"eyelid" poems
I don't care if you
Throw sticks
Or stones
Or grenades.
You won't hurt me,
I'll pick myself up.
I don't care if you
Call me stupid
Or ugly
Or a failure, a disappointment.
You won't hurt me,
I'll shut it all out.
I don't care if you
**** a frog
Or rob the bank
Or starve for days.
I won't bat an eyelid,
That's what others' did to me.
I have been made
Cruel and heartless
By this warped, greedy world.
If it won't affect me,
I won't care.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,
full of white shirts and salad greens,
the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks,
and I wore movies in my eyes,
and you wore eggs in your tunnel,
and we played sheets, sheets, sheets
all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics.
But today I set the bed afire
and smoke is filling the room,
it is getting hot enough for the walls to melt,
and the icebox, a gluey white tooth.
I have on a mask in order to write my last words,
and they are just for you, and I will place them
in the icebox saved for ***** and tomatoes,
and perhaps they will last.
The dog will not. Her spots will fall off.
The old letters will melt into a black bee.
The night gowns are already shredding
into paper, the yellow, the red, the purple.
The bed -- well, the sheets have turned to gold --
hard, hard gold, and the mattress
is being kissed into a stone.
As for me, my dearest Foxxy,
my poems to you may or may not reach the icebox
and its hopeful eternity,
for isn't yours enough?
The one where you name
my name right out in P.R.?
If my toes weren't yielding to pitch
I'd tell the whole story --
not just the sheet story
but the belly-button story,
the pried-eyelid story,
the whiskey-sour-of-the-nipple story --
and shovel back our love where it belonged.
Despite my asbestos gloves,
the cough is filling me with black and a red powder seeps through my
veins,
our little crate goes down so publicly
and without meaning it, you see, meaning a solo act,
a cremation of the love,
but instead we seem to be going down right in the middle of a Russian
street,
the flames making the sound of
the horse being beaten and beaten,
the whip is adoring its human triumph
while the flies wait, blow by blow,
straight from United Fruit, Inc.
19.6k
Your beauty may birth from shaved legs
red clown lips, gaudy eyeshadow
flimsy black crumbles beneath
your eyelid
You are sexy-sun-kissed;
I am opaque.
Blotches of color
Lighten my smile
cheekbones never as sharp
as your words
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
i come to you half mad
with desire
like slithers tongue
i wish
to have painfully stitched
to your silky ****
an act of desires supplication
my *** turned to poison
deprivations effulgent
obsidian flower salivating
your every smile
fleshy bells ringing
warping tintinnabulations
i am a starved incubus
drooling at your knees
behind me
a frothy junket of misdeeds
for loves sake
your feet the scent of lavender and salt
their shape evoking numberless poems
and begging adorations
your belly
a tender cauldron undulating
tummy ***** dancer
sacred **********
temple of worship
the site of your rounded bottom
naked red mouth calling
my sacred liturgy
your *****
velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss
I seed you a thousand times
a raging bludgeon
storming wounded gates Palisades
drenched and florid
fruit and milk ****
until jaws lock
and spire drops
turning me
to midnight cadaver
***** black hollows
a dark eyelid, blink-less
dead **** face down
a slumped snake
then soft dew
and cool ales
clear thickened muds saturation
lighten heat and peel
the warm palate
with agile caress
tender haunches wide and spiced
milk and butter thighs
her hair in mine
rushing river life
again i animate
an embryo id
dressed in fire
all vices and virtues
blood and sky
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
III
Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripped,
Peleus on Thetis stares.
Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid,
Love has blinded him with tears;
But Thetis' belly listens.
Down the mountain walls
From where pan's cavern is
Intolerable music falls.
Foul goat-head, brutal arm appear,
Belly, shoulder, ***
Flash fishlike; nymphs and satyrs
Copulate in the foam.
7.4k
It's funny
How a simple black line,
A pigmented powder,
And a plastic line glued to my eyelid
Can make me feel pretty
Makes me feel presentable
It makes me feel like I'm worth something
But even so-
It's false.
Synthetic.
It's all a lie.
Oh how I wish I could stop lying.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Lucid eyelid
whispers
awoke the silk
in his skin,
the fingers
in their heart
The teeth
in his eyes
pierced their bones
with sweet,
painless mosquito
kisses
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
I believe in a universe where a sleepy eye opens existence...
a slowly drooping eyelid ushers it away.
I believe in a universe where Indra and the other Gods
churn the cosmic milk...
where Shiva does the eternal dance.
I believe in a universe where light is separate from darkness
and mankind is molded from a ball of divine ****
a breath, Be and it is.
I believe in a universe where Gaia watches as Cronus
devours her children until she gives him a stone...
and hides Zeus away.
I believe in a universe that expands
from a singularity of infinitely dense potentiality
less than a speck,
to our cosmos immeasurable in scale.
I believe in a universe where Lao Tuz hands a guard
a little book of wisdom
before disappearing into the mountains
where the sages go.
I believe in a universe where Siddhartha contemplates emptiness
and feels the winds of eternity
whistling through his soul.
I believe in a universe where E=Mc2.
I believe in a universe where an old man lights the first holy fire
and describes the war between light and goodness
vs darkness and evil.
I believe in a universe where the earth and moon,
and all the planets go round the sun...
in a galaxy carrying us
dancing a waltz
we can only catch glimpses of.
I believe in a universe where "Know Thyself"
is revered as a deep truth.
I believe in a universe where
an unexamined life is not worth living.
I believe in a universe where the words of a carpenter
are a true path.
I believe in a universe where an illiterate man is commanded
Read!... a burning coal upon the lips.
I believe in a universe where every God and Goddess
exist, each in their own heaven...
each in their own hell.
I believe in a universe where there are no gods or goddesses
only the relentless laws of matter, energy and gravity.
I believe in a universe where everything is mathematics.
I believe in a universe where everything is holy
I believe in a universe where everything in profane.
I believe in a universe where everything is a simulation.
I believe in a universe where everything is ****** in nature.
I believe in a universe where everything is stimulation.
I believe in a universe where the hoochie *******
is what its all about.
I believe in the universe.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
I dreamt about you last night
tripping in eyelid flutters,
drifting in bizarre slumbers
entranced by illusions of you.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night
in my woozy sleeping arms held
you tight. In reverie we
left heartache behind to live.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night.
Imaginary laughter,
chimerical and hazy
fantasies enchanting us.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night,
told you everything will be
alright. Moments together
we will treasure forever.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night,
and awoke in a gloomy dawn.
Wonder if you dreamt of me
knowing you do you love me.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night
eternally keeping you in
my sight. Our eyes will meet one
day, embracing our faces love.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
Wishing to see you,
dreaming of you.
Loving you forever.
.
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
For answering my call, despite not being free
For staying up late, giving up on your sleep,
For listening to my stories, not batting an eyelid
For singing to me, as I'd welcome my dreams!
For how you'd hold me close amidst friends, and beam
For how you've thanked every waiter who has served us a meal
For that first kiss you planted on my forehead in glee
For wiping my tear which trickled down, after some movie!
For noticing the pimple that caused a blemish on my cheeks -
And yet making me believe that I was still queen!
For how when you hug me and make me daydream
For how your eyes still look at me and brightly gleam!
For the silly misunderstandings on that Valentine's eve,
For the times you forgave and the mistakes you let be -
For respecting my choices and being with me
For the happiness you brought in, as agonies were forced to leave!
For thinking beyond the barriers of caste and creed -
For the patience shown as I kept testing if you would ever flee,
For bringing back faith and offering a love - in which I could believe
For teaching me that as we give back, more in abundance we receive!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:39 AM UTC
As the gods began one world, and man another,
So the snakecharmer begins a snaky sphere
With moon-eye, mouth-pipe, He pipes. Pipes green. Pipes water.
Pipes water green until green waters waver
With reedy lengths and necks and undulatings.
And as his notes twine green, the green river
Shapes its images around his sons.
He pipes a place to stand on, but no rocks,
No floor: a wave of flickering grass tongues
Supports his foot. He pipes a world of snakes,
Of sways and coilings, from the snake-rooted bottom
Of his mind. And now nothing but snakes
Is visible. The snake-scales have become
Leaf, become eyelid; snake-bodies, bough, breast
Of tree and human. And he within this snakedom
Rules the writhings which make manifest
His snakehood and his might with pliant tunes
From his thin pipe. Out of this green nest
As out of Eden's navel twist the lines
Of snaky generations: let there be snakes!
And snakes there were, are, will be--till yawns
Consume this pipe and he tires of music
And pipes the world back to the simple fabric
Of snake-warp, snake-weft. Pipes the cloth of snakes
To a melting of green waters, till no snake
Shows its head, and those green waters back to
Water, to green, to nothing like a snake.
Puts up his pipe, and lids his moony eye.
3.8k
Like a grain trapped under the eyelid
Impairing the vision, in heart and mind
Flush it out with rivers, woeful and turbid
This grain still there; rendering us blind
Tiny and inconspicuous; No one sees the grains
Everyone's 'gifted' with their own to nurse
Doubling over we see each others' pains
Hidden and embedded within the poetry laden verse
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
Glaring vacantly into the ceiling, I am wondering what's true,
I need to stop reliving my past to settle a life without you.
It's not easy to forget all and take a new start,
With all those memories I planted in the soil of my heart.
I had painted a whole life with you under my eyelid,
And it's just as if I am leaving a storybook in the mid.
You have become another shard in my brain that aches me,
I was a blind fool misled by your simpler of gestures but now I can see.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
a high school football game.
the field is ablaze with juicy roses
and doves.
the athletes suddenly drop thier pencils,
their coughing hands made of melting wax.
all the trombones are falling apart, and
the flute players are losing their *******
under the bleachers, throwing away secrets.
heartbeats cracking broomsticks, the nuns
were always hitchhikers with resounding
gag reflexes.
i sail forward, snatching the time bomb
from the quarterback, snuffing out
a pall mall on his right eyelid.
the dead angel is summoned to slay
the horrible hippopotamus. she is ancient.
she has a mouth full of cavities and peace
in her veins.
the truth is a piercing thing, whose bitter tongue will decay me.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
Away, ye muses, all away!
Away with songs of finch and fay.
Away the jaundiced sight
That magnifies the firefly’s light
To bonfire bright;
That sets ablaze at once
My musing’s dimly burning lamps;
That ornaments with rhymes
The penury-stricken looks betimes;
That over-clothes the logic – lord
With fancy –swollen words.
Away, the partial love
That ‘boldens Nature to sit above
Her Maker!
This day I fasten eyelid doors,
With absence wax my ears,
With languorous peace congeal
My tongue, my touch, my tears *
That I within may pore
Upon the things behind, ahead,
In the darkness round me spread.
I lock Dame Nature out
With all her fickle rout.
Somewhere here,
In the darkness drear,
I myself with cheer
My course will steer
In the path
E’er sought by all:
Its magnet call
I hear.
Not hear, not here,
Apollo would his burning chariot steer;
Nor Diana dare to peep
Into the sacred silence deep.
Not here, not here,
Not far or near
Can mounts or rebel waves
E’er make me full of fear;
Nor evermore
Their dreadful grandeur to adore.
Not here, not here
The soft capricious wiles of flowers;
Nor swarming storm clouds’ sweeping terror,
Dishevelling the trees
And light-haired skies;
Nor doomsday’s thunderous roar,
Dismantling earth and stars-
The cosmic beauties all to mar –
Not Nature’s murderous mutiny,
Nor man’s exploding destiny
Can touch me here.
Not here, not here:
Through mind’s strong iron bars,
Not gods or goblins, men or nature,
Without my pass dare enter.
I look behind, ahead –
On naught but darkness tread.
In wrath I strike, and set the dark ablaze
With the immortal spark of thought,
By friction-process brought
Of concentration
And distraction.
The darkness burns
With a million tongues;
And now I spy
All past, all distant things, as nigh.
I smile serene
As I expose to gaze.
In wisdom’s brilliant blaze,
All charms of the Hidden Home Unseen:
The Home of Nature’s birth,
The planets’ moulding hearth,
The factory whence all forms or fairies start,
The bards, colossal minds, and hearts,
The gods and all,
And all, and all!
Away, away
With all the lightsome lays!
Oh, now will I portray
In humble way,
And try to lisp, if only in half truths,
Of wordless charms of Thee Unseen,
To whom Dame Nature owes her nature
and her sheen.
3.1k
there's a crazzzy devil
in
the white house
twisting our nation
into a denizens den
a tub of **** in a suit
ascending ***** matter
in
a clogged toilet
a black plague
we have a president with the attention span
of sea clams
an emotional ******* drip of impetuosity
a spiraling fit of rage
a snarling delusional dog
narcissist in a warping mirror
a pathetic complainer
a cyst on the body politic
clot
open sore
seething pustule
piggish **** lover
gangsters dupe
fascist wana be
heil heil
god your a pile
making Russia great again
licking Vlad's *****
protecting your assets no doubt
and hissing tweets
at war with with only everything
and figments of a disturbed imagination
a real windmill killer
his mouth
the devils mark
a yapping compulsive lier
forked tongued fury
possessed to a fault
by the vainglories
of money and ego out of bounds
the biggest and the best
at being
the very worst and a pest
grand royalty of ridicule
*****
a ham ****** cartoon nightmare
and clumsy stumbling bore
a seething volcano of perpetual excrement
reading from the book of chaos
aberrations of enemies
a war room president
at war with his own citizens
huddled in a panic chamber
burns and cuts himself
with his own hot sharp words
as there thrown back at him
a bully getting bullied
a ripper getting ripped
the brains of a lizards eyelid
in a shadeless socket
pulp hearted orangutan
menace to society
his mottled soul
like a black sun
on the verge
of a black hole
a hell mill of decrepitude
a dark creep creeping
tarnishing our beautiful country
lights dim
America
there's a devil
in the white house
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Now,
there is the contour of her upturned forehead
nosetip kissed by the moonlight
and shadows frame the shape of her eyes
soft wrinkles at their tapered corners
And my god, the color of them
I stare, squint
A misty night, but they are distinct even in the dark:
bronze beads nestled into slight furrows
gossamer, reflecting starlight.
The sweep across the peppered sky that we stand beneath
Chestnut disks floating in milky spheres
unmistakably hers
full and round, soaking in curiosity
handsome mahogany irises bound by the gold tracing their edges.
The way the light makes those disks look glassy
Semitransparent in the moon’s glow
How they shed their boundaries
shifting, swimming
layers on the eyelid horizon
They shimmer, and stir.
And now,
they rest their gaze on me.
I inhale
dare to step closer
The bustle in the back of my brain—
A hum, and the purr of pleasure at her beatitude.
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 10:16 AM UTC
In a world where traumas are written all over our bodies
He has a bipolar jaw line and a suicidal knee cap,
collapsing and shaking
and reverberating his thoughts through his PTSD lip.
It quivers, and she looks away with an autistic eyelid.
See her a deaf cheek?
Their blind foreheads fluctuate, and their arthritic fingers vibrate.
Reynard’s Disease. Or Disorder IV. Perhaps,
one we’ve never heard before consumes the heart that’s about to break.
....
This was read at the University of Kansas in May of 2013: Read more about this event here:
http://shannonathompson.com/2013/05/10/contest-winners-and-poetry-from-my-ku-reading/
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
And the May month ***** its glad green leaves like wings,
Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,
“He was a man who used to notice such things”?
If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid’s soundless blink,
The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight
Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,
“To him this must have been a familiar sight.”
If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,
When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,
One may say, “He strove that such innocent creatures should
come to no harm,
But he could do little for them; and now he is gone.”
If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at
the door,
Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,
Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,
“He was one who had an eye for such mysteries”?
And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,
And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,
Till they rise again, as they were a new bell’s boom,
“He hears it not now, but used to notice such things?”
2.4k
Your intrepid nature
Mixed up like a tonic and gin
Half squeeze of lime, stirred up with mine
The in and out of clarity stare
Impulsivity meets the creative dare
A kiss with more bite than lip
Followed by an endless moment trip
Hanging in that space
Face to face
The strangely familiar embrace
The rules fall off the page
Letters clink on the faded olive green tile
A 1970’s homage to yesterstyle
The ‘U’ slid under the fridge
You never bat an eyelid
Just hold your gaze
Wandering wild
Through my mental maze
Pausing on occasion to play
Your breath smells like love on fire
And what does love smell like?
Flower petals shut tight in books
Not enough to turn heads
But good for a couple of looks
It’s “just woke up
from a sweet dream” subtle
Enough to plant a seed
And not look back
Knowing you’ll be back
You’re under attack
By the chemical undertones
Bidding you to the smitten zone
Where, when alone
Vulnerability conducts the strings
Plucking and pulling
As your heart faintly sings
The trap is set
You’ve been caught
No points given
For the good fight fought
Now back to your breath
Tickling my lips
My hands grab your inviting hips
We relight the fire
The air hangs heavy
With deepened desire
The room disappears
Along with my fears
The world spins again
Now that you’re here
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
"Can't take my eyes off yours"
not withdrawing their gaze
wordlessly he and she muse
without batting an eyelid
"Ḧer eyes are a shade of blue rarely seen ever"
he thinks, before words could charm her
she finds this" Ÿou've the eyes of a girl,
every girl that dates you, I am sure
would note it first" Isn't she right?
Öne girl knows another's heart better
then, do men stand a chance?" he wonders
"But there is a soft wave beating in the depth,
of those eyes" she softly confides
Ït arrests me, can't take my eyes off
..is it kindness or love, or both?"
a welling within happens, he was debating just that,
but how, just how does she know it?
"Ẅhat would you take first ?' he puts it back
" If I offer you both?"
she smiles saying "I know what"
Close by they sit, heat permeates
from thigh to thigh, isn't it nice?" eyes probe
"Let that beam of light I see, fall straight
in to my eyes, let's burn together"
He shuts his eyes and remember
the camphor lights, soft on eyes
and oil lamps on temple walls,
flames that dance like hooded serpents
he feels the heat of her swelled up lips,
fitful bees hovering above his mouth.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
I lie on the bed,
Relaxed
But then the screech of the two metal
Arms wakes me up
And I feel the hot wax just above
My eyelid.
And I feel the heat on the sensitive skin
And I harden what muscles I can
When she tears off my hair.
That I will never get back
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Tip
Tap
Tip
Tap
I left the water tap open.
Tip Tap
The water starts dripping down.
The sound of each drop
Banging on the metal sink,
Echo through the hollow hallways
Of my house.
Awakening every heavy eyelid
And quiet soul.
Tip Tap
Tip Tap
I left my mouth open.
The words start dripping down.
The sound of every word
Banging on the soft soul of every person it hits,
Echo through the hollow hallways of their heart.
Awakening every hidden fear and insecurity.
Tip Tap
I left the water tap open.
Tip Tap
I let my words be unwillingly spoken.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
~
*Imagine a box
In shadow
Of utter regalia
Iris, dressed as a waterfall
She comes scattered
Imagine an eyelid illusionist
Praying for more palettes
Enters steelbook cathedrals
To a ministry of colour
For the street outside
Cannot offer as
Interesting a hue
As those fascinating within
The pigment of her imagination
It's compelling artistry
Like oil on canvas
A slight of hand
Smoke and mirrors
Her skilled fingers
Kohl mining
For soft medley
And the new liminality
Above the spectator's eye*
~
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC