"fulminations" poems
Men my brothers who after us live,
have your hearts against us not hardened.
For—if of poor us you take pity,
God of you sooner will show mercy.
You see us here, attached.
As for the flesh we too well have fed,
long since it's been devoured or has rotted.
And we the bones are becoming ash and dust.
Of our pain let nobody laugh,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
If you my brothers I call, do not
scoff at us in disdain, though killed
we were by justice. Yet þþ you know
all men are not of good sound sense.
Plead our behalf since we are dead naked
with the Son of Mary the ******
that His grace be not for us dried up
preserving us from hell's fulminations.
We're dead after all. Let no soul revile us,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
Rain has washed us, laundered us,
and the sun has dried us black.
Worse—ravens plucked our eyes hollow
and picked our beards and brows.
Never ever have we sat down, but
this way, and that way, at the wind's
good pleasure ceaselessly we swing 'n swivel,
more nibbled at than sewing thimbles.
Therefore, think not of joining our guild,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
Prince Jesus, who over all has lordship,
care that hell not gain of us dominion.
With it we have no business, fast or loose.
People, here be no mocking,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
5.4k
**With tears in my eyes,
I will smile,**
With the shadows perished by,
I will be the daylight,
With those envisaged grievances,
I will emanate fluorescence,
**With sadness deep inside,
I will rejoice,**
With the appalling bruises on my skin,
I will still be intact,
**With shattered hope,
I will remain steadfast,**
With fulminations raining aside,
I will stay afloat,
With vehement reminiscences passed,
I will protect and cherish,
With love gone awry,
I will gather the traces.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
A bouquet hung in afterhour pantry,
A bell to ring the starved noise,
Two spirit's gathering extraterrestrial information,
A stairway chalked by toys!!!
A damp moistness to bleed out ourn Laugh's,
No docteretic sources,
Just serene gleams of minds alike inbathed!!!
Abundance of sizziling swelter,
Bogged heavy in due rain heat,
A voisterous composition,
The crow polishes ourn two's feet!!
I tasteth her plum need,
She gravels our toes,
Fulminations children breed,
In translucent clear clothes!!!
We wither in feathered juiciness,
Where fences are none to find,
Wherein camera's we make to shiver,
We break back's on massage oil chyme!
She reaches over to take mine fears,
She maketh me a warmsome bed,
Different valley's in singular astronomical view,
Both alive, yet so dead!!
Ourn peritonium's hunch in closer,
As ourn cartilage gets renaissance,
Were two alike, a Shakespherian Poe poster,
A darkness and light of Dupont!!!
Puzzles with missing pieces,
Though we ourn selves fill the gaps,
Where none can enter between us,
For ourn chapters are ammophilously wrapped!!!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
Fridays, fridays, getting there
winds with their fulminations full forced
an array of a slow crawl and taunting sun
just want to go flex
glazing the mind, to downcast to longing
stepping over cracks on morning roads
past neighbor’s verandahs - filled with
sensory overloads
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
Petrichor
from the Greek words for stone and the blood of the gods
the fresh earthy smell of rain on dry soil
During an arid spell
some plants release oils into the earth
Rain droplets aerosolize these oils into particles
which are swept up in the currents of the air and brought to us
In a quiet little nook just out of the rain
you know the one
a warm zephyr dances on the air between our lips
I breathe it in and kiss you
Ozone
from the old Greek
the pretty words all are
meaning ‘to smell’
an alternate form of oxygen that has three atoms instead of two
Lightning splits O2 and N2 in the air
which recombine into nitric acid
a loose-bonded molecule that oxidizes and forms
among other things
the spark-sharp scent of ozone
My skin tingles
when it’s not touching yours
Your fingertips are thunderbolts
fulminations on a
breathless
body
They say smell is the closest sense to memory
Both are processed by the brain’s limbic system
as is emotion
Outside
the air crackles
the rain falls
Inside
the heat of us
flaring scratches on your alabastrine skin
the smell of your hair and the soil and the lightning
is its own storm
People wonder why every cloudburst makes me smile
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
like men in parks
let us
greet the oriole-filled
morning with an ineluctable smile
and go merrily with argenteous waters and their rustling freedom,
be as flowers are, thirsty
for life, quenched by sweet ambrosia from the Earth's
hermetic vessels,
sojourn and watch slender fulminations of dawn ******
against the oleanders, the cypresses, the children tawny
with laughter, and the sparrow swift in wind's deepening hush
sing with the string of birds
and wait for women for us to
gaze at in their lush pelisses
as the heavens gather a mound
to graying, reckoning rain through
sills imperatively shut
as rain slowly announces its arrival
like men in parks
treading gently are
the passing flight of herons,
their unnamable wings
truncating their
journey as the day closes
its wide eyes and sleeps!
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
i.
I remember, when I was a much younger girl,
How my grandfather would hold a kopek in his hand
And, making it flutter slowly as if it were in flight
Would pantomime dropping it into a small sack,
Kicking a horseshoe or barrel stave against a rock
To approximate the sound of the coin hitting the sack,
Surreptitiously nudging the bottom of the canvas
To accentuate the deception.
We knew, of course, that it was mere sleight-of-hand
(Indeed, as he grew older and we less credulous,
It was fairly easy to pick up at what point
The small, tarnished piece was actually palmed),
But it was Grandfather, after all, and besides,
The invention was much more pleasant than the reality.
ii.
We were, naturally, prepared to die;
Indeed, if you wear a belt of explosives,
You prefer not to consider other outcomes.
It did not come to pass; there are, sadly, always spies,
Provocateurs who prefer pennies over principles,
And so I have come to this fortress to await my pas de deux
With the roughness of the rope and the kick of the lever.
But there shall be no death.
No death? they shall say, *Surely the gravity of your plight,
The strain of isolation has caused you to take leave of your senses*,
But I am as clear and constant
As the bells in the guard tower
Which toll on the quarter hour.
*Ah, but here is the judge,
Great eyebrows knit, jaw tight,
Reading, measured in tone and pace, from the paper
Which outlines the finality of your sentence*,
And I say it is no more than mere parchment,
His words the empty fulminations
Of an unconnected party.
But see here, Musechka, they will insinuate slyly,
*What of this image--the eyes bulging,
The face distorted and blue, the tongue blackened*,
And I respond that such a depiction,
Along with all prior inquiries and protests,
Are from without and, as such,
No concern of mine.
iii.
When, come sunup the day after tomorrow,
It is time for the law and justice
To finish going through the requisite motions,
I shall walk to the platform
Burdened with neither regret
Nor any notion of dying well
(Such thoughts are for priests, foppish cavalry officers)
And the soldiers that cut me down
Shall, I am sure, will be somewhat irritated with me
For they shall have seen I have, in a sense,
Engineered my own exit,
And that it was a trick
Which they played no part in contriving.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
this Democratic Party affiliated member i.e.
considered (with an eye blink)
positing the following blurb
for a very short while
asper the "FAKE" trumpeting
oaf fish shill offal
continuous, indecorous,
and poisonous barbs doth re vile
me, an anonymous middle aged
concerned citizen at thee...reptile
no...no...that, would
unfairly debase creatures such as
snakes, lizards, turtles, or alligators,
whose aggressive acceptable modes,
one expects tubby non servile
thus in my mind hiss non diss incriminating
cruel, fiendish, gallingly jawboning
mawkish philistine (YES, I
MEAN YOU DONALD Quisling TRUMP)
figuratively roasting
respectable people analogous
to rake them over hot coals
then, burn them at the stake,
which witch trial characters assassination
with point blank expletives
found an introspective chap (yours truly)
responds to broadcast
unflattering sentiments,
albeit swiftly tailored harried, yup,
yar...obnoxious fulminations rile,
said brief explanation motive enough
(occurred within a split second)
after gleaning most recent denigrating,
hurtful, lambasting puerile
verbal and/ or twittering outbursts
(MOST DEFINITELY) unstatesmanlike
at least to me: a circumspect enlightened
genteel individual kind nattering
nabob of nativity, who feels alarmed
at venal wickedness by thee ->
President Trump spluttering, smoldering,
slandering gallimaufry
predicated predictable awfully banal,
cringeworthy diurnal,
and fiercely hurt locker ful invective bile
perhaps indicative of dementia praecox
or smother mental illness,
ye would immediately refute,
and be in din aisle.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
i like how your eyes close.
voluminous quandary of
a naked rose.
the agony of the brine
beating through the night.
i like how your eyes swallow back
to smallness
and then open
like a gossamer flower in bloom.
i like how your eyes flicker
their transluminal joy - i like what they do to me - so quite a new and tender thing. under the ocean-liner of your skin and the waiting islets of your shoulders, there i am drunk underneath the twilight of your wide eyes, outwrestling pains, and then closing, outlasting the nightfall.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC