"galvanized" poems
Slowly unfold,
as you fold into me.
Two explosions that explode
imploding our senses with sensory overload
too intersections that intersect invisible
connected through connectivity
magnetized magnetically
galvanized genetically
when energized
this pleasure is derived
riveting her visibly
I convulse as you implode
Extinguishing our misery
With pleasure beyond measure
Thirst quenched physically
satisfied, apparently.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
*Electric Dreams Of My Radioactive Ex,
Bio-Digital Jazz Tap Dancing Us Into ***
Lucid Infatuations Infused In Whiskey,
Cupid Fairytales Conceiving Frisky,
A Perpetual Beauty Smoldered In Ecstatic Bliss,
Sublime Sins Between Her Rosy Lips With Velvet Kiss,
Romantic Burns Galvanized In Her ****** Desires,
Seductive Stardust Enchanting My Feisty Fires,
Encoded Serenity In Her Decoded Virginity,
Recoding Obscenities Of Her Fragrant Sexuality,
Hazel Echoes Raining Intimate Bouquets,
Rekindling, Her Drug That Fondles In Her Moaning Glaze,
Enraptured Catalysts Animating In Her Cuddles,
Euphoric Elations Climaxing Into Her Satin Snuggles.
- 02:17AM -*
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Hidden coves of love disguised by cold eyes
Chances not yet given.
Angry tones escape tooth filled holes
Drilling dissent through another's soul.
Selfish is the only answer,
yet not an excuse.
Forgive the fool.
He is you
She is I
We are one.
Negative polarities combusting innocent eyes.
Lost in the essence of the moment.
This is an apology for the mournful cries.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
distinct beings intertwined amongst the influx
passengers and neighbors, reactive tension
impulses of separation.
pause for a moment. breath together.
similar beings galvanized by difference
nutrition for acceptance.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
Leading sounds of spring
Are now preceding the season.
Scattered platoons of yardmen
clunk aluminum ladders
that thunk debris littered roof gutters,
bang a size range of galvanized nails
into an exterior catalogue of materials
needing attentive appending.
The leaf blowers, the leaf blowers
exhausting NASCAR level roars
attempting to push back
last fall/winter into their calendared slots.
And the first nice day Harleys
rumble distantly along the gorge road below.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
Farmer Jones set out to build a barn
A shelter for his bovine
When the wood started disappearing
A little at a time
The cows were taking it to pasture
On the other side of the dell
Little by little in the middle of night
Hoping Jones wouldn't be able to tell
This plans been festering for ages
At least since some of them were veal
But cows aren't very good at telling time
So how long is really hard to tell
Anyways they know they have a plan
That's what matters when it comes down to it
And what it is they've been planing
Is "Bovine One" The Rocket Ship
This time they're going to the moon
They had a cousin who jumped over it once
But that was so many years ago
And cousin Eddie has long been somebody's lunch
They got the plans out of Science Illustrated
When Carl went in to use the can
The day Farmer Jones stepped out of the house
A little secret the cows are keeping from "The Man"
They know nothing about jet propulsion
So the cows broke down and asked the goat
The smartest of all the farm animals
Another little secret nobody knows
In the process of building they used galvanized nails
The goat said in space regular nails would rust
I never would have thought of that
I guess goats are even smarter than us
When "Bovine One" The Rocket Ship was completed
It was on a Wednesday the count down did fall
The day Farmer Jones noticed his wood was missing
And the authorities were called
As they began to investigate
A bright glow came from over the hill
Still to this day no matter what people say
They don't know what the object was nor ever will
The Rocket Ship is still up there in orbit
With umpteen cows inside
Next time you hear a cow moo, look up cause you too
Could see "Bovine One" as it passes by
Did they ever make it to the moon?
No one around really seems to know
I bet you could get the answer though
If you were to go and ask the goat
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
Barely do my Wednesdays fill with longing,
Lost observers rendering August whims to the scrapheap of infinity,
Galvanized entities downing tools schematically,
A posse of awareness pronating towards incandescent light,
Mostly everything a prolonging of jest and belly laughs,
Dawn brings the sick belly of listlessness,
Hordes of happenchance and imaginers of silence dancing,
The chitter chatter cadence does dim for a minute stretching yonde
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
Sometimes your voice sounds like rain beating heavy on a galvanized roof.
Sometimes I feel like I can hear the sadness pouring from your mouth like a rainstorm in the middle of the night.
You tried hard to swallow it, hide it beneath your tongue;
when you laugh you pretend it doesn't sound like thunder and howling winds,
You've flooded my home many times, my dear.
Sometimes I feel like I can hear the sadness,
the sadness pouring from your mouth like a rainstorm
in the middle of the night.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
Icy tangs are all the early morning, budding its flower
The young mother born into the sonata of her own being
That seems so foreign to thick sheltered blood,
My adult notch in this Exquisite Rotation.
Humid skies are as spy glasses to the truth
So says the colossus with our sun for an eye;
She steps out of the illusion beautifully blue
Robed in silks of celestial gold;
The skin hangs taught over the most beautiful
Pair of collarbones you’ve ever seen
The pass of your previous life comes in sublime waves
Of crashing aether and all the souls flee with irreclaimable mirth
Before popping in the atmosphere like spit and wishes
And everyday is the day of rest, a pondering
Of avant-gardens where a savior once walked.
He and his church left the path of the geese
For, he hears not, the pass of prayer on their lips.
But, I do not blame them: their mouths are full
With the sky’s drawstrings, reinvigorated from their disuse,
They’ve no time for the good word.
My family of geese fly for the astral bodies’ abode above
Where the casual speak of poets, philosophers can be hears
Talking about their *** lives, talking about themselves
No longer galvanized by their own recreations.
And as I go to place this thing in the place of pain
Warm rushes in the shifting life-force, the green of
Exuberant joy hits our hydrophobic throats
And we exhale, watching it roll back as the geese fly overhead
With no mind or reason why.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
The mosquitoes supped histamine limpets into our puckered flesh
dew gilted grass entombed our feet in dappled domes
refracting the overhead fireworks
smears of whirling color
accented by smoke mote ghosts
I forgot to wear my contacts
my near-sightedness
makes you giggle nervously -
a hard full body ****** of a laugh
it arches your spine
pulling our hand-holding into an expansion
only the lining betwixt finger inlets
galvanized our pulse
well, that and your voltaic laugh
its flourishing timbre
resonant
reverberant pyrotechnic
thickly glazing aural canal
lascivious tomes penned themselves
densely
upon neural plane
dendrites imprinting chemical insignia
moment captured in impressionistic blurs
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
A plain woman in a checkered dress
Trapped on a windy hill
With a man whose every thought
Was crops and cows and bad weather coming,
You cooked every meal on time,
Served lunches exactly at 12:00
When the hands aligned.
You drove "flagger,"
moving trucks and tractors
From field to field,
Raised two boys and two girls
To be God-fearing citizens,
Buried one in shock and disbelief;
And then moved on.
I know your secret.
There on that swept-neat farmstead,
Under the green roofs,
Beside the red barn,
In your white walls,
The rational order,
The unnatural neatness
Belied you.
Lydia...
You of the Romantic Heart,
You of the secret desire and passion.
Beside your chair in that sparse house
Stood a stack of romance novels
In easy reach,
An escape from harsh reality.
What guilty ecstasies you managed to steal
Came five miles from the post office,
Ninety-five cents a copy,
Wrapped in brown paper,
Tucked in a galvanized milk pail.
Ahhh.
The stolen moments!
The bliss of passions and handsome strangers
Ready to take you from dry and wind-blown land.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
Rainbow
The colors speak and reveal red means you’re mad or hot or it could mean you’re a cool hot which everyone wants to achieve
Yellow means you’re mellow in some cases fear beats out courage and they call you coward that’s when mellow helps
Green with envy most unattractive but if your green references money then you’re loaded and envy switches to others
Blue you’re depressed you are moody if it causes you to beat the bad feelings then your blessed and can help someone else
Orange you got the juice or you’re a fruit or your characteristic of the pleasant ending of a day ending in dying beauty
Purple the skies greatest hue next to the azure blue the greatest canvass viewed and admired by all mankind freely
They say black isn’t a color but necessary to create a rainbow sets it off enriches deepens makes it stand out immeasurably
White again not a color represents day brightness purity the heart of a rainbow told on this backdrop exquisite power generates
A spiritual rain bow made of red hot fervor galvanized flesh and spirit in perfect harmony only one had it all others reflect it
Green without experience raw available receptive to the filling spiritual purity the essence of a holy life truly lived completely filled
Blue spiritual skies take flight to others invite these rarefied climes sadly empty of the very ones who need it most they neglect
Yellow marvel wonder speak and know God up close and personnel softest steps in holy reverence and awe you enthrall one and all
Purple ancient days it represented fabulous wealth this crest this winner’s wreath your soul now is made to wear forever
Orange speak with soft undertone your words glow no need to shout the landscape enriched the soul enlarged widest measure told
White should the darkest night break yes now that true light is found all that is unholy is expelled only evil cursed darkness dwells
Black the smoke ascends he said never by water he made a vow with a bow it is true with fire destruction the end will consume
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
Twisted shadows creep forth...
morphing into…
desolation
cries seep through
my skin
thereafter, darkness
engulfs me…
consumes me…
devours my inner being, my essence
thence...
a dark spiritual cocoon...
tainted
revamps that which
was to be righteous
into something more…
perfect
morphed into forlornness
I awake, galvanized
only tenebrous ambitions
are left
malevolent perfection is amongst
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 2:27 AM UTC
it’s the razor's edge of winter
and kissing you smells like mustache wax.
you drive me to the hardware store to pick up galvanized wire
so that i can build miniature shadow people
that make us laugh for hours
it’s hard to find the soft parts of you to rest my head on
but it’s always the simple parts that i like best
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
we used to gallivant around cities
with light feet and empty wallets
and you were infinitely cool
skipping from streetlight to streetlight
in colorful skirts and tank tops
and quoting Bob Marley lyrics
to tell me you love me.
these times were mindless
of all the tomorrows
that would eventually find us.
you would give me a certain look
with eyes colored a certain blue
and i was chivalrous
taking you by the hand
and scurrying through the crowd
our hands clenched with balmy anticipation
and we would find a restroom
or a rooftop or an alley
where I’d lift your skirt
scoot your ******* to the side
and howl at the moon.
we would return to the bar
just-sexed and wonderfully disheveled
with spirits galvanized
by the hubris of youth
and the shellac of *****
your blushed cheeks told the story
as friends pretended not to notice
and overworked squares
drowned their envy
with shots of cheap whiskey.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 2:50 AM UTC
We are the dreamers,
Bound together by fate,
With hearts of joy.
We are the dreamers,
The ones who are crazy enough,
As they all will say.
We are the dreamers,
Who will make a change,
They will call us strange.
We are the dreamers,
We are the unpretentious millennials,
Galvanized, united, and motivated.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
Wild grapes grow on vines
From the trees next to the Fields
A bunch of us harvested the yield
Purple fingered in buckets
A Galvanized Antique
Wash Tub on Wheels
With the Hose at the Bottom
Filled up with The Make
A log of Firewood was used
To smash the grapes to pulp
As the Juice Drained out
Collecting in a Bucket
Pounding the pulp up
Taking Turns, Arms Ached
In the Back Yard, Sun Baked
As we plied our Log to Make
In the Kitchen 20 Lbs of Sugar
And gallons of Water Boiled
Watched and Stirring Constantly
Till the Syrup Batch Roiled
A 50 Gallon Oak Wine Keg
Prepared a Wooden Peg
A Hole drilled through
Coiled copper Pipe put to...
An ancient wooden Spigot
Gently tapped into place
The warm Syrup is poured
Yeast Added and then Grape
The Plug with the copper Pipe
Tapped into the Top of the keg
Coiled up Copper Stretches Down
To water, in a Redwing Crock
Halloween party we
Tapped some pitchers
A Light and fruity Vin
Sweet Pallette of wine
Christmas we Tapped
Merry Pitchers to toast
A Fine Full bodied Note
It made a Merry toast
For New Years we
Tapped the Last
The Marc of Dregs
Potent as Sweet Sherry
The Winter Wine
Tasted Fine
With Merry Toasts
For a Good Time
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Shes next
the one
The Bait dangled in my face
Followed her from Beetle's to Market St.
She stopped at the state liquor agent
Her reflection in the bottles
Strange and obtuse
I trail in her shadow
As she hits the main drag
She's taking potshots from the brown bag
Pitch black dress and a red purse
Looks like she just woke up
In the back of a hearse
Cunning
Taking to the street backs
Like a cat to the fence
Through the ghetto directing traffic with her hips
Her pheromone trail has me licking my lips
In the gaslamps I can make the outlines
Of her unfinished tattoos
The naked torso
the bicep
Weeping willow
I gave her a million chances
But she never answered the phone
Galvanized by a single conversation
Eyes
An itch on the frontal lobe
A fire in my chest her screams act like billows
Steel grip on the nape of porcelain
Anaconda uncoiling from the ****
Naked
I stand above her
Lying all blue lipped against white sheets
Gently
I pose and photograph her
This one's a keeper
They say I hate women
Nothing could be further from the truth
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
Plain woman in a checkered dress,
Trapped on a windy hill
With a man whose every thought
Was crops and cows
And bad weather coming,
You cooked every meal
On time,
Served lunches to the field
Exactly when the clock said "12."
More though,
You drove "flagger" to the men,
Moved trucks and tractors to the fields,
Raised two boys and two girls,
God-fearing citizens,
Buried one in disbelief,
And then moved on
To the routine.
I know your secret, though.
That swept-neat farm:
White buildings,
Green roofs,
Red barns
Belied you in their unnatural order.
You of the Romantic Heart,
You of passion and desire held secret.
Beside your chair in that sparse house
Stood a stack of romance novels
In easy reach
To lend escape
To harsh realities.
Ah! The stolen moments!
Pink-hued bliss of passions,
Handsome strangers,
Waiting there beside your chair
To free you
Of a dry and wind-whipped land.
What pleasures you enjoyed
You stole from books.
What ecstasies you managed,
Came ninety-nine cents a copy,
Wrapped in brown paper,
In a galvanized milking pail,
Five miles from the post office.
Lydia, don't fret.
Don Quixote's spirit
Understands.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
On opening a can of inspiration
I find it's all chunk white words
in spring water .
It comes with a waring not to consume more than one can a month . Something about the mercurial thoughts that can spirit you away .
Jellyfish . . . I dont't think they go good with peanut butter on white bread . I was raised on peanut butter and bread . Without jellyfish . In the summer there were a lot of them in East Bay , Panama City , Florida . We went swimming and fishing so we got stung a lot . Crabbing too .
I used to get these huge acorns and stuff my pockets with them then run down to the pier with my slingshot made out of surgical tube rubber and shoot jellyfish as they floated by . Most were small but some were huge , more than a foot across . Those I would pump a whole pocket of acorns into . Actually through them . My slingshot would shoot an acorn through a galvanized garbage can .
Winter's were bleak . Well not compared to the rest of the world . But the water was too cold to swim in . All the fish migrated away . Birds too . Except for the robins that had migrated from the North to spend winter there . All the white birds had gone . Gulls , cranes you name em .
Winter brought moody storms full of tempestuous emotions and gale force winds . Their overbearing attitude dominated life for days . But eventually everything turns back into Florida . The land that has always been a pushover when it comes to the weather . You name it . It probably has had the most unfavorable weather of any other state . Hurricanes , tornadoes , lightning strikes , on land and people .
Tuna , we used to go off shore tuna fishing on a boat named "Tuna" . We caught Spanish and king mackerel , dolphins (the fish) and cobia which I grew up calling ling . But never any tuna .
Sometimes we would fish on the bottom for red snapper which if eaten fresh caught is the best tasting fish in the world .
Toads ! There used to be toads everywhere just before dark . My little brother and I used to catch them and put them in a cardboard box until dark then release them . One night I heard my mother scream and I ran to see what was up . My little brother was in the bathtub with about fifty toads . I hear there are hardly any toads there now . Same for the fish . I wonder how the jellyfish are doing .
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
If I take to my drill and tin snips,
cut slits for my eyes in a bucket
of galvanized steel;
If I fashion from spent, inked
aluminum plates the newspaper
doesn't need anymore
a flimsy laminar armour;
If I stride donned in these and
perhaps with a blade of splintering
moulding left after the renovation
into the yard to hack at the vile
violet hyacinth blooms
laying siege to the aging tulip,
presuming to take the edge
gardens by attrition,
would you see as once you saw,
my sweet Dulcinea, the quixotic buffoon
so deep in delusion,
so madly in love with you.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 6:01 PM UTC
The work began with cedar, ash, and pine.
In cold months, the architecture rose
on Utah timber, the truest I could find.
Eventually, come spring, the windows shone.
The house stands abandoned now. In time,
the clapboard, screens, and porch decomposed
to a bleak mark—a wreck on the tree line.
So ruination brings the builder home.
The red metal box is packed with tools:
galvanized nails for the bedroom I dreamed in,
a trowel for the plaster my fists passed through,
a needle and thread for the curtains’ revision.
Open the unlocked door. At once a throng
of starlings scatters, bursts from the roof in song.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
Energized
Your voice raising me to the next quantum level
Of one mind with flow of thought surging
Our dual awareness merging
No need for the touch of fingers to connect
It should be too much as brain waves intersect
Catalyzed
Without a drop of green blood
No training to restrain the flood
Connections this deep can be dangerous
Explore the uncharted no matter how treacherous
Shields down, sensors active
Galvanized
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
A plain woman in a checkered dress
Trapped on a windy hill with a man whose every thought
Was crops and cows and bad weather coming,
You cooked every meal on time,
Served lunches exactly
When the hands aligned.
At the stroke of noon.
You drove "flagger,"
Moving trucks and tractors
From field to field,
Raised two boys and two girls...
Buried one in shock and disbelief;
And then moved on.
I know your secret.
On that swept-neat farmstead
Under the green roofs
Beside the red barn
In your white walls,
The rational order,
The unnatural neatness
Belied you.
Lydia,
Woman of the Romantic Heart,
You of the secret desire and passion...
Beside your chair in that sparse house
Stood a stack of novels,
Romance in easy reach,
An escape from harsh reality.
Ahhh.
The stolen moments!
The bliss of passion!
Handsome strangers ready
To rescue you from wind-blown land.
What guilty ecstasies you stole
Came five miles from the post office,
Ninety-five cents a copy,
Wrapped in brown paper,
Tucked in a galvanized milk pail.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC