"gestured" poems
Ceramic white, wood richly brown
Smooth liquid....touching buds of taste
Lips chasing chatter, slithering slogan sentences
Arm reaching, lift off, exposing the pit, selecting
Combination to the gestured shape, proposing
Enlivening, trickling conversation tripping
To my left. A phone, pressing snugly, ear
Tuned up, alerted, filtering the microwave
Throng. With welcome warmth, thaw began
Icy film packaging a heart temporarily beat
Free, playing, fraternising.....roulette with Russia
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
*It was then that the universe decided to play
Out a sequence of events that would lead to this day
She conspired with the sun
with the earth and the moon
With the rest of the cosmos
to create enough room
For elegant curiosity to bloom
Opportunity presented herself to his door
She gestured,
and smiled,
And said "wait no more"
He knew in an instant it was time to act,
Because chances are few, such a plain simple fact.
And so our protagonist seized that one chance,
For his soul to experience a new kind of dance.
It was all for a girl,
curiosity,
what if?
She moved with such grace, she sparked up a spliff
In the garden of dreams,
bathed in glorious sunlight
Her hair, face and smile
it all felt so right
And watching her glow and feeling her lust,
He knew it was time,
he knew that he must.
He leaned in closer for a taste of her lips,
She turned in towards him,
she shuffled her hips
And then when at last they shared that first kiss,
His soul was ignited and smothered in bliss.
And that was the moment that everything changed,
A shift in perspective, a life re-arranged.
For what then ensued through that day and that night,
Was nothing short or pure cosmic delight.
Moments come and moments go
Memories fade over time's forward flow
But the feelings remain, they are timeless and true
And no-one and nothing can take them from you.
So if you're attentive to universe's song,
and seize opportunity,
you can never go wrong.
For you might one day find where you truly belong*
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.
Behind a post of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the ****
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.
Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make of you the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.
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One morning at sunrise,
I walked the beach
Looking for shells.
High on the bank,
Where no wave could reach,
An old man watched intently.
After a while
He gestured with his hand,
Calling me to him.
"You have many lives to live,"
He said (in a strange accent)
As he picked up a handful of sand
And let it run back to the ground
Through his fingers.
"That's a lot of lives", I said,
Watching the last of it fall
And trying not to look afraid.
"Not the sand in my hand," he said,
"The sand on the beach."
He extended his arms,
Raised his eyes,
Then vanished
Before I could speak.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 10:14 AM UTC
Shortly after his departure from the King's palace, the Little Prince arrived at another world.
There were two halves. One; a field of sunflowers and the second; a city full of high rise buildings.
He played around the field. Walking, Jumping, and Smelling the flowers. As he jumped around, he suddenly bumped into a gargantuan object towering over the field.
Thump!. "Ouch!", he said, as he had one hand on, and leaned against it. "Amazing! Why didn't I see it as I went around?". The little prince was astonished at the object, as his head looked up to see the what the object was.
"Hello!? Anyone up there?" He then hears a soft hum and light plucking, and with ecstatic might, he looks around the object for the source of the sounds.
"Hello? Anyone here?" A loud rumbling came, as if an earthquake started. The object started to move. The little prince looked up and saw that it was a man, a giant! The giant had a serious look, and with him, had a basket full of sunflowers..
"What are the Sunflowers for?"
The giant looked straight into the city and seemed to not hear the the little prince's question.
"What are the Sunflowers for!?"
The little prince shouted, because he was unanswered.
The giant then looks at the little prince, smiled and silently gestured him to follow.
Annoyed and curious, the Little Prince follows.
The giant brought the Little Prince to the city, where it's bustling streets were crowded; and despite the noise of footsteps, car horns, and people on their phones, there is this eerie feeling of silence. The giant then stands eagerly on the sidewalk with his basket of sunflowers. He holds a sunflower from the basket and silently tries to hand one to the passing pedestrians. He tries and tries, but not one flower was given. "Why is everyone looking down?", The Little Prince asked, "Is everyone like that?" The giant looks at at The Little Prince, puts his finger over his lips. "shhh" the giant whispered, as he goes back to handing out flowers. The Little Prince slowly gets annoyed and furious at all his unanswered questions. "Why don't you say anything!?" The Little Prince asked.
The giant then looks at the Little Prince, smiled, and leaned over to whisper.
"I might disturb them", the giant said.
The Little Prince was dumbfounded and confused at his response. "Adults are strange beings." he said, as he goes back to his ship and left for another planet.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
'O Jesus Christ! I'm hit,' he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed, or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped - In vain! vain! vain!
Machine-guns chuckled, - Tut-tut! Tut-tut!
And the Big Gun guffawed.
Another sighed, - 'O Mother, mother! Dad!'
Then smiled, at nothing, childlike, being dead.
And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud
Leisurely gestured, - Fool!
And the falling splinters tittered.
'My Love!' one moaned. Love-languid seemed his mood,
Till, slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud.
And the Bayonets' long teeth grinned;
Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
And the Gas hissed.
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He heard a last echoed clink of liquor-laden ice-cubes,
Stuck between two stools that screamed for company,
I gazed across his vacant stare to the barman –the silent DJ,
Professionally ignorant as I gestured my hoarse thirst,
I waited a little minute, another minute an’ just one more,
Enter our businessman, full-schedule, long-hauled to drink,
With a rib-eye steak of a face an’ breath surely barbecued,
Two satisfied cheeks, pink-puffed with brows fit for burial,
Teeth ground with tension but brighter than the lighting
A fungal-lung nose perched upon a smile that I could smell,
He plumbed himself wet-shave close to my stiffened neck,
“..Hana Drink..?” (Silence) best to follow the DJ’s example,
(Bullish huffs) (Lips licked) “.. Ya’ll wantin’ a drink, Mister?..”
Flustered by the company, I replied “..Non, Je think eh Je chi..”
A retort of sorts, faux languages not my degree, “..Leaba..Bed!”
Spluttered just at the end – an insulting first impression,
He seemed nervously joyous, loosened from being himself,
Yet his trouser belt buckled, pulled tight to conversation level,
An’ Redwood-trunk hands, alive with the latest deal struck,
“..Bedtime for us..” he bare-bawled, splitting my weary eyes,
His numbed arm clumsily flung around me, “..bedtime for us!..”,
DJ unmuted, the music paused, I mouthed softly “..just the bill..”
(Silence)
“..Who’s Bill?.. a friend?…Is he cute?.. So this drink?” I panic still.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
#*On my way back home from an evening walk
I noticed ,as I always do
People
And what they do
A little boy with a bag of chips
Brought a smile on my lips
I did smile at him
He smiled back munching on his chips
Barely a few minutes apart
My son's friend riding pillion with his dad
Waved at him and he gestured back
A woman and her son holding hands
Taking an evening walk
The son my age or older than me , ageing mother some illness she had couldn't understand that
Felt blessed that we have people who do care.
Thanked the son in my heart .
Then,
A little girl and her mother , hands held
Walked past me
A feeling , I do relate
From ,
What I had noticed
A few moments before, which made me a bit sad .
An old friend , a neighbour from yesteryears , she has twin sons .
I remember they were toddlers then .
One of them accompanied her
A handsome young man , Sure, he did not recognise me.
A little chat with my friend
And there , I reached home .*#
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
At preschool last morning, when first class began
Our teacher Miss Fortune, has entered the den
And promptly asked us, the pure younglings
To write on the devil that make us do things
So teacher sat down, and we tykes got engaged
And committedly filled page after page
As we took up an oath, us the urchin, the youth
To speak the whole truth, and nothing but truth
So first rose the young boy Timothy Veet
And confessed all the text that he etched on the sheet
How last week he attended the birthday of Sheila
And got high on some hemp, and two shots of tequila
As he sat, quickly stood his companion wee Tom
And he told how he broke to the principal’s home
Where he gingerly snatched, like a cat burglar
A computer, some cash, and antique silverware
But who took the whole cake, was shy Rosaline
As she stood up and gestured to Billy, her kin
And with timid resolve, and an ear-to-ear grin
Said: “He is the devil that makes me do things…”
Miss Fortune, chalk white, and clearly distressed
Was rushed on a gurney, to the ER no less
Our innocence wither, like a flower well hidden
So why keep insisting on calling us children
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
i used to care so so much
for this world,
but then a cat on a street taught me
to do otherwise,
there i was, by the lorry bins
on an estate, and there he was,
autistic as he was,
i stopped, he gestured his five whiskers,
i asked afoot at the crucifix: 'may i pass?'
he gestured with a blank stare that
i was granted...
so i passed... i didn't want the poor
****** to feel displaced...
or as in vision: a giant Venus over-flowering
of genitalia descending onto Plato's academy
into picture like a roof - asking - will the argumentation
seize to continue?! a floral goddess could
not enlightened these stone hearts,
so descent of a goddesses' genitalia comparable
to a flower could not weaken and make root
of weeds and later flowers into these hearts,
and i know so... oh i know so...
i know the strength of this brotherhood -
it's akin to a tear hearing the islamic call to prayer...
and the competing disavowal of an engagement with
women, simply for their despotism in the realm
of the household, which only women of blue Indians of
the former Raj know how to avoid, via sway unto
Bengali en-route to the Himalayas.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
Time is drifting by so sadly...
in fact it seems so long ago,
that you turned away from me
dress open
the freckles on your back
like constellations in the sky
and you gestured at your dress
so I tied the yellow bow
and watched you curl your hair just so
and go about your night
blooming like a rose...
such a sad and lovely sight.
Where, my girl, did the time go?
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
Long ago she lost the ability to cry.
He thought her so hard
She turned her face and walked away
As though she did not hear.
His eyes gestured, "I am drawn to you."
Wondering, "Is something here to explore?"
She walked away without looking back.
Stopped.
Staring straight ahead.
He thought of himself, as a man of power.
So, he followed her
Lured with the intrigue of conquering.
Yet, she did not desire to be conquered!
She was only uncertain
How do I express, "I only want to be truly loved?"
He came to her. She resisted. He conquered.
She sank in despair
Becoming once more withdrawn.
The uncertainty of life loomed
As the shadow of doubt.
Does love even exist?
Or is it only an illusionary butterfly?
Determined to find love
She walked away.
Vowing, "Never will I be conquered again!"
She licked her wounds.
She grew.
She learned to cry again.
She healed.
Mending her once festered soul.
No longer did she draw nor desire conquers.
A bright sun, anew
She roamed the universe.
Within the Light of Wisdom.
At Dawn's New Day
Emerging with a lotus flower
Crested in her hair.
Dancing among the green meadows
A gentle man watched
wondering
"I'm drawn to you. Is there something here to explore?"
In Spirit
She replied, "Perchance."
It was then
They began to dance among the stars.
In graceful movement
Timing their waltz
Assessing capacity for esteem
Open to honor freedom.
They danced within agency
They danced within
the integrity of their movement.
She sighed relief.
Evidenced by a gentle tear
cascading along the arcing curve of her cheek.
In heart felt love
He gazed into her eyes
Receiving her golden tear.
With an anchored
To continue the dance
In Vita Grande.
Today, Tomorrow & Forever!
Dec 29, 2021
Dec 29, 2021 at 5:41 PM UTC
aromatic coffee awakens senses
midst the gestured warmth of radiant
smiles's 'tween morning brew,
reverently paused to catch
the awe inspiring poignancy
of sunrise's exhilaration,
whilst cozily wrapped in the delightful unfurl
of captivating poetry's skillful delectation
a rising ritual begun many blue moons afore,
tempting consciousness, feeding soulfulness
enlightening sensibilities as it
enriches the day's appreciation
'pon the keen awareness of poets,
tempests from all niches of the world
coming together amid upheavals and serenity,
ceremoniously dubbed fierce confirmations
of words expressly borne, communing the
artfully spirited of resourceful artisans,
procuring special collective bonds that
only poesy can wholly dictate,
they look upon us as enigmas
rather strange breed of puzzling characters,
as this inexplicable endeavor
escapes their stifled perceptions
of conduit's musing reasonable facsimile,
we're merely cognitive passages for
experiences on common ground
in realizations of all-too-human foibles
eccentricities, yearnings and fortitude,
released deliverance of potpourri
serving up inky joy beyond expression,
intention's distinction deciphering
reflections in meditative affirmations,
breadth of unrestrained beholden visions
conjured notions of paramount significance
wherein lies evidence of life's burnt offerings,
beginnings and endings of hearts' indulgences
wept in resolute celebrations of existence
as only a poet could discernibly translate
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
I was fearful of death claiming my breath
As my every motive was opened in thought,
Light faded and all was gestured to nothingness
I was evanescent that flicker of singularity
But in that blink I was reborn in purest form
All was not forgotten just forged anew.
Reincarnated in a celestial aura cleansed or mortal thoughts.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC
She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.
The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.
For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As the night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.
1.6k
A crow rested on a fence
and I wondered what this story-book fiend
with his dark, beady eyes, clever sense
and his feathers well-preened
wanted from someone as hollow as me.
I couldn't do anything but wait and see.
What did one say when faced with a crow
who had no appointments to rush to
no place he must go?
As if speaking was something I could do.
So with a wooden arm I gave him a little wave.
Pleased, he came closer, that fabled young knave.
I could not move much and I could not speak
as the crow stopped right at my rooted feet
and prodded my foot with his beak.
I'm a listless liar he deemed worthy to meet.
So I did not speak and I did not move
an inaction of which the crow did not approve.
He flew back to his fence that creaked
and shifted when the wind pressured its joints.
The forceful draft stung my eyes so they leaked
tears, I found I always disappoint.
The crow flexed his black wings
eyes closed as, for him, the gale sings.
I croaked out a question from deep in my throat
the wind became a whisper as the crow paid attention
"Are you here to jeer and gloat
over my bad decisions and poor intentions?"
He shook that dark head and said
"You're a terrible liar. I'm here to help instead."
"But are you not a portender of death
here to show me I have the illest of luck?"
Why can I not catch my breath?
Wondrous wings glide on waning wind then tuck
neatly against his back for he chose my shoulders
to better speak words that doused what smolders.
The crow rested on my shoulders and cawed
a sound soft and broken
and I thought it terribly odd
that the crow would caw when it was well-spoken.
So when the pressure of panic permeated my chest
the crow spoke again so my horrible heart could rest
"If I were just a crow residing on a fence..."
He gestured with his wing to where he was before.
"Then I'd have left you to your own offense
and not show you what you often ignore."
His black wings pushed my head 'til I saw the gate.
Hope swung at my roots freeing my feet from their hate.
"I believe you have many apologies to make."
I nodded my head and the gate opened.
The crow continued, "The right choices often take
an ax to your tree, to your roots. With hope and
desire to change, you can grow something new."
I stepped into the world beyond the fence and away the crow flew.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
Hail the hobo King sitting on his throne of
A stripped ford, engine no longer their
Dismantled of all that was worth a dime.
His subjects bring offerings of dinner trash
Food, fresh from the dumpster. Given to
Those of ill health and malnourished need.
He sits in clothes matted with his trails of
The moments his feet have hit the pavement.
Of life not as others had the chance to live.
He wandered the land every concrete jungle
Knew him as the hobo King, no crown gestured
His head, only the word, the word of mouth.
Settling disputes of those in homes of cardboard
Of wood and used plastic sheeting sheltering from
Those who would do harm and the relentless cold.
He wonders the streets, knows the secrets of each
City of the unseen spaces where those whom roam
Now lay. The vulnerable have a guardian a keeper.
Ignorance of those who do not see that which in
Doorways sleep, of huddled masses under bridges
Buildings to keep dry and an uneasy sleep.
He is the hobo king a crown of matted hair he
Wears, always does he have time for those
Less fortunate because he is one with the street.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
There are poets, who sink into
themselves, deep into the infinite,
where their soul once melted over
and emptied. A poet to be kissed,
hugged and gestured to. Blossomed,
intertwined, like tangled vines.
In person, they have nothing to say
but spark so much, in their loud poetry.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
The forest, as if in suspended animation
Exploded in a cacophony of sound
It was nothing more than a twig
Snapping beneath the weight of a padded paw
Yet, the silence was shattered by this atypical step
By this stealthy dark shadow slowly moving through the forest
His heart raced!
His usual calm...replaced by an awkward anticipation
Earlier, a howl he had heard off in the distance
So familiar, yet as if from another lifetime, beckoned
Ahead, with the dusky sky as it's canvas
A giant white pine stands as a sentinel, protecting...
...a lone silent figure...
Carefully, quietly, he approached
"I can hear you" said the now, not so silent figure
"In fact, the whole forest can!" she giggled
His golden eyes, now, intently stared directly into hers
"I heard your howl", he said attentively
"I knew U would come", she assuredly replied, "U are always there for me."
As he drew closer, she asked..."Am I dreaming?"
"Does it matter?", he inquired
Her breath quickened, slowly fracturing
As did her fragile spine as her body contorted
Into a shifting form, that would mimic his
Strong and sinewy
Rejuvenated, she moved with assurance
Once again, feeling familiarity in this form
In her sheen coat of white fur, she now stood
Next to him, and his coat of fur that matched the raven's wing
They stood in contrasting, yet symbiotic fashion
He pulled her closer, and without making a sound
Gestured that it was time for them to go...
(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
When they burry me, remember my feet
Which trekked every step on broken streets
Felt the sands course through the toes in heat
Through the winters snow and the icy sleet
Tip toed at night, in the shadows, discrete
And in the day stomped to the beat
Carried me to a love so sweet
I beg of you, remember my feet
When they burry me, remember my knees
Which cushioned the flips and falls of the trapeze
Held up my frame with the greatest ease
And never knelt to anything in displease
Sprang up in the summer’s breeze
Survived through the winters freeze
And only bent to the love I wished to please
I beg of you, remember my knees
When they burry me, remember my hips
That were there for all my trips
Danced and shook for tips
Witness the beauty of an eclipse
Helped me stay balanced in all my slips
Swung side to side on moonlit strips
My love, who so tenderly grips
I beg of you, remember my hips
When they burry me, remember my hands
Which toiled and worked in foreign lands
Saluted in honorable commands
Showed knowledge that still expands
Gestured my souls demands
Conveyed a message that understands
Maintained a love that stands
I beg of you, remember my hands
When they burry me, remember my chest
Where my heart beat without rest
Gave me bravery in every quest
Allowed me to pass every test
Grew for those oppressed
Out front when I progressed
Where my love, became expressed
I beg of you, remember my chest
When they burry me, remember my head
Smart enough to help me earn my bread
Heard in passing, everything said
Looked upon the horizon spread
Felt the pain, when my body bled
Kept my body fed
Laid next to my love in bed
I beg of you, remember my head
When they burry me, remember my soul
How it took others on an emotional stroll
Made me conscious of my body toll
Gave me purpose, a position role
Appreciated everything in its whole
The spirit world where it patrolled
My love, whose heart it stole
Above all, I beg of you, remember my soul
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
He had a loving wife
A gleaming ray of sunshine,
A pillar of love and support in his life,
In times of need and care
Blessed with a pretty little daughter
She was their pride and joy,
A glistening ball of laughter,
That made all objects her toy
She was the giver of surprises,
That they forgot existed in life’s journey,
She was the seeker of attention,
And they never stopped giving
He got a call one day,
From his wife about his daughter,
To come back soon today,
And look at a disaster
He heads back home,
Thoughts gripped in fear,
Wondering whatever could have happened
To his little miss sunshine
He arrives to find a stranger,
In his front yard, a common beggar,
With tattered torn outfits,
And an unkempt bushy beard
His daughter pleads to keep him with them,
A pitiful sight he was to her,
The man with no name,
An outcast of society
And so eventually he became family,
The house servant with ever gratitude,
For the beings that took him in,
Food and shelter were no longer a bother
They went for a dinner one night,
At the hotel to celebrate her birth,
And at her demand, their servant followed too
To marvel at chandeliers and gaze at silverware
And when they dined, so did the hesitant servant,
The lord and lady gestured him to eat,
The little girl smiled at him and picked up his hand,
And told him how to hold the silverware,
He looked at her with teary eyes,
Gazed at his lord and lady and spoke,
“Sir, this is my mother here.”
“My ever-giving mother, until the day I no longer breathe, I am her ever grateful guardian”
The lord and lady stood awestruck,
At the significance of her actions,
At the wisdom of her young mind,
They embraced her tightly,
Thanking her for the lessons in life,
Their young Mother gleamed brightly,
As she picked up her spoon to fiddle.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
A Terran, a Musician, and a Human walk into a bar and begin to converse in their unique animated fashions. The Terran told colorful, heavily gestured stories of just how vast, vivid, and desolate, the world can be with adventurous direction and a little bit of luck. The Musician listened intently and shared personal records of revolving themes and repetitive transcendence. For Musician, it is simply a twist of perspective. Then followed a volley of indiscriminate compliments between Human and Terran as Musician earned a few donations of an open microphone on this Friday afternoon. When Musician returned with concerns of quality and substance, the enlightened friends had both agreed that the rehearsal was finely tuned, impeccable, even.
Shy and humming, Human was slightly disconcerting to their boisterous Terran and had to ask about those interests and talents that had not been discussed yet. Human's eyes froze in small expansion though Musician concurred, compliments are fine but withholding one's self is an insult and a crime to all three beings in such a warmed gathering. Human began with a facile face, then addled, as if a place to start had muddied underneath solid progressive counterparts. At last, resolve returned with a solution to try at the open microphone first, mayhaps that would clear the meek performer's mind. The invoked spirit of clarity overflowed beyond the stage as a silver silence engulfed the barroom. Human's history was bursting of sky sharing resonant respiration once the song was sung from a place more real than truth.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
How did my interrogation go
at the tea party
with your parents
last night?
I said to Sophia
the next morning at work
she smiled
it went well
to było dobre
as my mother would say
she said
it was good
I smiled feeling relieved
I was beginning to think
it was going to be
the thumbscrews next
I said
your father was hard going
she gestured with her hands
as if to say
that is normal
I was afraid
you might say about us
having ***
she said
I'm not that suicidal
I said
although he did mention
****** relations
she frowned
he asked if I thought
*** after marriage was good
as taught in the Catholic Church
I said
and I said yes
I added
seeing anxiety
etch itself
on her face
Mother was unsure of you
Sophia said
after you left
she spoke in Polish
and said you smiled too much
and your tie was loose
I raised an eyebrow
she's fussy
Sophia said
but Father likes you
and if he's convinced
then you are
half way there
half way?
I said
yes he wants you
to come again
for dinner this time
Sophia said
thumbscrews this time?
I said
she shook her head
no just have a talk
and eat and have wine
and relax
then *** after?
I said
she frowned
no that's not
a good idea
she said
I was joking
I said
she nodded and smiled
I see
and she went off to clean
I went to get Sidney
up and dressed
for breakfast
thinking of her
and wishing there was
no dinner to go to
with her parents
but it seemed settled
and I didn't want
to upset her father
or cause him concern
even if seeing her
walk that way she did
made me burn.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
Tetragrams and anagrams
Pseudonyms and sleight-of-hands
Betwixt the lines lie crooked spines
Textured, gestured, shamed and shrined
Functions, Factions, fabled fiction
Starred and Crossed, they're scored and stitched in
Faeries, furies, funded theories
Quantum physics, quarks and queries
Embers bright, a red clad knight
Winged cats with cubic heights
Flux your lux, set down your labels
Time entwines both swine and angels
Mumbled murmurs, lazy learners
Beacons, bosons, carbon burners
Codecs keyed for hertz and bytes
Ancient tones 'n pheremonones
Reflect,
Refract,
Retract...
Ignite.
Our shadow selves toll ghostly bells
Building walls, erecting shelves
Saviours, slaves, enchanted knaves,
'Tis man, himself, 'creates these Hells...
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC