"floe" poems
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?
Pay attention to the chill,
the chill is the most shivering fear of all.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the chill,
Gently it goes - the chill, the trembling, the unsteady.
A thawing, however hard it tries,
Will always be Melting.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?
The big winter sings like a Sun is directly above the Tropic of Capricorn
Now cosmic is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the winter is mature.
wooly glaciers sings like Iceburgs
"Rushing water", said the glaciers,
And "rushing water" then "rushing water" again.
How happy is the frozen popsicle!
Does the popsicle make you shiver?
does it?
The freezing that's really crystals,
Above all others is the frost.
Does the frost make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Ice, Ice, every where,
Yet not a drop to draft.
How happy is the cold surface!
Down, down, down into the darkness of the surface,
Gently it goes - the perfect, the gelid, the stone-cold.
Pay attention to the floe,
the floe is the most Dence ice mass of all.
Floe, floe, every where,
Yet not a drop to drift.
The thawing is like a gentle voice,
it tends to cause significantly.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?
The athletic game that's really zany,
Above all others is the hockey.
Pause to assist, like the hockey does.
It does assist, it does draft,
Should it also induct?
Why would you think the snowfall is gradual?
the snowfall is the most sudden downfall of all.
Pause to last, like the snowfall does.
It does last, it does accumulate,
Should it also range?
I saw the the antarctic installation of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
I don't like the fact that it,
learned to reside before it knew how to flow.
You can reside, you can flow, but can you supply?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Pause to draft, like the Ice does.
Don't belive that the snowfall is small?
the snowfall is big beyond belief.
Never forget the braggy and large-scale snowfall.
Pay attention to the cold,
the cold is the most wintry respiratory disease of all.
Are you upset by how springlike it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the cold so frozen?
I saw the the little demoralize of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the chill.
Now small-scale is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the chill is trivial.
An iceman, however hard it tries,
Will always be cunning.
Are you upset by how adroit it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the iceman so attractive?
I saw the the Frozen excretion of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
Never forget the sleety and unchangeable water.
Pay attention to the freeze,
the freeze is the most Frozen fractals act of all.
Does the freeze make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
they did kindly draft for me.
Do Ice make you shiver?
do they?
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
^^/\^/\/\^
to climb the world of crags
the rock face clad in snow
men have given everything
to tred the icy floe
mountain sits
to tempt and lure
a special siren song
scaling up your scaly side
is only for the strong
for you are a dragon
breathing mist instead of fire
you can flick a climber
from your side
whenever you desire
you sleep and men are happy
you wake and we are shy
you shrug your mighty shoulders
and frail mortals die
but when you are peaceful
you inspire awe
we can stop
when we're on top
*and touch the face of
GOD*
soulsurvivor
(C) 7/4/2015
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
Children of Louisiana,
Swept away and drowned,
In the river’s flood
And the ocean surge.
Never have recovered
Fully from the rain falling down,
And of a city that was purged.
Ignored by the government
And its fellow man,
Follow in a long line of sufferers
Since the melting, ice age glaciers
And even a tsunami in the North Sea
That wiped out Doggerland.
Dark Ages got darker as people ran
And Britain’s white cliffs were sheared.
Times got better and then got worse,
But the people carried on.
Now, the floods are a weekly thing,
A blip on a newscast,
As lost as the victims in a mess
Of other disasters,
Of wildfires, droughts and don’t
Even mention the quaking earth
Or volcanoes! We can’t take credit
For causing those!
Rich men in their castles,
Feasting and clapping each other
On their fatty backs,
Rolling in the spoils and spills
Of oil, on the flaming water of
The American plains.
Sheikhs in old Mesopotamia
Whine about oil pipelines,
Promised to them by President Cheney,
While the people starve.
Bloated oligarchs spread destruction
All over the world, from
The Congo to Chernobyl,
Melting icecaps and raising the sea,
Sinking islands where they don’t live,
Vacationing in the Maldives,
On special rates before those go under.
They won’t fix Miami, but let it sink,
But not before they plunder
The empty towers built on foolish dreams.
Of course, they’ll be the last to go,
Crammed into mansions up in the Alps,
Fighting with the European nobles
Over who gets a crumbling palace
Now sitting on the last ice floe.
A few American cousins round each other up
To catch the Dixie Flyer down to New Orleans,
Trying to hide from the polar vortex,
A dazzling case of ignorance and greed,
Only to find the tracks buried in the sea…
Down in the mud of the deep, brown sea.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
For those among us who lived by the rules,
Lived frugal lives of pubis-scratching desperation;
For those who sustained a zombie-like state for 30 or 40 years,
For these few, our lucky few—
We bequeath an interactive Life-Alert emergency dogtag,
Or a dog, a colossal beast of a pet,
A humongus Harlequin Dane dog to feed,
For that matter, why not buy a few new cars before you die?
Your home mortgage is dead and buried.
We gave you senior-citizen rates for water, gas & electricity—
“The Big 3,” as they are known in certain Gasoline Alley-retro
Neighborhoods among us,
Our parishes.
Our boroughs.
All this and more, had you lived small,
Had you played by the rules for Smurfs & Serfs.
We leave you the chance to treat your grandkids
Like Santa’s A-List clientele,
“Good ‘ol Grampa,” they’ll recollect fondly,
“Sweet Grammy Strunzo,” they will sigh.
What more could you want in retirement?
You’ve enabled another generation of deadbeat grandparents,
And now you’re next in line for the ice floe,
To be taken away while still alive,
Still hunched over and wheezing,
On a midnight sleigh ride,
Your son, pulling the proverbial Eskimo sled,
Down to some random Arctic shore,
Placing you gently on the ice floe.
Your son; your boy--
A true chip off the igloo, so to speak.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
These ides have kept me thus far
Sustained, am I, eternal
By their food of self-sacrifice
The jester’s tasty wine
Imbibing insults wrought by fool’ry
Again, reciting the dirge for pride
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Despite the ru’nation
Hoist! Ye ru’nous hands
My repute in mortification
A fool by their and my demands
I see my shame, long shadow cast
In light of sobriety
Ignominy and truth of me
Divorc’d n’er they be
Still taste of cheap liquors, distilled society
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Full knowledge, have I
The disservice I do
Only time will heal the wound
To shy away, acceptance is
A lovely balm on par
My image in tatters, though brazen I be
The ides have kept me thus far
Let them laugh, for I know they do
Not to me, but within and among
I am your entertainment
The source of all your jeers
My life, a blund’ring show
I am an actor, my blight for years
A part to play, it’s pleasing though
To thrive upon your mocking and time
Comforting knowledge, that
A fixture, am I, your Thalia
The ides have kept me thus far
Erected austerity, enigmatic walls
Fortifications around me
Charged to keep the chaos in
My heart, it truly calls
I am not so noble
As the sun will attest
Know me as the ascetic,
See the shrieking eccentric,
Know me as the philosopher
See my wit pathetic,
Know what is outside is purely for show
See that is internalized, is
So ********* antithetic
Each and every time
I hide my face in shame
My pride and my name, my actions did thus mar
But I will heal, I always do
The ides have kept me thus far
This is my mantra, an empty cadence
A mist to latch on to
With every refrain of wretched debauchery
Each weekend played anew
Though I stay to bear the howl
Of my dissonant, ugly hymn
I listen to the hardened ones
Their failures but a din
I wish to change the thing I am
At least to those who know
I’ve heaved the chance to the icy mar
Onto the cracking floe
I feel the daggers of humiliation
Plucking at each stitch
I’ll just smile as though I like it
For in effect I do
But it’s becoming unbearable
The walls beginning to bow
Imperceptible, if my resolve she lasts
Though this is nothing new
But I’ll just grin and carry on, for
The ides have kept me hitherto.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
Strangers fall in love, zap arc light
others grab, finger dumb only to repel
those held most dear.
Seeing and sawing, gnawing ankles off in
polar bear trapped hugs.
You’ve heard this one before:
North pole lures south pole onto an ice floe, pushes her
with his toe out to sea.
SOS magnetic flux girdles her majesty.
She drags him, dinghy wed, out bound channel
past buoys and cruise ships and seals.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
The good verb “conn”
supersedes nounsies that say much the same
they leave their mark
and their stain.
organelles are found in living cells
but bacteria is barely surviving -
gasping, respire, respiring
god will swallow death as sure as sheol
still,
the microbes must thrive
one sloppy, the other ill
a slender hand of steel
excites it,
like the splendor of redwood mounted on peach
a cleavage emerges (causing a **** to swell)
increasing her capacity for desire
a seeker of truth now bound for duluth?
caught in an ice floe
preoccupied by the last degree
pulling shoals
of distance below,
the south pole is now our goal,
we land on land beyond sea
and space
where a wise man plays fool
to a young girl's angel face -
as an aside: he likes her
but she is not attracted to men or goys,
scattering the cremains
of
a nobody's boy
(a boy we tried to revive many a time)
into a river where the river never ends
he remains
sinking into darkness,
adrift in a pit
of lips of labrum
down the chosen depths
of the frozen abyss of Tehom
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
Thank you, my friend;
for reaching out
into the night
for seeing me through
into morning's light
a little flash
of my phone light
Thank you, friend
for letting me know I am seen
for letting me know
how much I mean
for communicating,
across the wires
how much I'm dear,
that I'm desired
This means more sometimes,
than one could ever know
especially when your very bed
has become an ice floe
especially when the one
who is supposed to warm you
embrace who you are
and enjoy, not ignore you
who is supposed to ignite you
with kisses
keep your body hot
is next to you, but really not
I can extend my hand
and hope to tease
Instead draw it back,
shocked by the freeze
For the sheets have become icy
arctic winds howl
my cat could be a seal
or polar bear on the prowl
the breath from your snore
rises up as steam
for it is so **** cold
in this iced-over scene
I'm so sick and tired
of this gelid room
So weary of my heart
being pierced by harpoons
I have tried to work my magic
apply balms to the scars
to prevent the ceiling
from growing icicle shards
And my bedroom is shaken
like some chaotic snow globe
moved by invisible hands
that search and probe
for now I am an ice princess warrior
with my map unfurled
researching ways to flee this frozen world
The kayak is ready
as I set my sights
on warmer tundras
as I weave my lightening
and spread
my thunder
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Flow in its path
Frozen in time
Peak to trough
Still, a floe
Fog starts to tire
Persistent rays victor
Chirps transcend
Drop free celebrates
Seasons cyclic
Breath lures anew
An eye a cue
Realizations release
Starting to clear
Memory thaw
Forgotten known
Regain trough to peak
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 5:36 AM UTC
Against the wind with fists of rage
He stands in youth despite his age
He’s walked the ice and witnessed the floe
Refusing to worry of his time to go
Defiance resides in his eyes
Like storm clouds dotting morning skies
He will not bow he, will not bend
He takes his time to meet the end
He fears nothing on his own
Intimacy though chills his bone
Alone he stands against the wind
No bad choices may he rescind
Perhaps one day he’ll find his faith
Until the end he stands the wraith
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
I was crystalline, a lacelike floe of ice
And you in your inferno-storm melted me
But we both know what comes next
Evaporation will be the death of you and I
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
it's astonishing
how swiftly
this disease moves.
it's gotten to be
this familiar pattern,
an ugly ebb and floe-
agonizing stretches
of nothing, just numb silence
and tense conversations,
with brief reprieves
of manic glittering highs.
it builds and builds
until it bursts, and not
in any extraordinary way.
it's usually while
engaged in some menial task
like brushing my teeth
or eating a turkey sandwich,
and suddenly it's suffocating me
and my hands are shaking
and all of my words are gone.
this is the phase
of delicious self-loathing
and bone deep sadness,
where it almost feels good
just to feel something real-
until i'm spinning out,
heaving out months of nothing
in back-breaking sobs
in the middle of the week
on my lunch break
and they're all asking
what's wrong
with their faces
******* up into
genuine concern
and, ****
they've almost
found me out.
i regroup,
smile like i mean it
and say i'm getting help;
let emptiness consume
as i dive into the grey.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
Trailers don't give away the entire plot.
I've been watching for years
As an active actor
In various melodramas.
The good guy is clean shaven
Beneath the lather,
Emotes empathy,
And never snickers.
A straight shooter.
The other guy needs a blade
As cutting as sarcasm,
And aims when you turn.
Then there's re-runs
Whose endings never change.
The prophet gets arrested.
Tara burns. Ice bergs floe.
I am under Lowry's volcanoe,
Or leaving Las Vegas.
28 Days is only two hours
Of wine and roses.
The trailers just reveal enough
To give me hope.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
the moment fades
and you had thought to capture to page
but her rapid flow escapes your hand's words
and pen falters its speech denied
you find yourself on cold granite steps
to silent tower who skin garnished with vine
lending it a ancient aspect to its modern line belies
once taken to wing
but tamed by the confused winds
you falter back to the roost of your thoughts
to mend your plans and stock your blades
you eye the approaching storms
and gauge you delemias
once taken to wing a man can think of little more
once taken to wing a man will fight to the death
to reattain the air on wing
that ebb and floe that razors edge of death
that freedom of flight
it will gnaw his conscience
disturb his dreams
till he rides wind once again
ever eyes to the quick skys
ever one hand testing mettle
to take to the wing
your pen sings once more
its voice rising to symphony and igniting the soul
clear and true
by divine right
in the simple phrases of dawns early light
streaming in through the gate
the air cool with the heavy scent of summer growth
the mind giddy with the pleasures of
summers gentle grace
toe touch to the waters surface
spreads a whisper of a wave
across the mirror surface
across the lifetimes edges of dull grey waters
turn the word slowly
its face is its own not mine
its dull repetition is the hammer-stroke
the heartbeat
of.....
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I'm coming down my high again
I've lost my soul
I've lost a friend
Unhinged
I lie and I pretend
That it's my choice to let it in
Infatuation
Euphoric floe
Imagination
I let life go
This must be heaven
No one must know
This moment is my private show
I am an addict
I'm what remains
Slave to my Savior
In crystal chains
I know that later I'll feel the shame
Of a never ending cycle
Of a life that stays the same
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
A liquid thing.
Somewhere between melting and floe.
A shifting thing,
separating sheets that shroud the unknown.
A spiraling siphon that grows as senses heighten.
A quickening pulse that gathers and glows.
"Man, I thought I told you the show doesn't start til eleven."
*No man, the show goes when I do,
to wherever I'm headin'*
He glides down the street on free swinging feet.
Slides through the scenes in this ballet of dreams.
The only audience he needs is watching from heaven.
It's a burning thing.
Somewhere between an eruption and candle,
with sizzling skin left behind by things too hot to handle,
and footprints singed into the sidewalk.
It's a shifting of plates inside the brain.
A breaking up of the saner parts.
A typhoon of thoughts and a flame in the heart
that hits the body like an earthquake.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 1:00 AM UTC
It is becoming more and more difficult to desecrate and die; Every roast pigeon word adopted for the Word can only be left on cracked lips! A meaningful conversation is interrupted and an embarrassing silence begins with a raging one! He forces himself into evasions as if he were being ***** by Honesty! - In well-washed Pilate hands, they land like cheap glue banknotes; bribery rates! The Truth itself became a nailed, leaking wound; bleeding constantly on its own! Confession, because you are forced to betray yourself more and more often!
As a god, the conscience is shattered from within: "Why did you have to choose an easier, served path ?!" "Incomprehensible will binds you and shackles your mind so that you can act!" Silent wounds and yawning cries can remain just instead of selfless help! In tumbling bodies, the watch clings to the dull beat of drums; as a sign of attention, everyone nods, though they may not know what Promised? In the cavity of black holes, how should we listen to horns? - Rolling Mirror-How to look back from Time so that the personality can no longer be distorted!
Arrivals should be received with crowded Judas pockets; dried meat sticks to the resurrected skeleton until eventually the disintegrating viscera of the naked body can remain! - The sly shape can still only flatten out; like a fleeing seal on a melting ice floe who drowns in life-giving water in atonement; the cat is always the one who plays with the mouse and never the other way around! As a killer, the Sun also distributes its nuclear fragments to the earth - yet it warms
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC
Side worn glances draw the skin pale. Half dressed inferences hooked on a nail.
Spiteful nostalgia picked from the nose, of Tom Waits while holding a rose.
Serpentary train of thought, inevitably back to the same spot.
Revert to responsibilities of old, and return to reveries told.
Spectrums of light tumble blindly, refracting in through open panes,
Opaque shadows cast from blind spots left by stains.
Trying to be poetic for poetry’s sake, resolute in resolve, discovered as a fake.
The lexicon’s been tossed aside, for depressive angst most should hide.
Tachyons convolute the art, allowing the removal of heart.
Starry skies stripped of worth, sanitized sacrilege straight from birth.
Tentative steps, pushing the precursor forward as the floe begins to melt,
Nudge the idol in, and return to shore without talent, but svelte.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
a cotton-coloured sky sheared with wiping hands
foggy windows
when I'm with you through the windshield until
the frame gives and it follows is to the ground
the crows roared Poe loud and low in metronome flow
and floe that hides more than it shows and grows and grows and grows
until we're too cold to move move move
solid
and I was naive to believe the street strips skin
stretches it thin over drum kits like canvas
and lets the beat sound low and loud
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
How many ways are there to hate
To loathe, despise, and vilify.
How many fantasies can you build
Where evil returns to those who birthed it.
How many kinds are there of hate.
Cold as an ice floe or burning hot.
Sharper than a scalpel blade, or
Duller than a breaking heart.
How do you work with so much hate.
Build a stair and climb above it
Or fabricate a prison cell
That robs you of the sun.
How do you learn to swallow hate
And **** it out the other end
Without it tearing up your guts
And leaving you a *******
How do you spell the names of hate
In blood or bile on ***** walls -
Or glitter on the seaside sand
While waiting for the tide to ebb.
How do you give back so much hate -
Fed Ex will not deliver it.
A carrier pigeon could not fly
With such a heavy parcel.
How do you juggle such mountains of hate
And not miss a catch and be buried.
How do you drop it at the edge of the road
And travel on unburdened.
Please, somebody, tell me.
ljm
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
#10word Siberia
In permafrost? or
listed as missing,
lost in the
floe.
#10word traveller
I visit this
ancient land
where the sand
meets Ozymandias.
#10word Bard.
Give me the quill
I have the will
to write.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
16 miles and change,
26,000 steps
end with the ten
to the absinthe bottle
and back to bed,
dizzy with heartbreak.
I spent years
trying to change,
but I am more myself
than ever before.
The truth slips
over my neck.
My eye is dark.
Absinthe vanishes
from the glass
smooth as vapor.
She invited
my deepest hurts
so I gave them
in cries that
sunk into her
shoulder blade,
more than I've
given to anyone.
Time is a broken floe,
drifting and cold.
I am more myself
than ever before.
I wish I wasn't,
Oh god I wish
I wasn't.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 12:08 AM UTC
I will not lament the cold
It's embrace, biting and mighty
A long drawn sigh from the Giant's mouth
Begins a tale so loved and so old
Her mind was innocent, whimsical and young
When the story took life with the old Giant's tongue
A little stone house, it's path guarded with snow
With a little creek frozen over, not an ebb, nor a floe
Yet a heart of heavy iron did reside in his chest
With darkened, old memories He did long to forget
Those tired, warm eyes cried cold, frozen tears
When that biting, mighty frost came through
That to his only beloved son laid rest
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 2:00 AM UTC
my Aline
was a
queen and
matrix of
my love
that adored
jazz that
bossa nova
did herd
her tailspin
that my
kiss blew
magic with
her clement
till a
thaw in
January regret
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
#1
Wake to grey morning,
April fooled us denying Spring,
thunderous storming.
Sleet and angry rain
skeins of winter falling ice
floods and flashy mud.
Down rolls the deluge
quenching Joshua trees instead
of man's thirsty head.
#2
*Above the desert skyline roils a maelstrom of foreboding clouds
every shade of sorrow, the color of every tear, vapid greys all gathered up as thunder claps and rolls as though nimbus giants were bowling. April foolishly battling within the fronts and blows / the westerly gusting breath of brine and pine whistles fast and harshly on the song of my wind chimes. Here comes the deluge of obese drops and tiny dots of flavorless ice, sleet and rain storm to drown the light of day, April fools in showers drenched, like insects avoiding the water board kind of fate, running amok like gutter dirt and city mud. Flash flood warning: the thunder explodes from the distant hills, as the floe of rage and silt, stampedes in whirling river runs, avoid the tsunami sized kind of flood. The deathly hollow of an undertow, April showers serious moods, and fools are silent in this hush, she has duped us to have our trust... and like thunder rolls the drums of war, lovers and flora soaking seeds, wait for Spring in May will be: the blossoming of thirsty soil, but now from the vantage of this balcony, watch the maelstrom roil...*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC