM,
2025
In the sunroom
Dictated in one fell swoop, not a moment to lose, dispatched while
Still laughing at myself...
Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 6:03 AM UTC
Island,a piece of land surrounded by water,
So are we when you actually sit and ponder.
Water is what surrounds that piece of land,
And thoughts are what surround us, vast expands.
Exotic, tropical and beautiful expanses they treasure,
Much like the beauty within us beyond measure.
Some discovered and mapped and yet others still untouched,
We too expose ourselves and some still remain in 'emselves clutched.
Surrounded by a tropical beach some are and others in a dense gloomy fog,
We put up so many appearances, all assumptions and views to clog.
A threat an outsider may pose to the paradise they hold within,
Laying a foundation of trust is what's required before explorations begin.
Every island is unique and beautiful in itself,
Every person is a limited edition model on life's shelf.
An opportunity to experience such beauty needs to be met with gratitude and respect,
Grateful one should be to experience such beauty and not heartlessly deject.
For an island once deemed ugly will set up a fortress of its own,
People will crawl into their shells never letting anyone in their private zone
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
*This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******
How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.
But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.
What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.
For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.
How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******** Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.
But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.
'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
*(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.
It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.
O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
***a morning conversation
with surprising anecdotes
of unique explorations..
reported confrontations
by science practitioners'
sudden dates with death..
now authoring testimonies
of their dimensional truth..
much comfort growing
from ample recordings of
bright tunnel experience..
let us now inquire
are these flashing NDE's
consciousness leaps..?
might they point
to death's vital role..
at last finding
real self-awareness..
life in this moment..?
asking then..
is not each breath
our moment experience
of near death...?***
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Embedded in ancient myths, each moment
of life one lives is out and out mysterious .
In the firmament at night, every star
that is winking at you is a memory
refracted to interstellar depths by
laden layers of light years.
Swimming in this lake of kaleidoscopic dreams
I encounter fish with every countenance,
imaginable; wishes all, from lives past, far and near,
some even aberrations from future
Sometimes during such
underwater explorations,
I see myself flying above
numerous planets,
dressed in transparent
dark nights or moonbeams
spun from wishful dreams.
In one of those trips
to the present,defying laws,
I see you, sitting there
frozen in time,
like a work chiseled in alabaster
all smiles,among your deer friends
all lovely does!
In a flash, magic carpet of time flies back
I remember you, our encounter unforgettable!
The wily tiger, in the guise of a lover, you
were getting closer to the deer, pure at heart
so naive to the guiles of the forest.
As you were about to spring at her
Your eyes, met her steady tranquil gaze,
that spoke of love and compassion, infinite.
Remember,you froze, as if by a spell,
struck by the force of nonviolence.
You are still there, even after avalanches
of million dense memories,
a tiger, all killer instincts frozen,
still trusted among the deer, your dear ones.
Now I can see your eyes zooming around
for the mystery to be revealed;
meeting that ancient deer again, for final resolution.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 1:34 PM UTC
You're a solar system,
and I'm a rogue cosmonaut who
(having fallen in love with you through a telescope)
has built a ship from the salvage
of lesser explorations;
now I spend my days
(or nights— hard to tell)
looking at you, chin in hand,
waiting for a place to land.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 8:17 AM UTC
The moon's whispers reach my heart's ears and I believe in God.
It is "blind faith",
but faith nonetheless.
I sense you moving closer, but I do not want this.
Too close, too near, for comfort, with fear.
I am fearful.
Worried eyes and misplaced feet gather around me.
Then I wake up.
No one is here.
Even the moon has left me.
My eyes tear up and I pray.
I get no response.
I am blind, but not deaf.
What's going on?
Have they been right about you all along?
No, not necessarily.
I am tired, so tired.
I must rest.
Tell me the rest.
Tell me anything.
Talk to me.
I am not deaf.
I can hear you talking to everyone else,
in the background of my life,
but you do not talk to me.
I am alone.
A lonely wolf.
I am a man.
The alpha of a one-man wolf pack.
I do not pack,
I do not bind,
I do not pass,
I do not find,
joy in living anymore.
Life is no longer an adventure,
for me.
I wish to quit these explorations and begin a new kind of journey.
A transition.
I need to stop expressing myself with such emotions.
I must dismiss my feelings.
Push them down, down, down.
I'm falling down, down, down.
I am awake.
I do not wish to sleep.
I wish to intoxicate myself.
Poison my blood stream.
Poison my soul.
I miss that intimacy.
I crave that intimacy now, but I do not crave her touch.
I may crave her lips, but I crave his too.
I just crave touch.
I crave attention.
How come no one ever pays attention,
to me?
I am not surprised, taken-aback or speechless...
Just voiceless, apparently.
Oh, and blind.
Thank you for the disrespect,
thank you for the neglect,
thank you mum and dad for letting me know what to expect...
Nothing.
No one.
I am so lonely.
Blind and lonely.
"You will be happy soon," I tell myself,
in an attempt at reassurance,
but when He gives me the power to see...
The miracle of the restoration of vision...
The oppressors will still not obtain the power to listen.
So, I will never be heard.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
I am a knock on your door
You open up and I sneak in
Ill put your life on the market
Snarky teenagers to target a holiday demographic before fully developed concepts begin
Your backpack and notepads house your sins
A man that's tall and gets caught in the calls of women to distract from the purpose of ink pens
You're too ***** to be great
A ****** is a dead end
And a vortex for survivals' fate
Explorations of vanities' intellectual alternative gate
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
a family album
perhaps especially
or happenstance discovery..
breathless vistas
seashore places
evening laughter gatherings
stark recognitions not
mistaken..
precision abiding..
and then
sudden emergences from
nowhere..
habitual viewing torn
prompting new explorations
awakening patterns unseen..
iceberg revelations
now realizing our settling
assumptions
deceptions and unexpected
origins..
other slices
parabolic mysteries
left and right..
perfect picture now..?
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 3:25 PM UTC
The demon fly hath landed now intent upon it's task
**** Demon in its valedictory explorations grasp.
Embedded deep in kidneys, to cause me some concern.
A painful path to endgame and a Hellish lesson learned.
I pause a moment, think it out, it's one way or the other
I lost a mate the other day and last month, lost another.
Seems it is the season for the cataclysmic time
I'd rather it be elsewhere but I fear this one... is mine.
I've run a rough and winding track these rugged years of yore
Pulled the Dragons tail in jest and sought, yet, for more.
Rafted mighty rivers and flew the heavens high
And lifted my perception winging vaulting, clear blue sky.
I've known the velvet touch of love, the softness of her lips
The crash of waves on sandy shore caressing fingertips.
The swelling joy of childbirth, the pledge of mothers milk
And rock like bonds of marriage binding all within its ilk.
With thoughts a million miles away I've trudged this country lane
Pondered why, with voids approach, it engenders me no pain?
Wondering why it matters that the children shed a tear
When saddened, glancing passing eyes, are never really near.
Regret I'll never get to see my grove of rhodos bloom
Or sip the soothing whisky as I tap my toe in tune.
Or launch into the crazy surf and splash out to the rock
Nor lie in sun on baking sand admiring talent flock.
Meat pies with sauce at football with a cold beer in the hand
And the repartee with kindred minds in poetry unplanned,
That flash of inspirations' alliteration sprung
Brings the joy to mind of comradeship in Shakespeare's realm, unsung.
.....And then there's all that's left undone, the words, now, left unsaid
The notes of tragic violin hang in the air...unbled
And you there with the swimming eyes, what do I say to you?
It's all been grand, I kiss your hand....Adieu , my friend.... Adieu!
M.
Foxglove, Taranaki
New Zealand
20 October 2020
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC
Energy radiates and traces my body with celestial tones
I am more alive than I’ve ever been
when surrendering to awe and wonder
the same way my younger self fearlessly did
something about that glimmer hasn’t left yet, may never leave
memories still have flavors to me
mornings with a lake of flakes in my bowl
or years and years later when a fried hangover cure restores me
each month and its esculent flashbacks are a part of me
a cell in the skin
a beaten feather in the wing
something about the glimmer hasn’t left yet
the Earth is still new
and discoveries never expire:
new scenery
new explorations
new chronicles in the cinema
new kindred spirits
new waves of audio
new therapeutic solitudes
all balancing out the
new captivities
new mistakes
new mediocrity
new unhealthy solitudes
and more
until the body is a home base of homeostasis
commensalism at its finest
but something about the glimmer hasn’t left yet, may never leave
I outgrew shadows who doubted their expiration dates
I don’t rubricate the sky in a rage
anymore
don’t let the heartbreak pause a pulse
anymore
don’t let misanthropy obscure who I see
anymore
don’t let uncertainty’s web catch me in a paralysis
anymore
or at least I try
something tells me I’ll never “age out”
of my hunger to live fully
I know deep down you're similar
your craving will not fade into cinders
oh what a feelin!
To be trippin on nostalgia.
Dec 29, 2022
Dec 29, 2022 at 2:17 PM UTC
There is a certain devil in my eyes
a twinkling trickster who despises
all pomp and proper posers who lie
to gain the affection of the less informed.
There is a puckish knave who raves
to undue the chains of those enslaved
by creative play and poetry
by active explorations of prose and nobility.
I know such endeavors are things of futility
for if they knew my form of Anansi
silk spinning spider
or my formidable four legged figure of coyote
who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,
I am certain they would try to lightning fry me.
Instead, I buy some time masking my mind
tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes
with mythic folk and fairytales to educate
my elves who have lost
their pointed ears and no longer hear
the sound of nature’s truth
concealed in their very flesh.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
I would love myself
if I didn't find myself so inadequate
I would teach myself
teach myself to be more casual
the diamond in the rough
is the youth who had to tough it up
mixed with the blood
of drinks on explorations
explorations done twice,
the diamond is the horse,
the horse that runs fast and far
the man-child passed out on the bar
time is a *****
time is my boring ***
filled fantasies,
the diamond in the rough
give me grace,
or give em death
hold it to me,
or let me take my last breath
I would love myself,
if I was so casual
I would love myself,
if I didn't breathe dirt
I miss words
I miss words that
I miss words that were
I miss words that were censored
I miss words that were censored by myself
You're a stone,
I'm alone
what's the difference,
the circumference,
of my pride
(in a life like this,
nothing is worth a ****
I would love myself
if I didn't find myself so inadequate
I would teach myself
teach myself to be more like her
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
I want to explore
but not the kind that
comes to mind (hiking, mountains, and wilderness)
I want a different adventure
I wish to navigate myself to the depths of your mind
I long to understand your thoughts
and how you think
I want to know if you are scared of death
or if you're afraid of what life will throw at you
I want to know the things that make you weak in the knees
even if the mention of them make you collapse
because I will hold you when you fall
I want to know what makes your stomach turn
and your heart pound
You are what I wish to explore
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
did you know i found god at 12?
at least i thought i did.
all i really discovered was ************ like
every other 12 year old.
i wanted you to know that.
i don't know why.
i think i want you to know all of my secrets.
secret number one:
i'm half drunk.
not actually a secret but the truth.
in a post-apocalyptic world you would be mine,
curled together forever in some oak tree cave
in Connecticut during fall.
i would fall asleep in orange leaves with
your head in my neck.
i could never have that.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
A stone terrain waits
A landscape deserted
Devoid of real
Or imagined explorations
For it turns inward
At a tangent that
Precludes inquiry
It has an articulation
Of slow deliberate movements
Where particularized
Geology has painted it
Cut off and disconnected
By an estrangement of creation
Other existences only serve
To magnify its sense of isolation
Its blank uncaring non-geometric
Dimensions of observable
Unquantifiable location is obscure
And unrealised
Producing an immediate
Initiated sensory experience
Of unreleased silent appraisal
But why does it wait?
What for
Does it anticipate or foresee
Some expected prediction
Of apocalyptic presentiment
Is it recalling color?
Or is it experiencing
The present like floating in a dream
Alas there is no clue
To its tilted yet frozen expectancy
A stone terrain waits
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
I realized you were a small town man;
That you'd be more satisfied with being a comfortable failure than having to work for success.
You'd rather become your parents
Unstable:
Mentally
Financially
Romantically,
And unimpactful on this Earth's humanity.
I was a world traveler.
In need of constant
Change
Challenge
Risk
And movement.
I need a constant toiling in my mind
A constant pressure to move
A constant reminder that my next step could change the world
A constant potential for improvement
I realized you were content with what you knew
And my passion for learning was unappeaseable by your stagnant mind
I remember the books you wouldn't read
The songs you wouldn't sing
The explorations on which you refused to accompany me
The worlds you wouldn't see
And I now know that meant you would never last next to me
It's not your fault you couldn't keep up
Or mine I couldn't slow down
We can blame each other
My lack of satisfaction
Your lack of motivation
Psychology
Economics
Chemistry
Chance
God
Karma
Fate
All these reasons
But none are real
Truthfully, we were just not meant to be
With each other we were not free
With your annoyance at my distance and my anger at your dissonance
Far corners of the earth you were not meant to see
I know now that my craving for motion
My roller coaster emotion
Is too fast paced
For someone like you
And to drag you behind me would be a waste
As we are not amazed by the same things, we do not have the same taste
It is possible that I'll never find someone
That worships this world as I do
and craves these things next to me
But at least alone I won't hurt anyone with my motion
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
In the darkness
The quiet void
That we avoid
Because open conversations
Are sincere explorations
That bring light to the shadows
That empower
Those who once cowered
Bringing balance
To the broken scale
We called justice
If need be we can do this
Just for us
Because when this society bleeds
It seeds pain and destruction
Erodes the topsoil we sit on
Diminishes the strong
And even we sink in this hell
So we can help ourselves
By helping everyone
Or we can help everyone
Because they are one
Part of the whole
Covering the collective
Breathing in the same
Kind of air
Feeling the same skin
Because they are kin
Pick a reason any reason to begin
And be kind from there
On till your end
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
At this advanced stage
of our labiodental skirmish
& alveopalatal explorations
Words won't come anymore
Only mangled morphemes going
in & out of you going
in & out of me
Only tangled utterances tripping
over themselves in utter haste
Shapeless & shameless
Proper articulation is abandoned
along with all other senses
of propriety
& The critical period is past
& The critical period is coming
& Words won't come at all
but even if they don't
Using my tongue
I can still make you
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Trips to fairyland,
bike rides to the moon,
explorations of the woods,
time to weave stories,
words into poems and music.
The keyboard of the piano
invites our fingers
to dance and fly toward our dreams.
Time to grow flowers and food,
to let our smiles bite juicy fruits
under bright skies,
curious scents rolling around us.
Mother Nature enlightens the garden.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC
1
At night, liquid moonlight,
********** pools of delight
in his front yard garden,
he watches in silence
with his girl on his side
for long moments, like a
caged beast still wild at heart,
badly wanting
to break the bars
that restricts.
His hands involuntarily
caress her soft supple curves,
culminating the explorations
with a blood tasting kiss,
poetry to him is making love
the beast quickly leaves
his whole being becomes
soft like hot wax and starts to flow,
she receives his music through
his dancing fingers that speak
to her a refined language of love
then,
a
symphony
rains...
rocked in a wave of pleasure
she sobs softly like the whisper of silk
he rushes towards her deep center
beyond the soft folds that yields
twists and in to her drains his wishes
she is full of love,
enough to drown him in to its vortex.
she bites him hard on his lips,
like a big cat, she draws blood
love in it's expressed cruelty wears a masquerade
he enjoys the topsy-turvy delight.
2
Morning dawns hurriedly in the planet of the apes,
he wears his mask, regular before daybreak
observing all necessary rituals, dance
he has become ready for his daily grind
a hack, a hatchet man, a **** sometimes a crook
without even a wee bit of consciousness or conscience
his hatchet is his flute, he plays on as he walks.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
October 23nd our worlds collided,
but we could not see the end.
Late nights filled with drunken talks,
thoughts never to be spoken sober.
My arms were lonely and abused,
yet you brought love upon them.
You had found a broken angel,
and turned her into an ill demon as yourself.
Talks of drugs and explorations banned in your worlds,
that little innocent girl was soon killed off.
Eventually you grew tired because she was not herself,
yet you were the one who had made her into a demon.
She eventually sobered up,
from the pain and intoxication and grabbed her wings and flew.
She begged for forgiveness,
yet could never revert back.
You grew to miss her,
at least that's what you made her believe.
You had changed,
you were no longer the demon,
you were the devil.
You tormented her,
til her arms became to bleed black.
She could not satisfy your desires,
she was a weak slave in your eyes,
unworthy of anything.
Once again,
her heart and soul collapsed,
the pain destroyed her.
As did you,
mighty lover.
You destroyed her most of all,
yet beware;
**Just because you created her, does not mean you can control her.
She's returning for her revenge.**
-l.c.g.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
Needles and spoons and white powders,
Among other things I've never seen or touched or smelled -
Such things seem not meant for dabblers, or at least
Not for me.
Those things are meant for stars, who see stars,
Whose fame reaches the stars,
Whose face is broadcast through the stars and back again,
Echoing their brains and bodies and all that white powder.
They're not meant for schoolchildren,
Who climb up ladders and jump off cliffs,
Who grow tall only with scissor lifts securely under their feet,
Who stand at the top of water slides and sit at the top of roller coasters,
Who're only as close to the stars as the school roof will let them be.
Those things are not for them,
Not for me.
But there is something,
Something softer, lighter, easier, greener,
Something familiar to most.
Called a gateway for some, certainly for the famed,
A gateway to the stars even before the needles and spoons and white powders.
There are books about famed faces and the way they wrinkle over the years,
About their cultivations, their migrations, their explorations.
Books of things they've done, that I've done, that we've done,
Smoke billowing from our lips, our nostrils, from every pore,
And books about how, with the same ritual I've taken a part in,
They somehow manage to climb so high - mimicking their fame,
they soar up and up, to the stars and past,
Through religious experiences, baffling adventures, new and brilliant insight.
Not me.
I reach that roof or lift or water slide,
Stretch my hands as far as they can reach,
Point my toes for that extra barely inch,
And, after such heavy straining,
Fingertips atoms away from the clouds,
at least the clouds,
give me the clouds,
I collapse,
Breath short,
Heart racing,
In exhaustion.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC