"extracts" poems
~weary weighted~
flummoxed are the sea watchers;
the long rhythms of sea change reveal only minor modesties,
difficult discerned are the tidal subtleties
though repetitive thrashing extracts it toll,
only the weary-weighted see the true meaning of the beating,
knowing full well,
it beats for them
recalling their early day’d fascination with its endless chaining,
now knowing all are similar
detained-chained,
and the ******* churning but a cover up masque,
they need not longer conceal,
an unrevealed confess:
water is heavy-weighted, you cannot forever float,
constancy is of a thing to be wary,
its sadder longevity,
a chipping away erosion of wearing,
*‘tis is the knelling noise of sad respite,
an unlight lighthouse*
~for Victoria, a year later~
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace
what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart contents?
hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic
mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips
with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?
later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity
from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat
her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;
I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally
rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,
*sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,*
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies
5/29/17 i
12:43pm
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Here come Jupiter child,
You can hear the flowers crying as they plead for her to stay a while,
She just collided with and intergalactic asteroid,
But things were only created never destroyed,
In the dark cool tunnels she found some pretty moon shrooms,
sheltering growing seahorses wrapped in loose water droplet cocoons,
Now towards earth you hear her come,
Within the clouds she beats her tribal drums,
The ocean sways and swells to the time of her rhythm and sound,
Reaching deep into the sea forest to whales traveling homebound,
She wears stars framed in turquoise,
Like the kokopelli she gives birth to planets with grace and poise,
Here comes Jupiter child, dread locks wound with comets,
extracts from the universe, she mixes matter-less tonics,
Recipes rooted deep in wizardry,
she borrows knowledge from indians and aztecs to cure all misery,
Her meteor showers made of her salty tears,
Are earth's dream catcher, snaring all nighttime fears.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
you kidding me, right?
nachos? tacos? tortilla wraps?
guacamole molé molé?
sombrero(s)...
the revised eastern european
moustache?
tequila!
that's it?
well... not if you consider
the second tier of soy boys -
the ones that drink that...
budscheiss that's
"der könig aus bier"...
one word... no... actually two:
CER-VE(H)-ZA(H) -
probably the spanish word,
that sounds better than all
the other spanish words...
what did mexíxíxíxíco give
us?
the orthodox script
of a german beer:
yeast, hops, barley, malt,
water... fizz: boom!
a fine summer's day...
mexíxíxíxíco beer?
MALTED, BARLEY...
don't ask me how the genius
figured out a smoothness
so subtle,
that you actually had to shove
a lime wedge into the neck
of the bottle...
or, as i did - buying an almost litre
sized bottle,
and a lime -
looking at this ***** goliath
at the checkout thinking:
david?
am i david?
did we really enslave such people?
david, meet goliath...
goliath wanders off like some
happy ****** giggling and brings
another strawberry milkshake
to the checkout...
so the west, enslaved these
nearing 7ft Baobabs?
king david's audacity,
nothing more...
so i buy the CO(H)-RHO-NA(H),
and a lime (30 pence a piece)...
**** no knife...
guess teeth will have to do...
shove a whole lime in bits and bites
and walk on...
seriously?
guacamole molé molé?
that's the best you can do?
drinking a beer with lime...
compared to the h'american
budscheiss?
who... apart from the japanese...
extracts alcohol...
from: ******* rice!
malted, barley...
whoever that sergio
sanchez was...
hats off to him...
sometimes it's just nice...
to take a break from the heavy cavalry,
orthodoxy brew of german
beers...
americans?
know jackshit about brewing
a decent beer...
mexicans?
they put a lime in it!
**** you have to drink it!
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
Cold, still clouds of blood rain,
Thick drops of agony
Fell on your lips.
I have defied the Life
By controlling his destiny
Oh, my Holy Puppet,
Curiouser and curiouser I was to ask,
What were your thoughts?
Did you always know?
Were you thinking, why?
Captivated by darkness,
I lathered the lotion of fellowship on my skin
To hide my true intentions.
Sweats trickled from your brow
When I pressed my lips against your cheeks.
A rushing stream of adrenaline ran through my heart
Upon my poisonous kiss.
Pieces of silver told me of your Sadism,
Of how you took away the sweetness of the
Vanilla extracts of my life.
My desires you denied!
Now die in shock, and let your last breath
Be nothing but a seeping gasp of silence.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
at your own peril!
*dare to vex
provoke, antagonize, exasperate
that is what my words will do
they won't irritate or annoy,
bug or merely peeve,
a simple bother
insufficient
vex
your core,
demand
that you more
than mere question yourself
but riptide extracts the
elemental,
battery acid on the essence bared
learn the power of crafting words
for maximum effect
torment, infuriate,
expose yourself,
what has lain beneath the skin,
you will let me in,
to let you out
why play with poetry,
the most dangerous weapon
unless you nakedly intend to*
!dare to vex!
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Trillions of tiny warm pieces of coral, rock, and sea bones run smoothly through the hands and feet of one female being.
She sits upon the shoreline watching the way the tide and waves change...watching the almost reddish-orange sun set.
The sun that she is mesmerized by.
Mesmerized in such a way it causes her mind to open up, like a whales mouth when it's ready to satisfy it's hunger, looking almost as if its about to swallow the whole ocean itself.
With her brain burst asunder by the wonder of God's creation, she starts to think..thinking as she never did before, and putting thought into things that has never even crossed her mind.
Time is now infinite.
As hours pass, which seem like seconds, thoughts are no longer the only thing that surrounds her.
She is now accompanied by a Dream.
A dream which is as sweet as the very breeze that swifts across the ocean tops and embraces the most exotic extracts from the fruits and flowers around her.
A dream that cannot be expressed with words, but more rather jesters, thoughts, and actions...acts of love and uncontrollable feelings of desire and emotion.
Though in the deepest urge of reaching this dream, one never truly realizes how much pain, heartache, and sorrow one must endure to accomplish this ultimate beauty.
The understanding of this so called pain or love-sick criteria is, for some, too overwhelming for them to comprehend..and so we, me, you, or whomever simply just give up.
So truly, the strongest really do survive the pain love brings.
And so now, as the day becomes night, the sunset fades, and the oceans calm...that young female being heads back to another place of paradise, where she will lay her thoughts, dreams, and concerns on a pillow.
Yet as sure as the moon is forever, so was once a dreamer who is now the dream.
-Bobbie Leigh
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
*With elegance,
A Wordsmith interprets
In the exquisite,
Timeless language
Of poetry,
Delicately composing
Beautiful words
Into elaborate sonatas,
Each rendition A graceful,
Classical symphony.
With beauty and intensity,
Full of raw emotions,
Each wordsmith
Extracts their most inner-feelings
And intricately converts them
Into rhythmical compositions.
And this
Is the only fluent language
Their soul is able to speak...
Each sonata they release,
With wings,
Is individually mastered,
Impeccable, and unique.
May each Wordsmith
Never miss a beat,
And continue writing,
With poetic justice,
Their heart's rhythm
On every sheet.
***
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
#Have you ever been madly in love?
The old man broke my reverie.
On the long faded green bench white with bird droppings
he was peering at me through his silver grey beard
looking oddly out of place in that college squire park
where only the dreamers at the prime of youth
would sit between classes to exchange love notes
and steal a kiss when the passion couldn't be reined in.
Have you ever been madly in love? he repeated,
and then as if growing impatient by my silence
mumbled, pausing between words,
like they stung him like thorns
*it extracts a price been paying all my life
living with a void no other woman could fill
a commitment that breeds only pain
yet makes me insanely boastful
of being madly in love.*
It was recess hour and the benches were being filled up.
How many, I wondered, would still hold hands
when the classes are over.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
and the myth goes along the lines - had i but the eyes to spot
a silver spoon - there chimed a magpie in the the night,
a cackle compared with the rhapsodic
crow call to wake up Barbarossa...
the cackle and the literary laugh...
there she was, with the Kraken -
she was there bewildered
to sing a song, sroka among the magpie calls
to tell tales of silenced lightning
without thunder.....
shamanic in the extreme:
what a strange nationalism being born
with extracts of a former colonialism in Ukraine -
lost, forgotten, and a brief testament to Israel -
do i feel any pride? perhaps i should...
i better myself in the word spoken:
sroka is above magpie -
the serenity of the sharpened consonants,
the flight to become werewolf legend -
sroka, or magpie -
as a language there are some offences -
which cannot translate, but merely
tarnish...
s and r
are two consonants that out-perform stress /
authenticity when m and g are used...
the tongue is more important than the breath,
counter the metaphysical greek breath that's known
as psyche: i.e. γλωßα -
to treat the tongue akin
to the mind, and soul as the authenticity of the verb
thought: when all organs automate, akin
to the kidneys dialysis.
yes, sroka / magpie...
crow / kruk / crux
or the shadow of Golgotha...
toward us: the darkened hour...
to gloss over - to speak a phrase in demand -
sire *** qua non byzantine sprechen.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
You can't separate
the actor from the character
they're not mutually exclusive
but brutally intrusive.
We put a little bit of ourselves
into the roles that we act
extracts of our souls
dripping out
slowly bleeding our hearts dry
from acting out our parts
Pouring everything
into faux characters
to engage with our rage
while onstage
unknowingly
constructing our own cage
We think no-one can see
the lies we tell
when we wear our masks
but our eyes betray us
with irises on fire
arises our desire
from the words we yell
Burning eyes behind stone masks
that shows them our hell
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
As the cobra falters before it doth strike I recoil away from thee, awaiting my moment to ricochet forward and make my **** Such false security aids my real course and weakens my adversary’s resolve and as you happily take full advantage of this ill advised programme you can rely that your mistake is now my gain. As you plunge, I parry and as your momentum fades mine increases in velocity until my blade doth find its target.
This sword of mine, made of finest worked, metal, slides easily through your personage. Flesh, muscle, even bone presents a none problem for this well forged tool. Sharpened point now immersed so deeply through your core that it conveys me too close to this pierced torso. I am spattered by such spurts of blood and sickened by another’s foul breath.
We gaze for a moment, you in the horror and pain of defeat and myself in the satisfaction of victory. You remain upright only through the skewer I have delivered and it is at my decree that you do so. As I withdraw my being the blade extracts itself and it is only then that you are allowed to descend to your indubitable destination.
As crumpled legs can no longer hold the weight of thee I use the momentum of this blades removal to pirouette my body. The spin that culminates with such a strike, a laceration so immense that the removal of your skull is no more than a mere triviality. Your destination is now complete. This is the legitimate place for a lesser man and the norm for a superior warrior than thee.
Come take this gift dear Lucifer, I make a present to you of death's cadaver, it lies here before me at this very moment and it is yours. A donation from one great warrior to another. It seems that I fill such a bottomless pit with unworthy adversary. They suppose honour holds them to stand before such a skilled combatant but their is no morality for lesser men to try. There is no such thing as a honourable fool.
I seek he that will try my skills, he that will take me to the brink of death with more than a single strike. For this person I will gladly redeem as a worthy opponent, for he, I will present my respect in more than a just a mere bow. Such adversary should he become victorious will possess a legacy that will draw him to the status of majesty. I would gladly fall to this superior being and as such, this would be a most fitting and virtuous death.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Because it’s my birthday I thought I’d release something I was keeping for myself. Enjoy.
On this red planet,
Alone I stand in the vastness
of this scenery in purgatory.
Alone I stand long,
alone I stand king
of this terrain.
With this, something like a kiss,
the way its skin caresses my toes
as they work its way through
the pink sand;
With this I have reached my peak.
I have reached transcendence.
There are no more epiphanies to be had --
I have reached my goal.
Come to terms with my purpose on Earth,
I have sampled ulterior extracts,
while my earthly self does what it does best.
Still the 'Q' I question existences trifles.
Straying from the path crafted by man's willingness to obey.
Now the 'X' I exploit the fact
time is no longer a burden.
Freedom, like raw diamonds
flows through my fingers,
sweat falls upwards and side to side,
and gravity is now an illusion of memory.
This Roman god of war,
bends freely to my will...
Shifting, moulding and grafting into more
than the Earth could ever behold.
This place is not to share,
not this everlasting pink beach with no ocean,
this is mine
and mine alone –
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Requisite deliverance delights impatient souls
So inquisitive in their unmindful natures
Compulsion extracts the accumulation of indulgence
Characteristic in all of their features
Marked persuasion gratifies their inflexible needs
So amusing on every occasion
Never diminishing their vigorous attempts to hold
To everything without any patience
To assume any position of charitable defense
Would be slanderous to your own name
So you laugh hysterically at the clever simplicity
Of beating them at their own game
Indignant responses from these impatient souls
Are incredibly few and far between
As they are, too busy making new impatient demands
For their minds to understand what they have seen
Patience may hinder the quick granting of your heart’s desires
However, impatience can make one look brainless
So unless you would rather be the brunt of a joke
Be patient, it will be painless
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 6:23 PM UTC
After trying several chemical-based expensive products available in the market, it is disappointing to see the results they give. Thus, it is beneficial to pick up home ingredients that are simple and easy to use. To get rid of the dirt and oil that clog the pores of our skin on a regular basis, some natural elements work wonders when used as cleansers. Here are a four things you must use regularly to cleanse your skin of the various impurities it attracts.
Clay
Although, there are different types of clay that can be a part of your daily skincare routine, fuller's earth or Multani mitti is the best cleansing clay that you can use. Usually mixed with water or rose water, you can also use it creatively by mixing it with aloevera gel, milk or yogurt to have a more soothing effect. Clay has the properties to pull away toxins from the skin and can also calm any existing inflammations that result from acne.
Milk
It is not unknown that most cleansers have milk as one of its prime ingredient. Milk not just has cleansing properties, but also nourishes the skin as it is loaded with proteins. The fat present in milk help to retain the moisture in the skin keeping it soft and supple, along with cleansing it.
Rose water
Loaded with the goodness of roses, and its necessary beauty extracts, rose water is one of the best natural cleansers for a problem-free skin. Simply dab a few drops of rose water on some cotton and wipe you face and neck with it every night before bedtime. Rinse it in the morning. This simple process can also keep you face dirt and toxin-free, always.
Chickpea flour
A traditional element used to cleanse the skin, chickpea flour is one of the most popular natural cleansers among Indian women. Simply mix it with rose water and dab it on your skin like a face pack.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
So now the knife
has finally drilled through your protections,
like a bird with a diamond beak pecking at wood
again and again, until
it extracts what it was striving towards
the whole time.
You have brought up your reserve shields,
your last line of defense, and who
could blame you?
Not I, though,
like a king protecting his life
by building a fortress and then
living in its safety,
you have seemingly constructed strong walls
shutting the world out, until
I cannot see you, only the fortress and
your warm voice is poorly mimicked
by cold echoes from the stone.
The world thinks
you have locked them out, and yet
such is the image you project,
like a desert mirage,
and I would have sworn it was real, until
you let me come closer
and I touched you.
You are not the coward king, hiding
from the world and all
that might harm you, no. You
are the lion-tamer whose lion
has turned rabid, who locks herself in
and builds walls and will fight
until you are ****** and tired
but unrelenting
until it is safe for you to open the cage
and break down the walls
without your lion hurting those
you hold dear.
You build your concrete walls, you
close everything up and
you narrow them, until
only you and your lion remain
and they look like a coffin.
My wish for you is not
only that you will emerge alive, but that
you will not let this be a coffin
even a temporary one.
Instead
let this be your chrysalis.
I know you are strong enough to battle
and win
and finally emerge, triumphant
resplendent in new colors, maybe
the green-hued rainbow of fading bruises,
but still beautiful.
The walls will come down and you
will slowly reappear,
even stronger and ready
to fly.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC
Tiny things that strike your fancy
Any verse which hits a note,
Messages from all and sundry
Extracts from your favourite quote.
Moments from a treasured movie
Recollections from the past,
Sunday roast from Grandma’s oven
Sights and sounds and smells that last.
Memories of moonlight saunter
Arm in arm with newfound love,
Barefoot where the sand meets water
Lost to all... but stars above.
Walking in the hills at daybreak
Crispness of the frosty verge,
Feel the pounding pulse of living
Feel the joy of being... surge.
Tomatoes from the garden plot
Rich and biting, acid red,
Delicious on hot buttered toast
With liberal salt and pepper, spread.
Gazing at your baby daughter
Softly pink in muscled arm,
Wondering what future holds
For her in love and wealth and harm.
See the grasses thrash to windward
Hear the pounding surf cascade,
Lines of gulls in steady hover
Thunder breaks at lightning fade.
Old friend’s letter, unexpected
Tells of hardship over time,
Loss and sadness unconnected
To good fortune, found in mine.
Tremor in her frail, white fingers
Dancing of her rheumy eyes,
Sharing yesterday’s good tales
To bring a joy to aged disguise.
Lavender in gentle velvet
Serves the honey bee her gold,
Nodding in the balmy breezes
Reminiscent perfume, old.
Cup of tea for all the Aunties
Dear old Fred has passed away,
Sadness... but we all agree
He made the most of every day.
Sun ball on the far horizon
Melting orange, richly gold,
Sinking to the seascape, gone
To let the moonlit night take hold.
Marshalg
Sitting on the Taranaki sand with my love, with nibbles and a glass of wine
Watching the enormous, Autumn sun melt into a flat, flat sea.
April 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
they say the saddest
are the most happy
how a comedian can
stand up on stage to
make himself the world’s fool
because he had never
heard of a joke like love
our lady of perpetual sorrow
grabs the fool from everyone
a leach of life that chooses
to choose a happiness like you
extracts all it can
like nectar to a bee
but it’s almost relieving when
it had no where else to be
i have begun to believe
life isn't about all the
joys to feel and
things to see
it's not about you and
it's definitely not about me
the illusion is that
greatness is up and
failure is down when
true progression doesn’t
care for dimensions
remember the comedian
who hates it all
who makes it funny
because he recalls
if i can’t be happy
everyone can
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
I need you to set palms together
entangle generosity like raindrops connecting
branch out and cling your roots into the soil
blossom like cherry trees in japan
quiver like the heart of a 10 year old girl
who just witnessed love for the first time
melt, like the man who was raised with
hatred in his heart and has melted for the
first time on top of his wifes grave
scream, the screams of the native americans
upon the burning of their villages and
the rotting of their tribe, the tyranny of their land
my tongue hurts to say
this is my land
I feel it was never ours
it was theirs
laugh, like the children
and remember there are children in remote places
that have a pain in their eyes that we thought can only exsist within elderly
who know not the sound of a tender smile
remember that youth, when your children give out that glorious sound
and do anything to make that melody even louder
let your children laugh for those who dont know how
and raise them to seek them and teach them
even if it is through tears of thanks
that is the most beautiful laughter
the deepest happiness is that which comes with rain
the kind that extracts pain and cleanses the soul
washes the face and kisses the cheeks
dream and have hope like the small child sitting at the window at midnight way past
bedtime with bruised legs
promising themeselves that everything will be okay
with no shoulder to lean on
staring at the stars and having a clear image of the better
days to come, away from abuse and neglect
yes there are children like that
and there are also children
who scream into their pillow at night
remember to cradle the youth
they are the future
you are the future, living through your young
feel every intensity within your body
hold it there for just some time
cradle it
laugh with it
sing with it
dance with it
cry with it
bleed with it
and mourn it when it is not there
remember that, that intensity
is your humanity
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 1:01 PM UTC
i feel uneasy when i act good
feel upon shoulder a weight
what if next time i ain't that good
and your expectations are not met.
there's a liability in acting good
for it easily makes you a brand
if next time you ain't that good
you invite a strong reprimand.
tempts me easy to act ever good
be the pleasantest man in the town
but lurks the fear if ain't always good
in all eyes i would soon go down.
it extracts a price trying to act good
as your image in no time shines bright
but for each instance you ain't that good
you walk the sharp edge of spite.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
We rode white lightning across state lines
To a little town in the mountains over the tainted river
Where the entire strip is full of bars
Buzzing barflys hoping from tavern to tavern
It was mid day in broad daylight
We found the place
A hole in the wall
You would only be able find it if you were actually looking
Solvent Reflections
It was called
We went down the stairs, passed the wooden Native American at the front entrance
A marvelous collection of glass implements
Colorful fabrics and alluring smells
A man came out from behind a beaded curtain
Eyes glazed and a zonked out look on his face
"Right this way"
He showed us the assortment of extracts
We chose the middle way
Purchased twenty scented sticks
Descended from the mountain
To a sketchy out post
We fought a pool shark
While waiting for the evening to come
Our friends had come out to play with us
To the market for brightly colored cans of caffeine and ethanol
Torches lit and music playing
We sat in a circle
We opened the little brown vile
Releasing the leaves of deeper knowledge
We put in the vessel of self-exploration
Put fire to it and inhaled
Immediately she ran to the highest point to admire the art the moon and stars had fashioned on the black and blue firmament
His head became a cardboard box
And his body began to look like wicker
I was somewhere between an animated reality
And a three dimensional fantasy
My friend went on a cruise upon a swaying pirate ship
And found his face under the word "fabulous" on every single page of his dictionary
Then saw himself in a magical grassland
But then we stopped and stood in awe
Of the mighty Cricket Lord
Within ten minutes it came to an end
Our voices hoarse from laughter
Lets go again
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC