"gargling" poems
Sunshine!
Sickly yellow
slow-light colored streaks
slithering worse than sweat
down my body.
That golden ball stares down at me
like a haughty goddess,
her duality shallow and hot.
She cares not for the freedoms of humans.
She's a two-faced coin,
purgatory masked by the promise
of freedom from pained brains
and scholarly shackles.
The sun laughs at her own trickery, gargling through melting teeth
as she collects suppressed confessions
from weakened teens.
When her crescent counterpart
offers solace from her torment,
the moonlit darkness
only serves to drown us
and we splutter in our own
self-taught
year-round
lies.
And the sun
rears her tattered, flaming mane
at daybreak,
belly-laughing at idle minds now unrefined,
gleefully adding her own scorch
to already inflamed brains.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
3.6k
A job for life,
that's what was advertised.
But I was just a penny in the slot.
Mine wasn't as shinny as the others.
Even though I was on top of my work.
Just because I didn't shine up to those above me.
Ok, I wasn't the silver coin, I wasn't even bronze.
But they tainted me, because I wasn't
the right side of a flipped coin.
And just like that I was the penny in the poor box..
Why was I of less worth than those
that never excelled..
I never put a word wrong.
never gargling *****
sniffing the cheeks of brown refuse.
But still I'm in the food bank,
like Oliver,
Can I have some more sir...
I'll never delve to the depravity of others..
feeding glutinous egos..
They can starve, I'll find a worth among
the wasted, and show that I'm more than
what's needed.
I have worth..
But for now I'll be on the bread line,
cooking my own..
And even though now I've not risen,
I'll show what time cooks..
I'm more than my last resamay..
I 'll never understand where quality of slavery
means I'm less of worth...
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
When I saw you and our eyes met,
Something sort of sparked,
You had me lost, captivated,
Our talking didn't stop,
You took my hand and showed me,
The world in another light,
Held me on the beach,
To keep me warm that night.
The night was over way to fast,
I wish it never stopped,
I lost my heart on Brighton beach,
It's a stone there being washed.
I took a train to see you,
And you made time for me,
I fell for you deeper and you told me you loved me,
My stomach did somersaults,
My heart could of stopped,
You actually took my breath away as you tied my throat in knots.
The magic didn't last though,
Off course it never does,
If you believe in fairy tales,
You're in for a shock.
I saw the way he looked at me,
He passed it into her,
His time for me grew smaller and I knew it was lost.
I asked what was happening,
He lied for a week,
Too coward to break the heart of a girl like me.
He told me I was crazy,
I made the whole thing up,
All the while that ***** was gargling on his ****
I hope to never fall in love,
For my soul mate I've lost,
I don't want to be ripped up again,
For paper I am not.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Near a town of history untold
Where everyone knows each name
Wooden behemoths - obliviously old
Each unique but each the same
It was meant to be a perfect day
Of tranquility through the trees
Instead, the sky is brood with grey
And the leafs flow as they please
Alone, in nature's splendor spilled
In a rainy wilderness, seldom seen
The birds and insects grow suddenly still
In a spread silence of the green
Like eyes embedded in your back
You sense the stare of something sour
The mood hurries to horrid black
As you quiver into a cower
In bending branches blended
Creeping in creases - camouflaged
Nature's imbalance to be amended
In the forest's full mirage
Witness a terror appearing
Frantically floating from afar
Emerged in echoes and vaguely veering
Black, bleak and bizarre
A malevolent, monstrous maw
Snarls of hunger, habit, and hate
A malodor of meat, reeking raw
A violently increasing heart rate
From frozen still to fearfully shaking
You are manically mesmerised
Your pupils promptly dilating
As you and the beast lock eyes
Your meaningless attempt to run
From a stride to a collapse
The beams above crown the sun
As the twigs around you snap
A soar of pain as you hit the ground
Chest cavity cracked open
As you faint, you hear the sound
Of a language never spoken.
Gutted and gargling gore
Eaten by nature's nightmare
Convulsing on a forest floor
Indifference chokes the air
It's just another perfect day
Of tranquility in the trees
The rain has stopped, the leafs still sway
With the cooling, comfortable breeze
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
____I'LL NEVER FORGET "THAT-NIGHT"___ It was 8;00PM, a Thunder and Lightening storm had just begun and what seemed like thousands of BB sized HAIL WERE PELTING the roof, making it Hard to Hear the Ringing Phone ! ! I Barked OUT a "HELLO",,,the tearful, hesitant voice on the OTHER END....CRIED OUT... " Come over quickly" She pleaded and continued with "IT'S LIKE DEMONS Have CONTROL OF HER ! ! ! ,and SHE KEEPS CRYING OUT .. AUNT BEA,,, Aunt Bea... Over and over"_______ . This was going to require a SPECIAL-EXORCISM I Stated... "I'm ON MY WAY" ! Upon my Arrival , I was greeted by a trembling,sobbing LaCretia,,claiming, "HURRY to the Library Room.,Rochelle is waiting ! !" The repeating AUNT BEAS were spoken as if Gargling... "WHAT are her Symptoms " I Queried ? IN A VERY-SLOW Determined Voice, LaCretia detailed the following,,,, "She has the BLUES, She has the BLAHS, She has BLEMISHES, She has BOWEL Constriction, She has been BLASPHEMING, She has BUTTOCKS Wrinkles, She has BREAST quivers and has been having BELCHING FITS "! ! ! I THREW MYSELF ON THE FLOOR IN PRAYER...Asking for the strength to DEAL-WITH these DEMONS..._____** A N D **____Here's what CAME-OUT of ROCHELLE,,,, *(#1)=BREEZEWAY-LIPS= when encountering these rascals ,it's highly suggested that WE BE UNDER Proper Cover.. (#2)= BISTRO-BREATH-LEADER= Demons that emit SPECIAL AROMATICS into the air ,that keep screaming ,,"IT'S TIME TO EAT"....(#3)=BEHEMOTH -TESTER= Demon assigned to see how BIG OF A MONSTER he can turn you in to ....*( #4)=BRAZEN-FELLOWS= Demon who attempts to Get "YOU" TO **** INTO EVERYBODYS BUSINESS, and ruin their whole day & night...! ! ! I THEN SHOUTED OUT TO **ROCHELLE ** " ARE there any more " B " DEMONS IN there ??" Rochelle, collapsed to the floor,, I promptly RUBBED-IN the BROWN SHOE POLISH into the soles and heels of feet,,*** FOREVER-BLOCKING ***__" B " DEMONS , the ONLY-ENTRANCE to our BODIES .._______ Rochelle ,with a new found strength, lifted herself from the floor, Gingerly grasped my hand, Pulled me "VERY-CLOSE" . KISSED me with a FERVOR , THAT I CAN "TASTE" TO THIS very-day... I bid LaCretia and Rochelle "GOOD-NIGHT",, AND FOUND MYSELF "WHISTLING" and "THINKING" as I walked to my Vehicle.... "The Demons are increasing their activity ! ! I MUST "BE-PREPARED" for the NEXT-CALL_____PERHAPS FROM * Y O U * ??___
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 9:06 AM UTC
I have not really felt, so well complete after all,
So now I have realized a bit about it,
As it has been just a bit before;
Poo Pic,
Nice upon,
Lite Heart's,
Star Dust'd,
Too walls,
It's tickling,
Startling really as well,
I know what I do by each of my selves,
Whom at least are quite friendly,
Circuit completed,
Got past my brain gargling stricken struck stuff,
Straight to the heart reckoning awoken to a more fuller feeling than,
A filling feeling of up a cup, belly caught this quick like flash lightning,
Striken struck me gutty gut gut,
Did lots of laughing really, really it I,
I Eyed it, I did, that was before ole gargley,
Slow pokey brain had any chance or choice of it,
Presented in the matter...
But then I thought somehow again, and perhaps then,
It did help me think, I'm not really sure just like before,
More of a wander and a wonder of it all, And what of
but of completion, Oh gosh geez jolly, I was just lately
thinking I was really feeling so, I had thought oh,
You know once upon a time just like before,
So very lately really, I was really into, upon,
Onto things of such lately, but what of such,
Were ya wondering about thinking,
Asking or is it such...of what,
You hear more clearly worthy,
Asking See, though then now,
Is a thing,
A thing in half of completion,
Sure I am half complete here in,
One instant and in so dearly next to,
There the other some other here there,
Where of other of the other half too,
Too goes alright not so bad doing,
This so well just us two halves,
Too of completion
Beyond friendly we've been so almost together,
Is the heart of the matter, matter like things,
Or more like is it like weather, Whether,
Or not, Will I ever really ever come,
Together like Bride,
Bridegroom;
Would do...
Then would could perhaps a chance brain,
Tells me I must be here now just guessing,
And now then again all of a sudden not,
Too that was before remember,
I'm trying to remember yes,
Now I think I've got it,
'twas a wondering thing,
But I could be thinking again,
I am starting to think maybe someone,
Should just take this brain thing right out,
Of my head...
What a ponder,
I'd wonder yes the wondering thing,
As it were and too now this time really see it is,
Would, like a yonder instead, Oh by all means please,
I didn't mean leave, I am thinking about your yonder with,
Me for wander and ponder just so seemingly wonders instead,
Now I know what your thinking,
Hahaha I do,
Two, two half completions,
Weather the storms better,
Than two heads who,
Were just thinking
Ah Heart,
Heart Better
Whether
Weather
Matters
Or Not!!
See Sea, Love
Y O U
e V Got!!!
E
~Sa Sa~~R
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
rip my hair and skin
scalp me down to my river mind,
innards of rot and process
take your hollow **** of words
bury them in my very own
valley of salt and waste
let's say,
"words are words,"
with purpose and shallow bravery
they
mean this or that
and that is that
of course!
this is this and the other thing
what a lovely ring
sure to rhyme
break the lines
here and there
a bold poet
with a neautered tongue and pen
a cold box, where chaotic sloppy life
should tumble forth with joyful hot moans,
explosions of spit fury finger breaking body snatching war hunger defeat suffocating three ton wool blanket thrown over our mouthes stifling the bitter gut gargling screams of drone death baby mother buried way down under by the son father stalking blind with tears and rage and poverty
skin not black but brown, religious garb for the crown
hypocrisy will be sure to follow him about
Yet, here we are, a small empty hall, short not grand
Yet, even here an echo back of our dim shallow fancies
words that skip on the surface of meaning and power
mothers grieve shouting at the earth, holding their
******* to the moon, while fathers eat the dry bleached
sand we've left behind in valleys of salt and waste
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
Cockroaches in striped pajamas
stained by the scent of snow-melted blood
under a compassionate moon.
No reflection to admire
other than the eyes of a thousand
miserable and sordid puppets
with shaven heads and wooden clogged shoes.
God and their souls
murdered by a vile evolution,
crucibles of Jewish remains.
Rabbis and priests,
scholars and the poor:
moving targets with stars on their sleeves.
Naked souls waited,
listening to the gods of old Germany.
“Zieh dich aus! (Take off your clothes!)”
They shouted, pushing
them further into the chamber.
The doors
closed shut behind them.
A deathly fog clouded
among them,
putting them to drown
under a thick green darkness.
Agonized voices
shredded apart
as their nails clawed
at the concrete walls.
Women and children held each other tight,
whispering Kaddish,
hoping and praying.
Twenty minutes
of shouting and stumbling,
Twenty minutes
of spluttering and gargling.
The little ones witness the eyes
of their guardians writhe and turn white,
as their bodies jolted
as their lives were stolen.
The gods finally entered
to clear the room,
to pile the dead onto the carts,
to visit the crematorium.
To finally shovel the mounds of
striped clothing,
to recycle and burn the rest.
But this end comes
as a sweet release
as their ashes
were sent through the chimneys
and into the air
to rest in their graves.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Dragon in my Closet
1.
I should write a poem
today. Now. But
I just don't feel like doing so.
Instead, I'm going to write
a story
about why. About the Dragon.
And that'll do.
2.
Once upon a time,
there was a To Do List
that needed to be Done.
It had items and points
and notes and scribbles;
she was absolutely the most
prettiest thing.
This beauty belonged to a Knight,
a pilgrim in the Land of Adulthood.
And I'm about to tell you
why, though he wanted,
and tried and tried
he never could
get the stupid List Done.
So, one day while
he was wooing Lady List,
a thunderous roar stopped him
in the middle of his speech.
He smelled the sulphur before
he saw the shadow fly over,
but it was too late
and the dragon grabbed his Lady lover.
The List yelled for help,
but what could Knight have done?
Before him stood the vicious
Merciless Procrastination Dragon!
With a slice of its claws
and just one breath of flames,
the poor List was done for
and could nevermore be Done.
Well, you can imagine
the scenario that now unfolded:
List gargling on the floor,
Knight screaming like a toddler.
The Dragon wasn't done yet, though,
he still had one more goal:
Keeping the Knight busy all day
so he won't rescue List with CPR.
This was the easy part,
and loads of fun too.
Knight had snapped out of his shock,
but the dragon just had to
keep his paw on the Knight's head
and hold it there until
the Knight got tired of fighting air
and became very still.
Then the Dragon lifted his paw.
Knight fell on the floor with a
THUD.
Dragon flew off with a smile on his face,
happy with the fun he'd had.
The Knight scrambled the strength together
to crawl on all fours to his List -
or rather, what remained of her -
and pretended she still exists.
(But she was dead,
and the Knight was broken.
He would never even look
at another List again.
Until he gets lonely and
tired of Nothing,
then another To Do List pops up
that's in need of Doing...)
3.
This tale is true,
believe me, 'tis so.
I have met the very Knight
and greeted the Lady too.
And the Malicious
Procrastination Dragon
made its nest in
my closet.
And that's why
I'm not writing a poem.
Sep 1, 2020
Sep 1, 2020 at 2:30 PM UTC
She was born at 3.41am,
Electronics,
Neon lamps,
Needles,
And mouth masks,
From a place of great peace,
To loud,
Shambolic fuss,
Open wounds,
Weak,
Not immune,
Drugs forming spirals of inaudible sounds,
Drowning and gargling,
Naked and cold,
Turning blue,
Being wrung out,
Mum crying out,
Wanting to feel flesh upon flesh,
Tear upon head,
Hands clasped in prayer,
Hoping the girl,
Innocent and young,
Was lying cradled in heaven,
By 11.41.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC
Fixed on salad ******* armpit ****
Passionate diaper ***** dodging queefs
**** fat farts and **** sipping
Squiggly nips dangling from a pig
coffee spitting ***** kids with sticks
sticking sticky ***** in **** like a *****
*** cream pageant queens spewing ****
Chris Kringle's candy cane **** tip dripping on lips
sweet **** water for your daughter
************ to Aaron Carter
**** the rest
I'm all out of ******* to step on
best be getting home to *** on my own chest
test the taste and throw out the rest
I tickle my intestines till I **** out hot stew
putrid black goo with nut chunks and fiber skins
stretching ball skin over my **** rim till it's all one
sack
use bread and sauce from a snack pack to make a sack
sandwich
hold the lettuce between my cheeks and toss my own salad
picturing *** ramming ***** spewing out tasty *****
gluey pools of chlorine smelling salty bliss
I picture gargling ***** while lesbians crawl all over me
vibrating fake skin ***** deep in my **** cave
if you misbehave I'll rip off your face while I squeeze your
**** in my teeth and make you sit on my face after you clean
your *** crease bleached and sweet
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
The best feeling iv'e ever got,
cruising through the wet road's of Divine Dandeli,
a touch of peppermint dew drops in my velvet cheeks,
listening to 'paradise' by coldplay,
a massage in the kali river by the gargling rafting waters,
canoeing against the smooth surface forces,
sure to give you a exquisite experience of love,
and a course of pain in your shoulder,
gives you a raft full of memories.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
Yes, it's the fifth in the COUNT ORLOK series!
Ah! Sweet Death comes slowly
to my poor victims,
As I **** their lifeblood
through their gargling screams.
How I enjoy their cries
for mercy and compassion,
Just before I give them
eight inches up the ****
CHORUS (Sung to the tune of "Rawhide")
Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting,
Though the smell's disgusting
Yeeha!
I'm evil beyond measure
And I gain my evil pleasure
Through rain and wind and weather,
My shit-splattered **** will never
Forget the pangs of pleasure
Inside...inside...
Yeeeeee-Hawwww!!!!"
*[Orlok wipes crap off vampiric **** and flies off,
the wnd whistling through his gaping zip.]*
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
Staccato's of clasping chains.. feverishly flaying your wrists...
As a rabid dog chewing off its own limbs to crawl away.
You hide in my shadow.. The only place where they cannot get you...
While your children burn...
A sour scent of ***** floods richly within these forsaken walls...
A tranquilizing melody of ****** gargling
I will mutilate the memory...
I will stain the status you built...
I will pluck your fruit and devour it with voracious appetite
Gnawing your rotting tongue bit by bit...
i drink sepsis that drips from the shank of your thighs..
My hunger everlasting...
Ravenously, depraved, my claws rend and maim your angelic wings...
A carpet of feathers gusts at your final gasp....
A cold lick on your eyeballs...
We drag you into our grave...
Rats...
Swarms of rats...
And i wear a crown baptized and blessed of your blood....
Adorned with warm and beating entrails of the defeated and the devoured...
Bricked in walls....
I can still hear you clawing during the most sleepless of sleeps...
And taste your rotting tongue...
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
When your souls that
***** the devil gags
And spits it back out.
Then has to wash
the taste out
Gargling on a ******
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 4:10 PM UTC
i'll let you be recluse & writer
you can describe how strange horrible
it feels to suddenly realize that one of us will someday die
the other left standing in the dark middle of a railroad
silhouette illuminated by a single streetlamp
mouth open with a granite rock wobbling in hand
i pray that it's me who falls first
after our parents so they won't have to bury a child
& you my only brother can remove my name from
the lyrics of every song you wrote for me
i can't give you the words to write
but find them & add them to your own memories
of me on a spring afternoon standing in shorts
on a softball field or rooftop with
hands on my knees & two wisps of hair in my face like
moths orbiting shafts of remembered yellow light
stick out your tongue & i'll teach you to whistle
without your fingers if you teach me to scowl & squirm
**** with my armpit & spit melon seeds at lowing cows
we'll dangle from plebian treebranches upside down together
& when i fall off the monkey bars you laugh
but when you're on your head in a heap of kinetic energy
i pick you up & brush ***** tear spirals off your chin
i'll drift away first into sleepland with a smile plastered on my
strawberry cheeks squirming legs & my body
coiled tight like a bedspring with laughter stomach cramps
from the stories & jokes you whisper on the floor in the half-lit gloom
i will be your darling sister forever lying to mom
about the time you burned a hole in the linoleum
& you will throw rocks at the back of my head
from a young persimmon tree like a noisy bird gargling bug juice
pretending to skip them across a pristine lake in the
blue grayness of the churchyard before dawn
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
There is an old Chinese saying
that goes like *'those who lie too much tend to
lose teeth'*
I have one ripped from the top
and two snatched from the bottom,
from my un-truths--half truths
those new moon truths, with a crescent
sliver of a lie--but lie none the less
My mouth blossoms red and purple,
veins and capillaries split-lit
muscle malformed, bacteria nurtured
in the hammock of my gum,
all from those words I said to him.
Things like 'I love you',
so sweet and artificial that no
amount of brushing, flossing,
or gargling could prevent the
plaque.
O woe,
I have the mouth of a ***** for appearance--
all in the name of appearance.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
I need the sun and it's warm arms around me,
I need earth's sweet soil to stain my bare soles,
and soul,
I need the thick air of a humid day,
with the rain clouds hanging over me,
threatening to obstruct my evening plans of star gazing,
I long for the warm, ***** waters of the lakes of my home town,
the gargling bubbles in the back of my throat when I accidentally breathe underwater,
and I long for the pain in my ear canal when water gets trapped,
from pretending to be a mermaid for too long,
I am impatient for the ache on my shoulders and face, from UV exposure,
too much of a good thing does exist,
but it's nothing Aloe Vera can't soothe,
I am anxious for cold beers on the porch with my best friends
in the home we live in together,
and I am anxious for the mornings wasted laying in bed,
with the morning sunshine through my lace curtains as my only alarm clock,
I want the bruised legs, scraped knees, freckles, and ***** hands
that only these short lived summer months can bring to me,
I want the careless, reckless, "it's only 2 am" behaviors that come with a late sunset,
and I want the happiness that comes with the scent of flowers entangled in my hair,
a late sunrise, and warm winds.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
It's like when you have the stomach flu,
and the first thing you toss up is your favorite,
homemade, blueberry muffins. How after that,
even though you've eaten them for 19 years,
just the thought of violet-speckled, baked goods
makes you want to hunch over the nearest toilet.
I don't remember when I stopped being able
to stomach irony.
All I know is I spend every morning gargling
minty antiseptics, trying to rid my mouth from
the aftertaste of dreams, but still its ghost lingers
in the back of my throat. I try to wash it down with the
taste of his **** and the smell of his cologne. Thinking,
I guess, that one day I'll be able to love him like he deserves.
As opposed to wondering what happened between us.
Your catchphrase was," There's nothing to say."
It wasn't until now that I understood. I wanted so
badly to find the right words. Wanted so bad to mend
what was irreparably broken. But you knew that every
time you opened your mouth, you were in danger
of coughing out your heart. Of spewing out a ******
mess of feelings that I didn't yet understand.
Now, as you come to me with olive branches, all I can
do is choke on my own aorta. So understand when I sound
like your broken record, that I'm just trying to hold it together.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
He writes invisible lines on horizontal, murk.
Twisting the phalanx lance similar to a shimmering rod
The iron blade edge combusting moth shrimp
As they ride onto a load to gather currency
The coal-burning Noise-whale, a collector
Twists a symphonic of wrench and groan
Under the gargling wail of fuel
As well as pistons, the reflection of The Tired.
They rest hovering topside, crouched
And struck by the whipping lash of colour
The rope wrenches into the horizontal,
Winching the Oxen toward the catch
Winching until nets rip in like horizontal pull
Surfacing up through murk with a feverish shine
And shifting away to naked frailty
That glory The Tired had began to behold.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:40 AM UTC
4/12/2016
"*Rappelez-vous l'objet que nous vîmes, mon âme,
Ce beau matin d'été si doux:
Au détour d'un sentier une charogne infâme
Sur un lit semé de cailloux?"
"My love, do you recall the object which we saw,
That fair, sweet, summer morn!
At a turn in the path, a foul carcass
On a gravel strewn bed?*"
Charles Baudelaire
I sat on the mossy footstool
that lied by the brook-
I had to really open my ears
to hear the soft regurgitation
coming from the clear muddy water, gliding over the slate,
piled up
the road, the one I drove on that one day we snuck out,
was placed gently beside it,
uptop a little cliff,
I felt this a beatific metaphor.
The air felt amorphous,
held a quality I couldn't quite
put my finger on.
and then I saw a tree,
a crooked one
who had seemed to grow
on the bank of the creek
because life, it seems, imitates art.
Its trunk dipped
until it ever so slightly grazed the water
its elm fingers
almost
almost.
I smiled when I saw this,
for it gave me hope.
I likened myself to the horseflies and new
tadpoles that flittered,
seraphic in quality,
borne with the quality of new life- the innocent quality
the one that just made me feel tainted, the more I surrounded myself with it.
The Friday afternoons on the avenue, with its port wine air
and this bubbling black slate brook
are the only places
that innocence lives-
if I had realized how quiet
the soft gargling of the cherub water was
I'd have stopped the car
and baptized ourselves
In it.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Gargling on the film of rain smatter
For what?
Into that blue, carve a square nest
That I can pour bar its clutter
Into my wrist
All but
Ruby blessed
Harrowed koi speckled and spatter
The semi colons
My indecisive pause or full stop
Leaves my head underwater
And the pop
Stolen
To offward hop
Glassy bottles, tubes of black
Know me well
A who that breathes this ending call
Can look and reaching back
From the fall
See fell
The absent bawl
Vanity violet and lied
Face me
The name of bunching petals different
As irises inside their wet ink hide
Back reflect
Come free
What I not expect
Matted layers compact swung panels
Either way
Open, to their cast of prisoned souls
Closed, to continue what may well
Unfold
A lily bay
Or ferric shoal
Jeweller for tonight has set
I am a bearer
Through murky depths resend no fact
And airless suspend the single bracelet
A pact
Sealed to wear
When I am lost in their black
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
ast night i looked into your eyes and felt the ***** of your blue orbs. your finger on my lips smells like peaches and strawberries, and the knife you plunged in my back bled in hues of orange, purple and red. about a month ago i sat by the beach reciting my written poem while gargling the ocean foam in my mouth and feeling the horizon twitch behind my eyelids. July was pale with throbbing angry blue veins while November was a green tree brimming with life and pink petals. when mom and dad fought i could feel every stinging crack on my skin, slowly wrapping around my neck and jamming my oxygen supply. the flowers you gave me are rotting on the bedside table― some nights it moans and groans and other nights it whispers unsaid words from your cemetery of a heart. i want to turn into a pile of ashes and be swept away by the wind. i want to slide down the curve of your spine and watch your goosebumps form. i want to stuff you into a glass vase then fling you down a skyscraper. i want to entwine all your senses together, then maybe you’ll stop calling me insane because that isn’t my name.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC