"geyser" poems
...
While
Warm water as the geyser
Gives the skin a new taste
After the sudden rain
The sun peeped behind the clouds
As if a fire peaks in the red flamboyant forest
Then purple flowers of Jarul's
Silently washing the suffering of long pain
Worship to God with drunk
Late afternoon in front of the house of crow
Cuckoo calls repeatedly,
Wings fluttering,
Not unnecessarily
She searches her left offspring
Alongside a small river (Kumar) flows
Small dazzling waves,
With a Cold gentle breeze
Flows over my sweet sweat
Ah! Another form of Heaven
Seduced far away from the darkness
Furious within a dream,
I bathe
...
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
I am a humming bird with a broken wing forming a geometric fall.
I am a conjoined twin with a foot in heaven and one in hell.
I am a geyser spewing out echoes from a stonewall well.
I am an open road stretched for miles paved with a murderous smile.
I am a man with a firm handshake who stands still on top of an earthquake.
I am a visionary man who slipped on fate and fell in love.
I am a preliminary hearing fallen on deaf ears.
I am the contribution to your retribution.
I am a person of depersonalization.
I am a one man army minus one man.
I am the desired taste of orange juice and toothpaste.
I am concentrated concentration.
I am the formation of your imagination.
I am the comma for your introductory clause.
I am the cause for your sudden pause.
I am the spatula that stirs up your anxiety.
I am the reaper who never leaves a clue.
I am the lace that always chokes the shoe.
I am the light that finds its way thru helping the little shrew.
I am the suburban white boy who sings the blues.
I am consistent inconsistency.
I am your assigned tour guide for your expiration exploration.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
Beast surfacing, the geyser blows
sea-spume that sudden, broaching, slows
to blue, then falls, no prim fountain
or ticking clock, Leviathan counting
decades at formal intervals.
On benches over rising thermals
that reach to roast us, faithful, waiting,
we cheer the act of hesitation
before the final curtain -- though, see,
the trick's just heat, just gravity.
Almost enough, I hear you say --
this tidal flame, this awe-filled day,
as mists dissolve and quick steam clears
and cools and sinks, for years, years.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
I inhale
Your Intoxicating fragrance
Pheromones entice
Lingering passion
Sun and sky sweet
I am delirious
Dancing in your
Wakening melodies
Bouquet of pearly-white peaks
I Awake
In your quicksand soil
Scattering seeds
Delicate sea legs
Wobbly wooden stalks
Germinating roots
A newborn flower
Porcelain
Fragile, Fertile foliage
I swallow
Your clear spring geyser
Brisk diamond water
Raining sky water
Relieve my parched
Withering body
Swimming
Stealing grace
Sea of Fertility
I Rejoice
Your Renewing promise
I am breathless
Wild ecstasy
A Cacophony of birdsong
My petals
Gorgeous milk fluff
A canopy of tranquility
In the shape of a heart
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC
It is angel impact bullwhip vivid
Stampede fingers landscape obedient
Jail bust escape laughing run
Spillway thought stream fuzzy essence
UGG boot toe tubs and water stings
Earthquake tyrant Celsius fools
Pin lake petrol ice filled deserts
Spiky flames in outer space
Sculpture freak show withering exhibit
Fathom emergency breathe and ****
Nut shell gorillas invisibly cracked
Cow fed nirvana BBC
Shades of zero audio cauldron
Same vein madness virus mansion
Culinary horror infection procedures
Geyser rich nutrient pea-pod turmoil
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
all too often
we carry the
inexplicable burden
of perfection,
the weight balanced
upon our weakened shoulders,
we can hear our hollow bones
cracking like fallen leaves
under the pressure,
and still, we ignore it.
we see ourselves
through a looking glass
of social comparison
and self discrepancy.
she can't be better than me.
we want to believe that we are beautious beings.
we criticize what
intimidates us,
hatred falling from
our tongues
without a single,
rational thought.
it is then that we become wolves in sheep clothing
but let me tell you this:
you and i, will never be the same
my hair will never
fall the way yours does,
clothes will never
rest that delicately
upon my frame.
there is a divergence
in the way my
hips sway
and
that is okay.
i've a geyser
in my heart,
rosebuds in
my soul.
the faults,
crevices,
canyons in
my flesh
tell the story
of where i am
and have been.
i've inextinguishable embers
inside of me,
things that no other
being will
ever see.
and you,
you are
a monument,
too.
so, though
we all aspire to be
that image seared
into our minds,
from the cover
of that magazine
we read when we
were thirteen,
we will never be the same
and
that
is
incredible
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
...plain, white light of conscious sight
carved with the black of depictions,
stretched imaginations, dance of
curves and shapes, the inner vision
needs a pair of shades, color it
with flames of passion, free flow
of feeling, breeze of dreams
whistling through the meadows
of vibrant forms
...from the dust
this thought was born, to the
dust, the vision fades, in the dust
are the sparks, minerals, elements
of life, fertile fields, sow the seeds
...from the groves, the forms are
reborn, then the critters and grubs
swarm in, eating the scraps, ********
new life into the soil, new sparks
and minerals, eggs and chances,
rhythms for the new generations,
vibrant once more, a matter of
potent renditions, the breath fueling
the black depictions, white light geyser,
grey clouds, tarnished ores,
dirt and dust, all colored with the minerals
of light
...and in that light is solar life,
lunar reflections, Earthly fullfillment of
'son'shine, mother's milk, and dad's
beer brewing in the astro's firmament.
Dancing all through again and again of
swirvy curls, recollection of scattered pearls,
casted and then returned.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
You know how when
You put a kettle on a stove,
Maybe for tea
Or something else maybe
You get the kettle
To put on the stove
And you put water in it
From the tap
Or if you're in
The inner city
Then maybe from
A jug
From cvs
Or rite aid
I don't know which is closer
To your kettle
That you're putting the
Water in
To put on the stove
But the tap smells funny
And tastes like minerals
And artificiality
So if you have a bit of money, Maybe an on-tap
Filter or brita
You turn the little
**** on the front
Of the oven
And you hear
The distressed, hurried
Sound of a component
Desperately trying
To do its job
It seems like forever
But it's just a couple
Seconds
The spark catches
The gas
And glorious blue
Energy leaps out
And causes
Instant condensation
On the side of the
Kettle you've filled
With water
And put on the stove
And then
Primordial chemistry
As old as old
Changes ****
Around inside
No time
For a chem lesson
Just listen
And then after a few minutes
A blast of
Piping hot
Shrill
Pure energy
Explodes out of the top
In an earsplitting
Harried call
To you to let you
Know the kettle
You put on the stove
Is now ready
For you.
All that pressure,
From so much activity,
Before you even
Turned the heat on
You walked around
Gathering materials
And moving about
And all the calories
You burn thinking
About it
And then the
Thermal activity
Which is breathtaking
In its simple
But ever so complicated
Perfect order
And predictability
And all of this simply
Amazing process
Culminates
In one constant,
High energy geyser
Of released pressure.
This is equivalent
To the results
Of one thought
About you.
What a life
As a kettle.
Yea.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
JESUS emptied the devils of one man into forty hogs and the hogs took the edge of a high rock and dropped off and down into the sea: a mob.
The sheep on the hills of Australia, blundering fourfooted in the sunset mist to the dark, they go one way, they hunt one sleep, they find one pocket of grass for all.
Karnak? Pyramids? Sphinx paws tall as a coolie? Tombs kept for kings and sacred cows? A mob.
Young roast pigs and naked dancing girls of Belshazzar, the room where a thousand sat guzzling when a hand wrote: Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin? A mob.
The honeycomb of green that won the sun as the Hanging Gardens of Nineveh, flew to its shape at the hands of a mob that followed the fingers of Nebuchadnezzar: a mob of one hand and one plan.
Stones of a circle of hills at Athens, staircases of a mountain in Peru, scattered clans of marble dragons in China: each a mob on the rim of a sunrise: hammers and wagons have them now.
Locks and gates of Panama? The Union Pacific crossing deserts and tunneling mountains? The Woolworth on land and the Titanic at sea? Lighthouses blinking a coast line from Labrador to Key West? Pigiron bars piled on a barge whistling in a fog off Sheboygan? A mob: hammers and wagons have them to-morrow.
The mob? A typhoon tearing loose an island from thousand-year moorings and bastions, shooting a volcanic ash with a fire tongue that licks up cities and peoples. Layers of worms eating rocks and forming loam and valley floors for potatoes, wheat, watermelons.
The mob? A jag of lightning, a geyser, a gravel mass loosening...
The mob ... kills or builds ... the mob is Attila or Ghengis Khan, the mob is Napoleon, Lincoln.
I am born in the mob-I die in the mob-the same goes for you-I don't care who you are.
I cross the sheets of fire in No Man's land for you, my brother-I slip a steel tooth into your throat, you my brother-I die for you and I **** you-It is a twisted and gnarled thing, a crimson wool:
One more arch of stars,
In the night of our mist,
In the night of our tears.
2.4k
I’m older if not wiser
Can’t *** like a geyser
And I think I can hear the bells toll.
They’re a little less distant
And a bit more insistent
And no longer seem quite as droll.
Out the corner of my eye
I think to espy
A dark figure with malevolent intent.
A voice with a tone
Like the scraping of bone
that leaves me whining and spent.
Is it getting closer?
Is it there in the toaster?
I worry perhaps more than I should.
But I’d be lying
There is no denying
I wish now that I’d done more good.
Sep 1, 2020
Sep 1, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
Ax To Grind
Blood dripping from the eye,
looks like Jesus starting to cry.
I stabbed you with a screwdriver,
blood gushing like a geyser.
Cut off your ears with some scissors,
blood flowing just like rivers.
Took a hacksaw to your nose,
felt so good, used it on tour toes.
I cut off your fingers with garden shears,
they were twenty bucks at the local Sears.
Chopped of your head with my ax,
I'm from the IRS, and you paid no tax,
We don't care if you have no money,
continue not paying and people become ******
Burning crosses in your front yard,
I'm a white boy and kind of a ******
When you run out of your house,
your home gets a gasoline douse.
In white robes we walk the street,
we sure hate the dark meat.
We're grinding the ole ax,
we're KKK and hunting blacks.
The problem is they fight back,
so we just give them some killer crack.
Blood dripping from the heart,
dragged the carcass to the local mart.
Hunting animals is what I do,
then I cook them in my famous stew.
Whether a shotgun or bow and arrow,
could be a bear or a helpless sparrow.
Sometimes a dog, sometimes a cat,
maybe a mouse, maybe a cat.
I'm a hunter on the loose,
how I love to **** a moose.
I use the skins as a rug,
I just killed an annoying bug.
I use my trusty ax to chop off their head,
now they hang above my king sized bed.
How I love to use my awesome ax,
whether for the IRS, hunting or torturing blacks.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
I thought of myself as a geyser, a glacier for love
bundled up tight,
And ready to explode with the affection I dwell upon.
But see here,
Because my love lusted over was in winter's bitter flake
And now I am left with a fifth and a pack and some sort of swelling ocean in my eye.
I know I was worthy
Perhaps even still
Of the mind's manufacturing of a twin soul.
I practice growth
And I take this loss
And I find new arms to warm
the barren chill in the cave which they name my heart
In each chamber your voice echoes
And hell, i know I haven't been the first to ask
"please, just some quiet, just some rest"
I go to sleep with the quake tonight,
wake me after the shock.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
She fell from the skies
Couldn't keep floating on the lies
Pretending to be
What everyone wanted to see
An angel with papier-mâché wings
She was a Lamborghini riddled with dings
But to all she was a hottie
Driving around in a stolen Bugatti
Saying all the right things in your ear
If she couldn't have her way shed a tear
All those around her wanted
To give her all she desired undaunted
None the wiser
The next burst from this geyser
Could obliterate them all
It seemed she would never fall
From the clouds she rode
Even as her halo no longer glowed
Because all were blind
None the secret could find
But all this caught up to her
Only so much could be hidden
Behind the sheer gossamer
Of their eyes a veil eaten away by lichen
Truth be told she was still a breath taker
But the joy ride was over for this faker...
© okpoet
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:04 AM UTC
Have you ever stood,
craning your neck to look up into the canopy
of the ancient kauri, Tane Mahuta,
while peace and birdsong permeate your soul?
Have you ever felt
the crusty spray and the satanic whiff
as the Pohutu geyser shoots aloft
while a dozen languages bubble through te reo?
Have you ever shivered
in the receding darkness,
standing in the china-white sand as you waited
for the first sunrise over Makorori Beach?
Have you ever sat
on the summit of Mt Taranaki
and eaten a well-deserved sandwich
while cows grazed far below on the lush, volcanic-rich pasture?
Have you ever experienced
that mixture of fear and awe
as an orca’s dorsal breached beside your too-fragile kayak
in the shining waters of the Abel Tasman?
Have you ever paused
atop a ski run on Coronet Peak
and reflected on the reflections
of sunlight dancing on snow and water?
Have you ever felt sorry
for tourism chiefs and advertising creatives
trapped in offices in the Auckland CBD
dreaming up “100% Pure” and “Clean and Green”?
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
Magnets;
lock and key;
and, the unsubtle,
bolt
and *****
These are things that collide harmoniously and do not dispute
We are not such an archaic, mechanized metaphorical construct.
I feel us as primal,
torrid decadence;
a deliberate impassioned vulnerability:
an animalistic exposé.
Unfocused, infinite black holes
expanding
to be lost within
Quivering circle of solicitous, engorged fuchsia
steaming harsh,
needy
attempts of oxygen recovery
Soft powder snow
melting over olive tree trunks,
quaking with endless echoes resonating from beyond the hills above
A thunderous harbinger centers chaos,
rampaging gust-like vibration through taut roots,
a volcanic eruption.
Lava geyser
blazing till all energy
enthralls the earth.
What I see for us is a metaphor in nature.
I will be the seismic activity
and you
will dance above me.
Your world will collapse against me
in my relentless motions.
And when you stand again,
I will bring you to
your knees
in my aftershock
and show you strength that will move you mountains.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
From seedlings
Raw passion arrives
Teardrops germinate
A questionable love
Free reign love’s geyser
Either uproot and scatter
Or stay and bloom
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
Block the flow
Fill up the banquet
With a feast fit for a rich man
Lean the pole into the ground
Silence only for a moment
Eagerness fills the air
Sickly sweet and bitter
Push it toward the core
Hitting the stream
Is not as hard as it used to be
But the longing is harder
A geyser of icy water
Hot juice intertwining with chilly liquid
Causing an explosion of endorphins
Destroying in an array of colors
It doesn't get any better than this
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
Earth In Reverse
Suddenly I get confused,
feeling like I'm mentally bruised.
Always none the wiser,
tears gushing like a geyser.
Brain cells dying by the dozen,
having *** with a cousin.
****** is the latest thing,
brother and sister having a fling.
Mom and son, dad and daughter,
contaminated is all the water.
Earth is now spinning backwards,
trees are shrinking and no more birds.
Crime at an all time high,
hot in January, cold in July.
Sunrise in west, sunset in east,
no more beauty, only beast.
Islands in the ocean are now gone,
no more money to be withdrawn.
Time is now moving in reverse,
could things get any worse.
Tectonic plates moving Continents back together,
caused by water, earthquakes and bad weather.
Chaos all across the land,
no one seems to understand.
Volcanic eruptions have now blocked the sun,
life as we know it is now done.
When the smoke finally cleared,
dinosaurs have now reappeared.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
I WENT BACK TO THE CHRISTMAS PLAY
I HAVEN'T BEEN IN YEARS
AND JUST LIKE ALL THE TIMES BEFORE
I BROUGHT ALONG SOME BEERS
IT WAS MY YOUNG SON'S DAUGHTER
WHO I HAD COME TO SEE
SHE WAS BETTER THAN MY SON HAD BEEN
SHE WAS WISE MAN NUMBER THREE
THE STORY, IT REMAINED THE SAME
OF JESUS AND HIS BIRTH
OF HOW THE ANGELS CAME AND TOLD
TO THE SHEPHERDS HERE ON EARTH
THE BOY WHO PLAYED THE ANGEL
WAS SUPPORTED BY A HOIST
HE WAS EXTREMELY NERVOUS
WHICH MADE HIS WINGS QUITE MOIST
HIS NAME WAS DAN AND HE WAS FROM
A TOWN OUTSIDE OF WHEELING
THE HOIST GAVE WAY AND ALL I SAW
WAS DAN SINGH ON THE CEILING
HE LANDED SAFE, THE PLAY WENT ON
AND NO ONE WAS THE WISER
UNTIL A WATER PIPE DID BREAK
AND STARTED SPEWING QUITE THE GEYSER
I SAT AND WATCHED WITH MY YOUNG SON
WE KEPT IT TO OURSELVES
BUT ONE WISE MAN WAS SIX FEET TALL
AND MADE THE OTHERS LOOK LIKE ELVES
I THOUGHT BACK TO THE TIMES BEFORE
OF HOW THE PLAY ONCE WAS
IT NEVER REALLY WORKED OUT RIGHT
AND WE NEVER KNEW THE CAUSE
BUT HEADS FELL OFF AND DONKEYS PEED
AND ANGELS LOST THEIR WINGS
BUT THESE WE ALL EXPECTED
THESE WERE SURELY SPECIAL THINGS
THAT MADE EACH PLAY DIFFERENT
EACH PLAY BECAME IT'S OWN
SPECIAL LITTLE MOMENT
AND EACH ONE STOOD ALONE
NO ONE PLAY WAS PERFECT
BUT NEVER WOULD WE SAY
WE RATHER WOULD HAVE STAYED AT HOME
THAN COME OUT THERE THIS DAY
REMEMBER NOW, SOME YEARS HAD PASSED
SINCE I FIRST SAW THIS SHOW
F/X HAD NOW BEEN ADDED
AND THE BABY'S CRIB, IT GLOWED
THEY TAPED A BABY CRYING
TO COME OUT FROM THE CRECHE
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME EVER
JESUS CRIED LIKE DJ FRESH
THE TAPE THEY USED WAS BORROWED
BUT THE KIDS THEY DID THEIR DUTY
BUT IN THE BACK, BEHIND THE CRYS
WE ALL HEARD "SHAKE YER *****
I CLOSED MY EYES PERCHANCE TO THINK
OF TIMES SO LONG AGO
OF FIGHTING THROUGH THE TRAFFIC
AND DRIVING IN THE SNOW
I LOOKED ACROSS AND THEN I SAW
MY SON HAD DONE THE SAME
I WONDERED THEN IF HE THOUGHT BACK
AND IF THIS WAS JUST A GAME
THE PLAY WENT ON WITH OUT MUCH FUSS
AND WE ALL STOOD UP AND CHEERED
FOR EACH AND EVERY CHILD THERE
AND THE FEW THAT HAD REAL BEARDS
I SOUND AS THOUGH IT IS A WASTE
OF TIME, BUT THEN AGAIN
NEXT YEAR I KNOW THAT I'LL RETURN
TO WATCH FROM EIGHT TILL TEN.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
When it all goes quiet
Behind my eyes
What I feel is the paradoxical
dissonance of comfort and frustration
coursing through my veins
When it is quiet,
Existential and emotional
Weirdnesses hit like
A five year-old
Soft-armed vice grip
Around my puppy dog
Chest and knees
Squeeze, burn, repeat
Like some ****** up
Manila slum beauty salon
where This type of shampoo
Burns my eyes for days, weeks
Not just for that moment before
Approaching the eye-rinse station
Because you seek the kind of validation
And appreciation of your masculinity
That your wife, girlfriend, children, parents
And Soccer bro's do not afford you
And I know it is my fault
--the gay community warns against
falling for the charms of the man who--
Oh yes--will love you
But not the way you love him.
That is, of course
Unless you can coax, ****
And dump him like he has done
To so many girls
But
I am still blessed with
The ability to feel and share
The warmth of my mother's
Gray eyes, and arms, and
Sun-dried blankets
For what--if not this--
Am I really here for?
I overflow with colors
From that rainbow
pressed into the Earth's clay
So let the geyser gush
I guess
And in the meantime
I will search for sacred and
Grace-dipped patience.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
If your mind is in the right place,
a wound that keeps dripping is just an annoyance.
Blood on my lips because I opened the beer bottle lighter style
with a cheap blue steal knife
that mistakenly snapped off the glass with the cap
and left edges that are sharper than they look.
I sipped anyway,
and now my top lip is bleeding like a geyser
but it doesn't hurt.
The only problem is someone else might see it and think I'm weird.
Which is the same **** problem as always,
except usually I don't actually bleed.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
There is a constant mystery
which beckons me.
We go about our time
in
clickety clakity clarity
routine
clockwork puppets
marching in time
to
bad relationships
toxic jobs
frozen states of mind
wed to routine
married to the grind.
When a mild minor
barely alive flickering
a little flame
smaller than a bic lighter
ignites
and
the straight and narrow
develops
not just a *** hole or sinkhole
but
a geyser that shoots you out.
The next moment
you're taking your clothes out of the closet
walking out of an office with the meeting waiting
getting on a plane
lining up for a train
hopping in the car
Sayonara.
Revolution is in the air
the program has changed
you sit in that rocking chair
the last piece of furniture
in
an ending chapter
and
realizing
the previous moments of life
the identity of who you once were
is
dead and gone
all that had defined you is done.
This is the mystery
which speaks to me
in
deaths and resurrection
rebirth
what begins as a decision
becomes the riding
of
a wave
crashing
thrashing
heading for the sand
heading for the light
will I be all right
praying to Jesus
wondering
where you'll emerge
as melancholy
longing
displacement
excitement too
reigns
and
the change
the revolution concludes
and
you become
a
new form of you.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
i may start with the bathroom
large panelled white
a geyser with gasp, gas there
was
plenty of soap/more in store
no charge
lock and bolt the door for quiet & solitude
not much changes then
talk your self to sleep
upper rooms where no
one hears
she seemed brave/ an opposite
to me/maybe/maybe she was hiding
too
we told no one
sbm.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC