"fulls" poems
Where's the ventriloquist
throwing voices around
like whistling stray dogs
the voice and the vision
a crystal *****
whispering
with mud in the mouth
the ***** doesn't lie
a yammering vantwilaquist
who's voice springs from a blood cream corridor
with electric lips and rainbow flesh
a lost beast dazzled in endless wander lust
in search of a scarlet women
surrounded only
by aspiring virgins
sworn to be true
by desolations caress
in black ash weddings
with white frilly dresses
weeping for delicate cruelties
they will never know
his father a falling star
his soul
an undulating cobalt shrine
to her
who he can not find
a catalog of discrepancies
a noxious experiment
with a wandering eye
lust ******
embattled between reason and passion
is that look your giving me
shorthand psychic humiliation
for my vile indiscretions I'm trembling to visit upon you
I'm wearing my face like window dressing
hiding the obscenity of my true will behind a curled lip
eyes down cast
hoping to use you like a vacant room
to smear the walls and floors
with your flesh like ************ glitter
too bad
i'm outnumbered by good people
there are sky-fulls of them
agitated with moral concerns
ruining my life with logic
those scoundrels
got pedigree
ideologies
religion
folded ears and moving lips
all monkeys see and monkeys do
who are they
and
were
is
their
ventriloquist
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
as though a small town
beauty pageant winner
paraded through
local roads
tossing sweet petals
like fist-fulls of candy
from her seat perched high above
this fragrant litter
purged in layers
as the Catalpa tree
with its divinely
designed
heart-shaped leaves
plainly remains
an organic shade
for the neighbor's
ratty shed
.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Christmas is here
Santa's been
Listen to them
Excited screams
Racing down the stars
Jumping on the spot
Excited giggles
Shouting out
Santa's been
Santa's been
Tearing open presents
Shouts of Delight
Lots of hugs and kisses
Smiles on everyone
Family gathers round
Chatter never ends
Laughter fulls the room
Kisses under the mistletoe
Raise a toast
Santa's been
Santa's been
Tucking into turkey
Hiding Brussel sprouts
Pulling Christmas crackers
Making people laugh
Merry Christmas everbody
Santa's been
Santa's been
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Sleep is timed to the minute,
my breaths let out lazy smoke
icicles make goose bumps into paragraphs
books written on my arms through yellow mist
bare feet in the morning on my rooftops
counting international planes in the sky.
My migrant bones take to the sky,
each moderate minute
that passes by on my rooftops,
increases the rawness of smoke
like lung-fulls of lemon mist
spewing a nebula of paragraphs.
In the murk of paragraphs
red papery ashes explode into the sky
leaving a cloud of syllable mist.
The last fragile minute
reduces my shivers to smoke,
a winter shell of shoulders on rooftops.
Double exposed film across rooftops
turn silhouettes into paragraphs,
a congregation of vapours and smoke
speaking soliloquies into the sky.
I am minute,
dissipating into canary mist.
Billows of ocean mist
make my fingers melancholy on rooftops
where a tidal minute
freezes salty foam paragraphs
a vacation from the sky,
my mossy perch and violet smoke.
Heliotropic smoke
spirals against dense mist;
fine rain blinding the sky
soaking lemonade rooftops.
My bed of paragraphs
curls into an illegible minute.
The lilac smoke in my eyes is almost minute.
A mustard mist wrinkles the paragraphs,
like the purple sky dropping over the rooftops.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
This late hour, when
I empty myself of all experience,
you shine alone
like a pillar at the center of my being.
You arrive like a shadow at night:
silent spring of love, you flood my being like
moonlight flooding the room in darkness;
Silent snow of the drowsy noon,
you cover all my wayward tracks
and I see only your benevolent
steps guiding me on
from the door of my solitary home.
You are the lighthouse to my soul
lost at the high seas of life;
I live by your banks and draw pitcher-fulls,
Señora, you animate every love
that nourishes me.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
I always felt inadequate around her
she tickled a piano like a child
composing a beautiful laughter in the winded chest
of a string instrument with no agenda
these are the times that I’m grateful for huge siblings that see everything
global surveillance
for these chance moments that are only ever recreated
in scripts mandated to what we wish for
reeling in net-fulls of the hopeless that
though have had their hopes tested are unmoved
their hearts caressed and back-rubbed out of
the misery of a reality that is only so if it an be seen on a screen
who’s Eden stands in the clay of a dream
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
On Sundays I feel a little bit hungover
Last night I was drunk with the thought of you
Laying in your bed in your arms
The warmth spreading in my chest like alcohol
Positively dizzy with lust
Having to leave is like a premature walk of shame
I stumble like I'm lost
But I am far from ashamed
I wake up feeling like I'm still dreaming
I don't even know if I was or
I'm just replaying last night in my mind
In the shower I wash away the smell of your bedsheets,
clear lines dried on my skin that you traced
In the foggy mirror the passionate bruises are clouds
Pouring this need inside of me
And I feel like I'm overflowing, already falling
It can be hard to be alone
When I leave, I feel everything and nothing
I want to open the car door and run into the night
Clutch fist fulls of ice in both hands just to feel
I shiver within your absense
Because you were just right there
And it has effects like sudden withdraw
What I would give for a higher dose
Waiting is something I can't do
I'm eager and impatient and yours
The rest of the week I am moping
Practically ill with longing
Hoping the days will go quick
I am pathetic but truthful
I can't help but feel lovesick
While the world knows no cure
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
I am thankful for another day of breath,
Another day to get up, stretch my arms, and grab a pen,
Jot down a thought, a mismatched feeling, a strange sensation,
Pluck a note or two on the guitar, hammer a chord on the piano,
Sketch a funky thing on a piece of paper,
Talk to my family, reach out to a stranger,
Add a gift of hope, listen to some sound the wind carries,
Love like the next move the clock makes will be to run me through.
I am thankful to run here, there, dream mad, crazy, absurd things,
Conjure childish, stupid goals, reach for them, and hopefully catch them,
And praise even as I grab palm fulls of empty air.
I praise God Almighty especially as I grab palms full of empty air.
I am thankful for the moments of sitting across from Russian girls and not understanding them,
Admiring their beauty as they talk, one singing Madonna, the other speaking quickly,
And I am thankful for the moments of making a fool of myself and stubbing my toes as I walked away.
I am thankful for the audiences played for so infinitely much, the cheers, the times I was and am admired,
And I am thankful for the times I have been scoffed at, the times I was and am afraid.
I am thankful to God, dearly and bountifully, Lord knows, for everything and all things.
Things I don't deserve, things I shouldn't see or have, but things I cherish,
And things that I know are divine,
And in heaven, I owe God all things, but I want to have a hug.
From my Father in heaven, I want most of all, a hug.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
I died inside and shut the door
Just climbed inside, but just before
I slammed it shut, I saw you there
The only soul to look with care.
You saw this boy. You saw my tears.
I'd hid both well throughout the years.
You found my inward river flow.
That's filled me up, my hollow soul.
I'd lost some things since I was young
All my feelings except for one.
See emptiness had chose to stay,
And dig a hole in which to play.
The dirt he scooped was made of me
My likes, my cares, my hopes and dreams.
The hole he made just grew in size
Enough to hide me deep inside.
The tears I cried they filled the rest
Soaked inside out this hollow chest.
My lonely cave, this empty soul
These shovel-fulls had took their toll
And so I hid, as our eyes met
I latched the door without regret
I'd had too much to stop this train
The breaks were gone, just too much pain.
So just don't knock leave me alone.
My hollowed hole is my new home.
Inside these walls is where I'll stay.
Don't write, don't call just go away.
These four walls, a haven I've made,
Save me from what was dug away,
But still keep me from moving on
This door, these walls, could this be wrong?
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
I rode a curb side
dust devil into
the low side of
town.
Found myself
adrift right along side
the lip stick stained
cigarette butts,
empty dime baggies and
a city days worth
of welfare diapers
and plastic bottles who
will out last us all.
Same old dogs
along the same
old streets.
Dogs so old
they no longer
lift their legs to ****
Its a bit shameful
but a Hell of alot
less painful just
to let it go where
you lay or stand.
Bad kids with
big sticks and
fist fulls of
C cell batteries
chase the winos
along the railroad tracks.
They generate
terror and call it fun.
Televised Gods
for your televised mind.
Fall asleep with the
lights on ,leave
something to guide
me back home.
Blame it all on me
and I'll leave before
the hate sets in.
My time here is
far past due,
summers over and
the rare California rains
have come in.
I came only for the
weather and whatever
there was to drink.
Moonshine Cherries and
Jameson on ice.
The conversations all died with
that last bottle of whisky.
The mason jars are all empty
and this passing moment
feels right
for me to leave with.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
The Elders Warn Skinny Vinny
Skinny Viiny, eat your meals -
no spitting and no sputtering;
just chew and swallow
everything mom feeds you
Think of the millions in Third World Countries
who daily and nightly can't afford food
Skinny Vinny, eat your food
or when you're asleep alone at night
the cockroaches will gather in your room
and they will nibble and nibble
and nibble
at your arms and your legs
and they will nibble and nibble
all night and all moonlight
and they will nibble away
all your fingers and toes
So if you don't want that to happen,
Skinny Vinny, eat all your meals
all that mom feeds you
But Skinny Vinny Ignores Her Elders
Now, one night, Skinny Vinny saw
that all the cockroaches
did come (only in her dream, though)
and in that dream the cockroaches ate away
exactly as her parents had prophesied -
nibble, nibble, nibble, nibble
at her fingers and at her toes -
and Skinny Vinny was exactly bereft
of all her yummy fingers
and all her smelly toes
Skinny Vinny Learns Her Lesson
And by this dream
Skinny Vinny had the **** beaten out of her
so much by fear
that from then on she ate all; she ate all at hand
she ate all she was fed and all at the table
and she demanded more by platefuls and bucketfuls
and she ate by trolley-fulls and delivery-truck-fulls
and her parents had to bring in
containers shipped in from China daily
all by Double Happiness exclusive deals
And Skinny Vinny ate and ate
and no food went to waste;
and her parents spent all their inherited fortunes
and they worked and worked day and night
even at the time when cockroaches fly
so they could feed Skinny Vinny
who ate all far and nigh -
and when last I checked the Daily Mule
( whose publication motto is:
We swear to carry nothing but unprocessed truth)
the parents are still working in the mines
in order to feed Skinny Vinny
who once would eat nothing
All parents learn your lesson
*And so be warned all ye parents
that threaten harm to your children
because they will not eat -
the very threats will be laid on your heads
and you will be digging in coal mines
to feed your kids*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Dancing,
Singing,
Listening,
Enjoying,
An island,
The people,
Brazilian,
Their laughing,
Their making,
Love,
Love,
Love,
Touching,
Kissing,
Feeling,
In the streets,
There's a party,
Full of hottie's,
Everybody,
Speaks Brazilian,
Getting down,
Getting naughty,
This is *** night.
Dancing,
Singing,
Listening,
Enjoying,
An island,
The people,
Brazilian,
Their laughing,
Their making,
Love,
Love,
Love,
Touching,
Kissing,
Feeling,
In the streets,
There's a party,
Full of hottie's,
Everybody,
Speaks Brazilian,
Getting down,
Getting naughty,
Don't tell nobody,
Keep it a secret,
Fulls of smiles,
Taking shots,
Popping,
Ecstasy.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
A city
fulls of lights,
a clean place,
its inhabitants have all the leisure
Everyone has a temporary remission
All remains in expectation
Jan 11, 2022
Jan 11, 2022 at 6:42 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, feels=good ----- feelings=no good:(
the balance arises she points
illuminance not the right joint
like the sun overdosed in the sky
clouds disappear in the high
flipped worlds refraction in swords
in an instant speed
nightfall glitches in a scream
kiss the moon in a double tick
the fulls bright convincing a vision trick
save the day
in no way
spinal chords in the dark serenading the blue
but my colors drained from every single hue
the center of the system remains golden
confusion enlightens a feeling so broken
trapped the whole breathing
and my lungs are still bleeding
------ravenfeels
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 8:34 AM UTC
He laid in the sun
like he ruled the earth,
he held onto the
wine bottle
with a hand heavily scared
with the marks
of suffering.
He toasted the
sea and the surf,
cursed the
gulls and the gnats.
Then brought the bottle
to his dried and
cracked
lips and drank
as if the
last grape
of the world had
let its blood
into his bottle.
He laughed at
a memory
then yelled at
the sun and
everyone around
him was a peasant.
His lips bled red
as he gulped mouth
fulls of wine.
The memory of
her along this very beach
caused his inner
rage to drum forth.
He gripped handfuls
of sand as he silently
Dammed the serpents
all to Hell.
He mumbled drunken
thanks to
Minerva, Osiris, Hera
and Anu.
The shadowed world
looked down upon him
and the feral cats adored him.
He lived like true royalty,
drunk and alone.
Care free and forgotten
he had become once
he had awoke to it all.
Ridiculed and labeled CRAZY
for his ability to see
it all for what it really
was,for what it really
still is.
She left this page
on a Saturday as he
slept on a chair
beside her hospital bed.
He buried her
on a Tuesday,
then set about to
drinking.
He broke free
of it all,
detached himself
from this farce
and
set about to wonder.
Now free of the
pollution they call society,
he waited only
on the next life,
on that next page.
Where she had promised him
they'd meet again...
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
got it
up packed...
cold at the
blaze.
cobra hoody.
fang-fulls of
elephants lumbering
rooms.
getting fat off slow
death.
straight sippy-cups
brimmed with
reorienting brew.
i watch Ganesha
remove his own
obstacle.
i blow his
shadow off.
code blue on lock...
Shiva~
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
When I was little, my Mumma taught me
how to make perfume from the rose petals
in my Nan's English garden.
The grass out there was always soggy
but I never wore shoes, never wore anything.
Flowers are best picked in the ****
She gave me a wicker basket and said,
Watch out for the thorns and the slugs.
She picked her petals slow;
only took the nice ones.
But I didn't care about wilted edges
or gnawed worm holes.
I grabbed them all in rough fist-fulls.
Mumma tossed petals above my head
and let them flit down around me,
so I could parade threw them and pretend
I was the Queen of everything.
When our baskets were full she filled a deep ceramic bowl
with hot, cloudy water from the temperamental sink.
We pushed the petals in and broke the torrid surface.
Now, She said
It's time to let them steep.
So she gave me Hasbiro milk bottles and chocolate buttons
while I helped her hang the linens outside
on that revolving white rack,
and we waited for our Eau du flor to brew.
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
"I can't do this anymore!" She screams slidding down the wall burying her head in her knees.
"Then stop fighting us" The voices in her head whisper.
"I can't give in!" She crys grabbing fist fulls of her hair.
"Give in no one will miss you." They tell her.
"No, please stop." She beggs.
"Your worthless"
"Ugly"
"A waste of space"
"A mistake"
She harshly wipes her tears away and stands up. She starts walking towards her closet.
"Fat"
"A nobody "
"Loser"
She opens the closet door and looks for the 'box'.
**** yourself " the voices chant.
She grabs the box and opens the lid. She pulls out a gun and a heart breaking sob betrays her.
"Hurry before its to late"
Knock-knock
Someone knocks on her door as she loads the gun and points it at her head.
"Sweet heart dinners rea...NOO!" Her mother screams as she pulls the trigger.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
Holiday in the Gulf
The intimate ones
With the night shift worn face
Of Uwaisi hospital nurse Clara
The queen of spades
In the attire of
Althaf Hotel boy Kassim
The king of clubs
With the face of my dad
Waiting for the postman
At the verandah of
The half finished house
The king of hearts
With the face of Abu
Staring at my young sister
When he comes to collect
The cut throat interest
Of the never ending debt
Hiding face down
For a full hand sweep
The trump diamond jack
Cornered in the hand
The waste twos and threes
Remember
The jobless gang home
The canal side cards play
Unaware to the opponent
With a scratch mark
Or a creased edge
Hinting the card in hand
The foul-trick playpal...
Breaking the trap
Jumping a fence
When the police ambush
Making me hide
In the abandoned ghost well
The saviour friend Ravunni
Keeping in mind friend
On the next home visit
A job visa for you
Here tonight when I am
Losing games one by one
Behind the opponent stands who
Invisible to prompt his cards
To make me win round by round
By honours and by fulls
On the phone at odd hours
Who is that from away home
What's the news so urgent
In the abandoned ghost well...
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
last night you were my dream again
hair pinched up in a messy bun
you know who you are so
****** don't act like you don't to
tag you in this would be silly
& embarrassing because you
never text me back &
even if you did i wouldn't
know what
to
say
you know the one, i'm staring up at you
my head is on a goodwill pillow in your lap
you're not wearing a bra under a cut-up willie nelson tshirt
you're ignoring me holding back tears
watching one of your shows
i'm feeding you sunflower seeds & you're
spitting them back onto my sweaty chest
one hand has absentmindedly wandered to
trace my belly-button &
when a commercial starts i whisper
"hey"
"hey, down here,"
"i love you"
& your nose shrivels up & you giggle
simultaneously plucking two finger-fulls of hair from
my belly making me squiggle & bite your wrist
& you flick my nose hard
but you never
say it
back.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
I write you, because the absence of you is still somehow shaped like your presence.
I write you because you overwhelm, overwhelmed my defences and now that my house is underwater there is only air that is not you in the top corner of the attic.
I drift along on the current of you I’ve created, fallen prey to, and wonder if it will ever end.
Or lessen. Abate.
I could let the air leave my lungs and sink down into you as long as I knew that in the water you were wrapped back around me as I was wrapping myself around you.
I drown in your tide and pray that your fire begins to burn less brightly, no longer a flashover combustion but something that lingers long and warm and comforting.
Instead I will macerate away, fasting on air-fulls of you I am convinced are whole meals, and you will fall victim to my incendiary blaze as I go out in nothing akin to glory, and we’ll both stand on opposite sides of a road as we bleed and stare back at each other.
This will only hurt, but the swell of you I sail forth on, carrying in my veins with every waterlogged step, means I can’t stop.
I don’t want to.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Hey there,
It's been a while, hasn't it?
Well, I'm writing this, to tell you how I wish this could end,
How I wish I could make you feel,
I'm saying this, because I'm sorry,
Because what else is there to say?
I want to be able to tell you how I feel,
Over Coffee and Ice Cream,
Do you remember?
How we used to drink the Bittersweet, kiss of milk,
Top it off with crisp, creamy ice, chocolate syrup sifted ontop,
I remember,
I remember the excruciatingly warm feeling,
Such a bubbly, delicious emotion,
I remember how you'd smile and grin at me,
And the tempature would increase,
I remember how you'd cool me down,
With spoon fulls of ice cream,
I remember how you'd laugh through chattering teeth,
And a scalded throat,
You'd sometimes spill the Coffee onto your pale skin,
Stare at it, Giggle,
I remember the pitchy laugh,
All that I adored,
You'd giggle and say, "I'm perfectly fine,"
And I'd smile and giggle back,
I remember the day, when I became curious,
As to why you spilt it on yourself so much,
What it felt like,
Why it looked like you planned each step so precisely,
I remember the curiosity leading me into a clutsy state,
Spilling it on myself, Splashing it onto my skin,
Leaving behind a tingly feeling,
I remember you watching carefully,
Mimicked emotions, as if it wasn't fun anymore,
And you'd smile forcefully,
And giggle again
I remember how much I loved the time we spent together,
Those moments, Touches of ice cream, Sips of Coffee,
Your touch, Your laugh,
But then, I remember,
I had to leave,
I missed those cups of Coffee,
And those tubs of Ice Cream,
For, it was unhealthy,
But, please, one last time, can I see your face?
Reflecting off my steaming hot coffee?
And can I stare at you a while?
Because that'd be enough,
I'd raise my mug, shout, giggle,
An impolite action, but I don't mind,
Your smile would be enough,
I'd probably embarrass you,
My selfish desires taking away moments you dream of,
I'm afraid none of this can happen, My Dear,
Because I think you'd try to cool down my Coffee,
And I can't stare into your big brown eyes,
That's why I cannot share it with you,
For, this'll be my last cup of Coffee,
My last tub of Ice Cream,
Staring into the steamy abyss,
And then?
I'll pour it over my body completely,
Feel the burn, the warmth, the tingly feeling,
I'll let the stinging cascade over my body,
relieving chills, Coloring my body red,
Make me Evaporate,
And I'll think of you,
To comfort the end of my own fate.
So, I'm sorry I couldn't possibly share that last moment with you,
As you requested, Because I know it's unfair,
Because, even then, sharing that moment with myself wasn't fun,
I didn't giggle, or smile,
Because I couldn't move,
But, that doesn't matter now, does it?
Because, in the end, nothing is left, these actions do not exist,
There's nothing left,
But, an empty mug of Coffee,
And a half full melted tub of Ice Cream.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
A million shovel fulls of sand,
and this is not the life I'd planned.
Yet every raindrop on my head
Reminds me of the way things play.
The way somebody's point of view,
leads us down a different road.
The way life teaches something new,
from the cradle to the grave.
A million shovel fulls of sand,
plucked from Dublins sacred soil.
Reminds me of a distant past.
Reminds me of a different age.
The cobble stones.
The memories.
Lost amongst it all.
The raindrops that fell upon my head,
have been the ones
that made me strong.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC